Chapter Text
She’s not sure she could ever regret her choices that led her here, to this moment. She wishes things had been different at various points in her life. But she can’t regret that night. She can’t regret him.
He was so very lovely. Too lovely, Arlan had said, when she finally broke down and explained to her Ser what she had done and why she was sick so often. But still, she cannot regret.
He’d seen her. Her, Dana. Too tall. Too ugly. Too stupid. Too manly. Too everything, Dana. He’d looked at her and he hadn’t recoiled. Hadn’t laughed at the sight of her. Hadn’t… he just hadn’t. He’d sat across from her, eyes on the doorway, always, but most of his attention had been on her.
He’d not laughed when she told him she wanted to be a knight, that she was squiring to be one. He’d just nodded and told her that there was nothing in law preventing it. Any knight could make another knight. Then, he’d told her about Jonquil Darke, Queen Visenya, Princess Alyssa, Princess Nymeria, and other, legendary female warriors. He’d even suggested she go to Dorne for a time, she could openly wield her weapons there as herself.
His mismatched eyes had shone with admiration when she explained why she wanted to be a knight. That she had been born big and strong and so didn’t she have a duty to use that strength in defense of others? That there was honour in farming and tailoring, baking and innkeeping, aye, but who defends those farmers, tailors, bakers, and innkeeps? Why couldn’t it be her?
She doesn’t actually remember the walk to her room at the inn. She remembers his hand on her waist, so very warm, like basking in the heat of the sun. She remembers his lips upon her neck, sucking a bruise she’d had a hell of a time hiding from Arlan in the morning. She remembers the sound of his voice purring in her ear as he’d said she could call him ‘Bael’, and the sound of it, the hunger of it as he’d recited explicit poetry, and she remembers the haste with which they’d both removed their clothes…
Well, she remembers all of that. She does, actually, remember how her Ayla was conceived. She’s not sure either of them were as drunk as they thought they were that night. At least, she wasn’t.
She doesn’t regret Ayla, will never regret Ayla. But she does wish that Arlan were still here. He’d lived long enough to see her babe born and delivered safe into her arms and then he’d dropped. Sometimes she wonders if his life paid for Ayla’s. Sometimes, she wonders if her daughter should have been named Arla, instead. But Ayla was as close as she was willing to get to cursing her child with the name of another.
Her daughter was born with tufts of silver in her dark hair. Her daughter has her father’s eyes, mismatched and impossibly beautiful. One Dana’s own blue, the other a purple she’s only seen the one time, when she’d watched a purple sunrise with Arlan, a phenomenon so rare he said she probably wouldn’t ever see it again. She assumes the colour is from him, for he’d had one brown eye and one a blue that was almost purple.
The boy she finds riding atop Thunder has purple eyes, so alike to Ayla’s singular purple. For some reason, when she looks at him, she can see him. She doesn’t know why. Doesn’t know what it is that makes her think of him. The drunk in the tavern had made her think of him, too. Maybe she's just doomed to see him everywhere now...
She takes the boy with her. What’s another mouth to feed? Another purple eyed child to keep under her wing? At least she’ll have someone to help around camp.
She’s careful to be Dunk the closer they get to Ashford. Never Dana, not anymore. Always, always Dunk, or rather, Ser Duncan, as Egg had exclaimed. The boy goes along with the ruse easily, enthusiastically, even. She’d be concerned at his penchant for mischief but, well, she remembers what she and Rafe had been like. A little mischief is good for the soul, but only a little. All things in moderation, Arlan used to say, unless it was about his drinking.
No one remembers Ser Arlan. It’s not surprising, not really. That’s the lot of a hedge knight. Glory, titles, legends those are for nobility playing at knighthood. Hedge knights are lucky if even the trees remember to sigh their name into the wind after they’re gone. Still, surely there is someone here in Ashford that remembers Ser Arlan?
She makes friends, none of them know or remember Ser Arlan, but… they’re friendly all the same. Raymun Fossoway, whose cousin is an arse, and Lord Lyonel, the heir to Storm’s End. Members of the nobility that Dunk has no real business even looking at, let alone interacting with. They’re fun, though. Raymun is funny, and loyal, and he’s not afraid to speak his mind, even when it’s borderline treasonous. Lyonel suits his epithet well, the laughing storm. He is chaos incarnate. The kind of trouble you get yourself into and never mind until it’s too late to get yourself back out again.
She can’t live that life anymore. Maybe if it was only her to be concerned about, but she has Ayla and Egg to think about now.
Egg had rushed off back to the camp with Ayla as the Targaryen party rode into Ashford. She’d thought nothing of it, not until now. Not until the crowd crows for the Targaryens and there, riding at the head of them is him. Bael, except… his name is not Bael, it’s Baelor. Baelor fucking Targaryen. Heir to the throne, Hand of the King, Prince of Dragonstone.
Oh gods. Her baby. Her mismatched, purple eyed, silver haired baby! Her Ayla is a Targaryen bastard!
She and Rafe had crawled through the aftermath of Redgrass! They’d picked clean whatever they could find of use on the bodies. They even got a glimpse of Daemon Blackfyre and his eldest boys, before their bodies had been collected for the pyre.
Her babe was a Targaryen bastard, and the whole realm knows what happens to Targaryen bastards. Gods, but that must be why Egg was so desperate to leave!! He’s a bastard, too! Just like her Ayla! They’re both in so much danger! Gods, she needs to leave. They all need to leave, they need to get out of here. Never mind the lists! Never mind any of it!
Her run back to the camp is a blur she’s not sure she’ll ever remember. She arrives to find Egg snuggling with Ayla next to the campfire, her little girl fast asleep in the boy’s arms. She’d started to think of them as siblings, and maybe, maybe they could be, couldn’t they? If they’re both bastards, and gods, but she’d thought it, hadn’t she? That the boy reminded her of Bael!! Of course he fucking did, the boy’s a Targaryen Bastard and Bael is a Targaryen! Is the drunk at the tavern a Targaryen in disguise, too? Or just a bastard like her Ayla?
“Egg, start packing up! We need to leave!”
“What? But Ser-“
“Don’t argue about it, Egg. We have to get out of here,” she says, hastily starting to pack things into the saddlebags. She’s not even sure she’s packing things right, she just… she needs to move, they need to go.
“Ser, what happened?” Egg asks, confused, “Did something happen with the royal party? I didn’t hear any commotion or anything.”
“It’s not safe, Egg,” she says, shaking her head. She wants to explain about Redgrass, but nothing comes out. “Just… please, Egg? You need to start packing. We can’t stay. It’s not safe.”
“But I don’t understand, ser,” Egg says. “Can’t you explain it? It’s just the royal family.”
“The royal family isn’t just anything, boy!” she snaps, fumbling so much she almost breaks the saddlebag. She stops, sucks in a breath and closes her eyes. She breathes deeply, then slowly exhales, turning to her squire. “You don’t have to go, if you don’t want to. I’m sure Lord Lyonel would look after you, if you wanted to stay. But Ayla and I are going. It’s not safe for us here.”
“But why, ser? Why isn’t it safe?” Egg demands to know, bouncing Ayla in his arms when her daughter starts to stir. She sighs, stepping forward to take the babe into her arms, her daughter settling almost immediately with a happy huff.
“Everyone knows, Egg. Everyone knows. After Redgrass, it’s not… it’s just not safe.”
“For what? For who?” Egg yells, stamping his foot. “Ser, please! Just tell me-“
“Hello there.”
She breathes in deeply at the voice that interrupts them. It’s so familiar, achingly familiar. There were times in the last few months she’d wished she’d gotten to hear it just once more. Just once. There were times she wishes she’d never heard it in the first place.
“Uhm,” Egg says, glancing around her and flushing. “Hi, uncle,” her squire says, his shoulders hunching. She sucks in a breath, staring at her squire with wide eyes.
“Egg?” she asks, he looks up at her, his flush only growing. His little bald head turning red with it. “You-?”
“I’m sorry for lying, ser! Really, but I wanted to be a squire, and Daeron wasn’t even going to come to the tourney and-“
“You lied?” she asks, staring at him. “Daeron. Egg,” she frowns at him. “Not Egg, is it? No, Aegon!” she snaps, rage filling her, but it’s not really the boy she’s angry at, even as his shoulders hunch even more. She breathes, feeling like she’s breathing fire as she turns on her heel and glares at him standing there. So impeccably dressed. So fucking beautiful, for all that she can’t stand the sight of him. “Not Bael, was it?” she spits at him. “Baelor!” she sneers. He flushes, looking so like his nephew it does nothing but fuel the flames of her rage.
“What?” she hears Egg exclaim behind her, but she doesn’t turn to look. Can’t bring herself to tear her eyes away from him.
“Was any of it real?” she asks, he won’t meet her eyes. “Or is lying all you Targaryens are good for?” Maybe Raymun was right.
“Dana,” Baelor says, taking a halting step forward, his mismatched gaze rising to meet her own. “I shouldn’t have lied, but I only lied about my name. Everything else that night was true,” he says, but she scoffs, rolling her eyes.
“Uncle?” Egg exclaims, stepping forward, around Dana’s leg. He’s staring at his uncle with wide, disbelieving, betrayed eyes. “Uncle, I can’t believe it! How could you?”
“Aegon-“ Baelor starts, but Egg shakes his little head, emphatic.
“No! Kepa’s always so envious of you! Everyone always compares him as a father to you, and he always comes out wanting, because we never listen to him! He loves us so much! Would never abandoned us, ever! But you?! Uncle, I cannot believe it! How dare you? How dare you walk away from your daughter!” Egg exclaims. Dana sighs, shoulders slumping. There’s no putting that cat back in the bag now.
“Daughter?” Baelor asks, his eyes wide as he looks at her. That mismatched gaze finally settling on the bundle in her arms. When she looks down, she finds Ayla looking up at her with her own mismatched gaze, a gummy little smile on her face. At least her little one is enjoying all of this.
“You can’t have her,” Dana says, taking a step back, cradling Ayla with one hand, while the other reaches for the sword at her hip. “I won’t let you kill her!”
“Kill her?” Baelor and Egg ask at the same time, staring at her with similarly wide, horrified eyes.
“Dana, no!” Baelor says, holding his hand out placatingly. “I’m not… I wouldn’t hurt her. Never. She’s my-“ he cuts himself off abruptly, staring at Ayla as his eyes start to water. “Gods, I have a daughter!” he exclaims, falling to his knees in the mud. Dana stares at him, then turns to look at Egg askance. Her squire huffs.
“We’re not going to kill Ayla, ser!” Egg says, scampering forward, only pausing when Dana takes another step backwards, clutching Ayla close. “Is this why you thought it wasn’t safe?”
“I saw the aftermath of Redgrass,” Dana says, forcing herself to speak. “Everyone… everyone knows Targaryen bastards can’t be allowed to live,” she says, glancing towards Baelor, but he’s still on his knees, staring at Ayla like his heart has been ripped out of his fucking chest and that’s not fair! It’s not fair! She didn’t ask for this, and Ayla… Ayla is a fucking gift! It's not her fault!
“Ser,” Egg says, causing her gaze to snap back to him. “I swear it. Ayla is safe, right? Redgrass wasn’t about Targaryen bastards. It was about the Blackfyres trying to claim the throne. Uncle Brynden and Aunt Shiera are Targaryen bastards, too, and they serve grandfather at the Capital. Aunt Gwenys and Aunt Mya, too, and they went back to Raventree Hall and made their own lives.”
“I won’t lose her, Egg.”
“You won’t, ser. I promise,” Egg says, so earnest. “And… and if anyone tries, we can run away, like you wanted.”
“Alright,” Dana says, even though everything in her still says to run, to escape, to get out of here but… Baelor. The heir to the throne is still kneeling in the mud, staring like he has no clue what way is up and she… she doesn’t think he’s that good of an actor and… she’s met enough nobles to know they wouldn’t get their fancy clothes dirty like that on purpose. Well, Lyonel would, but he's in a league of his own. She sighs. “Alright,” she repeats, taking hesitant steps forward, until she’s standing in front of Baelor, his teary mismatched eyes staring up at her and Ayla.
She sinks down to her knees in the mud, Ayla cooing then babbling at her as she does. Baelor’s breath catches at the sound of their daughter’s voice. Dana holds Ayla out, Baelor’s arms come up automatically and she places their daughter into them. He cradles Ayla close, tears falling freely from his eyes as he looks down at her. Their daughter squeals excitedly and reaches up a little hand, reaching for Baelor’s eyes.
“Yes, Ayla, you’ve got his eyes, baby,” Dana murmurs, brushing a hand down Ayla’s cheek.
“Ayla,” Baelor murmurs, staring at their daughter like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen. It’s so much better than how he’d been staring at her before. “Is that… her name?”
“Aye. ‘Tis,” she says, reluctant. “You can’t take her.”
“I-“
“You have to get married!” Egg exclaims, rushing up beside them. Dana isn’t alone in turning to stare at him like he’s mad. “My baby sister-cousin doesn’t deserve to grow up a bastard just because Uncle Baelor took leave of his senses!”
“Egg, it’s not that simple,” Baelor mutters, gazing back down at their babe in his arms.
“Make it that simple!” Egg demands, scowling. “Ayla doesn’t deserve to pay for your mistakes,” her little squire argues, she huffs.
“Gonna get a clout around the ear,” she says, Egg huffs at her.
“Don’t care, not if it’s for Ayla!” Egg retorts, Dana smiles softly, shaking her head.
“You knew what she was the whole time, didn’t you?”
“Of course, ser!” Egg crows, smiling. “She has hair like cousin Valarr and eyes like Uncle Baelor and Aunt Shiera and… there’s the purple. I didn’t know whose she was” -he shoots Baelor a disproving look- “but I knew what she was. And don’t change the subject, ser. You both need to get married.”
“What would the story even be?” she asks, amused.
“I suppose,” Baelor says, she flicks her eyes back to him. “We… we could have eloped?” he asks, she blinks.
“What?”
“That night that we met. I could say we fell so madly in love we found a Septon to wed us that evening?” he offers, she stares at him like he’s gone mad. But then, the whole world has gone mad!
“You can’t… you can’t take her,” Dana says, looking down at their baby. “You can’t…”
“I wouldn’t,” Baelor swears, waiting for her look up and meet his gaze before he continues. “She’d be ours, but I wouldn’t take her. I would… I want to be in her life, and that’s easy if we’re wed. If the realm thinks her a princess. But, if you want to run with her, all I’d ask is that you tell me where you’re going. I want… I’ve missed so much of her life already.”
“Fine,” she says, sighing. “Fine, but you get to be the one bribing a Septon into swearing that they did actually, really, his words to the gods ears, marry us that night,” she says, watching the smile that bursts on Egg’s face, cautiously mirrored on Baelor’s.
“Truly?” he asks, she nods.
“Ser Arlan spoke well of you,” she says, before narrowing her eyes. “That is, of course, because he never got to find out that you had defiled his squire,” she says, before tilting her head, looking at him thoughtfully. “Though, I’m sure he’d still, somewhat, consider you to be the soul of chivalry even after that.”
“Oh, yeah?” Baelor asks, his mismatched eyes shining with amusement. Then his brow furrows. “Ser Arlan. I believe I rode against him, once.”
“Aye, y’ did,” Dana answers, frowning. She’d missed that tourney, been to busy recovering from a broken ankle from falling off Chestnut. She’d only gotten to hear about his achievements, not witness them first hand. “He says he broke seven lances against you, but I always figured the old man was lying about that,” she says, rolling her eyes. Arlan was always one for embellishments, you just had to figure out what parts he was embellishing. Baelor smiles.
“It was four,” he says. “Where is he, anyway?”
“Dead,” Dana answers, quiet. “He helped me birth Ayla and then… I think he knew. Not about you, of course, but I think he knew my baby was… special," she says, meaning 'Targaryen'.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Baelor murmurs, frowning at her. “Did he knight you?”
“Yeah,” Dana says, a small, fond yet grieved smile forming on her lips, tears burning her eyes. “I gave birth on the road, under a tree. He said that was how a True Knight would do it, and knighted me right there, just after my waters broke. I didn’t really process what he’d done until I was struggling to put him in the ground, but-“
“Wait,” Baelor exclaims, wide eyed. “You gave birth alone? With just Ser Arlan to help you?”
“Mhm, we meant to stop at a village somewhere, but… it just never happened,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “It was a quick and easy birth, really. Compared to some I’ve heard of. Took a few hours to rest and then… well I didn’t want to leave Ser Arlan to rot,” she explains. Baelor stares at her awed, and it makes her uncomfortable. She’d not done anything impressive, just what anyone should have done.
“You’re incredible,” he says, something he’d told her often that night. The only one, besides Rafe, and Egg, she supposes, to ever think so.
“I’m not. I’m just me,” she says, hunching her shoulders and bowing her head. She startles slightly when he leans forward to rest his forehead against her own. Their breath mingling. “Baelor?”
“Incredible,” he says, flicking his eyes up to meet hers. “And mine, If you will it.”
“I already agreed,” she points out, he smirks.
“To being fake wed, sure. But… what about being real wed?” he asks, she blinks, narrowing her eyes.
“I kind of… expected something more romantic than that, if I’m being honest,” she says, considering him. “I mean, with all the sultry poetry you whispered in my ear that night-“
“Eww!!!” Egg yells, she ignores him without hesitation.
“-I would have thought that you’d be able to come up with something more-“
“Beshrew your eyes,” Baelor says, cutting her off, his gaze locked with her own. “They have o’erlooked me and divided me. One half of me is yours, the other half yours“ -he pauses, for but a second before correcting- “mine own, I would say. But if mine, then yours. And so all yours. And so, though yours, not yours. Prove it so.” he says, and she is drowning.
“That’s more like I was expecting,” she forces herself to say, smiling when he huffs. “I am yours, and you are mine, from this day, until my last day.”
“Aye,” he agrees, laughing when Ayla babbles at them, as if in agreement. “Just so, little one. Just so. We’re all yours, too.”