Chapter Text
The stone floor of Lord Ashford’s chambers dug into Duncan’s knees. Duncan did not shift about as an attempt to relieve the unpleasantness. His knees may be in pain but Duncan was quite content where he was.
The prince twisted a ring that was his finger. It was a dark metal. There was nothing ornate about it despite Baelor being, not only the Hand of the King, but first in line for the throne. Not that Dunk was knowledgable on rings. It was just he had seen courtiers often wear them - some wore so many it was a miracle they didn’t spill off the noble lords and ladies’ fingers - over the years.
“Rise,” the prince said. The command was soft; the Hand of King didn’t need to speak loudly to get his way.
Duncan got up from the floor, his tall body surely blocking the prince’s view of the door. Not only blocking his view, Duncan thought. Because of where he stood, he could prevent Prince Baelor from making it to the door; it was reckless of Prince Baelor to let someone of Dunk’s stature be in a room with him without any Sworn Brothers attending him. Yes, Duncan knew, they were outside but that didn’t mean the prince was safe. Not that Duncan would ever harm him. Never him.
It was just…..after so many years of wearing the white cloak of Kingsguard, Duncan could not be mindful of dangers-
“Would you care for wine?”
“If it pleases you, Your Highness,” was Duncan’s response. He couldn’t quite take his eyes off of the prince despite knowing it was rude to stare; Dunk the Lunk, thick as castle walls even after all these years. Only he was not the only one guilty of staring. The prince had not taken his eyes off Duncan since he had stepped foot in Lord Ashford’s chambers. Not that it was poor manners for Prince Baelor to do so. No, it was only Duncan who should not gawk.
“Pour Ser Duncan a cup of the sweet Dornish red, Aegon,” the prince commanded his nephew. He still was staring upon Duncan. “Try not to spill it on him, you’ve done him sufficient ill already.”
The words made Duncan’s stomach twist; the sensation made him think of times he had ate spoiled meat and it turned his stomach.
“He meant no harm for me,” the words spilled out. The boy by Duncan’s side was not the one who had squired for him but Duncan was still incapable of not defending him. He may not be looking at the boy but that did not mean Egg was not dear to him. (It was not his oath as a Kingsguard that had made him brave the fires over and over again.) “And the boy won’t spill, Your Highness. He’s a good boy.”
There was also the matter of Duncan having known what were the consequences of his defense of Tanselle this time around; they would want his hand. Last time, it had not only been a hand but his foot as well. He had not kicked the prince this time around and, for that, they would only demand his hand should he be found guilty.
Egg had not led him astray as Prince Baelor believed. Duncan had walked this path knowing what dangers he would encounter. To take any other path was not to be a true knight.
“One need not intend harm to do it,” the Hand of King said. He was still looking upon Duncan but Duncan knew the words were meant for both of them. It was a good lesson to impart but not one that fit this occasion. Though Duncan could not easily explain that to the prince. “Aegon should have come to me when he saw what his brother was doing to these puppeteers. Instead he ran to you. That was no kindness. What you did, ser…well, I might have done the same in your place, but I am a prince of the realm, not a hedge knight. It is never wise to strike a king’s grandson in anger, no matter the cause.”
A silver goblet appeared in his vision. Egg’s fingers could not fully wrap around it. The boy was young. So terribly young. His fingers were short from youth. They, Dunk knew, did not ache when bad weather befell them. If Duncan took it upon himself to inspect the boy’s fingers, there would be no callouses or scars.
He did not take it upon himself. It hurt to look at the boy more than it hurt to look at the prince. If he looked, questions would spill out from his mouth that Egg would not have the answers for.
He took the goblet without a word. It was brimming with wine. A wine that should be foreign to him but Duncan was well acquainted with Dornish wines.
“I hate Aerion,” Egg admired with vehemence. “And I had to run for Ser Duncan, uncle, the castle was too far.”
But the distance between Aegon’s Hill and the bottom was not in Egg’s eyes.
“Aerion is your brother,” Prince Baelor firmly reminded Egg, “and the septons say we must love our brothers. Aegon, leave us now, I would speak with Ser Duncan privately.”
It has been years since Egg had last brought it up - the things children quickly admitted were not so often admitted when they grew up - but Duncan thought of how Prince Aerion use to slip in Egg’s chambers at night; a knife held to Egg’s groin as Aerion made speeches of wedding Egg.
His lips twisted. There were words that he wanted to say but it was not his place. After all, Egg had yet to tell him of his brother’s nightly visits.
“As you will, Your Grace.” Egg said before putting down the flagon of wine. He bent down and bowed before going to the door of the solar. He closed it softly behind him. He was never this demure with Duncan and Duncan would never wish him to be even if the boy sometimes jabbered more than a bird in morning; the shyness was, Duncan thought, not even because of his uncle’s position. When Maekar was King, Egg had spirit in him. Now though? The boy’s rebellious nature was not be found.
It made Duncan’s stomach even more sick.
“Ser Duncan, let me ask you this - how good a knight are you, truly?” The prince was still staring at him and the ring on his finger was no longer being fiddled with.
Duncan had years of experience as not only a hedge knight, not only as a member of Kingsguard, but as a Commander of the Kingsguard. Though whether this body would-
“How skilled at arms are you?”
“Ser Arlan taught me what he knew.”
The words did not reassure the prince. “My brother Maekar returned to the castle a few hours ago. He found his heir drunk in an inn a day’s ride to the south.”
Prince Dareon, Duncan knew. The brother who had died from pox.
“Maekar would never admit as much, but I believe it was his secret hope that his sons might outshine mine in this tourney. Instead they have both shamed him, but what is he to do? They are blood of his blood. Maekar is angry, and must needs have a target for his wrath. He has chosen you.”
The news was not shocking. It was news Prince Baelor had delivered to him before. Back then, Duncan had felt helpless. Now though? He knew he could survive this only he was not sure it was the cost.
It had been years. Duncan may had forgotten the prince’s face as time went by but he had not forgotten the promise he had made so many years ago.
Your man.
How could Duncan go forward if it meant betraying that loyalty?
It did not matter that Prince Baelor in front of him had never heard Duncan swear to be his man. Duncan knew and that was all that mattered.
After all, an oath made in the forest with only trees as witnesses, was still an oath made.
He was Prince Baelor’s man.
If Prince Baelor did not continue to speak, it would have been silent in Lord Ashford’s chambers.
“Aerion has already filled his father’s ear,” the prince warned him. “And Daeron has not helped you either. To excuse his own cowardice, he told my brother that a huge robber knight, chance met on the road, made off with Aegon. I fear you have been cast as this robber knight, ser. In Daeron’s tale, he has spent all these days pursuing you hither and yon, to win back his brother.”
“Egg could attest that I never stole him.” The thing was Duncan knew of Egg’s nature. Especially of when Egg was of this age. He was a good boy but a liar nonetheless.
Duncan did not begrudge him though. If Prince Aerion was his brother, Duncan would have ran away too.
“Egg will tell him, I have no doubt,” said Prince Baelor, “but the boy has been known to lie too, as you have good reason to recall.” The prince tilted his head. “Which son will my brother believe? As for the matter of these puppeteers, by the time Aerion is done twisting the tale it will be high treason. The dragon is the sigil of the royal House. To portray one being slain, sawdust blood spilling from its neck…well, it was doubtless innocent, but it was far from wise. Aerion calls it a veiled attack on House Targaryen, an incitement to revolt.”
Duncan finally lifted the goblet to his lips. He swallowed down some of the wine. The flavor was strong. It was not watered down even if it would have been wiser for it to be. Not for the first time this night, Duncan did not approve with recklessness the prince displayed.
Wine made men fools even if they were not backed into a corner.
Duncan would never harm the man before him but other people in his shoes may have resorted to violence.
“Maekar will likely agree. My brother has a prickly nature, and he has placed all his best hopes on Aerion since Daeron has been such a grave disappointment to him.” The prince took a sip of wine, then set the goblet aside. “Whatever my brother believes or fails to believe, one truth is beyond dispute. You laid hands upon the blood of the dragon. For that offense, you must be tried, and judged, and punished.”
“And what of Tenselle?” Duncan asked.
“The puppeteer?”
“Yes, her, Your Highness.” Duncan agreed. If Aerion - not that the possibility was actually an if but rather a garuntee - had whispered to his father that Tanselle was committing treason by-
“Even now you worry more for her safety than your own,” the prince remarked. His voice wasn’t soft from approval nor harden from disapproval. He said it such a way that made it feel like observation voiced rather than something he-
“The puppeteer is likely to be forgotten about in favor of your trial. What is further humiliation of a puppeteer compared to the punishment a knight who harmed the blood of dragon?”
“It wasn’t humiliation.” The words were said without Duncan’s approval. They had slipped out in anger. “That was malice.” After a few seconds went by, Duncan hastily said your highness as though tacking that on at the end made his words less offensive.
Prince Baelor stared at him, unblinking as the dead. He raised a cup up to his lips before taking a sip. It was only after he drank some wine that he spoke. “You would know?”
“Aye.”
The man’s expression twisted as though his wine was not to his liking. Duncan doubted that. He very much doubted that. The prince had made no such expression earlier when having wine. It wasn’t ugly expression. The man’s features made him handsome even when his face was twisted upon itself.
“Aerion would like your head, with or without teeth. He will not have it, I promise you, but I cannot deny him a trial.”
“You should not make promises you cannot keep.” Duncan advised the prince even though it wasn’t his place. It was only after he spoke that Duncan winced. He knew his words weren’t from wine loosening his tongue but rather being in Egg’s Kingsguard had spoiled him.
“You think I am incapable?” For the first time that evening, Prince Baelor’s voice had grown in volume. He didn’t shout like his brother often resorted to but his voice was louder than before.
Three words. Others would find it easy to stammer them out. Perhaps Dunk should too after all the lies he had told over the years but he could not find it in him.
I am your man, he had promised the prince.
“…..I think whatever the gods will shall be what occurs.”
Baelor continued to stare upon him. His mouth thinned. Duncan wondered his lips were normally that color or if the wine had stained them a darker shade. Wine had never stained Duncan’s lips but he knew it occurred with others. “Some men say Targaryens are closer to gods than to men.”
Others would have shirked from such heresy. Duncan did not. All he could think on was Aerion’s fate. Egg’s brother had thought himself a dragon made flash but he had still killed from drinking wild fire. Burned himself alive from the inside, Duncan had heard.
“Aye.” Duncan agreed because he too had heard such things. He had also heard that the gods flipped a coin in regard to if a Targaryen was born to be mad or great instead of experiences having shaped as years went by.
Egg had not been born mad. Duncan would have known. He, surely, would have after all that time he spent by Egg’s side.
And yet Egg had-
Dunk closed his eyes. He willed himself to not think about Summerhall. His eyes stung.
“What do you think?” The prince’s voice brought Duncan out of his head. He was glad for the distraction.
He opened his eyes. There was no remark from Prince Baelor about what state his eyes were in. Duncan was thankful for that; it was kind to let Duncan grieve without a word if he could not afford to grieve alone.
And grieve he did.
Egg had not only been his king. He had been-
“Ser Duncan,” the prince said, naming him.
Dunk blinked. He felt slow. Dunk the Lunk, as thick as castle wall.
Dunk forced words out of his mouth.
“Yes, Your Highness?”
The prince’s expression changed. It had the appearance of pity or something akin to it. Duncan’s stomach twisted as though he ate meat that was too many days old. “Have you eaten, Ser Duncan?”
Prince Baelor knew Egg had brought him food. Yet still he asked. Duncan wondered why. “No, Your Highness.”
He hadn’t been able to force himself to eat after failing in his plans. (And that was all he did, really. He failed to save Egg and then he failed to save Tanselle.) He had tried to warn her and her uncle. He had thought he could save everyone if he could just stop Aerion from ever witnessing the play but-
“You will need your strength for what is to come, Ser Duncan.”
But strength had not saved Egg. It had not saved the son Egg had named after him.
“And what good is strength if I cannot protect those around me?” It was genuine question. His vision was growing blurry.
Duncan blinked. He blinked again, wishing the tears to go away. He was not a child.
“You did, Ser Duncan.”
Rhaella.
Prince Baelor could not know of her but in that moment his words made Duncan think of Princess Rhaella. He had been one of the first people to hold the princess. Egg had placed her in his arms before a mere hour had passed since her birth. Duncan can still remember how bright Egg’s face had been in happiness at birth of Rhaella.
(How could the same man be the reason why Summerhall had burned?)
“Knowing my nephew’s nature, he likely would have killed this Tanselle if you had not stepped in.”
Tanselle.
Not Rhaella.
Tanselle.
Of course Prince Baelor was talking about Tanselle. Duncan had known he couldn’t have known about Princess Rhaella but still a part of him had-
“I will order for food to brought up. You will eat it.”
I am your man.
He had promised that so many years ago.
“Yes, Your Highness.” Duncan said - his voice sounded foreign even to own ears - instead of admitting the idea of food made his stomach turn. He did not voice that, likely, he would not be able to keep it down. He hadn’t been able to keep much food down since arriving as Ashford Meadow. It had worried Egg and now it would likely worry his uncle.
Though perhaps he could keep the food down until he made it back to his cell. Then he could puke and not add another worry onto the prince. Gods knew the Hand of King had already so much on his shoulders.
“Come sit,” the prince ordered. It was only then that Duncan looked away from him, eyes darting around Lord Ashford’s chambers to spit another chair. “You do not need to stand while you wait for food. Conserve your strength, Ser Duncan.”
It was cruel of the gods, Duncan abruptly decided, to show him this prince after failing to save his own King.