A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms (The Tales of Dunk and Egg, #1-3)

by George R.R. Martin

Dunk was hugely tall for his age, a shambling, shaggy, big-boned boy of sixteen or seventeen years (no one was quite certain which) who stood closer to seven feet than to six, and had only just begun to fill out his frame.

A hedge knight must hold tight to his pride. Without it, he was no more than a sellsword.

The summers have been shorter since the last dragon died, and the winters longer and crueler.”

I am speaking with Baelor Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, Hand of the King, and heir apparent to the Iron Throne of Aegon the Conqueror.

“Sweet lady,” said Florian, “all men are fools, and all men are knights, where women are concerned.”

“A hedge knight is the truest kind of knight, Dunk,” the old man had told him, a long long time ago. “Other knights serve the lords who keep them, or from whom they hold their lands, but we serve where we will, for men whose causes we believe in. Every knight swears to protect the weak and innocent, but we keep the vow best, I think.”

My brothers have my measure when it comes to fighting and dancing and thinking and reading books, but none of them is half my equal at lying insensible in the mud.”

“Maybe she dances with demons and embroiders evil spells,”

“Might be that’s so, but if we start cutting off the heads of all the fools and liars, half the towns in the Seven Kingdoms will be empty.”

Young swords are worth more than old names,

“No, but there are eggs. The last dragon left a clutch of five, and they have more on Dragonstone, old ones from before the Dance. My brothers all have them too. Aerion’s looks as though it’s made of gold and silver, with veins of fire running through it. Mine is white and green, all swirly.”

“Some words are wind.” The boy was nothing if not stubborn. “Some words are treason.

Hard things only grow harder if you put them off.” Egg kicked the ground, his face as droopy as his big straw hat. “Aye, ser. As you say.”