The last of the journey was mostly behind them. It had been nothing but heat near the capital, humid in a way country around King’s Landing was not. Ser Silence had been dutiful and very alert, there was little Celena could have argued with except for the fact that he’d spent far too much time minding the luggage and the transportation than she liked. If someone had jumped out at her from the haze of city-dwellers, he would have been late to act.
Instead, she had left Ser Silence in the outer yards of the Red Keep as a servant led Celena away shortly after their arrival into the castle in the late stretch of the morning. She returned to the horses and cart with its luggage and Ser Silence not even hour before twilight. She apologized for the late hour and recommended a nearby inn a member of the Small Council had recommended.
There was someone in the small stable of the inn when they arrived. Seemed more road weary than the average servant, and Celena introduced herself in order to reveal the lad’s name: Dunc, he said, from Flea Bottom. Then he paused, like he was thinking hard on something...like maybe he didn’t have to admit he was from Flea Bottom?
It was a curiously transparent tick from the child, and it seemed to decide it for the Lioness then and there, but she continued the questioning. He said he was a squire to Ser Arlan of Pennytree. Celena left him with a smile and a silver coin, asking him to also look over their wagon while he was occupying the stable. The excitement in the boy’s face shined almost as much as the silver coin in his dirty hand.
The Knight gave her looks, but she professed innocence. Halfway through a meal of peppered meat pies and ale Celena excused herself from the table—not that she went from. She simply moved across the room and started up a conversation with an older man with short-cropped salt and pepper hair, lean but with a look of strength, wearing brown riding leathers. In her simple dulled blue cotton dress with silk sleeves and a dark brown traveler’s cloak, the Lady caught the older man by surprise.
Eventually Celena went back for her ale, but returned to the man, Ser Arlan. The two talked on and on, though it was mostly Ser Arlan that did the talking. Old men love telling tales to pretty faces, it seemed, and Celena wasn’t stopping him. When it was over she bid the man goodnight as he retreated for the night, the innkeeper’s son met her at her table, Ser Markus having had more than a few ales in her absence to pass the time. She paid the son, tipped, and informed Ser Markus of the news:
The kid from the stable? Would be coming with them. Ser Arlan had business pop up with the gold Celena paid him for the boy’s services. She said it, aloud, to Ser Markus that the gold was for a down payment of services rendered. Should the squire’s term of service be ended prematurely, the risk was entirely on Celena, having already paid Ser Arlan.
It was the Braavosi in Celena. It’s not slavery, see? He can leave any time he wants. But we could use the extra hand. Ser Markus seemed too happy with the ale to care, or more likely, was pleased to have someone to tend to the horses and cart and luggage. The rest of the evening was uneventful, and the next morning they left so early they had to wait on the City Watch to open the gate. They took the Kingsroad most the way until Bronzegate, then skirted the southern edge of the Kingswood. By mid-day they weren’t alone, and Celena asked the ten or so years old squire about some of the banners they saw of the noble traveling parties along the way, all of them passing them by as they went much faster with their wheelhouses and horde of escorts moving quickly, giving dangerous side-eyes to every dirty face they passed. Even poor Ser Markus got quite the look.
Suffice it to say, the child the size of most young men was bad at memorizing Westerosi noble houses and their coat-of-arms. When Dunc asked about tents after looking over the cart and what it stored, Celena waved a hand in the air. She’d already arranged and paid for tents. Lady Dondarrion had insisted Celena let her take care of everything, just send the gold. It was a kind offer, the debt forgiveness sought by Blackhaven from the lone Iron Bank Keyholder in Westeros surely, Celena thought, had nothing to do with the kind offer.
Surely.
From city walls to a trip through a forest, getting properly rained on as they went through that forest, to skirting the southern end of the forest and hitting village after little village of hunters and farmers, to the end of the forest beside them and open plain becoming slow rolling hills. Soon enough the road was half-tournament itself as the open plain become narrower valleys between steeper grassy uplands, the Dornish Marches now upon them. As soon as they hit the Marches it was nearly time to branch off and follow the lively crowds of merchant and commonfolk and noble born alike.
Licks of orange and purple threatened the late afternoon sky with evening as they finally made it over the last hill and into the clearing of Summerhall proper, tents of seemingly every size and shape and color laid out before them like a city of cloth. The Free Cities had little parallel to the Great Tournaments, and although Celena hated to attend, she’d promised her cousin. Even Celena of Braavos had to respect where she had come from, and so Lady Lorelai Lannister’s plea was met with a promise that she would be present.
There were two tents, near a small birch tree, and only a few tent rows from the nearest road. One was red, almost Lannister red, but a darker shade that seemed to Celena to give it a bloodier look. She liked it. It was three sections, a large open middle and two small ‘wings’ that could have curtains drawn down over their openings for privacy. Basin, bed, even some tables and chairs thrown in, a small brazier if the autumn mornings and evenings proved too chilly in the shadow of the Red Mountains.
The other was a smaller tent. Large for a tent, but no separated spaces. Ser Markus and the boy, Dunc, would have to grin and bear it. The boy seemed more than happy it, and Ser Markus seemed surprised she had provided him an actual bed, even if a smaller size than he might have preferred. Dunc was happy with his sleeping roll and a corner spot. Each tent was left with a basket of fruits and breads and cheeses, and though Dunc would wander for hours, Celena just seemed to make-do with cheese and fruit for her evening meal.
The next morning she dressed and sought out the chest the two men had left in her tent. For the first time this side of the Narrow Sea, the key was entered and the lock disengaged with a heavy click. The lid was carefully, quietly, lifted and Celena sighed at the blade in it’s scabbard. How Celena Lannister wanted to melee and fight. The sheer reaction she’d get. The looks on the faces of these Westerosi. It was as lovely a thought as it was short-lived. The iron key was placed around her neck with the gold chain, instead, and the trunk was closed and locked again.
Her dreams, her heart were all back in Braavos. All she had in Westeros was business, and suddenly, early as it was, she was in a mood to get straight to it. Let Ser Silence and the tall boy sleep in.
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