had. Take a lesson from
that, lunk. It is not for the likes of you to mess about with dragons or their
eggs.
“It almost looks as if it’s made
of snow.”
Dunk turned. John the Fiddler
stood behind him, smiling in his silk and cloth-of-gold. “What’s made of snow?”
“The castle. All that white stone
in the moonlight. Have you ever been north of the Neck, Ser Duncan? I’m told it
snows there even in the summer. Have you ever seen the Wall?”
“No, m’lord.” Why is he going
on about the Wall? “That’s where we were going, Egg and me. Up north, to
Winterfell.”
“Would that I could join you. You
could show me the way.”
“The way?” Dunk frowned. “It’s
right up the kingsroad. If you stay to the road and keep going north, you can’t
miss it.”
The Fiddler laughed. “I suppose
not ... though you might be surprised at what some men can miss.” He went to
the parapet and looked out across the castle. “They say those northmen are a savage
folk, and their woods are full of wolves.”
“M’lord? Why did you come up
here?”
“Alyn was seeking for me, and I
did not care to be found. He grows tiresome when he drinks, does Alyn. I saw
you slip away from that bedchamber of horrors, and slipped out after you. I’ve
had too much wine, I grant you, but not enough to face a naked Butterwell.” He
gave Dunk an enigmatic smile. “I dreamed of you, Ser Duncan. Before I even met
you. When I saw you on the road, I knew your face at once. It was as if we were
old friends.”
Dunk had the strangest feeling
then, as if he had lived this all before. I dreamed of you, he said. My
dreams are not like yours, Ser Duncan. Mine are true. “You dreamed of me?” he said, in a voice made thick by wine. “What sort of dream?”
“Why,” the Fiddler said, “I
dreamed that you were all in white from head to heel, with a long pale cloak
flowing from those broad shoulders. You were a White Sword, ser, a Sworn
Brother of the Kingsguard, the greatest knight in all the Seven Kingdoms, and you
lived for no other purpose but to guard and serve and please your king.” He put
a hand on Dunk’s shoulder. “You have dreamed the same dream, I know you have.”
He had, it was true. The first
time the old man let me hold his sword. “Every boy dreams of serving in the
Kingsguard.”
“Only seven boys grow up to wear
the white cloak, though. Would it please you to be one of them?”
“Me?” Dunk shrugged away the
lordling’s hand, which had begun to knead his shoulder. “It might. Or not.” The
knights of the Kingsguard served for life, and swore to take no wife and hold
no lands. I might find Tanselle again someday. Why shouldn’t I have a wife,
and sons? “It makes no matter what I dream. Only a king can make a
Kingsguard knight.”
“I suppose that means I’ll have to
take the throne, then. I would much rather be teaching you to fiddle.”
“You’re drunk.” And the crow
once called the raven black.
“Wonderfully drunk. Wine makes
all things possible, Ser Duncan. You’d look a god in white, I think, but if the
color does not suit you, perhaps you would prefer to be a lord?”
Dunk laughed in his face. “No,
I’d sooner sprout big blue wings and fly. One’s as likely as t’other.”
“Now you mock me. A true knight
would never mock his king.” The Fiddler sounded hurt. “I hope you will put more
faith in what I tell you when you see the dragon hatch.”
“A dragon will hatch? A living dragon? What, here?”
“I dreamed it. This pale white
castle, you, a dragon bursting from an egg, I dreamed it all, just as I once
dreamed of my brothers lying dead. They were twelve and I was only seven, so
they laughed at me, and died. I am two-and-twenty now, and I trust my dreams.”
Dunk was remembering another
tourney, remembering how he had walked through the soft spring rains with
another princeling. I
that, lunk. It is not for the likes of you to mess about with dragons or their
eggs.
“It almost looks as if it’s made
of snow.”
Dunk turned. John the Fiddler
stood behind him, smiling in his silk and cloth-of-gold. “What’s made of snow?”
“The castle. All that white stone
in the moonlight. Have you ever been north of the Neck, Ser Duncan? I’m told it
snows there even in the summer. Have you ever seen the Wall?”
“No, m’lord.” Why is he going
on about the Wall? “That’s where we were going, Egg and me. Up north, to
Winterfell.”
“Would that I could join you. You
could show me the way.”
“The way?” Dunk frowned. “It’s
right up the kingsroad. If you stay to the road and keep going north, you can’t
miss it.”
The Fiddler laughed. “I suppose
not ... though you might be surprised at what some men can miss.” He went to
the parapet and looked out across the castle. “They say those northmen are a savage
folk, and their woods are full of wolves.”
“M’lord? Why did you come up
here?”
“Alyn was seeking for me, and I
did not care to be found. He grows tiresome when he drinks, does Alyn. I saw
you slip away from that bedchamber of horrors, and slipped out after you. I’ve
had too much wine, I grant you, but not enough to face a naked Butterwell.” He
gave Dunk an enigmatic smile. “I dreamed of you, Ser Duncan. Before I even met
you. When I saw you on the road, I knew your face at once. It was as if we were
old friends.”
Dunk had the strangest feeling
then, as if he had lived this all before. I dreamed of you, he said. My
dreams are not like yours, Ser Duncan. Mine are true. “You dreamed of me?” he said, in a voice made thick by wine. “What sort of dream?”
“Why,” the Fiddler said, “I
dreamed that you were all in white from head to heel, with a long pale cloak
flowing from those broad shoulders. You were a White Sword, ser, a Sworn
Brother of the Kingsguard, the greatest knight in all the Seven Kingdoms, and you
lived for no other purpose but to guard and serve and please your king.” He put
a hand on Dunk’s shoulder. “You have dreamed the same dream, I know you have.”
He had, it was true. The first
time the old man let me hold his sword. “Every boy dreams of serving in the
Kingsguard.”
“Only seven boys grow up to wear
the white cloak, though. Would it please you to be one of them?”
“Me?” Dunk shrugged away the
lordling’s hand, which had begun to knead his shoulder. “It might. Or not.” The
knights of the Kingsguard served for life, and swore to take no wife and hold
no lands. I might find Tanselle again someday. Why shouldn’t I have a wife,
and sons? “It makes no matter what I dream. Only a king can make a
Kingsguard knight.”
“I suppose that means I’ll have to
take the throne, then. I would much rather be teaching you to fiddle.”
“You’re drunk.” And the crow
once called the raven black.
“Wonderfully drunk. Wine makes
all things possible, Ser Duncan. You’d look a god in white, I think, but if the
color does not suit you, perhaps you would prefer to be a lord?”
Dunk laughed in his face. “No,
I’d sooner sprout big blue wings and fly. One’s as likely as t’other.”
“Now you mock me. A true knight
would never mock his king.” The Fiddler sounded hurt. “I hope you will put more
faith in what I tell you when you see the dragon hatch.”
“A dragon will hatch? A living dragon? What, here?”
“I dreamed it. This pale white
castle, you, a dragon bursting from an egg, I dreamed it all, just as I once
dreamed of my brothers lying dead. They were twelve and I was only seven, so
they laughed at me, and died. I am two-and-twenty now, and I trust my dreams.”
Dunk was remembering another
tourney, remembering how he had walked through the soft spring rains with
another princeling. I
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