Chapter Text
As the servingman deposited the tray of food before him, a smaller figure entered the cell behind him. It took Dunk a moment to recognize the child dressed in a fine black gown as his squire. A headscarf hid his baldness, his face clean of the muck from the tourney grounds. He almost looked like a septa.
“Leave the food and go,” Egg said softly. The guards seem to hesitate, eyes darting between the child and Dunk.
“My lady, is it wise-?
“He will do me no harm,” Egg snapped. “Leave us.”
The guards exchanged a glance and then did as they were commanded. Dunk quickly sat before the tray and tore off a chunk of the fresh bread, feeling ravenous. Egg stood poised, watching him with poorly concealed distress.
“My uncle says I must beg your forgiveness for deceiving you.”
“Your uncle.”
“Prince Baelor.”
“The heir to the Iron Throne?”
Egg looked down miserably. “I never meant to lie.”
“But you did. About everything. I thought you a boy-”
“That was not a lie,” Egg bit out, eyes shining fiercely at him.
Dunk frowned and swallowed. “What is your name, really? I’ve not heard of a Princess Egg.”
Hurt flashed across Egg’s face. “Egg, short for Aegella. My brother Aemon named me Egg. I prefer it.”
Dunk studied him carefully as he sat down against the wall of the cell. His dress was made of tight-knit wool, accented by some woven fabric he did not know the name of that reminded Dunk of dragon scales. Upon his breast was embroidered the bright red dragon of House Targaryen. It had clearly been specially made for Egg, but Dunk felt it did not suit him. Her? He supposed he should be thinking of Egg as a lady now, shouldn’t he? The thought didn’t sit right with him, somehow. Even in the finely made dress, he could only see the scared little boy who had so desperately sought to squire for him.
“So why’d you do it? Was it some jape, make a fool of some stupid hedge knight?”
“No,” Egg replied, and there were tears in his eyes. “I’ve always wanted to go to a tourney. My brother Daeron convinced father to let me come and watch, at least. He’s a shit knight, though, and a drunk. He didn’t want to enter the lists. He meant for us to hide away in that inn until the tourney was over.”
“You shaved your head-”
“It was Daeron who shaved it.”
“Was it Daeron who told me you were a stableboy?”
“I didn’t-”
Dunk shot him a sharp glance, and Egg wrapped his arms around his legs protectively.
“I didn’t understand why he’d go through the trouble of convincing father to bring me along if he never intended for me to see the tourney. I was so disappointed-”
“Can’t have the little princess being disappointed, now, can we?
“I don’t want to be a princess,” Egg said with anger, a tear trailing down his face. “I just wanted to be somebody’s squire. I’m sorry, ser, truly I am.”
“You’d have served a donkey were it squireless.”
“That’s not-” Egg cut himself off, pursing his lips. “When you saw me, you saw me as no one ever has.” He met Dunk’s eyes. “As I truly am.”
Dunk scoffed. “As a poor stableboy?”
“As a boy.”
Dunk found himself suddenly mollified. He watched Egg curiously. He looked so out of place in that black woolen dress. He had none of the bearing of a lady, that was for certain. In some ways he reminded Dunk of Rafe, in a way that made his chest ache. He wouldn't have seemed out of place among the rabble of Flea Bottom.
“What will they do with me, Egg?” he sighed, and Egg seemed to relax his shoulders slightly.
“My uncle wants to see you after you’re done eating, ser.”
Dunk rose to his feet, pushing aside his half-finished meal. “I’m done now then. I’ve already kicked one prince in the mouth, I don’t mean to keep another waiting.”
Egg followed silently as the guards led him to Lord Ashford’s solar. Prince Baelor looked up from where he was reading as they entered, and nodded to the guards, dismissing them before returning to the tome in front of him. Dunk, unsure what else to do, walked toward the desk and knelt before it. The prince’s eyes rose to meet Dunk’s once more and seemed to consider him.
“Rise,” Baelor said, and so Dunk did. He moved to take the empty seat before the desk, eyes not daring to leave the Prince’s. “Pour Ser Duncan a cup, Aegella. Try not to spill it on him.”
“The boy won’t spill, your grace,” Dunk found himself saying, before realizing he should not refer to a princess as such, not to her uncle. “H-she’s a good lass. A good squire. And she meant no harm, I know that now.”
He heard Egg falter with the flagon of wine behind him, but did not turn to look at him. He did not wish to see the hurt on the boy’s face as he had caused before.
“One need not intend harm to do it,” Baelor said coolly. He did not comment on Dunk’s slip of the tongue. “Aegella should have come to me when she saw what her brother was doing to those puppeteers-”
“There was no time, Uncle, I-”
“Instead, she went to you, Ser Duncan. That was no kindness.”
There was a soft clatter as Egg set a cup of wine on the desk before Dunk. A moment of quiet filled only by the crackle of the fireplace. “I wish Ser Duncan had killed him.”
Dunk looked to Egg, but he stared determinedly at the floor. It was not the first time Egg had shown that kind of hatred for Aerion. He remembered when the prince had ridden in the lists, how Egg had cried “Kill him!” with such conviction. He had worried the boy might lose his tongue if the wrong person overheard him, and now he was saying it to the crown prince.
Prince Baelor leaned forward in his seat. “Aerion is your brother.” Baelor’s gaze had taken on a sharpness it hadn’t before. “And the septons say we must love our brothers.”
Egg’s gaze rose to meet his uncle’s, but he remained silent, knuckles white where he still clutched the flagon. Baelor set his jaw almost imperceptibly. “Aegella, leave us now.”
“As you will, Your Grace,” Egg said shortly, setting down the wine and leaving the solar, closing the door softly behind him.
Baelor’s eyes lingered on the door, his fingers absentmindedly turning one of the rings on his finger. His brow was furrowed, and Dunk couldn’t help but wish he could reach out and soothe it. He felt his heart leap as Baelor’s gaze turned back to him, as though he had heard Dunk’s thought and meant to chastise him for his impudence.
“You referred to her as boy,” Baelor said, and oh, this conversation would not be much easier. “So it is true, that my niece led you to believe she was a peasant boy.”
“That’s not how he sees it,” Dunk returned mildly.
The prince sighed. “No, I expect not.”
“So you know?”
“That Aegella would rather live as a boy than a lady? Yes, she has made such clear to us for some years now.”
Baelor seemed to consider something for a moment before continuing. “It is not so unusual in our family. It is said that dragons were neither male nor female, as changeable as the flame. This principle guided our house for generations. Had Aegella been born before the Dance, she might have been allowed to live as she desires. As it were, we cannot risk drawing the ire of the Faith, nor the people of the realm at large.”
Dunk frowned. “Is the realm here with us now, in this room? Why do you deny him this comfort even when it is but the two of us?”
Baelor watched him silently, and Dunk felt as though he might melt into the floor right there. “A-apologies, Your Grace, I forget myself-”
“Peace, ser,” Baelor said shortly. “This is not the matter that I summoned you here to discuss.”
Dunk swallowed, reaching for the cup of wine. “Aye, Your Grace.”