Chapter 35 Section five

Dunk shrugged.He's used to being stared at, but that doesn't mean he likes it. "Let them see." "Under the dais sits the 'Old Bull,'" said Sir Maynard. "They call him a big guy, but to me the biggest part of him is his belly. You're like a giant standing next to him." "Indeed, ser," said a fellow on the bench, a sallow, sad-faced man dressed in gray and green.The eyes are small and shrewd, set close together, with arched eyebrows.A neat black beard grew around the mouth, making up for a receding hairline. "Size alone can make you one of the scariest competitors on a field like this."

"Heard 'The Beast' Bracken might be in," said someone farther away. "I don't think so," said the man in the gray and green suit. "The purpose of this joust is just to celebrate the earl's wedding. To commemorate what happened on the bed, and do what happened right away. Orso? Bracken and the like don't care about it at all." Sir Kyle the cat took a sip of his wine . "I'll bet Lord Butterwell won't be there. He'll be cheering on his surrogates in his shady noble box." "Then he'll see the proxy knights fall one after another." Glendon?Sir Ball boasted. "In the end, he will deliver the dragon egg to me."

"Ser Glendon is the son of the Fireball," Ser Kyle explained to the newcomers. "May I ask your honorable name, ser?" "Uthor? Sir Ondreef, son of a nobody." Ondreef's doublet was of good quality, clean and well-groomed, but of a simple style.A silver snail-shaped pin fastened the cloak. "If you are as good with the spear as you are with your eloquence, Ser Glendon, you'll be a match for the big man." Ser Glendon glanced at Dunk while the waiter was pouring the wine. "If we fight, he's going to lose. It doesn't matter how big he is."

Dunk watched the waiter fill the wine glass. "I'm better with a sword than with a spear," he admitted. "Better with a tomahawk. Will there be a melee match this time?" His size and strength would be an advantage in a melee match, and he knew he could hit as well as get beaten.It's another matter to fight immediately. "A melee? At a wedding?" Ser Kyle sounded shocked. "That's unlikely." Sir Maynard let out a chuckle. "Marriage is a dogfight, as anyone who is married will tell you." Ser Uthor chuckled too. "I'm afraid this time there will only be an immediate contest, but in addition to the dragon eggs, Lord Butterwell also promised to give thirty golden dragons to the runner-up, and ten golden dragons to each of the knights who failed in the previous round."

Ten golden dragons are not bad either.Ten gold dragons would buy a riding pony, so Dunk wouldn't have to ride Thunder when he wasn't fighting.Ten gold dragons would buy Egg a piece of plate armor, and a decent peaked tent, embroidered with Dunk's elms and shooting stars.Ten golden dragons means roast goose, ham and pigeon pie. "Ransom for every win," Ser Uthor said, digging into the breadpan. "And I've heard rumors that bets were made on the outcome of the game. The Lord Butterwell himself took no chances, but some of his guests bet big." Before the words fell, the trumpet sounded, Ambrose?Butterwell stepped into the hall.Dunk stood up with the others, watching Butterwell and his bride ascend the dais, arm in arm, on a Myrish carpet.The girl was fifteen and just beginning to bud, and her count husband was over fifty and recently widowed.She was rosy, his was pale.The bride's green, white and yellow cloak trailed behind her, looking so hot and heavy that Dunk wondered how she could bear it.Lord Butterwell was equally hot and heavy, with fleshy cheeks and thinning blond hair.

The bride's father followed closely behind her, holding his youngest eldest son by the hand.Lord Frey of the Crossings was a thin, elegant man in blue and gray, and his heir was a chinless, snotty-nosed four-year-old boy.Then came the two Earls Costan and Risley and their wives, both of whom were born to the first wife of the Earl of Butterwell.Next came the Frey daughters and their respective husbands.And then there's Gormon?Earls of Peake; Earls of Smallwood and Shawnee; more lower lords and landed knights.Among them, Dunk caught a glimpse of John the Fiddler and Arlin?cookshaw.Lord Alin seemed to be drunk, although the wedding banquet had not officially started yet.

When everyone stepped onto the high platform, the VIP seats were already crowded like benches.Lord Butterwell and his bride sat on oaken and gold-leafed double thrones, with round, soft cushions under their hips.The rest perched in high-backed chairs with ornately carved arms.On the wall behind them, two huge banners hung from the edge of the house: the twin towers of House Frey in blue on grey, and the green, white and yellow waves of House Butterwell. The honor of leading the toast goes to Lord Frey. "To the king!" The first toast was so short.Ser Glendon held out his glass.Dunk clinked glasses with him, with Ser Uthor, and the others.They drank it all in one gulp.

"Lord Butterwell, our gracious host," Frey continued. "May the heavenly father grant him a long life and many sons." They drink another round. "Lady Butterwell, faithful lady, my dear daughter. May the Mother give her plenty." Foyle smiled at the girl. "I hope to have a grandson before the end of the year, and twins would suit me even better. So tonight you have to Churn the butter well, my dear Laughter echoed in the hall, and the guests toasted three times. The wine was full-bodied, red in color and sweet in taste. Lord Frey then said, "This is to the Lord Hand, Brynden Rivers. May the crone's lamp light his way to wisdom." He raised his glass high, and drank it down, along with others Lord Butterwell and his bride, and others on the dais.At the bottom of the table, Ser Glendon tipped his glass and spilled its contents on the floor.

"It's a pity to waste a good wine." Maynard?Plumm says... "I will not drink to the Kinslayer," said Ser Glendon. "The Duke of Blood Raven is a wizard and an illegitimate child." "Bastard birth," Ser Uthor agreed mildly. "But his father granted him his rightful place on his deathbed." He finished his glass, as did Ser Maynard and many others in the hall.Almost as many put down their glasses, or reverse them like Ball did.Dunk felt the weight of the glass in his hand.How many eyes does Duke Bloodraven have?That's what the riddle said.A thousand eyes, plus one eye.

Round after round of toasting, some were initiated by Lord Frey, while others were proposed by others.They drank to the young Lord Tully, Lord Butterwell's lord, who for some reason had not been able to attend.They drank to the health of Leo "Longthorn" Lord Highgarden, who was rumored to be bedridden.They toasted in memory of the heroic dead.yes.Dunk recalled the past.I'd love to toast them all. Sir John the Fiddler delivered the final toast: "To my brave brothers! I know they'll smile tonight!" Dunk hadn't intended to drink so much, for the jousting was tomorrow, but after each toast the goblet was refilled, and he found himself very thirsty. "Never refuse a glass of wine or a dime of ale," Ser Arlan once told him. "It might be a year before you get a chance to drink again." Not toasting the bride and groom was a faux pas, he told himself, and it was dangerous not toasting the king and prime minister in front of so many strangers around him.

It was a relief that the Fiddler's toast was the last round.Lord Butterwell rose awkwardly, thanked them for their attendance at the wedding, and wished them success in the tournament tomorrow. "The wedding banquet begins!" Delicacies from mountains and seas were served at the VIP table, roast suckling pig, roasted peacock with feathers, huge barracuda sprinkled with crushed almonds.All of the above delicacies can't even be tasted at the table.No suckling pig, they had salt pork marinated in almond milk and peppered just right.Instead of peacocks, they ate capons, deep-fried and crispy and brown, stuffed with onions, herbs, mushrooms and roasted chestnuts.Instead of pike, they ate great steaks of white cod in a crispy crust and some delicious brown sauce that Dunk couldn't name.There was pea porridge, buttered turnips, candied carrots, and a strong-smelling white cheese that stinks like Bennis Brown Shield.Dunk was satisfied, but he kept thinking about what Egg had eaten in the chambers.Just in case, he sneaked half a capon into the pocket of his cloak, along with a few slices of bread and some stinky cheese. While they dined, the band played cheerful tunes, and the conversation gradually turned to the next day's jousting. "Franklin? Sir Frey is famous in the Green Fork River." Usol?Underleaf said he seemed to know the local heroes inside out. "That's him over there on the dais, the bride's uncle. Lucas Neilan is from Flag's Mire, and he's a force to be reckoned with. Ser Mortimer Burgess of Crackclaw Point is a close brother. And Ben The tourney was largely a world of loyal knights and local heroes. Kilby Pym and 'Green' Galtree were the top of it all, but neither could match Lord Butterwell's son-in-law, 'Black Tom' Heddle This man is extremely insidious. It is said that in order to join hands with the eldest daughter of the earl, he killed the other three suitors. He once shot the Duke of Casterly Rock off his horse." "What, young Lord Tybert?" asked Ser Maynard. "No, the old gray lion, the one who died in the spring." That's how people speak of people who died in the great spring plague.He dies in spring.Tens of thousands died in the spring, including a king and two young princes. "Don't underestimate Buford, Sir Bulwey," said Kyle the Cat. "The old bull killed forty people on the red grassland." "And his numbers are increasing every year," Sir Maynard said. "Bulwey's time is over. Look at him. Over sixty, flabby and fat, and probably blind in the right eye." "Don't bother prowling the halls for the champion, sers," said a voice behind Dunk. "I am here for you to watch." Dunk turned. It was Ser John the Fiddler who spoke, a small smile on his lips.His white silk tunic had wide sleeves trimmed in red satin that fell below the knees.A heavy silver necklace hung across his chest, set with many large dark amethysts, reflecting the color of his eyes.That necklace is worth all I have, Dunk thought. The alcohol flushed Sir Glendon's cheeks and pimples. "Who are you to boast about Haikou?" "John the Fiddler." "Are you a musician, or a warrior?" "A mere talent, with a spear and a bow. Every wedding needs a singer, as every jousting needs a mystic knight. May I sit with you, please? Butterwell's kindness, Put me on the dais, but I'd rather be among my fellow hedge knights than fat pink dames and old men." The fiddler patted Dunk on the shoulder. "Excuse me, Ser Duncan." Dunk moved a little. "You came too late, and the food was gone, ser." "Never mind. I know where Butterwell's kitchen is. I suppose there's some red wine left?" The fiddler smelled of oranges and limes, with a hint of oriental spices lurking underneath.Nutmeg, perhaps, Dunk couldn't say.How much did he know about nutmeg? "Your boasting is inappropriate," Sir Glendon told the Fiddler. "Really? Then I must beg your forgiveness, ser. I have no intention of offending the Son of Fireball." This sentence caught the young man off guard. "Do you know who I am?" "A tiger father has no dogs, I hope so." "Look," said Kyle the Cat. "Here comes the wedding pie." Six kitchen boys wheeled the pies into the hall on a broad cart.It is brown all over, with a crispy skin and a huge body. There are constant noises coming from inside, chirping, quacking, banging, banging.Master and Mrs Butterwell stepped down from the dais, swords in hand.They all opened the pie, and dozens of birds soared into the air, circling endlessly in the hall.At other weddings Dunk had attended, the pies had consisted of pigeons or songbirds, but this time the pies contained bluefinches and larks, pigeons and turtledoves, mockingbirds and nightingales, brown little Sparrows and a big red parrot. "Twenty-one birds," said Ser Kyle. "Twenty-one guanos," said Ser Maynard. "You have no poetry in you, ser." "You have bird droppings all over your shoulders." "That's the right way to stuff a pie," sniffed Ser Kyle, wiping his clothes. "The pie symbolizes marriage, and a real marriage contains many things—joy and sorrow, pain and pleasure, love, lust and fidelity. So many kinds of birds are used. No man can ever know exactly what a newlywed what the wife will bring him." "Her vagina," Plumm said. "What else could it be?"