Dunk was weeping as he dug, to the amusement of the Dornish knights. "Water is precious in the waste", one said, "you ought not to waste it, ser". The other chuckled and said, "Why do you weep? It was only a horse, and a poor one".

Chestnut, Dunk thought, digging, his name was Chestnut, and he bore me on his back for years, and never bucked or bit. The old stot had looked a sorry thing beside the sleek sand steeds that the Dornishmen were riding, with their elegant heads, long necks, and flowing manes, but he had given all he had to give.

"Weeping for a swaybacked stot?" Ser Arlan said, in his old man's voice. "Why, lad, you never wept for me, who put you on his back". He gave a little laugh, to show he meant no harm by the reproach. "That's Dunk the lunk, thick as a castle wall".

"He shed no tears for me, either", said Baelor Breakspear from the grave, "Though I was his prince, the hope of Westeros. The gods never meant for me to die so young".

"My father was only nine-and-thirty", said Prince Valarr. "He had it in him to be a great king, the greatest since Aegon the Dragon". He looked at Dunk with cool blue eyes. "Why would the gods take him, and leave you ?" The Young Prince had his father's light brown hair, but a streak of silver-gold ran through it.

You are dead, Dunk wanted to scream, you are all three dead, why won't you leave me be? Ser Arlan had died of a chill, Prince Baelor of the blow his brother dealt him during Dunk's trial of seven, his son Valarr during the Great Spring Sickness. I am not to blame for that. We were in Dorne, we never even knew.

"You are mad", the old man told him. "We will dig no hole for you, when you kill yourself with this folly. In the deep sands a man must hoard his water".

"Begone with you, Ser Duncan", Valarr said. "Begone".

Egg helped him with the digging. The boy had no spade, only his hands, and the sand flowed back into the grave as fast as they could fling it out. It was like trying to dig a hole in the sea. I have to keep digging, Dunk told himself, though his back and shoulders ached from the effort. I have to bury him down deep where the sand dogs cannot find him. I have to…

"… die?" said Big Rob the simpleton from the bottom of the grave. Lying there, so still and cold, with a ragged red wound gaping in his belly, he did not look very big at all.

Dunk stopped and stared at him. "You're not dead. You're down sleeping in the cellar". He looked to Ser Arlan for help. "Tell him, ser", he pleaded, "tell him to get out of the grave".

Only it was not Ser Arlan of Pennytree standing over him at all, it was Ser Bennis of the Brown Shield. The brown knight only cackled. "Dunk the lunk", he said, "gutting's slow, but certain. Never knew a man to live with his entrails hanging out". Red froth bubbled on his lips. He turned and spat, and the white sands drank it down. Treb was standing behind him with an arrow in his eye, weeping slow red tears. And there was Wet Wat, too, his head cut near in half, with old Lem and red-eyed Pate and all the rest. They had all been chewing sourleaf with Bennis, Dunk thought at first, but then he realized that it was blood trickling from their mouths. Dead, he thought, all dead, and the brown knight brayed. "Aye, so best get busy. You've more graves to dig, lunk. Eight for them and one for me and one for old Ser Useless, and one last one for your bald-head boy".

The spade slipped from Dunk's hands. "Egg", he cried, "run! We have to run! " But the sands were giving way beneath their feet. When the boy tried to scramble from the hole, its crumbling sides gave way and collapsed. Dunk saw the sands wash over Egg, burying him as he opened his mouth to shout. He tried to fight his way to him, but the sands were rising all around him, pulling him down into the grave, filling his mouth, his nose, his eyes…

Come the break of day, Ser Bennis set about teaching their recruits to form a shield wall. He lined the eight of them up shoulder to shoulder, with their shields touching and their spear points poking through like long sharp wooden teeth. Then Dunk and Egg mounted up and charged them.

Maester refused to go within ten feet of the spears and stopped abruptly, but Thunder had been trained for this. The big warhorse pounded straight ahead, gathering speed. Hens ran beneath his legs and flapped away screeching. Their panic must have been contagious. Once more Big Rob was the first to drop his spear and run, leaving a gap in the middle of the wall. Instead of closing up, Standfast's other warriors joined the flight. Thunder trod upon their discarded shields before Dunk could rein him up. Woven branches cracked and splintered beneath his iron-shod hooves. Ser Bennis rattled off a pungent string of curses as chickens and peasants scattered in all directions. Egg fought manfully to hold his laughter in, but finally lost the battle.

"Enough of that". Dunk drew Thunder to a halt, unfastened his helm, and tore it off. "If they do that in a battle, it will get the whole lot of them killed". And you and me as well, most like. The morning was already hot, and he felt as soiled and sticky as if he'd never bathed at all. His head was pounding, and he could not forget the dream he dreamed the night before. It never happened that way, he tried to tell himself. It wasn't like that. Chestnut had died on the long dry ride to Vaith, that part was true. He and Egg rode double until Egg's brother gave them Maester. The rest of it, though…

I never wept. I might have wanted to, but I never did. He had wanted to bury the horse as well, but the Dornishmen would not wait. "Sand dogs must eat and feed their pups", one of the Dornish knights told him as he helped Dunk strip the stot of saddle and bridle. "His flesh will feed the dogs or feed the sands. In a year, his bones will be scoured clean. This is Dorne, my friend". Remembering, Dunk could not help but wonder who would feed on Wat's flesh, and Wat's, and Wat's. Maybe there are chequy fish down beneath the Chequy Water.

He rode Thunder back to the tower and dismounted. "Egg, help Ser Bennis round them up and get them back here". He shoved his helm at Egg and strode to the steps.

Ser Eustace met him in the dimness of his solar. "That was not well done".

"No, m'lord", said Dunk. "They will not serve". A sworn sword owes his liege service and obedience, but this is madness.

"It was their first time. Their fathers and brothers were as bad or worse when they began their training. My sons worked with them, before we went to help the king. Every day, for a good fortnight. They made soldiers of them".

"And when the battle came, m'lord?" Dunk asked. "How did they fare then? How many of them came home with you?"

The old knight looked long at him. "Lem", he said at last, "and Pate, and Dake. Dake foraged for us. He was as fine a forager as I ever knew. We never marched on empty bellies. Three came back, ser. Three and me". His mustache quivered. "It may take longer than a fortnight".

"M'lord", said Dunk, "the woman could be here upon the morrow, with all her men". They are good lads, he thought, but they will soon be dead lads, if they go up against the knights of Coldmoat. "There must be some other way".

"Some other way". Ser Eustace ran his fingers lightly across the Little Lion's shield. "I will have no justice from Lord Rowan, nor this king.. ". He grasped Dunk by the forearm. "It comes to me that in days gone by, when the green kings ruled, you could pay a man a blood price if you had slain one of his animals or peasants".

"A blood price?" Dunk was dubious.

"Some other way, you said. I have some coin laid by. It was only a little claret on the cheek, Ser Bennis says. I could pay the man a silver stag, and three to the woman for the insult. I could, and would… if she would take the dam down". The old man frowned. "I cannot go to her, however. Not at Coldmoat". A fat black fly buzzed around his head and lighted on his arm. "The castle was ours once. Did you know that, Ser Duncan?"