Chapter Text
The days leading up to the tourney were the busiest the inn had seen in quite some time, according to Jeyne, which meant that hardly a moment passed without Dunk being given a task.
He didn’t mind the work, especially when he was not allowed to pay for his lodging, but he did wish that his chores overlapped with Aerion’s a bit more. Dunk felt like he’d barely had any time to see him outside of meals, and even then Aerion was not especially talkative.
“Just be patient with him. Sometimes I worry he knows only how to feel anger,” is what Jeyne had said, before telling Dunk that Aerion hadn’t spoken for a week following Mark’s death, despite the two of them never having been close.
Dunk did not know that. He knew that Aerion’s brother had died, of course, but he’d been told little else, and he’d never dared to ask. He still would not.
“Your first child?”
Dunk glanced over from the table he was wiping down to see Jeyne chatting with a man who had clearly spent the past few hours drinking. He seemed harmless enough, but Dunk was not one to take chances. He finished his task and pretended to busy himself with cleaning a table far closer to the two of them.
“Yes,” Jeyne said with a pleasant smile and a caress of her stomach. “Though I raised both of my brothers, so I believe it should not be too difficult.”
The drunk man naturally matched her smile, but it did not come close to reaching his unfocused eyes.
“Ah, little brothers. I… I also have two. Used to have three, but… Well…” he said with a shrug and another swig of his cup. Dunk hoped they steered the conversation elsewhere quickly, for Jeyne’s sake more than anything. She sat down across from the drunk.
“I lost one of mine as well.”
Damn it.
“What happened?”
“He… He got sick. It was years ago, but they never truly leave you, do they?”
“I assure you, they do not. Mine’s been lost nearly a decade past and I still think of him each day.”
Jeyne hummed in agreement and Dunk could see the drunk man get lost in his own mind. He didn’t know why Jeyne was entertaining him when she typically conversed with patrons as little as possible, but Dunk had noticed that she’d become more emotional in recent months.
“He was a rude little boy, but he could be sweet when he wanted to. Like a thorned berry bush. He loved fishing, but our parents were always busy, so I brought him to the river whenever he asked,” the man continued before chuckling to himself and shaking his head, uncaring—or maybe unknowing—of the sweat on his temple.
“That day, he wished to nap in the grass on the riverbank. Tucked his little face into my neck to hide from the sun, and was gone before I awoke. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep, truth be told… By the time they pulled him from the water, it had been so long they found only pieces. So often I dream of him drowning, scared and hurt, crying out for help while I lay unaware.”
Even Dunk was struck still by the story, but Jeyne looked outright nauseated. She covered her mouth and rushed from the room with wet eyes and a muttered “excuse me”. The patron picked up the carafe in front of him and laughed again under his breath.
“Something I said?”
How a person could tell such a tale and simply return to drinking was beyond Dunk’s comprehension, but perhaps it made sense. Dunk did not realize he was staring until the man looked up and met his eye. He dropped the emptied carafe.
“You…”
“Me?” Dunk pointed to himself and made his way over to sit down when the drunk man nodded and beckoned him closer.
“Yes.. Yes, I’ve not seen you in quite a long while, Ser.”
“I’m afraid we’ve never met, m’lord.”
“No, not awake, but I first dreamt of you some time ago. And many times since.”
Of course Aerion chose that moment to descend the stairs, and Dunk turned away with a reddened face when his friend raised an eyebrow at him. He knew how it sounded, but he truly did not think he was being propositioned, even if he still could not determine the patron’s designation beneath the scent of wine.
“You must be quite lost without him,” the man slurred, much to Dunk’s confusion.
“Without who?”
“Tell me, is that woman your mate?”
Dunk shook his head. He would not ignore the questions he was asked.
“Yes, you would’ve been very unhappy with her.”
Even if the idea of Dunk being mated to Jeyne was ridiculous enough to make Aerion scoff from where he was very blatantly listening to their conversation, Dunk did not appreciate her being disrespected.
“It’d do you well to mind your tongue. Jeyne is not my mate, but she is my friend. She’s a good woman.”
“Oh, of that I have no doubt. It’s only that you… Have you ever heard of fated mates?”
Of course he’d heard of them, but that was not to say he believed in the concept. Dunk glanced over at Aerion, whose glare was going entirely unnoticed by their drunk acquaintance.
“I have.”
“Most smallfolk think it to be something only of tales told to children, but some nobles still believe it holds a flicker of truth. The Targaryens especially… Do you believe, Ser?”
Dunk, not particularly; but if the Targaryens did, then it was safe to assume that Aerion did as well. Aerion, who was doing an even worse job pretending to be preoccupied with his chores than Dunk had been.
“I don’t know.”
The man took a drink from his cup, long enough for the silence to be noticeable.
“Do you ever feel lonely?”
“Everyone does, sometimes,” Dunk said.
“No, not the typical kind. I mean a loneliness so deep you feel as if you’re the only living being in the world, as if no amount of people will make a room feel anything but empty.”
What a sad thought.
Dunk could not say with certainty that he’d ever experienced such a thing. Perhaps many years ago, but not recent enough that he could conjure up the memory. He felt lonely at times, sure—when Ser Arlan would leave him behind to go whoring or drinking, or when too many moons passed without seeing Aerion, but the remedy was always clear.
“I don’t think I’ve felt that.”
“…Truly?”
“Truly.”
The man raised his eyebrows and shrugged as if he still did not trust Dunk’s words.
“Well, perhaps it’s best if you don’t believe in fated mates, then. If you did, that loneliness might catch you quite cruelly once you’ve learned that yours is dead.”
Dunk was too busy gaping to notice the rising irritation behind him until Aerion was plopped down at his side with a glower.
“And who are you to say his fated mate is dead?”
The patron choked on his wine and stared at Aerion with an even more shocked look than he’d given Dunk. Another notable difference was the way he reached for him with a shaking hand.
Aerion looked vaguely wary of the hand nearing his face, but he did not make any move to avoid it. Whether that be because he truly did not mind or because he simply knew Dunk would not allow it to reach him was unclear. Dunk grabbed the wrist of the man who seemed to have forgotten his existence entirely.
“Apologies, m’lord, but I must insist you keep your hands away from my friend.”
There was a time when Aerion absolutely despised Dunk’s instinctual attempts at protecting him. His face would go scarlet with anger, and he would run off, telling Dunk his entire existence was unnecessary and unwanted. More often than not, he would gift Dunk a smack or two before his departure.
Over the years, his feelings on the matter changed greatly. These days, he seemed almost proud when Dunk would go out of his way to defend him without being asked. It came across as rather similar to how a hunter may be proud of their biggest, most loyal hound.
“I see,” the man said with a nod before tugging his hand back from Dunk and shrugging again. “Perhaps a good replacement mate would quell anyone’s loneliness.”
“Replacement?”
Oh no. That flat tone was not one Dunk liked to hear from Aerion. He put a hand on his friend’s thigh in case he needed to prevent him from lunging across the table. From the way the muscles beneath his palm began tensing, it was not an unnecessary precaution.
“Alec is no replacement. And he’s—uh, he’s not my mate, either…”
Gods, Dunk hoped he did not truly sound as pathetic and disappointed as he did in his own ears. It was not his place to wish for Aerion as a mate, though he did believe he had more right to that than anyone else. Sure, there were plenty of alphas who lived nearby and saw Aerion more often than he was able to, but Aerion rarely gave them the time of day. Everyone knew Alec’s only real friend was the giant boy who passed through town every so often.
“Not by your choice, I presume.”
Aerion bristled at the man’s words, but whatever rude remark he planned to say was cut off by Jeyne returning to the room with red rimmed eyes. She gave Aerion a reassuring smile and squeeze on his shoulder when she noticed his concerned gaze following her.
“Ah, Dunk—Did our new friend tell you he’s a knight as well? Perhaps the two of you will meet on the tourney field.”
A knight? Studying the man a second time did not yield any more knightly results than the first, and Dunk could feel Aerion’s equal confusion beside him. The drunk knight lifted his hands with a somewhat awkward laugh.
“I’m afraid I’ve decided against joining the lists this time. My health has not been at its best, and I have no desire to embarrass myself in front of the royal family and half The Reach.”
From the corner of his eye, Dunk noticed Jeyne stiffen. Her smile was frozen on her face when he turned to look at her.
“The Targaryens will be attending?”
“Not many of them, but more than I’d like to see.”
“Will Prince Maekar be there?” Aerion asked with no attempt to hide his interest. The patron regarded him quizzically.
“From what I’ve heard, yes. Summerhall is not a very long journey from Ashford.”
Dunk had no real opinions on the Targaryens or their presence at the tourney, but Aerion’s excitement was infectious. Though that was not surprising—to Dunk, most of Aerion’s feelings were.
“Alec, perhaps you should reconsider accompanying Dunk,” Jeyne said, nearly whispering. Aerion’s face held all of the indignation Dunk expected it to when he whipped his head around.
“Why?”
“It will be your first time traveling from home. I believed that a tourney for a young lady’s name day would not be too overwhelming, but if it is significant enough for the royal family to attend—”
“All the more reason for me to go. When else will I get such an opportunity?”
“An opportunity for what? It is not as if they will see you in the crowd and take you into their service. You are not competing, you are not even a knight. Not yet.”
Her words were not untrue, but they did still prod at a sensitive place in Aerion, and his confusion shifted to offense.
“Maybe there is little reason for me to go, but you have yet to give me a reason I should not.”
“It is simply not a wise choice. For your sake, I… I forbid it.”
Dunk winced at the sight of Aerion’s expression. Perhaps he would have listened to Jeyne if she explained her thoughts more clearly, but her choice of words in her inexplicable agitation all but sealed their fates.
“You cannot forbid me from anything. I am a man grown.”
“Only just. As your sister—”
Jeyne did not flinch when Aerion shot to his feet, but she did step back quickly enough to avoid a collision.
“Yes, my sister—not my mother. I will be leaving with Dunk, and that is final.”
Dunk watched Aerion storm off towards the kitchen with his sister on his heel and hoped their argument did not escalate too much. Though he preferred it to letting the two of them fester in anger, they were both stubborn when they wanted to be, and Dunk was not fond of quelling their spats.
Turning back to the patron, Dunk huffed a laugh of disbelief when he found him slumped onto the table with his head pillowed in his arms. It was almost impressive how little he’d been slurring his words after so much to drink, even if those words did not make much sense at times. Dunk resolved to do the man a favor and carry him to his room if he still slept when Jeyne and Aerion were finished speaking. In the meantime, he returned to tidying up the main room.
Dunk did his best to give his friends privacy, he truly did, but nearly an hour of anxious cleaning and the sound of voices steadily rising in the next room over had him unable to continue ignoring the conflict. His knock on the door to the kitchen got no response.
“Alec? Jeyne? May I come in?”
He went unanswered again, but decided to forgo propriety when he heard a crash and the sound of Jeyne sobbing. Broken pottery crunched beneath Dunk’s foot when he stepped inside, and the second bowl thrown by an eerily silent Aerion nearly hit him in the head.
“What’s going on?”
Dunk was beginning to suspect he’d gone mute with how naturally he was being ignored.
“Aerion, please—”
“Fuck you.”
“I’m so sorry. I never wanted this.”
“You never wanted what? Because I can tell you exactly what I never wanted.”
The flush on Jeyne’s face that had grown with her tears drained instantly, and her horrified expression made Dunk almost grateful that he had no idea what Aerion was referring to.
“No. No, he said— He swore—”
“Stop!”
Dunk had given little thought to Aerion’s general aversion to shouting over the years, but never in his life would he have guessed that the first person he heard Aerion yell at would be Jeyne. Jeyne who had raised him, who he adored, who was crying again, and who was reaching for the boy that recoiled away with a look of disgust.
“Please, I can’t lose you.”
Aerion scoffed.
“You should pray to the gods that we never cross paths again. Don’t fucking touch me,” he said before swatting away her hand and shoving past Dunk to storm out of the room. Dunk lunged forward to catch Jeyne by the arms when she began swaying on her feet, but she did not allow him to embrace her.
“Go after him, please. He should not be alone.”
“Of course. I’ll talk to him—”
“No. Speak nothing of this. He needs… He just needs his friend. I am fine. Go,” Jeyne said, giving Dunk a soft push towards the door. He did not believe that she was well enough to be left alone, but as shameful as it would be to admit, there was no question regarding which person Dunk would choose to comfort.
He found Aerion in his room, shoving a seemingly random assortment of items into a sack.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m leaving.”
“Wh—You want to go now? It’s the middle of the night, Aerion.”
“I don’t care. I’d rather die than stay here a moment more. Join me or don’t, it matters not, but I am leaving.”
“Why don’t you rest, and we can leave on the morrow. I’m sure the both of you will feel better after a night’s sleep,” Dunk said as he picked up a tunic Aerion had thrown on his bed, but the fabric was snatched from his hands before he could even begin folding it.
“If you try to make me speak to that woman, you will never see me again. I swear it.”
Dunk was stunned into silence for a long while. He could not claim that Aerion had no dramatic tendencies, but the boy was not one to make empty threats.
“Aerion, what happened?”
“Are you coming with me or not?”
Dunk sighed.
“You know I’d never let you go alone.”
Aerion’s body stayed tense, but a certain thread of fear slipped from his expression as he nodded.
“Good. Go ready the horses, I need to choose what I will leave behind.”
As a man who could never be described as stealthy, Dunk was grateful he was able to collect his belongings and make it to the stables without seeing Jeyne. He would not have been able to lie to her, and the truth was not an easy one to tell. “I’m taking away your dearest family member in the dead of night, but don’t worry, I plan to return him someday. Maybe.”
As if his evening could not get any more strange, Dunk stepped into the stables to the sight of a small boy, bald as could be, playing on Thunder’s back. The boy startled visibly when he noticed Dunk.
“What in the seven hells— Get down from there!”
The child nearly threw himself into the dirt in his haste to dismount. He would have, if Dunk hadn’t caught him by the elbow. Dunk hated the terror painted across the boy’s face as he scrambled to get his feet under him. It abated somewhat when he was released the moment Dunk was certain he wouldn’t fall.
“I’m sorry, my lord. I won’t do it again.”
“‘Course you won’t. Where’s your mother?”
“I don’t know. Far from here, I imagine.”
“Your father?”
“My father is dead.”
Dunk felt his heart ache at the child’s admission, and the way it was told so plainly. He must have lost his parents long ago.
“You’re an orphan boy?”
“Are you going to Ashford, my lord? Do you mean to enter the lists?”
The boy followed close behind as Dunk began preparing the horses for travel. He felt poorly for making them work past nightfall, but hopefully Aerion would be willing to rest soon after they left the general area.
“I do.”
“Do you have a squire, Ser?”
No, but he did have a moody omega who was unlikely to make his life any easier.
“No.”
“Then take me with you! You need a squire, don’t you? I could do it.”
Dunk chuckled at the thought of bringing a child along with them while Aerion was angry enough to run away.
“Sorry, lad. I don’t believe my… travel partner would appreciate a third.”
As if summoned by Dunk’s mention of him, Aerion all but tore into the stables and shoved two sacks of his belongings into Dunk’s arms. It did not seem like much for someone who was planning to leave home permanently, but Dunk doubted that even Aerion expected for him to stay gone.
“We need to go now, before that woman fetches Gareth to stop us,” Aerion said before turning his attention to Sweetfoot, his scowl softening as he petted her. It returned tenfold when the young boy behind him made his presence known.
“Why do you smell like that?”
Children truly were the most impolite creatures of all, weren’t they? Yes, Aerion’s panic and upset was turning his scent into something akin to burning wood, but that was not something that should be pointed out by strangers. Aerion glared at the child over his shoulder.
“Fuck off.”
“You have white hair. And your eyes are purple.”
“I told you to fuck off.”
The boy was undeterred.
“You look like Prince Maekar.”
Aerion froze for a breath, his already porcelain face turning pallid at the observation Dunk would have expected him to take as a compliment.
“I have no time for this,” Aerion hissed before practically leaping onto Sweetfoot’s back and leaving the stables. Dunk watched him with pursed lips and finished fastening their bags to the other horses.
“Who was that, Ser?”
“My friend. He’s not usually so…” Dunk made a vague gesture when he couldn’t think of the right word to describe Aerion’s grumpiness. He pulled a coin from his pocket and tossed it to the boy with an apologetic look. It fell on the ground between them when the child made no attempt to catch it.
“Go inside and get something to fill your belly. Jeyne will take care of you.”
Dunk could not be certain if the boy even heard him, those dark eyes did not budge from where Aerion was riding away.
Dunk had seen Aerion cry plenty of times. For a young boy as reckless as he was, it was not uncommon nor unexpected for his minor injuries to bring sniffles and watery eyes. That being said, Dunk had never seen Aerion weep.
His tears fell silently, and Dunk knew he would deny their existence if questioned, but it was difficult to pretend he had not been crying for hours. Even Sweetfoot seemed unsettled despite her usual disposition and the fact she’d never taken issue with Aerion riding her the dozens of times Ser Arlan allowed him to before.
“Sweetfoot’s worried about you.”
“Did she say that?”
“Don’t pretend you can’t tell.”
“She should mind her own,” Aerion said, but still rubbed soothingly down the side of the horse’s neck.
“I’m worried about you, too.”
“Then you should also mind your own.”
“You are my own…”
It was a gamble of a claim, just as likely to offend as it was to disarm, but it seemed the gods were on Dunk’s side for once. Aerion sighed.
“I am fine, it’s only… Jeyne told me something about my mother, and it was... That’s all I’ll say.”
“You don’t want to tell me?”
“I do not.”
Aerion was not enjoying Ashford, that much could be seen by anyone with eyes. Or anyone with a nose capable of picking up scents, for that matter.
He glared at vendors, he hid behind Dunk any time it seemed like they’d be approached, and he refused to do anything but “guard the horses” while Dunk tried to arrange a way to enter the lists. He would have been embarrassed to let Aerion see him having trouble with it, if it seemed like Aerion’s mind was on the same plane of existence at all.
He was distracted and uncharacteristically skittish, to the point he nearly jumped out of his skin when someone brushed against him in the puppeteer’s tent they’d wandered into. Dunk squeezed behind him, too close for propriety’s sake, but he knew his bulk would be enough to give Aerion a little space. Dunk kept his attention firmly on the stage when Aerion unthinkingly leaned back against his chest. If Dunk hadn’t been so focused on staying respectful, he might have found it funny that looking straight ahead with their bodies that close, he could not even see the top of Aerion’s hair.
Though, he did not need sight to be painfully aware of Aerion’s presence, considering the other senses being overwhelmed by him. Being plastered to Aerion’s back in such a way meant that his sweetening scent reached Dunk before anyone else, and that Dunk was the only person privy to his pleased hums and soft gasps as he watched the puppet show. Dunk was not surprised that Aerion enjoyed seeing a giant dragon puppet breathe fire, but he did wish he enjoyed it a little less when his scent began to draw attention. It was not strong enough to be anything improper, but in a crowd with the most common designation being “male alpha”, it was enough to turn heads. Dunk tugged Aerion even closer with an arm around his waist.
The show was impressive, even with the warm little distraction in front of him, Dunk could see that the puppeteers were skilled. The woman narrating had a pleasant voice, and she spoke with the certainty of someone who had performed a thousand times before; which made it all the more peculiar that she blushed and tucked her hair behind her ear when the crowd applauded. Dunk thought they might have met eyes for a moment, but the thought left his mind quickly when he noticed Aerion’s scent had soured again. He looked down to find his friend already twisted around to glare up at him, and didn’t have the chance to ask what he’d done before Aerion was wrenching out of his hold and leaving the tent without looking back.
“Alec, wait!” Dunk called, trying and failing to keep up with the man who had a much easier time squeezing through strangers. He finally caught him once the crowd had thinned out.
“What was that? I thought you were enjoying the show.”
“Not as much as you, clearly,” Aerion said with crossed arms and a refusal to meet Dunk’s eye.
“What does that—”
“Halfman! Halfman!”
Dunk turned towards the shouting with an incredulous look. Ah, it was the Fossoway boy. Raymun, if Dunk had heard correctly.
“Do I look like a halfman to you?”
“Aye, half man, half giant. Look, I’m sorry. I should not have urged you to try my cousin. He’d have broken your hand or a knee, if he could—”
“And me?” Aerion interrupted, arms still crossed, but his gaze sharpened and no longer averted.
“…I’m sorry?”
“You apologize for asking him to fight your useless filth of kin, but you have nothing to say to me? Not now and not when that cousin of yours called me a hedge knight’s bitch? Not when he threatened to claim me as a prize and fuck me if he bested my alpha?”
The last words were spoken mockingly enough to leave no room for misunderstanding, but hearing Aerion refer to him that way at all had Dunk’s face heating, almost as hot as his rage had burned earlier when Aerion had been disrespected and inexplicably insistent that they did nothing in response.
Raymun sputtered a bit beneath Aerion’s scrutiny and Dunk wondered if he’d ever known omegas to be capable of anything but submission and sweetness. He imagined that going from the general understanding of omegas to speaking with Aerion would be quite the shock. Raymun looked helplessly at Dunk who only shrugged. What in the world did he expect him to do?
“I… I’m sorry for that as well. My cousin knows not how to behave properly with anyone, much less omegas.”
Aerion scoffed, but Dunk could tell he found the apology sufficient enough to let the slight go. Dunk nodded sharply when Raymun looked at him again and the poor man seemed to breathe for the first time since Aerion addressed him.
“Will you and your cousin ride in the tourney?” Dunk asked, and Raymun leapt at the opportunity to change the subject.
“He will. I would that I could, but I’m only a squire.”
“You fight well for a squire.”
Dunk felt good about that compliment when it made Raymun grin, but Aerion’s irritated huff suggested he was less than amused.
“Was there something you needed, apple boy? Or have you come simply to spoil my view?”
“Alec,” Dunk hissed with an elbow nudge intended for Aerion’s side that ended up closer to his armpit. Dunk could have sworn their difference in height was not always so extreme.
“Oh, I, uh… I wanted only to apologize, I suppose.”
“Then your task is complete.”
Dunk sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. The Fossoways may have been a minor house, but they were still more noble than a hedge knight and an innkeeper’s son. They clearly needed to have a long discussion regarding who he should not needlessly antagonize. Dunk gave Raymun an apologetic look as the man nodded and made to leave, but he only walked a few steps before turning back around.
“You hungry?”
“Always,” Dunk answered at the same moment Aerion asked “Why?”
“Well, in Lyonel Baratheon’s pavilion—” Raymun started before being interrupted by Aerion yet again.
“Baratheon?” Aerion made a pensive expression before shaking his head and tugging his cloak tighter around his shoulders. “I am not hungry. You go, I will return to the horses and make camp.”
“Wh—You can’t go alone. It’s not safe.”
“Then give me your sword.”
Dunk sighed again, this time in acquiescence, and removed his sword and scabbard to hand it over. He pulled it back the moment before Aerion could grab it.
“No sticking anyone who’s not a threat to you, no matter how angry you get.”
“…Fine,” Aerion said, making another attempt at the sword and glaring when Dunk kept it out of his reach.
“Swear it, Alec.”
“Fine, I swear it. Now fuck off.”
Raymun made a choked sound when Aerion snatched the sword and left without another word, and Dunk turned to see him looking between Dunk and Aerion’s retreating back with eyes like saucers.
“What is it?”
“You gave him your sword.”
“Aye. He’s probably more skilled with it than I am, truth be told,” Dunk said sheepishly. Raymun only laughed.
Dining in Lord Baratheon’s tent was an entirely foreign experience that only grew stranger the longer it went on, and hours later found Dunk walking back to camp, trying to decide where to begin in telling Aerion what he’d missed out on. At least he won’t go hungry, Dunk thought, looking down at the food he held wrapped in a cloth. It was worth it to procure, even if Lyonel had nearly laughed up a lung when Dunk asked for permission to take some back to his friend.
“You left an omega by themselves in the forest? Fuck it, take as much as you want. You’ll need a good apology for leaving them all alone and defenseless if you want to get anywhere near that cunt of theirs in the foreseeable future.”
“He’s not defenseless. He has my long sword.”
“…Of course he does.”
As much as Dunk truly did have faith in Aerion’s ability to defend himself, the sound of hushed voices as he approached their camp set him on edge. His only comfort was recognizing one of the voices as Aerion’s, and knowing that he was not the type to whisper along with anyone who meant him harm.
“You!” Dunk called when he finally reached the clearing, and both people sitting by the fire turned to look at him. Both a disgruntled Aerion, and that strange little boy from the inn.
“What— What are you doing here?”
“Trying to cook a fish, but your friend has been pestering me.”
“Because you’re awful at it,” Aerion grumbled.
“At least I’m trying to be helpful. What have you done?”
“I haven’t chased anyone across The Reach on the back of a lamb cart, that’s for certain.”
“No, you only rode on the back of someone else’s horse.”
“I should cut out your tongue, runt.”
“Mother would not be very happy with you if you did,” the boy said, to which Aerion only glared.
Dunk must have drunk more than he thought, because absolutely nothing about the scene in front of him was making any sense.
“What in the seven hells is going on?”
The child stood up and dusted off the back of his cloak.
“Nothing, Ser. I was just leaving.”
“It’s too late for that, you stupid boy. The brute is too soft to let you leave with nowhere to go,” Aerion said with a roll of his eyes. He was not entirely wrong, but Dunk wasn’t that soft…
Was he?
“I have half a mind to put him on the back of Thunder and take him home.”
“Then you’d have to ride all the way to King’s Landing. You’d miss the tourney,” the boy said with a bit too much smugness for a child his age, in Dunk’s opinion.
“You’re from Fleabottom?”
Aerion huffed out a laugh.
“Oh yes, he grew up exactly like we did,” Aerion added incredulously, and it was the child’s turn to glare.
“I did grow up like you. Except I never made my mother cry for years on end.”
Dunk’s jaw dropped for multiple reasons. One, that this strange child would say something so cruel and reckless to someone like Aerion; and two, that Aerion had apparently told him enough for him to make such a statement—that Aerion had apparently told him more than he’d been willing to share with Dunk.
But there was no time to focus on the sting of that realization when he had a child to save from Aerion’s wrath. Dunk caught him by an arm around his waist a second time that night when he jumped to his feet to chase after the boy, who had very intelligently run out of Aerion’s reach before he could grab him.
“Let go of me.”
“Calm down, he’s just a boy,” Dunk whispered as he attempted to subtly push out a soothing scent. Aerion caught on immediately and scowled up at him, but stopped squirming in his arms.
“He’s a pest.”
“What’s your name, Ser? I already know Alec’s.”
“It’s Dunk.”
Seemingly confident in Dunk’s ability to keep Aerion restrained one handed, the boy sat back down with his skewered fish.
“That’s no name for a knight. Is it short for Duncan?”
“Yeah—Uh, yes. Ser Duncan of… Ser Duncan the Tall.”
“Never heard of him.”
“Do you know every knight in the Seven Kingdoms, then?”
“The good ones.”
As gracious as he was to stay quiet regarding Dunk’s little lie, Aerion still made a sound dangerously close to a snort. Dunk squeezed his waist once more in response before setting him down, and only then did he realize he’d been holding him inches above the ground. He did not remember Aerion being so easy to pick up before.
“Do you have a name, boy?”
“Egg.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Aerion said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Sure, it was a bit of a silly name, but Dunk didn’t think it really deserved that kind of reaction.
“I’m not lying!” Egg shouted back, which was a rather strange thing to say.
“Egg, Duncan, and Alec.” Aerion scoffed. “Fit for the White Book.”