Work Text:
Dunk’s day started much like it always did.
He woke up at the crack of dawn, watched as the sun rose, mourned the loss of warmth when he left his covers and went to get dressed. He picked the black doublet with the red accents, because that was what his king liked the best, and chose pants that would go well with it. He pulled on his shoes before trying to straighten out his hair. A hopeless task even with the aid of a brush, but he did his best still. The boy rinsed his mouth with some water after. Then he quickly made his way out of the room and down the steps to where he was expected.
Part of him still felt the prickle of his skin when he wandered the halls of the Red Keep, much less those of Maegor’s Holdfast. Endless and vast as the castle seemed to a boy of one-and-ten it seemed almost impossible to imagine he’d ever learn how to properly navigate it. Not when every corridor seemed entirely unique and yet also exactly the same as the last one. Dunk made sure to make a note of the portrait of Aegon the Conqueror to his left when he passed it, knowing he’d need to walk this corridor at least a few more minutes before he needed to turn left.
The closer he came to the royal apartments, the more servants and guards alike passed by him as he made his way. None of them paid any particular mind to him, despite his odd frame and unusual height. His presence had become far too normal for anyone to waste much thought on it. Still, Dunk made sure to greet and smile at every person who passed his way. Right until he stood before the door to his king’s bedchamber.
“Her grace the queen has left early today, little Commander”, one of the Kingsguard guarding the door informed him rather solemnly. He did not remember the knight’s name, much to Dunk’s own shame. He was a newer appointment, though he must have been around long enough to pick up the nickname. Most of the Kingsguard called him that. He once asked why, but they’d never told him. The boy frowned involuntarily.
Across from him, guarding the other door, Ser Barrian- one of the few remaining Kingsguard from before Summerhall - snorted and smiled at his sworn brother and the child. “But the king is still inside. You’d do well greeting him.”
Dunk nodded, blubbering his understanding much to the older man’s chagrin. He laughed heartily and patted him on his back, halfway pushing him into the room as his sworn brother opened the door for them.
It was a marvellous thing, Dunk thought. The king's chamber was decked out with every finery one could imagine. Satin curtains and velvet cloth and candleholders made of pure gold, with a balcony and a king that sat awaiting in his nightgown still.
“Dunk.” King Aegon spoke, reaching out his hand to invite the boy to sit beside him. Terribly kind and soft. “Tell me what you've dreamed tonight.”
A few flames blazed in the hearth of the room already. He was sitting before it in a darkwood chair, a blanket thrown over his legs and what the boy assumed to be breaking of his fast standing on a small table beside. Part of him wondered if he should stake the fire for his king first, but reasoned that it would not be polite to keep him waiting. He quickly settled down at King Aegon's feet, the same way he'd always done. His head obediently found its place on the man's leg so he could tangle his slender fingers in it. Dunk took a deep breath to concentrate. “I- I think I was…was…riding,” he began, “it was night. I was lonely. And- and, well, I was sad. I've got no idea what about, though… It- It was as if something horrible had happened to me. Like I- Like I'd lost someone important…”
His king hummed gently, long since used to this ritual they had been doing each morning. “What happened then?’
XXX
King Aegon the Unlikely, fifth of his name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, was a good and honest man. He was the best, in fact. Dunk could not imagine a ruler he would rather have than King Aegon.
And yet, not even he could deny that sometimes something was….off.
“They say he’s become almost unaging due to the blood magic he used to hatch his dragons,” Prince Rhaegar commented almost idly, “That’s what I heard the maesters say.”
Dunk did not think that was all there was to the matter, but he smiled nonetheless. “Did his grace send you?”
The other boy huffed, moving to grab a sword from the rack next to him. Despite the fact that he himself must have only just broken his fast, Prince Rhaegar seemed eager to test his sword skills against Dunk. Training together had become one of his favoured things to do with him, even if he found himself at a rather stark disadvantage due to the other’s abnormal size. “He always sends me to go talk to you. Grandfather thinks you’re a good influence or something like that, I think he wants us to be friends.”
“But…we are friends. Right, Your Grace?”
“Of course we are!” He insisted, “Which is why I don’t understand why he keeps on sending me to you. Even father thinks it’s starting to become excessive. Yet all the adults keep on insisting! I swear, if you were a woman they’d probably have you marry me too!”
Dunk tilted his head. “I’m only a peasant, your Grace. No matter how kind your great-grandfather is, I’m sure they’d know better than that…”
As shameful as the truth was, it was still the truth nonetheless. Dunk was a peasant. A fleabottom rat, probably a bastard, with a mother who abandoned him and a father. The fact that he was allowed to grow in the Red Keep amongst nobility was a small wonder already and most certainly more than he deserved. He should have been a servant at best, nowhere close to the standing he held currently. He would not be more than what he was supposed to be.
Prince Rhaegar seemed entirely unconvinced. With his silvery hair falling to frame his face like a portrait and violet eyes to make him look like a porcelain doll, Dunk almost missed the glint in his eyes as he stared at him. The boy’s skin prickled.
“The king loves you. I’m sure he’d love even more to have you in the family if he could bind you that way. But they’d ruin you, so he cannot. So this is it. Why else would he have pulled you onto his dragon that day, mhm?”
Cold air stung in Dunk’s lungs. He could still remember the dusty street. How he’d pushed and shoved himself to the front, a boy fed by the king’s alms wanting to thank the man for saving him from starving, as he came to visit Fleabottom to see the condition of his people. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the look of terror in the man’s eyes. Then the tears, the sorrow, the guilt. He felt the hands grasping him and pressing him to his chest. The words he spoke that were a mix of what he learned was High Valyrian and the Common Tongue. The way he repeated his name, Duncan Dunk Ser Duncan, and how he’d flung the child atop his mighty beast to take to the castle with him. So fast and so sudden that he’d barely have time to yelp.
The memories were so fresh in his mind they drowned out most of the rest of what the other had said.
“....You are too nice to me, my prince…”
Rhaegar looked at him and sighed. “And you still sound like you just arrived here.”
XXX
Maester Voss, an elderly man with thinning hair and green eyes, looked at Dunk expectantly. He was not unkind, though he was most certainly more strict than the average tutor. Maybe that was why he’d been assigned to most of the boy’s lessons- thick and slow as he was.
“Tell me what you’ve learned of Ser Duncan,” the man ordered him to recite, “and do try to remember most of the details.”
Outside, birds were chirping; the boy did his best to concentrate.
“Ser Duncan the Tall was a hedge knight,” he began, “He..uhm…he later ascended to the role of Lord Commander. He was born in Kingslanding as an orphan from Fleabottom- j-just like me -before he became a squire. There’s not much we know about his time squiring; only that his Ser went by the name Arlan of Pennytree and died of sickness.”
His teacher nodded, silently urging his pupil to continue. Dunk found himself nodding ever so slightly. “His first appearance was during a Tourney at Ashford in 210-”
“It was 209 A.C, boy.”
“in 209 A.C” the child quickly amended “where he met King Aegon. Back then he went by the nickname; he begged to become squire to the knight and Ser Duncan accepted…”
Things went easier after that, Dunk finding a rhythm to reciting the familiar story. Facts began to come to him more easily the longer he went on. Just like the well-practised tale, they truly were. Ser Duncan entered the tourney to make a name for himself; there he met and befriended Lord Baratheon, who was heir to Storm’s End at the time, and Raymun Fossoway, who would found House Fossoway of New Barrel. He tried his best to enter the lists and managed to set to ride during the later days of the tourney. Only for his plans to be interrupted when he defended an innocent puppeteer girl from the cruel prince Aerion Brightflame after he’d taken offence to her show. Ser Duncan was dragged into a trial of seven in defence of himself, during which the good prince Baelor Breakspear came to his rescue. Fighting against his own family on the side of justice. In the end he won, though the good prince had lost his life, and Ser Duncan rode off.
Dunk cleared his throat. “He took with him King Aegon as his squire after. They would travel all of Westeros together, Ser Duncan teaching and protecting and raising him with much love and care until the king was a man as honourable as he was. He fought in the third Blackfyre rebellion at his side and proved his valour. When King Aegon ascended the throne and a spot had opened, he quickly made him a Kingsguard. Shortly after that Ser Duncan would become the Lord Commander and continued to serve his king faithfully. He fought Lord Baratheon, who had supported him during his trial at Ashford, in a trial of combat after he had declared himself Storm King as a response to Prince Duncan the Small scorning his daughter. Ser Duncan also slew the pretender Daemon III Blackfyre in valiant battle.”
His Maester nodded. “Good, good! I can see that you take your studies very seriously; that’s good. Remember, his grace has personally requested that you learn these things. So you must follow his orders heed. Do you understand?”
Dunk nodded.
“Excellent. Now: Tell me how Ser Duncan found his grave.”
Ah, that part. For some reason, he always found his stomach twisting into knots when Maester Voss asked him to recount it. The boy could not understand why. He pressed on regardless.
“He found it during the Hatching at Summerhall. King Aegon, tired of the noble lord’s refusal to heed his orders as well as their constant attempts at pressuring him, decided it was time for the Targaryen dynasty to be returned to their former glory. He gathered most of his family at Summerhall as the birth of his first great-grandchild, Prince Rhaegar, approached. Something went wrong during the process, however, and–”
“And?”
“...And a fire broke out. Ser Duncan did his best to save anyone he could, rescuing much of the royal family before chasing back in himself to rescue the king. He found his grace in the middle of the room, cradling an egg, somehow miraculously unharmed. But he had become unable to walk– for his elderly body had grown weak from the smoke. Desperate and failing himself he grabbed the king and carried him through the corridors to the exit- so long until he realised that they had been mostly blocked. Ser Duncan threw his Grace, together with the dragon egg, out of a window in an attempt to at least preserve their life. It worked; King Aegon survived, and he managed to hatch his egg successfully. But Ser Duncan had perished in the flames. His body burned into nothingness, so much so that they could not even identify a corpse to bury.”
XXX
Queen Betha cooed at him, straightening out a few wayward strands of his hair. Dunk had been unable to come to her much earlier today, only finding time shortly after midday, but she did not seem terribly cross with him for it. The boy was glad about that, allowing his queen to manoeuvre him around as she pleased. Her own age was obvious in her features more so than it was the case for her husband, who was currently content watching them from a canapé situated within the queen’s personal rooms.
The woman smiled. “You’re growing into yourself,” She commented, mapping the appearance of his form in front of her. “You’ve filled out much better. That is wonderful- soon you’ll be towering above us all over again, won’t you?”
Dunk blinked. “All over again, your Grace?”
“An old woman’s rambling,” she dismissed, “Don’t you agree with it though, dear?”
King Aegon smiled softly at his wife. “Oh, most certainly. I can already see it.”
The two rulers of the realm continued to converse over Dunk’s head almost as if he weren’t present at all. It was a momentary reprieve from the oppressive attention usually levelled at him during these things.
Much like King Aegon demanded Dunk’s mornings, Queen Betha commanded his middays and the time shortly before. Not that she wasn’t present during the times he went to visit her husband of course— she just usually was present alone during these things. Yet King Aegon had decided to be present today. The boy could not tell you why, even if he tried. It was a mystery to anyone but the king and his queen. But then again, it was also a mystery to him why they were doing this in the first place. So perhaps….
…..It was not kind to question the hand that fed you, Dunk thought. King Aegon had rescued him and taken him into his household while Queen Betha had been nothing but kind to the boy ever since he arrived. Worrying for his needs and soothing his panic, making sure he had a sunny room in Maegor’s Holdfast and introducing him to her own children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren alongside her husband. So who was Dunk to question her? And who was he to demand any explanation?
If she wanted him to come to her, he would do that. If she wanted him to sit beside her on a recliner and allow her to weave her arms around her, he would do that. If she wanted to tidy his hair and hold him close and feel his pulse and look into his eyes, then he would make sure to do all of those things. It was not Dunk’s place to do anything else. It never would be.
Queen Betha smiled, her voice ripping him from the comfortable trance he’d fallen into listening to her talk with her husband.
“Once you are older, we will get you a spot in the Kingsguard.” The older woman promised. So certain and so final that any words of protest died on Dunk's tongue. “We will dress you all in white, give you a sword and see you serve under Rhaegar and his children. Aegon will take you to squire and make you a knight before then; you can serve as a sworn shield until a spot opens. Or as a hedge knight. Would you like to be a Hedge Knight first?”
The choice between a hedge knight and sworn shield seemed easy. Almost as easy as the question of whether he wanted to eat or not. Something odd tugged at his chest. His ears turned red. “...I- uhm– I’d like to be- be a hedge knight, please?”
He did not understand why.
For some reason, Queen Betha didn’t seem surprised at all. She nodded at him kindly. “Of course, of course. I suppose a miracle would need to happen to keep you from your hedges.”
His hedges?
XXX
“Do you know what I named my dragon, Dunk?” King Aegon asked quietly, making sure to temper his step so the younger could hold pace.
The child blinked. “Summerfire, your Grace.”
“And do you know why I named him that?”
“Because you hatched him during summer?”
“Yes. That is not the reason I named him that, though.”
It was a quiet afternoon, peaceful enough that the King had more time than average to spend. Usually Dunk would play or train with Prince Rhaegar right now if the King hadn’t requested him to follow. He mourned the opportunity for fun and games.
“I don’t know why else then, your Grace. I’m sorry.”
“Most of my family knows; won’t you like to guess a little?”
There was a slight hint of accusation in his tone, like a petulant child. It was strange to think that this was the same king who brought the lords to heed and liberated the smallfolk. A protector of the realm who invited a never-before-seen age of glory and prosperity. A king whose greatness would go down in history. Walking and looking and speaking to him as if it was a great crime for Dunk to not know what his family already did.
“I often feel like people know things I don’t.”
“It is a reminder.” King Aegon sighed in response, “Dragons are great, yes. But I cannot forget what I sacrificed for them. Lest I fear I could never forgive myself for it. I thought you should know, sudden and strange as this may be.”
Everything in Dunk’s life was sudden and strange.
“What did you sacrifice, your Grace?”
None of his family had perished in the flames. It was the exact opposite, really. With the backing of his dragon King Aegon had strengthened his family exponentially. Even his eldest son could be reinstalled as his heir- regardless of his marriage to a commoner woman -which spoke towards the true powers the Iron Throne had come to hold once more. Even Summerhall, the residence that had burned so horribly, had been properly rebuilt and returned to its former glory. With beautiful halls and marvellous gardens even grander than those of the Red Keep. The only true casualty of the matter had been a few unfortunate servants and Ser Duncan.
“...I’m sure the servants who perished forgive you, Your Grace. You did not mean to harm them.”
Was it cruel of him to think the sacrifice justified? Dunk did not wish himself to be so. You’d have to be a fool to deny the blessing King Aegon’s reign was for everyone. It was not on purpose that he harmed anyone else in his hatching, so it is not him who should bear the blame. Who could have possibly foreseen such a horrible accident? And with Ser Duncan…. what was the life of the Lord Commander for that of King Aegon, anyway? Dunk would give his for the older at any time without a single regret.
The man looked at him with heartbreak in his eyes.
XXX
By the time Dunk had been sent off to bed, it was well into the Hour of the Eel. He quickly changed into a more comfortable linen shirt and extinguished the lone candle he used to guide the way. The child half threw himself onto his bed, doing his best to come by sleep.
He dreamt of a boy that night. With a blad had and violet eyes and a voice that made him ask “Do you want a clout to the ear?” His heart swelled.
Come next morning, King Aegon would ask him of his dreams once again. Dunk would tell him just like he always did.