The Mystery Knight by George R. R. Martin Page B

seen him joust? He has overthrown every man he’s faced.
Fireball’s lad has done the same, though. The Fiddler as well. Would that He
had been the one to unhorse me. He refuses to take ransoms. He wants no more
than the dragon’s egg, he says ... that, and the friendship of his fallen foes.
The flower of Maynard Plumm gave a laugh. “The fiddle of chivalry, you mean.
That boy is fiddling up a storm, and all of us would do well to be gone from
here before it breaks.”
     
    “He takes no ransoms?” said Dunk.
“A gallant gesture.”
     
    “Gallant gestures come easy when
your purse is fat with gold,” said Ser Maynard. “There is a lesson here, if you
have the sense to take it, Ser Duncan. It is not too late for you to go.”
     
    “Go? Go where?”
     
    Ser Maynard shrugged. “Anywhere.
Winterfell, Summerhall, Asshai by the Shadow. It makes no matter, so long as
it’s not here. Take your horse and armor and slip out the postern gate. You
won’t be missed. The Snail’s got his next tilt to think about, and the rest
have eyes only for the jousting.”
     
    For half a heartbeat, Dunk was
tempted. So long as he was armed and horsed, he would remain a knight of sorts.
Without them, he was no more than a beggar. A big beggar, but a beggar all
the same. But his arms and armor belonged to Ser Uthor now. So did Thunder. Better a beggar than a thief. He had been both in Flea Bottom, when he ran
with Ferret, Rafe, and Pudding, but the old man had saved him from that life.
He knew what Ser Arlan of Pennytree would have said to Plumm’s suggestions. Ser
Arlan being dead, Dunk said it for him. “Even a hedge knight has his honor.”
     
    “Would you rather die with honor
intact, or live with it besmirched? No, spare me, I know what you will say.
Take your boy and flee, gallows knight. Before your arms become your destiny.”
Dunk bristled. “How would you know my destiny? Did you have a dream, like John
the Fiddler? What do you know of Egg?”
     
    “I know that eggs do well to stay
out of frying pans,” said Plumm. “Whitewalls is not a healthy place for the
boy.”
     
    “How did you fare in your own
tilt, ser?” Dunk asked him.
     
    “Oh, I did not chance the lists.
The omens had gone sour. Who do you imagine is going to claim the dragon’s egg,
pray?”
     
    Not me, Dunk thought. “The Seven
know. I don’t.”
     
    “Venture a guess, ser. You have
two eyes.”
     
    He thought a moment. “The
Fiddler?”
     
    “Very good. Would you care to
explain your reasoning?”
     
    “I just ... I have a feeling.”
“So do I,” said Maynard Plumm. “A bad feeling, for any man or boy unwise enough
to stand in our Fiddler’s way.”
     
    * * * *
     
    Egg
was brushing Thunder’s coat outside their tent, but his eyes were far away. The boy has taken my fall hard. “Enough,” Dunk called. “Any more and
Thunder will be as bald as you.”
     
    “Ser?” Egg dropped the brush. “I
knew no stupid snail could kill you, ser.” He threw his arms around him.
     
    Dunk swiped the boy’s floppy straw
hat and put it on his own head. “The maester said you made off with my armor.”
     
    Egg snatched back his hat
indignantly. “I’ve scoured your mail and polished your greaves, gorget, and
breastplate, ser, but your helm is cracked and dinted where Ser Uthor’s coronal
struck. You’ll need to have it hammered out by an armorer.”
     
    “Let Ser Uthor have it hammered
out. It’s his now.”No horse, no sword, no armor. Perhaps those dwarfs would
let me join their troupe. That would be a funny sight, six dwarfs pummeling a giant
with pig bladders. “Thunder is his too. Come. We’ll take them to him and
wish him well in the rest of his tilts.”
     
    “Now, ser? Aren’t you going to
ransom Thunder?” “With what, lad? Pebbles and sheep pellets?” “I thought about
that, ser. If you could borrow?
     
    Dunk cut him off. “No one will
lend me that much coin, Egg. Why should they? What am I, but some great oaf