closed starter for @smalljonumber
âYou get to be Robb Starkâs squire?â Meryll asked in disbelief, looking at her Uncle Olyvar, Lord Walderâs eighteenth son. He was two years older than her but had yet to grow much taller.
âYou do not have to act so shocked, Meryll. Lord Father chose me himself,â Olyvar said in a forthright tone, though his posture betrayed his anxiousness nonetheless.
âIâm coming too,â Meryll announced.
âYou are not. Girls arenât allowed to go to war, Meryll.â
She was about to tell Olyvar exactly what she thought of that when they were forced to step aside and make way for the ranks upon ranks of pikemen to pass as Uncle Hosteen shouted marching orders. They look like toy soldiers in their matching leather armour and coifs, Meryll thought. Other than differences in height, you could hardly tell one from the other. She looked up at Olyvar, wide-eyed.
âOh no, I know that look,â Olyvar started, shaking his head and backing away. âAnd itâs going to get me in trouble, I know it.â
She grinned. âYou wonât get into any trouble if you just do as I ask. I need a pikemanâs kit. Surely, you can find one in the armoury? Because if you donât, Iâll tell Uncle Perwyn it was you who took his new bow.â
âBut that was you!â Olyvar shouted in outrage. Meryll smiled sweetly and pointed in the direction of the armoury.Â
The next morning, when the drawbridge was lowered and the portcullis winched up, Lady Catelyn Stark led the Frey army west to meet her son. And in among the long column of pikemen, Meryll marched, hidden in plain sight in her leather armour and ringmail coif pulled low over her eyes.