Chapter Text
Death felt remarkably like drowning.
But drowning was a welcome relief to Dunk, after the flames. So hot that his white plate armour had begun to melt, that whatever moisture remained in his breath was gone before it passed his lips. His skin bronzed and scarred from years of hard work and combat in the sun now puckered and burnt as easily as candle wax.
To say the least, it fucking hurt.
It had occurred to Dunk in those final moments that they would probably not recover his body, that he would be nought but ash by the time the fires were brought under control.
But that thought had oddly comforted him in a way, that there would be no grand funeral for the Lord Commander who had failed. Failed to save more from the fire, failed to stop Aegon in the first place. Who knows, maybe his failure had even begun back in the hedges, maybe something he had done or not done had made Aegon the man who had done..this.
He would do anything to go back and fix it, had been his last thought before the sensations shifted from heat to cold, from fire to waves, from pain to panic.
Dunk breached the water's surface and tried to get his breathing under control, looking about him as he gasped in salty air. He was in a grey, rocky expanse of water which tossed him about like a child with a rag-doll. As he blinked salt water from his eyes, he could see an island, brutal and somewhat familiar, looming in the distance.
He had little time to contemplate the absurdity of the situation. The fact that he had somehow found himself in the middle of a bay in broad daylight seemed to matter little compared to the need to be out of said bay. Dunk took in a deep breath and began to front crawl in the direction of the land mass, paying no mind to how his muscles felt stronger than they had in years, more responsive.
He got no more than three strokes towards his goal before he heard the scream.
Dunk stopped dead in the water and whipped his head around in the direction of the sound, just in time to see a brown head of hair and a small hand reaching towards the sky amongst the waves.
"Help!" came a small, frightened voice.
Dunk had turned before the thought consciously entered his mind to do so, speeding towards the child.
Within a minute, he had reached them and wrapped a hand around the smaller figure's upper arm to drag him up over the surface. The boy gasped for air, waving his arms frantically in an attempt to tread water.
"I got ya, lad." Dunk shouted over the roiling of the water.
"The current is t-too strong…I c-cannot get to l-land!" The boy blubbed, brown hair sticking to his face like a wet dog.
Overhead, a shadow crossed the sky and there was a shout that sounded remarkably human. A seabird and it's song no doubt, Dunk dismissed as he gripped the boy tighter to keep him over the waves.
"Try and be still, you will exhaust yourself else wise." Dunk tried his best to be reassuring as he pushed his own hair from his face. He did not notice how it was so much shorter, focused as he was on the boy. "Here, wrap your arms around my neck." He decided, encouraging the boy to do so.
With the boy's death grip on his neck, Dunk began the swim back to shore, easily beating the current that had vexed his passenger. Even with the boy's additional weight, it was only a handful of minutes before they reached the island.
Once they were firmly in the shallows, Dunk stood and carried the boy to the sands still on his back, depositing him in the surf and collapsing besides him. The ache in his muscles and lungs burned but it was at least not the worst type of burn Dunk had suffered today.
"Fuck me." Dunk murmured to himself, which prompted a nervous giggle in the boy. This brought his attention back to the lad, who had sat up besides him to choke up the last of the sea water in his lungs. "What in gods' name were you doing out there on a day like this, boy? The sea is not to be fucked with." He reprimanded.
Despite how pale he was from the cold water, Dunk could see the boy blush in embarrassment. He cleared his throat and pushed his wet hair from his face once more. "I was trying to-to learn to sail but I f-fell and the current carried me out and became too strong for me to s-swim against." He explained.
Dunk sighed and pushed himself to sitting, having finally gathered his breath back. He looked down his arms, noticing that they were unburnt and …younger than they had been. Indeed, they were the arms of a man in his youth, not his old age. Gone was his King's Guard garb, now a simple tunic and trousers, good condition albeit soaking.
Dunk shook these problems from his head and looked over at the boy. "What do I call you, lad?" He asked.
"Lucerys." The boy replied sheepishly. "What d-do I call you, s-ser?"
"Ser Duncan." Dunk replied.
"Are you a k-knight in my m-mother's retinue? I have n-never seen you about before." Lucerys asked curiously, already shivering in the cold.
Dunk knew that they should seek warmth sooner rather than later, and dry clothes if possible. "Who is your mother?" He asked conversationally as he began to look about the beach for firewood.
Before Lucerys could respond however, the shadow crossed the sky once more and drew both their eyes above them. Lucerys' face filled with relief. Dunk's, however, filled with shock when he realised it had been no seabird calling to them.
It had been a fucking dragon.
Lucerys showed no fear or confusion or even wonder, jumping to his feet and waving his arms to signal the olive-green dragon. As if it was the most normal thing in the world. Dunk, by contrast, was rooted to the spot as the creature banked around the small beach and made to land furher up the sands. It was small, hardly big enough for a single rider, but it was a dragon no doubt.
That can't be, he thought, the dragons are all dead. Everyone knew that. It was the fact that he had just died for. But yet, there was one landing not one hundred feet away from him, scratching its claws in the sand and calling out in something that resembled excitement.
Dunk turned his head to the island, and finally saw the castle that rose up from its cliff. He knew where he had seen it before, he had been here many times.
Dragonstone.
Lucerys ran to greet the rider as he disembarked, Dunk pushing shakily himself to his feet to follow. The boy who came with the dragon was no more than three-and-ten and obviously some sort kin of Lucerys. Dunk bargained that they were brothers, by not only their matching looks, but the way the elder ran to sweep the boy up in his arms.
"Luke, are you alright?" The newcomer demanded, pulling away from the embrace after a second to look his little brother over.
"I am f-fine, Jace." Lucerys stammered. "Ser Duncan p-pulled me from the water." He turned and pointed at the man as if he were not the only other being on the beach. As if his brother might not guess who Ser Duncan was.
Jace frowned in confusion, taking in the equally wet man as he stopped some distance away, still towering over them both.
"Jace! Luke!" A woman's voice came from above, from the rocky trails leading to the beach, interrupting whatever opening question Jace had had for him.
Dunk looked up to see a collection of adults rushing down to the sands, led by a finely dressed white-haired woman who Dunk reckoned was the boys' mother, given her urgency.
"Thanks the gods, you found him!" She exclaimed as she reached them across the sands, taking Lucerys from his brother and into her arms.
It was years of habit that made Dunk assess all the men who followed the mother. Years served as protector made him give them the once over on impulse, despite having nobody to protect. Three in total. A older man with hair to match the lady, equally well dressed with a fine sword at his hip. The other two in the unmistakable livery of the King's Guard, even though the style was not quite what Dunk had worn in his long years of service.
He had seen enough silver hair and fine clothing in his years to know that the two nobles were Targaryens. High ranking by their attache of King's Guard. On Dragonstone, nonetheless.
All three of the men noticed him where the woman had paid him barely any mind, focused on wrapping a blanket around her freezing son and gripping his face in her hands as she fussed over him. The older man looked particularly put out by Dunk's presence, narrowing his eyes before speaking.
"Who the fuck are you?" He asked.
Dunk cleared his throat to speak but before he could, Lucerys piped up from his mother's grip. "Ser Duncan saved me! He p-pulled me back to shore!" He insisted, lips now pale as his skin.
This finally drew the woman's attention to Dunk, narrowing her own eyes in confusion as she looked up at him.
"And who is Ser Duncan?"
It was a few hours later that Dunk sat by a fire in a sparsely appointed room, wrapped in a blanket as the last of the cold drained from him. A steward had promised that they would try and seek out dry clothes for him, but that it would be difficult given his size. He had settled for remaining in the wet ones, letting them dry by the fire's warmth.
They had brought him to the castle as they'd rushed Lucerys inside to warm up. One of the King's Guard had even offered his white cloak to keep Dunk warm against the chill on the journey, which made Dunk want to laugh at the irony. They had given him this room and a half an hour later, the maester had come to see to him.
The maester, Willem, had been methodical and asked few questions beyond what was necessary for his task. Dunk found this surprising, having expected the maester to dig for more information on who he was and what he was doing plucking lordlings from the sea.
But the only deviation from his medical questioning had come when Dunk had asked after Lucerys.
The old man had looked at Dunk a moment then smiled softly. "Prince Lucerys is recovering well, I have no concerns at this time." He assured the knight. "He is quite exhausted, ser, I doubt he would have lasted much longer in those seas without your intervention." He'd added in praise.
That had been an hour ago when he'd declared Dunk to be in good health all things considered and in need of a hearty meal. Said meal had arrived ten minutes later and been devoured with haste, leaving Dunk to sit by the fire and contemplate the mess he found himself in.
He started with what he knew. He knew he was on Dragonstone, he knew there were somehow dragons. And not just the one, he had spotted two more in the skies above them on the walk from the beach, larger than the first. He knew by the use of 'Your Grace' and 'Prince Lucerys' that his gracious hosts were high ranking members of the royal family.
What he did not know is who they were specifically, from the time when dragons had roamed the skies, and how they all fit together. Dunk cursed himself for not paying more attention to Egg's ramblings about his family history to fill the long hours on the road. He also did not know how he was going to convince them of whatever they wanted to be convinced of, when he had such incomplete information.
He also did not know why his body had gone into the flames so old and emerged from the water so young. Indeed, Dunk had stared at himself in the polished glass on the dresser for some minutes, unable to connect the youth in the reflection with the man he had been when he'd woken up that morning. He hadn't looked like this since he'd been in the hedges, why was he like this again?
Before he could contemplate this series of puzzles further, the door opened. Dunk stood on instinct, abandoning the blanket on the chair, as one of the King's Guard tucked his head around the door.
"The Princess and Prince wish to see you." He explained.
Dunk cleared his throat and nodded, gesturing for the knight to lead the way. The entire walk from his little room to the main hall, servants and guards alike gawked at him with little discretion. This was not an unfamiliar feeling for Dunk, his height had drawn eyes all his life, so he kept his eyes forward until they were climbing some side steps into the hall.
He recognised the hall some but the exact layout was different from his time. A large table he recognised from another chamber lay at the centre, the map of Westeros carved into it. He had stood about that table for war council once, he thought. Or would, he corrected internally.
The woman and the man from the beach were stood by the large hearth, muttering together when the King's Guard announced their return. "Ser Duncan, Your Graces."
They both turned in unison and the woman nodded her thanks. "Thank you, Ser Lorent."
With that, Ser Lorent began from the hall to take his post by the door. Dunk stood in the glow of the fire, his clothes still damp and his hair matted with salt water, as the two remaining nobles appraised him.
The Princess and the Prince, Ser Lorent had said. Dunk filed that away and waited for them to begin, hands clenched behind his back.
Finally, the woman, the Princess spoke. "The maester reports that you are unharmed."
"Aye, Your Grace." Dunk agreed.
"I am very glad, you did a noble thing pulling Lucerys from the sea. We are in your debt, Ser Duncan." She assured him, smile on her face. "However, we have questions." She added after a few moments, smile flickering awkwardly.
The man besides her snorted lightly. "That is an understatement."
"We have enquired and there is no one serving in this castle by the name of Duncan. And forgive me, but your… appearance hardly lends itself to the theory that people have simply never noticed you." She explained, spreading her hands as she gestured to him. "Which leads us to wonder what you were doing in the middle of the bay in such conditions."
Dunk swallowed thickly, ducking his head as this youthful form would have. Perhaps if he acted intimidated enough, they would not ask questions. "I am but a hedge-knight, Your Grace, only recently arrived on Dragonstone in search of work." He explained with a half shrug. "I was walking along the beach and I heard the lad screaming. The rest was instinctual." He told her.
"Rhaenyra, one suspicious knight turning up on a beach is a coincidence, two is a pattern." The man suddenly began, taking her upper arm in his hand to draw her attention.
Dunk watched how gentle his grip was, even though it was demanding. Married? Perhaps. Targaryens were odd, as he'd learned from years of experience. You could never assume much.
"They would never be so sloppy as to send two spies in the exact same manner." The woman, Rhaenyra, countered.
Her maybe-husband huffed. "We should send this so-called knight away, give him whatever gold you wish. And the other one whilst you are at it. Either or both could be spies for the greens for all we know." He insisted.
Greens? The other one? Dunk thought. The first phrase tickled something in the back of his brain, a long distant memory of a roadside lecture from Aegon. His heart thumped uncomfortably in his chest.
Rhaenyra looked like she was resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "If he were a spy, Luke would be dead, not a bit cold and damp." She pointed out as she pulled her arm from his grasp. "And what price of gold would you put on saving my son's life?" She asked, raising her eyebrows.
Dunk noted the use of 'my son' rather than 'our son' to describe Lucerys and added it to his evergrowing pile of tidbits to contemplate later. If there was a later to be had. With that thought, Dunk found his eye drawn to the impressive sword at the man's hip.
"I have no need of gold, Your Grace." Dunk interjected. Both heads turned to look at him and he flustered, averting his eyes and reassuming the hedge knight persona he'd begun with. "It was only a knight's duty fulfilled." He explained.
The man all but laughed at this. "Gods, what storybook did you crawl from, Ser Duncan?" He asked sardonically.
"Storybook or no, I will not have Ser Duncan sent away until the maester is satisfied he will be well. He will remain here as our guest until then." Rhaenyra insisted, directing this mostly at the man Dunk now assumed was her husband. "Besides, at least he still has his memories." She added with finality as she began towards the large table at the centre of the room.
"Have it your way. Take in every waif and stray we find in the sands." Her husband grumbled, raising his hands in defeat before storming from the room down the side steps Dunk had emerged from.
Dunk waited until he was gone to speak again. "Memories, Your Grace?" Dunk asked, watching Rhaenyra intently as she turned back to look at him.
"As my husband points out, you are not the first mysterious man to be found on that beach in the last moon." Rhaenyra began as the grand door to the hall opened behind Dunk and the sound of two sets of footsteps echoed around the stone. She looked up and smiled in welcome. "Ah, just the man we were discussing." She greeted.
"I sincerely hope that the discussion was a positive one, Your Grace." came another voice.
It had been decades, but Dunk still remembered that voice. He heard it in his sleep some nights. Taunting him with what could have been. Words never said, vows never fulfilled, touches never exchanged.
He suddenly felt very cold once more, despite the fire he was stood in front of. He felt more rooted to the spot than he had been when he'd seen the dragon above him. Dunk had been sure that he was dead, then that he was alive. He had flitted between the two conclusions since the moment he'd gasped in the sea air.
Now, as he turned to face the newcomers, he was sure that he was dead.
Because if he was alive, how the fuck was he staring at Baelor Targaryen?