Now I'm towing my car, there's a hole in the roof
My possessions are causing me suspicion
But there's no proof
In the paper today tales of war and of waste
But you turn right over to the T.V. page
Hey now, hey now, don't dream it's over
Hey now, hey now, when the world comes in
They come, they come to build a wall between us
We know they won't win
I found it so interesting learning when people started to ship Nalu. I see a lot of people say during the grand magic games arc which really highlights how great their relationship progresses from strangers to best friends to lovers which is so great to see. And really shows how they established a good friendship before the romance. Meanwhile I saw Lucy jump off a building and say I heard him in the distance and Natsu was there right on time to catch her and I was immediately locked in.
in which your hedge knight only has determination and a dream... but he refuses to let highborn lords and low beat him for your affection!
genre/warnings:
suggestive, crack, fluff, jealous!dunk, drinking and getting drunk, more fluff, targaryen!reader (reader is egg's sister)
notes:
sweet dunk is injected in my veins <3 comments & reblogs are much appreciated!
Dunk wanted to crown you the Queen of Love and Beauty.
It wasn’t out of nowhere. It was the way your face lit up with wonder at the last tourney when the champion rode forward and placed the victor’s laurel upon the woman he loved.
“How nice it must be to be that lucky lady!” Your eyes were practically sparkling— and Dunk had been utterly captivated. From that moment on, he could only think of ways to see that pretty smile on your face again.
Ser Duncan the Tall might not have much to offer in this world, but a tourney victory—if he fought with everything he had—was something he could at least try to win.
And so, as the road carried him, you and Egg towards the next tourney he meant to enter, Dunk made that silent vow to himself.
“Ser Duncan! This is no small tourney, you know— this is Harrenhal! Harrenhal!”
Egg was jumping up and down ever since he knew the three of you were heading to the Harrenhal tourney. He was visibly excited, giving him warnings, cautions and everything of the like.
“Aye, I gathered that from the crowds.”
“You must get in shape!” the boy insisted righteously. “I will take Thunder each morning for exercises, so you better train properly or you’ll embarrass us before the lists even begin.”
“Us? I’m the one holding the lance, lad.”
“Well, you represent me too!”
I will do everything to win this tourney, lad, he wanted to retort, but Dunk decided he would not voice it just yet.
You had gone earlier to get his shield repainted, insisting it ought to look proper before he entered the lists. It made his heart warm that you would go out of your way for him, but that had been some time ago.
Dunk shifted his weight, glancing down the lane again. The camp was busy with squires, merchants, and knights moving about, yet you were nowhere among them.
Egg was still going on about the many points Dunk had to remember for the tourney, and he had long since stopped truly listening—
“...and if by some chance you do win—” the little boy said, pacing in front of him, pulling on the expression as if he wasn’t too sure of it happening at all but he had to say this regardless so his knight wouldn’t forget. “You must remember to ride properly when presenting the crown to my sister! It’s only right she gets to be the queen of beauty and it is a very important moment— You cannot look clumsy!”
I won’t fumble it, lad, Dunk thought. He wanted so badly to tell Egg of his plan, but if he lost, the boy would only be disappointed. So he chose to direct the conversation elsewhere.
“How long does it take to repaint a shield?”
“An hour, perhaps, give or take?” Egg shrugged. “The painter might need more time too.”
You had certainly been gone for more than an hour. Even if you had stopped to browse a few other stalls, it shouldn’t have taken this long for you to return.
“Or perhaps something’s wrong,” Dunk concluded.
Without another word, he pushed himself to his feet, unease settling in his chest as the thought crept in that something might have happened to you.
. . .
And Gods be good, because it didn’t take long to find you. Dunk spotted you near one of the outer tents where a small crowd had gathered around a few craftsmen’s stalls.
However, you were not alone.
You were standing close to a man dressed in fine riding leathers trimmed with black and gold. The fellow leaned in as he spoke, smiling broadly while you returned his grin with a sweet one of your own.
Too close. His cool blue eyes twitched in unsatisfaction. He immediately strode forward surely, stepping between the two of you, his broad frame an immediate wall between you and the stranger.
“Is there a problem here?” The words came out sharper than he intended as his eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you need from her?”
“Oh? Oh! None at all, ser!” the man replied quickly, clearly taken aback by his height. “Just a bit of conversation…”
The man proceeded to give him a small, courteous nod.
“Ser Bryn,” he introduced. “A knight of House Whent.”
“Ser Duncan. Hedge knight.”
Bryn’s grin only widened. “Ah! Coming to test your fortune at Harrenhal?” He clapped Dunk’s arm with easy familiarity before gesturing back towards you. “With a fair maiden, no less.”
Dunk frowned, but the other knight’s expression brightened further.
“In fact, if you survive the tourney, Ser Duncan— you ought to join me for a drink! Harrenhal’s ale tastes much better after a good day’s joust!”
‘If I survive’…? I definitely will, short man.
With that, the knight took his leave, not before tossing you a parting grin though, which made Dunk’s brow rise even higher. “See you later, fair lady!”
Dunk decided he disliked this Bryn fellow at first sight.
However, contrary to his distaste, you got close with that blasted Ser Bryn of House Whent in a span of a short time.
Before long, Dunk began noticing him everywhere. Bryn seemed to follow you like a puppy, turning up whenever you wandered off to the stalls, the practice fields, even the tavern.
And worse still—
“Is that so? You’re very funny, Ser Bryn!”
Dunk would hear your bright, easy laughter from across the yard and when he looked up, sure enough, there Bryn would be, grinning like he’d won some grand prize.
But what irked Dunk even more was what followed afterwards. You would come back to him all bright-eyed, chattering away about whatever that overdressed twat had said or shown you, like:
“He told me he always lets his horse sleep near the hay so it gets a good night’s rest before the tourney. Ser Duncan, maybe you should try that for Thunder too!”
In addition of that also the tricks Bryn had seen in past tourneys, and (most irritatingly) the little jokes he made that had you giggling halfway through your sentences.
Dunk would listen, or at least pretend to. He would nod along and grunt where it seemed right, but each word only made the knot inside his chest tighten further. Sometimes, when you talked about him with that bright look in your eyes, Dunk could not help but wonder—
If the day came and the champion rode forward to name you his Queen of Love and Beauty… would you rather it be Bryn holding the crown instead of him?
“Ser Duncan, you’re competing tomorrow! C’mon, don’t look so miserable!”
Egg stood in front of him with his hands on his hips, staring up at Dunk with open disapproval. The boy had been scolding him for the better part of the evening now.
But drowning in his sorrows, Dunk only lifted his cup and took another long drink.
“You shouldn’t be drinking like that!” Egg went on, frowning. “Knights are meant to be sharp before a tourney, not sulking!”
“I ain’t sulking.”
“You are! You hardly said a word all night!”
Dunk didn’t answer him. Instead, he tipped the cup back again, letting the ale burn its way down his throat. It did little to warm the sour heaviness sitting in his chest.
“If you keep this up, you’ll be useless in the lists tomorrow!” Egg scolded, reaching for the tankard to pull it away, but the knight swatted his hand aside without even looking.
“Then I’ll fall off the horse quick,” Dunk retorted thickly, his head swaying a bit. “Saves everyone the trouble.”
The boy looked horrified. “Ser Duncan!”
Dunk waved him off lazily, already reaching for more drink.
“Go find your sister… She could be out there somewhere with… with bad sorts…”
“What?”
“You heard me,” Dunk muttered with half-lidded eyes, his words beginning to slur. “Best keep an eye on her. Don’t want her running about with the wrong, shiny knights—”
Egg opened his mouth to argue again, but before he could, Dunk’s elbow slipped off the table. With a heavy thud, the big knight slumped forward, his head dropping against his folded arms.
“Ser Duncan...?” Egg asked cautiously, nudging him. He didn’t stir.
For the next ten minutes, he tried everything—pushing at his arm, pinching his cheek, even shaking him with all the strength he could muster but he didn’t budge at all.
“Oh no... Ser Duncan!”
. . .
When your brother came running to you in tears, yelling about how Ser Duncan was unconscious, your heart nearly leapt out of your chest. You rushed towards the tavern Egg had pointed out, half-terrified you might find him gravely injured—
And found him at first sight.
Your knight was slumped across one of the rough tables—thoroughly, hopelessly drunk. Several empty tankards surrounded him like fallen soldiers.
You touched his shoulder and gave him a gentle shake. “Ser Duncan, wake up— Wake up, please.”
A groan rumbled out of him. Slowly, his eyes cracked open, unfocused and glassy, and for a brief moment they landed directly on you.
Encouraged, you reached out to help him up—but the moment your hand brushed him, Dunk suddenly slapped it away with surprising force—
“No, no, lady!” he slurred thickly, waving a loose, shaky hand in the air as though fending you off. “You seem nice— real nice! But I have another lady—!”
Dunk frowned with great seriousness, though his eyes were already sliding shut again as he collapsed back onto the table—
“My princess. She’s the only one I serve… the only one I belong to…”
You stood there for a long moment, staring at the enormous, unconscious knight, feeling your face steadily heating up and your chest fluttered from his words.
But Dunk was far too large to leave sprawled in a tavern. With considerable effort—and the help of a very amused tavern keeper—you eventually dragged the dead-weight knight back to your pavilion.
You had just finished straightening the bed when Dunk shifted with a groan. His blue eyes blinked open slowly, unfocused and bleary.
“...M’lady?” he rasped.
You leaned forward slightly, smiling. “You’re awake.”
Dunk dragged a large hand over his face, looking thoroughly confused. For a moment he simply tried to get his bearings together while you helped him sit upright and pressed a cup of water into his hands.
“You silly oaf,” you reprimanded with a soft sigh, patting his hair fondly. “Why must you drink so much?”
He drank obediently, almost bashful, like a very large, slightly bewildered child. When he lowered the cup and looked at you again, there was something strangely sad in his expression.
You, however, were far too busy fussing with blankets.
“You should sleep,” you said, moving to fetch another comforter. “You’ve had far too much to dri—”
“Am I not good enough for you, m’lady?”
The sudden question took you off-guard, and you turned to him only to find his round, blue eyes looking at you as if his whole world depended on you.
“What brought this on?” you asked, blinking. “Of course you are. You’re good enough for me, Ser Duncan.”
He studied you, still unconvinced.
“If so… then why do you have eyes for other men?”
“Who—”
“Ser Bryn,” Dunk accused. “Of House Wheat.”
“House Whent,” you corrected. Dunk only puckered his lips in displeasure, clearly unimpressed.
“You are enamored with Ser Wheat.”
“...? I am not!”
“I saw you. You were smiling at him.”
“I smile at many people,” you protested, feeling your face warm under the weight of his gaze. “I was only speaking with him... In fact, most of that conversation was me trying to pry secrets from him to help you in the field...”
Dunk still looked deeply troubled. His eyes, still hazy from ale, lingered on you—searching your face, as though trying to determine whether you were simply saying what he wanted to hear.
And you softened nonetheless, a faint, almost giddy warmth rising in your chest.
“I don’t like him, Ser Duncan,” you reassured with a smile, stroking his back, as you would with your brother whenever he was being petulant.
“Really...?”
“Really, really.”
He only stared at you, as if weighing those words. However, before you could console him further, his large and warm hand suddenly tugged you that you tumbled straight into his lap—
“If I’m good enough for you...”
Dunk leaned closer, his voice dropping low, the words slipping out in a quiet whisper that made your heart skip a beat:
“Then please… have eyes for me only.”
With that, he kissed you. The sheer force of it stole the breath from your lungs.
This was nothing like his usual kisses. Dunk was normally so careful with you—shy in his affection, as though afraid his strength alone might crush you, but now the kiss was deep, desperate, and overwhelming.
His mouth moved against yours with a hunger that felt almost frantic, like a man afraid something precious might slip through his fingers. His fingers tangled in your hair, holding you close, anchoring you firmly against him.
“Ser—Duncan…” you breathed between kisses, the faint taste of ale still lingering on his lips.
A quiet, almost helpless noise rumbled in his chest as though hearing you say his name had lit some reckless fire in him. His arm tightened around your waist before he pulled you into another kiss—and then another, and another—each one more fervent than the last.
And when he pushed you onto the cushions, the world seemed to tilt with you.
The soft bedding dipped beneath your weight while Dunk followed after, catching himself with both arms braced beside your head. His broad frame hovered over you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him.
For a moment, he simply stared. His pale cerulean eyes were dazed now, as though he could scarcely believe what he was seeing. You, lying beneath him. In his bed.
“Are you sure you want me… princess?”
The question came out softer than anything he had said all night. Beneath the lingering haze of ale and envy, there was something else there—hesitation, almost boyish, as though he feared waking from a dream.
Still breathless and witless, for a heartbeat you simply looked up at him.
This kind, silly man. He had taken possession of your entire heart and he didn’t even know.
Instead of answering, your hands rose to the front of his tunic and tugged him down hard towards you— so that your lips met his once more.
That was an answer enough.
Dunk let out a startled breath against your lips before the sound melted into the kiss itself. Before long it deepened without thought, unpracticed and earnest in a way that was so very him. Every so often he would pause, as though simply to look at you again, his gaze lingering with the same quiet wonder.
And each time, you drew him close.
Your laughter—soft and breathless—escaped once when he knocked his forehead against yours in his eagerness, mumbling a sheepish murmur from the towering knight before he hid the apology with another kiss.
The night stretched on that way. His arms around you felt impossibly safe, the strength in them comforting, like the shelter of a great elm tree in a storm.
“Oh no… oh no, oh no—”
This can’t be happening!
The morning after, once his wits had fully returned, Dunk felt as though the whole world had collapsed on him... because waking up to your bosom was usually the stuff coming from his wet dreams.
But now it had become real! And far worse, that means he... he has slept with you!
The muttered words, thick with rising panic, slowly pulled you from the warmth of sleep. You lifted your head slightly, still groggy, only to find Dunk staring down at you like a man who had just discovered a dragon in his bed.
“Oh—!” he choked, immediately looking away, then looking back again as if he wasn’t sure which direction was safer. “M’—m’lady—! I mean—Princess—!”
“Ser…?” you murmured softly, your voice still heavy with sleep, brows knit with mild confusion. The way you called him so defenselessly nearly made him jump.
“I swear it wasn’t my intention!”
You merely blinked at him. “…What?”
“I mean— I did mean to—wait, not mean to—! Last night— I was not myself!” he blurted in complete disarray, words tumbling over each other as the color in his face deepened into a spectacular shade of red. “I’d never take advantage of you—”
Oh. Meanwhile, you only watched him with interest, nonchalantly pulling the blanket up a little higher around yourself as you sat on the bed.
Dunk was mortified, and even that word wasn’t even enough. He looked ready to march himself straight to the gallows if you so much as frowned.
“I would never mean to sully your honor, m’lady, I swear it on my knighthood! I’ll take responsibility, I will, I just— Gods, please, just castrate me—”
He literally buried his face in his hands. The sight of your lover being thoroughly flustered was so endearing that you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing.
“Ser Duncan, we have gone through this before... Castrating you is a loss to the realm.”
Your voice, soft but steady, finally broke through his spiraling panic. Those pale blue eyes snapped toward you, wide and full of dread.
“But— your honor—”
“My honor is quite intact.”
“Truly?”
“Consider it so, Ser Duncan.”
Dunk remained painfully serious, which made your lips twitch. While you had assured him everything was fine, he still looked like a man who couldn’t believe he had been pardoned at the gallows.
“Ser Duncan, if you truly wish to make it up to me…”
He straightened immediately, resolve snapping into place like armor being buckled. “Anything,” he said at once. “Just name it.”
A small, almost mischievous smile appeared on your lips.
“Win the tourney.”
“…Gods,” he muttered under his breath. So suddenly, he was reminded of his own vow to himself that he would crown you the Queen of Love and Beauty. His ears turned red again at the thought.
But he meant it. Every bit of it.
After a moment, his mouth curved into a shy but resolute grin.
“I’ll fight bravely, my princess, you’ll see.”
True to his word, Ser Duncan the Tall fought bravely in the lists, unwavering in the two things he held fast above all else—honor and valor.
Even from the stands, you could see the determination in him. His armor bore a few scratches already, and dust clung to his surcoat, but his seat in the saddle was steady and proud.
“Look at him!” Egg pointed out excitedly. “He’s already unhorsed two knights!”
“I can see that…” you replied, trying to sound composed, though the way your fingers curled tightly into the fabric of your dress betrayed your nerves.
However, perhaps you shouldn’t worry too much after all. Again and again he rode out, and again and again the lances shattered.
By the time the final tilt was called, murmurs had turned into full cheers across the stands.
“Ser Duncan! Ser Duncan the Tall!”
Egg, ever the proud squire, grinned up at you. “They’re cheering for him!”
You could hardly believe the sight yourself. Below, Dunk rode back into the lists for the final match—against Ser Bryn of House Whent.
The herald’s voice rang out, and the two knights marched. Wood splintered again and again beneath the force of their passes. One tilt followed another until six lances had been broken between them, the crowd roaring louder with each thunderous collision.
Then, on the seventh pass— the impact came so hard it knocked both men clean from their saddles.
You gasped, half rising from your seat in fright. Beside you, Egg leaned forward anxiously. “He’s all right… he’s getting up!”
Indeed he was. Dunk pushed himself upright with a grunt, clearly shaken but still standing. Across from him, Ser Bryn struggled to his feet as well.
A contest of arms followed afterwards, and swords were drawn.
The fight that followed was far less graceful than the tilting. Ser Bryn fought with sharp, practiced strikes, his blade flashing again and again as Dunk struggled to keep pace. For a moment your heart seized—Dunk’s swordsmanship was never the finest.
But he had something else.
With a sudden burst of strength, he closed the distance, catching Ser Bryn off guard. In the next moment he grappled the other knight outright, locking his arms around him in a hold that looked more suited to a brawl than a tourney.
The two men staggered, armored bodies straining—until Dunk finally wrenched Ser Bryn off balance and threw him hard into the dirt so hard that his breath was knocked out of him.
The herald rushed forward, counting to three, and he failed to rise—
“Victory! Victory for Ser Duncan the Tall!”
The stands erupted, cheering for your champion with so much merriment. You hardly realized you had risen to your feet until Egg tugged excitedly at your sleeve to lead you to the edge.
“He did it! He actually did it! He’s going to crown you now!”
Below, Dunk stood catching his breath for a moment before the victor’s laurel was placed in his hands. For a second he looked almost bewildered by it. Then his gaze lifted—and found yours.
Your gentle knight, with his soft eyes and kind heart. A shy sort of determination crossed his face.
Moments later, the great knight made his way toward the stands, the laurel held carefully in his large hand. When he stopped before you, he looked almost as nervous.
Yet he presented the crown to you with pride, fulfilling his promise.
“I dedicate my victory to you, m’lady.”
For a heartbeat the world seemed to pause, before cheers rolled across the lists like thunder, louder than they had been all day, happy for the two of you. There was something so earnest about the way he smiled before you, so utterly sincere, that even the most hardened spectators could not help but be charmed by it.
“The princess of his heart!” someone called from the stands.
Happiness swelled in your chest, warm and overwhelming, until you felt as though your heart might burst from it.
Ser Duncan the Tall had won the day.
And before the whole realm, he had crowned you the lady of his victory.
Epilogue
The tourney grounds were already beginning to empty by the time the three of you returned to your pavilion. It would be your last night here and you, Dunk and Egg were busy packing your belongings before continuing your journey on the morrow.
You were just folding your cloak when the pavilion flap rustled.
“Ser Duncan!”
All three of you turned as Ser Bryn of House Whent stepped inside. His arm was bandaged, but his grin was good-natured.
“A fine victory you had today!” he said, offering Dunk a hand. “Well fought. You nearly knocked the wind out of me for good!”
Dunk looked a little startled but shook it. “Ah—thank you, ser. You fought well too.”
“I’d say we both earned a drink after that.” Ser Bryn clapped him on the shoulder. “Come join me and the others tonight!”
Then his gaze shifted to you—and he suddenly looked far less composed.
“And, ah… if the lady would not mind,” he added bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck, “You see, I believe I have been charmed by you, and if it isn’t too much to ask... I’d quite like to get to know you better.”
Dunk frowned. Egg gaped. You blinked. All three of you most certainly never expected this open confession.
Your hedge knight’s expression soured at once and he looked ready to object right then and there— but before he could say a word, a soft giggle slipped from you.
“Oh, I’m afraid I won’t be available for that.”
You slipped your arm comfortably through Dunk’s, smiling up at him before turning back to the other knight.
“You see,” you continued sweetly, “I happen to be Ser Duncan’s wife.”
Ser Bryn stared, the color draining from his face. Beside you, Dunk felt heat rush up to his face at your bold-faced lie, though after a moment he straightened and stood a little taller at your side.
“Well then, we’re going to spend the evening just the two of us,” you said cheerfully, already guiding Dunk toward the exit. “Good evening, ser.”
As the two of you passed him, Dunk shot Ser Bryn a rather pointed stink eye over his shoulder, utterly satisfied.
Egg lingered behind for just a moment longer. He looked up at the stunned knight, sighed dramatically, and patted him on the arm.
Angst with dunk x farmers daughter !reader where him and egg stay in her family’s barn. On the last day they go to the nearest village/town to stock up and when they come back the farm house is ransacked. They find the reader (or she finds them) and dunk mentally decides they’ll take her with them and when he thinks the place is good enough they’ll leave her
(they do and she’s devastated)
Cherished Whispers (Ser Duncan the Tall)
synopsis: after the great fire, ser duncan decided to take you with him and his squire.
genre; angst.
word count; 2,800+
warnings; mentions of death (none major), no happy ending.
a/n; this was one of the first requests i got in my inbox and i’m sincerely sorry anon. first i was getting out the requests before this, then i had my own little thoughts, and then when i got to this it just kept getting longer with no end in sight. BUT ITS HERE! rejoice. i hope you enjoy!
Egg felt a strange dread when he and Ser Duncan went off to the markets that morning. They’d been staying in a farmers barn, offering protection for the days they resided with the few animals. The old farmer had been kind to them, giving food to keep their bellies full and company when necessary. However, Egg noticed his knight had taken a special interest in the old man’s daughter. It wasn’t as subtle as he must’ve thought, yet the boy didn’t speak on it. Soon they’d be continuing across Westeros, most likely to never see the farmer and his daughter again.
Part of that thought rang true when they returned to your land. They’d seen smoke from ahead, yet neither wanted to assume the worst.
“Ser!” Egg pointed a thin finger, coming upon your home being consumed by fire. The flames licked at the sides, the roof already caved in on itself. A large cloud of smoke rose and rose, nearly taking the bright sun away.
The hedge knight dismounted Thunder, shouting for the boy to stay back and keep the horses calm. He had nothing but his sword, his shield forgotten as he ran to the small homestead.
Without hesitation he slammed into the old door, wood splitting as he stumbled in and shouted for the kind farmer, for you. There was only so much he could see, and with his staggering height only so much ground he could cover.
Your humble home had been taken apart, furniture gutted and thrown, pieces you once called your own nowhere to be found. If it hadn’t been stolen, it was taken by the fire. Whoever wronged you, Duncan prayed, would never know a moments rest.
Walking through the shock and anger, he kept his head low, his voice hoarse as he yelled your name.
“Ser Duncan!” You called out, the heat making you dizzy. You couldn’t feel part of yourself, the beam from the ceiling pinning you to the floor. It was only a matter of time before you fell unconscious and the flames took you too. Briefly, you wished for just that.
Duncan followed your voice, his body having to hunch, crouch, crawl just to reach you. His only hope was your cry.
“I’m coming! I’m coming—!”
He saw your father first, limp on ann old rug and mostly crushed by the caving roof. Duncan could make out the rope around his wrists. There had been no chance of survival, not for the poor man. Only a moment could he grieve before he caught sight of you, stuck underneath rubble.
“Ser!” You cried again, your tears of anguish becoming of hope.
Duncan rushed to you, hands already gripping into the beam holding you down. He roared, lifting the heavy wood off your frame, yet you couldn’t move fast enough. It took every ounce of strength to ease under the beam, his shoulder coming to prop it enough so he could use his hands to pull you out. You scrambled, trying to get to your feet while the flames grew larger.
From outside, Egg had hopped off of Chestnut, his feet antsy. The structure was groaning beneath burning wood. He kept a tight grip on both reigns, more to keep himself rooted than the horses.
Too much time had passed. The worry etched on his face weighed heavy.
“Ser?” Egg forced himself to say, hoping the knight would appear from fire and ash. “Ser!”
He took one step, then another. A familiar rush of panic seized him. Again, he called out to Duncan.
The knight barreled out the front door, a miracle in itself. He was hunched over, his back overtaken by your body. The Gods must’ve favored the young man as he met his squire halfway.
“Ser, are you alright? Is she dead—?”
“No. No, she’s..”
“The farmer, ser?”
“Gone. He’s gone, Egg.”
The boy looked between you and his knight, unable to comprehend how something could’ve happened so quick. They’d been gone less than an hour, and that twist deep in his belly had fluttered away. All that was left was an undeniable guilt.
“Let’s go,” Duncan told him, staggering to Thunder. “We need not linger.”
Egg didn’t move. Couldn't.
Duncan laid you over Thunder before hoisting himself up. He made sure to drape you against him, not wanting you to wake up thrown over the war horse.
“Egg,” Duncan frowned. “Get a move on.”
“Ser..”
“Now.”
The boy picked his legs up, doing as told when he mounted Chestnut. He tried not to look back at the disaster, to stroke the guilt that bubbled in him.
Many a night Egg spent wide awake, eyes to the stars and mind caging him to those few minutes of terror. It felt familiar, as if the great fire that burned your home had gone far to reach him until he was merely ash.
“Egg?”
The boy blinked, his face wet and mouth permanently downturned. His gaze met yours, and he moved quick to wipe his tears away. This didn't lessen your worry.
“What’s the matter, dear boy?” Your voice was a gentle murmur.
“Nothing, my lady..I—I’ve been yawning—“
“What’s going on?” Duncan stalked over, having just fed Chestnut and Thunder. He looked down at his squire, brows furrowed and hands on his hips.
“Nothing,” you answered, glancing back to the man. “He’s been yawning.”
“Yawning? Well, best you close your eyes.”
You kept your eye on him, watching as the knight yawned himself while he retreated to get his cloak. With him out of earshot, you turned back towards Egg.
“…Surely you weren’t yawning.”
“I was, my lady.”
“If there’s something bothering you, Egg..”
“Ser Duncan said it was best I close my eyes,” Egg shifted to lie back. He knew you were staring, could feel as you studied him until you downcast your gaze.
“Rest well, then,” he heard you say.
Duncan returned shortly after, fixing himself a spot underneath the tree. He favored getting a full nights rest for a full days journey. Still, one too many glances were passed your way. His eyes unable to focus on where his hands graced into the grass.
Your attention warped from the fire when he heard him curse. His back was toward you, his body crouched beside Egg.
“Are you alright?”
“Fine, I’m—“ Duncan rubbed his fingertips, having scrapped them against the tough bark. “I’m fine.”
He settled down, taking his place under the tree. His fingers stung, but that wasn’t what kept him from getting shuteye. Duncan lifted his head, stealing more eyefuls as if you’d disappear entirely.
Seven above, I can’t do this. His neck was straining, his thoughts becoming far too crowded in his thick skull. *How did the fire not startle you? Were you not tired? What were they going to do with you?*
With a quiet grunt, he pushed up and joined you by the fire.
“M’lady,” he muttered, coming to sit across the open flame from you. You offered a small smile, not having much to say in the mist of the smoke rising.
Ever since the great fire that took your life—your home—neither you nor Duncan had spoken of it. The quiet intensity had been left to fester on its own.
Duncan knew the heartache of losing a loved one. Ser Arlen was like a father, and for the rest of his life he swore to abide by those teachings through every aspect of his life. He owed it to the old man.
“I’m sorry,” Duncan suddenly began, eyes going from the fire to you, back to the fire and repeating all over again. “I never…I’ve never been good with words. And I suppose after all that’s happened, I’ve been in my own sort of shock.”
He swallowed, “your father was a good man. He didn’t have to let Egg and I sleep in the barn, or feed us when hungry. And you—your kindness to the boy, to—to me..”
Duncan could see the tears glossing your eyes, how you refused to look at him now.
“It’s a shame it happened,” he shook his head. “I wish I could’ve done more…and…and for that, I’m sorry.”
From your peripheral, you tracked how he staggered up. His boots hit the grass, moving around the fire until a wave of warmth radiated from your side. An awkward arm came around you, as if you’d curse and snap at him to leave you be. Yet no hostility came from you.
No, you leaned into him, letting him hold you as your tears fell. Your face buried into the fabric that stretched across his chest, your tears staining through and face burning against his body.
When Egg awoke the next morning, he found the pair laid by the burnt wood, wrapped around each other as they had been hours before.
From that moment on the atmosphere grew lighter. You found yourself enjoying traveling across Westeros, partially due to the knight and his squire. You took care of one another, taught each other how to manage throughout the days.
Dunk and Egg would train between sword and shield, you’d sew the rips and tears in their clothes. They fish and hunt, you’d cook the meat and try new herbs. Sometimes, when it was merely Egg and you, he’d fidget about and make noises to tease you over his knight.
And for that you’d flick the top of his shaven head.
Moons passed long after. You’d moved through many towns and still covered little of Westeros. Finding yourself back in the Reach, the wind was gentle and fresh. Dorne had been beautiful, yet this was home.
“Have you been to Cider Hall, my lady?” Egg had asked of you as you rode alongside him.
“I cannot say I have. Goldengrove, yes, but I haven’t been past.”
“You haven’t seen Ashford, then?”
“Not yet.”
“Highgarden?”
You shook your head.
“Oldtown—?”
“Egg,” Duncan stopped him.
“What? I’m curious.”
“It’s quite alright, ser.” You came to his defense, “he only means to name places we’ve yet to cross.”
Duncan sighed, your words striking a lingering cord. He kept to himself, though, and lead the two of you along. By the end of the day you’d be crossing Cider Hall.
The sun was setting when you found yourself being welcomed by House Fossoway of New Barrel, which was a separate branch altogether from Cider Hall. Egg had explained that the cousin to heir-Steffon Fossoway split from the red apples after the tourney in Ashford Meadow, and you knew well enough the tragedy that struck that day.
“Ser Raymun is a friend of ser Duncan,” the boy added.
“Perhaps we’ll have fresh cider tonight?” You hummed.
“I hope so.”
The three of you joined Ser Raymun and his family for supper. He had a wife and child, which both excused themselves to get to bed before more ale could be passed around. Prior you’d had many laughs with Rowan, the lady of House Fossoway. What a darling she was. Her husband was a friendly man, happy to see an old friend and talk of the prosperity his founding House brought him.
“Aye, still prefer to be green than rotten?” Duncan chuckled, slightly buzzed from drinking cupfuls of ale. Even as he was served again, he accepted it with a loopy thank you.
“Have you shrunk?” Raymun shot back, snorting through his own cup.
“Wh—? What, no!”
“Well there’s your answer!”
Duncan found himself turning to you, his eyes squinting to see if you had an explanation. All you offered was a shrug as Raymun laughed out.
“I’m…I’m fucking with you, Duncan..” he snickered, drowning in more ale before his eye settled onto you. You'd been properly introduced, but that had been it.
“So, uh…excuse me,” he sniffled, adjusting himself in his chair. “My lady, how do you fair on the road?”
“Quite fine.” You smiled to him. “We all take care of each other. It’s a nice arrangement.”
“Sounds like it—shit!” Raymun jumped, his head snapping to glare at Duncan. “I meant it kindly!”
Duncan would pass it off as the ale, but Raymon noticed how the giant’s cheeks flushed. Anymore red and he’d look to have visited the red apple Fossoways.
Oh, his brows raised at his friend.
Raymun cleared his throat, settling himself back down to rest comfortably in his seat.
“My lady, has Duncan shown you to your room?” He asked, to which he earned a look from Duncan once more. But he paid no attention to him. “I gave him a tour, I know you and Egg had spent time in the stables..”
“No, ser. We only saw to the horses and came here right after.”
Raymon glanced back to Duncan. He nudged his head as if to say, go on, then.
Egg, who typically picked up on such things, was far too busy sipping on cider. The cups of the house were as big as his head, and you worried he’d get a stomach ache on the morrow.
“Perhaps we should—“
“Aye, I’ll show you to the rooms,” Duncan shot up, nearly stumbling over the table. He gave Raymun a rough pat on the shoulder as he offered you a hand, and plucked the cup from Eggs hands.
“I wasn’t done—!” Egg protested.
“There’s plenty more on the morrow.”
With a sigh, Egg made no more complaints as you headed to the guest chambers. He bid both of you a rest well before Duncan closed the door, leaving the both of you out in the hall.
“Will you be alright?” You asked him, finding his slight sway somewhat worrying.
“Just…drank too much, is all,” he replied, taking a step across from Eggs door. “Here, this is where you’ll be sleeping.”
“And you?”
“Right next to you.”
You nodded, finding comfort you’d be close to one another. “Good, then. I’ll see you on the morrow.”
Duncan watched as you opened the door, his hands clenching as he tried to keep himself quiet. In the end, he said your name.
“How—how do you like Ser Raymun?” He asked of you, keeping his voice hushed.
You turned, blinking as you considered his question. “He’s kind. Courteous, and Rowan is quite funny.”
“Aye,” he agreed, “Rowan is a good woman. Raymun told me how she’s been adjusting to all of this, she…”
Duncan swallowed, he couldn’t do this. He didn’t want to do this. Your company was far too valuable, your generosity worthy of more. And he knew this would hurt the boy.
“..With the babe, she needs some help. Raymun and I spoke, and I…I mentioned you’d be good for it—“
“What?”
“L—Listen for a moment, please. Give me a moment,” Duncan rubbed his eyes, needing to clear himself before he ended up on the ground. From his drunken stupidity or your strike, both were reasonable. “Egg and I, we’ve—we’ve been grateful to have you with us.”
Your brows creased, a familiar sting grazing your vision.
“Y—you deserve more,” was all he could say. “I knew this wouldn’t—“
“You’re drunk,” you growled. “You know not what you say. We’ll speak when your sober and—and not blubbering like a fool!”
“You’ll find comfortability here.” Duncan stepped forward, drawing closer to you. “You’ll be safer, happier…most happy with a roof over your head. The Fossoways will take good care of you.”
“Was I just a burden, then?”
“No! No—“
“Then how could you be so quick to leave me behind?”
“I…” Duncan was at a loss, “I’m looking out for you.”
“If that was so, you wouldn’t abandon me.”
“Don’t twist my intentions.”
“Does Egg know?”
That rendered Duncan speechless. He stared down at you, long and hard before he simply couldn’t.
“..I swore to myself I’d see to you starting again. Somewhere you’ll be cherished and—and treated fairly,” his confession was low. “Don’t you see that?”
He was so close now, his breath ghosted above your head. Your hand came to your stomach, as if he’d pierced you with his words alone.
“I already have that,” you lifted your head, tears rolling down your cheeks. “Don’t you see?”
Duncan cupped your cheek, his palm cradling the entire right side of your face. His thumb swiped across your skin, his touch a soothing balm despite all he said.
In a fleeting moment, he leaned down, lips meeting yours. Both hands came to you, holding your face as if you were the most precious thing in the world. For those lost seconds, it seemed so.
Duncan pulled himself back, those bright blues you’d gotten used to appearing defeated. I’m sorry, he wanted to say. I’m sorry. I wish I could give you this. You deserve more than the cold earth. You deserve better than I.
None of it escaped.
He left you there at the doorway of your chambers, retreating to his own.
