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Last Sprout of Spring

Midnight Revelations

"That's disgusting," Egg muttered and almost made a face. "What is it anyway?"

Dunk had no idea what the meat before them was but he knew what it was next to him: a sulky prince. Now he was a little sorry that squires had been admitted in the great hall since his family's presence seemed to intensify the boy's brooding mood. On the other hand, he'd rather have Egg here where he could keep him on a tight leash. Left to his own devices, the boy would surely give cause for suspicions – he was staring at the high table so obviously – convinced that he was not.

"That's your meal for tonight," Dunk snapped. "At worst, it's been running around barking a few hours ago. Shut up and eat."

With some satisfaction, he saw that this little tidbit of information seemed to have curbed His Grace's appetite. Good! The boy deserved it because of the last few days that he had actively been spoiling for Dunk.

"Do you really think it's hound meat?" Egg asked.

Dunk sighed. "No." More like mongrel. Hounds were expensive.

Egg looked happier but he still wouldn't reach for his plate.

Dunk bit another bite of the stale bread. He had to admit that the boy had the right of it. They had rarely been fed worse. It was a good thing that their employment with Lord Brookstone was coming to an end. They still intended to visit Dorne. If they were still them, that was it. When Egg became this querulous, Dunk had half a mind to tie him to Chestnut and deliver him to Summerhall in person! Still, with the option of actually losing the boy suddenly looming so very near, he found out that the mongrel meat tasted even worse than a moment ago.

Once again, Egg looked at the high table. Dunk followed. Princess Rhae was talking animatedly, smiling, but she wasn't looking at them. In fact, no one was. Why would the highborn stoop to watching the hall beneath them closely? They certainly had more important matters to occupy themselves with. Dunk wondered whether the girl had even been believed when saying that her brother was here.

"Don't stare like this," he said. "That's the King over there, not a beast in a menagerie for you to gawk at."

"Well," Egg said, "don't you stare."

But since everyone was, that little episode went unnoticed.

"Strange," Egg noticed as they came near the abandoned cowshed they used as their home a little after supper had ended.

"What?" Dunk asked. True to Ser Arlan's advice, he had engulfed a few copper cups of the bad wine they had been offered. Bad but in huge quantities. And strong enough to have him sway on his feet a little.

"There's a light inside."

Dunk blinked and tried to fix the small wooden building better. Damn it, the boy was right. Escaping through the cracks between the planks, there was something that was undoubtedly a candle. Or a torch. In either case, something that Dunk hadn't left burning. He turned to his squire and glared. "Have you started wasting our candles, boy? It isn't the Red Keep here, you know!"

But of course, Egg hadn't left a candle burning. Why would he? They had left the shed in broad daylight.

"Wait!" Dunk exclaimed but the boy was already throwing the door wide open. Dunk seized him and pushed him behind himself.

The man inside bowed respectfully. "His Grace wishes to see you, my prince," he said in voice betraying no surprise at all.

Dunk slammed the door shut before a random guest having ventured out to clear his head or relieve himself spotted the strange scene.

"I told you," Egg said complacently. "My father saw us."

In the years to come, Dunk would become better acquainted with the way of royalty to sweep everything with a single glance without anyone noticing that they did. But for now, he only followed the middle-aged men into the castle and up the second floor where they had never ventured, to what was clearly the most luxurious chambers in the entire abode. Fresh rushes gave way to real carpets and he knew they must be very close indeed.

The man opened the last door and there he was – the King, seated comfortably in a high-backed chair with sturdy arms that would give his body some support. Dunk had never sat in anything with arms and thought it must feel weird. But Daeron clearly disagreed since he only moved his hand instead of leaning forward despite the fact that it would be more awkward, focused on the board game he was playing with his granddaughter, seated in a similar chair opposite him. The girl was now simply clad in a white dress, although she had retained the diadem that kept her hair from spilling over the pieces. Her lips were pursed and she was entirely focused on her next move. In the candlelight, Dunk saw that there was indeed something off with her dark skin. Her mouth looked definitely white. Daeron was also very pale and the stiffness in his shoulders and neck only seemed to have grown. He heard the door opening and couldn't move his head, so he turned his whole body, awkwardly, and riveted his eyes on his grandson. His face lit up as he beckoned Egg to come closer.

The boy did and bowed.

"Come closer, Aegon," the King said softly. "Let me see you."

Egg rose, unsure how to proceed now that he wasn't sure just how much of a touch Daeron could tolerate in this state.

"Come here," the King said again and embraced him carefully but with visible pleasure. "By the gods, you look… remarkable," he finished tactfully and touched Egg's bald head – a sight that seemed to amuse him. "I guess lice cry bitter tears when they reach you," he added matter-of-factly and surprised, Dunk laughed. What was that? Sense of humour? In a king?

Daeron gave him a quick look but his attention remained fixed on Egg. "And you're quite dark now. I expect that if you ever visit Dorne, I'll recognize you only because I'll expect you to be brown. That was the case with your father when he was your age anyway." He pushed the boy slightly back to have a better view of him. "You've grown a little already. Are those muscles that I'm seeing?"

Egg grinned and flexed his muscles under the ragged tunic to show how strong he had become.

"Good," Daeron said, smiling. "I want to talk to Ser Duncan now. You can go to Rhae."

Egg did so and the two children went in a corner so they could talk undisturbed. Daeron looked at Dunk and gestured at him to come closer. At the same time, he sat straight in his chair and then Dunk saw it. There it was, after all. Royalty. Authority. Daeron smiled, although there was pain in it that Dunk didn't think was entirely physical. His face warmed up, the harsh lines smoothing somewhat.

"You seem to be taking good care of my grandson, Ser Duncan. No, no," he added impatiently when Dunk tried to kneel, a painful echo of his son Baelor's words a few months ago. "I'm afraid I forgot my manners entirely. You'll forgive me, I hope. After all, I am just an old man who hasn't seen his grandson for a while."

Oh no, you aren't.

The words came to Dunk's head uninvited and completely unexpected. Had he really thought that the King lacked charm and personality? He had been wrong. Now, close to him, he realized that those were Prince Maekar's eyes scrutinizing him but with Prince Baelor's easy way to make everyone comfortable. It was disconcerting and yet not unpleasantly so. The King's interaction with his grandchildren had somehow humanized him and the warmth in his eyes now did the rest. Yes, Dunk could now see why people would hold true to such a man, even if he was not what he had imagined a king would be like at all.

"I don't know much about manners, my lord," he said. "Your Grace, I mean," he added and felt his cheeks redden. "I mean… I'm sorry."

"My lord would do," Daeron said mildly. "And you have a lifetime to get used to court ceremony. How old are you? Take a seat, take a seat," he added impatiently. "I cannot have you towering you over me like that. I cannot see you…"

Hesitantly, Dunk sat in the chair that had been occupied by a princess. "Seventeen years, I think. I am not a child, my lord," he added, just in case the King thought he could not entrust his grandson's knightly education to someone so young. True, Prince Maekar had let Egg go with him but the King could countermand his son, couldn't he? Where was the Prince anyway?

Daeron laughed softly. "You are to me! Do you know how old I am?"

Dunk wouldn't have replied, even if he could guess.

"When I was your age, I was trying my hand at politics, thinking that I knew better than maesters and sulking."

Curiosity got the better of Dunk. "Sulking, my lord?" he asked before he registered the pain crossing Daeron's features anew.

The King nodded. "Baelor was a newborn then," he said. His voice didn't break at his son's name but he looked aside and paused before continuing, "And I was quite resentful of him. His mother didn't pay attention to me anymore. In fact, no one did – neither my own mother nor my grandfather. Everyone gathered around the squaller." He smiled a little, with a smile that was sad and wistful. "So many years have passed since then, yet it looks like no time to me."

He reached for his cup and motioned at Dunk to pour some wine for himself. Dunk wasn't thirsty but one did not refuse a king.

"How does Aegon fare under your tutelage?" Daeron asked.

How was he to answer? The yellow light of the scented candles revealed to him what the King wanted to hear and since it was what resonated in his own hearth as well, Duncan said it, as simply as he would have addressed Ser Arlan. "He's a good boy and fares well."

"Does he give you any trouble?"

The question shook Dunk to the core. That was the first time someone asked how he felt. It had always been orders from the masters he served, gruff care from Ser Arlan, general disregard from highborn. Baelor Breakspear had shown care about him because of the injustice Dunk was about to suffer. Egg had chosen him. But Daeron the Good was the first one who looked interested in his emotions.

"A little," he managed to say through his clenched throat. "Nothing too bad."

Daeron looked pleased but before he could ask more, the little Princess came near, craning her head and stepping back, so her eyes could travel all the way to Dunk's face. Now he saw that despite her olive complexion, the eyes he had thought as dark as Baelor's were, in fact, deep, almost hidden violet twinkling with interest. "You're so big!" she exclaimed. "I don't think I've ever seen someone as big as you."

Dunk the Lunk. But from this girl, the comment about his size didn't sound insulting at all. It sounded pleasing. She looked genuinely fascinated.

Behind her, Egg rolled his eyes.

"Rhae," the King said mildly. "Where are your manners?"

But she was too excited to stop and find them. "Do the two of you really sleep in a cowshed?" she asked breathlessly. "Egg says you do. Can I see it? Are there cows inside?"

"Of course there aren't," Egg said, exasperated but she was on a roll.

"Tonight, I saw you in the great hall. I think you were the most impressive knight there, even with those one close by," she added, giving her brother a mocking look. "Do you want to sit on the dais with us tomorrow? Are you going to tell me more about sleeping under the stars?"

Speaking so rapidly and for so long finally led to a cough. She brought out a piece of true silk and wiped her lips.

Dunk's eyes went to the King's face which had gone grey again, with something like despair encroaching. A look at Rhae's face revealed what had been hidden until now. Her eyes had no white – it was stained with yellow. The girl was suffering the consumption. The Yellow Handmaiden, it was called, for every so often she brought those she struck at the Stranger's feet. Once again, Daeron looked old and broken, looking unhappily at the scarlet spots that now stained the silk. But now Dunk knew that he would never forget him. And never think him uninspiring again.