Some people turn sad awfully young. No special reason, it seems, but they seem almost to be born that way. They bruise easier, tire faster, cry quicker, remember longer and, as I say, get sadder younger than anyone else in the world. I know, for l'm one of them.
i truly have no idea when im gonna finish this. perhaps someday. anyways, i wanted to share a tiny bit of it.
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He hears the door latch closed, and soft thuds of leather soles hit the floor. Duncan doesn’t say anything, but he exhales softly. His thick, earthy scent spreads and clung onto every millimeter of his chamber. He’s restless. He’s waiting.
He is awaiting a command.
Aerion tsk. His tongue swipes his lower lip drinking in the upper hand he possesses in this very moment. In this vainly fraction of time. For he will lend it to the oaf.
“Well,” he mocks, “I didn’t call for you to stay still like a statue, did I?” The words hang taunting in the stuffy air, heat brazes his nape and douse little droplets of sweat down his chest.
Dunk lingers, but his breathing hardens. His presence makes itself acute as his smell rolls off him like the clouds of smog coming from a fire. “No, my prince.”
Aerion finds himself swaddle in bulky arms, bracket in stout and firm muscle. It took the oaf three long steps to come from behind and tighten his arms around his waist.
Dunk nudges his neck like a hound, like the beast he truly is. His nose tip roams the curve of his throat and halts in the seat of his neck, right above where the spot is spongy, where’s that tiny chunk of meat a bit more malleable. Where the skin is significantly pliant under the light squeeze of a fingertip. He kisses his gland.
“Gods.” Aerion chokes.
Dunk belch an scent like burn oak and it smothers his lungs.
“Aerion,” he huffs. He kisses down again, less soft; forcibly. His hands, fisted a tad moment ago, flex and spread its fingers above his waist. Fuck the Seven up there, his hand swallow his frame.
I love Matilda because it's a story about a child who sees injustice around her and gets mad about it and questions why things aren't fair, and instead of the ending being that she learns how the world works and that life isn't fair, she catapults one of the adults who abused her out of a building with her mind
His death was a mishap, almost certainly, and it is written that Prince Maekar always bitterly regretted Baelor's passing and marked its anniversary every year. Yet Baelor died, and doubtless Maekar and the realm wondered if one hedge knight was worth the loss of the Prince of Dragonstone and the Hand of the King. —writings of maester Yandel | The World of Ice & Fire
And my father ... he never thought the throne would pass to him, and yet it did. He used to say that was his punishment for the blow that slew his brother. I pray he found the peace in death that he never knew in life — Maester Aemon | A Feast for Crows
Some men will say I meant to kill my brother. The gods know it is a lie, but I will hear the whispers till the day I die. And it was my mace that dealt the fatal blow, I have no doubt. The only other foes he faced in the melee were three Kingsguard, whose vows forbade them to do any more than defend themselves. So it was me. Strange to say, I do not recall the blow that broke his skull. Is that a mercy or a curse? Some of both, I think. — A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms | The Hedge Knight
Underrated hilarious element of A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms is that. Dunk's name isn't even Duncan. It's actually, literally just Dunk! he just panicked when Egg went "Ser Dunk. That’s no name for a knight. Is it short for Duncan?"
And now other people like Raymun are calling him Duncan and he's gonna be recorded in HISTORY as Duncan. And. His name is just fucking Dunk. That's it.