Last Sprout of Spring
Disappointed
"They're here! They came!"
Excitement made the boy's voice squeaky. Unfortunately, it was loud enough to attract notice. A few heads turned in their direction and Dunk went still, fervently hoping that his squire's joy would be taken as a part of the same fascination that held the courtyard in fervent expectation. In their five months together, no one had ever seen Egg for what he was, so why should they start now? Everyone, from Lord Brookstone to the pot boys, was staring wide-eyed at the guards and retainers filling the bailey of Blue Stream. The three-headed dragon adorning the magnificent gilded litter with the six of the finest horses Dunk had even seen seemed to breathe and roar in the sunset, so alive that somewhere near, a small child cried out in fear. The four wagons accompanying the litter were filled to the brim. Dunk had never seen such wealth.
Egg, though, seemed unimpressed. Dunk wondered whether he was simply eager to have a look at his royal grandfather, or the entourage and carts were truly signs of a small party. Small!
His thoughts of the size of the train immediately disappeared when he spotted the man riding behind the litter. Prince Maekar was the last person he'd like to meet right now. Just last night, Egg had pouted over the fleas in their pallets and practically salivated over the venison that was most emphatically not served beneath the salt. What if the boy decided that the call of princely life was too strong? Dunk had given him a clout in the ear just a few hours ago… By the Seven, he'd miss the little imp. But he should have known better than keeping rubbing shoulders with princes. In his own way, Egg was every bit as dangerous as Aerion.
"He saw us!" Egg whispered excitedly, leaning down from the edge of the fence Dunk had placed him on.
Dunk wasn't sure about that. He had been watching Maekar very carefully – they were close enough to the arriving party – and he hadn't seen him settling his eyes on anything. But he was not about to argue, especially now when the curtains of the litter were now parting.
Till the end of his life, he wouldn't forget how amazed he was that day. How disappointed. He had expected someone as easily distinguishable and attention-catching as Maekar, Aerion, and Egg – when he was dressed nicely. Daeron the Good was said to be possessed of the Valyrian looks and it was true. The thing was, even with them, he looked quite ordinary, invisible. Baelor Breakspear had not been instantly recognizable as Targaryen but he had been a man of presence nonetheless. Daeron had none. Years hadn't been kind to him. He had lost all vestiges of vigour he once might have had, all the drive that must have sustained him through the years he had worked tirelessly to repair what Aegon the Unworthy had squandered away so thoughtlessly. And where were the regalia? Even his cloak was a simple one. Black, with no embroidery. He was not tall. He was not impressive. A man one could easily push out of their way into a crowd without even thinking to harm him because no one would give him a second thought.
Who could admire this aging man with tired eyes who shuffled sideways and made no further movement?
A moment later, a second figure emerged from the litter. Maekar reached out, caught her by the waist and placed her on the pavement. Dunk's eyes widened. From this close, he could see the fine quality of her gown, the silver threads that the dying sun turned into paths of moonlight against the dark sea of the blue material. The diadem holding her black hair shone like a rainbow. He could barely see the small oval of her face but the tone of her skin was unmistakably dark. Once again, all of a sudden, Baelor Breakspear was here where he belonged, with his family and the entourage, and once again regret pierced Dunk straight in the heart.
"That's Rhae," Egg hissed in his ear. "What is she doing here? And why is she alone? Where is Daella?"
Do you think I know, boy, Dunk wanted to snap. They're your family, not mine. And you know I have no idea why any of them is here. All the castle knew was that less than a day ago, raven had announced that His Grace would have a few days of rest here as he returned from… where? This much wasn't disclosed. Blue Stream was teeming with suggestions. And Egg wasn't helping. There were people pressing against them on all sides… Dunk tiptoed to reach his squire's ear. Damnation, the fence looked lower. Had he grown yet taller?
"Do shut up," he barked. "Or you'll get…"
"A clout in the ear, I know, I know," the boy finished for him. Dunk swallowed and decided that perhaps he should look for another punishment. The clout in the ear had never made much of an impression but now it was worse. Perhaps having the boy clean his boot every day? The inside of his boots?
The little princess looked around – and her eyes went straight to them. Dunk moved his shoulder to hide Egg from view but it was too late already. She said something and was about to point. Her grandfather took her hand, very gently, and murmured something. She nodded.
Daeron Targaryen's eyes took the entire bailey in a single sweeping look. Duncan felt it pass straight over him, not holding for a moment longer to check whether Rhae was telling the truth and Aegon was truly there. Maekar didn't even bother with a look. "Aren't you going to go inside already?" he asked instead and Dunk thought that there was a touch of concern in his gruff voice. As the newcomers made their way to the castle door, he realized why this was and felt ashamed for his graceless thoughts about Daeron. They went so close past him, the King holding his granddaughter by the hand that he could see their faces clearly. Egg's fingers dug in Dunk's shoulder painfully. Now the big knight saw that Daeron was not only tired but ill – and perhaps the girl was as well. They were both very pale, she so frail that every whiff of the wind could carry her away, he almost unable to move his head – he seemed to suffer from severe stiffness in his neck and shoulders.
"He's grown so old," Egg murmured, crestfallen, and while taking him down from the fence, Dunk once again felt the immense guilt of the knowledge that because of him, the Seven Kingdoms had lost their assured hope and were left with this old, uninspiring, utterly forgettable man.