Gyselle
It seemed to Gyselle that the population of Penmore had doubled. Hundreds of men had assembled, more than even Ser Rickard Merzer had guessed. All the businesses within the village were booming. Gyselle and Hulla needed to take days off from work in order to recover themselves. Hulla would sometimes assist Lunz, for she had some knowledge of drinks which he appreciated.
For her part, Gyselle was bored. She had even consented to letting Ser Rickard and Hulla teach her how to play cyvasse. It was a tedious game, one which infuriated her to no end. Hulla often told her that she was too impatient to play the long game, whatever that meant, whilst Ser Rickard tended smirk and blame Gyselle's defeats on her being reckless and half-blind. Much as it was torture to play that stupid game again and again, Gyselle was determined to try and win just to wipe the smirk off of Rickard's face.
Such was the case one night, when Gyselle was resting from a particularly vigorous customer, glaring as her dragon piece was lured into a trap by Ser Rickard and defeated by a trebuchet piece.
"Come on now, I know you're not stunned," Rickard chortled as he moved another piece against her king. "Best beware for your crowned lad, there."
Gyselle grimaced as she moved an elephant piece in defence of her king.
In the meantime, customers frequently returned to the House Tart. Gyselle turned long enough to see Hulla heading upstairs with a knight wearing the Strickland sigil on his tunic.
"Hungry, Gyselle?"
Gyselle turned back to Ser Rickard. "No thank you."
"As you say." Rickard turned to Lunz, "Fire me up a scoff, Lunny?"
"Who's paying me for it?"
Rickard gave another loud guffaw as he turned back to the cyvasse game. "I tell you, this is the life. Makes me wish the war would never start, because then this would never end!"
His words might as well have been flint and tinder, for they sparked an idea in Gyselle's head. "Best follow the army then, I'd warrant," she mused aloud, almost to herself.
"Camp follower, eh?" Rickard shook his head, "Not an easy life, truth be told."
"As opposed to this?" Gyselle could not help but ask. "A small disorderly house in a sleepy town?"
Another man might have become incensed, but Rickard simply gave a smile and a shrug. "Long as I own it, then why not?"
Gyselle was constantly surprised by his boundless good cheer, but she was also beginning to understand him. He made any sort of jape that he wished, and if any man tried to insult him in turn, he never took offence to it. His very politeness was disarming to her, and she resented how effective it was. He would have made an excellent fool in some great lord's hall. Much to her surprise - and frustration - she couldn't help but like Rickard, and find some of his quips amusing.
As their game wore on, her mind drifted elsewhere. She had spoken lightly of following this army, wherever it went, but the more she thought of it, the better it sounded. She resolved to discuss it with Hulla when she next had a chance. She was still thinking of that when Rickard captured her king with a grin. "You know, sometimes I wonder if I should take up gambling."
Gyselle rolled her eyes. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of a conversation, which he always wanted when he said things like that. She stood up from her chair and made her way towards the stairwell, even as the door to the House Tart opened again.
It was the young man on the black horse that she'd seen two days before. He was no longer wearing armour, but his tunic was finely made, and his belt buckle appeared to be silver. Brushing a lock of dirty blonde hair from his face, the pale man registered Gyselle before him and gave a curt smile.
"Good evening," he began in a voice that was still breaking into manhood. Only now did she see the frail hairs which were growing in scattered fashion across his jaw.
"And to you, milord," she answered in her working voice, coming to a halt and curtseying in one step.
"I'm no lord," the young man answered, though his smile widened.
"Take me upstairs, and I'll call you whatever you like." Gyselle answered his grin with a sultry smile of her own. As always, she took care to smile with her lips rather than her teeth. She'd had to get three of them pulled after they went black, and she hated the looks some men gave her when they saw her gaps.
"A good idea," the man held out his hand, as if she were a lady in a great ballroom and he was hoping to dance.
Gyselle accepted his hand and led him up the stairs. "Might I know your name, milord?"
"Ser Ennis Dudley," he answered, "and yours?"
"Hilda," Gyselle lied.
"And how much to make your acquaintance, Hilda?"
"That depends on how well you wish to know me," she retorted.
Thus the negotiations began, but they were short. Some men haggled relentlessly, or else were offended when Gyselle demanded half the money before anything began. It was a dangerous demand for a baseborn whore to make, but Gyselle had learned it was far better to risk losing a hundred groats if she could be sure of seven in hand.
Thankfully, Ennis was not one of those men. He readily agreed to her price, making her wish that she'd asked for more. As they began to fuck, she wondered if he might declare her services were not worth the full price, as many men had also done in order to avoid paying her the full half after they were done. Thankfully, he was of the rarer kind of men that she came across.
"Gods," he gasped as he collapsed onto the bed for the last time. "That was incredible!"
"Thanks to you, darling," Gyselle cooed, running a hand through his hair.
He looked up at her with shining eyes, surging with affection. It had been a long time since she'd had a man like this, and it was a welcome change from such men as Brownsmile, or the Godly Fucker, or Peg-Leg or the Pig-Man, who gave a high pitched squeal when he climaxed. Sometimes Hulla would ask her to give nicknames to her . It was one of the only times when she felt as creative as her mentor.
"How did you end up here?" he asked in a daze.
"I dreamed I would meet a handsome young knight in this tavern, who would take me away with him to his castle," she murmured playfully before planting a soft kiss on his forehead.
Even as she said it, she knew she had said the wrong thing. No amount of saccharinity in her tone could disguise her sardonic humour. Ser Ennis' smile faded, and the light flickered out of his eyes.
Gyselle sat up, looking away from his gaze, and began to dress herself. The change in mood was discerning to her, and she wondered if she would have to fight for the rest of her pay.
"Forgive me, milord, I'm just a stupid whore," she urged, making herself sound submissive and contrite.
"A whore, maybe. But I doubt very much that you're stupid."
She turned back to look at him.
The young man sighed, then arose from the bed. He was slick with sweat. After a quick stretch of his limbs, he reached for his coin purse and took out the second half of payment, dropping it beside him on the bed.
"I thank you for our time together." He spoke haltingly, unsure of his words even as they left his mouth.
Am I your first? Gyselle knew better than to ask that; men were made of Myrish glass, as Hulla liked to say. She did not mind. It had not been an unbearable time with him; he'd been gentle without being weak, strong without being crude.
Gyselle reached forward and collected the coins. "I do hope to see you again," she urged him silkily.
"No doubt you will," Ennis replied wryly as he got dressed. "We will not be marching any time soon."
Suddenly, he stopped, then opened his mouth in surprise. He glanced at her and offered her another coin. "You didn't hear that from me."
Gyselle had barely been listening until he'd reacted so strongly. She looked down at the coin in his hand. It was a silver stag, freshly minted from the look of it. Is that how much the information is worth?
Truthfully, she did not care; if anything, it was good news to her that the men were not marching. If she had heard the news from Rickard or Hulla, she might not have even bothered to ask why. But Ennis' behaviour suggested something was afoot.
She was tempted to see how much he was willing to pay her for her silence. But she couldn't bring herself to say it. Play the long game.
"Hear what?" She asked innocently.
Ennis gave a look of relief, but although he opened his mouth to speak again, he said nothing else. He gave her a short nod instead, and hastened out of the small room, still adjusting his breeches.
The silver coin shone in the candlelight. Gyselle gazed at it curiously, for she did not recognise the man whose likeness was carved into it. Daeron the Good - as she'd heard him called - was short-haired, and beardless, with a round face and friendly smile. This man was different. His face was more rugged, his hair streamed down to to his shoulders, his expression seemed more arrogant. Is this the King's son? Why are they making coins of him before his father's death?
She judged that it was the hour of ghosts as she wrapped herself in a heavy cloak and slipped out of House Tart. Hulla had already gone to bed, but one of the other whores was still busy with a customer. Rickard and Lunz were nowhere to be seen, nor was anyone in her path as she slipped through the village.
Luckily, the gong farmer had already left his home to visit the castle latrines. Gyselle quickly slipped her coins into Hulla's purse and made her way back to House Tart, taking a different route just in case she was seen.
She could hear the carousing of men in the large tent village which had sprung up outside of Penmore along the Roseroad. A handful of Strickland guards patrolled the large road, carrying torches.
Gyselle took her time, hugging the shadows as she stepped along out of sight. Unfortunately, House Tart's position right along the Roseroad meant that two guards were lounging just outside it, discussing something between themselves.
It was a cool night, and Gyselle was feeling impatient. She gave the guards a wide berth, circling around House Tart.
One of those who lived close to House Tart maintained a vast garden. Rows of vegetables and herbs dotted the dark earth, in between small groves of fruit trees. A fence was meant to deter any thieves, as were the large hounds who made that garden their home. Gyselle tried to slip past without arousing their suspicion, but their barks suddenly shattered the quiet night.
Cursing them under her breath, Gyselle shakily hurried along the fence for House Tart. She was reaching for the door when she heard a voice from the second floor.
"What was that?"
It was Lunz. Gyselle paused, keeping still as she pressed herself against the wall. What's he doing up there?
"Must have been another squirrel. Let them be, darling."
Rickard? Even she couldn't resist looking up at the open window above her.
Lunz and Rickard were leaning forward, looking outwards as the cool breeze hit their faces. They were holding hands, and Gyselle heard them sighing together. Gods... Lunz and Rickard.
*"*" *"*"*"* "*"* "*"* "* "*
"What else did you think?"
Hulla was laughing as Gyselle sat on her bed that morning and regaled her with what she had seen of Rickard and Lunz. "Mother's mercy, you really never saw it till you saw them together?"
Gyselle frowned at the older woman's amusement. "Is it such a jape to you? I never cared to know."
Hulla's laughter suddenly faded, but not because of Gyselle's admonishment. Her eyes were narrowing with suspicion. "What exactly were you doing?"
Gyselle paused. She did not care for that tone of voice. Hulla almost never spoke to her this way, and it always unnerved her. "Doing?"
"How did you find out about those two? Were you sneaking around?"
"I was," Gyselle began, "but-"
"Gods! What ails you? Why would you betray Rickard like that?"
"Betray?" Gyselle was alarmed. "I did no such thing! I only told you about their secret! And it seems you already knew anyway!"
"That's not what I mean, Gyselle," Hulla murmured angrily. "Don't play me for a fool. Did you find his hiding spot? Tell me true!"
"What's this? I did no such thing!" Gyselle retorted indignantly. "What do you take me for?"
"Spare me that farce." Hulla sat upright and gave her a piercing glare. "I know what you took from Widow Daise."
Gyselle blushed. "I only took it because she was a bitch."
"Aye, and you never liked Rickard either, did you?"
Gyselle folded her arms. "That's not fair. And anyway, I was putting my wages into your purse last night. I was outside, that's why the hounds were barking. Did you not hear them?"
Hulla regarded her, the sharpness of her eyes slowly softening. "I did, aye. So you have no idea where his coins are?"
"No," Gyselle insisted. "I haven't looked for it neither. Not this time."
Hulla sighed. "Good. He deserves better."
Something about her voice made Gyselle cock her head to the side. "You speak as if you want to stay here for a long time."
"Why not?" Hulla shrugged. "Rickard is a good man, and he is fair. Are you tired of Penmore already?"
Gyselle paused. She had wanted to suggest her idea of following the army, but she still felt sour over Hulla's accusations.
"Never mind," she murmured. "I'm going to have some breakfast."
Ser Rickard and Lunz were already awake, as was Temba, another one of the whores in House Tart. She had sleek brown hair which she liked to keep in a long braid. Pock-marks densely dotted her cheeks, neck, back, and breasts.
"Good morrow, Hilda!" Rickard called.
Gyselle almost looked to see who he was speaking to, and immediately blushed as she mumbled a "good morrow" in return. She was normally more careful about mixing up her names, but Hulla had unnerved her by calling her by her right name upstairs, and she felt uneasy around Rickard as he thanked Lunz as the older man put a plate of bacon, eggs, and sausage before him.
"Something to eat, Hilda?" Lunz asked her.
"Whatever you're making, please." Gyselle hated that she felt guilty for something which she hadn't even done, but nor could she deny that it had crossed her mind more than once. Thus, she thanked Lunz twice when he proffered her a plate of food.
"Another day of easy pickings," Rickard declared cheerfully between bites of breakfast. "The boys are staying put another day!"
"And many more besides," Temba piped up as she fiddled with the end of her braid.
Gyselle nodded, reminded of what Ser Ennis had admitted to her the night before. "Ought they not march soon?"
Rickard slowly scratched his unshaved cheek. "I suppose you could ask Lord Strickland what he means to do. Or perhaps that new admirer of yours, mayhaps?"
"Admirer?" Gyselle asked.
"That knight with the triangles on his coat," Temba answered after a pause. "He came by earlier to see if you was awake. You must have made an impression if he's already pining after you."
It wasn't Gyselle's first time dealing with such a devoted dandy. There had been several men, old and young, fat and thin, wed and unwed alike, who had acted possessively. Some did it with sweet gestures and kind words, convinced that she loved them. Others were jealous, seeking to possess her through persuasion in all its forms. Twice, she and Hulla had been forced to flee towns because of such men, and it always filled her with dread that she might have to tell Hulla about another such man.
"What was he like?"
"Oh, he was courteous enough," Rickard answered. "I figured you wanted your sleep, so I kept him away. He seemed to understand, he gave me no trouble."
Gyselle remembered her past dislike of Rickard and felt disgusted with herself. Small wonder that Hulla was so harsh with me. "My thanks, Ser Rickard."
"None of that, now," Rickard answered with a wave of his hand and resumed eating.
Gyselle sighed, and as she turned to her own plate, she took out the one coin that she'd kept on her person. The silver stag glittered in her hand as she studied it.
"What's that, then?"
It was Temba. She was staring intently at the coin. "May I?"
Reluctantly, Gyselle gave her the coin, watching as she peered at the strange man on one side. "Who's that supposed to be?"
"I think I know."
Gyselle looked up with a start. Lunz was leaning forward, focusing on the coin.
"I seen a few of them coins since the banners been coming in," Lunz revealed as he tugged at his grey whiskers. "That looks like Daemon Blackfyre, so it does. I was in King's Landing and I saw him riding around like he a prince of the realm."
"Rubbish. Why would they put Daemon Blackfyre's face on a coin?" Temba asked incredulously.
She handed the coin back to Gyselle and resumed braiding her hair. Gyselle pocketed the coin and returned to her breakfast, but did not fail to note a glance which passed between Lunz and Rickard. For the first time since she'd met them, the two men looked worried. Gyselle was too unnerved by the sight to ask what that meant. Mayhaps I should speak with Ser Ennis soon.