"[Rohanne] loved the boy, and him her. It never went beyond a kiss or two, but … it was Addam she wept for after the Redgrass Field, not the husband she hardly knew." (The Sworn Sword)

"I scarce remember Addam any longer. It was more than half my life ago. I remember that I loved him, though. I have not loved any of the others.""His father put him in the blackberries, with his brothers," Dunk said. "He was fond of blackberries.""I remember. He used to pick them for me, and we'd eat them in a bowl of cream."(The Sworn Sword)

"You promised you'd take me there, if I beat you at archery. I've beaten you many times over."

"I'll take you there if you can solve this riddle."

"Riddle?"

"What is red –"

"My hair!"

"I haven't finished the question."

"Well, go on, then."

"What is red when it is green?"

"What is red … when it is green? How can something be red and green at the same time? It makes no sense."

"It makes perfect sense."

"No, it doesn't."

"Yes, it does."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No, no, no."

"Yes, yes, yes."

"Oh, just tell me the ans– no, wait, I know what it is. Blackberries! Blackberries are red when they are not yet ripe, when they are still young and green. Am I right?"

"Absolutely. I knew you'd get the answer eventually. You're the cleverest girl I know."

"If you had taken me to your blackberry bushes before, I would have known the answer to your riddle immediately. I wouldn't have to think long and hard about it."

"But you like thinking long and hard."

Along the way, they recited the names of various blackberry dishes, making a competitive game out of it.

"Blackberry pie," Addam began.

"Blackberry tart," Rohanne quickly countered.

"Blackberry pudding."

"Blackberry bread."

"Blackberry cake."

"I've never eaten a blackberry cake," Rohanne protested. "There is no such thing. You made it up."

"I did no such thing! It's a real dish. And a very delicious one. The cook at Standfast bakes it every year on my nameday."

Rohanne still looked skeptical.

"Your turn," Addam prodded.

"Blackberry … blackberry –"

Grinning, Addam asked, "Have you run out of blackberry dishes? Do you surrender?"

"No, never! Blackberry … ermm … blackberry … blackberry with cream," Rohanne finally declared, triumphantly.

"That's not a dish."

"Of course it is. We eat it all the time, you and I. Each time you return to Standfast to visit your family, you'd bring back a basket of blackberries to Coldmoat, and we would eat them in a bowl of cream."

"But it's … well, it's not a dish."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not cooked or baked. We were just … eating fresh fruits."

"With cream. Of course it's a dish. How could it not be a dish? It's my favorite dish."

"Is it? Why?"

"Because you picked the blackberries for me."

Addam warned, "Watch out for the –"

"The thorns?"

"Thorns are for roses, not blackberries. These are not called thorns. They are prickles."

"Well, they hurt just the same," said Rohanne, examining the scratches on the back of her hands. Addam took hold of her right hand. She wondered if he was about to kiss it. She must try her best not to laugh.

He did not kiss her hand, though. He blew on it. It tickled. Rohanne giggled. "What's that for?" she asked.

"My mother said this would help heal the scratches."

It was a wonderful afternoon. They picked blackberries, even some of the red, unripe ones, because Rohanne was transfixed by the color. Addam had never brought any of the red ones to Coldmoat when he picked blackberries for her. More blackberries went into their mouths than into the basket. One thing was missing, though. There was no cream, no bowl of cream to dunk the blackberries into.

How many times had she imagined kissing the cream away from Addam's lips? But they were never alone together in Coldmoat, even when her father was away. Her father's other squires, the maester, her septa, the girls who were her companions, the servants, and on and on and on … the list was very long.

Now here they were, just the two of them, but there was no cream! It was frustrating.

But why would she need to pretend that she was only trying to remove the cream from his lips? This was Addam, after all. They had known each other for much of their lives. He had been at Coldmoat serving as her father's page and then squire since he was seven. He would understand, surely. He might even be –

"I've always wondered … what it feels like," she said.

"What it feels like to pick blackberries?"

"No, you fool!"

"What, then?"

"Now it's your turn to solve my riddle. Are you ready?"

"More than ready."

"What is red because it is green?"

"What is red … because it is green?"

"Yes. That's the riddle."

"I give up. Tell me, Rohanne."

"You!"

"You?"

"No, not me. You. You, Addam Osgrey."

"I don't get it."

"You're blushing redder than a pomegranate, because you are green and inexperienced about kissing, because that was your first time."

"Oh. Well, I'm pretty sure that was your first time as well."

"There is only one way to fix this, of course."

"What is that?"

"We must practice a lot more."

They never had their second kiss. Or third. Or fourth. Or fifth. The first was the last, and the only.

That kiss was a sweet, fumbling, bumbling, innocent one, which Rohanne treasured with all her heart, while still mourning - and raging - the fact that they never had the chance to share a kiss full of passion, or a kiss full of longing, or a thousand other different kinds.

He didn't know. That fool of a knight who dared to invoke Addam's name had not known that Eustace Osgrey had fought on the side of the black dragon, on the side of the rebels, until Rohanne opened his eyes to the truth.

What pretends to be red when it is truly black?

I give up. Tell me, Rohanne.

Your father, Addam. Your murderer.

She had not known about it either, when Eustace Ogrey marched to battle, taking all three of his sons with him. Lord Rowan was the liege lord of both her father and Addam's father, and Lord Rowan had declared for the red dragon, so why should she not assumed that the Osgreys would also march for the reds, as her father was doing?

My father did not kill me, Rohanne.

You were only a boy, only twelve. He should not have taken you into battle. He had three sons. He should have left one at home, to be with your mother, to inherit Standfast in case the others perished in battle. You were the youngest. You were only a squire, not knights like your older brothers. He should not have –

Your father took your first husband to battle. He was a boy, too. He was twelve, same as I was. Do you name your father a murderer, too?

My father did not murder the boy I loved.

What is red and black at the same time?

Tell me, Rohanne.

Me, Addam. The Red Widow, they call me. The Black Widow, they mean, for all the husbands I have put in the ground. All the husbands I did not love and could not mourn.

"Your hair, my lady, it's soft … and … and … your hair is veryred, I mean."

What is red when it is green?

Ser Duncan the Tall, whose face turned as red as a pomegranate when he tried to pay Rohanne a gallant compliment, green and inexperienced as he was in that art. She wondered how much redder he would turn, if she ever tried to kiss him.