Chapter Text
1
It had been raining since they arrived at Storm’s End. The long ride on horseback had not been kind to Dunk’s wounds, and now he lay in one of the chambers reserved for knights. He had sworn his sword to Lord Lyonel Baratheon before leaving Ashford Meadow. He had done it, though he did not believe himself capable of serving him or anyone else—not since he saw the funeral pyre of Baelor Breakspear burn. He remembered the harsh words of his son Valarr. As he departed, resentful looks and malicious rumors had followed him, the very ones Prince Maekar had warned him about. His youngest son had followed him as well.
One of the reasons he accepted Lyonel’s offer was precisely Egg. He could not train the boy without first completing his own education. He would finish his training with Lord Baratheon’s master-at-arms, and then return to the life of a hedge knight while passing on his knowledge to Egg. He was a good boy—Dunk believed that despite the recent events. At the moment he was probably resting in a chamber far less luxurious than those awaiting him at Summerhall, but much better than the grass beside the road. He kept his head shaved and his tongue quieter than usual. Surely the great fortress by the sea that was Storm’s End had impressed him.
When they arrived a week earlier, they had seen the dense forests and empty mountains that filled that land. Gray clouds swirled above the tall, windowless tower, surrounded by impenetrable walls. That would be his home for some years, or perhaps forever. It was in his hands to prove himself worthy. Yet the violent scenes of the tourney and the actions that had led to the fatal outcome would not leave his mind.
“What can I do?” he thought. “Three good men have died to save my hand and my foot… and my teeth. He wanted to take my teeth as well”.
Aeron Brightflame—momentarily exiled in the Free Cities. A deep sadness overcame him at the thought of him. And not only of him, but of Tanselle. “She did not want to stay and watch me die. Will she ever think of me?”
He took refuge beneath the blankets and squeezed his eyes shut. “My sword belongs to Ser Lyonel now. If this is the will of the gods, what else can I do?”