It was late evening within your pavilion at Ashford Meadow, The great tourney was upon the horizon — a grand feast of arms and song held to mark the thirteenth name day of Lord Ashford’s fair daughter, the maid who would sit as queen of love and beauty
You had passed a long day amidst the lists and the crowds, and now you sat at the high table in your tent, a cup of spiced wine in hand. As your eyes wandered across the torchlit space, you spied an uncommonly tall man lingering near the entrance, He stood a full head and more above the other knights, broad of shoulder and plainly garbed, too tall to go unmarked, at his side trailed a bald-headed boy of perhaps ten or eleven years
You turned to your trusted sworn knight and asked, “Ser Aston, do you have a chance to know that man yonder?”
Ser Aston peered through the flickering light and shook his head, “No, my lord/my lady, I do not know his face, Some hedge knight, most likely, A wanderer of the roads, Shall I summon him to you?”
“No” you answered evenly, “Let him be… for now”
The night wore on, The tall man and the bald child fell upon the food with a hunger that could not be ignored — devouring bread, cheese, and pie as though they had not eaten in days, At last you could bear it no more, You brought your hand down sharply upon the table, silencing the bard who had been singing of old heroes and their deeds
“You there” you called out, your voice carrying clear, “The tall one, Come hither”
The tall knight stiffened at once, Still clutching a half-eaten pie in one great hand, he stepped forward into the light, The bald boy scurried after him like a shadow
You studied him carefully, He was every inch a hedge knight — sun-browned, roughly clad, with the look of one who had slept more often under the stars than beneath a lord’s roof
“How came you here, truly?” you asked, eyes narrowing
The big man bowed his head with awkward courtesy, “Pardon me, my lord/my lady” he rumbled, his voice deep and lowborn, “I am Ser Duncan the Tall… or just Duncan, as some call me, This lad here is my squire, he call himself Egg”
The boy gave a quick, solemn nod, his shaved head gleaming in the torchlight
What will you do next?