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A scuffle.
That's what the guards rushing to his room had told him. Ser Duncan had punched a knight in training on his jaw so hard the bruise looks like molten skin. Red and blue blossomed already. Not even five minutes has passed since the incident took place. The man laid prone and still, his heaving breath the only sign that the brawl had left him somewhat alive after all.
Aerion walked in leisurely pace. So utterly certain of the humor of it all would at least entertain him if the mess of it all wouldn't get to him first. Not that it mattered. In his heart of heart, all he wanted to make sure of was that Ser Duncan had been left untouched.
When he arrived at his destination, a field where straw men littered the place and weapons left in careful disarray so one would choose whatever it is their heart desire. His violent violet eyes , however, went straight to god's might made flesh. Hold over by several other night, he growled, sneered, and trashed wildly against the restraint. Aerion has passed the point of lying to himself that said display of strength hadn't stirred something sweet and hot in his groin. Those years had actually had come to use in recognizing what's in front of him and reigned his desire inside for a while. At least until nobody would pay witness to the way he choose to keep Duncan.
"Unhand me, bastards! Let me teach this disgrace of a soldier a lesson!", Duncan had roared so loud it echoes in the entire space. There's a slight scrape on his forehead where the man manage to land a hit and only that one, seeming as everything else of him is presented an abrasive kind of strength as usual. His sun kissed skin, his determined eyes, the entire width of his shoulders— the stuff of legend made flesh. Aerion had only stared in mild disinterest as this was not the first time it happened. As no father would stand the slandering of his brood.
"What is this, Ser Dunk? Another bouts of rage?" joked Aerion.
"That's more like it, my prince. His strength knows no bound, my men are having difficulties already." Another kingsguard chimed in.
"Nonsense! This man is not deserving of one punch only. Let me do a hundred and he might then learn how to behave like a knight." AIAt's apparent that the group of knights tasked with holding back Dunk were heaving, exhausting already. Like one moment of lapse in strength and the bull might run amok. Aerion has learn to be honest all those years, and that bull might just be his most favorite when he's running wild.
"What seems to be the problem?" Aerion asked lazily, already seemed ready to ditched the whole charade.
Suddenly, silent greeted him. Not one born out of respect for a benevolent figure or a gratitude when one witness the greatness of nature, but the variant of silent that chokes everyone in its vicinity and refuse to ease up. Aerion eyed every single knight in that chaotic training space, seemingly looking for answer himself in each of their usually obviously perpetrated thoughts. Not a single one met him outright, not except his lover. That, in itself is a given. Duncan stood firm and tall where Aerion is unpredictable and bright. Immovable object meets unstoppable force. When it happened, both a novice. Duncan, reckless and honest, Aerion, fierce and fiery. All eager hands and mouths and well, one thing led to another. And a spawn was born. So loved and cherished by his parents even in the quite of night where the castle exhaled after pulling breath all day. Lullaby sung softly with the baby so gently hold in arms that would separate thick blocks of wood like one does meat jerky.
The silence stretched into discomfort that a group of men toughened by battles and strife would avert their eyes elsewhere as to avoid the uncomfortable truth. Aerion sighed, all intents and purposes would have been successfully guessed the root of this mess. However, he acquiesced, instead trying to extract the obvious tale from their own mouth.
A meek soldier, one might estimate his time in the castle to only have been for a few moons, lifted his hand covered in silver plate armor polished with care that belied his spirited youth. He opened his mouth, "Ser Hamlin had said some outrageous matter, my prince, a matter far beyond his status." The young knight confessed.
Aerion looks like at him like a cat assessing a prey, lazilly, surely. "And what might that matter be, Ser?"
Out of the blue, from the confinement of several arms , Duncan announced, "He said that your son bore resemblance to a commoner more than he did a Targaryen. His hair too alike a fountain of chocolate with only a sliver of moonlight and none of the silken silver your lineage possessed."
"And what of it, Ser? How come the shade of my son's hair suddenly a matter of great interest to you?" Aerion asked, and when no answer greeted him, he fixed his violet eyes with storm behind it to the poor beaten knight. "What do you seek to say? That my son has no claim over his own heritage?" once again he goaded the man.
The man spited out a glob of blood that landed close to Aerion boots, "What lineage that boy supposed to claim over when no sire would ever do it for him?"
At that, Aerion laughed. A cackle that sounded wrong and maniacal as if someone were to forcefully grazed a rusted iron with a fork. All mean and sharp. He deigned the poor knight with nothing as much as a tired glance as he had indeed faced this intercation many times before. And it seemed to him that the world would never run out of fools to annoy his days.
"What use of a sire when my presence alone far exceed any man? A lineage? You would never understand such thing as i might as well read poetry to a pig should i even try to engage you with the subject," Aerion scoffed, "Do not mistake my silence as mercy, Ser. It is a calculation. I am simply counting the way in which i could make you beg for death." At this, he smiled with all his teeth. All cruel and promising a gruesome end.
"Guards! Take this bastard to the black cell." Next, Aerion finger found Dunk, "And you, come with me."
Dunk had not forgotten the inside of Aerion's room should it was beaten out of his skull. The smell of sandalwood and lavender and something yet softer. Traces of milk from when his son still latched on to his mother. Aerion was adamant on refusing a wet nurse. He said it himself, "Nobody shall do it but me. No one of the low born." surprisingly, he carried the task like a knight would take to battle. Ever so ready and vigilant. Dunk was endeared, himself had stood vigil beside Aerion during midnight feeding session where he would need someone to lean on from all the exhaustion of having to stay awake when none would and feed a child full.
Now too, his room had welcomed him like a long lost lover, though it was only a few hours ago did he depart from it.
"Sit on the bed, Dunk. I'll tend to you in a second."
"My prince, that's very noble of you but there's no need. 'Tis but a graze."
"Noble? I didn't do this for the greater good," he scoffed, "The man who sired my child is hurting, i am simply trying to soothe him well." He rummaged around a chest that hold poultice and bandage and things a parent with wild and adventurous kid might need. As the child himself often comes home with scraps and grazes he demanded that his parent would heal. Though it was nothing short of first aid.
“There you go again…. It is better if you would ease up on mentioning that matter, my prince."
"Or what? You'll punish me?" Aerion challenged him, his expression playful and haughty.
"i would sooner cut my own hands." Dunk had said with the certainty of a man that knows he has only one place and one purpose only in this life, and had no intention of letting it all thrown asunder before he himself had done so firstly.
"What is it, then? Our child not impressive enough for you to claim him?" While asking this question, Aerion had gently tugged the sleeve of Dunk's armor to sit him on his bed. Dunk, enchanted and full of love, could only comply. All mass and muscle made the bed groaned in exertion.
"No! No, my prince. That would never be the case." Dunk damn near shouted at the outrageousness of Aerion's question, had he not known the man well he would think it an accusation instead. "I am only amazed and in awe of his every steps and accolades that i often find myself wondering, did i really made him with you? You know me, Dunk the lunk. Thick as a—"
"Fortress.Yes. You said it many times like it's a mantra, Dunk." Aerion interrupted.
"Because it's true. I wonder if the young man would favor me at all over any great lords you could lay claim on." As soon as such words come out of his mouth, a dainty wiry hand reached to grasp on his chin.
"Other lords? You would see to me being pander around other men like a brood mare, Dunk?"
"What? No, no, no! Listen to me for once, my love. I am but a lowly knight. My name is only known as far as i fight for it to be known. Unlike my s— my son, oh god my son, he's goodness made flesh. A true vision. How can i ever lay claim on a deity in a little boy's body when all i have managed to do my whole life was bowing and worshipping the ground he traded on."
"Then do it good, do it right, do it for the rest of your life. If the crushing weight of your own love to heavy to bear then share it with me. And when you're ready, we can both stand beside him together." The hand had all but fallen away, replacing it by gently dabbing away the dirt and dried blood around the wound. Aerion then rubbed a healing poultice on it with a tenderness of a man who have only known that love must be won his whole life and had to learned it when it was given for free later on.
Dunk had sunk into his mind. Memories shaping a boy only 7 summers old adamant on holding a wooden sword upright though his arms strained with the weight of it still, saying that he too, would like to swing a sword around as mightily as Ser Duncan would. Then his memories dragged him back to earlier moments, when he had his arms outstretched, heart beating as fast as he's sure Aerion was too, waiting for the boy to take his first step. Dunk's face pure euphoria while the child's had concentration written all over it. Now it had taken him to the earliest moment. Aerion with his sweaty hair plastered all over his forehead and arms and legs shaking both from pain and pushing out a child he bore from a man with forearms the size of tree trunks. And yet, he hold him gently. There's a stillness that permeate the air when the prince looked like he had now been holding a whole world in his embrace. Baelor, he called him. Meanwhile, Dunk had watched. Hands itching with need to support Aerion through it all with all the lords and ladies apparent, though he did just that when nobody else was around. Always the quite constant shadow that belied his stature.
"No wonder you're the prince and i used to be the hedge knight." Dunk had joked to ease the somewhat somber mood.
"No less a wonder how come i have loved you all this time, my love." Aerion replied with a bit of cheek in his voice. "And for that alone, you shall love our son with everything that you possess. Your heart, your soul, your honor, your very life. By the gods, Dunk, we will make sure this child will want for nothing no matter how little a group of people who actually cherished him. He's mine as well as yours. And for fuck's sake you will act like it."
"Whatever else i shall do, then, to love the both of you?"
"Whatever it takes to make it last. You'll make do with whatever scraps of affection he left for you should it come to that," Aerion stared at him with something akin to dragon fire. Hot and all consuming, "though when it comes to it, i don't think you're getting scraps any time soon, since the boy practically worship you like a living legend."
"Make it last... then, that i shall do." Dunk vowed.