Work Text:
It was a great honor to test oneself against a worth foe—Lyonel had said that to Dunk on their first meeting, grinning fiercely at him. A great honor, and great fun too, Lyonel had known and taught Dunk in their many meetings since that first time. They were not foes that first night. No question of it; Dunk too unsure and Lyonel still cautious of ensuring his hedge knight’s enjoyment. But Dunk had enjoyed himself heartily and they had grown more daring as they had grown more familiar with one another.
They played many games. Sometimes the game was for Dunk to stay on his knees, to say ‘Ser’ and ‘milord’ (he’d once tried to elevate Lyonel to an imaginary princehood. It was one of his few salvos that had not gone over well. Lyonel did not care to be called “Your Grace” by Dunk.) Sometimes it was one or the other of them as a ripe youth, surrendering their maidenhead to the other. A few times when Lyonel took him sailing he played at being a raider, a brigand who had carried Dunk off to sea and would do there what he liked with him, there on his ship, where there was no help to be had.
Today Dunk was Ser Lyonel’s sworn man—a game they both liked—and he was secretly plotting betrayal, to bring his liege lord low and make him crawl—a game they both really liked. The household at large was out, in town for the Maiden’s Day festivities. Only a token few remaining behind, and it had not been overly difficult to slip away and return, unseen, to the Keep. Dunk had given Egg a handful of coppers and told him not to start any fights and be back before the Hour of the Moth.
So they were alone, in the rooms Lyonel called Dunk’s freely between the two of them, and Dunk thought of as his only in the privacy of his own thoughts and never without blushing. And he had Lyonel pinned to the bed. The game began, as always, with Lyonel being very haughty and imperious, finding fault in everything Dunk did. Dunk would beg his pardon for the smallest, imagined infractions. But of course his pride could only take so much. When Lyonel finished his catalogue Dunk’s shortcomings and made to sweep out of the room, Dunk slammed the door in front of his lord, held it shut with one thick arm.
“Out of my way, cur!”
“I don’t think so,” Dunk growled. He had Lyonel round the waist, hauling the man back towards the bed—smaller than the grand monster of a bed in the lord’s chamber, but still more than large enough for the two of them—shoved him down on his back against the coverlet. Lyonel’s eyes flashed at him and he grinned before slipping back into character. It was on.
They tussled for a bout or two, Lyonel cursing him, putting up a token struggle before Dunk flipped him onto his belly. He pinned the smaller man’s thighs down beneath his own meatier ones, his cock plumping as Lyonel squirmed below him, the shallow rhythm of his hips against the bed betraying how much he was enjoying this. Dunk had Lyonel’s hands bound fast behind him, one hand in those silver-streaked curls.
He leaned over Lyonel and rasped, “Not so high and mighty now, your lordship, hmm? Think you can order me about any way you like. You’re not master in here though, are you? And there’s little you can do about it.” Dunk released his grip on Lyonel’s hair to start working at his breeches.
And then the door flew open.
“Stop! Stop, Ser Duncan! You can’t!” came a high, child’s voice reedy with burgeoning hysteria. Dunk sprang back, and both men whipped round to face the intruder. Egg stood in the doorway, his face dead white, eyes huge and gleaming.
He was outside himself, very far away and high above, like one of the birds that sometime flew into the great hall and was chased around with brooms by the serving-women. Dunk could see himself from this distance, huge and hulking and mean, a brute and bully who ought never be trusted with anything precious or soft. It stung.
“You—how dare you spy on me?” Dunk spluttered, “Get out!” Behind him, Lyonel shuffled to a seated position and tried to smooth his wild hair.
“You—you’re as bad as Aerion! I hate you!” The boy’s voice broke as he made this declaration, then he turned and fled.
“Egg, wait!” Dunk cried but the boy had gone. He rushed into the passage, glanced left then right, but there was no sign of a little bald head. Dunk rushed back into the room, cursing, reaching for his boots.
“Well that could have gone better,” said Lyonel.
“Seven hells, I have to catch him!”
“Give the lad a moment, he’ll come back.”
“I need to find him now!”
“You’re putting that boot on the wrong foot.”
“Can you be serious for once! He said I’m like—, he thinks I’m—” Dunk cut himself off. “You don’t understand!”
Gently but firmly, Lyonel took the boot from Duncan and nudged him back to sit on the bed. He knelt and slid the offending article onto Dunk’s foot. “I do understand. I’d not have guessed it, suppose I gave Maekar too much credit for protecting all his brood equally,” he sighed, “The Hatchling found you playing the ravisher and instantly declared you no better than his brother? Of course I understand, and I hope that the water in Lys disagrees with Prince Aerion badly enough that the vicious little cunt shits himself to death wailing for his useless father.”
Dunk hung his head, massaging his temples. “’Weren’t my secret to tell. He’ll never forgive me.”
Lyonel patted his shoulder. “He knows you, he’s just had a shock. Once he’s had a moment to calm himself he’ll come back and you can set things right.”
“This isn’t some simple lesson from a septon about how babies get here, Lyonel! I scared him” he rose, shaking off the restraining hand Ser Lyonel laid on his arm, “Let me go, I need to find him.”
“I really think it’s better to let the lad alone, not go haring after him.”
“This whole wretched business is your doing! It was your idea—”
“My doing?”
“Should’ve never been in here, should’ve kept to your chambers—”
“If you taught your squire manners, like oh, for instance knocking—”
“I don’t have time for this,” Dunk threw up his hands, “If you aren’t going to help me than at least have the courtesy not to get in the way.”
Hours later….
Dunk had run himself ragged searching. He’d been all over the festival grounds, asked every one he passed if they’d seen his little bald-headed squire. Not a sign of him. Now dark was beginning to fall. If he had to he’d go back to the Keep and force Lyonel to summon the dogs, it might be time to start searching the woods. The thought of Egg alone, out in the dark, angry and afraid—afraid of Dunk, made him want to weep.
When he returned to Storm’s End supper was being served to the few who had not glutted themselves in town. Egg was not among them. The boy never missed supper. Dunk was near despair. And Lyonel was no help. He’d gone on about his afternoon, insistent that the boy would turn up again when he was good and ready.
As the few who’d needed supper at the keep cleared out, Dunk sat alone and tried to think what to do next. Cleverness didn’t come natural to him, and now, as he tried to list out things he could try, places he could look for Egg on his fingers, all his thoughts seemed to fly at him at once, spinning together with his fear and misery into a great, overwhelming wall. He shut his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands deep into them. Golden swirls danced behind his eyelids. When he opened them again, golden swirls still swept before him: Lyonel’s retreating back, disappearing up a back stairway. Irritated, Dunk rose to follow. Here was one thing he could do. At least he could go and bawl Lyonel out.
For a man his size, Dunk was remarkable light-footed. He was able to dog Lyonel all the way to a maester’s study; one of Dunk’s least favorite rooms. Lyonel had brought a plate of food with him. He entered and set the tray on a grand carved table, heedless of the stacks of books.
“Hatchling?” called Lyonel, “I know you’re in here. You missed supper and your ser’s about worn holes in his boots running around looking for you.”
Silence. The lord went on, “You don’t have to come out if you don’t want to but can we talk, man to man? What do you say?”
More silence. “Well if you needn’t answer if you don’t want to, but will you listen? Please. And when I’ve said my piece I’ll go and leave you this nice pie I’ve brought.”
There was rustling but Egg still said nothing. Dunk half thought that it was only mice in the walls and Lyonel must be imagining the boy’s presence, talking to the air.
“I’m sorry we frightened you. Ser Duncan never meant to speak harshly to you, he was only surprised.” Lyonel settled himself and moved his offering to the floor beside the bookshelf. “Duncan is a good man, decent and honorable, you know that better than anyone. He’d never harm anyone.”
“How did you know I was here?” came a small, angry, blessedly familar voice. On the floor, from the shadows behind a shelf, there came two small, white hands, grasping the edge of the shelf the hands strained and a round, hairless head came into view. Slowly, the top half of Aegon V Targaryen emerged from a nook behind the bookshelf. He propped his chin on his hands and scowled at Lyonel.
“You leave crumbs,” Lyonel said indicating the opening, “Same place I used to leave them when I hid there, only my maesters had better eyesight and actually noticed.”
“You mean you actually fit in here?” demanded Egg.
“When I was a boy, certainly I fit. Best hiding place in the whole damn, drafty castle.”
“Did you bring books back here too?”
“Fuck no, wasn’t much for reading as a boy. I preferred dogs and ships. But I used to practice tying knots, made shadow animals with the lantern. Told myself my own stories.”
“Do you think I’ll be as big as you, if you used to fit back here when you were my age?”
“Mmm, not likely. You’re what? Twelve?”
“Eleven,” replied Egg.
“I stopped being able to squeeze back there before my tenth nameday,” Lyonel said as though it were some manner of accomplishment.
The boy looked unimpressed at this. “You could have said yes.”
Lyonel picked himself a grape from the plate he’d brought and tossed one into his mouth, he held the remaining cluster out to Egg. “Why would I do that?”
“Reassurance?”
“But it would be a lie, and that wouldn’t be very reassuring now would it.”
Egg hmphed.
“And since you know I won’t lie to you, you’ll know you can believe me when I say that Ser Duncan is a good, gentle, honorable man who wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”
“What about you?” the boy asked.
“What about me?”
“He was hurting you, I know what I saw! I’m not stupid! I know what grown people get up to,” the thin, young voice grew high and quavering.
“I know, I know, but there’s more to- er, grown up things than just. Well, you’ve been to a wedding, yes? Seen the bride and groom carried off to the bedding? It’s not just- ”
Egg cut in, “I’m not a baby. I know things! I know you do it with ladies lying down because they don’t like it, so they need to be more comfortable. And whores do it standing up. You’re supposed to be kind to your lady wife. Daeron’s kind, even to whores. I think it’s important to be kind, especially if you’re a knight. A knight’s supposed to be good to people.”
“Stranger fucking spare me,” Lyonel rubbed his temples, “Alright, well, that’s…. not completely wrong. That is a conversation for another day, and, may it please all the gods, with someone other than me.” He sighed deeply. “You’re right that one should always be good, especially to your bedmate. Duncan and I- we were- it’s a kind of game, like training at arms, sparring against your fellows. No real hurt threatened, only in fun.”
Egg pulled a face. His voice dripped with disgust, “How can playing at that be fun? You know things like that really happen?”
“Yes, hatchling. I am well fucking aware. And if people stopped telling stories and playing games that relived every Seven’s cursed atrocity that happened in Westeros the realm would fall silent and all the mummers would starve!”
The boy had retreated into his hiding place so that only his head remained, like a white moon staring out, big eyes gleaming. Lyonel sighed again. “Did your nurse never tell you ghost stories when you were small?” Egg nodded.
“And did they frighten you?”
“Sometimes.”
“But you went back for more, hmm?” Lyonel asked, “Because it was a strange kind of nice, being scared when you knew that really there was nothing to fear. That if you wanted to at any time you could cry ‘stop, no more of this’ and everything would be fine.”
Egg considered this. He wriggled all the way out of hiding at last and approached where Lyonel sat beside the pilfered tray of food. “Not to argue, but it doesn’t seem quite the same, my lord.”
“Far be it from you to argue,” Lyonel rolled his eyes, “You’re not wrong. And it’s something that shouldn’t be done with just anyone. But do you believe me when I tell you that nothing that passed between Ser Dunk and I was done in cruelty or harm?”
The lad nodded. “What do I tell him now? I said awful things.”
“He knows you don’t hate him,” Lyonel spoke gently, “I doubt there’s a boy alive hasn’t said that in anger to his—friend.”
Egg kept his eyes on the floor. The rate of his breathing was coming faster and shallower again. “I said he was like him, like Aerion.”
Lyonel swayed slightly towards the boy, a hand twitched as though to reach for him but finally found its resting place on the lord’s knee. “Yes. I heard.” He allowed the boy his thoughts for a moment. “Would it help to speak of it?”
“Ugh, not to you,” Egg’s tone was the kind Dunk had heard directed at himself from the handmaids at the revels given by lesser lords back in his squiring days. It was a tone that would have rightly earned a clout in the ear. Lyonel did throw his hands up but only to beseech the Mother for patience.
“As you please then,” he said, rising and dusting himself off, “The offer was sincerely made and it stands, as long as we understand each other and you will set your ser’s mind at ease before he makes me rouse the whole Keep to hunt for you.”
Here, Dunk crept from the door as quietly as he was able. It might be a quarter of an hour before Egg showed himself, lest it give the appearance he was obeying Ser Lyonel’s orders, but Dunk could wait, would wait. And things would be alright between them.
It was some days later, particularly warm for the time of year in the Stormlands yet Lyonel had chosen that day to join the men-at-arms to practice in the yard. They were taking a break, refreshing themselves while the others continued swinging, the courtyard ringing with noise.
“You really must speak to him some time,” Lyonel began, he was close enough to Dunk that they could speak without being overheard.
“Speak to him?”
“Educate him, inform him. You know, give him the facts. Truly, the boy has some of the most arse-backwards notions I’ve heard in my life, and I’ve been to the Vale.”
Dunk squawked, “Why me? Surely it should be his father or- some kinsmen…”
“The kinsmen that have been wedding brother to sister until five minutes ago? Those kinsmen?” Lyonel scoffed.
Thank the gods the day and the exercise were as hot as they were so that he had an excuse for his red face!
“I wouldn’t know where to begin!” Dunk protested.
“Tell him whatever you think is important.”
“What?” This conversation was turning into a nightmare. “I’m telling you, Lyonel, how could I know what advice to give a young prince? No one told me anything, did they tell you?”
“Well,” Lyonel considered this, “My father told me that bastards are very costly, but one or two likely ones can be useful, especially for keeping true born sons in line.”
Such advice was not helpful to Dunk, nor was he inclined to pass it on to Egg. Frankly, he didn’t think much of old Ser Symeon for imparting his heir with such a poorly veiled warning, but he avoided open criticism of Lyonel’s father so contented himself with an eyeroll.
“I wanted to thank you, by the way,” said Duncan, “For speaking to Egg that night. You were right.”
Lyonel Baratheon adored being told he was right, and his face fairly bloomed with pleasure. “You know I live to serve you, sweet knight.”
Now it was Dunk’s turn to blush.
“I take it all is well with you and the hatchling?” Lyonel asked.
Dunk nodded.
“No nightmares?”
Dunk shook his head.
“Excellent!” exclaimed Lyonel, “In that case, I was rather hoping you might chase me through the woods later tonight.” He grinned at Dunk with his white teeth.