Chapter Text
The shrill cry of seagulls wakes Dunk up once dawn arrives. He momentarily forgets where he is, squinting in confusion at the stone ceiling and sunlight flooding the room. Tangled in silk and furs, he sits up in bed with wide eyes, sandy hair a mess. He didn’t notice the large Baratheon banner hanging on the wall and facing his bed since the room was so dark when he passed out.
Dunk rubs his eyes, suddenly aware of how much he smells like dirt from the road and sweat. He stretches, realizing he can faintly hear the various staff already bustling about behind his oak bedroom doors. Their voices are faint, but he hears laughter coming from the staff. They all sound… happy. He always assumed the staff and servants would be constantly stressed while maintaining a major Westerosi House. But not here.
****
Ser Arlan had instilled that Dunk always bathes from head to toe with every turn of the moon. Now Dunk realizes, as he stares at the copper tub filled with warm water, that he’ll have to wash himself a lot more often. One of the female servants had left fresh clothes neatly folded next to a stack of clean towels.
Dunk swears he hears some of the female staff giggling about “Lord Lyonel finding a new favorite knight.” from down the hall.
“Hush!” he hears an older woman hiss, sounding annoyed. “Ser Dunk just entered the washroom. He’ll hear you!”
“Ser Dunk, hm? Do you think the name is short for Duncan?” a younger maid asks.
“I hope so,” another maid sighs dreamily. “Prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Blue as the Sapphire Isle’s water, I’d say.”
Poor Dunk finds himself blushing while triple checking that the door is closed tight. He strips his sweat-stained clothes off and sinks into the tub like he wants to hide from every member of staff within the castle. The giggling thankfully fades down the hall and Dunk sighs in relief, sinking lower into the water. Condensation soon makes the stone walls damp as he washes himself with the strongest smelling soap Dunk has ever used.
He sniffs the thick bar of soap, smelling lemon and… wildflowers? Dunk ponders what the staff had said. Is his name short for Duncan? He is used to just being called Dunk for as long as he can remember. Hells, he doesn’t even know if he has a last name that isn’t Dunk of Flea Bottom or, Gods help him, the bastard surname of Waters if his father was a minor Lord.
The realization that Dunk is genuinely in Storm’s End almost makes him flail out of the tub.
Oh.
Oh, no.
Lord Lyonel is probably waiting for him, if he’s even awake right now.
‘Of course he’d be awake,’ huffs Dunk, wanting to slam his head under the water and scream. ‘He’s the Lord, for Seven’s sake…’
Dunk washes quickly, nearly slipping on the smooth stone floor in the haste to dry himself.
“Seven save me, I’ve probably made him mad,” he whispers in panic, tossing on the rich velvet green tunic with black pants and leather boots.
He murmurs a prayer to the Seven as he rushes down the hall towards the Great Hall.
“May the Father grant me protection, may the Mother grant me mercy, may the Warrior give me strength, may the Maiden give me innocence, may the Smith grant me confidence, may the Crone give me guidance, may the Stranger give me mercy as well…”
He nearly hits his head on the stone entry before ducking just in time. Since he doesn’t know the layout of the fortress yet, Dunk ends up closer to the Lord Paramount’s chambers. Lyonel’s chambers. Dunk repeating the prayer dies in his throat as Lyonel opens his chamber door. Dunk lowers his head immediately, cheeks burning. The Lord leans against the doorway and looks amused despite still being in his silken nightshirt.
“Dunk, you sound like a hurricane crashing through the halls,” he teases.
“Forgive me, m’lord,” Dunk groans, dragging a hand down his face. Lyonel doesn’t look angry at all, just ushers the hedge knight into his chambers.
“Come in, there’s someone I want you to meet,” Lyonel whispers. Curiosity replacing his embarrassment, Dunk follows him inside.
The curtains are drawn, leaving the room lit by the fireplace. Baratheon banners hang on either side of the fireplace, facing a four poster bed with its own lace curtains drawn back. The skinned pelt of a bear acts as a rug in the middle of the room and Dunk nearly trips on it. Then he notices the structure next to Lyonel’s bed. In the low light, Dunk thinks it's simply a laundry basket. No, not a basket, he realizes, eyes widening. A crib.
He watches in silence as Lyonel picks up his child with the same gentleness he had used when guiding Dunk to his tent the first night they met.
“This Little Storm here is Cassandra,” he says with clear pride in his tone. “I figured you’d want to meet her.” The Lord Paramount smiles and shows Dunk his infant daughter who slowly wakes up.
Dunk cannot suppress a soft gasp. Blue eyes, she has blue eyes like him. Cassandra has the same ink black hair as her father.
“She’s beautiful, m’lord,” he says, keeping his voice low. Cassandra blinks up at the hedge knight, looking curious herself. While Lyonel croons over his daughter, Dunk can’t help but look around the room, realizing that the Storm Lord never mentioned his wife…
He sees the other side of the massive bed is empty, it clearly hasn’t been used in a while. Then it clicks. The sadness in Lyonel’s eyes before their journey back to Storm’s End, saying that Dunk’s own eyes are the same blue shade hers (his wife?) were. Constantly comparing Dunk to a maiden. Did Lyonel’s wife look at him with the same worried blue eyes?
Feeling like a fool for not noticing this sooner, Dunk has the sudden urge to comfort Lyonel. Except he hasn’t a clue how. He’s good at defending people, but it’s clear that the Lord Paramount has more than enough knights to do the job. So why bring Dunk here, why introduce his daughter? How long has it been since his wife passed? Cassandra looks to be about a year old, but Dunk has never been the best at telling the ages of infants.
Dunk manages to snap out of his thoughts long enough to notice Lyonel is talking.
“....I sometimes have Cassandra sleep in her own chamber. Although the maids and wet nurse rightfully assumed she wanted to see her lord father after weeks away.” The hedge knight forces himself to focus, unintentionally feeling his shyness flare up in some vague attempt to comfort Lyonel.
He keeps his head lowered in respect, feeling like an intruder in Lyonel’s chambers but unable to come up with a good enough excuse to leave.
****
After a breakfast of oatmeal with apple slices covered in cinnamon with honeyed milk to drink, Dunk follows Lyonel all around Storm’s End. He tries his best to keep a mental image of the fortress layout in his mind. The godswood has a heart tree with a solemn face carved into the trunk. Dunk watches as the tree bleeds blood red sap, staining the white bark. The red leaves of the heart tree rustle in the wind. A single leaf comes loose and Dunk finds himself holding his hand out to catch it.
“It seems like the Old Gods watch over you,” Lyonel hums with a small smile, turning to head back into the castle. Dunk grips the leaf gently in his hands, lowering his head in respect to the Old Gods before hurriedly following his Lord back.
The air gets colder as dusk arrives. Dunk listens as the waves crash over Shipbreaker Bay from his chamber window. He stays oddly quiet, still mulling over that Lyonel (is? was?) a married man with a child. It’s not like he expected Lyonel to be single, of course.
‘Then why?’ Dunk thinks, feeling a mix of sadness and reluctance swirling in his head. ‘Why choose and care about me?’ He thinks back to sleeping in Lyonel’s tent during those few days at the tourney, always waking up alone. Had the Lord Paramount comforted him, or was that just his imagination?
Dunk feels too shy to ask. He looks over at the sleeping clothes the staff has left for him. Shedding away the tunic and pants, Dunk dresses into the sleeping gown and freezes the moment he looks into the mirror. The whole outfit is cream colored with a lace trim on the neckline and sleeves. The length ends below his knees. Dunk rubs his sleeved arms, surprised at the material’s thickness.
“Ser Dunk.”
Dunk gasps, spinning around to see Lyonel lingering in the doorway.
“M’lord,” he mumbles, head tilted down.
“None of that while we’re alone,” the Baratheon Lord orders gently. Dunk stands up straight, fidgeting with the lace cuffs.
Lyonel looks worried as he enters the chamber and closes the door.
“Something has been troubling you all day,” notes the older man with a frown and arms crossed. “Tell me what it is. I want to help in any way I can.” Dunk huffs out a breath through his nose, knowing that lying would be useless.
“I grieve for you, m’lord,” he says. Lyonel tilts his head at that, confused.
“Why do you grieve for me, Ser Dunk?” the Lord asks, deeply concerned.
“Lady Cassandra will grow up without her mother, my lord. I know the grief of what it is like to grow up without one,” he whispers, tears blurring his vision and he looks away, eyes reflecting the fireplace. Dunk hears Lyonel walk over.
“She still has me, Dunk,” the Lord says softly. “I promise not to die anytime soon. She also has you.”
Dunk looks down at the Lord, tears flowing down. “Me?”
Lyonel flashes Dunk a small smile. “Why do you think I introduced her to you? Her eyes brightened the moment she saw you. None of the female staff can get her to react like that.” Dunk blinks in surprise, eyes fluttering closed briefly as Lyonel’s calloused fingers brush away the tears. He leans into the Lord’s touch out of reflex.
“You have a kindness in your heart I’ve only seen in knights in storybooks and fair maidens,” Lyonel says this simply.
“What about your… lady wife?” the hedge knight murmurs. He feels Lyonel’s other hand rest on his chest, over his heart. Dunk sees how tired Lyonel looks.
“I’ve grieved her for as long as I can,” admits the older man, clearly still holding love for his wife, but with another emotion shining in his eyes whenever he looks at Dunk.
“I cannot replace your wife, my lord,” Dunk says with a shuddered breath.
“I do not ask you to,” Lyonel says simply, then closes the distance. Dunk’s eyes widen as the Lord’s lips connect with his.
The hedge knight freezes up, heart pounding loud enough the Baratheon Lord can probably hear. Lyonel is gentle with this, doing it lightly enough in case Dunk wants to pull away. His facial hair lightly tickles Dunk’s face, but he’s too stunned to laugh. The Lord Paramount pulls away, his smile more genuine now.
“I’m glad you care for my daughter and I, sweetling,” he says this with clear adoration in his tone. “Dry your tears and get some rest.”
“I… m’lord…what…” Dunk sputters, his brain desperately trying to rationalize what just occurred. Lyonel laughs and rubs Dunk’s arms in reassurance.
“I care about you, Dunk,” the older man says plainly.
“OH!” Dunk’s face burns scarlet. He frantically fights the urge to hide his face behind the sleeves of his nightgown. Part of him thinks he should be mortified, but the other shy maiden part of his mind eagerly wants to be doted on with affection and a thousand kisses.
“C-could we kiss again?” Dunk basically squeaks out. Lyonel laughs and they kiss again, with Dunk kissing back as best as he can. His attempt is shy, clearly from inexperience, but the Lord loves it all the same.