ser Duncan the tall x reader. fanfic pilot.
author note -- English isn’t my first language so I apologise for any inconsistencies in punctuation, or spellings :) .find it on Wattpad. pls leave comments and notes if you want the next part lol so i know if i should write it
warnings- sibling life, reader being a mother, children being menaces to society, dunk being incredibly unlucky
The days leading up to the Ashford tourney were the busiest your little stretch of road had ever seen.
From dawn until dusk, travellers passed by the farm. Knights rode beneath fluttering banners. Merchants guided wagons piled high with silks, spices, and goods worth more coin than your family would likely see in a lifetime.
Highborn ladies travelled in painted wheelhouses, their curtains drawn against the dust. Every road in the Reach seemed to lead to Ashford. And all of them passed your front gate.
Whenever your chores allowed it, you found yourself watching. Leaning on a fence. Sitting atop a stone wall. Pretending to gather eggs while staring shamelessly at passing horses.
You watched polished lords ride by in gleaming armour and velvet cloaks.
The sort of men who probably looked at your cottage and saw little more than a muddy inconvenience beside the road.
You doubted half of them could tell a horse from a donkey. They'd likely never milked a cow, mended a fence, or cleaned a pig pen in their lives. Their hands were probably softer than fresh bread.
And don't even get started on the ladies.
Dresses worn once and discarded.
Handmaidens following behind them like obedient ducklings.
You told yourself they looked ridiculous. You told yourself they seemed spoiled. You told yourself you'd hate living that sort of life.
Unfortunately, you were a terrible liar.
The truth was that you were jealous, painfully jealous.
Sometimes you caught your reflection in a bucket of water and wondered whether things might have been different if you were prettier.
Perhaps some handsome knight would have spotted you beside the road, perhaps he'd have fallen desperately in love, Perhaps he'd have swept you onto the back of his horse and carried you away to a castle somewhere.
One without leaking roofs or wandering chickens.
One where flowers smelled sweeter than manure.
One where someone else cleaned the pig pens.
Was that truly so much to ask?
Because at that very moment, instead of strolling through a castle garden in a pretty dress, you were knee-deep in pig shit. You stabbed your shovel into the muck with considerably more force than necessary.
Usually this was Joeyn's chore.
Unfortunately, Joeyn was in the city trying to sell his latest blacksmithing work to anyone with enough coin and enough sense to appreciate it. Which meant the pigs had become your problem.
You suspected they were enjoying it far more than you were, and it took all your effort not to gag on the smell.
After you were done you treaded out of the pen, tried your best to slip off your raggedy shoes without touching the muck and threw them in a barrel of water. You needed to get the stink off them.
You tiptoed on the grass and pebbled path ways and into the back entrance of the house, it was still early, the triplets still asleep, with the morning fog still lingering over the fields like a blanket.
You creaked up the stairs, seeing all the chips and cracks on them, most of them caused by the triplets' irresponsibleness.
Once you reached your chambers you slipped off your dress, and splashed water on yourself, usually you would bathe in the lake, but you were not going to risk catching the chills this early in your life.
After you were clean enough to fit your standards you searched for another dress. The one you found was a faded green
with tight corset laces around the waist
and a surprisingly clean and white collar. It used to be your mothers but she doesn't wear it nowadays.
It fits you perfectly, slightly loose around the chest and only an inch too long on your ankles but it fits either way.
Then the peace of the morning was shattered by the sound of thundering footsteps whic was Followed immediately by shrieking laughter.
They raced down the hallway like a bloody cavalry charge. Or even a stampede of horses
"No running!" you called from your room.
"We're not!" one of them shouted back. A heartbeat later came a loud crash.
The reassuring thing about the triplets was that they were remarkably difficult to kill.
The worrying thing about the triplets was that they tested this theory every single day.
By the time you made it downstairs, Fran was attempting to scale the kitchen counter.
Apparently breakfast was taking too long for her liking.
One hand still clutching the edge of the table.
"Get down before you crack your head open."
"You were climbing and dirtying my counter."
You grabbed her beneath the arms and deposited her back onto the floor of which huffed dramatically to
Outside, Fred had somehow escaped, could could have swore you bolted the door before you came back in
You spotted him sprinting across the garden barefoot and still wearing his sleeping clothes while chasing the poor chickens out of their coop, speaking of which the chickens seemed just as confused as you were.
"Fred!" you shouted through the open doorway.
"What?" he tilted his head confused at why he was getting scolded, the chicken in his hold pecked at his fingers, not in pain but not exactly grateful to be picked up by a tiny but massive 7 year old giant.
"You'll catch a chill." you said like it was obvious
"You absolutely will." you insisted "Come inside and put proper clothes on."
With the speed of a boy who had heard absolutely none of the words after inside, he turned and bolted towards the house.
Moments later you heard him racing upstairs.
Then another crash. Then someone yelled. Then laughter.
Freya, meanwhile, had found a different method of causing problems, and tethering your patience. She was tugging on your dress.
Literally pulling at your skirt while firing questions at you faster than your brain could comprehend
"Did you see all the people on the road?"
"Fred says Lord Lyonel Baratheon is at the tourney."
"Because tourneys cost coin."
"We really are that poor?"
You pinched the bridge of your nose.
"Hush your rambling and get dressed."
Then immediately opened it again.
"Freya." you said in that motherly tone the kids were scared of.
She groaned as though you had personally ruined her life, You shepherded both girls upstairs before they could devise a new disaster.
Breakfast wasn't much lately, because of the tourney, stocks had been running low so a loaf from the market and Fresh milk from the cow was the only option.
It was enough to fill stomachs, if not satisfy them. A few minutes later they came tumbling down the stairs in a tangled heap of limbs, complaints, and accusations.
"Fred said I look like a frog," Fran tattled immediately.
"I said you jump like a frog," Fred corrected.
You breathed a long tired sigh, morning dew was still on the windows, it was far too early for this.
"Well, you all look exactly the same to me."
Three horrified faces turned towards you.
The reaction was immediate.
"Fran's hair is different."
"By this much." Fred held two fingers barely apart.
You ignored them and pointed towards the table.
The argument ceased instantly.
Once they had settled down, you folded your arms.
"After breakfast, chores."
Three groans echoed through the kitchen.
For a brief moment, you considered feeling guilty. Then you remembered Fred had tried to liberate the chickens before sunrise.
By midday, you were convinced your feet were plotting a mutiny.
Bucket after bucket of water hauled from the stream to the well for filtering.
It sounded simple when Joeyn explained it.
Then you actually had to do them.
By the time you finished, the sun was hanging high overhead and your arms felt as though they'd been stretched three inches longer.
The triplets had better have finished their chores.
They'd only been tasked with:
Clearing cobwebs from the stable and house.
Picking ripe fruit from the orchard.
Four jobs that should have taken half the morning.
Four jobs that somehow would still end in catastrophe.
You walked into the kitchen and immediately spotted a basket of freshly picked fruit on the table.
Apparently they had managed to complete at least one thing.
You grabbed the basket and headed back outside.
The fruit was deposited beside the rain barrel where you began washing it thoroughly.
You had eaten enough worms, bugs, and mystery creatures in your lifetime to know better than to trust fruit straight from a tree. As you worked, your gaze drifted across the garden.
And there they were. The triplets. Huddled suspiciously behind a low stone wall. The universal posture of children doing something they absolutely should not be doing.
Your eyes narrowed. Fred was holding a slingshot.
You followed the direction they were aiming. One lone rider and three horses were making their way down the road toward Ashford.
The rider immediately caught your attention.
The man was enormous. Not merely tall. Not merely large.
He looked as though he was carved from an oak tree and taught to walk. His horse looked normal-sized until he sat on it. Then the poor animal appeared to be carrying a siege tower.
Your mouth fell open slightly.
Surely no man was naturally that big.
Perhaps he'd been dropped in a barrel of miracle-growing potion as a child. Perhaps he was half giant. Was all of him truly that big? Was he all proportional…everywhere?
Because out of the corner of your eye you saw movement.
Fred was reloading the slingshot.
He pulled back the leather.
Time slowed. The birds seemed to stop singing, The wind stopped blowing. The Seven themselves leaned down from the heavens to watch what happened next.
For one glorious moment, it flew through the air with impossible accuracy.
Like an arrow shot by some legendary hero from the Age of Heroes.
Of all the road. Of all the people. Of all the places it could possibly have landed.
The stone struck the giant directly in the forehead.
The sound echoed. Silence followed.
Then he toppled sideways off his horse.
Not gracefully. Not heroically.
Like a sack of potatoes being pushed off a cart.
He hit the ground with enough force to shake the road.
The horses kept walking for another few steps before noticing it had misplaced its rider.
The giant remained flat on his back.
A horrifying silence settled over the farm.
Instead you closed your eyes.
Because somehow, despite every mistake you'd ever made in your life—
accidentally stealing from lords,
shooting strangers with arrows—
you knew with absolute certainty that this was about to become your biggest problem yet.
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