#asoiaf meta

[oddfuchsia]

Anyway not to drag up the rotting corpse of GoT again but a detail I've always thought was so telling about the way it mangled the source material was how it dealt with the matter of Catelyn and Ned's wedding. To compare:

A score or more of Walder Frey's sons and grandsons began to bang their cups again, shouting, "To bed! To bed! To bed with them!" Roslin had gone white. Catelyn wondered whether it was the prospect of losing her maidenhead that frightened the girl, or the bedding itself. With so many siblings, she was not like to be a stranger to the custom, but it was different when you were the one being bedded. On Catelyn's own wedding night, Jory Cassell had torn her gown in his haste to get her out of it, and drunken Desmond Grell kept apologizing for every bawdy joke, only to make another. When Lord Dustin had beheld her naked, he'd told Ned that her breasts were enough to make him wish he'd never been weaned. Poor man, she thought. He had ridden south with Ned, never to return. Catelyn wondered how many of the men here tonight would be dead before the year was done. Too many, I fear.

-aSoS, Catelyn VII

In comparison, from a transcript of Season 3, episode 9, whilst Catelyn and Roose watch the bedding at the Red Wedding:

CATELYN: Poor girl. ROOSE: Every bride suffers the same. I’m sure you endured yours with grace. CATELYN: Oh, Ned forbade it. He said it wouldn’t be right if he broke a man’s jaw on our wedding night.

I always found it strange that the show added this dialogue - Catelyn's memories of her wedding night are never brought up in conversation (in this scene or elsewhere) and remain purely part of her internal monologue, so the show did not only seem to feel the need to change details, it went out of its way to add an interaction to assure the audience that Cat didn't experience a bedding. Like. I entirely understand why. If they said it did happen, or even just didn't mention it and had the audience come to their own conclusions, it makes Ned look terrible. Because our modern sensibilities recognise this as a fucked up practice in a way which Ned’s moral code uhhhhhhh doesn’t. But it is very details such as this which are so integral to the character!! And the removal of traits like these is part of a much broader pattern of the flattening of characters in the adaptation from book to screen!!

Ned is, essentially, a good person. He is deeply empathetic and kind and loving, but Ned is also a cog in a deeply brutal and violent system and often does not examine the tools of this system which he wields. The result of him being honourable to a fault is that he often has blinders on to the places where there is a gap between what is honourable (legal, respectable, fair) and what is right.

Ned thinks that rape is wrong. Obviously, Ned thinks that rape is wrong. But Ned takes no issue (or does not vocalise it) with the ritual sexual humiliation and violation of a teenage girl by a group of drunk strangers, because the bedding ceremony is customary. It is simply what is done. In the laws of gods and men, it is perfectly fine, and it is what his father and his father and his father did before him, so Ned sees no reason to spare this girl he barely knows from it.

This nebulous gap between what is honourable and what is moral is one of the most important themes in the whole series, and in this sense Jaime and Ned dovetail one another. Jaime is socially punished for doing dishonourable things (oathbreaking, kingslaying etc etc) despite the fact that they are, ultimately the correct moral decisions. Ned is famed for his unflinching honour with little consideration that often, the things he does are not the right things.

[mummersknight]

There’s a recurring motif throughout the books where an innocent man, woman or (really most often) child of low birth, with no other connections to the games of the noble houses, is passed off as a highborn lord or lady and then harmed and usually even killed in their place. This happens to the miller’s boys who Theon kills and presents as Bran and Rickon, to Penny’s brother and the many other dwarves whose corpses were presented to Cersei as Tyrion, to Gilly’s baby who is switched for Mance’s son, and the list goes on and on. In the series, it functions as a very poignant metaphor for how the fighting between the lords of Westeros ends up causing more damage and suffering for the smallfolk than it ever really does for those directly involved, those who actually are responsible.

However, there are two instances where this motif is inverted: when Theon saves Jeyne Poole and when Brienne saves the children at the Inn at the Crossroads. In ADWD, Jeyne is made to pose as Arya Stark and then forced to marry Ramsay Bolton so that he can use Arya’s claim to Winterfell. At the Inn at the Crossroads, Brienne first mistakes Gendry for Renly, but, notably, there’s also another little girl who she briefly thinks might actually be Arya. To me, it seems significant that in both cases the girl is mistaken for Arya, specifically. Moreover, the two events are even further linked, as in both instances it’s the color of the eyes that don’t match, referencing the highly important theme of learning to “see” through deceptions in Arya’s arc.

Usually, with this motif, the POV characters believe that the lives of these smallfolk people are worth less in the grand scheme of things compared to the highborns they are replacing. Often, we as the reader are tricked into believing this as well. We’re meant to be relieved when we learn that it wasn’t really Bran and Rickon who died, just two random boys we don’t even know. But when the motif is inverted, it directly challenges this notion. When Theon saves Jeyne, it signals that his road to redemption doesn’t start with making it up to the Starks, it starts with saving a girl from a situation so similar to that of the two lowborn boys he murdered. And when Brienne, after she’s spent the entirety of her arc in AFFC looking for Sansa and Arya, finally has her big, climactic hero moment, it’s not about saving the lost princesses, it’s about saving a group of innocent orphan smallfolk children because, in the end, they are worth just as much.

As I said, I doubt it’s a coincidence that both of these inversions are linked to Arya of all people. Firstly, it of course mirrors how she herself has spent most of the series posing as a lowborn child and experiencing the suffering of the smallfolk firsthand. But there’s also a lot of Arya’s story that’s signaling that she, in the future, likely will be taking on the role as a champion of sorts for the common people. And so I think it’s very fitting that she’s then also so closely connected to these events where the smallfolk, for once, are protected.

[addamvelaryon]

I think Baelon Targaryen is a great example of the banality of evil in A Song of Ice and Fire.

He does not seek to harm others on purpose. Nevertheless, his passivity still contributes to the injustices experienced by the women of his family.

When Jaehaerys passed Rhaenys over as heir, Baelon never once questioned his father’s decision. In contrast, Rhaenys was very outspoken about her inheritance being usurped. Baelon had a close relationship to his big brother, Aemon, but that did not stop him from usurping Aemon’s daughter. All because King Jaehaerys said so and Baelon was not going to question his father’s decision. GRRM has himself confirmed that the usurpation that occurs here would later set the stage for the Dance of the Dragons, wherein another female heiress is passed over, and it is officially set into law that no woman shall ever be allowed to inherit the Iron Throne before a man.

At the onset of Alysanne arranging Viserra’s betrothal to Theomore Manderly, Viserra expressed her objection to the match. Once Viserra’s efforts to have her parents set aside the betrothal fail, she went to her big brother for help. It’s quite sad Viserra believed that the only way Baelon would be willing to save her from her impending marriage to an old man is if he was seduced by the sight of her. Though her plan did fail and Alysanne was determined to make this marriage happen. But we see from Baelon’s inaction that he did nothing to convince his parents to not marry Viserra off. Honestly, Baelon should’ve married Viserra himself to save her. He does not need to consummate that marriage. Since he’s an adult male warrior, there’s nothing his 15 years old sister could’ve done to force him into a sexual relationship if he doesn’t want that. By marrying Viserra, he could’ve saved her from the unfortunate situation of marrying an old man, who has already buried 4 wives, and has multiple children already. Instead, Viserra was left without any support, and in the end, her last attempt at freedom led to her death.

Fire & Blood focuses a lot on the theme of patriarchal power. Baelon’s inaction allowed him to benefit greatly just by refusing to bestir himself for the sake of the women in his family. Though he is not some cold hearted villain. He is simply an ordinary man. He listens to his parents. He was a devoted husband to his wife and took care of his sons like a father should. He performed his princely duties as was expected. And when he saw injustices happening in front of him, he looked the other way.

[everayy]

you have no idea how often i think about thoros refusing to kiss catelyn. you have no idea how often i think about the first last kiss thoros gives beric, a kiss that didn’t serve any purpose at all save to say i love you. thoros not being able to let beric go and resurrecting him again and again, against his will, until it becomes a kiss more akin to violence than to love. i can’t get the image of thoros taking beric’s body out of sight to kiss him where no one else could see after sandor’s trial by combat. their overarching story is not subtle in how it mirrors frankenstein’s but it’s also leans very heavily on the “true love’s kiss” element. it’s one of the most openly queer relationships in asoiaf and people don’t… talk about it. thoros had given others the last kiss “but never before had I felt a dead man shudder as the fire filled him, nor seen his eyes come open”. that’s snow white. that’s the sleeping beauty. that’s a love story.

the main and frankly only reason thoros hasn’t given up on the brotherhood despite understanding that the path lady stoneheart treks is a treacherous one is because of beric. because thoros refused him and beric paid the price. lady stoneheart is beric dondarrion’s ghost, too, in more ways than one.

[avi17]

There's been a lot of talk about how losing Baelor is what motivated Dunk to turn down Lyonel's offer and choose life on the road, and yeah, I'm sure that the rose-colored pedestal on which he puts Baelor's memory compared to any other lord is part of it. (Lyonel’s disrespect toward Baelor certainly did him no favors, but Duncan had already said no before that.)

But another thing I haven’t seen discussed much that I think really contributed to the disillusionment that we see in the final episode is how it must have felt for Dunk to see the Kingsguard be ordered to fight for Aerion. He’s terrified to fight against them, of course, but he also canonically really idolizes the Kingsguard, in both the show and the book, and considers them the greatest and noblest knights in the land. He's dreamed of being one of them- every boy has, he says- and that dream gains a little fuel in the show when Donnel of Duskendale (dishonestly) claims to have risen from a similar class position to Dunk's.

Aerion is wrong, unequivocally- even if Baelor won't outright say that, which says something  about his own precarious position as part of that family, but Dunk knows it in his bones- but it doesn’t matter. They are sworn to the royal family and at their command. For Dunk, it's one level of having his naivete shattered to realize that a knight, even a prince, can be dishonorable and cruel. But it's another level to see the Kingsguard knights, who may themselves be much better men than Aerion, have no choice but to fight, and potentially kill or give their own lives in defense of that cruelty. 

There's only so much honor one can have- even those held to be the most honorable- when someone owns you.

And swearing yourself to a household is not just one person- lords die and are replaced by sons or cousins or brothers or nephews, and each may be a totally different kind of man. You could swear yourself to a great man like Baelor, and still find yourself laying down your life for a prick like Aerion. And once the shock passes and that has really had time to sink in, I can see why that would make him suddenly skittish of something he had previously wanted and sought out.

Dunk is still a loyal person, that’s a core trait. He's still naive and at times oblivious and a little too trusting, though I would imagine that fades at least a little over the years. But he needs the choice to give or withhold that loyalty based on a person’s actions. The life of a hedge knight gives him a freedom that household knights- even the greatest of them- do not have. Even if he swears his sword to someone, it's temporary, and it can be revoked, as we see him do with Ser Eustace when it's revealed how much he had lied to them. 

There are other factors too- he clearly considers the hardships of being a hedge knight to be character-building, which they definitely are for Egg. He seems to feel out of place in spaces too high for his station, maybe finds too much comfort to be uncomfortable. And the guilt is of course still there, the need to do something worthwhile with the life he’s been given. But I think the need for that freedom is still a major factor, and said hardships are the price he has to pay for that. Ultimately, I think Egg is the only one he would have ever sworn himself to after Ashford, because Egg is his family- he knows him as well as he knows himself (he thinks), and he basically raised him and imparted a lot of his own values onto him. He loves Egg, and he finally feels like he can give that loyalty to someone permanently.

And the tragedy there is that in the end, even Egg ends up making choices that Duncan might never have predicted or supported, but by then there’s nothing he can do. He’s made his vows.

[knightofthelemontree]

"let women be mean"

You can't handle Sansa Stark being snippy to her sibling who gives as good as she gets

"let women be bitter"

You can't handle Catelyn Tully Stark resenting her husband's bastard and mostly ignoring him

"let women be violent"

You can't handle Daenerys killing abusive slavers

"let women kill"

You can't handle Arya being trained how to kill swiftly, quietly and without collateral damage

"let women be loud"

You can't handle Cersei fulfilling her role as Dowager Queen

"let women be ugly"

You can't handle Brienne without insisting that she's actually beautiful

"let women be the savior chosen one"

You can't handle Dany being AA instead of Jon

"let women--"

We're trying!! YOU are the reason it doesn't happen more often

[waterandsilver]

another asoiaf detail that i am obsessed with is how married women aren't always referred to with their husbands' surnames. sometimes people will still use a woman's maiden surname for her, or use both surnames, and it can reflect what people think about the status of the woman's marriage. like cat is sometimes referred to as catelyn tully or catelyn tully stark instead of just catelyn stark by people who associate her with riverrun, or in her own internal monologue. sansa is never once referred to as sansa lannister because everyone knows it's a morally deplorable sham child marriage situation that's basically already annulled. and the most funny one of all: cersei is never, not once in all 5 books, referred to as cersei baratheon. everyone, literally everyone, knows that is NOT her name lmao

[janicekao]

Three's A Crowd

Pairing: Ser Dunk x Black Plus size OC Summary: Taking a bathe and swim in a pond he expected to be alone in, Ser Duncan The Tall has unexpected company from a mouthy maiden who gives his head quite the whirl. (inspired by S1xEp1, with slight plot and location changes) Author's Note: I have really been enjoying the first two episodes of A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms! Dunk is so babygirl and I absolutely adore him! I am also so grateful for the innocent BWWM romance blooming between him and Tanselle Too Tall. They are such cuties, and I hope to see more of them! Warnings: #Sweetheart!Dunk #Dumb!Dunk #Kind!Dunk #Cutie!Dunk #Soft!Dunk #SoftDom!Dunk #Tall!Dunk #Nervous!Dunk #BigD!Dunk #Brat!OC #PusSize!OC #Confident!OC #Scandalous!OC #Independent!OC #Flirt!OC #PeasantGirl!OC #Cutesy!OC #Sub!OC #Joyous!OC #PrincessTreatment!OC #Sweet #Cute #Swoonworthy #OldEnglish #MedievalTypeShit #GameOfThrones #RomComish??? #TipsySex #OutsideSex #RoughSex #CreamPie #SizeDifferenceKink #SmutAF #18+ #SorryForAnyErrors #ShortFic etc. 7k words Wattpad link ---------------------------------

On Dunk's journey towards the Ashford Tourney, a brief pause is taken as his mentor, whom he has spent his entire life squiring for— drops dead from his horse.

Ser Arlan of Pennytree was a mean old bastard who enjoyed whoring, drinking, and tended to slap Dunk around during their time spent together— But, he was the closest thing to a father the young man had ever known. Only a penniless hedge knight who granted knighthood to Dunk before his untimely death— they had planned to take on the Ashford Tourney together where they would joust, earn prize money, and secure long-term positions with an important line of royalty like the Targaryens. However, now left alone with their three horses— Dunk must carry on without his mentor and begin his own adventure as a Ser, a hedge knight of his own.

Leaving his mentor in a shallow grave is more than heartbreaking, but it is what the Gods intended and with that— the young hedge knight cannot argue with what was meant to be.

———

With miles traveled alone on his way to Ashford Meadows, the knight begins to think that it's possible his boot has stepped in a heaping load of horse shit from the amount of flies and stench following him and his trusty geldings...

But, with a whiff and lift of his arms— he quickly realizes that after all, the stench is very much coming from his strong body odor instead. "Heavens me!"

Not being able to live with his own smell, the young man who is well trained in traveling and spotting beds of water, easily finds a place of rest beneath an elm tree. Tying the reins of his horses to the tree, the animals drink from fresh pond water before their caretaker ruins the refreshing drink with a scrubbing-bathe that could wash away the worst of one's sins.

After a rejuvenating cleanse and swim, the knight finds himself dusting each article of clothing assuring they get fresh air before he places them once more on his squeaky clean body.

"You there!" A disruptive shout— songbird like from the sweet tone of a woman, however full of laughter as she watches from nearby. "Don't you know that's my pond you big dunce! Out of there will ya!"

Spotting the lass whose voice has startled him, Dunk quickly hides his nakedness behind the closest and biggest horse he owns... His white steed, known as Sweetfoot— a horse he wishes would keep still and protect whatever is left of his dignity.

"Nonsense!" Dunk argues in return. "One can't simply own a pond. It's purely nature! Belonging to the Gods!"

"Yeah?" The young woman standing only feet away continues to smirk with a taunting chuckle... "Well, let it be known now that this one belongs to me! Luckily, I don't suppose I mind the sight of you..."

Dunk pauses his dusting... His bright blue eyes widen double their usual size, unsure if he's being teased or perhaps flirted with. "Excuse me! But how long have you been watching!?"

"Long enough." With a woven basket of clean linen in her arms, the young woman shrugs. "And my— look at the size of ya! Like one of those tales about men, half-man and half-giant."

The knight rolls his eyes. Having been an inch shy of seven-feet-tall since hitting puberty as a young lad, he will hear about his size wherever he travels all of his life.

He watches the girl with an ogling gaze— noticing the ridiculous swell of her voluptuous frame, she's not exactly one who has been a victim of famine. "Yes I quite get it, dearest maiden... I am large! But, I wouldn't exactly go as far as calling you petite either!"

Dunk flinches slightly as the vibrantly ill-mannered girl bursts into a fit of laughter, belittling him and his comment as if his insult hadn't any effect on her.

A body fit for manhandling, never once has the beauty heard a complaint— brightly confident and knowingly stacked with flesh that is more cushion for the pushing.

"Thank you my darling! No shame here! You see— most womenfolk thicken for fear of famine, a harsh winter, or childbirth." With a bright, beautiful, and quite annoying smile, the curvaceous flirt continues. "But, have you no worries— my temple stays this robust year round."

... The nude knight gulps, unaware that the stranger's confident charm is— doing something for him.

"Say that I was petite..." She adjusts the heavily-loaded basket on her hip, accidentally lowering the strap of her dress further down her shoulder and revealing the buxom bloat of mouthwatering breasts. "I don't think you'd care much for that kind of dainty-delicacy... Not the way you've been ogling my full bosom since I appeared here."

"I beg your finest pardon?!" He scoffs at the nerve of her bad-mouthing tongue. "You listen here now, I have done no such thing—"

"Oh please!" Her interruption comes as quick as her dazzling wit, "you've been gawking at them like a babe hungry for suckling."

Slamming his clothes to the ground, Dunk becomes well aggravated— unable to keep up with the woman's banter. "Then perhaps a lady with such curvature should be wearing her cloak in the day-hour! Where is your husband anyway?!"

"Wouldn't you like to know... Perhaps you wish you were him? Ah, of course you do— just imagine the stature of our sons. They'd be gods, unstoppable!" Continuing with her provocative ridicule, it's as if she hasn't nary a filter for the words that leave her plumped lips.

"Sons!?" He shouts, "young lady, do you know what you're insinuating?"

"What?" She questions, "that to have children— you'd have to fuck me? Hmm, who would've thought!"

... With a hanging pause in the air, Dunk isn't sure if he may have missed a night's worth of sleep— possibly daydreaming such a befuddling conversation with an unknown lass. "Have you no shame! A woman speaking to a man like that?!"

"Have you any shame yourself, sir?" The question is flung back at him. "A gentleman who grows at the sight of a woman speaking like so?"

"What could you possibly mean grow—" So distracted by the exchange of words, Dunk has yet to notice his horse who has walked away and left him uncovered. Bare to the woman's eye as his manhood lifts upwards against the flesh of his taut abdomen, the heated discussion with an attractive girl has him insanely stirred. "oh, OH! Heavens!" Snatching his clothes from the ground, the knight covers himself as he blushes a bright embarrassed-scarlet across his entirely pale body.

Her laughter becomes even stronger— the sound of her joyous energy, even sweeter. "Tell me— you've got a name, man?"

"That'll be Ser Dunk to you!" He frowns, "I am a knight!"

The woman's eyebrows furrow, unsure of the knighthood he claims being that he hasn't any armor— only rags.

"Don't you look at me like that, before I come over there and give your ear a clout!" Dunk threatens her with a punishment sounding vaguely similar to an old-maiden's. "I just recently became knighted by my mentor, Gods rest his soul... Only a hedge knight— but that all will change! Give me time to get my bearings and surely my status will be clear to the eyes' view with notable-armor and earned-victories!"

She blushes, all too enjoying torturing such an amusing man. Hearing Dunk's panic and rambling— it's easy to tell that the gentle giant is harmless.

Little does the knight realize, the young woman had watched his swim long before he noticed.

Only having his animals and nature around him to talk to, he spoke openly with such kindness. His innocence was unreal— the largest man she had ever laid eyes on, yet he reminded her of a certain baby-doe that visits the pond every now and again. Calm, sweet, and trustworthy.

With the men of these days seeming to shrink in their family-line, generation after generation— seeing a male standing taller than five-feet was absolutely refreshing. Sure, Dunk was noticeably a ditsy klutz as his large feet slipped on each overly-smoothed rock lining the pond— but to her, the man was absolutely stunning. A gentleman worthwhile, one who she felt needed testing with a bit of her flirtatious trifling. "I'm sure you'll look just swell in your new armor, Ser Dunk." Finally, she responds with a swoon-worthy smile. "You'll be an absolutely fine hedge knight— just as was your mentor. Ser Dunk— I'm guessing Ser Duncan for short?"

Too dull to have even thought of where his nickname may have ever came from, he has lived a life believing that his name was simply one word, one syllable— Dunk.

He nods with pride, standing even taller in his proud stance. "Perhaps!—Why, yes! Ser Duncan The Tall, that is."

"Aye." She agrees, "and your little friend?"

Dunk quietly shrieks... He shrinks in stature, wondering if he heard her correctly... Wondering if the woman before him truly just asked for the given name of his cock! "Firstly— not little! A—And what's wrong with you girl?!" He scoffs in utter disbelief. "A man's sword of flesh hasn't any name!"

The fairest maiden continues to laugh. "Well— I guess it's good that I was only asking about the name of the horse you hid behind... Not your— how did you say, sword of flesh? Aye?"

...

"Oh... right, forgive me." The knight reddens with further embarrassment, feeling foolish over what he thought she had meant.

"But—"Interrupting the moment of proper humiliation, her sinful wooing continues to harden the young man beneath the rags that hide his dignity. Bending slightly to her ankle— the lass begins with a clutch to the bottom-hem of her skirt... pulling up the fabric, she reveals a bare leg. An indecent pull of her dress to the very top of her hip, flashing a thigh all too riveting as Ser Duncan nearly croaks over from the peak of a feminine-bush sheltering her cunny in slick black hair. "Perhaps, now that you know where I stay, you'll introduce him to me as well, aye? Ser Duncan The Tall, and handsome."

So vulgar... So invigorating... Alarmingly provocative as her skirt is dropped back into its place...

The knight holds his breath— believing to have been invited into a lady's bed this evening, the day takes a turn from mourning his mentor to salivating at the sight of a scandalous member of the fairer sex... Dunk's eyes widen again in shock of their entire interaction... He suddenly loses a bead of sticky pre-pleasure down the length of him— now needing to free himself from her sight to finish what she has started. "G-uhh." His moan is pathetically lewd. "Good day then!"

"Mmm'yes!" Cutting a dangerous gaze at the young man— it is true that seduction comes naturally in this woman's disposition. "Yes, I do believe it will be a good day after all!"

———

Hardly a breeze-length from the pond, Ser Dunk finds an inn through the trees as night begins to fall. Unsure if he can afford to spend the evening in one of the rooms, he is at least grateful for the tavern still opened late and run by an older-maiden whom accepts him inside for hot supper and unlimited ale.

Able to spare a shilling or two, the knight leaves his horses with a stable boy— being another mouthy subject around these parts, the hairless stable boy wishes to become his squire...

But, unwilling to endure the annoyance of caring for a child while he travels, Ser Duncan declines the boy's offer— being left with the adolescent's cruel words as the child rolls his eyes whilst leaving to care for Dunk's horses... Dunk can't help but to wonder if perhaps in this area of land, there are sticks up everyone's arses— or perhaps it is something in the water that makes them all so very rude!

"Come on in." At least the maiden innkeeper is kind to him. "Sit where ya like."

"Thank you my Lady." With a kind grin, the massive man hits his head on the entryway— knocking loose the last bit of brain cells that the big simpleton has to spare.

"There's good lamb, roasted with a crust of herbs, and some ducks my son shot down." The woman continues. "Which will you have?"

It doesn't take long for the insanely sizable man, with just as large of an appetite to respond. "Both."

The graying-woman laughs hardily, "aye, well— you're big enough for it."

She brings him ale. Frothy, thick, and brown just as he likes it— indulging in short conversation together about the coming up tournament in Ashford. The dining room is dimly lit— warm from the kitchen and the fire of the burning kindling. Thankfully, there aren't many customers inside— meaning that the starved knight is one of the first to be served.

A drunkard attempts to start issues with Dunk... The man slurs his words, even beginning to antagonize with the point of a knife.

But to keep things sane— the knight ignores him, refusing to give him the trouble the fool wishes to begin.

"Ahh, never you mind that one, ser." The innkeeper pours Ser Dunk more ale, noticing how easily he can guzzle a mug back— she leaves the entire pitcher with him. "All he does is drink and talk about his dreams." She insists, "but oh! Perhaps you'll enjoy some music." Standing in a darkened corner, the sound of breath throughout the holes of a flute and the beginning of string on a fiddle begins to liven up the quiet tavern. "A band from King's Landing, surely on their way to the Ashford Tourney as well— I'm sure they are hoping to find a decent pay for their talent and pleasantries."

"Aye." With a nod, Dunk begins to enjoy the soft playing of one of his favorite tunes as he eats cooked-meat off of each bone of lamb shank and duck breastplate.

While finishing his meal, he is interrupted by the sight of a woman he hadn't seen since daylight.. The beautiful angel from the pond— the woman who fired his loins and struck surprise within his heart enters inside this very tavern...

Dumbstruck to see such a goddess of mahogany-gold again, he watches her entrance as she delivers freshly folded linen to the tavern's counter— the very same laundry she had carted on her shapely-hip earlier in the day.

"Close your mouth lad..." The innkeeper chuckles, "you'll catch flies with such a loose jaw."

He hadn't even realized that the sight of the young woman had dropped his mouth open agape. Dunk gulps, trying his best to regain a clear thought. "Miss? The girl there." His infatuation is more than clear as his heavy and masculine tone trembles within the details of her image. "Yes, the lass there— tawny and thick within her wear. Who might she be?"

"Oh, her, Ser?" The innkeeper teases, knowing good and well not nary a customer fits the description of the woman he so craves and describes. "The lass answers to Jerica Radwell. Gentle on the man's eye?"

"Aye." He agrees, "but— Radwell? I cannot say I'm quite familiar with her family's name."

"No one is." The older maiden shrugs, clearing the table and his empty plate from before him. "Just a common girl I suppose. Does damned good laundry for the inn and tavern— for cheap pay at that. Real sweet lass though... However, where she calls home must be mighty far some ways. Poor thing wasn't as lively back then... Came this way beaten and near death only a few summers ago— a dreary sight, but thankfully she brightened as she got familiar with the lay of the land."

Beaten and near death?

The knight's heart aches from such informing tales of her. How can one who has seen such darkness, be so full of light? Not only beautiful and sharp-witted, but the girl is just as strong and resilient.

Ser Duncan gulps, "I see, thank you much."

As the innkeeper leaves his table, she graces Jerica's shoulder with a thankful pat whilst receiving the fresh laundry and trading the girl her pay of three coins.

Thankful for her weekly salary that most likely will be spent back at this very tavern, Jerica's joy causes a sudden rhythmic prancing to her feet...

Graceful as a swan, she enjoys the tune of the band before her as if no one were watching— and if there were an audience, the confident girl wouldn't have nary a care. Her dancing brings smiles to all— soon beginning an encouraging clap that aides in her rhythm.

As light as a maiden who dances professionally, the sight of her draws out an infectious joy from the large hedge knight— ushering Ser Dunk out of his chair with an attempt at a sudden jig himself...

Yet, noticeably lacking the coordination it takes a body as large as his to dance, he soon grows exhausted and finds his seat once more— happily settling on the decision to watch the show of Jerica's beauty instead.

As annoying and shit-stirring as the drunkard was once before— he suddenly stands with a look that is more than dishonorable. Slurred in his words and steps, the man eases towards Jerica with an inappropriate touch... A grope across her chest as the other reaches for the swell of her behind.

Needing to protect her honor, Ser Duncan's jaw ticks with rage. The knight's sleeves are rolled beyond his arms as he stands— prepared to take care of the overly-served savage once and for all.

But before he is able to make another move, the man who dared to molest the girl is laid out with one punch... More than capable of caring for herself, she impresses the entire tavern with a hook that flattens the man right on his arse.

The music comes to an untimely halt...

"Alright! I've had enough." The innkeeper shouts, "if you're not paying for more food, kindling, or ale— off to your rooms or back to your homes! Come along now, off to bed for rest, you'll all need it come 'morrow."

What was turning into a party, quickly ends in tragedy. Sighs and drunken groveling can be heard from the band as the fiddler lifts the sloshed trouble-maker from the floor—tossing his unconscious body over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes as they all take their leave and exit the closed tavern.

Soon left to just themselves— Luckily for Ser Dunk, he still has a full pitcher of ale to finish. "Quite the fist you've got there lass..."

Speaking for the first time since daylight, Jerica recognizes the friendly giant from the pond. "Aye, and now it'll be wickedly sore."

"Come, drink with me." He pleads, "at least to rest your hand for a bit." ... Unable to resist a pitcher of fresh ale, Jerica calms enough to accept his invitation. "Kind of you Ser, I'd like that very much."

With a chivalrous pull to the chair beside him, Dunk aids the woman into her seat— pouring her the first drink with their shared mug. "Say we make this a bit more interesting..." Desperate to learn more about her, the knight proposes a drinking-game. "Together— we finish the pitcher. Each finishing the mug poured before us, whilst answering three queries about each other."

"I don't get it..." She squints in suspicion, "what is there to be won?"

Dunk shrugs, "a good buzz is always a win, aye?"

Jerica agrees with a friendly giggle, "aye!" Thirsty from dancing, the girl drinks down the ale in a swift gulp.

"Where are you from?" Dunk inquiries with a first question in their game.

Her sultry eyes cut sharply at him, "nowhere of importance... although, it was a place far from here— a place that you have never heard of, and that I wish to never see again."

Seeing the despair hidden in that memory of home, the knight continues with his next question. "Who did you leave behind there?"

"Plenty..." Jerica craves more of the sweet-ale with a lick to her fetching lips. "Parents, siblings, broken hearts I suppose... I left behind a life of poverty and pain, to say the least."

"Why are you here, Jerica?" His third question slightly startles her— surprised that the knight is aware of her name.

"Who told you my name? Was it the innkeeper?"

He smiles— gentle laughter pouring through handsome teeth and grin. "It's still my turn, sweet girl."

She sighs, "fine... I'm here because it's where the Gods led me as I slept nearly unconscious on the back of a mule stolen from my village. When I awoke, I was here— the land nearest to Ashford... I have stayed because, even though I still have nothing, here— by my pond, I am absolutely free."

"Now hurry up before I drink again!" She slides the mug back into his direction.

Dunk takes it back. He pours a large drink and swallows it down as if his throat were the depth of a well— easily impressing the girl with his unmistakable masculinity. "Alright dove, your go."

She clears her throat, "Alright— where are you from?"

"Although I belong to nowhere—" Dunk begins, "I am an orphan from Flea Bottom. Next?"

"Who did you leave behind?" Her second question is just the same as his— although she only asks of this being that she is curious of the status of his relationships with women more than anything.

"I leave behind no one at all." He admits, "on my journey here, I lost the only friend I have ever known— Ser Arlan of Pennytree... a hedge knight who took me under his wing as his squire when I was only a lad."

"My condolences..." Jerica's soft demeanor is more than genuine, "may the honorable knight, rest peacefully wherever it is you have laid him."

"Aye."

She continues with a final question. "Lastly, Ser Duncan The Tall, where are you headed?"

"I'll be on my way come 'morrow to make a name for myself, now that I've been knighted and all." His future seems to be bright— however, he is clearly taking a true gamble with his life and possessions being that he's absolutely penniless. "I wish to enter the Ashford Tourney with the other knights. I'm strong— and a damned good fighter who has always had a great deal of determination... I'll win each joust, and I will make history— known as the hedge knight who came from nothing, and soon gained the respect of all of the seven kingdoms."

With her second mug of ale, her head begins a tipsy-buzz. "Aye, then here's to all of your future victories!" Jerica cheers whilst lifting the weight of the heavy cup. "Go on then!" She insists, "your turn!"

Dunk chuckles. "How old are you, dear girl?"

"Age twenty-six come spring." She gives an appropriate answer... An age old enough to make the knight comfortable in the way that he has begun to burn for her.

"Your blunt and utter ruthlessness..." He persists heavily with this question— needing desperately for an answer about why she is the way that she is. "Where in seven-hells do you find the nerve to be so fiercely candid as a woman?"

This inquiry makes her laugh, amused with his bewilderment of her extremely frank nature. "I am ruthless because you live only once, my Lord! At the end of the day, my mouth may get me killed, but surely there will be peace in the afterlife— and how could a future so beautiful strike fear in one's heart?"

Although her response does make sense, it still seems to furrow his thick brow with worry... The girl's answer sounds more of a cry for help— an answer in which she states that she'll continue to live bluntly, hoping that it may end her life if she comes across the wrong person. "What is next for you in life? Jerica The Beautiful."

"What's next for me?" She blushes— lightly charmed with the knight's modest complimenting... "Preferably, more ale!"

Amused with her answer, Dunk chuckles— his round black pupils that gaze at her quickly forming into the shape of hearts.

"Alright my go then!" Jerica hiccups, a reaction cute and sweet from a full belly of ale and lack of sobriety. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. "How old are you, Ser Duncan?"

"Two years shy of thirty."

She nods, "—and born in what season?"

"The winter." He admits, "—left wrapped in rags on the stone of the cold street while I was just a babe... My mentor always said it is the reason I never take well to frosty conditions, even to this day, as a man fully grown..."

Feeling pity for his rough upbringing... It's also nice for Jerica to feel less alone with the thought of having a shaky past. She has always felt an immediate respect to all who have suffered— gone through Hell and back, yet they continue to push forward each day. The girl smiles sweetly. "I never cared much for the cold of winter myself."

...Now having formed a crush on the gentleman who has shared his ale with her, Jerica grows even more curious of why someone so kind hasn't a woman on his arm yet. "No family, no friends, no squire— a lady, perhaps?"

Dunk refuses, "A lady? Oh— none." Wishing to hear more, Jerica persists with an extra question in their game. "But, why? How come you have yet to choose a wife for yourself?"

A smirk that pulls handsomely on the right of his lips makes the young woman's knees go weak, "I'm working on it." And quite frankly, he is in this very moment.

Heat rises through her flesh, causing a stunning shade of scarlet to blush through the depth of her dark brown skin.

"You have cheated, dear girl, that was four questions, not three..."

Jerica playfully rolls her eyes, "fine, go on then... I owe you one extra."

. . .

With a deep breath, the usually timid hedge knight suddenly finds strength in the consumption of all of this liquid courage. "Say that I wish to caress you in the way that drunkard did... Would it result in the same punishment?"

"Hmm." Taken aback by his advances, Jerica's eyes lower dangerously. "Perhaps, you would have to try it, to find out."

... Skipping past the mug, Dunk swallows back the last of the ale right from the pitcher. He prepares himself for a punch to his jaw, willing to take it being that he's been whacked many times before for reasons far less pleasurable than getting a handful of an enticing young lass.

He smacks the side of his cheek— doing it once more to prepare and tenderize the flesh of where her punch will land. Soon snatching the girl by her wrist, Dunk pulls her into his lap... She gasps from the sudden yank that lands her seated on the trousers of a man aroused by the sight of her. Ser Duncan's arm cuffs around the cinch of her waist— pulling her against him as the other hand keeps the promise of taking a grope at her full buxom breasts...

Lewdly fondling all that one handful can take, his fingertips are against her flesh— making sure to get a real decent feel of this supple skin of Jerica's. A grappling so demeaning— her voluptuous amount seems to spill between each of his busy digits.

If Ser Duncan is soon to be knocked up-side his skull... He at least knows that he made sure it would be well worth it.

Instead of a scolding and an angry attack, the girl's lips part gently— releasing the sound of a softly pleasured moan as a heated kiss is pressed against Ser Duncan's mouth.

Blown by the taste of her lips, his grasp on her waist tightens Jerica closer against him— aiding in the movement of her grinding hips that presses her cunny against the absolute swell of him.

"Aye! Not on my tables you two!" The innkeeper shouts from a stone lookout-window in her kitchen, "this isn't a brothel! Pay for a room, or out me tavern!"

With only enough to pay for his dinner and the pitcher of ale, Ser Dunk and Jerica together may as well be penniless... Unable to pay for a room, he leaves his pay for the innkeeper, tipping the old woman an extra coin for her hospitality.

He drops the extra shilling so very quickly that it continues to spin on the rough tabletop by time he and Jerica take to the front door.

Together they head out into the night for Jerica's home near the pond. Hand in hand, the young lovers laugh with a playful glee— leaving behind a trail of clothes on the forest floor.

Nearest to where they had met earlier in the day, Dunk spots the girl's tent... Hardly a home fit to live in, the young woman lives her life like a gypsy or a wanderer— only owning a roof made of fabric, held together with sticks, and a few belongings to her name. But, the humble hedge knight hasn't the slightest care... Only needing her and the stars above them to light the night-sky as he shreds free all garment from the bounce of her perfect body.

So terribly inflamed, they find it impossible to take another step before digging into each other like dessert. A foot away from the tent, they take to the long grain of grass beneath them for comfort instead.

Pinned beneath him, Jerica's bare skin soaks in the moonlight and the glow of the burning-firepit that warms their flesh near to them. Dunk cannot help but to watch and admire her appeal— scorching the memory of such docile beauty in his brain forever. He moves her arms from shelling away her body from him— trying to hide the flawless droop of her teardrop shaped breasts and hardened nipples. "Don't shy away now." He taunts, "not when you were so eager to tease me with the sight of you at the pond today."

He leans into a shared tongue kiss, swallowing the melodies that float from her precious voice. Dunk positions himself between her legs, needy for missionary sex— he wishes to bury himself inside her as deep as he can possibly get. Jerica's legs soon ache as they stretch around the width of his brawny waist. Big and wide— the man's body feels to be made of stone as he squashes himself against a pillow-soft girl and the ground beneath her.

Frantically aiming his cock between the thighs that have spread on each side of him, he slips through her dripping heat, finding the silk-velvet of her opening as he inches inside her core with a dip that stretches her around the wrecking girth of him.

Devastatingly tight, her walls clench around his monstrous cock. "Sss-ah!" A hiss full of complaint brings a stinging tear to her eye. Splitting the woman beneath him, his voice becomes a soft croon as he coaxes all of her reluctance away... "Shhh." He hushes, "You must bloom open for me, Jerica, and I'll do the rest." Easing her discomfort with his gentle-romance, if Dunk is to pummel this pussy the way that he wishes tonight— she must unwind enough to be able to take it. "Let me take care of you— watch."

His thumb dips below her fantastically plush belly. He circles her pulsing clit as her hips buck upwards from the ground. "M'uhh! Gods, what are you doing to me!?"

The knight adds more pressure— knowing just how to please a woman, he watches Jerica squirm beneath him, pussy practically chasing after the addictive toying as he pushes her back down— forcing her to take it.

Finally eased by the sensation of his lewd thumbing, Dunk's hungry cock begins to glide through the pouring rain of her pleasure, just as he had wished. Her hot hole continues to soak perfectly around him—a cunt on its best behavior, it accepts his every inch like it was made to do so.

"That's it sweet girl..." Jerica becomes just the treat for him as his thrusts begin to piston through her body like chisel to stone. "Oh, the things a gentle touch and caring hand can do, aye?"

Biting her full bottom lip, she nods. Eyebrows furrowed and submissive as the knight's prey— she prepares for the speed of his rough pounding as Dunk comfortably quickens.

Jerica's supple flesh bounces against Dunk's taut body, making wet sounds of music like a band of their own. He wears into her fragility as she takes every decibel of his brute strength— holding firmly onto her more than ample-childbearing hips as handles, his fingers tighten into a bruising grip. "Gods— you take me just fine, don't you dear?"

Tears bubble at her lash line as the nature of a woman gone feral with lust widens her thighs for more of an invitation for Dunk to thrust harder. Beginning to feel so overwhelmingly divine, Jerica arches her back from off of the ground, changing the angle just slightly enough to feel his jabs probe quickly against her sweet-spot— darkening her vision as she curses the orgasm that consumes her. "Ah! Duncan—" She weeps, overstimulated by the spark of unhinged nerves as she feels cock in her bellybutton. "You're just— just so deep!"

"Aren't I?" He taunts. "Can you feel me there? How does it feel, sweet deity?"

"Heavens— fantastic." Jerica coos, floating on the high of her finishing climax. "S'good— just, so good my love."

Huffing and growling with the darkness of his masculine baritone, Dunk continues his fight in this losing battle— becoming far too infatuated with the sight of Jerica's glee. "I know it, just look at you. Damned to Hell you're tight... Squeeze me again dear, and my seed will plant, I swear of it."

With nails dug into the skin of his back, the threatening promise makes the girl squeal. Loose ankles bounce her bare feet like a ragdoll at the sides of his waist and Ser Duncan takes complete ownership of her body— trapped beneath his fierce blows and tightened muscles as each stroke lands balls deep against her precipice.

"Mercy!" Shouting to the Gods, another orgasm obliterates the girl as her skin fills with fire-like prickling goosebumps, absolutely fucked mindlessly. Her insides quake into another clench that squeezes Dunk all too perfectly... With a rhythm that becomes sloppily sporadic— he isn't able to continue in the spoiling treatment of Jerica's sweet loving. His manpower gives way with a pathetic tremble in his groan. Dunk loads the girl with every ounce of his pleasure— along with his soul.

Within a final strike that ceases all strength, he paints her insides with his impatient milky spew... shouting together as the lava-like-heat gushes through her innards. Full to the brim with all that he can empty, they share in the intimacy of more tongue kissing— making Jerica lose her breath during this double-filling of both Dunk's tongue and his bursting cum.

"Gods, you are perfect— incredible." His words are whispered against sweet lips. Finishing with his last jolt of semen, the tired hedge knight falls onto his back... facing the stars with his black pupils fully blown. "My dear lady, you are absolutely divine."

His hands reach for her in the tall grass— aiding the cocoa-colored minx onto his chest, wishing to lay and bask in each other's sweet aftercare forever.

"You as well, my Lord." Jerica's sweet caress is light and feathery against his faint chest hair. "An evening I surely will never forget."

. . .

"And you never should have to..." Requiring more time with her, he can't bear to leave her so soon... Only living in a tent by some pond— an idea to have her belongings packed and loaded on the back of his horses eats away at him. "Jerica? Will you— will you come with me?"

"Come with you?" Leaning up from his chest, the girl watches Dunk with a confused concern. Her beauty hypnotizes him, having a chuckle leave his lips as he picks straw and grass from her jet-black curls. "But, why?" She asks.

"Aye, for more unforgettable evenings that is..." Dunk's long fingers and wide palm strokes the soft princess-like features of Jerica's face. "What is a knight without a damsel to protect? A knight needs a good woman just as much as he needs a squire— and, if I'm honest, I think the wee bald lad caring for my horses in the stable truly would like to squire for me... I denied him once, but he's an orphan— just as I was at his age..."

Without any money and already having a hard enough time feeding himself and his horses, adding two more human bodies on this journey isn't exactly the smartest idea...

When he was only a boy, wishing for a friend to have alongside him on their long journeys, Sir Arlan whom Dunk squired for would constantly tell him no— reminding him with the saying: 'two's company, three's a crowd.'

... But now that Dunk's life of being just a knight's squire is long gone, he is the man in charge now. Making his own decisions here on out, Ser Dunk believes that if there is a will— then there has to be a way.

"Something deep inside tells me that the boy, Egg is his name— he needs me. He needs guidance, and I should allow him to squire for me... The three of us. Him, my squire. And you, my lady."

"Your lady? Aye?" Jerica scoffs in disbelief of the tale he lays here and tells. "You'd put such a claim on me? A woman unwed, living alone nearest to an ale-tavern... I'm sure one would presume that I'm just a whor—"

"You're not a whore." Dunk refuses her personal belittlement, ending it with a stern interruption. "Trust dearest, I am a man from the area of Flea Bottom, I've seen many whores. If you were to be one, you wouldn't be very good at it... Not the way you squeal and yip— trying to run from a good cocking."

They break into playful laughter. "Quiet!" She nudges him, "I'd say that I did quite the fine job at taking you my Lord, thank you very much!"

"And I'd have to agree, beloved." Dunk chuckles, still overly spent from good sex, he takes in a deeply exhausted breath.

. . .

The night quiets around them as suddenly the pain of the hurt before him is prevalent in Jerica's round brown irises... Her fingertips rub over a scar that is nearest to her neck— a scar clearly from one's blade. A forever reminder of something that brings back some sort of horrific memory...

Abuse from a man who once mistreated her, whether it happened in her home, or a place she was forced to find work in the impoverished village she escaped from... Dunk watches the very moment her mood shifts, causing him to ache at the sight of the usually joyous and spunky lass, now in such a woe. If only he could have a moment alone with whomever scarred the perfect and supple flesh of a woman all so divine... He'd make it right, he'd give them just what they deserve.

"If I were to accompany you— would you be good to me?"

Her fearful worry breaks his heart. "Are you afraid that I'd hurt you?"

... Lying next to him— looking like a dream, the woman's wide doe eyes glass-over with tears.

"I'd never harm an inch of you." The gentle giant assures Jerica that with him, she'd never need to fear a hair on her pretty head ever again. "You would know nothing but love and kindness at my side, Jerica— I swear of it."

The girl nods. Her shapely body glistens beneath the night's warm moonlight.

She peels open her rich thighs— causing Ser Duncan's mouth to fall agape, shuddering at the sight of the mess he had made of her this eve... His cream still continues to drip from her worn mound, the sticky passion webbing lewdly against her flesh— looking like an invitation for another go at her.

He gulps... His adam's-apple bounces against his thick throat as her image makes his mind turn into complete mush. "No, sweet girl." He trembles, "I promise not to beat you."

At least not in that way— The man hungry and once again stiffened throughout his weighty cock becomes far too tempted and teased.

He climbs over her, hearing the sweet giggly-laughter muffle against him. "That is— Except when you deserve it."

Only willing to beat her perfect cunt each time he craves her, the large man finds himself once again lip-locking with his lover— prepared to stuff her pretty little hole with more of his seed.

Both joyous and kissing within their charming grins, Dunk finds the strength to momentarily interrupt... "But, firstly— I need your answer. What do you say, dear girl? Will you come with me?"

. . .

"I'd say—"

Taking far too long, Jerica ponders with a hum over the question— teasing the man who now adores her as he awaits her final answer... "I'd say that if you are to make love to me again, Ser Duncan— then you'd better do it quickly. We'll need all the rest we can get for our journey come sunrise."

A smirk stretches across Dunk's handsomely pink lips.

He has heard exactly what he was hoping to hear as his newest lover finally accepts the offer— now easing open for his taking once again.

———

With hardly any sweat off of his back— in his first day as a hedge knight, Ser Duncan The Tall has found delicious ale, a cleansing bath, splendid supper, a loyal squire, and a woman whose presence stirs his entire being and soul...

A soon to be wife in their future together— side by side will they take on this journey into knighthood as Lady and Knight. All his— Lady Jerica Radwell, who he will forever cherish until his very dying day.