Papa's the Favorite (platonic and romantic relationships, wife!reader, multiple characters hinted, angst, not proof read)
"I fear that he doesn't like me."
She frowns softly, fiddling with her ring as she watched her son babble his first word. Papa. He sits on the floor, content as he waves around his wooden horse in his tiny hands. Sat behind the babe, he looks to his wife with a frown. "What makes you say that?" She simply shrugged.
"I cannot help you if you don't talk to me, love." He uttered as gently as he could, frustrated in his worry. "You can't say things like that and not elaborate." She fiddles with her ring once more, staring at her son as he babbles the word repeatedly. "... it is you."
He pauses, confused. "... me?" His attention was momentarily caught by their son, who plops backward into his stomach with a shocked grunt. He helps him sit up again before meeting her gaze. "What about me?" "He favors you." She mumbles. "In everything, unfortunately."
She doesn't look at him as her fidgeting hands grew more restless. "Sleeping, holding, changing. If you had teats, I'm sure he would prefer you as well." She wipes a lone tear, standing from her chair to pace, continuing. He never interrupts, quiet.
"He resembles everything about you except his skin and hair. His eyes, his nose, his smile. That is all you. And this thing," She falters, taking a deep breath. "... I know you're the first one who bonded with him when I could not. I know he perks up at the sound of your voice,"
Her hands grip her skirts. "... but, I wanted at least one thing to be mine. Something that I could revel and take joy in... and yet, he still looks for you." She sniffles softly, not bothering to completely wipe her face. Just enough to see. "And I fear that it will always be that way."
He doesn't respond, thinking. He remembers when she gave birth. She was sick, terribly so. That along with their son's premature birth, along with her getting an infection, the babe was always with him when he wasn't breastfeeding from her. She was always in bed, too weak.
He was the one to rock him, to soothe his cries, to talk to him at night, to take him on walks in the gardens, to see his first smile and hear his first giggle. He hadn't realized it until now, a pit forming in his stomach. "My love-" "It is no one's fault but mine." She rasps, sniffling.
"I was the one to wander in the rain the week before. I can blame no one. Not even you." She turns to him finally, trying to smile. "I... can see why he would choose you, as I have." She sniffles. "You are gentle, honorable, loyal. You're never too far when needed."
She turns again, smiling bitterly. "You are more of a mother than I have been-" She jumps as her arm was gripped tightly, not hearing him stand and stomp over to her. His frown is deep, his grip gentle but firm. Without a word, he cups her face, hands slightly trembling.
"You are his mother. He knows your warmth, your touch, your voice. He cries for you when you're not here, he clings onto your shoes, and he always seems to sense you before anyone else can." His grip and touch becomes desperate. "You must know this. You have to,"
His forehead rests on hers, eyes closing. "I'm sorry. I have been a fool not to notice your struggles." He swallows the lump at the back of his throat. "I will step back. I will allow you to soothe him more regularly, I won't be the first too pick him up, I won't-"
She calls his name, shaking her head, cupping his face in return. "It is already done." "No, it isn't. There's still time-" "He knows you, dear husband. Not me, not fully." A hand snakes up to his head, gentle. "He cries when I hold him and you're there. He smiles at you. He giggles when you smile."
She sighs softly. "Maybe that is for the best." "For who?" He huffs, hands now digging into her hips and skirts. "That cannot be it. I won't allow you to accept this so quickly and so easily." Both of their faces wet, they don't see their son crawling to them until he plopped down on his father's feet.
She sighs fondly, picking him up. He squirms, small hands reaching for his father. He doesn't take him, holding his tiny hand, staring at his wife with a pained heart and expression. He places a kiss to her wet lips. "We'll figure it out."
The boy starts to fuss, wriggling in her arms. She tried to soothe him, to no avail. For what seemed like forever, her husband takes the boy with reluctancy. Still, his eyes never part from his wife's face. "I swear we will." She said nothing, leaning into the kiss to her head.
"He will learn to favor you."
Which character do you think this fits the best? I couldn't decide.
11 times you hurt Dunk and the 1 time he hurt you.
Dunk x Targaryen!Reader | 3k+ | cw: fem!reader, twin!Aerion, post-ashford tourney, dunk agrees to go to summerhall au, violence, classism, jealousy, insecurity, daddy issues, hurt no comfort, reader is a crashout machine, enemies to friends to lovers, toxic relationship, angst, typos, etc.
A/N: i havent seen anyone do a x times typa fic like this in years. We have lost our fandom ways 🥃 literally cant write anything but the Dunk agenda calls to me. also since she is described to have silver hair and violet eyes, she's technically an ofc but i dont give her a name so. edit: i changed the summary and the title because it pissed me off with how long it was | crossposted on ao3
∴ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ∵
It was Dunk's first official morning on the job. It was early; the sun was just beginning to rise. He had woken Egg for training, but he demanded five more minutes. Ideally, he'd force him to rise, but he felt for the boy, since they'd been travelling hard for the past few days.
He turns to the door, expecting to see a small, bald boy, but instead he sees—
"What are you?"
Dunk's brows furrow, "I-I beg your pardon?"
"I asked," you raise a brow at him, looking him once over, your face slowly curling at his worn and shabby attire and crusty boots, "what are you."
What? As if he was a wooden plank or a chair.
Your lips curl. Your violet eyes are narrowed in contempt and your golden bell sleeves come across your chest when you cross your arms. Your brows force together a line between them and you flip your silver curls behind your shoulders.
As Dunk stares at your expression, he realizes your identity— you are Aerion's twin sister, the spitting image of him, merely with softer checks and far longer hair.
"Are you deaf, mute, and dumb all of a sudden?" you raise a brow at him.
He chuckles dryly at your words, suddenly speaking your name.
You lift your chin indignantly, "I didn't ask for my name."
"Nay, you asked what I was," his lips tense as he retorts.
"Finally," you sigh deeply, "you understand."
His eye twitches and his jaw hardens, "I am not a what, princess. I am a who, just as you."
Your brows raise. You mutter something in what he's come to recognize as High Valyrian.
"Ser Dunk! I'm her— oh!" Egg turns from Dunk to you.
Dunk clenches his fist and watches you closely, half-expecting an argument to ensue; after all, neither he or the boy were not fond of Aerion, and he was rather quickly growing dislike toward you.
He flinches when Egg lunges at you, ready to step in until he realizes you were merely sharing a hug.
You kneel down to embrace him tightly, telling him how worried you were when word spread that he'd gone missing. Egg says Dunk had been taking care of him, but the said man understands none of this because the entire conversation is said in your mother tongue.
You turn to Dunk upon hearing your brother's sentiment. You rise and make a face, "I thought he was a dog."
Aegon whines your name out.
Dunk clenches his teeth and forces a jest between his teeth, "I'm too big to be a dog."
"And rather too filthy to be my brother's."
Aegon shrieks your name out the second time.
You snap at him, "skoros issi ao hīghagon syt?" What are you screaming for?
"Gaomagon daor sagon nūmāzma," he pulls your skirt, "issa iā raqiros." Do not be mean, he is my friend.
You knit your brows and turn back to Dunk, "you are friends?"
You sound as if urging Dunk to deny it. You look him up and down again, thinking he was uselessly large and—
"I am his squire," Egg replies instead.
You whip your head to him, shocked to silence and wide eyes. Then it dawns on you: was this Dunk that Duncan the Tall?
"Your father begged me to come to Summerhall to take him to squire."
You turn to him, scoffing, one eye squinting, "my father does not beg."
"And I do not lie," Dunk retorts firmly.
You scoff again, turning to your brother to say something in that damned language again. Aegon whines and motions largely. He is immediately silenced by the single finger you raise at him. The boy deflates and you pat his head before exiting.
Egg sighs as he walks over to Dunk with his head lowered. The latter is immediately concerned and places a hand on his shoulder, "what's wrong, lad? What did she tell you?"
Egg sighs again, looking up at him, "she told me not to eat cake or try to sneak cake before supper."
Dunk's rising ire is immediately muffled. His hand slips off the boy's shoulder as he sits down.
"She always finds out when I do," he grumbles.
∵ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ∴
The day passes and you're now all in the dinner hall supping. Normally, you'd stare longingly at the empty chair Aemon would have sat in, convincing yourself he'd be dining the same time at Citadel, but the seating arrangement has been so egregiously changed, you couldn't imagine anything of the sort.
Your father, Maekar, naturally sat at the head of the table and you remained to his right. Where Aemon once sat to your father's left, this Dunk creature now was. You've since been glaring at him the entire night.
It made Dunk incredibly uncomfortable, but be didn't dare speak about it, even if it was causing him indigestion.
Halfway through the meal, Maekar finally notices your death stare. He drops his fork and knife, "what the fuck is your problem?"
You don't miss a beat, "I'm just confused."
Dunk lifts his gaze, only to immediately wither under yours. He turns to Egg on his right, hoping the boy could save him; the said boy is too busy scarfing down steak.
Maekar's eye twitches in irritation, "confused with what?!"
You turn slowly to your father, finally granting Dunk reprieve, "you've never allowed us pets, yet now you've let a dog eat on the table."
Aerion, at the end of your row, cackles. He cackles loud enough that Daeron, in front of him, is snapped out of his drunken daze, "hmm?"
Maekar snaps your name brashly.
You calmly retort, "as I said, I'm confused."
"You will not insult him, for insulting him insults me," the elder prince leans on his elbows, "as I was the one who seated him in front of you."
"Why?" you squint.
Maekar turns to his youngest son before continuing his meal, "Aegon insisted."
You scoff, playing with your food, "I see you are set to raise another spoiled brat."
Maekar bangs his fist on the table. It shocked only Dunk and Daeron, who had begun to drunkenly doze again.
Dunk dares to look at you. Your glare is now directed to your father and he is glaring right back at you.
"Do not speak to me or brattiness, girl. You, out of all your siblings, demand the most dresses, and shoes and—"
"Demand?!" you blurt and rise to your feet.
Maekar clenches his teeth, "sit-"
"I do not demand what is not owed of me, daddy," you snap, your violet eyes immediately growing pinkish, "I work for the Crown and am rewarded accordingly. Do I not balance the books and ledgers? Do I not make the arrangements none of my fucking brothers—"
"Watch your mouth."
"— can? And now to ask for a dress is a crime!"
"You do what is expected of you!" Maekar snaps, standing so abruptly that it is a wonder his chair does not topple back. He points a harsh finger, "you do no more than what is needed from any of us!"
Your cheeks are now wet with tears but you do not stop glaring at him.
Maekar grits his teeth. "Spare me your sob story," he scoffs and sits down, "finish your meal or leave if you mean to keep your attitude."
You immediately push your seat back and walk off.
"Oh, twin, don't worry," Aerion calls back, "I despise this dog more than—"
"Didn't he beat your arse in Ashford?" you blurt just as you reach the door. You throw your twin a look, "you'd be wise to shut your cunt mouth lest he best you again."
Maekar screams your name in anger.
You leave the room.
Aerion's next to bang is hands on the table and promptly storm out. He slightly limps, still injured from the tourney, and he hoarsely screams your name, his ego immensely bruised by you.
Daeron sighs deeply as he reaches across the table, muttering to Daella beside him, "want some wine?"
She gives him a disgusted look, "you reek."
Daeron smiles and drinks from the ewer, "more for me."
Maekar slumps and groans. He wipes his face in frustration, nearly pulling at his hair as he curses in his High Valyrian
Rhae mutters softly, "daddy, may I be excused?"
The man waves a hand at her and she stands, making sure to fix her cutlery and curtsy before leaving
Maekar notices and finds himself shaking his head. He leans on the table and turns to Dunk, "you must forgive my eldest girl. She is not always so difficult."
Dunk finds it hard to believe but nods anyway.
"She unfortunately inherited my audacity and temper."
"So did Aerion," Egg mutter softly.
Maekar groans but chooses to ignore him, "you are not her villain. She is punishing me for not bringing her to Ashford. I stand by it considering..." he gulps and looks blankly at his food, "everything."
Dunk banishes the memory of his final moments with Baelor, lest he render himself sick.
"I hope you find it in you to extend your patience with her, even if she offers you none," says your father as he turns back to Dunk, "she is afraid of befriending those who are not her kin."
Dunk raises his brows at that.
"She's mistrustful, but only at first," Egg pipes up, garnering Dunk's gaze, "and too overprotective."
This makes the knight furrow his brows deeply.
∴ ᴛʜɪʀᴅ ∵
Dunk heard screaming but didn't know what the commotion was all about until a pair of servants run past him, muttering: "the twins again."
Twins? His heart drops at the idea those loud screams were coming from you and Aerion. He dashes down the hall.
It doesn't take him long to find where you were—
Fucking hell.
— brawling.
"Princess!" One of the three guards yell, "unhand him!"
Aerion yells as you squeeze his rib where you knew his injury was still sore. His injuries were the only reason you managed to overpower him this long and why you were sitting on his back while he laid face down.
Dunk is disturbed by the red and purple on your cheek and the ripped sleeve on your shoulder. He looks at the armoured men, wondering why they just don't grab you, until one of them tries, only for you to pull a dagger and press it to your neck.
He is suddenly aware of a dribble of red down your throat. A shiver runs down his spine.
Aerion squirms beneath you and cries out.
You slap his face and shriek at him in your shared first language.
The moment you pull your blade away from your neck, Dunk immediately runs and tackles you off Aerion, surprising you enough that you drop your blade.
"Princess, you need to—"
You scream as though you were being skinned alive. You immediately thrash begin beating and kicking Dunk.
You are stronger than he anticipated and he also wasn't expecting you to be so wild. Though he could easily overpower you, he didn't want to hurt you, so he doesn't.
Aerion is helped to his feet and upon seeing your thrashing form, he tries to charge at you: he doesn't stand a chance against the two armored men holding him back though.
"Get her out of here, ser!" one of the guard point to nowhere.
Dunk easily carries you in his arms, even with your continued thrashing, and rushes away.
At some point, your punches become too unbearable, after all, he too still has injuries from the tourney. He is forced to drop you.
When he does, you land painfully on your arse, forcing you to scream.
"I- I didn't mean—" Dunk catches his breath as you roll and clutch your tailbone.
You fume as you stagger to your feet.
He speaks your name, apologizing profusely.
The moment you get up, you swipe at him, landing a hit to his head and his shoulder before he grabs your wrists and holds you back.
You try to kick him, but he anticipates it. He releases one of your wrists and swiftly pulls back, unintentionally twisting the arm he still held.
Your shriek is ear piercing.
He immediately releases you, "m-my— I-"
You spit at his face, sobbing as you clutch your throbbing shoulder, "I'll fucking kill you!"
Dunk wipe his cheek, just as you try to slap him.
He decides to run.
You chase him until you tire.
∵ ꜰᴏᴜʀᴛʜ ∴
Not even an hour after escaping you, Dunk sees you coming towards him, his eyes widening at the sight of your arm-sling. He was sat on a bench in the training yard, instructing Egg how to swordfight without much swordfighting on his part, and you had your father gripping your uninjured arm beside you.
He vaguely hears Maekar threaten to send away for your behavior.
Dunk comes to a stand. Egg stops sword fighting.
Your brother feels bad for you, knowing Aerion has been goading you into a fight since last night's dinner. That said, he also felt disappointed in how you treated Dunk, especially because he was only keeping you from getting putted by your evil twin.
"Speak," Maekar snaps at you the moment you are before Dunk.
Your face is wet and your eyes are red but you are not crying.
Dunk doesn't know what to do with himself. He feels an unimaginable amount of guilt, especially because of your sling. "My princess, I cannot express how badly I regret—"
"You needn't regret anything, ser," Maekar cuts him off, "it is my daughter who has come to apologize."
Dunk's eyes water in remorse, "b-but her arm is—"
"My twin dislocated my shoulder," you lie flatly.
You sound so convincing, he feels confused.
"And I wrongly attacked you after attacking my own twin. It was most unbecoming and gravely ill of me."
The towering man takes in your blank expression. You curtsy deeply and lower your head, causing his skin to prick with goosebumps.
"I am undeserving of your forgiveness, but I-" your voice breaks on a sob, "I-I hope you forgive me."
Dunk falls on one knee to look up at you, "I forgive you, plea—" his goes silent when he sees you weren't sobbing at all.
You rise but keep your head down.
"Rise, Ser Dunk," Maekar's eyes are trained on him, "my daughter wishes to stay and watch Egg train, if that is agreeable with you."
Dunk returns to his feet, easily towering over you all.
"It would be good for her to try and sow seeds of amity," the prince turns to you, "isn't that right, daughter?"
You simply nod.
"What say you, Dunk?"
Dunk turns to Maekar, weakly muttering, "...alright."
"Good," he pats your back and turns to his son, "report if she acts out."
Egg nods once.
Once Maekar is gone, the boy is the first to speak. Aegon carefully calls your name before asking, "what made you do this?"
You turn to your brother, eyes immediately watering. You look off and shrug, "Aerion told me father's replacing me with Dunk."
Dunk's jaw falls to the floor.
Egg steps forward, "you know that's not true."
You ignore your brother to glare at Dunk, "isn't it?"
The man stammers, shaking his head and hands.
You stare at him and his stupid gesture. You turn back to your brother, "get back to work."
The two boys watch you sit on the bench. Egg huffs before picking up his wooden sword. Dunk awkwardly hovers.
"I will not attack you."
"No," Dunk immediately sits on the extreme edge, "c-course."
You watch Aegon attack a dummy, "and you are replacing me."
Dunk turns to you, "I—"
"I do the books with father," you turn to your hand and remove your sling. You whine at the pain that pulses and spreads. You relish it, in belief you deserve it.
He shifts slightly closer, "you shouldn't-"
"I'm not finished."
Your beady eyes are what shut him up. He finds you increasingly worrisome.
"I am good at the books, at managing numbers, names, inventory, people—" you shake your head, "but since uncle Baelor's passing, everything's felt... pointless." You scratch your nose, "neither Valarr or Matarys will write back to me. I fear they despise me for mourning uncle as if he was my father."
Dunk's throat tightens, his guilt over Baelor's death slowly creeping up his spine.
"He was the only one who saw me," you shake your head, "I didn't grow out of being praised and complimented with him. He's gentle in a way my father will never be... and he aided your cause because he deemed you worthy," your nostrils flare, "and now you steal even the littlest affections father has left in him."
"W-wha- I-"
"My mind reasons it is not your fault that he found favor in you whilst traveling back to Summerhall... but I despise you all the same, for you are a dog who does tricks that impress him, and I am his daughter who cannot impress him at all because-" you come to a stand, "it is expected of me."
He stammers, tears running down his cheeks. He tries to stop you from walking away.
He fails.
Until he speaks out, "you should have told him I did that to your shoulder."
"I did," you stop only for a beat, "he did not believe me."
∴ ꜰɪꜰᴛʜ ∵
Whether you've come to the training grounds to watch Egg or to torment him, Dunk cannot tell. Either way, your presence is persistent. For the next days, you just sit there, eyes trained on your brother even when Dunk is within eyesight. You act as if he wasn't there, then slip away as if you were never there.
Despite everything, Egg somehow believes you and him can be still friends, baffling as that was. Dunk finds himself going back and forth from believing you were Aerion in female form, mean-spirited and entitled, to seeing you giggle with your youngest brother, and sometimes even with your eldest; you seem to bring out a levelheadedness in Daeron, which is ironic to say the least.
He mulls over what Maekar said: your fear of befriending strangers. He wonders if he can win you over, if he can prove he was not, in fact, trying to replace you.
Egg tells him he can start by actually talking to you when you come around.
And so he does, even remembering what you said about Baelor, thus why he complimented your dress before asking you what you broke your fast with.
Egg had been pulling his strokes to listen in to your conversation.
When you smiled, both of them felt hopeful... that is, until you replied: "I would much rather confide in the pigs in the stables than make a pet out of you."
He didn't know if he felt relieved or disheartened by your prompt departure.
∵ ꜱɪxᴛʜ ∴
Dunk's heart races as he knocks on your bedroom door. He had expected you to ask who it was, which was why his heart shoots out of his arse when the door immediately opens.
Your neutral expression crumples at the sight of him. Your nails dig into the door, "what?"
"I-" he lifts a silver tray, "I brought you figs."
You look down at the bowl, now overtly aware of the scent of your favorite treat. You feel wood splinter under your nail bed. This scheme has Egg written all over it.
"Egg told me this was your favorite, so I had the kitchen prepare some for y-"
"Are you unfeeling?"
He slightly lowers the tray.
"What don't you understand?" You shove the door all the way open, "I don't want to be your friend," you snatch the tray from him, "and I don't want your fucking figs."
Dunk gasps softly as he watches you walk off to chuck the tray out of your open window with absolutely no regard. When you turn back to him, you scoff and make a face.
You are in disbelief he is still here, "and why would I, when you're so entirely dimwitted and oafish?"
He cannot seem to move when you storm over. He can only think to block his head to shield himself from your attack, but you merely slam the door to his face, causing his ears to pop.
Word of this incident travels to Maekar fast. He summons you to his office and you feel your hatred for Dunk calcifying in real time.
"You are lucky your fucking projectile landed upon a potted plant and not one of the servants heads," Maekar rests his elbow upon his desk to point at you, "and, seriously, I've had enough of your tirade with the hedge knight. You will apologize to him before supper."
Your father glances over his chart. You are irrationally angered by how even his chides are half-hearted. "And if I don't?"
Maekar presses his palm on his parchments, slowly turning up to you, "there is no if because you will apologize to him."
"It is not my fault he—"
"He bought you figs!"
"..."
He roughly scratches his face.
He circles over then grabs you by the shoulders. You wince; he doesn't know it is because your shoulder hasn't healed properly with how you refused to wear a sling.
"You win!" he shakes you, "you fucking win, you relentless brute!" He releases you rather roughly, "I should have brought you to Ashford so you could behold knights break lances into each other's faces." He goes and sits back on his chair, "I so regret you missed the very moment I killed my fucking brother." Maekar looks at you in contempt, "happy?"
You gulp but your father doesn't waste a second to hear your response. He scrutinizes his work, "stop tormenting Ser Tall and either help me with this fucking shit or begone."
You stand there. You stand and stare at your shoes while your tears wet them.
Just as Maekar lifts his head, you head to the window where your desk was and force yourself to work.
He notices you scratching your eyes. He knows you are weeping. He calls your name roughly.
You pointedly turn away from him.
Maekar doesn't appreciate it, "look at me, girl."
You don't.
He has no choice but to stand. He comes behind you and sighs, placing a hand on your shoulder.
You tense and lean into the desk until he strokes your head. He sighs, watching you slowly relax against him. His eyes then fall on your chart. He points a finger, "you got this count wrong."
You tense all over again.
Maekar explains your error.
You stare at the paper. You both know the error was a simple mistake, yet he explains as if you've never done anything like this before. Your tears begin to wet the page.
He stills upon noticing.
You look up at him, "I did everything else right."
Maekar strokes your head once, "indeed."
"Don't I deserve a good job?"
"For what?"
You chuckle.
"..."
Your chuckle tastes bitter, "for doing good."
"You always do good," he pinches your chin, "you always do good, my love."
"... why don't you tell me then?"
"I don't need to tell you for you to know you do good," he walks back to his desk, "and you shouldn't need me to tell you for you to know."
You watch your father focus back on his papers.
"And by the way, William Stark has confirmed your betrothal to his son," he doesn't even look up to say this, "he writes Brandon has hunted an ice bear to make you a pelt."
A moment of silence stretches.
When Maekar finally lifts his head, he finds you gone. He tenses just to slump, "tactless girl."
11 times you hurt Dunk and the 1 time he hurt you.
Dunk x Targaryen!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, twin!Aerion, post-ashford tourney, dunk agrees to go to summerhall au, DD:DNE, violence, attempted murder, survivors guilt, suicidal ideation, classism, jealousy, insecurity, daddy issues, hurt no comfort, reader is a crashout machine, enemies to friends to lovers, toxic relationship, angst, typos, etc.
A/N: well this definitely turned out a lot longer than I had anticipated and I had to cut it up again my bad gang. I can't seem to proofread this so forgive me for the typos 🥲 | crossposted on ao3
∴ ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴᴛʜ ∵
Dunk is beyond bewildered when you come to him the next morning while breaking fast with Egg. He was entirely sure he'd sit silently through another conversation held entirely in High Valyrian, but you barely even greet your brother before turning to him to ask, "what are your plans today?"
"M- what?!"
You hold back an insult that was just waiting to be said.
Dunk straightens in his seat and clears his throat, "I... I will be training your brother as usual, then I'll be tending to my horses in the stables."
"Would you chaperone me to the tailor's shop instead?"
His eyes widen, "p-pardon?"
"I have a dress I need to be fitted into and normally my tailor comes here but lately I've preferred going to their shop."
He is dumbfounded, so much so he turns to Egg for some sort of confirmation he wasn't just hearing things. He is glad when the boy asks you, "why do you want him to come with you?"
You shrug, "Aerion would not go with me."
Dunk further dumbfounded.
"Are you fighting again?" Egg asks.
You shake your head, "no, he's just being a little bitch."
Egg tilts his head, "isn't he always?"
"He has his moments, Aegon."
"Maybe with you, because you're twins."
"I-Is there-" Dunk blurts, then clears his throat again, "is there any reason you want me to join you, highness?"
You look at him for a moment, trying to think of a reason. You settle with, "no."
"No?" He raises his brows in disbelief and sighs while wiping his face, "seven hells."
You purse your lips at that, "you can say no."
"I can?" his brows curl as he raises his brows.
Your left eye narrows. You raise a hand, "you might be slightly stupid, so let's just pretend that I never asked."
Just as you turn around, Dunk starts to a stand, "no, wait!"
You look back at him.
"I'll do it!"
And that's how he ended up being swarmed by a gaggle of women, some of which were workers at the shop and some were patrons who were, like most folk, intrigued by Dunk's height.
Of course, the truth was, he was an incredibly comely man who walked into the shop with a princess. The young maids were particularly set on carrying a conversation with him.
He was rather relieved when you called him into the fitting room, eager to escape the determined souls around him.
When he enters, he quickly closes the door, much to the dismay of the women.
"Enjoying the attention?"
Dunk shakes his head and turns to you, "not at-"
His words go dry when he sees you in a deep violet gown. It was not yet finished, as why there was a sheer layer of silver lace around your shoulders.
You purse your lips at his silence, "it is either very good or very bad if it rendered you silent."
Dunk gulps and shakes his head, feeling his face grow warm, "g-good! It's just... It's so... grand. Grander than what you normally wear. And you wear—"
"Well, it ought to be," you turn away and look at yourself in the mirror, "I need fur for the trim. Black fur would be best, don't you think?"
Dunk is about to respond, but the tailor beats him to it and immediately assures you that there will be a shipment of furs to their shop by the day's end.
"And if I may, my princess," the tailor turns to Dunk and throws some fine black fabric on his shoulder, "if you find it in your generous heart that I might borrow your man and have a tunic made for him."
You look over your shoulder, "what?"
The man scrutinizes Dunk, "he caused quite a stir outside the shop while wearing worn rags," he pinches the grey shirt he had on with disinterest, "imagine the stir he'd create wearing one of my designs."
Dunk chuckles nervously and steps back, "you are too kind, milord. But I have no coin to even dream to affo—"
"Did I ask for your coin, you silly thing?"
You begin to feel your blood rise. You snap at one of the servant girls, "get me out of this garb."
The tailor turns to you.
"P-princess?" the girl stammers.
"Are you deaf or just dumb? I said GET ME OUT OF THIS FUCKING GARB!"
The tailor immediately runs to you, "princess, please-"
"Don't fucking you touch me!" you snap at him and begin tearing your dress off, "if it is not enough that I grace your wretched shop with my presence that you wish to draw in flies with a flea from Fleabottom, then I do not want you to dress me!"
The tailor panics and shakes his hand, "oh, but princess, I was only jest—"
You free yourself out of your dress with a final rip. One of the servant girls quickly put you back into your own cloths.
When the knight has the mind to follow after you, he turns to the tailor, who looks incredibly distraught. Dunk says he'll try to reason with you, knowing damn well that's not gone well for him. When he gets outside the shop, he catches you just as you get ink the carriage.
Dunk doesn't know what to do when you storm out. The women outside the room gasp at the princess, and those who were not quick enough to get out of your way collide with your shoulder, causing you to whine as it reignites pain from when it was dislocated.
He runs up to the door just as you slam it shut. He opens the window, "princess-"
"Do not aggravate me more than this, dog," you glare at him.
His chest tightens at your cold words. He feels like he wasted the only chance he'll ever get to ever get on your good side, "please—"
"I cannot stand you," you hiss at him, sticking your head out, "I bet you are pleased that every woman and pillow biter here wants to suck your cock."
Before he can even think to respond, you demand the carriage to leave, and so it does.
Dunk feels like noose was pulling tightly around his neck. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know what he did wrong. He does know that he needs to go on walk to cry.
∵ ᴇɪɢʜᴛʜ ∴
It is the dead of night. Dunk is exhausted and yet he can't seem to sleep. He stares wearily at the ceiling, eyes heavy but refusing to close. His room is dark save for the moonlight trickling in from his window. His mind is heavy with thoughts of you. He doesn't know what to do with you, nor how someone that much smaller than him could harbor hatred that swallows him whole.
His head was heavy on his pillow, but his eyelids were heavier. It felt like he could hear his entire body screaming at him to sleep, and yet his eyes refused to stop staring at the dusty, stone ceiling. His mind was especially incessant on replaying the day's event. He could not, for the life of him, figure out where his blunder started and ended.
Dunk was well-aware that he was rather slow, markedly around women— embarrassingly so around a princess... but even he could tell that it wasn't him that was the problem. This was something regarding you. Every jab, every venomous word, it felt personal.
He sighs for probably the hundredth time since he laid down.
At this rate, he'll never fall asleep.
He roughly wipes his calloused hands down his face and forces his eyes to stay closed.
The faintly door creaks open. It is so faint Dunk doesn't hear it.
Ironically, that is was the exact moment he should have kept his eyes open.
You are barefoot as you pad inside You're in your silken dress with your hair undone. You were cold and yet there was sweat killing onto your neck and back. Your breathing was heavy and your hands were trembling. A lone dagger, dangerously sharp and shiny, was sweaty in your right palm.
You swallow a lump in your throat as you close the door with a gentle click.
Dunk feels your approach, though he doesn't realize it is why he opened his eyes. When he sees your haunting figure, approaching him with eerie slowness, he gasps and sits up, screaming, "WHO GOES THERE?"
You shriek in response, raising your armed hand, suddenly charging at him.
He yelps and immediately rolls out of bed, falling on the floor with a nasty thump.
Just in time too, because you flung yourself on the bed and sequentially left a nasty gnash into the feather down, tearing through fabric without any struggle. You growl and look at him, screaming in a language he cannot understand.
You shriek again as you throw the dagger at him, missing him by a damned hair. It bounces from the stone wall and recoils onto his foot, making him yelp when it cuts him. He steps back just as you lunge, claws out and thirsty for blood.
"Princess!" he gasps when he sees your face under the moonlight beating through his window.
You come at his neck, trying to choke the breath out his lungs.
Dunk's eyes are wide and worried, less for himself and more for the rabid look of you. He chokes as he grips your wrists, slowly overpowering you. His voice is broken, "please."
"THIS IS THE ONLY WAY!" you say with far too much certainty. You shudder, incessantly trying to squeeze him, "one of us will live. One of us will die. Both will finally be at peace!"
His eyes water as he decides to finally push you off.
You are easily sent flying back to his bed, your head and body bouncing on the cushions. You wince at the impact, and Dunk feels immediately guilty. He raises a hand and calls out your name.
You huff and glare at him, screeching again as you attack him once more. This time, he does not give you an opportunity to approach; he bolts to the other side of the room and repeatedly begs you to stop.
His voice infuriates you.
"Please, princess. Stop this madness," the knight whines as you chase him.
You grab the first thing you find and chuck it at him.
Just as he's about to exit, he plays in his head what would happen if he runs to Maekar's chambers and reveal this madness you've struck upon him. Your words replay in his mind: this is the only way.
He whines when the corner of a book hits the center of his spine. He instinctively curls and clutches the area, finally making his way to the door.
Only way to what?
Dunk runs past the door and fatefully dodges a flower vase you chuck at him which shatters against a cabinet with a fearful noise.
You unintentionally send glass recoiling to your face. You look away and step back, flinching when your sole presses sharply into a shard.
It's all over for you then.
The floor is plagued with so much broken glass, everywhere you step is a hazard. When you decide to push through the pain, Dunk tackles you into his arms and you immediately begin to thrash.
"ENOUGH!" he snaps, throwing you onto bed.
You had never heard him raise his voice before, so hearing this brings you back into reality.
Dunk stands by the side of his bed, hulking, angry, exhausted. You realize now that it would be so easy for him to kill you... and that he's been holding himself back entirely.
You watch him pace around the room, realizing he had woolen socks on when he lit enough candles.
The glint of your silver dagger catches your eye. You quietly reach for it where it laid beside the foot of the bed just before Dunk warily approaches you. You slip the dagger beneath the sheets.
"I'd like to know my crimes against you which murdered me in my sleep."
"I did not murder you," you snap then grumble, "clearly."
"Because I was not asleep!" he waves his hands in defeat.
You examine him as he continues to come closer. He makes the mistake of sitting at the edge of the bed and giving you a kicked-pup look.
You are immediately upon him, as was your blade that eagerly drew crimson from in between his ribs. The streaming sight was enough to sate most of your blood lust. His blood smelled so strongly of iron that you could almost taste it in your mouth.
"Please, whatever it i—"
You look at him with your own teary eyes, and if one hadn't known any better, it was you who looked like you were being pierced with how distraught your expression was. You whisper, as if confessing your most damning secret— and you were, "if I kill you, my father will make a fuss of me, and if you kill me, he will make a greater fuss-" you laugh then quip harshly, "I win either way!"
Dunk grips your wrist tightly, his breath uneven and his cheeks now cold with tears. He is pushing you back enough that your blade does not puncture him any further but he doesn't entirely shove you away.
"W-Win?" he painfully mutters, grabbing your opposite shoulder with the other hand. He tries to push you back, "win what?"
"My father!" you hiss, shifting on your knees as you try to dig the blade a little deeper into his sternum, "why must a dog like you have him?"
"H-hav-" he winces, "stop!"
"Stop?" you laugh manically, "break my arm then!"
"I don't want to hurt you."
"Well, I'll only stop when your dead!"
Dunk squeezes your wrist a little harder.
"This ends tonight!" you grit your teeth.
Your words send a shiver through his spine.
He agrees.
It has to end tonight.
Dunk speaks your name.
When you do, you fall back on the bed and immediately sit up, thinking he was surely going to lunge at you.
It sounds so disturbing, if makes you recoil.
But he doesn't. He doesn't lunge. He doesn't move. But he does close his eyes.
A shiver runs up your spine and you press a dagger to his throat, "look at me!"
Dunk's blue eyes are reddish and his lips are wobbling.
"Why won't you fight back, yellow-belly?" you prop yourself on your knees, grabbing him by the hair, "my twin will be pleased if I hand him your head come morn."
"I-I-" his voice cracks, "I don't want to die-"
"THEN WHY WON'T YOU FIGHT?!"
"B-because-" his spittle gets into your face, "it is my fault!"
Your blade nicks the skin just by his jaw.
"I knew better than to come to Summerhall," his nostrils flair, "I thought me being here could somehow make up for Baelor's death— I thought Maekar-"
You pull the blade away only to point it to his face, "you're star-eyed cunt! If you think you could ever replac—"
"I know that now," he whimpers, lowering his head, "I wonder often why it had to be him and not me... and now I think the gods account me to my sins."
Your grip on his hair tightens and your blade feels suddenly so heavy.
"If it means anything," Dunk mumbles, "I am just a dog. Prince Maekar granted me a great honor in keeping your brother as a squire."
You release his hair and grab his jaw, forcing him to hold your gaze, "then why can't I find favor as easy as you?"
"I-I-" Dunk's hands shakily find your sides, "I don't think you have to find something you have naturally."
"Naturally?" you chuckle dryly, "you take lessons in things I mastered before I turned ten. Mine own twin failed exams I took in one try yet father was prouder of him when he managed it after the third attempt." You release his jaw, "tell me then where this natural favor lies?"
He watches you sit back and release the blade. He looks down at his shirt, darkened by his blood. His wound was not so bad, as you pricked him in a bony area, but he can feel his rib ache at the pressure you dealt.
"And when you popped my shoulder, ser," you lift your eyes at him. Your tears were freely falling, "I was going to explain how you did it, but he would not have it. He told me uncle Baelor said you were a good man and that I was becoming like my brother."
His face twitches, "Aerion is—"
"Daeron," you mutter, "a disappointment... haunted," you shake your head.
He watches as your shoulder shake from your sobs.
"You are why I am haunted."
You curl your legs into your chest and he watches you resist the urge to wail further. He sighs, "I do not mean to haunt you."
"Yet you do."
He looks down at his ruined clothes, "then I should leave."
You stare at him as he stands. You see the awful thing you did to his chest and feel your throat tighten.
"I care deeply for Egg," he shakes his head, unable to look at you, "he thinks highly of you. I have seen your light from afar, and if my presence dims it," he motions vaguely, "then it is only right that I begone."
You watch him walk off to a cabinet and begin to pack his things.
You should feel relieved, satisfied, but instead, you feel this burning dread ring around your neck. You think of your brother, "and Aegon?"
He huffs, "I'll leave a letter for him saying that—"
"No, you should take him with you!" you blurt.
Dunk looks over his shoulder.
"That was what you intended anyway, no?" you mumble, "to take him away from us and make a hedge knight out of him?"
He feels his chest ache, both from his wound and your words, "I don't mean to take him away from you."
You watch him turn back to you.
"I just..." he shakes his head, "I just want him to grow to be a good man."
"And he won't do that if he's around his family," you whisper.
But he hears you, "I don't think th—"
"We are a rotten bunch," you lean into your knees, "look at what I've done to you!" You cannot stop your wail this time, "and even now you mean to meet me with kindness."
He feels sick. He feels the cut on his chest burn.
As he cleans his wound, you decide to lift your head, gasping when you see him beside the bed again.
Dunk grabs a shirt, avoiding the broken glass on the floor. He finds the wash basin on the corner of the room and takes off his top.
A great shame comes upon you when you see the damage you've done. You feel sick. You turn to the window, "I should go."
He turns just as you stand from the bed. His brows tighten together when you head towards the moon light instead of the door. You brush your hands upon the curtains fully before opening the shutters. He gasps when you begin to climb the sill.
You feel your skin prickle when he calls your name and snatches you back. You have no idea how someone so large moved so quickly. You do not fight back when he reels you back to his bed.
Dunk is beyond distressed as he looks down at you, limply lying down with your silver hair scattered in a twisted halo. He wipes his face roughly, "no one is going to die tonight!"
Your lashes are laced in tears, "but I actually deserve i—"
"Quiet!"
You look at him as he goes back to dressing his wounds, only this time, he does it right beside you.
You stare at the great expanse of his back, finding grey scars and a great many freckles.
You slowly sit up.
He immediately turns to you, wary and on guard.
"Can..." you reach out shaky hands. They care covered in his dried blood, "can I help?"
Dunk does not move.
You begin to think yourself a hypocrite. You hide your bloody palms behind you.
A second after, he hands you the dressing, "do not hurt yourself because of me."
You look at his hands and hesitate take the object from him and frown, "wouldn't it be easier for someone like me to die?"
"For whom?" he mutters, voice low, "easier how?"
You tense and stammer, "no on-ne would t-torment you anymore."
"I would be eternally tormented if you died because you believed your father liked me better."
"He does."
"If he liked me more, why was he cross with me when he found out you left your fitting early?"
You scoff, "I left because I was jealous of the attention you got."
"Your father thinks you stormed off because I wore you down."
You pull your head back.
"That I was not patient enough with you."
"You?" you point, "not patient enough."
Dunk does not respond.
Your forehead curls, "he's a different breed of ridiculous."
He sighs defeatedly, "least you know where you get it from."
Your jaw drops.
He notices and his expression suddenly slips, "I me—"
"Is this why father likes you? You jest freely"
He tenses then shakes his head, "not at all."
"Why then?"
"Because I'm a dog."
"No-" you squeeze his bicep, "you're not a dog, you are-" you shake your head, "a good man."
Dunk clenches his jaw.
"Just as uncle said," you sniffle and shudder, "far too good to me, that is certain."
"Princess."
"Perhaps..." he takes your hands and guides it to his chest, urging you to tend to his injuries, "if you find yourself hurting... you might confide in me instead of hurting me the way you hurt."
You cannot bear to look at him.
You chuckle in disbelief, "confide in you?"
His nostrils flare, "I know what that I—"
"How could I deserve that after what I've done?"
He stares at you.
You sniffle as you wrap the dressings around his chest.
"Deserving it," he mutters, "is not up to you, but me."
You gulp.
"And I would vastly prefer it than another gash to the heart."
You sighs softly and nod, "I hope you can find it in you to forgive me someday."
"I do."
You dare to look at him.
"I forgive you."
The next morning, you find Aegon playing hide-and-seek with Daella and Rhae, and grow anxious at the thought that your brother had no training because of what you'd done to Dunk. The boy said the knight told him he didn't sleep well and nothing about your failed assassination attempt.
Your mind raced with worst case scenarios, one was that your father would send you off to Winterfell earlier, and the other was that Dunk would leave with no word.
You wound up playing catch with your younger siblings, mostly to distract from your searing guilt and worry. Aerion popped in halfway and spectated because he was too good to join in childish games. At some point, he tortured you all by taunt repeatedly that you'd miss. Your siblings took turns 'accidentally' hitting their older brother while you deliberately aimed for him enough times that he chased you around.
After the chase, it was clear to you all the game was over.
Pleased with himself, your twin takes your hand and brings it to his arm, "finally. Let's go riding, sister."
You glare at him, "I'm going to have some tea."
Aerion is undeterred as you pull away, "fine. Tea then riding."
Despite his antagonistic nature, your twin was not wholly wretched. Yes, you two fought hard and, just moments ago, he threatened to beat you during your chase, and yet here you were, conversing pleasantly about his new armor and your new dress.
It was then you found Dunk, passing by the hall.
"Ser!" you call out.
Dunk stop, takes a look at both of you and bows.
"Wait here," you tell Aerion.
Aerion snags your arm but you merely pull away and make him hiss. He grumbles and paces in the hall, deciding to lean out the window to scare some of the birds chirping in the trees.
You run up to Dunk, smoothing your skirt once you're in front of him. You sigh and curtsy at him, "good afternoon."
He shakes his hands, "you do not have to bow to me."
You rise and look up at him, "it has occurred to me that I never actually apologized to you last night," you shake your head, "I said I hoped you'd forgive me but-" your eyes fall to his chest. "Did you go to the maester?"
He nods, "aye."
You sigh in relief then shake your head, "I've committed grave transgressions against you. I have been horrid, furious, wrong, and simply irrational towards you. My own hurt made me believe that hurting you was justified, but it is not..." you swallow a lump in your throat, "I understand that you might not find it in you to-"
"I forgive you."
You suck in a sharp breath.
"I hope we can put this behind us."
"Put what behind you?"
You both turn to Aerion as he walks up beside you.
He raises his brows at Dunk and crosses his arms.
Dunk tries to think of something, "n- I- we—"
"I tried to kill him," you turn to your twin.
His expression falls, as does his arms, "and you didn't invite me?!"
You grit your teeth at him, "why would I invite you when you already failed the first time?"
Aerion points a finger at you and hisses back in High Valyrian.
Dunk slowly steps back, disturbed by your bickering.
You notice it and make a show of shooing him away, "what, do you want to die?"
His eyes widen and he immediately scurries off.
Aerion laughs and you fell terrible that you had to do that.
