Basically HCs of A Knight Of The Seven Kingdoms Characters set in The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes aka Hunger Games Universe.
I'll add other characters in other parts as it would have gotten too long.
DUNK
He is from District 10 which supplies livestock to all of Panem. Essentially he has grown up a dirt poor rancher (I couldn't part this sweet man from his horses 😭).
He was an outcaste and an orphan during the dark days and was taken in by "Sir" Sgt. Arlan Pennytree - who is a disgraced former Peacekeeper (He might tell you what happened once he is well into his cups-might).
Sir wasn't exactly one with a gentle hand while Dunk was growing up - both figuratively and literally - life in 10 and especially in the outback (i.e. away from main town of Dist. 10) is tough and quite isolated and Dunk had to pickup on things fast.
The poor baby struggles a great deal to read and write properly due to what he calls "dancin' words" (✨aka Undiagnosed Dyslexia✨)
He has spent a greater majority of his life around animals that could rarely talk back to him and so lacks the "people skills". He loves and cares deeply for all of them but the horses are his absolute heart.
As he grows bigger and bigger in size Dunk just becomes more isolated - people in the town think he is a freak and it is easy for people to slap the dumb giant tag onto him because of his limitations.
One of the few people to treat him decently is a girl called Tanselle who is the daughter of one of the poultry farmers in town. She smiles at him whenever he says hello and had even mended his shirts (for pay but still).
Also he had once beaten up three boys who had teased Tanselle to tears by calling her "Tanselle-Too-Tall". He had even whispered "Yer not too tall for me" but he isn't sure if she had heard that.
The turning point in his life comes when he loses Sir one night in his sleep. All he could do for him was bury him under the tree where he liked to watch the sunset.
He gets reaped (or rather dragged) into the 13th Hunger Games, an year after losing Sir alongside Tanselle who he had futilely tried to protect.
He fully expects to be treated like an animal in the Capitol but the things have changed - especially since the 10th Games.
Awaiting him and the other tributes at the train station is Coriolanus Snow - the newly minted Deputy Gamemaker. And Aemon Targaryen - his Capitol appointed mentor.
While his mentor looks at him stunned our #shortking Coriolanus feels almost instantly emasculated in front of this guy.
AEMON TARGARYEN
At 16 years old, Aemon is the youngest student to ever graduate the Academy and enter the Capitol University.
Dean Highbottom had him under his personal tutelage for several years before his 'sudden demise'. Since then, Dr. Gaul has taken quite an interest in his "training".
Part of the reason for this interest is that the boy's an evident genius and can be cultivated as a tool to further the goals of Panem but the other and perhaps more pertinent reason is his family.
Targaryens are the closest Panem has ever reached to having royalty. They are as old money as old money gets and their heritage predates even the creation of Panem.
The key to their survival: knowledge. The kind you cannot get out of torturing rebels or creating spy networks. We are taking deep state type shit. They have connections and trades that span beyond Panem and have enough Ammo (information-wise and literally) to make the entire country implode. Most of the powerful people and families try to steer clear of the Targaryens and thus very little is known about them.
Another thing that is not known by anyone is that the family's scion Baelor Targaryen, is the hand that is backing the resistance under the garb of district 13. Only three people know about this - his son Valarr, his brother Maekar and most recently, Aemon.
Aemon hates the exploitation the Capitol subjects the rest of the districts to, hates the games and perhaps most of all hates Dr. Gaul and her recent prodigy: Coriolanus Snow.
When Dr. Gaul had told him that she wants him to have "a more hands-on training under the supervision of Mr. Snow." He had almost said no.
Baelor however has convinced him to play along and try to learn as much about Coriolanus as possible as he sees "something more than a brainwashed stooge" behind the man.
Thus, here he was, at the Capitol railway station, awaiting some poor boy who is to go to the games like a lamb to slaughter.
What he did not expect though, was the almost comically giant fellow whose chest he barely reached and who had arms as thick as a small Birch tree.
Oh boy! his younger brother Aegon would have a field day once he heard about it.
Unhinged Pairing: Ser Duncan the Tall x Lucy Gray Baird
This is a full-fledged arrow in the dark but Ser Duncan x Lucy Gray goes so hard? Both the characters become half-mystery and half-legend by the time the so called "main canon" takes place in their respective universes.
And yet both of them were perhaps the most humane characters in their stories. They retain the pieces of humanity that most others would give up on when the going gets tough: honour and courage for Ser Duncan and agency and creativity for Lucy Gray. They both don't see themselves as people of note and yet they challenge and change the world around them all the same.
There is also this delicious aspect of something contrasting yet complimentary about them. Lucy Gray might be physically diminutive and yet has the capability to reach across time and space with her creativity and voice. Ser Duncan on the other hand may be the most imposing man you would ever see and yet has a gentleness and devotion that can serve as the silent backbone for greatness.
Besides, I feel both the characters have something very interesting to say about class and those who aren't amiable/do not neatly comply with the boundaries it creates.
I might even consider writing a few HCs because honestly, why not?
Me combining two completely different universes to create/validate my crackship:
A/N: I ended up writing this because I couldn’t stop thinking about My Unworthy Knight and about you all who connected with it (@severephilosopherkid— you, baby gave me the idea for some hcs). so I wanted to give you this. These feel less like headcanons and more like fragments of a life that doesn’t quite let go.
♡ I’ll have a few days where I actually get more time to write, so I’ll be back in full force soon with more content for you. I’m really excited to dive back in and share everything I’ve been building in my head.
Thank you for reading and for being here 🤍 btw here is the fic, my loves, in case you didn’t read it yet.
✨In the weeks following Duncan’s departure, you move through your days in a state of numb perfection. The court sees a princess who has accepted her duty, her face a serene mask that never slips. But alone in your chambers, you find one of his old training tunics, forgotten in a corner of your wardrobe, and the scent of leather is enough to break your composure. You hold it to your face, breathing him in, and let yourself cry for the only man who ever saw the girl behind the crown. It is during these moments of private grief that you first suspect the night in the shack has left you with more than just memories—a secret, growing life that is half your body and entirely his soul.
✨The marriage is a strategic masterpiece, securing borders and placating a powerful house. Your husband is a man of cold ambition and impeccable lineage. He is polite, respecting your position, but there is no warmth in his eyes and no passion in his touch. Your wedding night is a clinical, sterile affair; he performs his duty while you endure yours. You lie awake afterward, staring at the canopy and picturing the rough-hewn beams of a crofter’s shack and the feel of Ser Duncan’s calloused hands on your skin. You are a queen, but you have never felt more like a prisoner.
✨Your daughter is born nine months after the wedding. She is small and perfect, with deep blue eyes. As she grows, she is unusually tall for her age, possessing a sturdy, quiet strength that the maesters cannot explain. When she is a toddler, you see her clasp a wooden spoon with a determined fist, and the way her brow furrows is so unmistakably him…
✨Three years after Ser Duncan’s reassignment, a great tourney is held. You attend with your husband and your daughter. As you watch the jousters from the royal box, a knight removes his helm to acknowledge the crowd, and the world tilts on its axis. It is him. Ser Duncan, leaner and harder than before. He does not look at you—his eyes stay fixed on the dirt of the arena, but you feel his presence like a physical weight. Later, you send a page to his tent with a simple, folded note: "The old godswood. At sunset."
✨He is waiting amongst the ancient trees, a statue of tension and longing. The years fall away the moment you step into the dappled light. No words are spoken at first; you simply look at him, and he at you. Then, you take his hand and place it on your daughter’s shoulder as she hides shyly behind your skirts. He stares at the child, his face crumbling as he sees his own eyes and his own soul looking back at him.
Ser Duncan falls to his knees before you, not as a knight to his princess, but as a man to his salvation. His hands clutch at your hips, his forehead pressing against your stomach. "I thought I could be strong," he rasps, his voice thick with tears. "I thought I could serve my oath and let you go. But I am a ghost. I see my life in her eyes. I cannot live another day without you." You pull him to his feet, your hands framing his face, and kiss him with all the desperation of three lonely years.
✨ One night you watch your husband's party ride out from the castle walls, their banners a colorful smear against the dawn sky. Your heart is a hammer in your chest. You return to your rooms and wait.
It is near midnight when your window opens with a soft scrape. Dunk is a shadow, a thief in the night, his armor gone, replaced by dark leather and a tattered cloak. You are in his arms before he can speak, the scent of him overwhelming your senses. The kiss is a collision of longing, a desperate, bruising battle of starved lips.
There is no slow seduction. He carries you to your bed, tearing at your nightdress with hands that are far steadier than they were that first night. He is no longer the hesitant knight. He is a man who has starved for this. He worships you with a fierce, almost angry passion—kissing a trail down your body, his beard rough against your thighs, his mouth claiming you with a possessive growl that leaves you arching and gasping his name into the pillows. When he finally moves over you, his body is a familiar, glorious weight, but there is a new, powerful rhythm to his movements, a deep, driving force that speaks of every night he spent alone imagining this. He doesn't just fuck you; he claims you, reminding your body who it truly belongs to.
He murmurs broken, filth-laced promises against your skin—"I'm going to fill you up again," "Mine, you're still mine"—and the raw truth of his words is what pushes you over the edge. As you shatter around him, he buries his face in your neck and follows, a shuddering groan of your name his only prayer.
Lying in the tangled sheets afterward, his body wrapped protectively around you and your daughter sleeping peacefully in her cradle across the room, you know this is no longer a secret affair.
✨"I am done serving a crown that steals my heart," he growls against your lips. "I am taking my wife and my daughter, and we are leaving tonight."
You find out that he has horses, supplies, and a network of loyal men he has gathered in secret. Your heart is no longer hammering with fear, but with a wild, exhilarating hope.
You dress in simple traveling clothes, take your sleeping daughter from her cradle, and slip out into the night with the man you love.
The castle, the crown, the gilded cage—they all shrink behind you as you ride into the darkness, towards an uncertain but free future, bound by the only vows that ever mattered: the ones you made to each other in a broken shack under the stars. You are no longer a princess or a queen. You are just his, and he is yours and together you are determined to find your home.
If I had a penny for every time Ralph Fiennes played the middle aged version of — a severely bigoted, egomaniacal despot who grew up an orphan, served a great deal of cunt as a teenager, took advantage of and framed his kind and trusting peer and whose main deal now is beefing with teenagers basically every year — I’d have two pennies. Which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice…
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