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River Pale and Flash of Stars
Chapter 2
Dunk did his best to ignore the shaking and the increasing energy behind it but when it became painful, he had to admit to himself that it would not go away, so he opened his eyes. Next to him, Egg was muttering that it was too early.
"But the river has calmed down," Lord Dayne replied. "We're leaving."
Something in his voice told Dunk that it was better not to argue, so he rose and went to splash his face with water from the fountain in the yard of the inn. He had no nightclothes – these were too much of a luxury, he had changed the ones he wore just three days ago, and there was no use to give the inn lice more room to settle themselves in, although, come to think of it, he felt no urge to scratch his skin off.
The boy seemed to have noticed the same thing. "Have the lice started running when they saw you, my lord?" he asked innocently, staring at his uncle wide-eyed.
Lord Dayne chuckled. "Many years ago, your father spent the night here," he said. "It was a lucky night for the good innkeeper. When the lice tasted your father's blood, they caught a cold and died."
For the first time, Dunk saw his squire speechless, instead of raising a fierce defense. He would have but he was a moment late and when he opened his mind, Lord Dayne was already ushering them through the door; when they were already in the boat, his face was so dark and distant that even Egg lost any desire to provoke him further.
The river whispered against the brightening sky and Dunk had trouble believing that it was the same monster that had roared in so many voices from its countless heads the night before. As the sun popped up a golden head, the Torrentine rippled around them, as smooth and glossy as a new banner of pure silk. Still, Dunk was pleased that he was seated. The slight shifting under his feet made him feel faintly nauseous. Egg, though, walked here and there, leaning overboard to better see a fish or bird, causing Lord Dayne to snap a brief order for him to sit down than once that the boy couldn't follow for more than a few moments. A few times, the Dornishman shot a quick hand to grab him and prevent him from falling straight into the river, after which Egg just kept nibbling at the loaf of bread the innkeeper's wife had given him since there had been no time for breakfast. He only stopped once or twice to ask about the people who lived underwater and were currently talking to him. He sounded so convinced that Dunk actually looked down to look for them.
"I hear them from time to time," Lord Dayne said, unsurprised. "Or at least I think I do. My son claims they talk to him all the time and your mother did as well."
"Really? She did?" The longing was writ so plain on the boy's face that Dunk felt a pang of something that he did not recognize. When had he become so fond of the little trouble?
Lord Dayne smiled, albeit barely. "Really. She loved this river. It sung to her more than it did any of us, I think. Except for my son, perhaps."
Egg was about to ask another question but this distant look had come again and Dunk knew that whatever they asked, the man would not hear them.
The castle rose before them like a flower growing from the earth faster than anything that Dunk had seen, its silhouettes gaining details and adornments in the process. Stunned, Dunk realized it was whiter than Whitewalls, despite being much older. Time seemed to have stopped for it. A marble beauty of a castle that looked cast for being admired and not lived in but when they came closer, a stream of men and women poured out of a gate that was suddenly opened. Dunk looked up and saw a tower jutting sharply above the very water and in the window, a silhouette, hair gleaming like a halo of spun silver in the shadow of the room. Then, the woman disappeared and Dunk was left blinking, wondering of the bright Dornish sun, now shining in full bloom, was mocking him.
Egg had stopped his hopping. Indeed, he had become very quiet, his eyes immediately going to the woman who hurried over to the water, actually wetting the hem of her gown as she waited for them to come ashore. No, not them. She only had eyes for his uncle who turned visibly pale. "Mother? Is he…"
"No," she said quickly. "Not… yet. But he's been getting worse. I'm glad you're back."
Without saying anything, he headed past her and disappeared through the gate. For a while, she stared at the river without seeing it and the expression of her face was like the one Dunk had seen on Prince Daeron's face as he had described the great falling dragon… Hopeless. But it was not just the expression. The dark brown hair, the not quite fair skin and something about the mouth… Young Daeron had undoubtedly taken after this woman in appearance. Egg's grandmother. The boy shifted his weight, as if he actually wanted to approach her but she did not see him, although she was looking straight at them. She did not see anything.
The boy came to the small chamber that the castellan had sent them in as they were still taking their meager belongings. He entered without knocking and Dunk was surprised that it made any impression on him. It must be Egg's malefic influence, he thought sourly. He had never taken notice of knocks on his door or something like this. He had never had a door on which to knock.
"Father said you were my cousin," the boy said immediately. "Is it true?"
Egg gave him a look of caution. The boy was dressed as finely as Egg did when he was Prince Aegon, only he did not wear any sigils. But his tunic was soft, his boots gleaming and his hair, freshly washed. Dark hair. He was all dark. Darker than Tanselle. Compared to Egg, he looked positively ebony. Black of hair, black of eye. He looked nothing like Lord Dayne which meant that he looked nothing like Aerion. Dunk looked at him with a kindly feeling because of this but Egg folded his arms.
"It may be," he said, clearly remembering that he did not want any Dayne relatives and he did not want to stay here at all. Dunk suspected it was easier for him to feel this way when he was staring at someone who looked nothing like a Dayne relative.
The other boy laughed, unperturbed. "Not quite sure I'm telling the truth, are you?" he asked. He was about Egg's age and something in the look he cast the other boy reminded Dunk of the sly looks Egg sometimes cast him. "I am Vorian Dayne," he said. "And he is my father. For real."
"If you say," Egg said, still with some doubt in his voice. "So, you claim to be talking to some people who live in the Torrentine? In the river?"
His haughty derision of a rational person hearing nonsense made Dunk's jaw drop. Why was he trying to start a fight anyway? But Vorian did not seem to even register the challenge. The laughter in his eyes died, he swallowed and looked away. "This is Arthur," he said. "He's ill. He was struck by a thunderbolt a few years ago and they said it did something to his heart and muscles. They say he won't live long."
Egg drew back, stunned and regretful already. Vorian looked at him and clearly made an effort to regain his good spirits. "Do you want to see Dawn?" he asked. "Or should I bring you to our lady grandmother first? She wants to see you."
Dunk had heard much of the ancestral sword of House Dayne – as much from Egg as from all others combined – and he did not doubt what the boy's own preference would be.
"Let's go to her," Egg said instead and Dunk felt a ridiculous, misplaced wave of pride.
