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"My lord."
Dunk blinked his eyes open blearily at the sound of someone's voice. His bedroll seemed too soft, too warm, and it took a moment to connect that with what he'd heard and remember where exactly he was.
His eyes flew open and he shot up in the bed, his vision adjusting to the dim lighting and focusing the man standing in the entryway to the tent. His face burned as he made his best attempts to cover himself, but the guard hardly seemed to take notice of him as he spoke again, louder this time, his voice somewhat exasperated.
"My lord." Dunk looked to the lump under the covers next to him, which made no response, and then back to the guard, who sighed and finally turned to face Dunk. "Could you wake him, please?" Dunk nodded even as his cheeks flared. What else could he do? He shifted to lean over Lyonel and shook him lightly, clearing his throat.
"Milord." His voice felt rough as he spoke, and he cleared his throat again, shaking Lyonel a bit harder this time. "Milord, you have to wake up." Lyonel groaned and shifted under the blankets, mumbling something indistinctly into the pillow. "Please, milord, it's…" He realized he didn't know exactly what it was; based on the lighting, it certainly wasn't very late into the day. It was probably barely morning. What was so important so early?
"What?" Lyonel said in a low, gravelly grumble, rolling over to face Dunk with a squinty glare. "What fucking time is it?"
"Uh," Dunk responded eloquently. Lyonel shut his eyes and rolled over again.
"If you wanted another round, you should've waited for me to wake up on my own, at a reasonable hour." Gods. Dunk shook his head quickly, his eyes darting between the two men in the tent.
"No, ah, no, khm, that's not—" The guard saved him, seeming impatient.
"My lord, I am sorry to wake you, but there's a matter that needs your attention." Lyonel groaned loudly and finally sat up, rubbing a hand down his face as he focused on the guard. A moment passed in silence before he gestured for the man to go on.
"Well, what? What is it?"
"There's a young boy out here saying he needs to speak with you." Lyonel cocked his head, then turned to Dunk, who shrugged. "I believe it may be about him." When they turned back to face the guard, he was motioning to Dunk. It took a moment for the pieces to slide together in Dunk's sleep-addled mind, but once they did, he felt his stomach drop.
Oh. Oh, no.
It must have shown on his face, because Lyonel snorted and patted him on the shoulder. Dunk put his face in his hands and rubbed at his eyes.
"It'll be fine," Lyonel said. "The boy'll understand."
"I only told him I had to speak with you," Dunk whined into his palms. "No reason for me not to be back by now."
"Thought he would've figured it out," Lyonel mused. "Seems like a clever kid."
"I’m sure he did, he just doesn't think I would've figured it out. He probably thinks I've gotten myself murdered somehow." Lyonel laughed aloud at that, and lifted his hand to wave the guard off.
"Tell the boy it's fine. His hedge knight won't be popping up in the river any time soon." The guard made to leave, but Dunk shook his head.
"Wait, he won't take that. Tell him…" He was going to have to explain this either way. "Tell him I said I'm alright, and that I'll meet him by the tree later today. Please." The guard nodded and turned back out of the tent, closing the flap quickly behind him. It was quiet again for a moment before Lyonel spoke.
"So," he started. "You really do live under a tree." Dunk huffed a laugh and turned back to him.
"Word gets around, then?" Lyonel put one hand on his chest and the other on Dunk's arm, batting his eyes up at him.
"Tell me the truth: are you only with me for my mattress?" Dunk snorted and shoved him off. Lyonel fell back with a gasp, raising one hand to his forehead.
"Shut it," Dunk replied, fondness seeping into his voice. "My bedroll's just fine, thank you." He scooted his way to the edge of the bed and swung his legs over as he started to look for his clothing. He felt the mattress shift and felt coarse, frizzy curls brush against his arm.
"It's so early," Lyonel complained. "I'll be cold." Dunk paused pulling on his trousers to peek over his shoulder at the other man. For a moment, part of him wanted to go back to bed. There was something entrancing about that picture, about Lyonel Baratheon leaning against him, asking him to stay. But…
"The boy will be worried. He's a good boy. A good squire. I owe him an explanation." Lyonel gave a long-suffering sigh and thumped his forehead against Dunk's back.
"You're too good," he declared. "Be more selfish." Dunk chuckled and turned back to the task at hand, searching for his shirt under the covers. He felt Lyonel fall back onto the mattress with a huff, pulling the blankets to his side of the bed.
"At least I'll have more of these to keep me warm without your hugeness getting in the way."
"As if you don't take them all anyway!" Lyonel grinned and snuggled into the covers as Dunk found his shirt, pulling it on. He stood up from the bed, the top of his head bumping one of the tent's supports (to Lyonel's apparent delight, based on the giggle Dunk heard from behind him). He cleared his throat again as he turned around.
"I, ah," he began, and took a breath before continuing. "Thank you. For last night. I…it was nice." Lyonel grinned softly back at him.
"Thank you, ser. I quite enjoyed it myself." Dunk felt himself blush, and pressed his lips together in an awkward smile, giving a little wave before ducking under the flap to leave.
The guards on either side of the entrance nodded in greeting to him, and he gave a brief responding duck of the head as he walked hurriedly away from the tent. The sun was just starting to rise on the horizon. Dunk squinted his eyes against it, bringing one hand up to shield himself from the glare.
Time to face the day.