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When you see him walk in the inn, you’re startled still. He has to duck under the old wooden doorway to enter.
You’ve heard tales of giants before, surely half-giants exist in some house’s stories.
He stands just inside and looks expectantly at you, waiting for direction. Remembering your voice (and your job), “Any open table is fine,” you tell him. There’s plenty to choose from. The inn is almost empty.
It takes him a moment to move, his eyes seem to linger on you for a second or two longer than proper. Not in the beastly way most traveling men do — you’ve had enough experience with those types— but in a dazed sort of way.
You hold his stare because you’ve learned from years of service to not appear meek. He easily yields, ducking his head in a sort of awkward half-nod half-bow (as if you’d be someone important enough to bow to). He picks a table off in the corner by the fireplace, but away from the few other patrons, like he either wants to keep to himself or not get in anyone’s way.
You feel his gaze on you as you top off the only other occupied table’s ale before making your way over to him. Usually, this kind of attention would make you uncomfortable, but you can feel in your gut he has no ill intentions.
As you walk up to his table you take the time to study his face now that he’s seated and his shear size isn’t as distracting.
In the warm glow of the flames, you notice a strong jaw, kind light eyes, and hair that isn’t quite brown, isn’t quite gold, but some earthy in-between. Perhaps it's been lightened by the sun on his travels. Based on his dirty clothes and frankly, his smell, he’s probably out on the road more than not. He’s handsome, but not in a pretty princeling way. In a real, grounded, strong way.
Now you’ve had your turn to stare for longer than proper.
“Hello, m’lady,” he says in a polite tone to wake you from your thoughts. Already, he’s been kinder than the usual traveling men. Most would’ve yelled or tried to touch you by now.
Coming back to yourself you rattle off your usual greeting while wiping off the table in front of him. “Well met, tonight we have roasted duck or chicken with herbs and ale if you’d like. If you’re in need of a room, dinner is included.”
He looks down to the small purse in his hand and the few meager coins he must have left, and back up to you. A light blush seems to bloom on his cheeks, and his ears turn red. It’s… surprising.
“I… um. Don’t think I’ll be able to have a full meal and room tonight m’lady. Maybe just, uh, an ale while I rest my legs before moving on,” he responds shyly.
You look up and out the window. Not only is the sun setting soon, but a light rain has started as well. Dark clouds are rolling in.
You glance back down at him, sorry looking in his filthy clothes and more than a little musty scent rolling off of him. You scan the rest of the room. There’s only one other table left with people at it, and they’re soon to be done. You already know all the inn’s rooms are empty, as they have been the past several days.
The innkeeper has stressed to you more than once recently that they need every coin possible. They don’t get as many travelers these days as they used to, and your pay is becoming less each time, even though it feels like you’re the only one doing work around here.
It might get you a threatened lashing, but you decide some coin is better than none, and the old innkeeper has always been the type to whinge more than follow through.
“How about this?” You start, “You give me what you can tonight, take a room and the food, and in the morning, help me with some heavy lifting I’ve been struggling with. It’ll be better for you to sleep tonight out of the weather, and that can be the rest of your payment.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t—“ he starts before you cut him off.
“Come now, it will certainly be easier for you than me. You’d be doing me a favor,” you pointedly look him up and down. It’s the truth, though, you really could use the help.
He stammers as he tries to come up with some excuse, but barely any words come out. You pin him with your most convincing look, it’s worked on lesser men before and you saw the way he looked at you. He gives in, to your satisfaction.
“Yes m’lady, I can do that for you. Thank you so much.” He says with such sincerity, it catches you off guard. You might be the one with a blush now.
“Thank you ser…?” You see the longsword resting at his hip with a strange braided cord instead of a leather belt.
“Dunk.” He says with a smile.
“I must thank you again m’lady, I can’t remember the last time I slept that good in a real bed,” he says when he walks in the main room of the inn the next morning as you’re cleaning, prepping for the new day.
“Wonderful, I hope you got some well deserved rest because you’ll be put to work today.” You reply with a smile in your voice, lighthearted. Not because it’s a joke, but because you don’t want to think about where he usually sleeps and how it’s probably in the dirt. For some reason, that thought makes you sad. Can’t say you’ve ever felt that for a random man before.
“Yes, of course m’lady, whatever you need I can do it for you,” he responds as if given an order from the king.
You finish cleaning the table you were working on and wipe your hands on your skirt while responding, “Wonderful. We have several barrels of ale and wine that need to be moved along with quite a few sacks of flour, and wood to be chopped for the fire.”
You show him around the inn—it’s not much, small, old, maybe a little dusty—to where everything is stored. You point out where the barrels and sacks need to be moved, along with the large logs outside that have been needing to be split for longer than you care to admit. The whole time he listens so intently, you honestly wonder if he’s mocking you or he really just cares that much. You think for a moment you might be a fool for trusting a man you don’t know, but there’s something so sweet about him, you can’t help it.
You’ve been the only one working at this inn besides the innkeeper for several months, and the chores pile up faster than you can get to them all. The innkeeper is usually of no help, only worrying about the money, so Ser Dunk really is doing you a favor instead of the other way around.
After giving him all the instructions, you leave him to it and return to the main room of the inn to finish preparing for the day. Alone, as usual. You clean all the tables, stools, cups, plates, and rooms. And whatever dinner will be for the night needs to be decided and prepped. Everything required to keep the inn ready for travelers.
Lastly, you stop by the room Dunk stayed in last night to tidy up. Like all the rooms, it’s pretty bare-bones. A bed and end table with a half-used wax candle. You notice his only possessions are that of a worn shield with a faded sigil of a cup and wings on it, a longsword and a cloak. Other than that, it seems he has… nothing. How can someone travel and have this little with them? Surely, he must be hiding more things somewhere. Maybe he left more with a horse in the stalls?
You search around the inn for him to ask if there’s anything of his you can wash or mend while he’s here. After seeing how he looked when he arrived, how few possessions and coin he had, you feel this overwhelming need to help him however you can.
While you’re looking, you notice he’s already moved all the barrels and sacks of flour. It’s only been a few hours, it’s almost impossible that he could have moved it all already. That normally would've taken you a whole day, maybe two.
“Ser–” you start while stepping outside the back door to look for him by the wood pile. You have to lift your hand to shield your squinting eyes for a moment, the sun is shining brightly in opposition to the rain that came through last night.
You’re once again shocked still at the sight of him. He’s still big, yes, but now he’s shirtless. Shirtless and chopping wood with more power than you’ve ever seen it done. He makes it look effortless. With the sun beating down, he’s gotten shiny with sweat.
“Ser Dunk,” you have to start over when you reach him. (Definitely because he couldn’t have heard you the first time over the sound of his own grunts and chopping wood and not because you were distracted by his current state.) “I wanted to see if you have anything in need of mending or washing while you’re here. I checked in your room and didn’t see anything.”
He pauses his chopping, “Thank you, m’lady, but I don’t have much. The only thing that could use a wash would be myself and the clothes on my back once I’m through with this wood.”
While he’s talking and you should be listening, you notice he has a smattering of freckles on his chest, shoulders and arms. Maybe more gifts from the sun?
When you tilt your head up to better meet his eyes, still half shielding your face from the sun, you can tell he definitely caught you ogling. He has that sweet, shy smile again. Not big enough to show all his teeth, but enough that you know he’s pleased. It makes you smile, too.
Sure that you’re blushing now, you say, “Alright, once you’re done with this I can wash your clothes for you. I’ll apologize now, we do not have a tub big enough for you to bathe but there is a creek not far from here that should do.”
“Not a problem m’lady, I didn’t expect a tub to begin with. I’m no highborn. I’m just a hedge knight.” He shrugs.
“A hedge knight huh? I guess that makes sense.”
“What?” He’s tilting his head now, so the smile tilts too. It’s cute.
“Your clothes,” you gesture broadly at his body, though his shirt is still missing. The reminder makes you blush some more. “How little was in your room but the sword and shield. I’ve never met a knight before, but I thought they’d be more bright and shining. You know, something from a tale about a gallant knight saving a maiden,” you say with the edge of a teasing tone in your voice.
“A hedge knight is the truest knight there is. He claims no riches and serves no specific house but the people of the kingdom instead. Especially the innocent.” He proclaims, almost puffing out his chest while doing so. A combination of playful and proud in his expression.
“I believe it.” You look at each other, both smiling for a moment before you continue, “Well, Ser Dunk the hedge knight, when you’re done with this wood, you can hang your clothes on the apple tree down by the creek, and I’ll wash them while you bathe if it pleases you.”
“Thank you, m’lady,” he says, doing his half-nod half-bow again. A determined look back on his face, he grabs the next log and lines it up. One swift chop down the middle like butter, splitting it in half.
You try to hide your giggle and maintain what little bit of professionalism you have left as you walk away. A shirtless handsome knight, bowing to you?
You can’t remember the last time you giggled.
An hour or so later, after the sound of wood chopping has quieted, you make your way down to the creek to grab your knight's clothes for washing. There’s a lingering smile on your lips that hasn't seemed to fade all day.
You purposely told him to find the apple tree, as there’s only one by the creek, and it’s far away enough from the inn that he shouldn’t be bothered by anyone passing through. You’d know, you’ve spent many days taking a moment for yourself by this tree when the inn or life itself becomes too much. Anytime you’re wishing you could leave or be someone else. You usually lean up against the trunk and listen to the soft sounds of the water, look up and watch the sunlight filter through the green leaves, while having an apple as a treat. It’s become your little hiding place.
You don’t know what kind of apple tree it is, only that it makes apples that are the perfect mixture of sweet and tart. A few times you’ve even tried to make a simple apple cake with them. You’re not always successful. Even so, trying is one of the few joys you allow yourself, but only when all other chores are done, there’s nothing at the inn to handle, and you have the energy. Those days are few and far between lately.
When you find the clothes hanging on a low branch you’re surprised to find a small pile of apples sitting below them. You’ve long picked all the apples within your reach… he must have been able to pick the much higher branches.
Unsure if the apples are for him or meant for someone else, you take only the clothes. Before turning for the inn, you chance a glance at the creek. Peeking around the tree, you see the knight’s back to you as he wades out into the water.
Any time you’ve swum out, the water has come up to your chest in the deepest part, but for him it barely reaches mid-stomach.
You should be going, but you hesitate for just a moment.
Your eyes trace the lines of him from where the water ripples around his waist up to his broad sunkissed shoulders. You can’t see the freckles from here, unfortunately, but you can almost feel the strength radiating off of him. His muscles flex as he rinses himself, his hair slicked back wet and a shade darker than it usually is. The sun is shining perfectly through the trees to create little streaks of gold around him. Maybe he is a bright and shining knight, just not in the way you would have thought.
He suddenly turns around, and you jump behind the tree. There’s no way he didn’t see you. Clutching his clothes tight to your chest you quickly make back for the inn, walking so fast you almost stumble over your own feet, praying the whole way to the old gods and the new, he doesn’t think you were spying on him.
Just as you’ve finished washing the clothes and have hung them to dry, you hear a gentle knock on the back door.
“M’lady, if you could bring me my cloak, I’d be most grateful.” Ser Dunk's voice muffles through the wood.
Handing him his cloak through the cracked door and making sure to avert your eyes, you ask, “Feeling better? I have just finished washing your clothes. They just need to dry ser.”
“Thank you.” He walks in with the cloak tied around his hips and holding apples. They look so much smaller in his hands. “I’m not sure if you saw them, but I picked some of the last apples from the tree… for you.” He says it almost awkwardly, blush on his face. Neither of you can look the other in the face.
“Oh no ser, keep them for your travels. They’re wonderful, trust me. I’ve had plenty of them this season.” You still can’t manage to meet his eye. Of course, you saw the apples, he knows you saw them. He caught you watching him from the tree right next to the pile of them!
He sets the apples down by the window and steps close to you, the closest you’ve been yet. You finally give up and turn to him. He’s looking at you so open and honestly, you’re positive your face is as red as one of those damned fruit. “Please, I picked them for you m’lady. To thank you for the room and food and everything.” His gaze is bouncing between your eyes and taking in the rest of your face. Like he means to truly learn it. “You’ve shown me kindness in a way I rarely receive.”
You have to clear your throat before words can come out again. “Of course, I only did what I wish someone else would do for me.”
“I would,” he almost whispers, “do the same for you. I mean, I would take care of…” he trails off, and without realizing, you’ve leaned into him further as if to chase the end of that thought. His eyes have moved down from yours to your lips.
“DINNER NEEDS TO BE ON SOON!” The innkeeper's sudden yell makes you both jump back like you were caught doing something wrong.
“Seven hells—“ you say, clutching your chest at the same time he says, “M’lady, I—“
You grab and shove his half dry clothes in his chest, turning to make for the kitchen. Ducking your head to try to hide your smile from him. When you glance back, he’s standing there: one hand holding the cloak around his waist and the other with the clothes hanging limply at his side and a grin of his own.
The whole time during dinner hours, he tracks you with his eyes from his same seat in the corner by the fireplace. Thankfully, this time he’s got his clean clothes on.
It’s like you’ve gained a guard dog, just waiting for someone to make you uncomfortable, waiting for an excuse to jump to your rescue. If you were in your right mind you’d tell him to stop and leave so he doesn’t scare off any customers. But maybe you’re not in your right mind anymore, and maybe it’s ok.
Even after he’s finished his meal, he sits there, watching and waiting for all the other patrons to leave for the night. Like he’s a knight of the kingsguard ever present in the background of your life, watching over his sworn queen.
“I figured you’d be long gone by now, set off for your next adventure,” you say as you walk up to his table to clear his dishes.
“I wanted to stay. One more night, if it’s alright with you m’lady.”
“Of course, you can have the same room. We’re finished for the night, you can take your leave.” You say offhandedly to see if he finally lets you leave his sight.
He stays seated just a few moments longer. Looking around, making sure no one else comes in, before he reluctantly retires to his room.
Hardly any travelers stopped in tonight, so cleaning up doesn’t take you long as it usually would, but you find you’re moving slowly anyway. You’re hesitating.
You want to go to his room, you know you do, and you think he wants you there too, but there’s nerves in your belly you’ve never felt before. Is it even worth trying? You’re not an expert, but you know what being a knight means. There’s implications to that word. Most importantly, you know it means he cannot stay. No matter how sweet he is now, you’ll eventually have to taste the bitterness of his absence.
Angry at yourself for even having such foolish thoughts, you finish all the cleaning and make yourself go back to your room, closing the door with a little too much force. You sit down, then stand up only to sit down again. You end up lying in your bed and close your eyes to try to calm your racing thoughts.
You could just pretend he’s not there. He will be leaving in the morning anyway. You could cast him from your mind and never think of him again, like any other traveler that passes through. You’ve never given any other man a second more thought than you needed to. You have enough to worry about working at the inn, trying to get by. Trying to get everything done by yourself and keep the innkeeper off your back. Trying to stay afloat long enough that maybe one day you’ll be able to leave this old place and do something better for yourself.
You could hold him in your memory as a precious treat only to be taken out and savored when needed. Maybe when you go down to sit at the apple tree by the creek, you can close your eyes and picture him with his blush and freckles and smile. You can remember the way he looked at you like he would do anything you asked. Eventually the details of him will get fuzzy around the edges. But maybe then he can be the warm feeling you get when you close your eyes under the tree and the rays of sun dance across your face, turning your vision into a sunset behind your lids. He can be the little fleeting moment you take for yourself every time you bite into a sweet apple that tastes like happiness.
You sit up suddenly.
No.
No.
Why should you keep putting off your own happiness? Why do you keep putting off your happiness? Why do you force yourself to settle for scraps when you could have more? Even if it is just a moment—you could actually live it. Feel it instead of saving it for some imagined moment in the future when you “deserve it”.
Bolstered by your own thoughts, you jump up from the bed and whip the door open to leave your room and make your way to him.
When you’re almost upon his door your confidence begins to falter a bit and you end up slowing your steps. What if he doesn’t feel the same? What if you’ve built this all up in your head and he thinks you’re just a silly woman who’s been working so much your imagination has run wild?
At this point, you’re full blown sneaking towards his room. You don’t even know why you’re sneaking. There’s certainly no one else staying at the inn currently, and surely he’ll sense you coming like he did at the creek.
You lightly knock on the door. So lightly that some cowardly part of you hopes he won’t even hear so you’ll have an excuse to turn around and not face him. It’s not so much facing him that’s scary, it’s facing an opportunity to snatch some happiness for yourself and prove that you can do it. Without the guilt. Without having to “earn” it.
Fortunately for you, he hears you. “Come in m’lady.”
“How did you know it would be me?” You ask flippantly as you enter and close the door behind you. Your nerves come out as sass.
“Who else would it be?” He looks up at you this time from where he’s lounging in the bed. He’s so big he takes up the entire thing, not that it was that big to begin with. He’s cast mostly in shadow as the only light is a candle on the small end table that’s been used so much the wax is pooling and dripping everywhere. The flame makes him look warm again, just like it did that first night.
He’s got a dagger out, slicing pieces of an apple and eating them straight from the blade.
“So you did keep an apple for yourself then?” Without entirely meaning to, you say this with an attitude, even though earlier today you insisted he take the rest of them.
“I couldn’t help it,” he shrugs. “A knight is allowed few pleasures,” he says and pointedly looks at you. “We have to seize it when the opportunity is presented.”
Remembering why you came here in the first place, you drop the sass. “Ser Dunk, I—“
“Just Dunk is fine. Please, m’lady, it’s just us here.” He shakes his head and laughs to himself in a self-deprecating manner.
“Ok, Dunk." You step further into the room towards him. “I agree with you.”
He sits up in his bed, deposits the knife and what’s left of the apple on his end table and looks up at you. You’re only the tiniest bit taller than him, with you standing and him sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Agree with me?” The way his eyebrows move when he says this makes it seem like he’s never heard those words in his life.
“Yes, about seizing the opportunities.” You step closer. “You’re leaving in the morning?” You almost don’t want to ask it out loud for fear of hearing his confirmation.
He nods. “I must, m’lady. Believe me, I wish I could stay longer. I have a tourney in Ashford to make.”
You grab hold of the boldness that’s been laying wait inside you. As he speaks, you step closer and closer until you’re almost touching his knees. You put both your hands on his shoulders, “I wish you could stay too, but I understand a knight’s duty. I’ll be worried for you. Knights get hurt, sometimes die at these things.” You try to bring a levity to your voice to make it sound less serious, but it’s hard to mask the truth. You both know it.
His eyes are wandering your face again, intent. “Aye, m’lady.”
“I have a question for you, Dunk,” you say before you lose your nerve. You watch his throat bob as he swallows and nods. “I…” you whisper as you run your fingers through the hair at the base of his head.
He looks up at you and meets your eyes, pupils blown wide.
You move one of your hands from his shoulder to trace his jaw. “Have you ever been with a woman, Dunk?”
“No,” his voice comes out almost cracked. He clears his throat and starts again, “No, m’lady, I haven’t. I’ve, um, been busy squiring and training. Before that, just surviving. Haven't been able to seize that particular opportunity.”
“Would you like to?”
He nods.
“Words, please Dunk,” you say.
“Yes m’lady. I know I haven't been here long, but I see the way you run this inn–”
“I’m not the innkeeper, just the help,” you cut him off.
“Aye, that may be true, but I can see that the innkeeper isn't really keeping their inn, you are. I see how you have to take care of everything. I see how you have to keep your head about you in the main room during dinner, in case a group of rough men come through. I see how you have to clean everything, prepare everything, organize everything. I see how you make sure everyone else is taken care of. I see you.” At this point, he’s put his hands on your hips and gently guided you to stand between his legs while he remains seated on the bed. His eyes begin to travel your body. “But while you’re taking care of everyone else, who is taking care of you?”
You know what he’s saying is the truth, but you can’t seem to come up with a response. It feels like you should have to defend yourself, but really, he’s already defending you.
“I do have to leave in the morning, it’s true. But I’d like to take care of you at least this one night, if you’ll show me how?” He asks, and once more, the sincerity you see when he meets your eyes feels like a gift.
You feel the warmth radiating off of him, but it’s not just the warmth of another’s touch. The warmth of his kindness has seeped into you and melted some part that’s been long neglected.
“Yes.” You answer. The smile that spreads on Dunk’s face is so earnest it immediately makes you begin to smile as well.
“Thank you,” he breathes out, what almost sounds like a sigh of relief.
“For what? I haven't done anything yet.” The smile you haven't been able to get rid of the past few days is back tenfold.
He laughs, again that self-deprecating laugh. “Just, I’m glad you’re here.”
Nodding, your hands still on his shoulders, you climb into his lap. His hands that were on your hips help you up, and they feel so strong and secure whatever nervousness you had is forgotten.
“I’m glad you’re here too,” you whisper as you slide further into his lap until every part of you is touching, your legs bracketing him. You’re so close now, each breath feels bigger yet somehow still not enough.
His eyes move from yours to your mouth as he leans in and pauses. The tiniest bit of air separating your lips. Like he’s waiting for you to decide to take the next step.
Closing your eyes and grabbing his face, you finally kiss him. He’s hesitant at first, like he’s trying to be gentle with you. After a moment, once he realizes he can move and it won’t scare you off, his hands slowly explore up from your hips to waist, then back down again to your thighs.
Gentle touches become firm but pleasant squeezes. At the same time, your hands move down from his face to his shoulders and eventually his arms. You relish the way you can feel his muscles moving and bunching under his shirt. You both take your time to enjoy the moment of just feeling.
Without conscious thought, your hips begin to move on their own accord. It must shock Dunk because he stops at once and looks at you like he did something wrong.
He has to catch his breath a moment before asking, “Is this ok? Do you want to stop?” His eyes are bouncing between yours to make sure. As he says it though, his hands haven’t stopped their movement.
“No, don’t stop. Please.” You say before forcing your lips together again. This time, your hands snake down to his stomach to find the end of his shirt. You grab and start to lift it up and off of him. A little annoyed sound comes from deep in his throat when his lips have to leave yours to help undress himself, and it almost makes you giggle before you see the serious look on his face. It’s the most serious you’ve seen him yet.
He grabs hold on your hips and grinds you down on him when you come back together. It surprises you and takes your breath away for a moment. Without thinking you let out a needy sigh and start to move your hips again.
He looks to you again for confirmation before he helps you lift your own shirt, you nod to reassure him. He does everything carefully and with intention. Slowly but surely, you undress each other until you’re both completely bare. The gentleness of Dunk’s touch slowly melts away into something earnest and purposeful, dropping strong kisses on each new area exposed. Your collar bones, shoulders, arms, and chest. The whole time his hands move from your hips up your waist and back, supporting you while you move and lean back so he can reach all he desires.
Naked and underneath you, he somehow seems bigger. It shouldn't surprise you but it does when you finally take him in hand and begin to work him. After a while, you’re both breathing heavy and dotted with sweat.
You release him from your hand and instead begin to slide yourself up and down the length of him, covering him in your wetness.
“Seven hells,” he whimpers when you finally align and start to sink down. His grip becomes viselike on your hips. In the back of your mind, a little voice hopes the bruises will stay longer than he can, just so you can remember what he feels like.
It takes a moment to work yourself fully down. By then, Dunk has begun to explore once more as you work yourself on him. Fingers in hair, kisses on necks and shoulders. You take the time to appreciate all the freckles you can manage to reach on him, like you wished you could earlier.
“M’lady,” struggling to speak, “I’m… are you–”
“I’m close,” you gasp out.
“Tell me what I need to do,” he demands. Eyes hard on yours again.
You grab one of his hands off your hip and bring it down to your clit, “Here,” you say, “Right here.”
He takes instruction just as well, if not better, than he did when you told him all the things he needed to do earlier in the day. Within minutes, every muscle in your body is launching you over the edge, then blissfully melting into him. Once he realizes you’ve finished, he moves his hand back to gripping your hips and firmly moving you up and down exactly how he needs. You let him, relaxed and more than glad to be used, to watch his face in this moment. He looks so focused, his brow furrowed and teeth biting down into his bottom lip. It feels nice to let go, your mind going completely blank.
You grab his face once more and force him up, “Look at me, I want to see you when you come Dunk,” you tell him.
“Yes, anything,” he forces out right before he lets out a heavy groan, and you feel the warmth of him finishing. It sends a little shiver through you.
He falls back into the bed, taking you with him. Laying on his chest, you feel like you’re floating up and down with each heavy breath. You stay there until his breathing eventually returns to normal, and then turns into an even, comforting pattern. He runs his fingers up and down your spine in a soothing caress. You feel safe and warm. Well used but also cared for. You both stay like that for a while until you start to feel your eyes get heavy. You lift yourself up and off to lay next to him, and you both turn to face each other.
He reaches out and grabs your hand, bringing it up to place the lightest kiss on the inside of your wrist. It’s so sweet and tender, you have to look away. You can’t think about it too hard or it’ll make you feel things you don't want to face.
“You’re beautiful,” he says softly.
You tuck your head into the space between his neck and shoulder so he won’t see your eyes getting shiny.
“Thank you, you are too,” you say into his neck.
“Don’t think anyone’s ever called me that.” He chuckles, and you feel the vibration of it. “‘Dunk the lunk, thick as a castle wall’, they used to say to me.” He says as he wraps his arms around you. It feels like he can shield you from the whole outside world, everything that would try to bring you harm.
“You’re not thick,” you joke as you grab his bicep and give it a squeeze. “Well, maybe you are a little, but not like that.”
His belly laugh makes the whole bed shake, and you can’t help but join him.
“M’lady?”
You shift a little so that your chin is resting on his chest, and you can look up at him. “Yes?”
“I meant what I said earlier. I want to make sure you’re taken care of.” All signs of joking are gone from his tone.
“I’ve made it this far. I can take care of myself, don’t worry about me.” You say with a small smile. You want to reassure him just as much as yourself.
“I’m serious. After the tourney, I’m not sure what will happen, but I vow to you I will find a way to return.”
His eyes are once again so open and honest, you truly do want to believe him.
“Ok,” you tell him with a soft smile.
You realize, whether or not he’s able to return, or what happens in the future, you can hold this moment with you forever and know you snatched the opportunity for happiness when you had the chance. And Dunk can say the same. It’ll be something you shared that no one can take away.
Pleased, he pulls you closer until you can feel his heartbeat. You roll over and let him surround you, his heartbeat and steady breaths relaxing as you both drift off to sleep. Safe and warm, that’s what you’ll always think of when you think of him.
The next morning, you’re in the kitchens trying to hurry before the sun gets too high in the sky. Covered in flour up to your elbows, and apple peels scattered everywhere.
Any minute he’ll be gathering what he has and leaving.
Last night, after a surprisingly good sleep on a bed much too small for sharing with a giant man, you woke and snuck out in the early hours. You got up and left him sleeping as quietly as you could so that you could attempt to make this small parting gift for him.
“Something smells delicious,” he says as he walks in the kitchens, dressed for the road in his cloak with the longsword back on his hip and shield at his back.
Safe and warm. His smile and voice even sound it.
“Thank you,” you give him a smile. “I just finished. For you,” you say as you hand him a small wrapping.
“For me?” He blushes as he unwraps it to find a fresh apple cake. He looks up at you, his eyes all at once happy and sad.
“With the apples you picked. For the road.” You explain. Feeling a little vulnerable but determined to convey your feelings through this small offering, you’re able to give.
You both stand there and just look at each other for a moment. Neither quite sure what to say. Not wanting to say goodbye.
“Dunk—“
“M’lady—“
You both start and stop at the same time and smile. He nods for you to continue. “Thank you. For all your help and your kindness. Dunk, you’re truly a good man. Not all men— not all knights could claim the same.”
His ears turn red. “No, thank you, m’lady. Like I said, you’ve shown me kindness I don’t always receive.” Then he looks down at you, earnest once more. “I will return m’lady,” he steps close and grabs your hand, bringing your wrist to his lips like he did last night. It should be contradictory how someone so big can be so gentle, but it’s just him. You don’t think he could be any other way. “I don’t know when, but I will. I swear it.” He speaks into your skin.
You’re not sure what to say, so you just nod, some tears gathering in your eyes. You reach up to put your hand over his heart, to feel his warmth one last time. Hoping some of it will sink into you and never leave.
He lifts your chin up, and you watch his pale eyes roam over your face. When he sees your welling eyes, he looks sad, but then determined. Like he means to prove to you, he will do as he says.
“I’m going to be fine, Dunk.” You give him a little smile. “You’re going to go to this tourney and do well for yourself, and then,” you pause and look up at him, trying to force out the emotions into your words to convince him you’ll be alright, you will speak it into existence, “you’ll come back to see me. We’ll go sit by the creek, eat some sweet apples, maybe take a swim in the creek together,” you give him a smirk, and he chuckles, “and make more apple cake. I know it.”
Just saying it out loud makes your heart swell. You can feel it just like you did when he first walked in the inn, and you knew he was good. You can feel this too, he will return.
“As you wish, m’lady.” He replies as he keeps hold of your chin and leans down to kiss you. It’s sweet but firm and strong, just like him.
When he lets go, you feel the loss but choose to cling to the happiness instead.
You watch as he mounts his horse, and two more follow him down the road.
He turns to smile at you, and you wave, thankful that he’s far away enough to not see the tears that have gathered in your eyes.
After he’s gone far enough that you can’t make him out anymore, you head back inside through the inn and out the back door. You make your way down to the apple tree. As you round the trunk to sit down at your usual spot, you see a lone apple propped up perfectly. You can’t help the smile that comes.
Grabbing the apple, you sit and face the creek, watching the sun melt down through the leaves and shine on the water. You take a bite of your treat and relish in the sweetness.
You’ll now forever think of the sweet knight that happened to pass through your inn every time you have an apple. And every time the tartness cuts in to remind you of his departure, you’ll hold his vow to return in your mind.