Chapter Text
“I’m sorry,” Dunk repeated, the strangled words becoming quieter as his strength failed him, tears streaming down his swollen, bloodied face.
The other three stood in stunned silence a few moments longer until Ser Raymun seemed to collect himself.
“Lad.” He said quietly, turning to Egg, “Go and fetch the prince’s bannermen.”
Egg tore his eyes away from the gruesome scene to look back out to the arena, where the rest of Ashford Meadow, the rest of the kingdom, had no idea their prince was dead.
“But quietly,” Pate added, from where he crouched beside the shuddering Ser Duncan. “If the stands rush in as one we’re like to be trampled. I don’t think Ser Duncan can be moved…”
Egg swallowed and took a last long look at his uncle and his Ser, a sight that would haunt his dreams for years to come.
Then he nodded, resolved.
He turned and tucked his head, striding purposefully back out into the tourney grounds.
Raymun and Pate stayed with the prince and the knight until, moments later, a group of black-clad bannermen rushed in, followed shortly by an old maester and his attendants.
Baelor’s body was immediately lifted onto a litter, and Dunk reached out feebly for him one last time. “Your grace…” his broken voice was barely a whimper, and then his hand fell into his lap where his liege had rested moments before.
He seemed to lose consciousness then, and his friends had to hold him up lest keel over into the dirt once again.
They did not hear the maester’s pronouncement, nor did they need to, but shortly the flurry of motion around the prince’s litter ceased, and the maester was seen to be saying the words, dedicating Baelor’s soul to the gods.
Activity resumed as the group then made to bear the prince away, contriving to shield the body from view, but a thin voice called out from behind Raymun and Pate, surprising them both.
“Maester Yormwell,” Egg called out, and the grizzled old maester paused, as he must at the word of a prince, however small.
“My good uncle, before he passed,” the boy’s voice broke a bit, but he continued, “He bid that you see to Ser Duncan.” Egg put a hand on the knight’s unmoving shoulder. “His wounds are grave…”
Yormwell’s head cocked to the side, seeming to register Duncan for the first time. “Gods, boy. I took that for another corpse.”
He rushed over and put a hand under Dunk’s chin. “He lives, but only just.”
He waved his attendants over. “We must staunch the bleeding.” The old man directed them in quickly wrapping up the worst of Duncan’s wounds in thick bandages.
A second litter was sent for and Pate helped load the insensate knight onto it, as the maesters weren’t strong enough. “I’ll tend to him at the keep,” Yormwell said, “My other charges will be there.”
“Your pardon, maester.” Pate said to Yormwell. “Boiling wine.” He pointed to Ser Duncan, “For the chest wound. The Prince said…before he passed…he said to use boiling wine…” Pate looked uncomfortable, but determined to honor Baelor’s wishes.
Maester Yormwell looked to where the Prince’s bannermen held Baelor’s shrouded litter. “Boiling wine,” he repeated, with a sad fondness, “Just so.”
He clasped Steely Pate’s forearm and nodded solemnly before turning to lead them away, but found his cloak snagged on something.
Ser Duncan had reached out with his good arm.
“Maes’r,” the wounded man slurred, “SerRaym’n,” he turned the shaking hand toward the freshly knighted squire hovering behind Yormwell, “See t’him firs…” Dunk’s hand flailed, “He’s hurt’as well.”
Yormwell gave a snort, looking between Dunk and Raymun as the latter limped over to the litter and took the outstretched hand.
“Now the hedge knight presumes to tell me my business?” The maester asked.
“Dunk, I’m all right.” Raymun said, “Just bruised is all. See to your own self, half-man.” His warm smile faltered as Dunk gave a wet cough and appeared to fall unconscious again.
Raymun looked back to the maester in concern, but found himself being sized up by Yormwell. “My apprentices will see to you when they can spare a moment, Ser.” He said.
Raymun nodded his thanks and didn’t release Dunk's hand until the litter-bearers bore his friend up and away.
Egg, Pate, and Raymun were left standing together as both the prince and the knight were carried out of sight, all three at a loss for words.
Finally it was Raymun who spoke again, “Oughtn’t you better see to your family, lad?” He said to Egg, not unkindly.
The young prince did not look to Raymun but kept gazing at where Dunk and Baelor had disappeared.
“I already have.” Aegon said solemnly.
And he slowly walked after them.