Dunk was intent on sharpening his sword on the bench when Ser Wylde broke the yard's peace.
"Soooo... how does it work, exactly?"
Dunk lifted his eyes from his work slowly.
"How does the... sharpening work?" he asks, confused. But really, the way the other kingsguards' attention turned toward them, some in alarm, should have clued him in.
"Sure," the man says indolently. "But honestly, I was more talking about the bending of the king. Because, I've got to say, you're so tall, I can't see how you're doing it without breaking him."
It took Dunk a moment to realize the man had really said what he did. Slow as an aurochs, maybe. But when roused, he could move quickly.
Before anyone else could blink, he was at the man's side and had him up against the wall, armor and all, feet dangling under him. Had him by the neck, too, and making him turn a proper shade of red for it.
"No shame!... most honorable man... how dare you... unfit! Unfit!"
Dunk himself wasn't sure what he was roaring. Too angry about it to tell. And the Kingsguards were all yelling, at the man, at Dunk, at each other, pulling his arms, trying to pry his hands away where he was trying to strangle Ser Wyldeâ
"None of your business who he's bending!" Dunk bellowed.
"Wait...," said Wylde in between wheezes, "*he* is bending *you*?"
Dunk gave him a proper shake that rattled his teeth.
But the others had stopped trying to stop him to stare.
"Nothing," answered Ser Donnel, whom Dunk had always thought had the right amount of respect for the king "... just. Kind of... a lot to climb on. Is all. You're a big lad."
Ser Wylde wheezed, so Dunk gave him a rough shake to silence him. At least, Ser Donnel was respectful in his curiosity.
"No doubt," Ser Donnel said, eyebrows raised high.
"He's a big king," added Dunk.
"Didn't need to know that," muttered Ser Corbray.
"Speak for yourself," answered Ser Crakehall "Say, ser, how big?"
"Alright," said Ser Donnel. "Enough. Ser Duncan, might you consider putting Ser Wylde down? I'm sure he sufficiently sorry. Plus, he's getting purple, and there's no knight available skilled and loyal enough to afford losing him."
Dunk exhaled angrily and felt like the aurochs Ser Arlan was always talking about. Then he let Wylde go.
The man crumbles in a cacophony of metal plates and coughing.
Ser Crackehall looked at him, eyebrows raised high.
"Say, Marbrant. How much do you reckon Wylde weights in his armor?"
"Lots," answered the man with a blank face, "lots to overcome when you're... tall and big."
They looked at each other and started laughing. Ser Donnel was sighing, like he thought Dunk wasn't going to shake them *too* because he didn't think Dunk understood what they were saying. Joke was on him; Dunk wasn't that thick.
"He doesn't need to 'overcome' me." Dunk said with great dignity. That stopped the two idiots Dunk had thought better off just an hour hence.
"Oh?" Ser Crakehall said with interest. The others seemed interested too because they were listening.
"It's a great honor," Dunk answered.
Ser Crakehall sighed disappointedly.
"I'm sure it is, lad," said Ser Donnel.
Ser Donnel's eyes turned soft even as Ser Crackehall rolled his own discreetly.
"-except when he's a beast"
Ser Donnel choked on his saliva and Ser Marbrant perked up.
"âbut even then, he's the greatest. Because he's the king."
Ser Crakehall sighs very disappointedly. Dunk put his fists on his hips, exhaled his anger like Baelor taught him, then nodded decisively.
"Plus, he said it's good exercise for Nightwing."
A moment of silence, then Ser Donnel asked reluctantly.
"How... did he say this... exactly?"
Dunk tried to recall the exact words.
"'Ser, there's a stud and there's a mountain. When one has climbed the latter, the former seems a trivial matter.' Or something. But we were talking about his war horse before, so it was definitely about his horse riding."
Ser Crackehall and Marbrant grinned at each other while Donnel slowly put a hand over his eyes and muttered.
"I should have married the girl. She really wasnt that ugly."
"As a Kingsguard, it's my dutyâ"
"âlike I said, a great honorâ"
"âwhy does everything has to be about honor? For once, can't it be about whimsyâ"
That, at least, seems to stop the sniggering. Ser Dornel's eyes turned soft again.
"Alright, lad. We heard you. Now let us go back to what we were doing."
Which is when Ser Wylde chose to speak again.
"Say, Ser... does he ride you astride or side-saddle? Just so I can picture it accurately."
Dunk roared and grabbed him.