Beneath the old oak tree, Ser Duncan the Tall sat with a small knife in hand, carving neat strips from a haunch of roasted mutton. Before him, sat the most unlikely of being.
A small dragon no larger than a hound, crimson-scaled with bright mismatched eyes.
Lord Baelor Breakspear of House Targaryen was this being, now with his tail curled close, wings tucked tight behind a dark red sash, staring at the falling leaves quietly.
Duncan handed a small size of sliced mutton.
“My lord…here. It's mutton. Tender, me thinks.”
The little dragon turned slowly, taking a moment to look at the meat then at the Hedge Knight. After a pause, Baelor turned away with his tail flickering like a sigh.
“Tell me…do you not find my form…disappointing?”
Duncan blinked, knife stilled mid-cut for the next slice.
“Beg your pardon, my lord?”
“Aye.” Baelor’s voice, though smaller now, held a shameful tightness. “A prince of the blood. A descendant of dragons most terrible and grand...now reduced to a mere creature fit for a lady's lap or a child's toy." He gave a small, bitter huff, a wisp of smoke curling from his nostrils.
Duncan frowned, as though the notion was foreign with him.
“I’m…not sure why I should, my lord.”
The dragon gave him a stern look, even in a smaller form, those gaze were penetrating as ever.
“Not sure? You see me like so and feel no mockery in it?”
“I see you,” Duncan said simply.
The words however, managed to quell the irrational anger stirring in the dragon's belly.
Baelor’s wings twitched, uncertain. “I'm scarcely larger than your boot.”
“I see my prince,” Duncan answered, as if it were the most obvious truth in all the Seven (Nine) Kingdoms. “My lord, size has never weighed much in my reckonings. I’ve known men twice your height with half your courage.”
Baelor let out a soft scoff. “Flattery sits ill upon you, Ser Duncan.”
“I think not, just speaking my mind and heart, m'lord.” Duncan set the knife aside and leaned his forearms upon his knees, meeting those bright dragon-eyes squarely.
"You are…facing this curse, miracle? Whichever Lord Maekar deemed it to be, with a composure of a Prince. You speak still as you did, think just as you did. If anything's changed, it is only what I can see with my eyes. You are very much still yourself."
Baelor was quiet at that.
“I had thought…” Baelor murmured softly, a small wheeze escaped his nostril, “that you might look upon me and find me…lesser.”
Duncan’s brow furrowed, offended.
“I’d not think you lesser if you were a mouse, my lord.”
At that, Baelor huffed again, scales shifted to a half smile.
“Aye. Though I’d wager you’d be a fearsome one.”
A small, reluctant sound escaped Baelor, it sounded much like a thrill with a deep rumble, a laughter.
Duncan held out the slice of meat, silently urging him to eat again.
Baelor hesitated only a heartbeat before stepping forward, claws light against Duncan’s rough skin, and took the offering with careful teeth.
“You are a strange knight, Ser Duncan.”
“So I’ve been told, my lord.”
