⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀AND HOW ALLAYING TO SER DUNCAN'S ANXIETY IS THE LORD'S NAYSAYING, 'though churlish and uncouth — cunts, ser lyonel so dismissively says — the lord's naysaying is, and churlish and uncouth is the lord's voracious and vulpine appetite. "mm, they're not cunts," ser hedge knight says against the lord of the stormlands's lips, for how awfully missed was the lord's churlish and uncouth and certainly cavalier mien, as though no lord of a castle but the captain of a carrack by the name of the maiden's cunt, and the lord's scathing mouth of dornish sea salt. "mind your tongue, m'lord, else you'll not have a nextborn." 'though droll is ser duncan and surely insincere, for noor's admonitions would be heeded not were durran slumbering. but aslumber the babe is not, no, but astir against duncan's breast durran is. a flea of a boy, aye, with hair the fire of flea bottom and eyes the levins of storm's end.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"greedy, aye, but a good little lad." soothed by duncan's forefinger is the furrow in durran's brow, and the smile before fond, glancing unto the mewling babe swaddled in dyed dornish red wool, is now wry and mayhap foolish as to the lord of storm's end are the hedge knight's eyes, the blue of the summer sea billowing from beyond the window of the birthing chambers, set. "three sennights 'til—" as though a maiden and not a hedge knight nor now a father, duncan fidgets 'gainst the bed. ten moons ago, nearly, had the hedge knight been in the lord's bed; a maid he may well be, sleeping in ditches and eating hard salt beef 'til the day durran was born. "—'til we're able to ... lie together, too, noor said." no wonder the boy's a flea of a thing born a moon early. with a grimace, he glances down at the babe, a flea of a thing born a moon too early but blessed by the gods and by godsgrief. (the girl, evidently, was not.) he bows his head back to the boy. "reckon he's keepin' an eye out for her."
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the babe scrunches his little button of a nose before sneezing, and startled by the sound of his own sneeze is he. dunk snorts. ravenous as a flea and skittish as a horse, so durran is, and keeps too occupied to think his hedge knight sire. looking at lyonel, then, dunk asks, "you want to hold 'im? not as delicate as he looks."