Chapter Text
As Dunk dropped the Ser Arlan's body into the muddy grave, he tried not to think about the old man's imprints. He failed. Dunk only seemed to think when he oughtn't. The previously faded bond marks on Ser Arlan had been recolored in death, a patchwork showing the Knight being reunited with his long lost loved ones' in dying. Dunk grimaced as he knelt in the mud, trying & again failing to think of the old man as favourably as he could to give whatever words he could string together, not sure what to say in the place of a septon, who by all rights should be doing this, he said as much, only to be met by the driving rain. Dunk's own mark, singular, had long faded away, and Ser Arlan's first contact of clouting a younger Dunk on the ear had definitely not resulted in a soul bond, though Dunk admitted the Knight rarely beat him when he did not deserve it - the glaring exception being Maidenpool, which still stung and confused Dunk, but with Ser Arlan in the ground it hardly mattered. But, all the same, Ser Alarn raised him, fed him and was company more than Dunk would've had otherwise, and now he had no one.
His jaw clenched, breathing deeply, he forced himself to rise. He steadied himself to tell his knight the fate of his sword, but tears still clogged his voice as he continued to speak, his voice hoarse
"I wish you didn't die, Ser"
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Sweetfoot was clearly hungry, and after a long day of riding Dunk was too. He called out to the stable boy, a bald-headed slip of a thing. Dunk thought the boy seemed quite confused as to his job, but who was Dunk to judge? For as long as he could remember Dunk had been confused with most things. He simply promised the boy a copper if he got the work done, well he also threatened a clout to the ear if the boy did not do the job at all, but the idea felt so wrong to utter at a child that Dunk knew there was nought that could push him to actually follow through.
Dunk went ahead into the inn, which was almost empty but warm enough & well lit, sitting when bade to by the innkeep. The only other occupant of the inn suddenly shot up, interrupting Dunk's short, but amiable, conversation with the woman who ran the inn. His drunk, feeble voice cut them off:
"I dreamed of you" The man, clearly a lord of some kind, stared at Dunk from under his matted blonde curls, eyes tinged with madness as he pulled out and brandished a knife "Stay the fuck away from me. You hear?" After speaking the man did not wait for a response, simply stumbling up the stairs to his room. Dunk blinked, bewildered at the space that had previously sat a passed out drunkard.
The Innkeeper regarded Dunk sternly before speaking.
"Never you mind that one, ser. I'll see about your food."
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Dunk strolled to his horses, hunger staved off, but his brow still furrowed with confusion over the drunken lords behaviour. He pushed open the large door and gaped. The stable boy was atop Thunder!
"Oi!" Shouted Dunk after a moment of spluttering.
The boy startled, the too big helmet falling over his eyes as he panicked. "My lord!"
"You thief!" Dunk exclaimed.
"I I did not mean to offend you." The boy stuttered out.
"Take that armor off you. Now!" As Dunk spoke he lifted the child off of the horse, his heart racing, the young lad was so very small and had chosen the largest of Ser Arlan's - though Dunk supposed by right they were his now - horses as his steed. "And be glad Thunder didn't kick you in that fool head of yours. He's a war horse, not a boy's pony."
The boy eyed Dunk, shifting the helmet to under his arm, which looked comically large held by such a slip of a thing. "I could ride him as well as you."
Dunk blinked at the boy, that was ruder than Dunk would've ever risked with Ser Arlan, he wondered if the boy's mother accepted such cheek. "Close your insolent mouth." Dunk adjusted his stance nervously, "I I'm a knight, I'll have you know." He added.
"You don't look to be a knight." The boy responded simply before pulling off the chainmail.
"What, all knights look the same, do they?" Dunk asked, incredulous.
"No. But they don't look like you either." The bald boy pointed at Dunk. "Your belt's made of rope."
Dunk fiddled with the raw edge of his cloak, "So long as it holds my scabbard, it serves." He gripped his longsword, feeling oddly defensive in the eyes of this young stable boy.
"Are you going to the tourney, then? Do you mean to enter the lists?" The boy asked, shifting the conversation.
Dunk allowed himself to stand slightly straighter at that, feeling slightly more confident, "Yeah, I suppose I do."
"Take me with you, ser. Please." The boy pleaded, stepping forward
"And what might your mother say to that?" Dunk scoffed, again completely flummoxed by this odd child.
"Not much. She's dead." The lad responded simply.
"Is the innkeeper not your-" He started, then paused, softening his voice. "You're an orphan boy."
"Are you?" The boy quickly shot back.
"I was. Once." Dunk thought sadly that time, of Rafe. "Till my ser took me in. Taught me arms and riding, and" He paused, huffing slightly before continuing "and taught me everything, really." Dunk chuckled "Best he could." For Ser Arlan was hardly a Maestor, but better a tutor than any Dunk would've found scurrying around in Flea Bottom.
"If you could bring me to Ashford, I could squire for you, ser." The boy said, full of hope.
"If you could bring me to Ashford, I could squire for you, ser," the boy announced. "And you can teach me best you can."
"No, I have no need for a squire, lad." Dunk refused, though despite himself he felt a softness, a sympathy for the odd child.
"Every knight needs a squire." The lad raised a brow before continuing, "And you look like you need one more than most."
Dunk spun to stare at the boy, the absolute cheek! "And you look like you need a good clout in the ear." Dunk threw him a bag and directed him to fill it with oats. "I'm off for Ashford. Alone." He stated firmly, wanting no argument. The boy's bald head dipped in disappointment as he went to do as bid. Dunk softened his tone slightly before continuing, "Look, lad, I promise you, you're better off not squiring for the likes of me." The little lad was clearly clever, and would find his place in the world, which would no doubt be a better one than the hedge knight could offer him. Also, barely peeking out from the back of the lad's tunic was the tip of a dark handprint soulmark, the boy clearly had someone, even if not his parents, so had no need of becoming a hedge knight's squire.
Unbeknownst to Dunk, behind him the boy was staring at his back, determination and a plan settling in his gaze.
Outside the stable Dunk threw the boy a coin for his help, whose eyes did not waver from the knight. Dunk scoffed, "Sulk all you wish. I know you'll scoop it up as soon as I'm gone." He didn't turn back for confirmation, but rode off lightly stroking Sweetfoot's neck as they headed off. Leaving a boy watching him in the flickering torchlight.
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Dunk ambled past sparring practice, tucking a small coarse bar of soap into his pack, chattering along to Sweetfoot as he went, who seemed less optimistic about their chances of winning than Dunk himself was trying to be. A knight suddenly kicked his squire through the fence onto the path, smashing a whole section in half, interrupting his and Sweetfoot's (slightly one-sided) conversation. The knight shouted harshly at his squire, who was crawling up again. The squire valiantly fought back some after stumbling onto his feet, but was quickly battered and slapped around the face by the older man. While the squire slowly psuhed himself off the ground, the man whirled on where Dunk had been watching.
"What are you gawping at, you blue-eyed cunt?" The man said aggressively, stepping towards Dunk. "That a longsword you wear?"
"Uh, yes, it is mine by right." Dunk answered, gripping the hilt of Ser Arlan's sword,
"That's an odd thing to say." The man seemed slightly taken off guard by Dunk's phrasing who winced slightly. "I'm Ser Steffon Fossoway. Come try me." Ser Steffon gestured with his head as he spoke. "As you see, me cousin here is not ripe yet."
The squire glared slightly at the knight, "Do it, ser. I may not be ripe, but my cousin's rotten to the core. Knock the seeds out of him."
Ser Steffon cut his cousin off, "Quiet!". The Squire lowered his head. Dunk peered at the knight's armour, taking in the slightly gaudy apple on the front, which combined with the continued references to the fruit confused him slightly.
"I I thank you, but I have matters to attend." Dunk responded to the request of a sparr.
"What, matters of the hedge, I have no doubt." Ser Steffon leant on the broken post as he laughed. "Fucking size of ya. Stupid bastard." He walked off to batter some other poor soul.
The squire peered up at Dunk, before nodding, giving Dunk a faint smile, and relucantly heading after his cousin. Dunk tightened his hand on Sweetfoot's reins before continuing to talk to the mare and wandering off from the unusually hostile interaction.
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That evening after a thorough wash - the soap cheap as it was seemed to strip his skin down uncomfortably, leaving him quite raw - and watching some of the puppet show, Dunk finished his drink as he walked off.
"Halfman! Halfman!" Someone called. Dunk turned, confused, to see the younger man from earlier jogging up to him.
"Do I look like a half man to you?" Dunk asked, even more bewildered.
"Aye. Half man, half giant." He answered. "Look, I'm sorry. I should not have urged you to try my cousin." The man said sheepishly as they started to walk together. "He'd have broken your hand or a knee, if he could. He likes to batter men in the yard, you know, in case he meets them in the lists."
"He did not break you." Dunk pointed out, while overly violent with his cousin, Ser Steffon had stuck to causing temporary pains.
"I'm his blood." The man scoffs. "Though he is the senior branch of the apple tree, which he never ceases to remind me."
"Will you and your cousin ride in the tourney?" Dunk asked.
"He will. I would that I could, but I'm only a squire."
Dunk stopped to stare down at the other man. "Fight well for a squire."
They talked some more about the Tourney until the squire stopped to ask "Are you hungry?"
Sheepishly Dunk responded, "Always."
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They approached a large Pavilion, two massive gold stag heads marking each end, golden yellow flags flying all around, about a dozen antlers surrounded the soft gold curtain covering the entrance, bottom ones held up by small marble pillars. Dunk marveled that it seemed awfully complicated to be used for such a short time. He removed his cloak at the entrance, following the squire through the entrance. Lit by hundreds of candles, many made merry and drank, two men fought with wooden swords, the voices blending into the music.
Having found a bench, Dunk sat down, thanking the man who had led him here as he poured Dunk a drink. He took a sip, attention caught by a laugh that rose above the rest, a man in a crown of antlers sat at the top table, the squire noticed Dunk's attention. "Lyonel Baratheon.
The Laughing Storm, they call him." He informed the hedge knight.
"I thought he'd be bigger." Dunk responded. The squire just patted his shoulder and wandered off, leaving Dunk anxiously staring after him.
A loud voice interrupted his focus and silences the whole pavilion. "I've had a profound thought, if anyone would care to listen." Lord Baratheon continued now his audience was listening, "Four thousand years ago, our ancestors gathered in that big field outside to blood each other with sticks and have a little bit of gay fun. And they say it was "this country's first-ever joust. Well, I say…" The Lord leaned forward in his seat, then paused his ramblings. Dunk quietly poured himself another cup, eyes peering around himself, hoping no one noticed. "Uh, the fuck was I gonna say?" The lord asked the man next to him, someone muttered a response prompting Baratheon to continue his rant about jousts. "Ah. Men could not have devised such a joy. So, who was it?" The laughing storm asked the room, only to be met with silence. "Huh? Who was it?" The continued lack of response clearly grated on the lord. Who sighed & swore quietly before forcing himself to brighten again. "A hundred gold to the man, beast, or god who sticks me best." He shouted, met with cheering as a he threw a sack of coins into the crowd. "Now, eat your birds so we can dance!" At the his demand food was shoved onto all the tables, distracting Dunk from the Antlered Lord.
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When the dancing had started, music and merriment filling the golden tent, Dunk bit into a delicious berry pastry, oozing with jam and blueberries, smiling to himself, just finishing the fullest meal he ever had, properly satiating the ever-present ache of hunger in his stomach for the first time in the hedge knight's memory. He ambled around the joyous crowd as he ate, eyes catching on the Laughing storm, only to find the Lord already watching him. Dunk found himself being gestured over by the man standing next to Baratheon. Surprised, Dunk hesitantly wandered over to the Lords table.
Lyonel Baratheon sat surrounded by merriment bored and picking at his nails with a dagger. Without looking up he asked the hedge knight, "You ever been punched in the face before?"
"I beg I beg your pardon, Ser Lyonel?" Dunk's voice stumbled in response.
"Big men get punched more than little men. Did you know that?"
"No, but but I believe it." Dunk nervously chuckled out.
"That why you slouch? So you don't get punched?" Lord Baratheon asked, miming a punching motion. He was looking at the hedge knight now, eyes cold and steady, it made Dunk feel like prey, captured in the Lord's stormy gaze.
"I I don't slouch." Dunk protested, voice feeling feeble even to his own ears.
"Ohhh, you've been cowering all evening like a maiden on her wedding night." Baratheon drawled, a sly grin on his face now.
Dunk blinked at him, once again confused. "I I meant no disrespect, ser, honest. Where I grew up, you- you learn to go unnoticed, is all." Even with his height Dunk had always been better at that than Rafe, who's mischief tended to draw the eye.
"The seven above gave you tallness. So, be tall." The lord widened his stance as he spoke, smiling, though Dunk felt the effect of the smile was undercut slightly by the knife still grasped in his hand. "Or I will name you a heretic and burn you." The Lord conitinued, now pointing that knife at the hedge knight, "Drown you. Drop you off a tall pl- I don't know. What do they do to heretics?" He asked, clearly frustrated he wasn't quite clear on what he was threatening.
"Burn them, my lord." A knight responded a few seats down.
"Fine." The lord threw his knife down, pressing his hand to his brow, exasperation obvious. "What have you brought me?"
"Um, Uh, ser, I" Dunk sputtered out, wide eyes darting around, "beggin' your pardons. I I didn't realize-"
"You wish to curry my favor some. Yet you come with an empty hand." Lord Baratheon stated, demeanor somehow more threatening than when the lord had been directly brandishing his knife and threatening to burn him. "Lord Cafferen, the smug cunt in red" Baratheon pointed to a drunk man dancing with a young woman, "he is scarce to pay his rents. His people starve each winter, yet even he shinied up this bauble" he gestured to the ornate knife on the table "from his family's cellars, for he understands that all men, in their way, wish only for your help, or your head. You've come for my head, then." Baratheon finished his speech, intense focus on the hedge knight.
Dunk shook is head emphatically, "W-What? No! No."
"Then, why the fuck are you in my tent?" He questioned, voice turning angry.
"S-Supper." Dunk nervously responded, holding up the berry pastry still in his hand.
The matter of fact response broke the tension as the lord chuckled, sparkling those surrounding him to mimic the sound. "What is your name, man?"
"Dunk Ser Dunk." He answered, stumbling slightly over his reply"
"That's ridiculous." The Lord seemed geuinely perplexed before he leaned forward in his chair and asked Dunc, voice low. "Do you like dancing?"
"Doesn't everyone?"
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Dunk nervously danced through the merry throng, movements small, but eyes drawn to the hollering lord, dancing flamboyantly. They ended up face to face, close. The man surveryed him before suddenly stomping on Dunk's foot, the hedge knight confused but fast enough to dodge the next stamp, wild eyes locking with his. And so it continued, with Dunc avoiding Stamp after stamp of Baratheon's heel, music loud around them, a crowd having formed around them now. Eventually, at the swell of the music, Dunk stomped his own foot onto the lords, who cried out, bending over double, leaning heavily on the hedge knight. Dunk's eyes widened as he panicked, would they beat him bloody for hurting a nobleman?
His hand on the Lord's chest supported him & eased the Lord's rise, he was so anxious that he didn't notice the sunset handprint blooming where his hand lay over Lyonel Baratheon's heart, nor the stormy grey engulfing the palm of his hand. The air was already so electric and loud and Dunk's heart was already racing so fast and his focus so singularly on Lyonel Baratheon, his eyes and curls so wild, his leather vest clinging to him so distractingly, that the world becoming a storm around them went completely unnoticed.
Lyonel Baratheon did notice though, oh how he noticed, the second heart beat racing in his chest, the way for a moment the world around him became soft winds, an elm tree under a sunset tinting the world around them soft oranges and pinks, highlighting this hedge knights big blue eyes, wide and entirely on him. Lyonel was already focused on and intrigued the man before him but now he held the stag lord's desire alongside that. He rose to his full height, and oh how he still had to look up to peer at the other man, his new soulmate. Lyonel had not had a new bond in many years, so as the elation joined the drink in his veins he simply stuck out his tongue and winked at him.
Dunk grinned and shoved Lyonel, his hand brushing their marks together as he does so. They spun around each other, the laughing storm hollering again as he spun, pushing the dance closer to the traditional soulmate ceremonies from the storm lands, witnessed in his youth. He grabbed the taller man's shoulder and properly spun him as they danced into delirium together.
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Lyonel gazed at Dunk, trying to commit the man's face to memory, where he was drunkenly leaning on the table, eyes not leaving his, Lyonel's own crown of antlers perched on his head. So early in their bond, yet Lyonel could not remember having ever being so besotted before.
"You know, it's best not to agonize." Lyonel finished rambling through some story or other.
"Yeah, I I agonize a lot. Sometimes, I I think I agonize too much, and I just end up agonizing over that." Dunk replied. Lyonel blinked slowly at the man next to him, the thought that the giant was too pretty to be allowed to fret so rattled through his head. The hedge knight continued to ramble about his anxieties for the tourney, finishing by asking Lyonel, "what chance do I have? Truly?"
The Lord of storms end let his eyes dart away. "Oh, you have no chance." He replied, but didn't voice the thought that neither Dunk nor Lyonel need win anything at this tourney, for they have both won the prize of a new soulmate, a more special thing than any gold, for Lyonel himself had mountains of gold but only 7 soulmates his entire life, including the bonds formed with his parents. He reached over and pressed his hand against the hedge knight's shoulder, spring breeze kissing at his face as sparks dance along his fingertips, "But it's a great honor to test oneself against a worthy foe." He murmured.
"No disrespect, ser. That's easy for you to say. You have a name, an inheritance." Dunk paused to collect his thoughts, drunk mind failing to puzzle out why he all of a sudden had to shake away the scent of storm fresh air and winter pine. "One loss, and I won't be able to ransom back my own horse."
Lyonel chuckled, for if the knight merely asked he would empty his pockets this instant, "A knight without a horse is no knight at all."
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Dunk traipsed back to his camp, his still drunk mind clouded by disappointment over Manfred's lacking recollection of Ser Arlan. He paused. There was a campfire. Which had not been there hours previously when Dunk had left the elm. He cautiously walked closer, stopping again when he saw the stableboy from the previous eve. The bald boy was sat at the fire. "You!" He exclaimed. "What, What are you doing?"
"Cooking a fish. Do you want some?" The boy said, weirdly calm for a child who had somehow stalked Dunk all the way to Ashford.
"No. I mean, how did you get here? Did you steal a horse?" The miles between the Inn & the Tourney would have been difficult for Dunk in a day, but nigh impossible for such a small lad.
"I rode in the back of a lamb cart." He replied, simply, rising to stand.
"Lamb cart." Dunk scoffed, "Well, you best find another one."
"You can't make me go. I'd had enough of that inn." The boy said, trying to raise his little bald head imperiously, the effect fell slightly short.
"Now, listen, I'll have no more insolence from you, boy. I should throw you over my horse and take you home."
The lad simply smiled in response, slightly smug in his reply, "You'd need to ride all the way to King's Landing - You'd miss the tourney."
Dunk blinked, still a tad too drunk to have a full conversation with the little terror. "What are those doing there?" he pointed at his earlier shoved away spare clothes, for he only had one pair and they smelt even to him.
"I washed them. I made the fire, caught the fish, and groomed the horses." The lad looked proud of himself as he listed, which Dunk cold admit he should be, he was surprisingly competent. He continued, "I would have raised your pavilion, but I couldn't find one." Dunk smarted slightly, there was the cheek that always slipped in.
"There's my pavilion." He replied, gesturing to the elm.
"That's a tree." The boy now seemed slightly incredulous now, as if he was not sure if the hedge knight, smelling so strongly of ale and wine as he did was quite aware.
"Yes, and it's all the pavilion a true knight needs. I'd sooner sleep under the stars than in some smoky tent." Dunk thought it sounded rather poetic, though the lad was unmoved.
"What if it rains?"
"The tree will shelter me."
"Trees leak."
Dunk laughed slightly, admitting defeat on that one. "So they do."
"What's your name?" The boy asked, sat by the fire again.
"Dunk."
"Ser Dunk. That's no name for a knight. Is it short for Duncan?"
Dunk shiffled his feet, then proceeded to lie like a liar, "Yeah. Yes. Uh, Ser Duncan of-" Dunk's eyes darted around the camp before Lyonel Baratheon's stormy eyes and words drifted through his mind 'The seven above gave you tallness. So, be tall.' And Dunk drew himself up to his full height before continuing, "Ser Duncan the Tall."
"Never heard of him." The boy responded.
"Do you know every knight in the Seven Kingdoms, then?" Dunk felt quite unsteadied by this odd lad.
"The good ones." He said simply.
Dunk chuffed a short laugh, "You got a name, thief?"
"Egg." The lad chirped.
"Egg." Being teased by a child called Egg of all things was a little grating, but given Egg's reaction to Dunk's name the feeling would probably be mutual. "Well, Egg, by rights, I should beat you bloody, send you on your way." Egg peered up at him eyes bigger now, slightly nervous in a way that clawed at Dunk's chest, he sighed. "But you look as though you don't eat much. And if you'll swear to do as you're told I'll let you serve me for the tourney." The little lad clearly had his reasons if he wished to serve a lowly hedge knight, but the little grin he have Dunk in response near melted his heart. "After that, well we'll see. I don't have much, but if you prove worth your keep you'll have clothes on your back and food in your belly. The clothes might be
rough-spun and the food, salt beef and salt fish, but you won't go hungry. I promise not to beat you. Except when you deserve it." Which Dunk was well aware would probably be never, the man couldn't even bring himself to properly punish the horses when they misbehaved, and Egg was so very small and thin in comparison.
"Yes, my lord." Egg replied, staring at him.
"Ser." Dunk lightly corrected. "I'm only a hedge knight."
The two were curled up in separate sleeping packs, laid next to each other on the ground, the crackling fire and the stars provided slight illumination. Both were still awake though.
"A falling star brings luck to those who see it." Egg mused.
"Go to sleep, boy." Dunk groaned.
"All the other knights are in their pavilions by now, staring up at silk instead of sky."
"Do you want a clout in the ear?" Dunk knew the threat was for naught but the way the by tensed and turned onto his side clenched his gut. The idea of actually hitting the boy felt deeply wrong and twisted stomach into knots. "S-So, the luck is ours alone?" Dunk added, as gently as he could.
The boy turned over again and smiled slightly, Dunk reached over, trying to ruffle the lads hair, not realising there was none until his hand landed on Egg's bald little head, who giggled clearly knowing what Dunk had intended to do.
They both drifted off to sleep under the stars, neither noticing the Sunset oranges & pinks blooming in a handprint on Egg's head, nor the way Dunk instinctively curled around his newly storm grey hand.