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It was another fine morning in Ashford, as the town still buzzed with its usual activity. Meanwhile, in the camp by the elm tree, Duncan and Egg were fishing by the river, trying to catch a few fish, yet missing every chance they got. Egg rolled his eyes as he watched his master standing in the river wearing only his pants, no shirt, attempting to catch them by hand.
“Ser, I think it’s best if you just used a rod or a wooden spear!”
Dunk waved him off, focused on the water for any signs of movement. A moment passesed before he struck the surface yet missed once again, “Damn it!”
Egg sighed, sitting with his rod as he waited patiently. For a moment, nothing happened. Not a single bite nor a tug either. Though he was used to this. Playing the waiting game and enjoying the scenery were always the best parts he enjoyed during the long moments. Letting natures song waver through his thoughts as a soft sigh rolled out. Simply a peaceful experience. That is, until a voice spoke from behind him. He turned to see a young man wearing a red garb. The familiar colors belonged to one of the lords known for their apple orchards. He approached him with a basket of what appeared to be wrapped with apple-related treats and a warm smile.
“Good day.”
“Good day to you, ser,” Egg greeted softly.
“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he said, “I heard that Ser Duncan resided here along with his squire, which I’m assuming is you, and decided to drop these treats off for you both to enjoy.”
Egg eyed a few of them. Noticing a variety of breads to tarts. Each of them invited a delicious aroma onto the boy, causing him to drool a little.
The young man then added, “They’re freshly made too. You’re more then welcome to have one now, if you’d like?” as he extended the basket toward him. Egg took an apple tart, and with a small bite, the strong flavors clashed into his buds, giving him a nod of approval.
“These are scrumptious, ser!” he chirped, stuffing his face with a few more bites, “Thank you again!”
The man aughed, “Haha! Happy to hear,” offering a few more until he pulled the basket slightly away, “Don’t end up eating them all now. Need to save some for your master. Speaking of which, where is ser Duncan?”
Egg finished the last of his gifted treat. Wiping away the remaining crumbs that still lingered from the corners of his lips until he extended a finger towards the river, “he....is here?” seeing that Dunk was nowhere to been seen. His eyes began to search for him, “He was here moments ago. We were fishing, but he decided to catch them by hand rather than using a tool to assist him.”
The man scans the riverbank in search of the hedge knight as well, “If he isn’t here, then perhaps he went further down the river-”
An unexpected splash came from the river as a tall figure resurfaced, holding a large fish above his head. Dunk called out to his squire, proudly displaying his trophy for all of nature to witness his triumphant catch, “I told you, Egg. What did I say? All it took was just a little bit of focus-” turning around and seeing not only Egg, but the man standing beside. He slowly lowered the fish, tilting his head forward as he called out to the visitor's name.
“Raymund? That you???”
For a moment, nothing came out of the Fossoway’s lips. Nothing but a face flushed full of red was streaked across. Giving a good, long stare at his upper body. Nearly zoning out even until Dunk intervened, cutting his short moment.
“Ser Raymun!!!!”
From a startling surprise, he immediately dropped the basket, quickly averting his eyes away from Dunk’s body and back to the man’s eyes, “Uh....D-Dunk- Ser Duncan hello!”
“That’s a...um....that’s a nice....a nice fish.”
-
Time has passed since then, now finding the three sitting underneath the eld tree. Raymun took second glances at Dunk stuffing his face with apple treats whereas Egg kept glancing at Raymun. Noticing Lord Fossoway turning as red as apples every time the hedge knight complimented his treats.
“Seriously, Raymun, this has to be the best dessert I’ve had in....well in my whole life.”
Raymun shook his head, “Again, Ser Duncan, it’s nothing really...”
“Nothing? No, no it’s great. Really great,” he replied, already eating another. “Thank you. Truly.”
“O-of course. I’m always happy to make you something. A-and for your squire...as well...” he said, glancing back at Egg, who was still watching him closely. Almost as if his young squire was searching for something. Raymun gulped, quickly pulling his attention away from the boy and turning back to Dunk, “So....any plans for the morrow?”
Dunk simply shrugged, “Just the usual. Training. Using the time I must prepare for enlistments.”
Raymun nodded, “Ah I see”
“Why’d ye ask?”
“W-well...Lord Baratheon is holding another one of his parties at his tent on the morrow, and...” he hesitated as his right hand was kept behind him, nervously plucking away at the grass beneath him, “And I...wanted to see if...if you wanted to go?”
Dunk paused mid-chew, glancing at Egg before looking back at him. He sighed, “I’m grateful for the offer, truly, Raymun. But I need the time I have for training. Wasting any previous moment would be at a loss for wastes, and I can’t afford that.”
Raymun’s hand stilled as he slowly let out a breath, then nodded, “...I fully understand. There is a lot of work to be done, of course, and much to do.”
The interaction between them fell into silence. A silence heavy of rejection. Dunk reached for another treat, turning it slowly in his fingers before taking a small bite, chewing without much appetite. Across from him, Raymun’s gaze drifted elsewhere, fixed on some distant point beyond the camp. Egg noticed the shift immediately. He looked from Raymun to his master, then shook his head in quiet disappointment.
As evening time settled in and the light began to fade, Raymun rose to his feet, brushing the grass off his garments He adjusted the strap of his basket, clearly preparing to return to his. Pavillion. He opened his mouth to offer his goodbyes when Egg suddenly reached out and tugged Dunk aside by sleeve.
Lowering his voice, Egg leaned in close, “Ser Duncan....I think Raymun really wanted to go to the gathering with you”
Dunk sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, “Yes I heard,” he murmured, “But you know we can’t, Egg. There’s too much we need to work on.”
His squire frowned, arms folding across his chest, “I understand, ser, but, a single night off couldn’t hurt, could it?” He glanced back toward Raymun before continuing, “You’ve told me yourself that Raymun has shown you nothing but kindness and shared meals with you. Especially coming from one of the Fossoway lords. Wouldn’t it be dishonorable to deny as such?”
‘He was right.’ Raymun had offered his support some time now, his friendship as well. From the moment Dunk arrived at Ashford, the Fossoway lord had treated him with nothing but warmth and goodwill. The least he could do was repay that kindness. Dunk drew in a slow breath. Instead of answering aloud, he gave a small nod. Egg’s shoulders relaxed, and he let out a satisfied sigh before stepping aside, watching closely as his master approached Raymun.
“Ser Raymun.”
Raymun turned at once, “Aye?”
Dunk hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I’ll attend to Lord Baratheon’s celebration with you.”
Raymun’s brows shot up, “Y-You sure, Duncan?” he asked quickly, “You don’t have to.”
Dunk nodded firmly, “I do. You’ve done a great deal for me. I thought it only right to give something back.”
For a heartbeat, Raymun simply stared then his expression softened as a smile slowly spreads across his face. His heart skipped, warmth blooming in his chest, swelling far larger than before.
“Then...I look forward to it,” he said.
Dunk gave a small, awkward smile in return.
“It’ll be a wonderful night,” Raymun added brightly, “You’ll see!”
-
The following evening arrived draped in gold and black.
Lord Baratheon’s pavillion stood, its black stag banner stirring proudly in the evening breeze. Torches strung along the poles, casting an warm glow across the camp. Laughter and music spilled from within, lutes strumming lively tunes, cups clanking, boots thudding against wooden planks laid for dancing. Dunk stood just outside the entrance, hands awkwardly tugging at the collar of his freshly gifted tunic by Tanselle. Promising that he’d pay her back by showing up with Egg to another one of her plays. Beside him, Raymun adjusted the clasp of his red cloak, smoothing invisible wrinkles from the fabric. His movements were careful, though the excitement in his eyes betrayed him.
“You needn’t look so grim,” Raymun teased gently, “It’s only a gathering, not a battlefield.”
Dunk huffed. “Feels worse. At least in battle I know what I’m meant to do.”
Raymun smiled at that and stepped closer, lowering his voice, “You’re meant to enjoy yourself.”
For a brief moment, their shoulders nearly brushed. Dunk cleared his throat and gestured toward the entrance, “After you, ser.”
Inside, the pavilion was alive. Long tables were lined with roasted meats, plates of bread, bowls of treats and spiced drinks. Knights and lords mingled freely, their laughter thick with drink. Somewhere near the center, a pair of young squires attempted an enthusiastic, if clumsy, dance to the musicians’ delight.
Raymun guided Dunk through the crowd, offering polite nods to passing nobles. A few eyes lingered on the tall hedge knight, curious but unkind as well. Dunk kept his eyes below. They settled near one of the lantern poles, half removed from the center of attention. Dunk sipped the drink, taking in the heaviness from it. Right as he was about ask Raymun something, they suddenly get intervened by Lyonel Baratheon who was already ecstatic and buzzed to meet them.
“Good to see you both again,” Lyonel giggled, sloshing his drink carelessly as he swayed in place, “Wasn’t sure if you two were going to show up.”
Raymund delivered a polite nod, “Aye, we’re here now.”
“Well good good,” Lyonel lifted his goblet high, nearly spilling it over his head, “Have fun, dance, eat your birds, whatever the fuck...just have fun!”
He clapped Dunk once on the shoulder, harder than necessary, then sauntered off into the crowd, already distracted by another burst of laughter somewhere deeper in the pavillion. Dunk watched him go, shaking his head. Beside him, Raymun lets out a soft laugh, covering his mouth briefly before lowering his hand. Their eyes met, amusement shared easily between them.
“He really does know how to throw a celebration, doesn’t he?” Raymun said, glacing around at the lanterns and dancers.
Dunk snorted quietly, folding his arms across his chest as music swelled again nearby, “Aye,” he replied, a faint grin tugging at his mouth, “that he does.”
A group of squires that Raymun recognized suddenly cheered near the dancing space, urging others to join. One of them waved Raymun over.
“Come now, Fossoway! Show us if those orchard legs can move!”
Raymun flushed but laughed politely, shaking his head. “Another time, perhaps!”
Instead, he glanced at Dunk.
“Would you?” he asked, quieter now.
Dunk nearly choked on his drink, “Dance?”
Raymun’s smile turned sheepish. “Only if you wished.”
Dunk stared at the open space, at the spinning couples and stomping boots. He imagined himself attempting such a thing and grimaced.
“I’d likely break someone’s toes,” he muttered, “Nearly broke Lyonel’s the last time I was here...”
Raymun stepped closer again, voice low enough that only Dunk could hear, “Then we’ll stand still.”
Dunk blinked, “Stand still?”
“Yes,” Raymun said, a faint mischievous glint in his eyes, “we’ll simply move less than the others.”
Before Dunk could fully protest, Raymun set his cup aside and held out a hand. For a moment, Dunk hesitated. Then he placed his much larger hand into Raymun’s. The difference in size was immediate. Raymun’s fingers were warm, steady despite the faint tremor Dunk could feel. The music swelled around them as they stepped into the edge of the dancing space, not quite among the others but near enough to feel part of it. They moved awkwardly at first. Dunk’s steps were cautious, careful not to tread on Raymun’s boots. He guided gently, offering small correction with a light touch at Dunk’s forearm.
“You’re doing fine,” Raymun murmured.
“I am not.”
“You are,” he insisted softly.
Lantern light flickered across Dunk’s face, softening the hard lines of him. For once, he did not look like a hedge knight bracing for the next trial. He looked uncertain...and present. Raymun’s hand slid slightly higher, resting at Dunk’s arm. Their movements slowed, less dance and more quiet swaying amid the livelier pairs. For once, Dunk was not thinking about training. Nor enlistments. Nor anything.
Just the warmth of his hand and just the person he attended with. Feeling a sensation suddenly wrapped around him.
And Raymun, smiling up at him as though he’d just been handed the finest apple in the orchard.
-
The two continued their dance, later returning to the tables to enjoy their meals and drinks, allowing the joy of the celebration to carry them along. Laughter came easier with each cup, their earlier awkwardness long forgotten beneath lantern light and music. By the time midnight settled fully over the camp, the crowd had thinned. Music softened into slower tunes, and conversations blurred into drunken murmurs. Dunk and Raymun stumbled out of the pavillion together, laughing louder than necessary. The cool night air hit them both at once. Raymun swayed dangerously to one side, nearly losing his footing on the uneven ground, but Dunk’s hand shot out quickly, catching him firmly by the waist.
“Woah there, Raymun,” Dunk said with a breathless chuckle, “Don’t go and hurt yourself.”
“Thanks, Duncan...” Raymun mumured.
Instead of stepping away, Raymun’s hands slid up to rest against Dunk’s shoulders. His fingers curled lightly into the fabric as he looked up at him, cheeks flushed. Not only from the drink of course.
Dunk looked back.
He meant to let go. Truly, he did. But something warm and steady kept him there. Perhaps it was the drink still humming in his blood. Perhaps it was the way Raymun’s eyes reflected the torch light like polished garnets.
For a long moment, neither moved.
Raymun leaned closer.
Closer still.
And then his lips met Dunk’s.
Dunk froze, eyes widening in surprise as the kiss landed, soft at first, tentative. He stood stiffly for a heartbeat before reality rushed back in and he pulled away abruptly. Raymun stumbled half a step back, horror flashing across his face.
“I-I’m so sorry Duncan,” he stammered, hands lifting as if to shield himself from rejection. “That was foolish of me. I don’t know what I was thinking-”
He never finished.
Dunk closed the distance in two quick strides and pulled him back in. This time, the kiss was not hesitant. Dunk’s hand came up to cradle the back of Raymun’s head as their lips met again, firmer now. Tongues clashing together.
The shock melted into heat. Raymun responded instantly, gripping at Dunk’s tunic as the kiss deepened. What had been restrained for weeks, months, broke free in a single breathless moment.
They held there, lost in it, until the air became necessary.
When they finally parted, both were panting.
Raymun rested his forehead against Dunk’s chest, fingers still twisted in the fabric, his heart hammering wildy.
“Been...w-waiting to do that for a while, huh?...” Raymun managed between breaths.
Dunk let out a quiet, almost disbelieving huff of laughter, “You could say that...”
A sudden shuffle of boots against dirt broke the moment.
Lyonel Baratheon emerged from the pavillion, swaying slightly, a goblet still clutched loosely in his hand. He blinked at the sight before him, two men standing far too close beneath the torch glow. A slow grin spread across his face. Dunk and Raymun stiffened instantly, stepping apart but not nearly far enough to appear innocent.
Lyonel gave a low chuckle.
“Lucky boy,” he drawled, looking first at Raymun. His gaze then slid to Dunk, eyeing him up and down with an appraising look and the faintest twinge of envy in his tone. “Got yourself a real...pretty catch.”
He winked lazily before clapping Raymun on the back as he passed.
“Well then,” Lyonel added with a crooked grin, “enjoy yourselves, lads!”
-
For a moment after Lyonel disappeared into the dark, neither of them spoke. The night felt different now. Quieter, heavier in a tender way. The sounds of the feast drifted faintly behind them, dulled by distance. A cool breeze stirred the grass at their feet. Raymun cleared his throat softly, though he didn’t step away.
“I suppose,” he began, attempting composure and failing adorably, “I should return to my pavilion.”
Dunk nodded once, “I’ll walk with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know,” Dunk replied simply.
That was answer enough. They began walking side by side through the camp. Torches flickered low in iron brackets, casting long shadows between tents bearing sigils of every color. A few drunken voices echoes in the distance, but most of Ashford has surrendered to sleep.
Their hands brushed once. On the third time, Dunk lets his hand remain where it was. Raymun glanced down at their joined fingers, then up at Dunk, who pretended very hard to be focused on the road ahead. A small, private smile tugged at Raymun’s mouth.
“You’re quiet,” Raymun murmured.
“Thinking,” Dunk said.
“About?”
Dunk exhaled slowly, “About how I didn’t stop you.
“You did, at first,” Raymun’s steps faltered slightly.
“Aye,” Dunk’s thumb shifted faintly against Raymun’s knuckles, “but I didn’t mean to.”
They walked a few more paces before Raymun spoke again, voice softer now.
“I’ve wanted to do that for some time.”
Dunk huffed lightly, “You could’ve warned me.”
Raymun laughed under his breath. They reached the Fossoway pavillion, neat and well kept, apple banners stirring gently above the entrance. A lanter burned low outside, casting warm light across the canvas. Dunk stopped just before the entrance. Raymun turned to face him fully now, their hands still loosely joined between them.
“Thank you form coming tonight,” Raymun said, “Truly.”
Dunk shrugged faintly, though his grip tightened slightly, “Wasn’t so bad.”
“That’s high praise.”
A small silence settled, not awkward, just full.
Raymun hesitated, then stepped a fraction closer, “May I...?”
Dunk didn’t wait for him to finish. He leaned down first this time. The kiss was slower than before. No rush. No stolen heat. Just warmth and intention. Dunk’s large hand rested carefully at Raymun’s waist, mindful, as though holding something precious.
When they parted, their foreheads lingered together.
“I’ll see you in the morrow,” Dunk murmured.
Raymun smiled, softer than he had all evening, “I’ll have something baked.”
Dunk chuckled, “I look forward to it.”
Raymun finally slipped from his grasp, stepped backward toward the pavilion entrance. He lifted the flap, pausing just inside.
“Goodnight, Duncan.”
“Goodnight, Raymun.”
The canvas fell closed.
Dunk stood there for a moment longer, staring at the place where Raymun had disappeared, as if half expecting him to peek back out. He didn’t, but the lantern light inside burned warmly.
And Dunk walked back to his own camp with a faint smile he didn’t bother trying to hide.