Willing Heart / Ser Duncan the Tall / Vaera Targaryen

3. The Grey Lion

"My lords," Dunk said stepping forward, "I asked Ser Manfred Dondarrion to vouch for me so I might enter the lists, but he refuses. He says he knows me not. Ser Arlan served him, though, I swear it. I have his sword and shield, I—"

"A shield and a sword do not make a knight," declared Lord Ashford, a big bald man with a round red face.

"Plummer has spoken to me of you. Even if we accept that these arms belonged to this Ser Arlan of Pennytree, it may well be that you found him dead and stole them. Unless you have some better proof of what you say, some writing or—"

"I remember Ser Arlan of Pennytree," the man in the high seat said quietly. Dunk looked between the men he could show his fears he would be entered in the lists. He needed to prove himself worthy. He could do that if given a chance. "He never won a tourney that I know, but he never shamed himself either. At King's Landing sixteen years ago, he overthrew Lord Stokeworth and the Bastard of Harrenhal in the melee, and many years before at Lannisport he unhorsed the Grey Lion himself. The lion was not so grey then, to be sure."

"He told me about that, many a time," said Dunk. He was hopeful since the man knew of Arlan that they would accept him even though he was a hedge knight not a knight of any courts. The man studied dunk. He wall tall to anyone else but not to Dunk. "Then you will remember the Grey Lion's true name, I have no doubt." For a moment there was nothing in Dunk's head at all.

A thousand times the old man had told that tale, a thousand times, the lion, the lion, his name, his name, his name... He was near despair when suddenly it came. Relief flooded him.

"Ser Damon Lannister!" he practically shouted out with relief. "The Grey Lion! He's Lord of Casterly Rock now." He added with a bit more dignity.

"So he is," said the man pleasantly, "and he enters the lists on the morrow." He rattled the sheaf of papers in his hand. Dunk took a step forward in disbelief.

"How can you possibly remember some insignificant hedge knight who chanced to unhorse Damon Lannister sixteen years ago?" said the prince with the silver beard, frowning.

"I make it a practice to learn all I can of my foes."

"Why would you deign to joust with a hedge knight?"

Dunk took pride in his skill he didnt like how the man made being a hedge knight seem so useless.

"It was nine years past, at Storm's End. Lord Baratheon held a hastilude to celebrate the birth of a grandson. The lots made Ser Arlan my opponent in the first tilt. We broke four lances before I finally unhorsed him."

"Seven," insisted Dunk they looked to him again, "and that was against the Prince of Dragonstone!" No sooner were the words out than he wanted them back. Dunk the lunk, thick as a castle wall, he could hear the old man chiding. He cocked his head back at Dunk.

"So it was." The prince with the broken nose smiled gently back at dunk and he could breathe again it came out in a whoosh. "Tales grow in the telling, I know. Do not think ill of your old master, but it was four lances only, I fear." Dunk was grateful that the hall was dim; he knew his ears were red.

"My lord." No, that's wrong too Dunk thought. "Your Grace." He fell to his knees and lowered his head. Vaera glanced back at him swiriling her wine from the sidelines of the great long table where her father and her uncles council sat proudly. "As you say, four, I meant no...I never...the old man, Ser Arlan, he used to say I was thick as a castle wall and slow as an aurochs."  Dunk offered not wanting to offend the Targaryen. He couldnt get away with Eggs blunt tongue. He wasnt as cute and little as Egg.

"And strong as an aurochs, by the look of you," said Baelor Breakspear. "No harm was done, ser. Rise."

Dunk got to his feet, wondering if he should keep his head down or if he was allowed to look a prince in the face.

I am speaking with Baelor Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, Hand of the King, and heir apparent to the Iron Throne of Aegon the Conqueror Dunk thought with utter amazment. What could a hedge knight dare say to such a person? His gaze shifted to the woman he saw earlier and she cocked her head at him as if interested in what he had to say. He jated that he stuttered out his word when he finally gathered the courage to speak.

"Y-you gave him back his horse and armor and took no ransom, I remember," Dunk stammered. "The old—Ser Arlan, he told me you were the soul of chivalry, and that one day the Seven Kingdoms would be safe in your hands."

"Not for many a year still, I pray," Prince Baelor said.

"No," said Dunk, horrified. He almost said, I didn't mean that the king should die, but stopped himself in time. "I am sorry, m'lord. Your Grace, I mean." Belatedly he recalled that the stocky man with the silver beard had addressed Prince Baelor as brother. He was blood of the dragon as well, damn me for a fool Dunk tsked himself.

"You are scaring the poor lad." Vaera remarked taking a bite out of a cookie. Dunks gaze shifted to her again.

"I think its you making him nervous Vaera." Baelor corrected. Vaera smirked her gaze stuck on Dunk as she took another bite from her cookie.

Dunk had to fofce his gaze from her looking back up at the council before him. He could only be Prince Maekar, the youngest of King Daeron's four sons. Prince Aerys was bookish and Prince Rhaegel mad, meek, and sickly. Neither was like to cross half the realm to attend a tourney, but Maekar was said to be a redoubtable warrior in his own right though ever in the shadow of his eldest brother. Maekar had a slew of children of his own. One to which he named after his brother. His eldest.

"You wish to enter the lists, is that it?" asked Prince Baelor. "That decision rests with the master of the games, but I see no reason to deny you." The steward inclined his head.

"As you say, my lord." Dunk tried to stammer out thanks, but prince Maekar cut him off.

"Very well, ser, you are grateful. Now be off with you." Maekar demanded.

"Daddio." Vaera tsked. "Where did you manners go?"

"You must forgive my noble brother, ser," Prince Baelor offered. "Two of his sons have gone astray on their way here, and he fears for them."

"Does he? Does someone want to call him a worry wort?" Vaera sassed.

"The spring rains have swollen many of the streams," Dunk offered. "Perhaps the princes are only delayed."

"Thats the hope." Vaera agreed. "But I know the blasted truth." If only she knew the whole truth that Aegon was here in this very camp already.