Header by me | Dividers & banners by @/cafekitsune
READ IT ON AO3
Pairing: Ser Duncan The Tall x Reader Setting: A Knight Of The Seven Kingdoms (shortly post The Hedge Knight) Summary: Few days after the events at Ashford Meadow, you and Duncan discuss about the consequences of the trial of seven after you woke up from a nightmare. Word Count: 4 K Warnings: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, estabilished relationship, Aerion Targaryen, character death, implied physical violence, mention of blood, happy ending. Please, tell me if I have missed something else!
A.N. *Aegon's voice* I'm alive! Life has been busy as hell and I had a block that literally didn't give me the chance to write something that I might like. HOTD s3 made me realize how I miss AKOTSK and my boy Dunk as well, so I hope the Dunk nation might enjoy this fic! My writing is a bit rusty, so forgive me for the nonsense things and rushed finale. 💜
I'll slowly come back to work to all the requests I received in the past, be patient for a bit and I'll write them all during the summer holidays.
Fic requests are currently open! Check out the request guidelines.
ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. I APOLOGISE IN ADVANCE FOR MY GRAMMAR AND VOCABULARY MISTAKES.
SER DUNCAN THE TALL MASTERLIST || A KNIGHT OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS MASTERLIST
The moment your eyes fluttered open, a wave of unease swept over you as the tourney ground of Ashford Meadow revealed itself in all its spectral nature.
The earth sank beneath your feet, damp with sweat and blood of every knight who had crossed in some bloody battle long since fought — cracked shields, broken lances, dead horses laying motionless on the ground. You could still hear the muffled echoes of the clash of steel, the hard hooves and the battle cries rising from both sides, some fading as the Stranger came to claim their souls, slowly and mercilessly.
There were no warriors, nor nobles and folks crowding the grandstands to watch; it was just you and the bank of mist, air thick with death and dread.
It was supposed to be a low-key tournament, the kind the street minstrels sung about. There should be a parade of knights in shiny armours, banners of their House snapping crisp in the wind and highborn ladies fussing over them, tossing favours down like petals in the wind.
It would be your first time to witness Dunk entering the lists in Ser Arlan's stead, and only the gods knew how nervous you'd been for him.
You were there when he struggled to find someone who would vouch for him, and when, that same night, he came back to you with a purse full of coppers, eyes veiled with sadness as he sold Sweetfoot to get decent armour. You were there during the nights near the fire, easing his frustration and banishing his anxieties, bodies close together as a cloth wrapped you both to shield you from the cold night, your eyes gazing at the stars while his chin rested on your head, once sleep overtook him. And you were there in the moments hope brightened his blue eyes, his large hand engulfing yours, and his dried lips brushed against yours, as he promised to crown you as his queen before the masses once victory would favour him.
Sadly, that moment never came; you witnessed Dunk taking part to an ancient and brutal trial, having been guilty of anything but being faithful of his good heart and chivalric soul, defending the weak and the innocent as every true knight must.
Your eyes stood vigilant, darting back and forth with the hope to find something, anything that would ease the dreadful feeling forming at the pit of your stomach, anything that would tell you it was just your tired mind playing its nasty tricks to you.
But your hope died the moment your eyes fell on him.
Dunk's massive body lay curled on the ground, his helm at some distance away. Dirt and blood crusted dark over his fair skin, and his sword was still clenched tightly in one fist. One eye had swollen shut and gone deep purple, a wound left too long untended, while the sane one was unfocused at some blind spot in front of him.
Your limbs moved without your leave, dragging you close to that massive fallen shape of him, and at every step you made the dread in your chest hardened into something colder — a realisation that your mind refused to process. Yet, by the time you stood over him, you didn't need to search for a pulse to confirm your suspects.
His body had gone rigid like a piece of wood, nor there was a rise of breath beneath his armour or a faint twitch that would prove that he was still living despite his mortal wounds. You tried to force him on his knees, to wake him up with your trembling voice and your desperate pleas; alas, none of these were able to bring him back to you.
He was gone, in the same way he came into your life, quietly and unexpectedly.
And the worst thing of all, his murderer rose proudly above him.
Aerion Targaryen stood triumphant despite his wounds, his body covered in an austere armour that made him look more like a savage dragon than a human being. He swung his shield in the air, his arms wide open to a phantom audience, parading his boundless ego and sinister happiness.
"It's over!" you heard him, his voice weary yet as piercing as a dragon’s roar. "The culprit's dead! The gods have meted out their justice!"
His words were able to leave you stunned and bewildered, and while tears were free to stream down your face, your voice quickly died in your throat. You tried to make a tentative step forward, to reach and shield Dunk's lifeless body with your own, but the moment Aerion turned his head towards you, you froze.
"And his whore will soon follow him."
The Targaryen prince set one foot on the ground, then the other, closing the last stretch with a slowness that felt deliberate, almost predatory. Your heart was shaking inside your ribcage as soon as you saw his lumbering, serpentine-like movements, and for an instant you thought a real dragon was going to approach you and bathe you with his breath of fire.
…up…
Panicked, you desperately ordered your legs to move as fast as they could and drag you away from the tourney field. But they failed to comply, paralysed by fear; your feet somehow sank into the ground, preventing you from moving them.
…up, please…
Your breath, once stuck in your throat, came out as ragged grasps that grew louder and louder you felt your head spin. Aerion was coming after you, and for the first time in your life you felt completely helpless.
…wake up…
Then, as if some primal force had suddenly awakened within you, your body sprinted in the opposite direction, moving like a wild animal freed from its cage. The mist tore around you as you ran, the soil cracked under your boots as your eyes searched for any kind of weapon that would give you a slight advantage against him — you already refused the idea of taking Duncan's sword: his fingers were too rigid to slip them from the hilt of his blade, and the blunt or broken blades lying on the ground weren't enough to face a duel.
Your run came to an abrupt halt when you tripped over a shield stuck in the ground. Groaning, you curled up in a ball and tried to get back on your feet, but Aerion was fast enough to reach you and force you down, his fingers digging into your shoulders and shaking you with unnatural force.
While you fought against his grip, pleading for your release, you watched his mouth move, the words distant in your ears, until a familiar voice cut through it all.
Wake up!
Your eyes snapped open to the darkness, chest heavy and throat dry and raw for the scream you let out before. The pounding of your own heart was the first thing you registered, along with the dampness of your forehead and a strong grip keeping your shoulders still, a pair of blue eyes and deep purple one studying you with concern.
"Breathe," the man whispered gently, his thumb moving a damp strand on hair from your forehead. "Yes, like this. Deep breaths, in and out."
Reassured by that sweet voice, you inhaled and exhaled slowly until the frantic beat of your heart stopped and your vision became clear enough to recognize the two in front of you.
"Dunk?" you breathed out, eyes softening at the sight of him. It was still him, the Duncan you followed and loved, battered and bruised from the trial, some drops of blood dried on his cheek and nose. His eye was still bruised — less swollen than the one you’d seen in your dream — but slightly half-closed, and the look of pure love and concern in his eyes put your mind at ease.
Sat next to you, Egg's little hand searched for yours, squeezing it in a soothing manner.
"Aye, it is me," Duncan replied, leaning close and touching your forehead with his, cradling your face with both his hands. "You're safe with me, I promise you."
At first you let out a weary sight, your eyelids half closed at his thumb brushing your cheeks. But the flashes of your nightmare kept plaguing your mind, and the sight of Aerion's twisted smile made your body jolt.
"Aerion." You whispered, your voice trembling slightly, "He's-"
"Gone." the hedge knight replied firmly but kindly, "To the East, where he won’t do anyone any harm."
"Not to us, at least." Egg added, casting a fleeting gaze to Duncan, who nodded in approval. "Ashford is no longer to our reach, my lady. We're safe."
"Safe," you whispered, repeating a word that was somehow foreign in your tongue. Your fingers still trembled when they wrapped around Duncan's wrists, and the hedge knight replied by shifting you closer, the tips of your nose almost touching.
"Safe, yes. We are," he repeated, his encouraging smile lightning his contused face. "Whatever you may have dreamt, it wasn’t real. I'm here, with you."
You opened your mouth to protest, but the words soon died in your throat as Dunk wrapped his arms you, your head resting on his collarbone while his body rocked yours gently. "Now go back to sleep. We will depart at the first lights of the morrow, and I want you to be well-rested." He whispered, leaving a tender kiss on the crown of your heard.
"What about me, ser?" Egg asked, standing up and shaking the soil off his tunic. "May I be useful in some way?"
"What use would a tired squire be to me if we are set to depart early in the morrow and lack sleep?" Dunk chided the boy gently. "Lay down and go to sleep, lad. Chestnut needs to be properly fed and brushed; it is your duty to treat her."
Egg nodded. "Good night then, ser." After looking at him briefly, he marched towards his blanket, closing his eyes and letting sleep claim him. Duncan stood by your side for a while, rocking you gently and clumsily singing you soothing tunes — or at least he tried, knowing how singing was not his best talent. And once he heard your breath going steady and your eyes shut, he gave you a good night kiss and put you in bed, before laying down as well.
Sleep had never claimed you since then.
For the first two hours you tossed and turned, your mind circling back to the haunting memory of Dunk lying down, lifeless, and Aerion coming after you. You woke up continuously, checking the camp each time; once you saw Dunk and Egg snoring near the horses, you stood up and walked to the nearest stream, splashing cold water on your face and lay back down without saying a word.
The fourth time you woke, Duncan wasn't asleep at all.
He sat close to the fire, watching the flames and absentmindedly playing with a twig in his hands. His head hung low, jaw tight, and eyes fixed somewhere far away, lost deep in thought. The rise and fall of the flames cast a warm glow on his skin, and you noticed how his wounds made him smaller and more vulnerable than he usually was — a sight you weren’t accustomed to seeing except in moments of intimacy.
"The maesters have told you not to stand so close to the fire," you broke the silence with a whisper, standing up and rubbing one of your eyes. "The wound to your eye is still fresh, heat won't heal it."
Dunk scoffed softly, shaking his head while looking at the flames. "It won't be the fire that undoes me," he said, voice rough between a laugh and a groan. "Come and sit with me."
You sighed and lowered yourself beside him, close enough for your shoulders to brush. The fire’s heat wrapped around you both in a comforting warmth, a stark contrast to the uneasy silence that settled between you. Behind you, Egg was still fast asleep, and not even the crackling of the fire could rouse him.
"You…" Dunk broke the silence first, closing his mouth as if searching for the right words. "How much more are a hedge knight’s hand and foot worth than a prince of the blood’s life?" He asked with grave voice, tilting his head and looking at you.
You blinked, stunned by his sudden question. "What?" you inquired, trying to make sense of it.
"It is the law." he said, and there was a raw vulnerability in his voice you'd rarely heard in him. "I raised my hands against the royal blood, I might have lost my head for this." He looked back at the fire, clenching his jaw while squeezing the twig in his hands. "Prince Baelor would have denied it, but he offered me the choice between a trial or losing the offending hand and foot."
A short, humourless laugh escaped him, and when he looked at you there was love in his eyes, along with remorse and shame. "He was right about Egg. He should have come to him when his brother was assaulting that puppeteer. But when he said your name and saw what he meant to do to you-"
He paused, calming the anger boiling in his chest with a deep sigh. You said nothing, your gaze fixed on the pop and hiss of the flames as the memories of that day returned crystal clear.
You were with Egg at that puppeteer’s show — Tanselle, that was the name you remembered — and with wonder in your eyes, you watched the tales of heroes and knights come alive, of winged beasts that once ruled the skies and wiped out armies with their fiery breath. Then Aerion emerged from the crowd, watching with fury and disbelief as the puppeteer slew a dragon, applause fading when he approached her and pulled her from the stage. You remembered grabbing Egg from his arm, urging him to call for help while courage swelled inside you, rushing forward as soon as you saw the Targaryen prince snapping Tanselle's fingers, unable to stop him in time.
You recalled how he forced you to your knees, fingers clutching your wrist and forcing your hand open, about to snap your own fingers when Duncan appeared, face twisted with blind rage the moment he saw your distress, and the beast within him unleashed a fist that made the prince's mouth bleed.
Since then, distress and bad dreams plagued you while praying for the Seven to protect over the hedge knight, asking that they spare him whatever price his courage might yet demand of him. And then the trial of seven came, and with it the tragic aftermath the whole realm would carry the rest of its days.
"Don't." you murmured, forcing the words past the tightness in your throat. "Do not let those thoughts of yourself weigh so heavy. You are not the sum of what the law says you're worth, Dunk. You never were."
Your words seemed to strike something inside him, snapping him back to reality as he fixed his astonished gaze on you.
"You carried your own pride and virtue like a true knight, a quality that has fallen on these days sadly," you continued, your hand stretched towards his, squeezing it gently in a timid comfort, "A hundred of those said nobles and armoured knights would revel in it while bathing in the comfort their birth afforded them, and never once lifting a hand for anyone else's sake. It was good the gods chose to strike them at last."
Your words seemed to convince him: he returned your squeeze, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing it softly. Yet the moment your eyes met, he withdrew his hand, a sad smile shadowing his face.
"Aye, but the gods failed to strike the one who deserved it most." he retorted, "The realm has lost its most chivalric king, had he not forfeit his life and fight for me-"
"Fought for you?" you scoffed, your eyebrows raised in surprise. "And against what, may I ask? His own nephew? His own brother? His own knights that would harm anyone but him? Would had not been so unlucky, he would have survived unscathed."
You stood silent for a bit, exhaling slowly as your gaze lowered to the ground. "Do not think ill of my judgement, I liked him. He seemed a prince with a good sense of justice and a genuine heart. Yet how would his declaration as your champion favour your innocence but restore the honour of his family? The gods can sense a fraud when they see one."
Dunk groaned in disapproval and dropped the twig in the fire, watching the flames engulfing it. "You think it was pride, then," he said at last, voice tight. "That he stood for me only to scrub some family shame from his name."
"Could be both," you said gently, "you had people fighting for you, truly fighting. You had nobles standing for you who could lose honour and lands, even their lives and families were the gods not merciful enough-"
"So you think his own family did not deserve mercy?" he snapped, keeping his voice low so he wouldn't wake Egg. "I left his children fatherless. The gods will whisper in my ear how his brother swung the mace but I urged him at my side. The old man chanted of his fairness and how the realm would flourish with his guide, and I took him from it. If my life is not forfeit for this, then what?"
You listened to him with jaw clenched, biting back the urge to argue further. When you finally spoke, your voice came low and even. "I can't believe you can be so fucking stupid."
You stood up, intending to reach your bed and try to sleep again when a tight grip seized your arm, freezing you in place. Duncan spun you around to face him, and at first, his gaze made you wish you could take back what you’d said. Yet, you quickly noticed how his massive body trembled like a leaf, his eyes shining with a mix of anger, shame, and remorse. It was a sight that both infuriated you and made your heart ache.
"Speak plainly and not in riddles, woman." "Dunk rasped, his grip tightening, though not enough to hurt you. "Tell me again how stupid I am, if you believe it so."
"Let me go."
"Tell me how fool I am, to feel the bad luck surround me and bring pain and suffer to the ones I love since the day I draw my first breath."
"Let me go, Dunk-"
"Tell me, then, how foolish it was of me to lead people who chose willingly to follow me, and to fear hurting them above all else with my choices." He said, a hint of tremor could be feel in his voice. "Wouldn't it be better for them to let me go, and live some content life far from whatever curse follows me? Who would grieve a simple hedge knight long, once he's gone for once?"
“I would, Duncan!” you said without hesitation, raising your voice and not caring if anyone heard, frustration overwhelming you as tears streamed down your face. "I fucking would grieve you more than a lifetime. And it is not you that made me cursed, for the gods showed me your death before my own eyes once sleep claims me, until I no longer know if I am awake or dreaming!"
A heavy silence settled over you, broken only by the popping of flames that would soon be extinguished. Duncan stood as still as stone, fists clenched and gaze lowered. Your words struck him harder than any slap he had received from Ser Arlan as a boy, and shook his conscience more than Lyonel Baratheon’s outburst at Ashford.
But what hurt him most was seeing your tear-streaked face: for once, he felt as if he had broken the sacred vow of a knight — to protect the innocent from harm. And he felt miserable.
"Since we left Ashford I could not stop dreaming about that bloody trial," you said, sniffing softly, "and how you fell on the ground and stood still for a bit. I pleaded for you to wake up, and you did. But in my dream? You were nothing but a cold corpse."
Dunk was silent for a moment, remorse burning deep in his gut: the night before the fight, he had heard your pleas, quieting them with a long kiss and promising that everything would be all right.
Now, he finally understood how much it had meant to you.
"But it wasn't real." Dunk whispered, crossing the space between you while cradling your face. The hedge knight took his time to study it, noticing how sadness has not marred your beauty, how comely your eyes were despite the redness surrounding your pupils. "I woke up, I came back to you."
"I know you did," you retorted with a feeble voice, avoiding his gaze until he lifted your head. "The gods had shown their mercy that day. But that is not a granted thing, neither for nobles nor for knights. They could have just turn a blind eye and allow the fate to do its work on you, and that is the fear that keeps plaguing my dreams."
On tiptoe, you rested your forehead against his, sighing at how lovely it felt to feel his warmth against you. Dunk let you draw close, one hand resting on your hip, holding you tenderly. His other one wrapped around yours, pressing your palm against his chest, letting you feel his steady heartbeat.
"Promise me you will stop thinking so poorly of yourself," you murmured, giving him a small smile. "The world may see a naive, illiterate hedge knight crossing the Seven Kingdoms with his bald squire, but my own eyes see a chivalrous man who will defy the law itself to defend those who have no voice."
You leaned closer until your lips almost touched, breaths mingling in the small space left between you. "And I will choose to follow that man until the Long Night comes."
Those words were the final strand to give way. Something within Duncan seemed to break loose all at once, and all his self-control was gone the moment he drew you closer, enveloping both of you in a kiss that felt desperate yet reverent, unlike all the tender glances and private moments of intimacy you had shared on your journey together. One of his hands slipped into your hair, the other pressed flat against the small of your back, pulling you in until there was no space left between you, feeling the unsteady rhythm of his heart matching your own. You sensed the low rumble he emitted against your lips, a hybrid of a groan and your name, whispering apologies as he poured all his love and regret into it.
It was when you both fell apart, spent and out of breath, his brow pressed to yours, that Dunk found the courage to speak.
"My beloved, you deserve someone richer and better than a poor hedge knight."
You chuckled and rolled your eyes, pressing a brief kiss on his lips. "Why would I wish a pompous and rich lord when I have the fairest man in front of my eyes?"
"Then allow this fairest man to make you happy, once the time comes." Dunk replied with a giggle, and closed the distance again.
You both ended up near the low fire, Dunk awake and watching the stars while you were sprawled next to him, hand resting over the steady rise and fall of his chest. The trial of seven was still a fresh memory in your mind, but this time there was no echo of death or the ghost of Aerion haunting you.
And the hedge knight, watching a shooting star streak across the sky, found himself marvelling at the strange turns a life could take: an orphan boy out of Flea Bottom, who had nothing but the weak legacy of the knight that took him under his guard, now having a young prince for a squire, his honour somehow intact, and a strong, faithful woman travelling at his side.
For that, he thought, he could not be more grateful to the Seven.
If you've come this far, thank you so much for reading my fic! Please, follow and check @thenameswinterfics and turn on the notifications if you want to stay updated about my fics.
