𝐋𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐘 | ser duncan ― aerion targaryen (one)
( gif credits: @seaside-storm― @somerhall)
—summary: you are the people’s princess, adored by many, owned by duty; as a targaryen, your hand is a prize, your heart a war. two men are willing to fight the world for it, two opposites, two sides of the moon. but it is your loyalty that will decide which man you stand beside… and which one you stand against. —pairing: ser duncan the tall x female!targaryen!reader ─ aerion targaryen x female!cousin!reader —word count: 3k —content: targcest, love triangle!!! jealous and manipulative!!aerion, aerion has been in love with the reader since forever but he is very mean as you know, kind of dreamer!reader, complicated family dynamics (💀), power imbalance, dunk and reader want each other sooo bad, past life lovers trope!! aerion being his usual self, a little mention of reader's hair length.
⋆ . ۰˚ ☽ ˚ ｡ 1 / 7 ── series masterlist here!
writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. this will definitely be a series! 🤭 hope you like it!
You, as was well known, did not fit the mold of the typical Targaryen. You didn't have an evil character, nor were you possessed by the fervent rage of the dragon fire running through your veins. And you weren't detached from the ground like most members of your family, who elevated themselves to the skies, rising up like gods.
For that, the Gentle Dragon, the people would call you. But you were nowhere near being gentle as your father, you believed.
You sure were charming, a seductive force of nature, who had men falling under your spell wherever you went. And you would pretend to be oblivious, brushing off their awful attempts to conquer you as if they meant nothing beyond a bit of fun.
Long before you were old enough to consider wedlock, noblemen and knights had been swarming around you with marriage proposals and negotiations with Prince Baelor for your hand. A castle, they would offer, an ancient treasure, an entire army. But never true and loyal love.
That was, until you met Ser Duncan the Tall.
The first time you saw each other; the afternoon sun was falling heavily on Ashford Meadow. Unlike your cousin and brother, you found no enjoyment in cruelty or status games, but since you were now of age to seek a husband, you had to attend such events, only after much persuasion had your father allowed you to attend with them.
A tournament was no place for a princess; there was blood and carnage everywhere, but blood and carnage coursed through your veins, after all. Your House had been built on that. And your womanhood came with it as well.
You had finally arrived at the place with your family, and your cousin Aerion, impatient and angry as ever, was pulling on his mare's reins with unnecessary force. The animal, a beautiful specimen but exhausted from the journey, whinnied with wide eyes.
You were already on the ground, gratefully petting the horses that had dragged your carriage all the way from King's Landing. Your handmaidens were carefully adjusting your dress and hair, standing all around you in the mud.
“Boy, stop gaping. See to my horse.” Aerion sneered contemptuously at the towering man standing by the entrance to the keep at Ashford Meadow, who was watching the scene with wide, amazed eyes, his lips parted as he kept admiring your dress and your silver hair, long and radiant under the cloudy and somber atmosphere of the place.
And at the sight of the prince addressing him, the tall blond man cleared his throat in discomfort. “I'm— I'm not a stable boy, m'lord.”
Aerion clicked his tongue, unimpressed, “not clever enough?”
Before the hedge knight could give him a proper answer, the Targaryen boy cut him off, waving his hand dismissively. “Well, if you can't manage horses, then fetch me some wine and a pretty wench.”
“Oh, m'lord, pardons,” from your distance, you could hear how the man sounded so small in front of Aerion, in spite of his impressive height. Somehow, that made you feel a sense of sympathy. “I'm n–no serving man, either. I–I have the honor to be a knight.”
His voice was so respectful and patient, and incredibly deep. A tingling sensation coursed through your belly as you somehow recognized it, like a faint and remote reminiscence, yet vividly present.
“My lady, your quarters are all set for you,” a maid approached to inform you, interrupting your little gossip session.
You turned to look at her, bowing your head elegantly in gratitude, “thank you, I will be there shortly.”
Your maids bowed to you and rushed to assist the other girl.
Your expression shifted completely the moment you noticed Aerion walking by your side, his face stone-cold and arrogant.
“Behave yourself, Aerion,” you scolded your cousin as he stormed past you, as angry as a caged lion. “We're not at home.”
He simply shot you a dark look, signaling you to be quiet and to walk with him, but you just rolled your eyes, ignoring him and making your way toward his agitated mare, which had been led away by the kind man from before towards the stables.
“There you are, girl. Far too many people around,” he was speaking gently to the mare, seeking to calm her. “Yeah, I don't like it either”
“Thank you,” you expressed your gratitude to the stranger, approaching him from behind and walking towards the mare, which was visually much calmer now. “She's very skittish.”
The man, taller than the animal by his side, turned toward you and, as he recognized you, his face broke into a look of shock. He let go of the mare's reins so he could face you and offer a clumsy bow.
“Your highness,” his blue eyes were sparkling nervously as they looked at you from his height. “I didn't mean to intrude. I beg your pardon.”
He was used to stables jus like that one, mud-covered roads, and the roughness of hedge knights, but he had never been so close to a member of the royal family. Much less one who looked at him with such kindness instead of disdain.
“It's just me, please,” you rushed to clarify with an embarrassed smile, as you reached out to caress the mare's muzzle and she gave in to your gentle caress. “'Your highness' is for my grandsire or my father or uncle. And you don't have to apologize for having a kinder heart than my cousin.”
He slowly straightened up under your attentive gaze, although he still hunched his shoulders slightly, as if trying to take up less space in order not to intimidate you.
He was absurdly tall, and his hands were so big that you wondered briefly if they would be able to wrap around your entire waist if he clasped them together around you.
And he wasn't ugly at all; in fact, you reckoned that with a good wash and some fresh, decent clothes, he'd be more handsome than any other man you'd likely ever see there.
“I'm— I'm Ser Duncan the Tall.” He stammered his own name as he introduced himself, offering you a weak smile that looked more like an involuntary nervous grimace on his lips. “It is an great honor to meet you, my princess. You are as beautiful as the stories tell.”
You could feel the heat rising up your neck at his sudden flattery.
A second after the words rolled off his tongue, Duncan seemed to realize what he had just said, for his big ears turned scarlet red with embarrassment.
“Why thank you, Ser Duncan,” you smiled, savoring the name on your tongue as if it were sweet honey. You knew you had heard it before, read it somewhere, or perhaps in a dream, but it didn't feel like the first time your lips had shaped the words. “You're very... tall”
As you glanced over him from head to toe, you noticed that he wore no badge on his old tunic, nor jewels on the pommel of his sword. On the contrary, you smiled sweetly when you realized that his sword belt was a mere piece of rope.
He smiled back at you, blushing. “Heh— I've been told that.”
“Ser Duncan the Tall...” you repeated his name slowly, lost in thought now, and he held his breath when you called out to him, watching you from above with curious eyes. “I believe I’ve heard that before, now that I think about it.”
His auburn eyebrows arched up on his forehead, looking incredulous, “Really?”
“Does that surprise you, Ser?” you asked back, holding back a giggle as you considered his expression.
That made Duncan blush even more. “No! I mean, aye—I have yet to begin my journey as a real knight. I will begin at the tournament here.”
Your head cocked in earnest interest, “Is this your first tournament, then?”
“It is, my princess,” Duncan confirmed, rubbing the back of his neck with embarrassment. “I was knighted not long ago. By Ser Arlan of Pennytree. He passed on the road, and before he died… he made me a knight.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” you said softly, meaning it. “He must have been a good man, if he raised you.”
Duncan swallowed, visibly moved by your words. “Aye. He was good”
“You don’t look like the other knights here,” you observed quietly just after that.
Duncan frowned slightly. “Is that a bad thing, my princess?”
“No. It’s a good thing.”
You took another step closer, ignoring the protocol that dictated that a girl of royalty like you should not be in a dusty stable talking to a commoner like him.
But there was something about him, though, a purity that contrasted with the cruelty you usually saw in the men of your family.
“I know many knights. My cousin, for example, has the temperament of a wounded dragon, but none of its wisdom,” you admitted in a quiet tone, looking toward where Aerion had gone. “Don't take his insults personally. He despises everything he cannot dominate.”
“You don't have to apologize for him, princess. I'm used to that sort of treatment, unfortunately,” Dunk replied, looking down at you.
His blue eyes were clear, deep, and oddly sweet.
As a born empath, his words struck you with a pang of sadness. The idea that someone so noble of spirit and gentle was used to being treated as less than nothing by men who were not even worthy of being considered his equals was beyond your comprehension.
“Well, you shouldn't be,” you declared firmly. “Steel can make a knight, but it is the heart that keeps him standing. And from what I can see, Ser Duncan, you have more heart than half the lords at Ashford today.”
Dunk blinked, overwhelmed by your candor.
“You are... you are very kind, your Highness,” he was able to say, and this time his voice did not falter as much, although the blush remained bright on his cheeks.
From across the yard, you could hear Aerion’s sharp, impatient voice barking orders at some poor squire. The sound made you wince.
“I fear my cousin will make enemies wherever he goes,” you clicked your tongue in disapproval. “He always does.”
Duncan hesitated, then said carefully, bending down just a bit closer to you so he could confide an important truth, “Begging your pardon, but… he doesn’t seem the sort to win many friends.”
You laughed softly, covering your mouth with your hand. “That may be the politest insult I’ve ever heard, ser.”
That earned you a shy grin from him, crooked and boyish.
Gods, he really was handsome now that you were seeing him up close like that, with that little smile on his lips.
His back was broad, and his immense figure blocked your view like an imposing and majestic tower. You could climb him up like a mountain if you could...
The sudden, inappropriate flash of thought made you blush deeply and you lowered your gaze in shame, feeling hot all of a sudden.
Ser Duncan noticed it, of course, as he couldn't stop ogling at your face in such close proximity, and he caught sight of the dilation of your pupils as you looked up at him, and that also made him flustered, forcing himself to take a step back and regain his composure.
He cleared his throat, his face flushed with worry, “Are you alright, my princess?”
That emerging connection, so unusual between a princess and a knight, was interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps on the gravel. A maid, breathless and pale with worry, appeared at the entrance to the stables.
“Princess!” gasped the girl, curtsying quickly but with some trepidation. “I've finally found you. Prince Maekar has been asking for you. He says it's time to go inside the fortress and that it's not fitting for someone of your rank to be out here alone.”
Dunk, on hearing your uncle's name, seemed to shrink a couple of inches in utter fear at your side. The mention of Maekar Targaryen, a man known for his severity and strong hand, was enough to intimidate anyone, especially a knight who barely owned the clothing he wore.
“I must go,” you said with a sigh of resignation, though your eyes remained fixed on the man in front of you. “My uncle is not a man who cares for waiting, much less when it comes to formalities.”
You turned to the maid to indicate that she should follow you, but before leaving, you gave Dunk one last look filled with a warmth he clearly did not expect.
“Ser Duncan,” you bowed gracefully. “I hope to see you again soon.”
“I... I hope so too, Your Grace,” he blurted out, bowing his head as he watched you walk away from him.
“I've told you countless times that you can't just wander off and strike up conversations with the first person you come across, cousin.” Aerion was giving you one of his usual scoldings as he walked alongside you through the main hall of the keep. “It's dangerous for a woman like you to wander around alone. Do you realize what you're exposing yourself to out there? All those men...”
You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest, “I was just comforting your mare, Aerion. She was terrified, and that tall kind knight was— he was just there too.”
The blond furrowed his brow, making a big effort to remember that he too had seen the same man before. “The dirty-clothed beast that was in the stables?” Realization washed over his face as he considered that your silence affirmed his judgment, “don't tell me—”
“He's good, Aerion. And his name is Ser Duncan the Tall,” you rolled your eyes, trying to pacify him. “It's one of the first times in a long time that I've been able to hold a good conversation with a man that isn't about titles or reprimands or power or marriage.”
Aerion let out a dry, humorless laugh, stopping abruptly under one of the stone arches of the fortress. He looked at you with that mixture of possessiveness and jealousy that always made your skin crawl, and not in a good way this time.
“A good man? That clumsy giant?” he mocked, drawing another step closer to you like a predator to its prey. “He's just cannon fodder, a nameless man who will die in the mud before the sun sets tomorrow. Men of his kind don't have conversations, my sweet cousin; they only have needs. Be careful, lest your ‘kindness’ be mistaken for something more vulgar.”
You felt a spark of indignation ignite in your chest at the offensive remarks aimed at your newest friend. “None of the men I speak to are to your liking, Aerion.”
“You have terrible taste, that's why. All I do is to protect you, my sweet dragon. None of those men are good enough for you, least of all that lout who reeks of horses and despair,” Aerion spat, narrowing his violet eyes. His voice dropped to a hissing whisper. “You must know your position. You are supposed to stand by your family, by me.”
You were about to respond with the sharp tongue you had been given by your lineage, but your uncle's deep, resonant voice cut through the air like an axe.
“Aerion. Stop tormenting your poor cousin.”
Maekar Targaryen strode toward you, dressed in dark clothes and bearing that look of perpetual disappointment that seemed to be carved permanently into his face.
His mere presence made Aerion straighten up, though it did not entirely wipe the smug smile from his face.
“Father,” Aerion greeted him with a lazy bow. “I was just reminding my dear cousin that stables are no place for a Targaryen. Apparently, she has a new friend... a certain Ser Duncan the Tall. A commoner knight with more dirt than honor.”
Maekar stared at you, his dark eyes scrutinizing you with an intensity that made you want to shrink back, though you forced yourself to hold your chin high.
“Is this true, niece?” Maekar demanded, dismissing his own son. “Have you been associating with the commoners?”
“I was tending to the mare that Aerion nearly mistreated to death, uncle,” you came in your own defense in a firm voice, though your heart was pounding. “Ser Duncan was the only one who had the decency to help, unlike the servants who fled in terror from my cousin's temper.”
Your uncle was silent for a moment, looking past you toward the courtyard where the tournament activity continued unabated.
“Ashford Meadow is full of desperate men seeking glory at the cost of our blood,“ Maekar finally concluded. “I don't care if he's a giant or a dwarf; keep your distance, girl. The tournament begins tomorrow, and I don't want any distractions from the fact that you're supposed to be here to seek a husband.”
He noticed the way you exchanged a complicit glance with Aerion, and that made him squint his hawk-like eyes.
“You behave like little children. Go to your chambers now,” Maekar ordered you both, though his tone was a little less stern and more tired. Upon seeing both of you resume your walk side by side, he sighed, utterly exhausted, “separated.”
Aerion’s lips twitched in irritation, but he obeyed. “As you wish, Father.”
Once in your chambers, as your handmaidens helped you out of your gown, chattering nervously about the morrow’s festivities, your mind was elsewhere.
With Ser Duncan.
Your maids spoke of silks and suitors, of alliances and advantageous matches, of which lord had looked at you for too long and which knight had nearly been unhorsed in practice that afternoon.
But you heard none of it.
Ser Duncan the Tall.
You were sure you had heard that name before. And that you had seen that face somewhere. But where?
In dreams, perhaps.
In another life.
Your hands trembled slightly as a maid loosened the last ties of your gown.
“Are you nervous for tomorrow, princess?” one of them asked, curious and enthusiastic. “So many fine knights will ride for your favor.”
You swallowed.
“I am never nervous for the knights,” you replied truthfully. “But for the horses”
They laughed softly, taking it for girlish shyness.
“Tell me something,” you called very softly, as casually as you could manage. “Have any of you heard of a knight named Ser Duncan the Tall?”
The room stilled for just a fraction of a second.
You had never asked for a man's name before. He must've been significant.
One maid frowned slightly, tilting her head. “Ser Duncan… the Tall?”
Another shook her head. “I don’t believe so, my princess.”
Another maid, older than the rest, pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I know most of the notable knights here,” she said. “At least the ones with banners or lands. I have not heard that name.”
“No sigil, then,” a third concluded. “He must be a hedge knight, Your Grace. One of no great standing.”
A hush fell over the chamber as you let yourself drift away into your deep thoughts.
One of the younger maids shifted uncomfortably before speaking. “Prince Aerion will be riding tomorrow as well, Your Highness.”
You did not look at her, but you felt the weight of the words.
“He always does,” another maid added, huffing lightly. “He has entered nearly every tourney since you came of age, princess.”
“For your favor,” a third said, lowering her voice as if the walls themselves might listen. “It is well known at court.”
The oldest maid sighed quietly. “The prince has never hidden it. He rides harder, fights fiercer when you are watching.”
“Prince Aerion will expect your favor,” the youngest maid whispered. “He always does. He will be furious if you deny him.”
“No,” you denied.
The room seemed to draw in a collective breath.
“No?” one maid echoed. “You have never denied him before, Your Grace. Prince Maekar will be displeased as well.”
“I will give my favor to Ser Duncan the Tall.”
The words settled into the chamber like some declaration of war.
A hedge knight.
Against a prince.
“My princess…” the oldest maid said carefully. “Do you understand what this will mean?”
“Yes,” you answered, certain.
Your voice did not tremble.
It surprised even you.
The feeling wrapped around your heart like a promise.
You would simply do what you had already done once in a dream.
── next chapter
