"Someone has to", Egg agreed. "Bennis never brushes him. He never cleans his stall. He hasn't even named him!"

"Some knights never name their horses", Dunk told him. "That way, when they die in battle, the grief is not so hard to bear. There are always more horses to be had, but it's hard to lose a faithful friend". Or so the old man said, but he never took his own counsel. He named every horse he ever owned. So had Dunk. "We'll see how many men turn up at the tower… but whether it's five or fifty, you'll need to do for them as well".

Egg looked indignant. "I have to serve smallfolk ?"

"Not serve. Help. We need to turn them into fighters". If the Widow gives us time enough. "If the gods are good, a few will have done some soldiering before, but most will be green as summer grass, more used to holding hoes than spears. Even so, a day may come when our lives depend on them. How old were you when you first took up a sword?"

"I was little, ser. The sword was made from wood".

"Common boys fight with wooden swords, too, only theirs are sticks and broken branches. Egg, these men may seem fools to you. They won't know the proper names for bits of armor, or the arms of the great Houses, or which king it was who abolished the lord's right to the first night… but treat them with respect all the same. You are a squire born of noble blood, but you are still a boy. Most of them will be men grown. A man has his pride, no matter how lowborn he may be. You would seem just as lost and stupid in their villages. And if you doubt that, go hoe a row and shear a sheep, and tell me the names of all the weeds and wildflowers in Wat's Wood".