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“I’m not a child, Your Highness.”
The King’s lips thinned before he got his displeasure under control.
Your nephew took after you, Dunk thought but did not say because he could not explain just why he said such a thing.
It had been years but Duncan remembered the classes for Duncan Targaryen he had overhead from proximity to Egg’s son. At that time, he had assumed him attendance was from Egg’s fear of someone targeting his son - after all, King Aegon the Fifth had not been favored by nobles, not even the ones who kept to his court - but after Egg continued to, not only asking the prince about his lesson, but Duncan as well. As time went by and Egg continued questioning him, Duncan had grown to realize those classes were for his benefit as well.
“My actions are not inspired by such a belief,” King Baelor told him.
Duncan stared. He waited. The King did not explain himself. “Then why?”
He didn’t add your majesty at the end. The King did not like it when Duncan referred to him as such when they were in private.
“Whether you acknowledge it or not, you are representative of my House, Ser Duncan.” King Bealor explained and Duncan’s mouth twisted. Yes, he knew that. “Any knowledge you fail to have is knowledge that others shall judge as a failing of-“
Duncan cut him off. “Do you hold your Kingsguard to such scrutiny?”
King Baelor stared at him. The circles under his eyes had only grown since they had returned to court. “You know I do not.”
There was a table overflowing with, not only food, but desserts as well. It was not forgotten as much as it was being neglected.
“Why am I different?” Duncan asked, feeling a familiar sort of exhaustion. It was not, Duncan knew, a tiredness that sleep would amend. Life at court often lead to such tiredness.
“They know I favor your company and heed your words.” King Baelor admitted quietly. He did not say the words like a man admitting to some secret to be brought to the attention of the gods in order to receive penance.
“I am not asking about the observations of your court. I am asking why I am different to you.” Duncan was growing frustrated and it was easy to hear in his voice. The thing was it was not just the King he was ill at. It was also himself who was at fault. What was the point of having such a vast vocabulary if the issues that mattered could not be addressed properly?
Abruptly, Duncan thought this conversation might have been less strenuous if he was younger than he actually was. If anyone ever asked his opinion on the matter, Duncan would swear that the more words and decorum he learned the more conversations became long winded when they need not be.
“You cannot ask for one without the one,” King Baelor admonished. “I am King. If I ignored my court, it would make me a foolish ruler. The consequences to the realm and those who stay in my court must weigh on mind whenever I make decisions.”
Coward.
The bitting thought rose up in Duncan despite knowing King Baelor did not have such quality in him.
Duncan breathed in through his nose. He exhaled through his mouth. He did not bother counting in his head like a septa had, on more than one occasion, instructed Princess Shaera to do when in an ill temper least she say something unbefitting of her station. When the septa had left the first time she gave such instruction, Princess Shaera had glanced at Duncan with such silent fury that lesser man would have excused themself from the room for fear of having something thrown at them even though they were not the ones to anger the Princess. Duncan had been no such man though. He had merely suggested the Princess Shaera ought to go riding. That fresh air and the sun might do her well; if Duncan had carried another sword with him when he accompanied the Princess that was between the two of them. Princess Shaera was not like her brothers. To openly practice with the knights would be frowned upon even if such exercise benefited her mood.
It a kinder world, Princess Shaera would have been born a son and, in that world, perhaps Duncan could have taken her as a squire since she was not first in line, nor the spare, for the throne.
Though Duncan loved them, he knew it would have done her good to get away from the royal family. Perhaps then Prince Jaehaerys and Princess Shaera would not have gone behind King Aegon the Fifth’s orders and wed eachother.
“If you cared about the opinions of court I would not be here.”
“I said ignore. Not care,” King Baelor was quick to point out. “You’ll find even the opinions of my dear kin shall be ignored by me if I think it benefits-“
“I am not even a knight. Why do I matter so?” Duncan had grown tired of this. It had no need to be this long when the truth could be just plainly said; after all, they had no company in this room. There was no need for this conversation to be this lengthy in order to pay respects to decorum if there were no one to witness it and when they, themselves, wanted to shed such manners like uncomfortable clothing no longer needing to be worn.
“Do you truly believe your worth to me is only derived from you eventually becoming a knight?”
Eventually.
That wording was telling.
Duncan leaned back, head hitting against the back of the tall chair he sat it. He knew this chair had been crafted with him in mind; though the wood matched the other chairs at the table, this was the only chair to have such a height and width to it.
“And what if I never agree to let you knight me?” Duncan asked instead of answering the question King Baelor had directed at him. A sound filled the air. Duncan glanced down. It was a rare occasion where, instead of fiddling with the rings that adorned his fingers, the King was lifting his fingers up before placing them down on the table one by one. His fingers, Duncan knew from experience, could be very gentle despite such violence the man was capable of.
“I am, by far, not the only individual capable of knighting you,” was King Baelor ‘s response.
Duncan did not know how true that was considering his knighthood had been taken from him after pleading guilty to harming a prince.
“What if I never wanted to be knighted at all? What then?” Duncan asked quietly. He did not ask the question weighing on his mind: would you still wish to keep me?
If Duncan was a poet perhaps he would have made a remark about birds and cages; if a bird was not pretty nor would it sing, what was point of it being there?
Duncan was no poet though, just as he was no bird, and nor did he labor under delusions of being just as capable as one. He was not clever enough for such commentary.
“The realm has need for good men.”
“But I am not serving the realm, am I? I am merely sitting in on Egg’s lessons instead. Honestly, I served the realm more as working as out on a field.”
The King Baelor made a noise. Duncan became quiet, knowing he had said something the King didn’t agree with. “Do princes not serve the realm by learning its history and understanding figures?”
“But I am no prince,” Duncan was quick to say. It had been one thing for Egg to trick him into lessons all those years ago; he had been sworn to House Targaryen. Now though? Duncan was not in such circumstances.
Now he was just a man who accompanied the King and his nephew back to Kings Landing. Now he no obligations unless given an order by the royal family. It left him ungrounded.
Other men would have been thankful to live such lavish lives without any responsibilities but it made Duncan feel ill. There were days he struggled to get out of bed even though he no wounds seeping his strength. On such days, it was hard to eat for he had no hunger and, after so many hours had passed, Duncan grew nauseous. The idea of food turned his stomach.
“But you keep the company of princes.” King Baelor said, breaking the silence that had befallen them. He was no longer thrumming his fingers on the table. “You have great influence over my nephew. A nephew you saved-“
Duncan cut him off. “I did not rescue the boy because he’s a prince.”
King Baelor stared at him. “And yet you do not comprehend why I wish for you to be able to council him.”
Duncan glared. “I do not need to be able to rattle off names of Targaryens who died to teach the boy.”
King Baelor inclined his head to the side. There was little skin of his neck exposed but what skin Duncan could see was unbruised; the rumors that the King had taken his bastard aunt to bed then were untrue then.
Duncan’s lips twisted.
That was not necessarily true, he realized. Shiera could have been clever enough to not leave marks that could easily be spotted.
Duncan tried to shallow. His mouth was too dry.
“I have found over the years that the present has a remarkable chance of bearing a resemblance to the past.” King Baelor admitted to him. He had yet to touch the food he had ordered be brought up here.
Duncan scrubbed his face with his left hand. He would have rubbed his face with both hands if he still had his right.
He wanted to leave. He also did not wish to leave.
“I should not have come here.”
King Baelor inhaled sharply. “Do not say that.”
“Do not say the truth?” Duncan incredulously asked, voice growing in volume.
King Baelor leaned forward. Even though he wore no crown, he looked as much as king as Aegon the Fifth had. “Is it truth or self degradation clouding your mind?”
Duncan opened his mouth only to close it. His face felt hot. He knew he looked as red as a tomato even without glancing at a mirror.
King Baelor took his silence as victory. “Now if this conversation has been put to rest, perhaps we should eat before the food grows colder.”
Duncan did not want to eat despite there being several foods on the table he knew tasted good; so good that, on more than occasion, they had made his mouth water at the sight of them. He was not hungry though.
“I’m not hungry, Your Majesty.”
King Baelor sighed. Time went by slowly. Eventually, he spoke. “Have you sought out a measter?”
“I already know the answer they’ll give.”
King Baelor raised an eyebrow. Duncan could easily hear him saying ‘do you?’. Those were not the words the King said though. “Is this an ailment you’ve experienced before then?”
“Aye.” Duncan said. He did not go into detail despite knowing the King was curious.
“And what were the instructions a measter previously give you?”
“Eat anyway.” Particularly meat.
“Sometimes the answer to a problem is the simplest answer,” King Baelor admitted in agreement. “….Yet you do not eat despite this instruction.”
Duncan grimaced. “The thought of eating makes my stomach sick.”
“Would it be easier if you were distracted while eating?” King Baelor suggested.
Duncan frowned. He did not know. “I do not know.”
King Baelor gave him a small smile. “ Let us try then.”