Chapter Text
Rose's POV
Rose was late.
Not a little late, not the manageable kind where she could pretend she had simply stopped for coffee or hit traffic, but properly, undeniably late in a way that had her half-running between rooms while trying to shove her life together in under five minutes.
“Okay, okay, okay...this is fine,” she muttered to herself, though it very clearly was not.
Her apartment looked like the aftermath of a very specific kind of disaster, the kind caused by someone who had intended to be organized the night before and had instead ended up curled on the couch reading until an ungodly hour. A mug sat abandoned on the coffee table, her shoes were not where they were supposed to be and her bag—her very important, cannot-function-without-it bag—was nowhere in sight.
“Where are you?” she demanded, as if it might answer her.
She darted back into the kitchen, skidding slightly on the tile in her socks before catching herself on the counter, her eyes landing immediately on the culprit.
There it was.
Of course it was.
Sitting innocently beside her book, like it hadn’t personally betrayed her.
A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms lay open beside it, face down, its spine already bending in protest from how aggressively she had refused to stop reading last night.
Rose grabbed her bag with one hand and pointed accusingly at the book with the other.
“This is your fault,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “I had a schedule. I had a bedtime. I had plans.”
The book, unsurprisingly, offered no apology.
She huffed, shoving her things inside her bag without checking if anything was actually where it was supposed to be, then reached for her coffee mug, took one sip and immediately made a face.
“Cold. Of course it’s cold.”
She drank it anyway.
Because at this point, she deserved it.
By the time she made it out the door, her hair was only partially cooperating, one side of her bun threatening to collapse at any moment, and she was still trying to shove her arm through her jacket sleeve as she hurried down the hallway.
“Responsible adult,” she muttered under her breath. “Fully thriving. Definitely has her life together.”
She locked the door behind her and took off down the steps instead of waiting for the elevator, because she did not have the patience for that kind of delay this morning, her shoes thudding against each step in a rhythm that matched the growing urgency in her chest.
If she left now, she could still make it.
If traffic behaved.
If every light turned green.
If the universe, for once, decided to be kind.
It did not.
By the time Rose reached her car and slid into the driver’s seat, she was already calculating how late she would be and which excuse sounded the least embarrassing, her hands moving automatically as she started the engine and tossed her bag onto the passenger seat.
“Okay,” she said, gripping the wheel, taking a steadying breath. “We’re fine. We’re making it. It’s happening.”
Her phone connected to the car’s audio with a soft chime and a second later music filled the space, bright and familiar.
She didn’t even think about it before joining in.
“You can dance, you can jiiive...” she sang, her voice still a little breathless from rushing but already settling into the rhythm as she pulled out onto the street.
There was something about an ABBA song in the morning that made everything feel slightly more manageable, like the world might not be actively working against her, like she might actually make it to work without completely falling apart.
“Having the time of your liiife...”
She drummed her fingers lightly against the steering wheel as she drove, weaving through traffic with practiced ease, her earlier stress slowly bleeding off as the familiar routine took over. The city moved around her in its usual way, cars merging, lights changing, people crossing streets with that same half awake determination she felt in her bones.
For a moment, everything felt normal again.
Predictable.
Safe.
She was halfway through the chorus when the rhythm of the morning shifted.
It was small at first, subtle enough that she didn’t immediately register it, just a slight disruption in the flow of traffic ahead, brake lights flickering on one after another like a chain reaction.
Rose’s brows knit together as she eased her foot off the gas.
“Come on, don’t do this now,” she murmured, leaning forward slightly as if that would help her see what was happening.
A car two lanes over swerved suddenly, cutting too sharply, forcing another driver to slam on their brakes. The movement rippled outward, cars adjusting, slowing, reacting just a second too late.
Her grip tightened on the wheel.
Something felt off.
Not just traffic.
Not just congestion.
Wrong.
The music kept playing.
Bright. Cheerful. Completely out of place.
“See that girl, watch that scene...”
The car ahead of her stopped.
Not slowed.
Stopped.
Rose’s breath caught as her foot slammed down on the brake, the tires protesting beneath her as the car jerked forward, the distance between her and the vehicle in front of her closing too fast.
“Shit...”
The word barely left her mouth before everything unraveled.
A screech of tires.
A deafening crash somewhere to her left.
Metal folding in on itself.
Another car slamming into the side of the one ahead, forcing it sideways into her lane.
Her heart lurched into her throat.
There was no time to think.
No time to react.
Only the sharp, immediate understanding that this was happening and she could not stop it.
Impact.
The force hit her from the side first, violent and disorienting, her body thrown against the seatbelt as the world snapped sideways, glass shattering somewhere close, the sound sharp and overwhelming.
Pain exploded through her chest, her shoulder, her head, all at once and too much, her breath knocked out of her as her hands lost their grip on the wheel.
The car jolted again.
Another hit.
Everything blurred.
The music cut off mid-chorus.
For a second, just a second, there was a strange, ringing silence.
Rose blinked, her vision swimming, her ears filled with a high, persistent sound that made everything feel distant, like she was underwater.
Her hands didn’t feel like her hands.
Her body didn’t feel like her body.
Something warm trickled down the side of her face.
“Oh,” she thought, dimly. “That’s… probably not good.”
Her chest struggled to rise, each breath shallow and uneven, pain blooming with every attempt as her thoughts slipped in and out, scattered and unfocused.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
She had work.
She had patients waiting.
She had...
Her mind snagged on something small and stupid and completely irrelevant.
I didn’t even finish my coffee.
A weak, almost hysterical laugh bubbled somewhere in her chest, though it never quite made it out.
Her gaze drifted unfocused toward the windshield, or what was left of it, the world beyond it fractured and blurred.
This isn’t real, she thought, though there was no conviction behind it. This is just...this is a bad dream. I’m going to wake up.
But she didn’t.
The pain was still there.
The weight.
The cold creeping in at the edges.
Her thoughts slowed.
Slipped.
Faded.
Then everything went dark.
Consciousness did not return gently.
It came in pieces.
First, the sound.
Water. Soft, steady, close.
Then the feeling—cool air against her skin, not the artificial hum of a car, not the sharp sting of pain she had braced for, but something… lighter. Real. Moving.
Then the smell.
Earth. Damp and clean. Leaves and something faintly sweet, like crushed grass warming in the sun.
Rose’s eyes snapped open.
For a moment, she didn’t move. Didn’t breathe properly. Her mind lagged behind her body, trying to catch up to something that made absolutely no sense.
Above her was not the inside of her car.
Not flashing lights.
Not a hospital ceiling.
It was sky.
Blue, open, endless and framed by the gentle sway of tall trees that rustled softly in a breeze she could actually feel.
She blinked.
Once.
Twice.
“…no,” she said quietly.
Her voice sounded strange to her own ears, like it belonged to someone else, someone calmer than she felt.
Her heart, however, was not calm.
It slammed hard against her ribs as she pushed herself upright too quickly, the world tilting slightly as she did, a wave of dizziness hitting her hard enough that she had to brace a hand against the ground to steady herself.
“Okay...okay, hold on...”
Her breathing picked up, uneven and shallow as she looked around, her gaze darting from one thing to another, trying to find something familiar and finding absolutely nothing.
Trees.
A narrow stream winding past her, water glinting in the sunlight.
No road. No cars. No people.
No...
Her hands.
Rose froze.
Slowly, like she was afraid of what she might find, she looked down at herself.
“…what,” she said, louder this time.
She was not wearing her scrubs.
She was not wearing anything she owned.
Instead, she found herself dressed in a long, fitted blue dress that fell to her ankles, the fabric sturdy but worn in places, cinched at the waist with a leather belt that carried a small satchel and… more straps than she felt qualified to understand. Her arms were covered, her wrists wrapped in leather, her hands slightly dirt stained like she had been… doing something.
She turned her hand over slowly.
Flexed her fingers.
“…what the hell am I wearing?”
Her voice rose at the end, incredulous and just a little hysterical.
This wasn’t a costume.
It didn’t feel like one.
The fabric had weight. Texture. The kind of lived in feel that didn’t come from a store or a Halloween rack.
Her stomach dropped.
“No. No, no, no...”
Her gaze snapped back up, scanning the forest again like something might suddenly explain itself if she looked hard enough.
“This is not funny,” she said firmly, to absolutely no one. “If this is a dream, I would like to wake up now. Immediately. Preferably in my bed. Or my car. Or literally anywhere that is not… forest.”
The forest, for its part, remained unbothered.
A bird chirped somewhere overhead.
The stream continued its quiet path as if none of this was a problem.
Rose pressed a hand to her forehead.
“Okay,” she said, forcing the word out slowly. “Okay. Think. Think.”
Her memory came back in flashes—rushing, the car, the music, the sudden wrongness of everything, the impact.
Her breath caught.
The crash.
The pain.
Her chest tightened as her hands moved instinctively to where the seatbelt had dug into her, where the pain had been the worst.
There was nothing.
No injury.
No ache.
Not even a bruise.
She froze again.
“…no,” she whispered.
That wasn’t possible.
That was...
Her gaze dropped again, this time catching on the satchel hanging at her hip.
For a second, she just stared at it, like it might disappear if she acknowledged it too directly.
Then, slowly, cautiously, she reached for it.
“Well,” she muttered under her breath, “if I’m losing my mind, I might as well check my inventory.”
The leather was worn but sturdy beneath her fingers, the clasp simple enough that she figured it out after a second of fumbling, flipping it open and peering inside.
Food.
Wrapped in cloth—bread, maybe, and something that smelled faintly like dried meat.
A small bundle of folded papers.
Several small glass bottles filled with liquids she didn’t recognize, though when she uncorked one and sniffed it cautiously, the scent hit her immediately—sharp, clean, unmistakable.
“…that smells like medicine,” she murmured, frowning.
Not modern.
Not sterile.
But familiar enough that something in her chest eased just a fraction.
There was also a spare dress, folded tightly, and...
Her fingers stilled as they brushed against something solid.
She pulled it free.
A knife.
Not decorative.
Not for show.
Real.
Sharp.
Her stomach flipped as she stared at it, turning it slightly so the light caught along the edge.
“…okay,” she said slowly, very carefully placing it back in the satchel. “We’re not going to unpack what that means right now.”
She closed the flap, her hands lingering there for a moment as she took a breath.
Then another.
“Alright,” she said, louder this time, as if saying it out loud would make it more real. “New plan. New plan, Rose.”
Her voice sounded steadier now, even if her heart still felt like it was trying to escape her chest.
“We are… somewhere,” she continued, gesturing vaguely at the forest around her. “Somewhere not home. Clearly. Obviously. Very clearly not home.”
A beat.
“Which means we need to find people.”
That felt like a good step.
A logical step.
“People means answers. Answers means maybe not dying in the woods. Big fan of that outcome.”
She nodded to herself, like this was a perfectly normal situation to be strategizing through.
Her gaze shifted to the stream.
Water meant direction.
Water meant… civilization? Probably?
“I have watched enough survival shows to know this is a good idea,” she said, already stepping toward it. “We follow the water. Water goes somewhere. Somewhere has people. People have… explanations.”
Hopefully.
God, hopefully.
The walk started off manageable.
Then it became long.
Then it became very long.
At first, Rose kept a steady pace, her eyes scanning everything with cautious awareness, her brain still trying to catch up to a reality it had not agreed to participate in.
She talked as she walked.
Not because she wanted to.
Because the silence felt worse.
“Okay, so,” she began, stepping carefully over a patch of uneven ground, “best case scenario, I hit my head in the accident and I’m hallucinating. Which, honestly, not great, but at least that’s temporary.”
She ducked under a low hanging branch, pushing it aside with a muttered, “rude.”
“Worst case scenario,” she continued, “I died, and this is… I don’t know. Afterlife? Which feels very unfair, because I was a good person. I paid my taxes. I was nice to people. I did not deserve to wake up in...”
She gestured around her again.
“...this.”
A pause.
“…although, if this is hell, it’s very scenic.”
Another few steps.
Her shoes—no, not her shoes, these shoes—were holding up surprisingly well, though her legs were starting to protest the constant movement, the unfamiliar terrain making every step just slightly more exhausting than it should have been.
“Third option,” she said, because apparently she was committed to this line of thinking now, “I am somehow in a different place entirely, which is—no, we’re not even going to say that one out loud, because that would be insane.”
She paused.
Looked around.
Then snorted.
“Right. Because everything else about this is completely normal.”
Hours passed.
The sun shifted overhead, the light changing from bright and sharp to something softer, warmer as it dipped slightly and with it came a growing weight in her limbs, her earlier adrenaline fading into something more grounded.
More real.
More concerning.
“Okay,” she said, a little breathless now, pushing a hand back through her hair, which had long since abandoned any attempt at neatness. “We are officially tired. That’s fine. That’s okay. We keep going.”
Because stopping didn’t feel like an option.
Not here.
Not alone.
When she finally saw it, she almost didn’t believe it.
A break in the trees.
A line of open space beyond the forest.
Rose’s pace quickened immediately, relief surging through her so suddenly it made her lightheaded, her steps turning uneven as she pushed forward, branches catching at her sleeves as she moved faster than she probably should have.
“Please be a road,” she muttered. “Please be a road, please be a road...”
It was.
Not paved.
Not modern.
But unmistakably a road.
Rose stumbled out of the treeline, her foot catching slightly on the edge of the dirt path, forcing her to grab at her balance as she stepped fully into the open.
And then...
She wasn’t alone.
A man stood a short distance away, beside two horses.
Tall.
Broad.
Very, very real.
He turned at the sound of her approach.
And froze.
From his perspective, she probably looked like she had crawled out of the forest itself.
Hair a mess, clothes slightly dirt streaked, eyes wide and just a little wild from hours of confusion and trying very hard not to panic.
Rose, meanwhile, stared right back at him.
“Oh my god,” she breathed.
A person.
An actual person.
Relief hit her so fast it almost knocked her over.
She took a step forward, then another, her words tumbling out before she could stop them.
“Hi...hello...hi, sorry, weird question, where am I?”
The man blinked at her.
Slowly.
“…milady?”
“Where am I?” she repeated, gesturing vaguely around them. “Like...what place is this? What town is nearby? What day is it? Actually, more importantly, what year is it?”
That last one slipped out before she could catch it.
The man’s expression shifted from confusion to something closer to concern.
Up close, she could see him better now—tall enough that she had to tilt her head to meet his eyes, his build solid, his presence steady in a way that made her instinctively think safe even if everything else about this situation screamed otherwise.
“…are you hurt, milady?” he asked carefully.
His voice was gentle.
Grounded.
Very real.
Rose stared at him.
And in that moment, something inside her clicked into place.
Not comfort.
Not relief.
Understanding.
Slow.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
This wasn’t a dream.
This wasn’t a hallucination.
This was...
“Oh no,” she whispered.
Her stomach dropped.
Her gaze flicked to his clothes, the horse, the road, the world around her that suddenly made far too much sense in the worst possible way.
“Oh no, no, no...”
She took a small step back, shaking her head as if that might undo it.
“You’re not...” she started, her voice catching. “This isn’t...this can’t be...”
The man frowned slightly, taking a cautious step toward her.
“I’m Dunk,” he said slowly, like he was trying not to startle her. “Are you...”
Rose didn’t hear the rest.
Her brain had already latched onto the name.
And everything that came with it.
Her heart stuttered in her chest.
“…Dunk?” she said faintly.
Because of course it was.
Of course it was.
Of course.
She let out a breath that was half laugh, half something dangerously close to panic, pressing a hand to her forehead as she looked up at the sky like it might explain itself.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
Dunk's POV
Dunk had seen his fair share of strange things on the road.
He had met hedge knights who lied more than they spoke truth, lords who dressed like beggars to test loyalty and once, a man who swore his mule understood commands better than any squire. The roads had a way of bringing odd folk together, especially this far from any proper holdfast.
Still, the woman who stumbled out of the forest made him pause in a way few things did.
She looked as though she had been wandering for hours, her hair tangled, her dress marked with dirt and leaves, her breathing uneven as she came to a stop in the middle of the road. There was nothing threatening about her, nothing that made his hand go to his sword, but there was something… off.
Not wrong.
Just… not what he expected.
Dunk shifted his weight slightly beside his horses, watching her carefully as she spoke, her words tumbling over each other in a way that made it difficult to follow.
Questions. So many questions.
Where they were, what day it was, what year...
That last one had made him blink.
“…are you hurt, milady?” he asked again, a little more gently this time, because she did not seem right, and a lady wandering alone in the woods was never a good sign.
She looked at him as if he had said something important, something that had settled something in her mind rather than answered it.
Then she said his name.
Dunk frowned.
“…have we met?”
She pressed a hand to her forehead, letting out a strange sort of laugh that didn’t sound very amused, more like someone who had just realized something they very much did not want to be true.
“You’re real,” she said, more to herself than to him.
Dunk hesitated.
“Well… yes, milady,” he said, because that felt like the right answer.
She looked at him again, properly this time, her eyes searching his face in a way that made him feel a little self conscious, like he was being measured for something he didn’t quite understand.
Then she asked, quieter now, “Where are we?”
That, at least, he could answer.
“The Reach, milady,” he said. “Near Ashford.”
The change in her was immediate.
He saw it happen—the way her shoulders stiffened, the way her expression shifted, not into confusion this time but something sharper. Something that looked a little like dread.
Dunk’s brow furrowed.
“Are you in trouble?” he asked, more firmly now. “Has someone harmed you? I could take you to a holdfast, or...”
“No,” she said quickly, almost too quickly. “No, no, I’m just...”
She stopped, her words faltering as she glanced around again, as if the world might rearrange itself if she looked at it from a different angle.
“I don’t… I don’t have a home,” she finished, the words sounding strange even as she said them.
Dunk stilled.
That was not an answer he had expected.
He looked at her more closely now, taking in the state of her dress, the satchel at her side, the way she held herself like someone who had not meant to be out here alone.
“No home?” he repeated, slow and careful.
She shook her head.
“No,” she said again, quieter this time. “And no one’s… looking for me.”
Something in his chest tightened at that.
Dunk was not a clever man, not like some of the knights he had met, but he knew enough to recognize trouble when he saw it and a lady alone with nowhere to go was trouble of a kind he could not ignore.
He glanced up at the sky, noting the slow dip of the sun, the way the light had begun to soften toward evening.
It would be dark soon.
And the roads were not safe after dark.
He made his decision quickly.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone, milady,” he said, his voice steady despite the uncertainty that still lingered at the edges of his thoughts. “Not with night coming.”
She looked at him again, like she wasn’t quite sure whether to trust him.
Fair enough, he thought. He wouldn’t trust him either, not like this.
“I was planning to make camp soon,” he continued, nodding slightly toward the trees. “You’re welcome to join me, if it pleases you. It would be safer.”
There was a pause.
A long one.
Then she let out a breath that seemed to carry more weight than it should have.
“…yes,” she said. “Yes, that would be...thank you. That would be really good.”
Dunk nodded once, relieved.
“Of course, milady.”
She made a face.
“Please don’t call me that.”
He blinked.
“…milady?”
“Yeah,” she said, rubbing at her face like she was trying to wake herself up properly. “It’s just...no. Please. My name is Rose.”
Dunk hesitated.
It felt strange, addressing a lady so plainly, but she was looking at him expectantly, and he had already gathered that she was not like most ladies he had met.
“…Rose,” he repeated carefully.
She nodded, just once.
“That’s better.”
He was not entirely certain it was.
But he did not argue.
They made camp beneath a large oak tree just off the road, the ground there soft enough for resting and sheltered enough to feel safe. Dunk tied his horses nearby, checking the knots twice out of habit before setting about gathering what he needed for a fire.
He worked as he always did—methodical, steady, his hands moving through familiar tasks that required little thought. It gave him time to think about the woman—Rose—who sat a short distance away, quieter now than she had been before.
Too quiet.
Every so often, he glanced at her.
She had gone still in a way that did not sit right with him, her gaze unfocused as she stared at nothing in particular, her hands resting loosely in her lap like she had forgotten what to do with them.
Shock, he thought.
He had seen it before, in men after battle, in villagers after raids.
He was not sure what had caused it in her case, but it was there all the same.
Dunk struck flint to steel, coaxing the fire to life, the small flames catching slowly before growing stronger, casting warm light against the fading day.
“You’ll feel better once you’ve eaten,” he said after a moment, more to fill the silence than anything else.
She blinked, like she had forgotten he was there.
“…right,” she said faintly.
He frowned slightly.
“You said you’ve come from far away?”
She nodded slowly.
“Very far,” she said.
He considered that.
Her manner of speaking was strange, her words sometimes oddly placed, but her meaning was clear enough.
“Essos?” he guessed.
She paused.
Then, after a moment, gave a small, uncertain nod.
“…sure. Let’s go with that.”
Dunk accepted this, though something about the way she said it made him think she was not entirely certain herself.
Still, it was something.
“And you’ve no destination?” he asked.
“No,” she said again, a little more firmly this time. “No destination. No plan. Just… here.”
Dunk sat back slightly, resting his forearms on his knees as he looked at her across the growing firelight.
“That’s not a good place to be,” he said honestly.
Her lips twitched faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m starting to get that.”
He nodded.
“Well,” he continued after a moment, “I’m on my way to Ashford. There’s to be a tourney there.”
Her expression flickered again at that, something quick and hard to read, but she did not interrupt him.
“There’ll be knights and lords, plenty of folk about,” he went on. “It’s a safer place than the road, at least. You’d be welcome to come along, if you like.”
She looked at him properly then, something clearer in her gaze now, something more present.
“You’d let me?” she asked.
Dunk blinked, a little surprised by the question.
“Of course,” he said. “It’s no trouble.”
That did not seem to be the answer she expected.
Her shoulders eased slightly, just a little.
“…thank you,” she said, quieter now.
Dunk nodded, feeling oddly pleased by that.
“It’s nothing,” he said.
He was still thinking about it when she moved.
At first, he thought she was simply shifting her position, but then she reached for her satchel, pulling out the small bundle of food he had seen earlier, along with a few of the things he had brought himself.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She glanced up at him.
“Making stew,” she said, like that should be obvious.
Dunk blinked again.
“…with what?”
She gave him a look.
“With what we have?”
Before he could question that further, she had already set to work, moving with a kind of quiet confidence that surprised him, her earlier stillness replaced by something more familiar, more grounded.
She worked quickly, combining what little they had into something that began to smell… good.
Very good.
Dunk leaned back slightly, watching her with open curiosity.
He had not expected this.
Had not expected her to know what to do, or to take it upon herself so easily.
“You’ve done this before,” he said.
She huffed softly.
“I mean, not exactly like this,” she admitted, “but close enough.”
He nodded, accepting that as he accepted most things, with little question and quiet trust.
When she finally handed him a portion, he took it carefully.
“Thank you,” he said.
She waved it off.
“Yeah, well,” she muttered, “we both benefit from not starving.”
Dunk smiled faintly at that.
As he ate, he found himself watching her again, though this time with a different kind of curiosity.
She was strange.
There was no denying that.
But she was also kind.
And the world could always use more of that.
He shifted slightly, settling back against the tree, his gaze lifting briefly to the darkening sky before returning to the fire, to the quiet presence of the woman who had appeared out of the woods as if she had been placed there by something beyond his understanding.
He did not know where she had come from.
He did not know what trouble had brought her here.
But he knew this much, she should not be alone.
And as long as she traveled with him, she wouldn’t be.