Chapter Text
Duncan felt his heartbeat hammering in his chest, threatening to beat its way up his throat so he could spew the organ out. The continued hammering he could feel physically shaking his limbs did not help with thinking, not in the slightest. It was the worst feeling; adrenaline making your senses blur at the edges, focusing on reaction time, that didn’t help with the conversation. Conversation was a strong word, Duncan, though all he managed to muster up a few nods, by the Seven’s grace at the end managing to spit out the vows he was now forced to take. Forced, because you cannot expect a man to choose honestly between being a sworn sword to House Targaryen or Being free to roam whenever he’d liked once more, as long as his body could move without a head. Which, to Dunk’s realization, didn't happen too often.
He should have been mad at his squire, for lying to him once more, on such a great matter as well. It would have been nice to be informed that, actually, Maekar the prince of Summerhall did not change his mind and permitted his youngest son to go off into the sunset with a man that he saw a grand total of three times in his life.
A conclusion came to the knight, maybe coming from a place of fondness for his newly acquired pupil, but a thought nonetheless, what else did he expect, that the youngest son of Prince Maekar would just go out in the world and sleep under foliage, bathe in the rivers of the land, scour the moors for berries and trade in service for hard salt beef with some hedge knight? Looking at it now and for the past few days Duncan has been hauled across the land like a common criminal with his wrists bound and ankles tied, that did seem like a ridiculous idea to be believing in.
Did Egg think he knew all along? That Dunk possessed enough wit to achieve such evaluation and just decided to run off with one of the princes despite all the odds being stacked against them? Probably.
The knight didn't know what to think of the matter exactly, even if he did manage to catch on would he willingly go back to unite Egg with his family or would he make such a foolish decision to take the challenge upon himself and avoid entering every bigger castle or city, not without a cloak at least.
Supposedly, he will never know, because faith wanted his path to do a few loops along the way, so, Ser Duncan the Tall was now, at least three minutes in counting a sworn sword of house Targaryen. That did sound good, grand even, what hedge knight would refuse such an offer, a few weeks back he himself went on about the excitement he had even for such a possibility. Yet now, after everything he witnessed at Ashford, after everything his actions brought, Duncan wasn’t sure he was happy. In fact, if the knight was honest with himself for a moment, his gut was filled with dark, sloshing dread, he could feel it, the sickness it brought, how his heart tried to get away from its clawing reach as it tried to force its way up his throat still even after he left the main hall, now just standing there by the oak carved door, which were probably worth more than everything he’d ever owned, grand and majestic, tall and imposing, possessing too tall of a frame for even his head to hit. And it was just a door, amongst many others that littered this castle. Such a magnificent thing becoming ordinary amongst the grandeur of this place seemed to be another cruel joke for the hedge knight. Considering that he himself wasn’t even carved properly, better yet, currently he was tattered, dirty and probably foul smelling.
This panic had to stop or Duncan might paint the royal floors with his last meal’s worth of bile. He had to think of something more pleasant. Now. The thoughts took him up in a sudden swirl.
The knight could still see it with his eyes and feel it with all the rest of his senses. Long spring nights warm enough not to bother much with where exactly to lay down and sleep. Breezes running along slopes pulling at their backs as they rode into the orange bathed trees, the light slitting at the white bark’s surface like a checkers board. The leaves coated in a richer shade of green, air moist enough to feel refreshing as they breathed it in.
It wasn’t only the scenery, but the company too. Dunk probably learned more geopolitics from that puny kid during their time together then in his entire life, he learned lots of things from his squire actually, you’d think it would be the other way around but Aegon just seems to be brimming with all sorts of knowledge. On the other hand it’s not like Duncan didn’t have anything to teach too, they trained whenever the occasion arose, every more or less flat surface was an invitation for a training.
He even managed to get a training sword in one of the smaller villages, perfect for the kid, wooden but not too heavy. They’d spar, because frankly even Dunk didn’t want to consider it a proper training. Swords hitting against one another amongst the noises of forests, meadows, moors and hills spread across the realm. The greenery in his mind seemed to form a great contrast, as he felt the walls close in on him with each inhale as his mind whirled him back down.
Duncan could feel his breath gradually slow down with his thoughts circling the green hills and all the Eggs chirping both of them traveled with. It felt like for the first time in his life he was on top of the world, even if it was still doing the same thing, traveling the realm, living the hedge knight lifestyle as he was for a good few years now. Dunk’s eyes decided to succumb to the ease as well, they seemed to stop their darting once prince Maekar and his ever so intimidating presence was out of sight. The knight's heart, at last, decided to give up its restless climbing and settle down back to its place as the bile in his gut gradually lowered to a reluctant rumble. For the first time since his arrival Dunk could properly perceive his surroundings.
He didn’t get to take a proper look at the building they were in right now, being dragged through corridors and all that fun stuff did take up a noticeable portion of his attention that day and he didn’t manage to stop and take in the view. It wasn’t the biggest he’d seen, after all Duncan grew up in the red scorching shadow of the Red Keep and it’s seven drumtowers, but he’d never dare calling Summer hall a small castle, despite its size in comparison to the red bricks of King’s Landing it was still very much grand, majestic and looming. It felt utterly otherworldly to now be standing in one of its halls.
So, that was it, wasn’t it? If not for the fact his life was just spared thanks to Egg’s incessant insistence that he’d serve no one but this overgrown hedge of a knight, Dunk would strangle the puny boy that sat before him right now. Right, the outline of his quire sharpened, Duncan's eyes focusing on the clothes his quire adorned once more, unmistakable Targaryen in their craftsmanship.His father’s choice probably.
- Stop looking at me like that.. - Duncan finally managed to muster after what seemed like eternity of sloshing around in his head and gut. He liked to think himself a stern man, but seeing the little boy before him, who’s been through so much already, giving him that apologetic, full of remorse look, with those round purple eyes got rid of all his ugly bitter emotional turmoil.
- Were you mad lying to me about such things? - Duncan asked, plopping down on the fancy cushioned bench right by his side. - Did you think I- What exactly? That we wound’t get caught eventually? That your father wouldn't send search parties out for you that- - Duncan could go on but his energy drained with the soft sniffling.
- I didn't mean to lie… - Egg started in a small voice, his face twisting down, forehead pressed into Duncan's shoulder. -I just didn't want to go back, ser. - he added another sniffle leaving him.
- It’s hardly a place to dread - Duncan replied dumbly, the hall itself was hardly an unpleasant place to sleep inside of. The royal rooms could only get better.
- It is not Summerhall's company that I dread, ser - Aegon huffed, frustrated at the lack of understanding.
Duncan didn’t feel like touching the topic of Egg’s family, not right now and frankly not ever. At least to his knowledge Aerion should be out of here by now. Which couldn't be underestimated how grateful he was for that. Expecting to have his throat cut open the moment he’d lay down in his chambers.
- Egg. - Dunk started his hand wrapping around his squires back and shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze - I’ll be honest with you, and would hope for the same from you.. in the future. - he hesitated - It will be hard, but my will is to adjust to this place and the new duties that come with it. - he motioned all around them with his other hand, bent down ever so slightly hoping to catch the boy's gaze.
Egg’s head twisted up, his cheek now pressed against the fabric of his robe, his eyes wet with desperately unshed tears - I won’t leave you alone, ever, as long as you’ll need me, as long as you’re willing to have me, I’ll be by your side - Duncan promised feeling a tad awkward with the grandeur and sincerity of it all. - And you by mine, as my squire of course. - he added with a small, weak but very much honest smile.
Egg just looked at him, visibly upset, his eyes still wet and deeply despising the same fact Duncan’s did, that they weren’t out there, under the stars, with the fresh air and green foliage. Instead, cast here amongst the marble.
It wasn’t long since that awful day, that bloody tourney. Egg often saw Dunk blame himself for all that happened. Whilst Dunk looked into the distance, into the forget-me-not tinted sky when the first stars started to shine from above. That somber, brooding express seemed to grow on the knight with the shadows enveloping the man during the short time before both of them curled up to sleep. Aegon couldn’t bare to look at it, all the notion brought was how if he just stayed in his room that night at the inn or even at Daeron's side while he drunk his mind to a bearable mush or didn’t take that lift to the tourney or.. or- whatever the alternative was, maybe his uncle would still live. And he wouldn't have to look his father in the eyes, and see the dread ten fold in comparison to Dunk’s.
Egg’s tears finally became fat enough to be held back by nothing the boy could muster. He started sobbing with a muffled whimper. Duncan’s smile faltered as he shifted, turning his embrace into a proper hug without hesitation. Egg returned it, his little hands gripping at the hood of his cloak desperately, twisting the material, his face pressed into Duncan's chest.
The way his squire trembled in his grip assured Duncan of one singular thing, something he realized back at the tournament when the trial of seven was invoked, first it was only about Tanselle's innocence, about Aerion’s cruelty towards the common folk, admittedly he hesitated for just a moment, after all, despite how kind the girl was towards them both, he’d spoken to her very little. Was it enough to risk his life? It was an ugly thought he wasn’t proud of, but it soon was smothered away when he found out about his squire's abuse. At that moment, and currently too, Duncan was reminded that he was and still is ready to beat a prince, the hand of the king, the king himself if needed, for his squire. That’s the only thing he was good for after all and Duncan wasn’t going to leave his words to the wind - I’m fine. This is going to be fine, I swear it, Egg - Dunk managed to stammer out after he felt his shirt soak through with tears. The boy answered with a meek nod, still busy with sobbing.
They sat there as long as Aegon needed after that.
The departure with Aegon was hard but reassurance that they were ought to meet on the morrow coaxed both of them to go their separate ways for the night.
Before the night managed to swell in its full deep blue darkness, over Summerhalls gardens, Dunk was given a room. Any noble born, or even a servant would call it a rather grand room for someone of his status. After all Summerhall was a castle used by the Targaryen’s, there weren't many places in these walls that weren't outright fancy. Every inhale of the air around the monument seemed to breathe gold with the slightest note of dull, chilly, fire, like the essence of dragons that didn’t live long ago still lingered, embedded into the thick walls themselves.
It felt like during a particularly hot summer day if you’d look hard enough maybe you could still hear the thick wings flapping through the sky, soaring through the winds in powerful thrusts. Dark silhouettes of the beast, always a blur on the edge of your eyesight. The flaps bringing them up into the skies where no weapons of measly man could reach their scaled pelts. All that aura contrasted heavily with Dunk standing in the middle of the room, looking rather dumb, just there, looking at the collection of furniture, each piece costing far more than he’d seen and spent in his life. Another grand thing becoming ordinary in the swell of riches.
A deep coat of thick varnish turned them a rich, dark brown, maybe a shade of maroon under the direct light of the fireplace. They were carved with care and patience that only a master could have, intricate little things, swirls going along the edge of the cabinets, subtle vines curving with the closet turning into a fancy attyka at the top.
The attyka formed two dragons bowing down, wings curled into a half circle. Snouts pressed together. Duncan just stood there looking at each piece, too scared to move, to do anything really. To him it was all so grand, so.. foreign. To think that he might have been sleeping under one of those trees, now forever cast in the shape of a dragon carving on the top of the closet was a strange thought to have at such late hours.
All of it was just given to him at a whim. Well, not a whim, none of these came for free, more of a promise, he pledged himself to prince Maekar after all. Despite his reservations he did not think for a moment to break that vow, his honor and the promise to Egg would not let him now.
Maybe he was no longer feeling like his heart was about to go on a solo adventure up into his nasal cavity but it still felt like something was slowly cradling his heart in its clawed, scaly fist, testing its resistance. The scene of his vows rolled again before his eyes. He wished it would just flash so he didn’t have to relieve every single word of it. The very same vows Egg taught him just a month back, after promptly making fun of his knightly shortcomings.
Right, definitely not a whim. More like a fancy cage for a wild bird, now living amongst different fowls. Fancy, royal, prideful birds. Like white doves. An animal, a symbol of purity that seemed to match shades with his current captors. Mad, magnificent creatures the Targaryens were. Every single one of them, just like Raymun said, aliens that came here on their dragons, with not a sliver of regard, care or respect for their ways and customs. The ultimate force, riding, beasts far worse than a human could think of. Bringing destruction, sowing for death itself as the people of Westeros disappeared in between the flames.
Dunk hesitated, cringing at his thoughts.
Okay, for Egg it was different, he was a young lad that could be thought better. He was a good boy that needed out of here. Staying between these mad men would do him no good. And it’s not like he wanted to stay here either.He didn’t know Aegon for long but he’d grown fond of the kid stuck to his hip. And to think that ray of sunshine, that sure, had a few flaws and behaviors that sometimes irritated Dunk, mainly being a little smartass and a liar would be raised here, with the likes of Aerion made Dunk's mind rail.
The knight's face soured at the name. Apparently he’d been sent to Lys, the second the tourney ended, after suffering the road to inform the King of what happened. To Dunk it just seemed like casting away the obvious problem, out of sight out of mind type of bargain. The last thing that he remembered of the short man was the face of utter defeat, his white skin coated, stained in his own blood, these deep violet, almost brown, wide blown pupils staring at him with that boiling hatred. The knight would have nightmares about that look for the rest of his life. Dunk would have nightmares about his thoughts at the time too. But, to his dismay, the revenge he enacted for his squire, somewhere down there, felt good.
“The dragon ought never loose”. But, at the end of the day, at the end of the trial it wasn’t satisfying, defeating him.
Duncan never possessed a liking for other’s humiliation and suffering, but seeing Aegon's face, remembering the little lad’s confession about things that should never happen or let alone be spoken of to a child. Things that Aerion did- it made his blood run freezing and burning at the same time, rushing through his ears pushing him further than he’d probably like. It was a miracle he didn’t just kill him in that mud.
As if by reflex Dunk felt his fingers squeeze together. He rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen them back, unclenching his fists and jaw he was unconsciously tensing. The knight sighed, the ache in his limbs forcing him to actually take a step further into the room. His wrists still bearing faint marks of the ropes.
The air was thick and swell with warmth, so utterly different from what he was used to. All of it a stark contrast to his beloved elm tree, his freedom and fresh, cold, wet air that the night brought with it. Dunk shook his head, enough of thinking, he’s done that thing too much today, if this pondering would continue further, he might have gotten sick.
The knight took off his boots, tossing them by the bed. The routine settled in rather quickly, one of the only familiar things he had as of now. He savored the feeling, almost hearing the wind of an open field as he pulled on the lace of his cloak.
He painfully remembered his words to Aegon earlier. His expression souring even further. Nothing was truly fine, not really, he hated lying, for one because he wasn’t good at it, but mostly he hated lying to the people he cared about. But, as he repeatedly assured himself, it must have been done. Egg already had enough things to worry his little head over, he didn’t need to worry about Dunks well being too. The fact that he actually may live out the rest of his life, inside the castle’s walls or the grounds surrounding them was utterly horrifying to the simple man that he was. To abandon his way of life, traveling in between villages, inns and sometimes tribes of wildlings, helping however he could, whoever he could, was simply maddening. Even if he wished for it weeks ago, he wanted nothing to do with it now.
He told himself repeatedly that being here, right now, helping Aegon, in the long run, will improve the realm itself. Maybe one day his squire would become the hand of the king. A good one, a just one. Yet it still felt unsatisfactory, a goal so far away it might as well be nonexistent. And that is assuming he would not fail. And failure now seemed far more likely with them being back in the doves, no, dragons nest.
Dunk took one of the fancy pillows, knowing well he wouldn't sleep well on the bed, at least not tonight, stuffing it against one of the bed frame’s long, decorative legs, he quickly sank down on the, admittedly, rather comfortable rug. Bear pelt, he noted, pulling his cloak around his arm, making himself comfortable with a grunt. This.. leg post will have to do for now. Dunk supposed it was still a tree, a dead one, but still. That thought somewhat comforted him, as he gazed up at the ceiling, at the cornices carved there, enveloping it, another uselessly intricate thing, the curves of the wood shining in the fireplace's light at its curved, delicately carved edges. Like stars. He imagined again, sinking his hand into the fur beneath. Grass.
He frowned, his thought coming back darker than he’d liked. It was far from grass, far from stars and far from a tree to rest under. He frowned in this forsaken, hot room. He frowned because he could not do anything about it. He frowned because he felt utterly helpless and home sick. He frowned at the stupidity of frowning about everything like a petulant child. He’d survived far worse hardships than a fancy, warm room.
Duncan shifted, trying to get himself more comfortable. How could they breathe in here? No wonder Egg was so puny, coddled by this heat, with no air circulation.
After some more time spent complaining about everything, the knight's thoughts grew sluggish, slowing their pace down. Soon enough his frustration turned into a salvation of sleep, light but still, sleep. Slumber that he needed, feeling the back of his head hurting from either the bed frame, the soft pillow or too much thinking for the day. Probably the last one.
So, Ser Duncan the Tall dozed off with a loud snore, propped up on one of the bed posts dreaming of getting out of the fanciest place he’s ever been in. Wishing for a piece of dry ground under his resting place, and a tree root or two if the seven gods were feeling kind today.