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    Summary

    Dunk returns to camp bruised and bloodied. You set out to take care of him.

    * * * * * *

    "Be still, Ser Duncan," you chided. "I cannot help you if you do not let me look."

    "Enough of that. I told you 'm fine."

    Dunk was decidedly not fine; his head was propped up on the trunk of his chosen elm, face bruised and bloodied in places, with more blood yet still staining the stony blue fabric of his tunic. You'd spotted the largest of the stains as soon as he had dismounted Sweetfoot, and you were determined to figure out whether or not that blood was his.

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