Chapter Text
Lyonel Baratheon spluttered awake, suddenly soaked with wine. The Lord of Storm's end whirled around to glare at his cruel attacker, who had even more sadistically committed this heinous act just as the sun was rising!
He was met with the unimpressed gaze of his soulmate's son, though all Lyonel could make out of him through the haze of the wine - of which an entire pitcher was dumped quite unceremoniously on his head - was the big eyes and a handprint, stark on his bald head.
"You must rise, My Lord, for we have much to discuss." The boy said imperiously before hopping onto a pillowed stool at the other side of the tent.
Egg shifted a little bit as he sat, still discomforted by mud. No matter how much Lord Baratheon complained about the early time, Egg had awoken hours before to practice his squirely duties with Ser Duncan's steed, his restless, worried mind unable to lie wait for an acceptable time to call on the lord. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Thunder chewing on the fine silks of the Baratheon pavilion, for which Egg had to stifle a giggle and try to stay stoic as he waited.
Lyonel rose, grumbling, quickly cleaning his face, and wrapped a robe around himself, trying not to notice the sticky residue on the rest of his body left by the alcohol. He then settled across from the lad, groaning slightly from bending his knees so early in the morn. "What are you here for, you little tyrant?"
"In the joust you quite clearly, and publicly, declared romantic overtures for Ser Duncan by wearing his favor - without permission-" the lad muttered that as an irritated aside. "What are your further intentions with my soulmate?"
Lyonel blinked. Was he getting this talk from his soulmate's child?? He hadn't really thought to beg permission, as such things were not common rules among the small folk, but the child was obviously serious. Dunk hadn't seemed like the type to insist on rigid traditionalism, but his son must have been taught it somewhere. He thought of earnest blue eyes, sunsets and dancing, which made his answer far too easy. "For him to be mine. To bring him back to storm's end as my consort, which of course would make you my son and one of my heirs." Lyonel poured some wine, grinning as the lad visibly relaxed. His mind was filled with visions of the future - the traditional dances on the cliffs as storms raged around them, the gift he would smother his sweet knight with, parenting this impertinent odd little lad together, dressing Dunk in rich cloth of storm grey, golds and blacks, having his beautiful soulmate all to himself, and how Lyonel's own two children would adore their new sibling almost as much as they would love Dunk.
Relief flooded Egg, he knew the Lord was clearly fond of Duncan, but was worried the philandering lord might not respect the sanctity of a soulbond to the degree the knight deserved. Although, he had been expecting to become a ward, which would still secure a comfortable life hidden from the Targaryens, becoming a son as such was usually reserved for the actual children of soulmates, but it was not unheard of - as many considered one's young familial soulmates the same as a biological child. Maybe, it was presented as an added show of devotion to Ser Duncan, which was welcome. Egg swallowed, now before he could grant permission for courting, he would have to explain the situation. "There is a complication I wish to discuss, my lord." Egg continued after a questioning sound of acknowledgement from the lord. "Ser Duncan, he. Well. You know his master died recently?"
Dunk had spoken of him as a hedge knight of honour - the young man clearly hurting from the death of a soulmate who had raised him. Lyonel could sympathise, as many knights dealt with similar grief, childhood soulmate bonds in the nobility between a squire and his knight being commonplace. "He spoke of him, yes." The boy was clearly unsettled and anxious about whatever it was he had to say.
"Well. And you should know I was not aware of this until only last night! But Ser Duncan and Ser Arlan were never bonded!" He blurted out, while wringing his little hands.
Lyonel leaned back. Poor lad, he thought, if the knight and squire had no bond the boy must be trying to tell him that he had been his father's only soulbond for years and on top of that was unaware of that fact the whole time. No wonder he was so nervous, it was rare to only have one active bond and such circumstances bred intense protectiveness and distrust of others. He had only felt one other bond with it's strands around his hedge knight during the rope pull, but he had assumed this Ser Arlan's bond recently dormant, which was short enough a time that Dunk was safe of any adverse effects. Lyonel, and Dunk's child, would have to be very vigilant in their care and retire back to Storm's end as soon as the tourney was over, Lyonel would rather leave before then but doing so would get him a dreadful bollocking from his mother for the perceived insult to the royal cunts who had arrived the day before.
"That is not ideal, but as you are Dunk's blood and soulmate, together we can work on helping." Lyonel aimed for comforting but the way the boy paled probably meant he missed.
"Ah. Well. You seem to have misunderstood, my lord. For I am merely a soulbonded squire," Egg wheezed what was supposed to be a laugh, but even to his own ears did not pass as one. "I met him the day before he arrived at Ashford. And bonded him the same evening you yourself did, only an hour or so after."
Lyonel gaped, choking on the wine he had been sipping. Fuck. Shit. This was bad. The only Maestor in his retinue at this tourney was completely useless so any treatment would have to wait until they returned home. And, seven above, any treatment there was would be extensive. The squire had given no indication of how long the knight had been bondless, but for Lyonel's own sanity he assumed it could not have been longer than a year at most, when the damage became irreversible. They would need a Maestor specialising in bond care to become a permanent resident with them, as well as another to watch Dunk's physical health. He had heard of the pain, deep sadness, and weakness of health that haunts those afflicted with even mild bond sickness, panic curling in his gut at the thought of his own soulmate experiencing such torment. Lyonel would have to find the biggest, warmest bed in all of Storm's end and pile it with soft things all for Dunk, and have both him and the lad hold their knight as close as possible between them every night - he hoped upon returning that maybe Dunk would find a couple more soulbonded to join them as that would hasten the healing process. Lyonel's own mother would become monstrously protective, and will probably steal Dunk away whenever he or the lad couldn't be present.
"Lad, when we return to Storm's end, you will still become my son, blood or no, and we will work together to heal the shit out of our soulmate. I'm very grateful for you coming here to tell me about this mess."
"Egg" The boy said, continuing when he was met with a puzzled expression. "My name is Egg." Egg then ran around the little table and jumped up to hug Lyonel, his little voice coming out muffled against his still damp tunic. "And I grant you, Lyonel Baratheon, permission to court Ser Duncan the tall." Lyonel smiled at Egg, steadying him with a hand on his shoulder where grey bloomed, Egg's own little hand leaving forest green on Lyonel's back. Platonic affection bloomed through the bond, binding them together in more than just a shared protectiveness for a hedge knight.
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Egg dipped his head guiltily upon seeing Ser Duncan awake and scowling upon his return. The knight's jaw clenched as he sewed, mending the tunic Lyonel had torn the previous day, his eyes had been scanning anxiously from where he was sat against the elm tree. "Where have you been?" He asked, voice laced with worry.
"Training." Egg felt dreadful that a part of him hoped the knight's lack of ability to read bonds meant he did not see the lie, or omission, for what it was.
"Don't wander off without telling me." Egg could feel the concern, that Ser Duncan clearly hadn't meant to reveal, filling the air around them, leaving a burnt taste in his mouth.
"What are you doing, Ser?" Egg changed the subject, wanting to push away the oppressive layer of anxiety soaking their bond.
"Mending a tear."
"Is that not my job?"
Duncan glanced back up at Egg, "You know how?" Egg frowned, he already knew he was small enough to make the jousting aspects of his squire duties difficult, it twisted his insides uncomfortably that there were other duties he could not manage as well. Dunk continued, not noticing his squire's inner turmoil. "Then quit jawing and get the brushes. Thunder looks like he's been dragged through a hedge."
"What about breakfast?"
"There's salt beef after you're done."
"I'd sooner eat the horse, ser." Egg rolled his eyes, he would rather not have any meal than have to stomach hard salt beef.
"You'll eat my fist if you don't do as you're told." As soon as the words left the knight's mouth, guilt so intense it almost knocked Egg over flooded their bond. It felt like the kind of guilt that held dark memories, that the outburst had been a habit copying someone else, not anything Ser Duncan would ever actually do. Egg had a very bad feeling about Ser Arlan - for the tangling of emotion, this instinct, the close held idea that was clearly not natural to Duncan, that a squire was to be met with violence - and the lack of bond between the old knight and squire worried Egg in combination. Though he supposed it would have to add to the ever growing list Egg would have to give to Lord Baratheon and his Maestor. The knight sighed, voice softening, "Never mind that."
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Sat on the wall together, Duncan crowed out when Egg managed a neat stitch, the knight's big hand jostling Egg's head, the world around him lighting up with sunsets and surrounding Egg with warmth and a strong feeling of pride from his soulmate.
Egg was sure he hadn't ever experienced a bond so simple and comfortable. Targaryens were taught strict control of their soulbonds as soon as they were out of swaddling clothes, and by the time they were writing they could read the general moods and the present bonds of those around them with only a little concentration, and could block their emotions from ever showing in their bonds. As such Aegon's familial bonds had always had walls up and a coldness he hadn't truly noticed until now, even his father had rarely shown more than vague pulses of softness with little revealed. The closest Aegon had was with Aemon, but even they both had to keep up the Targaryen standard.
Egg could attribute part of the overwhelming waves of emotions from Ser Duncan's bond to lack of experience and training, but a large portion of it felt like an extension of who Dunk was as a person, his heart perpetually on his sleeve, especially so to his bonded. He let the emotions around them settle in a softer domesticity as they continued sewing together
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As Dunk collected the eggs he caught a glimpse of Lyonel rushing around, barking orders at a group of men, too far away for the hedge knight to hear. He couldn't help how transfixed he became with his soulmate's fierceness - a storm personified, with his wild grey curls, booming voice and presence that monopolised all of Ashford. His squire sidled up next to him, making a silly, teasing sound that caused Dunk's ears to burn red as they walked back to camp.
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Egg was completely focused on the meat cooking over the fire, it was more than Dunk would've spent on himself, but the lad deserved a good hearty meal. He cracked an egg in, signalling with the knife for little Egg to crack his own into the skillet. Ripping the bread, making up good sandwiches they bit into with twin groans of satisfaction, sat against the elm.
Egg tore into his breakfast, his and Duncan's contentment intertwining around them, settling in soft comfort. As he ate, a thought warmed him further - Dunk had given him an equal portion. No one had done that before.
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A knight was lanced off his horse, Dunk's arm wrapping around Egg as they cheered, the small folk around them just as joyous. A few jousts in Egg giggled to himself, trying to deepen his voice, "Do you want some hard salt beef?"
Dunk smirked, attempting a falsetto imitation of Egg's voice. "Oh, I'm Egg. I can't eat hard salt beef. I just eat lovely food and grapes and all the uhuhblueegh - Can't even drink a pint of ale."
Egg's face twisted in disgust before continuing in his mock-Dunk voice "Yeah, 'cause it's disgusting."
"It's not disgusting!" Dunk protested in his normal voice, only met with a patronising look of pity from his squire.
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Aegon gazed over the tourney, lazing contentedly in the grass of a hill, feeling relaxed in a way he never had before. The colourful tents, horses, people laughing unrestrained, chatter and the smokey haze of other's bonds not repressed. Experiencing a Tourney like this was so unlike being stuck in the stuffy box, surrounded by nobles playing stupid political games, even their annoyance devoid of the little flares of a natural reaction from their bonds.
"I think I could be quite happy in a place like this." Egg mused. When he first escaped Daeron he had only intended to be gone for the Tourney, but this life, with Ser Duncan fit Egg far better than the role of prince ever had. So what if sleeping under stars, using soap that left his skin irritated or the occasional meal of hard salt beef was the trade, for such freedom, to Egg it was worth it. He would somewhat miss most of his family in Storm's end, but not nearly as much as if their bonds were half as open as Duncan's. The warmth, that had chased away a cold he hadn't even realised clung to his very bones, was addictive, and Egg found he would not be able to go without it. He supposed that particular greed was the one respect he was a Targaryen.
"You're in a place like this." Dunk responded, confused.
"I meant for a while."
"Ah, yeah."
"After I lead a great campaign for my lord, of course." Even as the adoptive son of Lord Baratheon, he expected to spend time as a proper knight, one who would allowed to earn his title. "I return a war hero and he gives me a parcel of land for my very own, and his blessing for me to wed my soulmate, with you as the one to unite us on the day."
Dunk blinked away tears, smiling at Egg. Uniting was a sacred role not all weddings could have, for the person filling it had to be soulbonded to both people being wed, the assumption that Egg would of course marry someone who also would be one of Dunk's familial soulmates, tightened his throat with emotion.
"I'd keep horses, plant oats and peas. Raise cows." The simplicity and comfort of such a life, had until now been beyond even the wildest of Egg's dreams, but was now well within reach. He would love to have some kind of contact with his family, but he knew none of them were free enough from the dragon's madness or duty to be what he would need of them. And if he had Dunk maybe that was okay.
"And lambs, perhaps." Dunk added, teasing.
"Fuck your lambs!" The smell really did cling to one's tunic.
"Did you really ride all the way here in the back of some farmer's wagon?" Dunk chuckled, Flea Bottom accent thickening in humor.
"I don't want to talk about it." Egg insisted, startling a full body laugh from Dunk.
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Dunk's eyes were once again drawn to the heir to the iron throne. Who looked stressed, fiddling with his ring as he frowned at his nephew, nodding at the young man in scaled armour. Prince Aerion rode over to his own House's tents, greeting the dark haired young man from last night's tourney. As the young prince rose, Dunk's eyes traced the white streak in his hair, before settling on his eyes. Dunk wondered if it was the mismatched eyes that meant whenever he was in eyeline he couldn't help but stare at either Prince Baelor or Prince Valarr, who to Dunk were both unreasonably pretty. As Aerion tuned away from his cousin, cloak of blood sweeping behind him, Valarr gave a slight, strained smile. Dunk turned away, cheeks red for some unknown reason.
When Prince Aerion said to his chosen opponent, "It's time you faced the dragon." Dunk almost laughed at the prince. He sounded kind of… pathetic? He didn't want to use such a term for a prince but it was the only one Dunk felt applied
Both Dunk and Egg clapped for the man against the prince. As the knights charged Egg started shouting, "Kill him. Kill him!" Desperation leeching into their bond, Aegon could tangibly feel the disappointment and annoyance of the crowd as Aerion badly dodged the lance, instead of taking it on his shield.
As they charged again Dunk's eyes widened with horror, muttering to Egg. "He's too low, the horse-" The prince's lance went straight through the horses neck. As fast as he could Dunk grabbed Egg, shielding his boy from the gruesome sight.
Egg clung onto Duncan, waves of horror, confusion and anger coming from the crowd surrounding them. Aerion merely pulled back his helm, his smug grin visible around the edges of Ser Duncan, some brave soul climbing on the fence to throw a rock at Aerion's face, hitting him squarely in the nose. Egg could've cried with joy, if anyone deserved a rock to the face it was Aerion.
As the guards held back the rioting crowd, Aegon was suddenly furious at the unearned privilege that stopped Aerion receiving the justice he deserved, that always stopped the maddest of their family from being culled.
Dunk picked Egg up in his arms and left, a man with an axe approaching the horse and he did not want Egg to so much as hear that.
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"Ser Duncan!" Raymun jogged up to them a grin on his face. "I saw you earlier with this boy."
"Uh, yeah. This boy is my own and my squire. Egg, this is Raymun Fossoway." Dunk felt slightly lightheaded at getting to introduced a soulmate to someone!
"Good day." Egg managed, mind heavy. The fortune had confirmed his plan. It is well known that soulmate bonds are the only true way to alter fate, so sticking to Ser Duncan all the way to Storm's end and beyond, extricating himself from the Targaryens forever was the only way to avoid that fate.
"Will you join me in my tent for a cup of cider?" Raymun asked, bouncing with his enthusiasm, eyes laser focused on Ser Duncan, "We make it ourselves." Egg saw his chance to head for the puppet tent, to get some time to think, so he scurried off.
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"My squire thinks Aerion meant to kill the horse." Dunk chuckled, only to be met with damning silence. "Just hard to accept that a knight might be so dishonorable let alone a prince."
"Why is that hard?" Dunk spluttered in response, but Raymun continued. "They're incestuous aliens, Duncan. Blood-magickers and tyrants who've burned our lands, enslaved our people, dragged us into their wars without a mote of respect for our history or our customs. Every pale-haired brat they saddled on us has been madder than the last, gods know how. The only decent ones cling to that goodness from their Dornish blood. So aye, I think he meant to kill the fucking horse." The wild intensity left the squire now, Raymun's dimples returning as he smiled sheepishly. "I got a bit carried away there."
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They laugh, leaning into each other, cider making everything pleasantly soft. Raymun reach out a hand, playfully smacking Dunk on the shoulder, both freezing as pale green blooms. "Oh." Raymun says, peering up at Dunk through his curls, eyes soft. They lean closer warm, before Raymun pauses, the bond felt slightly off, as if Dunk's side, with no shield, had settled a few inches off where it should.
Dunk was bright red, cider and comfort loosening his tongue. "Sorry, I uh don't know what to say. I've somehow gotten, gods, three now? Just this week. Before that it had been years. I'm still new to this whole thing."
Raymun smiled, smoothing his hand up Dunk's arm to comfortably pressing into his mark, "A few years since your last bond forming? I can understand it being overwhelming then."
Dunk frowned slightly, brow furrowed. "No? Years since I had any bond at all."
Raymun inhaled sharply, but before he could parse out a response, that wasn't screaming for a Maestor, because DUNK THAT WASN'T OKAY!? How are you even alive?? A voice interrupted them. "Ser! Ser Duncan! You have to come! Aerion's hurting the puppeteer!!"
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Tanselle screamed as her finger was snapped by the cruel prince. And for a moment it was Rafe, the blood splattering Dunk's face and the same horror filled wide eyed stillness, and Dunk had frozen then, but now he moved without thinking. Punching the prince in the face, throwing him to the ground - kicking him in the jaw when he was down. Neither noticed, in the darkness and with the already forming bruising, the sunset rising on Aerion's jaw nor the darkness of Dunk's fist. Though, later, in hindsight, Egg would say Aerion noticed but just didn't care, for he'd never held soulbonds in high esteem. Dunk stayed silent through the man, for Dunk would not think of this cruel pathetic creature as a prince, justifying his attack on an innocent.
Dunk fought and bucked as the guards shoved him down. A familar voice stopping him. "No! Don't touch him!"
"You stupid boy! Hold your tongue or they'll hurt you." Dunk shouted - he could take any punishment, any torture if only they left Egg alone.
"No, they won't. If they do, they'll answer to my father. Let go of him! Wate, Yorkel, do as I say." Dunk stared as the guards actually did? They moved away from him, all his teeth intact.
No matter his confusion he was ready to attack Aerion again as the monster prowled closer to Egg. "You impudent little rat. What's happened to your hair? And where did you get that ugly mark?"
"I cut it off, brother. I didn't want to look like you." Egg ignored the second question. He wanted to send apologies down his Bond with Dunk, wanted to rush over and hug him, explain everything, bu Aegon had to hold Aerion's gaze, play the strong prince more than ever - for Dunk.