Maekar chewed on that a time, mouth clenched beneath the silvery-pale beard that made his face seem so square. 'It's not bloody likely,' he said harshly. 'The realm has as many hedge knights as hedges, and all of them have feet.'
'If Your Grace has a better answer, I'd want to hear it.'
Maekar frowned. 'It may be that the gods have a taste for cruel japes. Or perhaps there are no gods. Perhaps none of this had any meaning. I'd ask the High Septon, but the last time I went to him he told me that no man can truly understand the workings of the gods. Perhaps he should try sleeping under a tree.' He grimaced. 'My youngest son seems to have grown fond of you, ser. It is time he was a squire, but he tells me he will serve no knight but you. He is an unruly boy, as you will have noticed. Will you have him?'
'Me?' Dunk's mouth opened and closed and opened again. 'Egg… Aegon, I mean, he is a good lad, but, Your Grace, I know you honor me, but… I am only a hedge knight.'
'That can be changed,' said Maekar. 'Aegon is to return to my castle at Summerhall. There is a place there for you, if you wish. A knight of my household. You'll swear your sword to me, and Aegon can squire for you. While you train him, my master-at-arms will finish your own training.' The prince gave him a shrewd look. 'Your Ser Arlan did all he could for you, I have no doubt, but you still have much to learn.'
'I know, m'lord.' Dunk looked about him. At the green grass and the reeds, the tall elm, the ripples dancing across the surface of the sunlit pool. Another dragonfly was moving across the water, or perhaps it was the same one. What shall it be, Dunk? he asked himself. Dragonflies or dragons? A few days ago he would have answered at once. It was all he had ever dreamed, but now that the prospect was at hand it frightened him. 'Just before Prince Baelor died, I swore to be his man.'
'Presumptuous of you,' said Maekar. 'What did he say?'
'That the realm needed good men.'
'That's true enough. What of it?'
'I will take your son as squire, Your Grace, but not at Summerhall. Not for a year or two. He's seen sufficient of castles, I would judge. I'll have him only if I can take him on the road with me.' He pointed to old Chestnut. 'He'll ride my steed, wear my old cloak, and he'll keep my sword sharp and my mail scoured. We'll sleep in inns and stables, and now and again in the halls of some landed knight or lesser lordling, and maybe under trees when we must.'
Prince Maekar gave him an incredulous look. 'Did the trial addle your wits, man? Aegon is a prince of the realm. The blood of the dragon. Princes are not made for sleeping in ditches and eating hard salt beef.' He saw Dunk hesitate. 'What is it you're afraid to tell me? Say what you will, ser.'
'Daeron never slept in a ditch, I'll wager,' Dunk said, very quietly, 'and all the beef that Aerion ever ate was thick and rare and bloody, like as not.'
Maekar Targaryen, Prince of Summerhall, regarded Dunk of Flea Bottom for a long time, his jaw working silently beneath his silvery beard. Finally he turned and walked away, never speaking a word. Dunk heard him riding off with his men. When they were gone, there was no sound but the faint thrum of the dragonfly's wings as it skimmed across the water.
The boy came the next morning, just as the sun was coming up. He wore old boots, brown breeches, a brown wool tunic, and an old traveler's cloak. 'My lord father says I am to serve you.'
'Serve you, ser,' Dunk reminded him. 'You can start by saddling the horses. Chestnut is yours, treat her kindly. I don't want to find you on Thunder unless I put you there.'
Egg went to get the saddles. 'Where are we going, ser?'
Dunk thought for a moment. 'I have never been over the Red Mountains. Would you like to have a look at Dorne?'
Egg grinned. 'I hear they have good puppet shows,' he said.
