Dunk saw her first when House 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 arrived at Ashford. The cursed princess, everyone seemed to whisper about, a little wraith of a woman who hardly spoke more than two words, and was seen even less. Her face was hidden beneath a black veil, her features obscured. He had heard a few servants chatter amongst themselves, but it seemed that no one knew the true reason for her secrecy. An ugly scar, a malformity, a missing eye. For whatever reason, the princess remained hidden, a mystery yet to be solved.

She was silent as she arrived by her brother's side, and said nothing as she handed her reins to a stable boy. She was even quieter when Dunk watched from the shadows, listening in on the conversation of the royal princes. She had stayed behind her father - Maekar, he had gathered - nothing more than a little shadow. When he had been caught, and spoke to Baelor in wishes to join the tourney, he could feel her gaze upon him, though he had tried his best to not glance at her.

It was silly, Dunk thought, to let his mind linger on the girl with no face. He didn't even know her name. She could be a hideous, monstrous wench for all he knew, but his thoughts kept leading back to her. Back to the quiet princess with the black veil and pretty dress. He felt too anxious to ask Egg, though the boy seemed to know just about every nobleman. No doubt, the boy would raise his brow and ask him why he wanted to know more about the princess, and he couldn't risk that. He had to focus on the tourney, not some princess whom he would never speak to.

As the day turned to evening, Dunk sought out the blacksmith's row at the tourney grounds. The armor he had would hardly fit, and a true knight needed steel. The stall of Steely Pate had caught his eye, the works simple but practical, steel glinting in the low light of fires and torches nearby. The only problem was that a hedge knight had nearly naught to his name. Dunk was a big man, Steely Pate had noted, and armor for his size would cost eight-hundred silver stags. Eight-hundred silver stags that he did not have. Reluctant to do so, he handed over the two stags he had, and promised to return with the rest of the payment come morning.

Dunk would have to sell Sweetfoot. The mare was sound of feet, and good of nature. Selling her would earn him enough for the armor, but it tugged at his heart. He had promised Ser Arlan that he would take proper care of the horses after his passing, and Sweetfoot felt more like family than a simple horse.

He sighed heavily, his throat tightening. Dunk gave Pate a nod before his hand fell to the pommel of his sword, and he turned on his heels only to stop right away. His heart nearly dropped out of his ass.

"M'lady-" he croaked, fist tightening around his sword - a nervous habit. He looked down upon her, the princess, and gaped like a fish out of water. His eyes darted up, to the pair of Kingsguard that watched him from a few yards away. He swallowed. She had been watching, she must've been. She was no doubt judging him, just as the world had judged her.

"Ah, I mean... your grace... your... highnessness."

Dunk's cheeks burned red like they had been scorched from a thousand flames, and he was suddenly very glad that the sun had set and the sky was dark with night. He took a deep breath. Should he bow? Kiss her hand? What was proper when greeting a princess? He stood there like the awkward idiot that he knew he was. Dunk the Lunk. He mumbled out a small word.

"Hello."