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When he first hears the voice calling him, he imagines it is simply a trick of the wind. Or wine. But when it repeats, and Egg next to him tenses, he realizes it is real. But before either of them can say anything, the fabric of the tent parts again, and a figure appears.
“There you are!”
“Who-“ Ser Duncan frowns but takes a step back when you push your hood back, revealing a head of wine-red hair*, a tiara of metal flames circling your head.
“My wine-haired darling.” Daeron groans, trying to stand.
“Sit down, you fool, you’re too drunk to be wandering about, let alone to stand.” You push him back to sit, moving your wet cape out of the way and revealing your pregnant belly.
“You are too pregnant to be wandering about.” Daeron barks one of his breathless laughs, and you give him a look, one he is too familiar with.
“What else was I supposed to do when my idiot of a husband sneaks out of the castle only moments after being beaten to the sight of blood? I came to save your skin from any more lashings. I’d like my child to have a father who is not more scar than man.” You nag him, but there is affection in your words.
Ser Duncan and Raymun are watching in surprise when you groan and rub your back as Daeron shakes his head, giving you a look of affection. You drape Daeron’s cloak back over his shoulders, attaching it around his neck with deft fingers.
“We'd best get going, my ladies can only distract your father for a limited time.”
“And when they cannot anymore?” Ser Duncan asks, finding his voice, and you shift your gaze to his, raising a brow.
“Daeron and I clearly left the castle to fetch something for my cravings...” Your tone is matter-of-fact, like what you are saying is the only truth and not a complete lie, glancing around.
“This is a Fossoway tent, so we’ll say apple cider. Egg joined us to help us carry them, since I am in no such state.” You gesture to your stomach, and then to your young good-brother, whose smile is mischievous.
“Unfortunately, the storm is terrible, and with Egg being so small, we got separated.” Waving your hand to the thunderstorm outside, you press your hand to your chest in mock concern.
“You’ll have to figure the rest on your own.” You add to the boy, who nods with a bright smile.
Another crack of lightning sounds, and you sigh.
“The rain seems to be getting worse by the minute. So, my drunken dragon, we must get moving.” You push Daeron, jolting him enough that he groans, the wine in his veins making his world spin.
“Soon. Ser Duncan, a private word?” He stands with a heavy breath, giving you a guarded glance, one you know too well. He has had a dream and is about to share it with the subject, now presumably Ser Duncan.
“Only a word. Perhaps two.” You agree, crossing your arms, leveling him an even stare.
“You truly are a force.” Daeron laughs before he ducks out, and you huff.
“Someone in this marriage has to be, and the other is a drunken mess.” But there is warmth in the way you say it, even when he cannot hear you anymore.
You settle to sit beside Egg, not minding the tense silence. Ever since you married the drunken Targaryen, all you’ve had are tense silences, so you’re used to it. But when the babe kicks, you cannot help but smile, pressing your hand to your stomach with a soft breath. This, however, alerts Egg, who studies you quickly, with large eyes filled with worry.
“Are you alright? Do I need to get Daeron?” He glances in the direction where his older brother had disappeared, but you shake your head.
“No, I am alright. Here, feel.” You take him by the wrist and gently guide his small hand to the spot where the babe kicked last.
His confusion soon turns to elation as he feels the babe kick, a bright smile rising to his face as he glances between you and your belly in wonder.
“That’s them?” You nod, smiling at his excitement.
“That’s your niece or nephew. Soon, you’ll be able to meet them.” Ser Duncan ducks back in, and you stand with a groan.
“Now, don’t get into trouble you cannot get out of, and do not get yourself killed. Is that understood?” Egg nods as you point at him. Next, your attention turns to Ser Duncan.
“Please try and not pummel my husband too badly on the field tomorrow? And take care of Egg, his mouth will get him into trouble.” The knight fumbles as he promises to do so, but you are already striding out of the tent.
“Fossoway.” With a short bow, you fling him a coin. He catches it as you pick a bottle of aged cider from the rack, pull your hood over your hair, and duck out of the tent.
He opens his palm, and his brows rise, and Dunk’s mouth drops open in disbelief. A gold dragon, for a bottle of cider. Dunk has not even seen one this close before. The two stare after you, wondering what and who they just witnessed. Egg, delighted in their confusion, lets out a small laugh.
“I thought we were supposed to find you some knights for the Trial. Or are we going to spend the rest of the evening staring after my good-sister?” Raymun shakes his head and brings his focus back onto the matter at hand. Ser Duncan tries to wrap his head around the fact that a gorgeous woman is married to Daeron. And that she is Egg’s good-sister.