some whore’s bastard riding her. And he took a hammer to his armor before
sending it to me. It’s full of holes. I suppose I can still get something for
the metal.” He sounded more sad than angry. “There was a stable by the ... the
inn where I was raised. I worked there when I was a boy, and when I could I’d
sneak the horses off while their owners were busy. I was always good with horses.
Stots, rounseys, palfreys, drays, plow horses, warhorses--I rode them all. Even
a Dornish sand steed. This old man I knew taught me how to make my own lances.
I thought if I showed them all how good I was, they’d have no choice but to
admit I was my father’s son. But they won’t. Even now. They just won’t.”
“Some never will,” Dunk told him.
“It doesn’t matter what you do. Others, though ... they’re not all the same.
I’ve met some good ones.” He thought a moment. “When the tourney’s done, Egg
and I mean to go north. Take service at Winterfell, and fight for the Starks
against the ironmen. You could come with us.” The north was a world all its
own, Ser Arlan always said. No one up there was like to know the tale of
Penny Jenny and the Knight of the Pussywillows. No one will laugh at you up
there. They will know you only by your blade, and judge you by your worth.
Ser Glendon gave him a suspicious
look. “Why would I want to do that? Are you telling me I need to run away and
hide?”
“No. I just thought ... two
swords instead of one. The roads are not so safe as they once were.”
“That’s true enough,” the boy
said grudgingly, “but my father was once promised a place amongst the
Kingsguard. I mean to claim the white cloak that he never got to wear.”
You have as much chance of
wearing a white cloak as I do, Dunk almost said. You were born of a camp follower, and I crawled out of the
gutters of Flea Bottom. Kings do not heap honor on the likes of you and me. The lad would not have taken kindly to that truth, however. Instead he said,
“Strength to your arm, then.”
He had not gone more than a few
feet when Ser Glendon called after him. “Ser Duncan, wait. I ... I should not
have been so sharp. A knight must needs be courteous, my mother used to say.”
The boy seemed to be struggling for words. “Lord Peake came to see me, after my
last joust. He offered me a place at Starpike. He said there was a storm coming
the likes of which Westeros had not seen for a generation, that he would need
swords and men to wield them. Loyal men, who knew how to obey.”
Dunk could hardly believe it.
Gormon Peake had made his scorn for hedge knights plain, both on the road and
on the roof, but the offer was a generous one. “Peake is a great lord,” he
said, wary, “but ... but not a man that I would trust, I think.”
“No.” The boy flushed. “There was
a price. He’d take me into his service, he said ... but first I would have to
prove my loyalty. He would see that I was paired against his friend the Fiddler
next, and he wanted me to swear that I would lose.”
Dunk believed him. He should have
been shocked, he knew, and yet somehow he wasn’t. “What did you say?”
“I said I might not be able to
lose to the Fiddler even if I were trying, that I had already unhorsed much
better men than him, that the dragon’s egg would be mine before the day was
done.” Ball smiled feebly. “It was not the answer that he wanted. He called me
a fool, then, and told me that I had best watch my back. The Fiddler had many
friends, he said, and I had none.”
Dunk put a hand upon his shoulder
and squeezed. “You have one, ser. Two, once I find Egg.”
The boy looked him in the eye and
nodded. “It is good to know there are some true knights still.”
* * * *
Dunk
got his first good look at Ser Tommard Heddle whilst searching for Egg amongst
the crowds about the lists. Heavyset and broad, with a chest like a barrel,
Lord Butterwell’s good-son
sending it to me. It’s full of holes. I suppose I can still get something for
the metal.” He sounded more sad than angry. “There was a stable by the ... the
inn where I was raised. I worked there when I was a boy, and when I could I’d
sneak the horses off while their owners were busy. I was always good with horses.
Stots, rounseys, palfreys, drays, plow horses, warhorses--I rode them all. Even
a Dornish sand steed. This old man I knew taught me how to make my own lances.
I thought if I showed them all how good I was, they’d have no choice but to
admit I was my father’s son. But they won’t. Even now. They just won’t.”
“Some never will,” Dunk told him.
“It doesn’t matter what you do. Others, though ... they’re not all the same.
I’ve met some good ones.” He thought a moment. “When the tourney’s done, Egg
and I mean to go north. Take service at Winterfell, and fight for the Starks
against the ironmen. You could come with us.” The north was a world all its
own, Ser Arlan always said. No one up there was like to know the tale of
Penny Jenny and the Knight of the Pussywillows. No one will laugh at you up
there. They will know you only by your blade, and judge you by your worth.
Ser Glendon gave him a suspicious
look. “Why would I want to do that? Are you telling me I need to run away and
hide?”
“No. I just thought ... two
swords instead of one. The roads are not so safe as they once were.”
“That’s true enough,” the boy
said grudgingly, “but my father was once promised a place amongst the
Kingsguard. I mean to claim the white cloak that he never got to wear.”
You have as much chance of
wearing a white cloak as I do, Dunk almost said. You were born of a camp follower, and I crawled out of the
gutters of Flea Bottom. Kings do not heap honor on the likes of you and me. The lad would not have taken kindly to that truth, however. Instead he said,
“Strength to your arm, then.”
He had not gone more than a few
feet when Ser Glendon called after him. “Ser Duncan, wait. I ... I should not
have been so sharp. A knight must needs be courteous, my mother used to say.”
The boy seemed to be struggling for words. “Lord Peake came to see me, after my
last joust. He offered me a place at Starpike. He said there was a storm coming
the likes of which Westeros had not seen for a generation, that he would need
swords and men to wield them. Loyal men, who knew how to obey.”
Dunk could hardly believe it.
Gormon Peake had made his scorn for hedge knights plain, both on the road and
on the roof, but the offer was a generous one. “Peake is a great lord,” he
said, wary, “but ... but not a man that I would trust, I think.”
“No.” The boy flushed. “There was
a price. He’d take me into his service, he said ... but first I would have to
prove my loyalty. He would see that I was paired against his friend the Fiddler
next, and he wanted me to swear that I would lose.”
Dunk believed him. He should have
been shocked, he knew, and yet somehow he wasn’t. “What did you say?”
“I said I might not be able to
lose to the Fiddler even if I were trying, that I had already unhorsed much
better men than him, that the dragon’s egg would be mine before the day was
done.” Ball smiled feebly. “It was not the answer that he wanted. He called me
a fool, then, and told me that I had best watch my back. The Fiddler had many
friends, he said, and I had none.”
Dunk put a hand upon his shoulder
and squeezed. “You have one, ser. Two, once I find Egg.”
The boy looked him in the eye and
nodded. “It is good to know there are some true knights still.”
* * * *
Dunk
got his first good look at Ser Tommard Heddle whilst searching for Egg amongst
the crowds about the lists. Heavyset and broad, with a chest like a barrel,
Lord Butterwell’s good-son
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