Archive of Our Own

“Truly, Egg?” The young boy glanced from you to the lamb cart and you let out a scoff of disgust. The farmer spat into the mud, shuffling impatiently as he waited for you to cough up a copper. Just enough for you and Egg to get to the Ashford Tourney. 

He’d gotten it into his head that he ought to be a squire for a true knight. And, somehow, that lumbering oaf of a hedge knight that had come in this night past was just that. You’d never understand the boy's reasoning, but you wouldn’t argue with your prince. 

Egg stared up at you, arms crossed.

“Fine, you hellion," you grumbled, and Egg let out a triumphant hum. You hiked up your skirts, clambering into the back of the wagon with the animals. You tossed some coins in the farmer's hand. Just as you’d reached down to help Egg up, the wagon began to roll forward. 

“This better be fun,” you warned him, grimacing as a lamb butted its head against you. The beasts smelled foul. 

“It will be,” Egg swore. “You’ll see, I’ll be a great squire.”

You snorted, "Certainly better than any of your brothers.”

“What the hell are you doing here? Are you trying to thieve away my horses? I ought to clobber your ear.” You heard the knight admonishing Egg.  

Your brows rose as you stepped out from behind the oak tree. Dunk, as he called himself, straightened up when he saw you. A flush rose to his cheeks that you found rather endearing. 

“I didn’t know knights to be so cruel to their squires,” you taunted, dropping the basket of washing to the grass. Dunk’s eye darted between you and Egg, his mouth parted as he stuttered over his words. 

Egg introduced you, saying your name with a small smile. “This is my traveling companion.”

“Hardly a companion, just trying to keep little man out of trouble.” You reached for one of the shirts you'd cleaned and clipped it to the line you’d strung up. “Are you trouble, Ser?”

Poor Duncan still seemed entirely unsure of what to do with himself. Standing in his pathetic little camp were two complete strangers. An obstinate boy he’d met at an inn only a day past. And a woman he’d never seen before. You had told Egg you ought to introduce yourselves first. But he was insistent on cleaning up Dunk’s camp, on proving his merit as a squire. 

“I ain’t no trouble,” Dunk finally responded, shifting uneasily on his feet. You surveyed the man, appreciating just how large he was. 

“Certainly not,” you teased, laughing at the irritated look Egg shot you. “Well, I’ve laundered your clothes as best I could. Hopefully you’ll smell less like a... hedge now.” 

You wipe your hands off on your skirt and begin to make your way from the camp. Dunk frowns and watches you warily. “Where're you going?”

“I’m not your squire, Ser. I don’t have to answer to you,” you reminded him, sending him a sharp smile as you made your way onto the road. 

You could hear him turn back to the boy, still sputtering slightly. “Who are you two?”

Egg let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m your squire, Ser. And she’s my companion.”

“That’s not a bloody answer.”

You’d heard your father was to be at the tourney. Not a surprise, seeing as he was a glutton for any sort of excitement. But a house as large as his showing up meant it was more likely than not that the Targaryens would be here as well. All of them.

The presence of Egg's family was inevitable, but you still prayed that Aerion might fall ill during the journey and miss the tourney.

If the Gods did not see fit to answer your prayer, you hoped that Baelor and his sons would join them as well. You quite liked Valarr’s company, and that side of the family seemed to keep the more wild Targaryens in check. 

Being a bastard born of a high-born house should hardly make you any better than a low-born. But your father had a particular weakness for his daughters. So, you’d been raised alongside his legitimate heirs. And he had tried to have you legitimized, but you weren’t interested in being married off to a Lord of some far-off land. You'd rather live your life. 

And Egg had been so enamored by your stories that at the last tourney you’d attended, he’d ask your father for your company a while longer. It’s how you’d ended up traveling with him, flitting between different houses as you let the wind chart your path. As any proper Stormborn would. 

It’s also how you met his brother Aerion. A dragon would never sully himself with a bastard or lowborn, of course not. But that didn’t stop him from taking joy in tormenting you. You swear, if the Other had a face, it would be his. Dragon born he was not, just another spoiled, cruel son of a second son. 

He enjoyed the power he held over a Baratheon. You provided him with the entertainment of torturing another powerful house with none of the consequences. Hopefully, you and Egg would be able to skirt by without attracting his attention too long at the tourney. 

As you made your way through vendors and tents, you searched out the loudest crowd. Your father was like to be in the middle of it. And with the sun going down, it wouldn’t be too long until he got so deep in his cups he wouldn’t even recognize you. 

Eventually, you came upon an obnoxiously large tent covered with stag horns. The guards paid you little mind as you stepped through, assuming you to be another dancer come to entertain your father’s men. 

Someone followed in behind you and you frowned, glancing over your shoulder. Egg’s hedge knight lingered behind you, eyes wide as you caught him following you. 

“Are you stalking me, Ser?”

“No- no, ‘course not. I’m just looking for,” his eyes darted around the tent before they lit up at the sight of the dessert table. “Supper, looking for supper.”

You raised a brow and smirked. “Then help yourself. And stop following so close, you fool.”

Dunk flushed and ducked his head, a poor attempt to make himself smaller as he made his way toward the food. You watched him for another moment before shaking your head and turning toward your father's table. 

“Oi,” he hissed out your name as you passed. Eyes widening when he saw your target. “What’re you-“

You made it to your father before Dunk could properly stop you. Lyonel’s eyes lit up at the sight of you, whatever he was drunkenly going on about, forgotten. “My daughter! Returned to me,” you grinned, rounding the table as you threw your arms around his shoulders. 

“And who is this?” He muttered. You turned to see that Dunk really had foolishly followed you. There was a half-eaten tart still in his hand, eyes wide as they took you in. 

“Ser Duncan,” you told him. “Kind enough to help me find my way here,” Dunk choked at your lie, and you let out a little laugh. 

“Sorry, you’re his….”

“Daughter,” you finished, popping off your father's ridiculous stag crown and placing it on your own head. “Don’t you see the family resemblance?”

Dunk's eyes darted helplessly between the pair of you before your father let out a bark of laughter. “Good, you shouldn’t! She takes after her mother, bless her.”

“Thank the Gods,” you nodded, placing your father's crown back on his head. 

“You,” Lyonel’s eyes narrowed with a scoff. “You are very tall. Be tall! Stop skulking about and curling into yourself.”

Dunk shook his head, mouth still slightly full of tart. “I don’t skulk.”

“You do,” you interrupted, taking off your cloak and tossing it to one of your father's men. “I’ve always found dancing to be a good way to loosen the shoulders. Would you try with me, Ser?”

You held out your hand and your father crossed his arms, motioning toward you in a way Dunk could hardly refuse. “Well,” he offered tensely. “Who doesn’t like to dance?”

Dunk is a giant; you can offer him that grace. And no one ever said a giant made a good dance partner, but he certainly tried his best. His elbows flexed awkwardly at his sides, like a headless chicken trying their hand at graceful footwork. You laughed as you looped your arm through his, leading him through the dance. 

Despite his stature, he was quick enough to follow your lead, grinning to himself as he ducked his head and let you control the movements.

But your father was always quick to get jealous of the fun. You cheered along with the rest of the crowd as he jumped atop his table, motioning for the musicians to play an even rowdier tune. 

You backed into the circle, leaving Dunk unawares as your father approached behind him. You offered a sympathetic grimace when he smashed his foot on top of Dunk’s worn boots. You swear, the way your father dances is like a male bird trying to mate and a praying mantis lopping off her lover’s head, all the same. 

It’s violent, without rhythm, and something you’ve never tried your hand at. But it was surprising how quick Dunk was to catch onto the game. To bring his foot down just as hard, so badly you could almost hear the crunch of your father’s bones. 

And then Lyonel was letting out a howl of joy, spinning back into the dance and snatching up your hand as he went. He tossed you back to Dunk, who was feeling confident enough to tug your right back into a dance with him. 

By the time the reverly had settled, you were breathless, your temple damp with sweat as you sat in the chair beside the hedge knight, listening to your father recount his wild true tales. 

“Ooh,” he let out a groan and shook his head. “I am drunk.”

“You always are,” you chastised, chuckling slightly as you leaned against Dunk’s thick frame. He stiffened at the movement before relaxing slightly, grinning over at you. You can’t tell what was more fun for him tonight, the dancing, or the turkey legs as large as his arms. 

“My beloved daughter,” your father took your hand, placing a chaste kiss on it as he clambered over his table. “I retire!” He announced to the dying crowd, drunkenly making his way from the tent. 

You shook your head with a grin, taking another sip of your cider. “If I may,” Dunk started, and you hummed, glancing over at him. “I’ve never met a noble lady who acted as you do.”

You chuckled, “Is that a question or an insult, Ser?”

Dunk’s eyes went wide and he shook his head, jerking back from you. You let out an aggrieved sigh as your head slipped from his shoulder, and he even apologized for that. “Meaning no offense, my lady.”

“Relax, my noble knight of the hedge.” You didn’t miss how he flushed at that. “I am a bastard. Perhaps the luckiest bastard in all of Westeros to be sired by a father who cares for his daughters. No matter their title.”

“Then why,” his brows furrowed and you could smell the ale on his breath. Thoughts already seemed difficult enough for him to form. You imagined it was that much worse when he was drunk. “Why are you with Egg?”

“I was bored and looking for an adventure. The boy seems to have a keen eye for them,” you lied easily and with no guilt. Egg wanted his family name kept secret, and you would not betray his trust. It did not matter if one knew your name. Bastard is hardly a name at all. Targaryen, though, that was an ask for trouble. 

“Suppose you’re right,” Dunk muttered, taking another deep swig from his cup. Your eyes narrowed at the size of it in his massive palm. It looked like a child’s plaything when he held it. You can’t say you’ve ever had the pleasure of being with a man as large as him. 

But you could tell his type. He’d probably only ever lain with a handful of women. Each bedding more bashful and red-cheeked than the last. Shaking your head, you banish the thoughts from your mind. The alcohol has gotten to you and burned away what remains of your sensibilities. 

“I think we ought to retire,” you tell him. 

His head snaps up as you stand, seeming disappointed. “Aye,” he reluctantly agrees, “you’re probably right. It’s best to have fresh eyes tomorrow.”

“Mm,” you hum, taking hold of his arm and letting him help you out of the tent. “Egg will be jealous he missed the fun, I’m sure.”

“Meaning no offense, I don’t think your father’s the type to be allowed ‘round children.”

You barked out a sharp laugh, your smile only widening when you saw the look on Dunk’s face. “You do have a fair point, Ser. I believe I was five the first time he let me attend a tourney. And hardly eight when I stepped foot in my first brothel.”

“Brothel?” Dunk stuttered, shaking his head. “A lady shouldn’t be setting foot in no brothel.”

“Well, how else was I to see my mother?” At the scandalized look upon his poor face, you’re sure your laughter woke up the rest of the camp. 

“Now! Now!”

“Egg,” you groaned, clutching your pounding head. “Not so loud.”

The boy crossed his arms and glared. “It is not my fault you got drunk. I won’t miss the puppets because of you.”

You screwed your face up at him, sticking out your tongue as he ran in front of you. Dunk was missing from your trio, off to beseech knights to try and remember his Sire’s name. You doubted anyone would help him enlist in the names. All these high-born sons only cared about themselves, not helping a hedge knight make a proper name for himself. 

Egg darted between the legs of the crowd and you cursed, hiking up your skirts as you raced after him. By the time he’d gotten this squire’s itch out of his system, all your decent dresses would be stained brown with muck and mud. 

You caught him just before he slipped into a large yellow tent. Ducking in after him, you were thankful for the shade the performer’s tent provided for a moment. Your eyes darted across the crowds and your shoulders relaxed when you saw Egg’s bald head seated right at the very front. 

The stage was still empty as you hid in the back of the crowd. Despite Egg’s complaints of your laziness and too-slow demeanor, it seemed he’d gotten you both here far earlier than he needed to. 

A hand clamped around your shoulder and you shot forward with a gasp. There was an airy laugh behind you. You whipped around with a wide grin. “Tanselle!” You admonished, “Seven hells, you scared me.”

She pressed a finger to her lips, smiling as she took your wrist and led you to the back of the tent. You shot Egg a smug smirk as she led you behind the stage and he watched with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. 

“What are you doing here?” She demanded, dropping you in the familiar bustle of the puppeteers readying themselves for another performance. 

“I heard about the tourney, found myself a young squire and a giant knight to travel along beside.”

She grinned widely, letting out an impressed scoff. “Do your adventures never stop?”

“I take after my father, what can I say?” A sudden thought popped into your head and you took her hand. “Though the knight I’m with, he doesn’t have a sigil of his own. Just carries around his master’s old shield. I wonder, could you do an old friend a favor? Paint him something new?”

Her eyes narrowed and she hummed. “That’ll come at a cost…”

“A performance,” you both said at the same moment. Her eyes lit up and you shook your head. “Alright, I don’t see much harm in it, anyhow.”

“Perfect,” she clapped her hands and led you toward the back. “I’ve been working on something new, I think you’ll love it.” Your eyes widened as she brought you before a giant mastery of puppeteering. The towering form of a dragon. “Feel like slaying the beast?”

You smiled, but something settled poorly in your stomach. This didn’t seem like it would end well for you. 

“Typically, one says thank you when a friend does them a favor.”

“Oh, and are we friends now?” You drew back, arms crossed, as Dunk came to a slow stop. He turned with a grimace, already knowing he’d said the wrong thing. “I didn’t mean-”

“No, if you don’t want my help, then fine. Don’t get yourself a new sigil. Don’t get yourself a better shield. Suffer,” you spat, storming past him. Egg’s eyes darted between the pair of you. When Dunk remained still, he kicked him in the ankle and motioned him forward. 

Duncan shot him a harsh look before following after you. “I am sorry, lady,” he offered. “But I would have liked to choose my own sigil.”

“Oh,” you spun around on him and he nearly tripped over himself. “I didn’t choose your sigil, you lumbering fool. I just had a friend agree to create you a new one. Now,” you let out a sharp huff. “Thank you?”

Duncan pursed his lips, chin dipping between his shoulders. “Thank you, lady,” he muttered, sounding properly admonished. 

“Cheer up, Dunk, you’ll soon be a proper knight,” you took his arm in your own as you walked him through the camp. “And don’t say hedge knights are just as good as any other. I know that, but they,” you motioned to all the men milling about. All the fancy high-lord knights in their pretty armor. “They don’t know that. It’s on you to show them.”

Duncan straightened up, rolling back his shoulders as he gave a firm nod. You bit your lip so you wouldn’t laugh at him. He took your words to heart so easily; if he wasn’t careful, your ego would soon start to consider you important. 

A bellowing horn blew through the camp, shaking the ground beneath you. Duncan frowned, glancing around as people began shoving past one another to see who was coming. Egg shot you a worried look as Dunk broke away from the pair of you. You took the boy’s hand in yours, following closely behind your knight. 

You had a feeling you knew what family would make such a grand entrance. But you prayed to the Seven you were wrong. Dunk glanced over his shoulder as you approached, making room for you and Egg in the crowd. He lifted the boy onto his shoulders while you positioned yourself in front of him. 

You should have known yourself better. Rarely were you ever wrong. 

Riding onto the tourney grounds was a family of black and red, their dragon sigil flying high above their knights' heads. The Targarayens had arrived, fashionably late and with a dramatic entrance, as always. 

Egg lightly kicked out from where he sat on Dunk’s shoulders. You glanced up to see worry etched along the boy’s face. “Oi,” Duncan swatted his thigh, “don’t go kicking people,” he scolded. The poor thing was completely oblivious to just how much danger his squire had put him in. 

“Come,” you urged. “There are plenty of fancy lords to gawk at. I bore of this,” Dunk frowned as you brushed past him. He set Egg on the ground and trailed behind you. Egg was quick to rush to your side, tugging on your cloak as he sent you a frantic look. 

“Worry not, boy, you’re bald as a babe now. I doubt anyone will pay you much attention. Much less recognize you.”

“That hardly makes me feel better,” he scowled. Such a cantankerous young prince. 

“What’re you scheming ‘bout, now?” Dunk asked, glancing between the pair of you suspiciously. 

“Nothing,” you smooth over. “Just wondering what ridiculous sigil you might choose for your new shield.”

“Oi, it ain’t gonna be ridiculous. It’s gonna be…” Dunk’s eyes narrowed as he glared down at the mud. You raised your brows, waiting for his grand idea. When he fell stubbornly silent, you let out a slight snort. 

“We’ll help you think of something,” you reassured him. “After all, what’re squires for?”

“You’re not a squire,” Egg corrected and you shot him a glare. “Though you would make a good one,” he quickly corrected. 

“I would, wouldn’t I?” You muse, glancing over at Dunk, he nods, but you feel like it might just be because you scare him. 

You dine in your father’s tent once more. Egg has scurried off somewhere. You think he might be playing with some of the other children. But he would never admit that, the title squire has made him take himself far more seriously than the title prince ever had. 

The start of the tourney will be underway soon enough. Which means the people here are more boisterous and overexcited than they typically are. The tent is near bursting at the seams with people, and the tables are overcrowded. 

It leaves a lady like yourself little place to sit unless it’s a man’s lap or standing room at the back. Dunk seems wholly unaware, eagerly scarfing down his meal (and half of yours). You scoffed as you noticed him stealing from your plate. But you’re certain that half of this hunger stems from his nerves at being so close to competing. 

You’ll allow him the thievery this once. 

A drunken lord slams down on the bench beside you, jolting harshly against your side. You let out a hiss of pain as his elbow connects with your ribs. “Oi!” Dunk reaches around you, shoving the man away. He’s either too strong or the man too drunk, because he goes toppling to the floor. 

Dunk flushes as the man’s friends haul him up with laughter. “My brave knight,” you muse, glancing down at his spread legs with a scowl. For all the space he takes up, he can’t spare you some? He notices your glare and offers a sheepish smile. 

“Sorry,” he mutters. He reaches for your waist and you let out a sharp huff of surprise. You’re certain he’d been trying to move you away from the reverly, or create more space for you. But the hilt of your dagger catches on the tale and before he can move you over his lap, you’re stuck in place. Sat right on top of those nice thighs of his. 

You certainly aren’t complaining, but Dunk’s face has gone so red he’s liable to catch fire. “Apologies, lady,” he stutters. 

“Nonsense,” you wave him off, picking at some of your food. In the midst of the crowd, you’re certain you see your father dancing, too distracted to notice you and your knight. 

“Dunk,” you question, and he hums. “Have you ever heard the fable about kissing a maiden for luck?”

His brows furrow and he shakes his head. Good, you’re making this up, slightly desperate for something from him other than his apologies and honor. “Well, the tourney is soon to begin. A noble hedge knight such as yourself, surely you might like a little extra luck.”

You turn in his lap, one arm wrapped around his shoulders as you get yourself settled nicely against his thick frame. You catch the way his eyes drift to your cleavage before quickly shooting back up. “Are you,” he clears his throat uncomfortably. “Are you a maiden?”

You let out a scandalized gasp, slapping his shoulder. “Are you questioning my virtue?” 

Dunk’s jaw drops and he shakes his head wildly. “No! No-”

You don’t let him finish his panicked apologies, dipping forward and pressing your lips to his. Dunk’s hands drop from his plate to your lap, one palm squeezing anxiously at your gown. You pull back with a smug grin, quite enjoying that glazed look in his eyes. 

“I’m not,” you tell him.

“Huh,” he mutters, eyes trained on your lips. 

“A maiden,” you clarify with a laugh. “But it’s worth a try, eh?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dunk mumbles, head already dipping back down to your own. You let out a small laugh against his lips at how eagerly his large palms wrap around you. One tightens around your thigh, the other squeezes at your waist. His lips part against yours, tongue eager to taste you. 

You almost pull back, caught off guard by such a bold move. Perhaps he wasn’t the blushing virgin you’d thought him to be. His hand creeps along your back, wrapping around the ends of your hair and tugging your head back so he can get a better angle. 

A moan slips, involuntary, from your mouth as you move yourself higher up his lap. You’ve always been known to have little self-control. Were it not for the blaring horn that now rings through the camp and sharp cries of the men around you, you probably would have taken Dunk right there in that tent. 

Instead, you were jolted apart by eager knights and drunk men. You let out a breathless laugh as Dunk pressed his forehead to yours. “Think that ought to bring you some luck?” You teased. 

“I believe I already am lucky, lady,” he swore, smiling far too proudly and widely. 

Egg ran up to you both, “Ser! Ser! It’s happening,” he stopped short when he saw you on Dunk’s lap, nose wrinkling with disgust. “What are you two doing?” he demanded, utterly scandalized. 

“What’s happening, Egg?” You demanded, smiling as Dunk stood and offered you a hand up. 

“The tourney!” Egg snapped, completely exasperated by the two of you. 

“Really?” Dunk demanded, cheeks flushed and eyes gleaming. “Come on, then,” you let out a little yelp as he yanked you after him, snatching up Egg with the other hand. You were tucked into his side while he lifted Egg so the boy might have a better view above the crowd. 

With his size, it was easy enough for Dunk to split through the crowd, finding a nice spot at the front for you all to watch the first matches. A crazed knight rides forth, he rips the head of a dead fish and swallows it whole. You’ve been to plenty of tournaments in your life and that tradition still makes no sense to you. What boldness are they proving except that of their bowels?

Egg lets out a disgusted scoff as he forces Dunk to set him down. He rushes in front of you both, climbing up the fence to be even closer to the action. You push aside some people to join him, Dunk coming up behind you, his arms bracketing both you and Egg. 

Someone in the crowd shouts, “Lord Ashford fucks his sheep!” And the resounding cheers seem to spur the knights on. Before you can blink, lances are cracking against shields, riders dismounted from their horses. You're deaf to your own screams as you shout for the victor, jostling Egg’s shoulders as the boy cries out encouragements. 

By the time the first matches are over, you can scarcely speak, your voice is so wrecked from all the cheering. “That was incredible!” Egg grins. “Did you see those squires? And the horses,” he shakes his head with a laugh that makes you smile. “They have to be so fast, so strong,” he picks a stick up from the road, swishing it through the air. “Take that Blackfyre bastards!”

You chuckle as he runs ahead toward the camp, shouting insults at lesser houses all the way. But Duncan remains quiet beside you. You turn to him with a frown, concern burrowing deep when you see the disenchanted look on his face. 

“Ser?” You question, reaching out to hold his arm. That seems to jolt him from his reverie and he shoots you a tense look. “Cold feet?” you question, tone teasing but not malicious. 

“Ser Arlan never won a tournament. He was no champion or renowned hero. Half the men here have forgotten his name.” Duncan’s hands flexed at his sides as he glared down into the mud. 

You pursed your lips, hand absentmindedly rubbing along his arm. “Perhaps, but Baelor Targaryen remembered his name. He vouched for you, got you enlisted. Ser Arlan might not have been as famous a knight as someone like the Grey Lion, but that does not mean he was unimportant or a poor knight. It is overwhelming, Dunk, facing a crowd as hungry as that one. But I believe you have all the makings of a grand knight. So does Egg. You just have to show them who you are.”

He spared you a glance, smiling slightly as you took his hand in your own. “Come, we should catch up before Egg curses the wrong house with that stick of his.” Dunk let out a small chuckle, nodding as he followed behind you. 

The next morning, Egg had stolen off with one of Dunk’s horses, Thunder, and Dunk’s sword. You worried that by the time he returned, Dunk might make good on all those promises to clobber Egg’s ear.

“I am going to perform. Perhaps not in as violent a show as you, but you might enjoy it,” you tell Dunk. 

He glances up from his sewing with raised brows. “Perform?”

“Yes,” you hum. “My friend, the one painting your shield, puts on a puppet show with her family. They came to entertain at Storm’s End during my half-brother’s name day. I enjoyed their show so much that I traveled with them for two years. You would like her,” you glance up, laughing at the astonished look on his face. “What is it now?”

Duncan shook his head, glancing back at his sewing. “Nothing, it’s just-” he shot you a look out of the side of his eyes. “You’ve lived a more exciting life than I could ever dream of.”

You tilt your head with a smile. “Your life is not yet over, Ser Duncan the Tall. There is plenty more excitement for you to have. Will you come, then? To Tanselle Too-Tall’s show and mine?”

“Tanselle Too-Tall?” He questions, incredulous. 

“I told you, you’d like her.”

The sound of hooves echoed through the small camp and you looked up to see Egg returning with Thunder. It was a wonder the effect that boy had on animals. The last time you’d tried to pet the horse, he’d nearly kicked your pretty smile off. 

“And where have you been?” Dunk snapped, glaring over at the boy. You shook your head with a small sigh, taking your leave so you don’t have to listen to the scolding. 

“Did you see the Targaryens ride in?” You stand in Tanselle’s tent, arms out as she measures you for your costume. 

Her hands paused on your waist, her tape dropping to her side as she stepped in front of you. “I recognize that tone,” she accused, eyes narrowed. 

You let out a huff, arms dropping back to your sides. “Is it wise? Putting on this grand show of dragon slaying while the dragons are present?”

Tanselle rolled her eyes. “I do not put on this show to insult the Targaryens. It’s only the truth. The dragons are dead and there were many who were slain before then. Besides, when do high-borns such as themselves bother coming down to watch silly puppet shows?”

“I watched yours,” you remind her with a grin. 

Tanselle shot you a firm look and shook her head. “High-borns, I said.”

You scoff, reaching over to swat her, when a horn rings out. The signal to start another match. You step from the stool she’d set you on with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I must find Dunk and Egg.”

She waved you off. “That’s fine, his shield should be ready by evenfall.”

You nod and run from the tent. Turning toward the tourney grounds, you search across the crowd until you spot the only head towering above the rest. Shoving through, it’s easy enough to reach Dunk’s side. 

“There you are,” he muttered, glancing down at you. Egg was already positioned along the fencing. Dunk helped you push forward, setting you beside the boy. 

“Who’s fighting today?” You ask, scanning the field. When Egg doesn’t answer, you frown, glancing over to see his already pale face even more colorless than usual. He seemed quite ill. You wonder if Dunk might’ve poisoned the boy with too much salt fish. 

“Egg?” You whispered. The horn bellowed before he could answer and you forced your eyes back to the pitch. Suddenly, his sickly look made sense. Aerion rode out onto the field, lance held high as he took his position. 

“Gods,” you groaned, stomach tightening with fear. In all the time you’d known Aerion, you’ve never once known him to play a fair match. Dunk shoots both you and Egg concerned looks, but you can scarcely meet his eye. Your attention has been wholly stolen by the Targaryen prince. 

The match is set off on a rocky start immediately. Aerion doesn’t try to drive his lance into his opponent. Rather, he dives out of the way, forcing the man to nearly fall from his horse. And when he turns, he doesn’t wait for the other knight to recover. No, he tucks his body low and his lance even lower. 

“No,” you whispered, just as Egg shouted, “Kill him!” Your head whipped to his in concern. He hated his brother, sure, but such violence was concerning. By the time you turned back, Aerion’s lance was piercing the neck of the knight’s horse, and its dying scream was enough to make you shut your eyes. 

“Oh, that weren’t right,” Dunk muttered, shaking his head. His attention fell to you when you began to push your way out of the crowd, not allowing yourself to look back. You couldn’t watch the horse suffer or listen to its rider’s cries of pain as his leg was smashed beneath its body. 

Aerion was cruel and delusional and the worst sort of twisted mind you’d ever met. But knowing that didn’t make facing it any easier than before. It wasn’t long before you could hear heavy footsteps racing to catch up with you. A cold hand reached for yours, and you glanced down to find Egg’s eyes watery and reddened. 

“It’s alright, little man,” you reassure him, but you both know it's a lie. 

“You have to be strong,” Dunk told him and you shot him a glare. He shook his head helplessly. “Accidents happen, Egg-”

“That wasn’t an accident,” Egg snapped, sniffling as he glared up at Dunk. “He did that on purpose.” You frowned, wiping the tears from Egg’s cheek. But he jerked out of your hold, running ahead of you both. 

“That was horrible,” you muttered, eyes tracking Egg as he rushed through the crowd. 

“Are you alright, lady?” Dunk asked, and you smiled at the soft tone of his voice. 

“I am Stormborn,” you reassured him, taking his arm in your own. “We persevere, Ser.”

By the time of your performance, you hadn’t bothered checking the crowd to see if Dunk was there. You had been too busy learning the movements of the show, the cues to duck beneath your shield before Tanelle did her fire tricks. 

She had you decorated in chainmail and armor so shiny it was practically a mirror. You took up the shield she gave you, grinning as you stepped onto the stage. That grin fell, though, when you saw the stark white head of hair waiting in the crowd. 

Immediately, your eyes fell to where Egg sat in the front row. But he seemed oblivious to his older brother’s presence or uncaring. Aerion’s brows rose from where he stood, head tilting as he took you in. You were quick to turn around. He knew that wherever you went, his brother was not far behind. Hopefully, he had yet to recognize you. 

Tanelle began her story. One of a knight whose name was lost to time but whose touch was carved forever into history. You did as the puppeteer instructed, diving when they dipped the dragon’s head low. Slashing up your wooden sword as you tried to slay the beast. 

The crowd cheered behind you, the pupteers hissed as the dragon’s voice, but you could enjoy none of it. You could scarcely appreciate the familiar feeling of being back with the performers. All too terrified of the princes that stood behind you. Of what might happen when they saw each other. It was certainly no secret that Aerion had hatred for his kin. 

The puppeteers threw their pollen and lit their match. You ducked behind your shield, feeling the fire bounce off it.

Your final cue.

Your heart raced painfully as you got to your feet, sword held high. You brought it down against the fabric neck of the dragon and red, shredded pieces of paper flew at you. The puppet’s head dropped with a thud, the beast defeated. 

But the crowd did not roar; they did not applaud the performance. Even the performers did not bow. You turned and found the reason why standing just before the stage. Aerion’s hand flexed around his sword as he glared at you. 

“Seize her,” he commanded. The guards stormed the stage just as you spotted Egg fleeing from the tent. 

“Dunk!” Egg shouted, storming his way into Raymun Fossoway’s tent. Dunk’s head jerked up, shooting the boy a confused look. “Dunk, he’s hurting her!” 

The wheels turned slow in his mind as he regarded Egg’s terrified face. But there was only one woman that Egg might be so worried about. He thought of you, the performance he was missing, and leapt from his seat. Raymun stood as well, casting a confused glance between the two. 

Neither Dunk nor Egg stopped to explain. Duncan stormed from the tent, racing through the mud toward the sound of screams and the billowing smoke of fire. The performance tent was being destroyed, set pieces were being broken down and set alight. 

In the middle of the tent, you were dressed in a knight's armor, forced to your knees. The prince stood over you with a malicious look. Duncan tried to storm toward you, but the guards leapt in front of him, shoving him back. 

“There is that face I’ve missed,” Prince Aerion muttered and Dunk hadn’t a clue how you could possibly know the prince. “Perhaps we should finish this in my tent, hm?” He hummed to himself as he took hold of your hand.

Dunk broke through the guards just as Aerion snapped your finger in half, bone ripping through the skin as your scream echoed throughout the night. 

Duncan should have gotten your father. Bastard or not, Lord Baratheon wouldn’t just stand by and watch his daughter be mutilated. But Dunk was half a fool and hadn’t the forethought. Still, he couldn’t stand idly by and just watch you be beaten. 

Aerion’s head whipped up, surprise painting his features as Dunk ran at him. The prince had little time to prepare as he grabbed his collar, tossing him to the floor as easily as he would a doll. 

“Dunk, don’t!” You called out, but he was already driving his fist across the smug bastard’s face. He would have kept going if the guards had not come to rescue the blonde prick. It took four of them to finally hold him back, and he still managed to get a decent kick to the boy’s face. 

“Aerion,” you pleaded behind him. “Please, I was the one who mocked you!”

Aerion spared you a brief glance, spitting blood from his mouth and rubbing his jaw. Cold eyes fell to Dunk’s. “You’ve loosened my tooth. For that, I ought to take all of yours.”

Duncan was flipped around. He fought brutally against the guard’s hold, but they still managed to knock him to his knees. He bit down on a finger as they tried to pry his mouth open. Blood pooled from his lips, but they did not relent, pressing his open mouth to the edge of the stage. 

“Aerion,” you let out a strangled whimper as the prince moved to stand behind you. He jerked you back by the hair, forcing you to watch. 

“Stop!” Your eyes widened as Egg’s voice echoed through the tent. Aerion paused, his hold on you loosening for a moment. 

“Get out of here, boy!” Dunk warned, but neither of you paid any mind to reason. You scrambled to your feet, forcing the guards away from him as Egg approached. What surprised Dunk most, though, was that the guards obeyed. Not you, but the boy. 

“You harm him and you will answer to my father.”

Aerion sneered as you helped Dunk to his feet. “What did you do to your hair, you little rat?”

“Cut it,” Egg snapped. “So I wouldn’t look like you, brother.”

You’d followed a servant girl through the maid’s entrance and managed to sneak your way down to the Ashford dungeons. Were you to be caught, you’re certain that not even your father could save you. Aerion was declaring Dunk a traitor to the crown. And Daeron’s claim that Dunk had kidnapped Aegon was not helpful in the least.

Being caught with him was a risk to your own neck, but you could not stand the idea of Duncan being left to rot in the dungeons. You slipped the poision laced cloth from your pocket as you approached the entrance. 

Lord Ashford thought himself to be an important man. But he did not have a truly powerful man’s coffer or a good man's guards. Only one stood before Duncan’s door. You leapt onto his back and pressed the cloth tight to his mouth. It wouldn’t kill him, but the sweet-smelling poison would knock him out long enough for you to speak with Dunk. 

Slipping the keys from the guard’s belt, you stepped over his body and undid the lock of the cell’s door. Dunk glanced up as you walked in, eyes wide as he rose from the muck of the cell floor. 

“Lady, you,” he shook his head, glancing around your shoulder. Most likely, spotting the unconscious guard behind you. “How did you-”

“Are you alright?” You rushed out, not wishing to linger long on your crime. 

Dunk’s eyes dropped to your right hand, to the thick bandage around your fingers. “Are you?”

You let out a soft laugh and nodded your head. “Yes, my brave hedge knight. I am fine. It is not my hand I worry for, anyway. Have they said anything to you about the trial?”

Dunk sank back against the wall as you approached and he shook his head. “Nothing. I have not even seen,” he cut himself off, eyes darting to yours as you moved to stand in front of him. “Did you know?”

You bit your lips, not able to meet his eyes as you took his hand in your own. “I swore to protect my prince’s secrets long before I met you.” Dunk scoffed and tried to move away, but you held firm, lifting your face to his. “Dunk, please, you must understand. If I had betrayed Egg’s trust, told you who he was, I wouldn’t just be putting myself in danger.”

“I am a fool,” he muttered. “I thought you might have been as lost as I was.”

“He was not acting maliciously,” you promised him, tugging on his hands until he finally met your eyes. “He’s a boy, Dunk. And you have seen the cruelty of his brother. What boy wouldn’t want to escape that?”

Dunk’s eyes dropped to your hand, his thumb briefly running along the edge of the bandage. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

You nodded, “I think I’m quite lucky, all things considered.”

Dunk scoffed, “I could use a bit of luck, myself.”

Pressing up on your toes, you left a brief kiss on his cheek. “There, a maiden’s luck.”

He offered a small smile, one hand wrapping itself around your waist. “You’re no maiden.”

You let out a little laugh and glared at him. “Pretend for a moment,” you implored him.  Dunk nodded, and you pressed up once more, this time, pushing your lips against his own. He sank easily into you, hand tightening its grip as you leaned further into him. 

You broke away only when you heard the door to the dungeons open above you. “Damn,” you cursed. “I would take you with me but-”

“They’d take both our heads,” he answered. 

You nodded and, with a small smile, left one last kiss on his cheek. “When Egg gets you out of here, and he will, you’ll have more luck than you can handle,” you promised. Dunk offered a sad tilt of his lips. He didn’t quite believe you, but he’d allow himself the hope. 

You wished to say more, but the steps were growing closer, and so was the chatter of the guards. You hoped the flask you’d planted on the guard outside would be enough to explain why he’d collapsed to the floor. 

Forcing yourself back, you pulled on your hood and slipped from the cell before anyone could see you. You hid behind the columns of the dungeon and watched Egg enter to speak with Dunk. Slipping behind the group of guards, you ran up the stairs and headed to the stables, just as Egg had instructed. 

A few minutes later, the group was coming back out, Dunk now with them, his wrists in chains. Egg fell back from the group, hovering for a moment before he rushed toward you. 

“My uncle will tell him to demand a combat by trial,” Egg rushed out, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one could see you. “But I know my brother. He’ll demand a trial of Seven.”

“Trial of Seven?” You questioned, it’s not something you remember from your lessons. 

“Yes,” Egg nodded. The boy had limited patience for stupidity. “Dunk will need six men to fight by his side. Six knights.”

“Gods above,” you cursed. “I’ll speak to my father,” you promised. Egg nodded once before he went racing after the others. 

Your father was not as drunk as you’d been expecting. Aerion’s attack seemed to have left him slightly sober. You hadn’t seen him since the bastard had broken your fingers, you’re almost hoping your father doesn’t know what happened. 

Of course, though, you’re wrong. The moment you stepped into the tent, your father rushed over to you. “What happened?” He demanded, voice firm for once. His men had been dismissed for the night; only your uncle and a few cousins remained. 

You tried to hide your hand from Lyonel, but he offered you a sharp glare before forcefully pulling it from your cloak. “I have been looking for a reason to fight the bastard.”

“Good,” you huffed. “Dunk defended-”

“Dunk?” Your father questioned, brows furrowing as he led you to take a seat. 

“Oh, for- The giant, father,” you clarified. “He defended me against the prince. Now Aerion’s aiming for his head. There’s to be a trial of seven at dawn.”

Your father paused, leaning against the table as he surveyed you. “You like the boy, don’t you?”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Oh, that is beyond the point, I think.”

“That’s exactly the point, I think.”

With a sigh, you glanced down at your hands. “He protected me, Father. No other man would have stood against a Targaryen like that.”

Lyonel nodded his head with a low sigh. “No, certainly not one with a working mind, at least. Let me guess, daughter? You’ve come here to curry my favor.”

“Actually,” you corrected. “I’m here to give you a reason within the bounds of legality to bloody up some Targaryens.”

He wagged his finger in your face chidingly, taking a long sip from his cup. “You should have led with that, sweets.”

At dawn, you rode up with your father to the gates of the field. Dunk’s court by sword. Egg was already there, and three other knights stood behind him. The boy had been far busier than you’d thought. You supposed that’s what made him such a grand squire. 

“Lady,” Dunk called, rushing over to you. You smiled down at him as he took your waist in his hands, helping you from your horse. You braced your arms on his shoulders, letting your weight linger against his for a moment before your father cleared his throat. 

Dunk jumped back when he realized Lyonel was standing there. His hands tucked tight to his sides as his eyes darted between you two. “My lord, I-”

“Relax,” he grinned, clapping Dunk on the shoulder. “She’s no lady, Ser. Don’t fret so much for her virtue.”

You snorted and shot your father a glare. “Thank you, father.” He winked and you shook your head. “He’s here to fight for you, Dunk. Egg told me of the Seven, my father’s a finer swordsman than most.”

“And far more lustful for dragon's blood than any knight you’ll ever meet,” Lyonoel added, a wide grin on his face.

You shot him a perturbed look, “Yes, well, they don’t call him the laughing storm for nought.” 

“Huzzah,” your father cheered, pulling a flagon of wine from his belt and taking a deep swig. You shook your head and took Dunk’s hand in yours, leading him from the others. He watched you with a concerned gaze, and you smiled at his compassion. 

“Be safe, noble hedge knight, I do have a promise to fulfill, after all.”

Dunk shook his head, a confused smile upon his face. “A promise?”

You tilted your head with a coy smirk. “All the luck you can handle? Come, you don’t think I actually meant luck, did you?” You asked, taking his hands and setting them low upon your back as you stepped closer to him. 

Dunk let out a startled cough, choking on his words as he glanced at the men around you. They were hardly paying the pair of you any attention. Mainly laughing about the royal blood about to spill. “Lady-”

“As my father said, Ser, I am no lady. Do not be so worried for my virtue.” You press up on your toes and cup his cheek. “Just keep this head firm between your shoulders,” you commanded. 

Dunk nodded and you pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He almost seemed disappointed and you laughed. “The luck comes after your victory. So, swear to me you’ll be triumphant.”

Dunk grinned and nodded, “I swear, m’lady.”

A horn bellowed through the early morning air as the gates beyond him began to open. His hands squeezed around you once before he stepped back. You waved him off and smiled as your father winked. But you did not stay to see the trial. 

No, you mounted your horse and rode south. You had to find Tanelle; you’d sworn to help get her and her family on a boat back to Dorne. Where their names would be long forgotten by the vindictive prince and her neck would be safe from the executioner’s blade. 

******

By the time you made it back to Ashford, Tanelle was long gone and the trial was over. The news had reached you on the road. It had already shocked its way through the majority of Westeros. Prince Baelor, dead by his own brother’s mace. 

The funeral was over when you returned. Servants were scurrying about the fields, packing their lords' things away and preparing for a grim departure home. You leapt from your mare, searching through the rushing processions for any familiar face. 

“You must be happy,” you stilled, heart stuttering at the voice behind you. You turned as Aerion pushed away from the fence he’d been leaning on. “Your pathetic knight’s life is safe.”

“Pathetic?” You questioned, surveying the deep gouges in Aerion’s face and the bandages down his neck. “If a pathetic man did that, then what does that make you?” 

Aerion lunged forward. You just barely jumped out of his way. His hand swiped through the air, scarcely missing your face. His eyes narrowed as he growled, “Careful how you provoke the dragon.”

“My father is still here, your grace. I would not test the Stag’s patience.”

Aerion snorted, “There is little your father can do if I try you for a traitor. You still have not answered for your crime of that farce of a show.”

“This is not answer enough?” You demanded, holding up your mutilated fingers. 

“Hardly,” Aerion sniffed. 

“Fine,” you gritted out, and his eyes widened ever so slightly with surprise. “You may try me. But I would demand a trial by combat. And you have already seen what my champion can do to you.”

Aerion’s eyes narrowed into slits; he reminded you more of a rat than a dragon. “Leave this place,” he commanded, storming past you. His shoulder shoved into you and you let out a hiss of pain. 

Someone called your name before you felt a small weight smashing against your legs. Glancing down, you found Egg wrapped tightly around you, face buried in your cloak as he muttered something you couldn’t understand. “What’s that?”

He tilted his face up, chin pressing against your side. “Father’s named me Dunk’s squire. I’m to travel with him!”

You glanced up as Dunk approached, a shy smile on his face and a new cut along his cheek. “Is this true?” You demanded, bewildered by Maekar’s perceived kindness. 

“Aye,” Dunk nodded. “It’s true. The boy’s mine to clobber as I see fit, now.”

Egg released you and rolled his eyes at Dunk. He ran off to collect your horse and the others. You watched him go before turning to Dunk with an easy smile. “Well, you’re a proper Ser now, aren’t you? Fought alongside and against royals, all in one go.”

Dunk scratched the back of his neck, a flush on his cheeks as he shook his head. “I don’t know ‘bout that.”

“Would you have room in your party for a maiden fair, Ser?”

Dunk shook his head. “Ain’t no maiden.” Your lips parted with astonishment, and then he was wrapping his arm around your waist. “But I say you're fair enough,” he hauled you up toward him, cutting off your protests with a kiss that left you breathless. 

You smiled against his lips, reaching up to wrap your arms around your neck just as you heard a disgusted little, “That’s horrible!”

Dunk parted with a laugh and you shot Egg a half-hearted glare. He handed you your horse’s reigns and Dunk helped you onto the saddle. “Well,” you glanced over at your knight. “Where’s your next adventure, ser?”

“The Red Lake!” Egg shouted, before Dunk could even answer. 

He shot Egg a firm look, but you laughed. “You must admit, he has a keen sense for adventure.”

Dunk sucked in a sharp breath before turning his horse toward the road. “Fine,” he grunted. “The Red Lake it is.” Egg raced ahead of you both and you laughed as Dunk shouted after him. Threatening a clout to his ear if he didn’t slow down. 

They’d certainly prove fun enough.