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His head hurt. The child could feel hot blood seeping from a wound at the back of it whenever he found the strength to force his shaky fingers into touching his wound. He felt dizzy and sluggish; his whole body seemed as heavy as a rock.
The man in front of him looked at him with worry. His throat bobbed as if it was unsure what to say in the face of such a situation. One of his hands rested on a sword; a knight then?
“What’s yer name, boy?”
His voice was gruff and a little sluggish itself. Probably from alcohol. He wanted to respond, but found himself unable to. His tongue felt thick in his mouth; when he tried to recall what had been asked of him, he found his memory drew mostly blanks. What was his name again? D-D-D, something with D– Dun? Dunca– Dun— “Dunk-”
“Alright, Dunk. Do yer have any family? Ya don’t look like yer coming from these parts.”
These parts? He did not know where he came from. Did he have family? His memory could not tell either. All he’d known was that he’d awoken some time ago in some alley from. He’d dragged himself to this place. He was looking for something. But for what? Something was missing.
The child looked at the man once again. Then, promptly, fell unconscious in his arms.
XxX
Dunk had just begun squiring for Ser Arlan when he heard the story.
They were spending the night in an inn, trying their best to seek refuge from a storm that had been raging and ravaging for days on end. It was a dirty and cheap kind of affair with many people, equally as unlucky with the weather as they were, all huddling together in too small a space. Everyone was trying to pass the time with this or that, some card games or gambling. A few decided to drown their boredom in wine, others in food. His Ser had the coin for neither, and so Dunk took to searching for his own kind of entertainment.
He’d found it in the form of a wandering bard giving a performance in lieu of having nothing better to do. The man was small, young-looking, and wore colourful cyan clothes. He carried a harp with him and a bottle of alcohol, telling those who watched and enjoyed his show in between songs to “go buy me a drink, will ya?”. And while Dunk could not fulfil his requests, he still found himself entranced by the story the man shared.
“It is a wretched tale,” the bard intoned in an ever-so-grave manner, closing his eyes and sighing solemnly. “Say, my good people, have you ever heard of what happened to the young Targaryen prince who’d lost his soulmate?”
No, not at that time. Though he’d come to hear the story a few times as he continued to travel. Back then Dunk had barely any idea of who the Targaryens even were beyond the things all the people knew, saw them more as far-away figures of grandeur than anything else, really. How was he ever supposed to know about their personal affairs? Much less the songs the people wrote about them? It felt silly. Wrong, even, to be able to speak so freely of a group of people who were considered so far above the common man. But the bard did not stop or wait for any sort of answer before continuing, so Dunk continued to listen.
And truly, what a wretched tale it all was.
It went like this:
Ever so often, when the gods will it and a great blessing in the form of another prince or princess is laid upon the realm, a miracle happens. A trait passed along their bloodline alongside silvery white hair and purple eyes, a gift for them much like the dragons they once rode. A Targaryen is born with a soulmark.
A simple, easy symbol etched upon their skin. Proof of the fact that they were born to have a soulmate. A single other person whose very essence matches theirs. Who is everything, anything, they’d ever need and to whom they’d be the same. Their intended partner, lover, brother, friend— There were many kinds of soulmates, but all shared a simple truth:
They existed, and the prince or princess who’d been blessed was sure to find them. A mark to match their very own promised to bloom across the soulmate’s skin as soon as they met for the first time and the Targaryen made to recognise them as soon as their eyes met. Much like once they recognised the dragons they were fated to ride in times long since passed.
The secondborn of Maekar The Anvil, Prince Aerion Targaryen, had been one of these few princes and princesses. Blessed on top with finding his soulmate unusually early in the form of a high-ranking noble’s only son, sent to the court to learn his father’s work and be raised as a loyal vassal to the crown when he’d come to inherit his lands.
It was a wonderful sight, the old bard had sighed. Never had there been a pair of children happier than young Prince Aerion and his soulmate. Two boys growing up side by side, training and sleeping together as they grew into their roles. None who looked upon them could remain sour for long, not when you saw the pure and innocent love already blooming between them.
Many a nursemaid and maester could attest to how well they harmonised. While the prince tended to be hot-blooded and impulsive, his soulmate was gentle and calm. Tall and strong, built for battle and safekeeping in a way the other boy was built for quick wit and grace. They were glad and happy children; it was as though nothing could ever dampen their joy.
Only was destiny not so kind as to allow the young prince to keep the happiness it had given to him so readily. And so the story went that on the eve of Prince Aerion’s one and tenth nameday, an assassin snuck into the palace. A rat from the faction of the Blackfyre Pretenders, the bard said, but did not know for sure. Angry and bitter over the loss Prince Aerion’s father and uncle had bestowed upon their wretched lot, too cowardly to go and attack those he hated, he’d come to the decision that blood should be paid in blood. Thus, savagely taking the life of the young Targaryen’s soulmate in the boy’s sleep and stealing the body, so any grave they may try to make would remain empty. All that was left of the child’s soulmate were the bloodstains from where he had been slain in his sleep and the crumpled bodies of the guards before his door, throats slit wide open for all to see.
Nothing was ever truly discovered of the boy, no matter how much the crown searched. It was as though the earth had simply swallowed him and his murderer whole.
Prince Aerion was never the same after that fateful night, they say. He’d simply been unable to handle a loss so deep. First he turned angry, then he grew wilful and vain before finally descending into unadulterated cruelty. Whatever softness had existed within him before seemed to have died together with his soulmate. The only smile that ever came to graze the young boy’s lips was that of a monster smelling the blood of its prey.
No one, not even his family, could ever intervene. Whatever was fundamentally broken within his chest was simply unfixable- the prince with a heart broken to never truly be mended. With only time to tell how much more twisted he would become.
It was a horrible tragedy, the young squire thought, for all of this to happen to a boy so young. No wonder did the bard chose to tell it to the crowd at the inn; he could already see another patron moving to buy him a drink as a reward.
XxX
Truth was, Dunk had absolutely no idea what was happening. He genuinely didn't. All he wanted to do was try and see, perhaps rather foolishly, if Prince Baelor could remember Ser Arlan. It wasn't much he expected, really. Maybe just a nod or a single sentence of acknowledgement. Just a small ‘I remember’ or ‘I am aware of the fact that he existed’ would have been all he needed, really. Enough for him to enter the list and try his hand at making a name for himself. It was the only reason he even came here in the first place, trying to talk to people who normally wouldn’t even spare him a single glance.
Emphasis on normally.
The first thing he thought upon seeing Prince Aerion Targareyn- all shiny and noble on his steed- was that he may be the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. He’d heard of the tales, the tragedy- had pitied him and wished him well- but the sight? He did not think his mind could have ever come up with anything more beautiful.
“Boy, stop gaping. See to my horse.”
The second thing, but he couldn’t be too mad about that, was that the prince seemed to be rather prideful in nature. It stung a little, to be honest.
“I– I’m not a stable boy, m’lord..”
And the third, the last thing he thought about him, was that expressions of shock did not fit his face very well at all. It also just so happened to be the last thought Dunk could manage to fully form right as his reflexes took over.
Perhaps he’d said something wrong. Poor Dunk the lunk, thick as a castle wall, and slow as an aurochs. He didn’t know the first thing about conversing with the highborn- at least not really beyond the basics anyone ought to know. It would have been easy for him to make a misstep and insult the prince, especially if he lived up to his reputation the bards sang about. Either way, Dunk was forced to watch in what seemed like a vision of time slowing down as the prince’s head whipped around from where he was looking just seconds ago. Purple eyes first focusing, then widening on him.
Before he even knew it, Prince Aerion was jumping (or more like stumbling) from his horse. It was so unprincelike that the other had to do a double-take. He didn’t even know what could have possibly caused this as he surged forward on instinct, trying his best to catch the falling prince in his descent to the ground. “M-M’lord!” Dunk tried, worried and trying to see if anything had befallen him. Something like an injury or a sudden illness to explain such behaviour. Only he found none, and neither did Prince Aerion seem particularly hurt as he looked back at him with his deeply violet eyes.
The look of devastation on the other’s face made him catch his breath. Something tingled in the back of his mind. For some reason he found that the weight in his arms felt horribly right to hold.
“You,” breathed Prince Aerion, all senseless wonder and shock in his voice. Like a mother greeting their child after a long absence, or a woman greeting her lost love after years of war. “You’re alive.”
Of course he was alive. Dunk was not aware that there was any reason for him to not be alive, much less for a prince to be concerned about such matters. “I…am?” The man tried to soothe, “It’s…ah, m’lord- are you well?”
“You’re alive. They- They never found, how can you be alive when I thought— And you are here—”
“...Yes? I am- I have the honour to be a knight, m’lord. If I can serve you or if you would tell me what the matter was–”
“You’ve come back to me.”
Any further attempt of conversation was quickly shut down when, out of nowhere, the prince in his arms surged forward to capture his lips in a kiss. It was a violent affair, all teeth and bite while he slung an arm around his shoulder. It pulled Dunk down a considerable bit and held him in what felt like an inescapable hold, like a dragon clawing itself into its chosen prey. He’d have pulled away already if it weren’t for the shock.
Behind this strange spectacle, looking over prince Aerion’s shoulder, Dunk could see both prince Baelor and prince Maekar notice what had happened. No doubt alerted to the commotion by the countless people around them.
XxX
“Aerion,” Prince Baelor began ever so diplomatic and patient in his approach, “I understand that you are quite happy for your soulmate to have returned. Trust us, we are very glad to see him alive and well too. But you’ll need to stop hugging eventually; the poor boy looks just about ready to drop.”
But Prince Aerion only wrinkled his nose and threw his head to the side. “No! He’s my soulmate! I get to decide when to let him go! You can't take him from me!”
For all the stories he'd heard of him, the other right now seemed more like a petulant child than a cruel tyrant. Not that it did anything to alleviate the pounding headache behind his eyes or the bruises that were surely already forming below his clothes. There was a silent look of concern and annoyance quickly shared between both Prince Baelor and Prince Maekar. Then the younger of the two sighed. “Honestly, boy. Why must you always cause such trouble, and when your brothers are missing too…”
Was it dumb that Dunk felt bad for Prince Maekar about his missing sons? He knew he should probably be more concerned about himself right now. Still, part of him couldn’t help but want to express a little bit of sympathy for the man. Surely it couldn’t be easy going through things like that….
Something was grabbing his chin, forcing him to look down. “Why are you looking at them!?” Prince Aerion demanded in an angry tone. “You’re supposed to be looking at me, you oaf! If you can’t even be bothered to remember—”
He should probably save his pity for himself, Dunk thought. He’d need it more.
When Prince Aerion had first kissed him (and how strange that thought was, for a prince of all people to kiss him) there hadn’t been much Dunk could have done. When he’d called his father and uncle rambling about how he’s alive, he’s alive. Father, father my soulmate is alive. How did I not know? How could no one find him? Father it’s him I know it just listen…Well. Dunk had thought it must have been the famous Targaryen madness. Something about gods and flipping a coin. He’d just hoped to be able to talk himself out of it was all. To be able to explain himself on what had happened and not be done in for kissing a prince.
Only he didn’t get to explain, and he wasn’t arrested either. Instead, they demanded to see his soulmark. Asked are you sure, Aerion? or Is it truly him? And since the gods seemed to hate him, Aerion had already come to grab his wrist before he could react, a small and pale hand struggling to close around it as he lifted it up in order to show (much to Dunk’s great horror) the sign of a dragon stamped clean into. A perfect match to the one Aerion bore right beside. A brandmark and sigil all in one- though for him more like a chain- that got him into this whole mess in the first place. One that he was certain was not there when he’d awoken this very morning.
Seated before a fire, surrounded by multiple princes, with Prince Aerion firmly planted in his lap and refusing to let go. The prince flashed his teeth at his relatives. “Leave!”
“You know as well as I that we cannot do that, cousin. We still have to ask him some things.” Prince Valarr chimed in from the back. Unlike the adults in the room, he seemed almost amused by the situation. “Not to mention that we need poor Duncan to be introduced to our family again.”
The younger prince roared like a wild beast. Dunk still couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Aerion gripped tighter. “You’ve asked enough already!”
If there was one thing the knight could agree with, then it was that. As soon as they’d been brought inside the room- escorted there against his will by a gaggle of guards and the princes themselves- it seemed like a million questions awaited. About his name, about where he was, about who he was. What he remembered of his childhood and what he thought he was doing dressed like a peasant. Prince Baelor asked if he’d remember him- them- and when Dunk shook his head and tried to right what must have been a terrible mistake, all he’d gotten was a sad look. Prince Aerion balked when he confessed to having no idea of his past. Of being a simple orphan, Dunk from Fleabottom. Taken in by his kind Ser Arlan after he found him with a head wound, probably from stealing or a fight on the streets. They’d looked at him sadly and called for a maester while Dunk didn’t know why. But Prince Aerion refused to leave his side, or his lap, and so the knight was forced to sit.
“It’s my turn now! It’s my right! You can’t have him- not until I’m done with him! Leave! Leave! I want to be alone with him; he’s my soulmate! Not yours!”
“For fuck’s sake boy! Be reasonable!”
The only thing Prince Maekar earned from his son was another snarl and a vivid display of Prince Aerion planting another row of kisses on Dunk’s cheek and collarbone. He’d have had more of a reaction if this weren’t the uptenth time this day alone. For what it was worth, at least Prince Valarr seemed reasonably amused by the horrible display in front. The young prince turned to him as though he finally remembered his presence. “Seems like you’ve got yourself quite the partner.”
“I- uhm..what?”
“Don’t talk to him!”
More kisses on his skin, more possessive growls. Prince Baelor shot his son a warning look. Prince Valarr shrugged but took the hint nonetheless, stepping back a bit as though to show himself as non-threatening.
It pleased Prince Aerion greatly, as shown by his satisfied slouch and the lean on Dunk’s chest.
“M’lord-, I- what– I fear I’m a little—”
Any attempts at speech were quickly shut down by Prince Aerion digging his hand into his flesh once more. “I said don’t talk to them! If you need to speak, do so by telling me how much you love me!”
XxX
“I am not Prince Aerion’s soulmate, m’lord. Please, I’m sorry for your loss. However, you have got to understand–”
“It is a horrible affliction,” the maester spoke gravely. “It seems like the young lordling has suffered a traumatic head injury sometime in the past. His brain has healed, though his memories may seem lost forever. With an injury so old there’s not much hope left to be had. It may explain why his soulmark had vanished… they only appear once the soulmates meet, and as far as our Lord Duncan was concerned, he’d never met Prince Aerion before today.”
Prince Aerion, who had been forced to pull away from Dunk by way of a guard, sneered.
“Then let me make new memories.”
XxX
House Brewguard, a noble house known for it’s vast wealth through their countless merchants and famous for bringing forth some of the strongest knights sworn to the crown. They seemed important based on the description, though they’d fallen on a bit of a succession crisis since the death of their only son years ago. Lord and Lady Brewguard never properly recovered from it, much like the prince of whom their boy was the soulmate off, and seemingly accepted the fate of leaving their inheritance to whatever distant relative they could find.
It would be a lie to say that Dunk would know much about them. He’d barely even known they existed before. But there was one thing that was very important for Dunk. Something he’d needed everyone- truly everyone- to properly understand.
Ser Duncan the Tall was not a highborn noble. His name was not Duncan Brewguard of and he was no one's heir.
Egg looked at him with too much scepticism for eyes so young. “That mark pretty much confirms your identity beyond any reasonable doubt, Ser. Uncle already contacted your Father and Mother, too. They’re on their way as we speak.” The small child said, “Not to mention the fact that your disguise was pretty shit, now that people notice it. If you really wanted to hide, you should have yourself covered up more!”
Dunk merely huffed. “Shut your fool mouth, will ya! It’s not like I tried to hide or anything! And what right do you even have to speak to me!? I should give you a clout for lying to my face!”
Egg would flinch had he not learned not to take Dunk’s threats too seriously. The man sighed. “To think that my squire was a prince all along…..”
“You yourself are highborn, aren’t you? We’re not that far apart in station, especially not if you are his-”
“Please don’t.”
His squire blinked innocently at him. Then, as though it all dawned on his small mind, nodded firmly. “ Of course, of course. I’m sorry for your fate, Ser. No one deserves being Aerion’s soulmate. Even if it means a rise in station.”
The soulmate part wasn’t even the biggest issue, Dunk thought almost hysterically. Everything else was the issue. Like, for example, finding out that his life was a lie. Or that he was in fact the amnesiac son of some highborn, destined love of the cruel prince Aerion Brightflame, of whom he heard the bards sing when he was young. Or the fact that his squire was in fact Prince Aegon, younger brother to Prince Aerion, and thought to be missing until a guard had picked him up searching for Dunk.
“My Lord Father is mad at Daeron; he’d lied and said you kidnapped me. Aerion is mad at him too for meeting you first. He’s accusing him of trying to seduce you, ser! Yelled that he’ll claw his throat out with his bare hands if he ever tries to speak to you. I barely managed to slip away in the chaos before anyone could remember that I’d run away. It’s a good thing they discovered your station; it could have come much worse!”
If this was an attempt to cheer him up, it failed. Horribly so. Though it comforted Dunk at least a little bit to know his young squire found the situation equally as absurd as him. “Aerion doesn’t deserve you for a soulmate, Ser.”
Ay, Dunk thought. A prince ought not to fall in love with a hedge knight. What could he even offer? It was one thing to serve a noble house, but to belong to it? The man found the thought scarier than it should be. Too many people in Fleabottom would have done just about anything for a position such as this…..and yet….
“You think your brother will ever let me out of his sight again?”
Egg sighed dramatically. “Barely. He’s only gone now to scream at Daeron. And even then….he’s a monster. Surely he thinks you’re some kind of prize for him to keep.” The possessive looks and steel touches he’d offered him so far seemed to support all his squire said. Dunk felt horribly, unbelievably, terribly tired.
“I’ve also taken care of your horses, Ser. They’re in our stables now. Uncle Baelor sent to fetch your things before bringing you into this room.”
“You mean my cell?”
“Technically Aerion’s room. He’d said you were to share it.”
Gods have mercy.
An insane prince, an inheritance, parents on the way. Judging by the way he’d been treated- all of which meant that his life as a knight was effectively over. There were whispers of a wedding already and Dunk felt like an animal in a cage.
“.....I’m leaving.”
His squire blinked up at him. “Can I come with you?”
XxX
Lord Ashford, bless his heart, would always remember the screams of rage and the noises of ruin when Prince Aerion found the absence of his soulmate the next morning. It was little surprise to see the young man depart shortly after with a gaggle of men and flanked by his father.