Oaths of fealty to the king were the highest oaths any knight—lord—might make, and Hugo had never thought he would be making them. He hadn't dreamt of the White Cloak, that illustrious symbol of ultimate honour and unrivalled skill, in years, not since his mother had first despaired so openly at the ambition that he had dropped it entirely, and so he had never thought that unless there was some sort of catastrophic war that needed every knight of the Seven Kingdoms to rally together, Hugo would have occasion to swear his oaths to the king. How wrong he had been!

Lord Arryn had asked that he offer his own oaths, as the heir to the Vale right after his own oaths. Hugo had not stumbled—more than once—but he did not think it mattered terribly as the king was about seven and trying his damnedest not to yawn. But just because the king was but a child hardly meant *his* oath was less true! It was near unimaginable—him! If his mother could see him now... Rather lucky, all told, he did not attempt a White Cloak after all.

He turned on the spot at the sound of footsteps approaching, exiting the great hall, and dipped into a bow for the newcomer. "Needed some fresh air?" he asked. "Me as well. I didn't think I would be nervous—but it's quite something, isn't it, standing in front of everybody and swearing your loyalty? Haven't felt so tense since the day I was knighted."