Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“You are dirty.”

From his place on the ground, Dunk turned his attention away from the stick he was whittling and looked up at the young boy in front of him. Of course he was dirty, he and Ser Arlan had been traveling for a fortnight. What business that was of the little lordling, Dunk did not know. 

“My sister says that dirty boys get sick and die,” the child continued before Dunk could even think to respond. 

Brat. 

He was a handsome lad, though a more accurate word may have been pretty. His hair was cropped short, perhaps to push his appearance away from delicate and more towards boyish, and the violet shade of his irises seemed to glow in the dusk’s light despite his narrowed eyes. 

Ser Arlan spoke of women and omegas from Essos with white hair and purple eyes like the dragon lords of old, but Dunk had never seen a person with such coloring himself. It was just as striking as one might think. 

“Only if they have wounds that fester,” Dunk said. Much to his surprise, the boy dropped down into the dirt to inspect him. He’d never expect a noble to kneel on the ground so carelessly. 

Though, now that he had longer than a moment to look at him, the boy was not dressed like someone of high standing. His clothing was not as ratty and patch-filled as Dunk’s, but it was also not the garments of a wealthy man’s son. How odd, that a peasant child could carry himself with such haughtiness. 

“Do you have wounds?”

“None at the moment.”

“Is that old man your father? He’s just as dirty as you.”

“No, Ser Arlan is the knight I squire for.”

The boy scoffed and tugged on Dunk’s tunic with a pinch of two fingers, as if any more contact would infect him with some disease. 

“Knighthood has fallen on sad days,” the child said with the ghost of a smile on his lips. 

“You’d do well to show some respect. I’ll have you know that we’ve just come from a noble battle.”

Well, noble was generous when it had been nothing more than a petty squabble between minor lords, but the insolent boy did not need to know that. 

“There has been no battle of note since the Blackfyre rebellion, and you look too young to have fought in that. You too young, your knight too fat.”

Dunk had known his fair share of cruel children, but he’d met few so casual about it. The boy didn’t even seem to be intending to offend, though he was very skilled at it. It was all very strange, but no less infuriating. 

“Ser Arlan did fight in the Blackfyre rebellion!”

The child didn’t react to his hand being slapped away from Dunk’s tunic, he was too busy staring at him with widened eyes. 

“…Truly?”

“I do not lie.”

“Did he fight for the red dragon or the black?”

While Ser Arlan often made his allegiance clear when speaking of the battle, Dunk had never heard someone ask so bluntly, nor had he ever seen someone so eager for the answer. 

“The lord he fought for was loyal to House Targaryen.”

If expressions were audible, Dunk was certain that the one on the boy’s face would have been a squeal of delight. Gone was the haughty little lord, replaced by an awed child who was now far too close for Dunk’s comfort. 

“I wish to meet him.”

“Ser Arlan is likely… busy at this time of day.”

Drunk. 

“What could a hedge knight possibly be busy with at an inn? I saw you both enter and only you left. Come, take me to him.”

The boy hopped up and attempted to drag Dunk to his feet by a hold on his wrist. His grip was stronger than Dunk would’ve guessed, but that meant little when he was still half Dunk’s size. He dug his heels in the dirt and tugged for a moment more before dropping Dunk’s arm with a huff. 

“Fine then, I’ll find him myself.”

“I doubt the innkeeper will be pleased with you poking around,” Dunk said as he, perhaps foolishly, stood to follow the boy’s self assured steps. 

“Where else am I meant to poke around?”

The child pushed open the door to the inn with more than little effort and walked inside as if he belonged there. Dunk realized that he had no idea if he did belong there. The innkeeper had looked too young to have a child of his age, but Dunk had not observed her so closely when Ser Arlan arranged their lodging. 

“Are you the innkeeper’s boy?”

Dunk watched the boy’s unveiled excitement shutter into something bristled and defensive. He could not imagine the question was that insulting. 

“And what if I am? Father may not be a knight, but he’s strong enough. Jeyne says he once killed half a dozen men,” the boy said, nearly drowned out by the laughter and jeering across the room. 

“I meant no disrespect.”

Dunk shifted between his feet as his face was studied for a long moment, and the innkeeper’s son seemed to be satisfied with what he found. He grabbed Dunk’s hand to drag him this time, his own far smaller but equally as calloused. 

“Come on. Introduce me.”

The laughter grew in volume as they approached, and Dunk was unsurprised to find Ser Arlan at the center of it. The man was rather solitary by nature, but it was not unusual for him to draw a crowd with his stories when they passed through a more social village. 

“Ah! There he is, my squire! Come, come, I was just telling the tale of your first time skinning a rabbit.”

Dunk’s face heated at the resumed chuckling and he hoped that Ser Arlan was not drunk enough to repeat the embarrassing story in front of the innkeeper’s boy. Luckily, it seemed the boy did not care at all to ask. 

“Your squire says you fought on behalf of House Targaryen in the Blackfyre rebellion. Is that true? Were you there in Redgrass Field?”

A few wearied groans could be heard around the table, and Dunk wondered how often the boy spoke of such things to garner that reaction. Ser Arlan’s grin wilted so slightly that Dunk knew he would be the only one to notice. 

“Nothing so esteemed. I fought beneath Lord Hayford.”

In his excitement, the innkeeper’s boy dropped Dunk’s hand to shove himself between two men seated in front of Ser Arlan, and Dunk didn’t realize how warm his touch had been until it was gone. 

“Lord Hayford swore fealty to the crown. You fought beside—Move, Lucas—Did you see it? Did you see the hammer and the anvil?”

“Pay no mind to Alec, Ser. He’s always been fond of the dragon. I say it’s the hair,” said one of the burly, bearded men who had been displaced by the boy. He gave a rough but affectionate ruffle of short white hair, and ignored the glare he got in return. 

“It’s not. I say it’s only natural that a future Kingsguard reveres the house he’ll serve,” the boy— Alec, apparently, said with his nose in the air, entirely uncaring of the laughter his statement earned. Even Ser Arlan looked amused, though his chuckle held no mockery. 

“Future Kingsguard, eh? You must be training hard for that ambition.”

“I train every day. No boy in town is better than me with a sword.”

“With a stick, you mean,” the man beside him corrected. 

Alec spoke as if he could not hear the laughing. 

“Only because no blacksmith here makes a sword worth the coin. Once I reach King’s Landing—”

“Oh, enough,” one of the drunker, less cheerful patrons interrupted. “The Kingsguard would never accept an omega, much less one so little. Two and ten, and barely past his father’s hip.”

The truth and bitterness of his claim killed the jovial spirit of the conversation quite masterfully, and Dunk’s eyes naturally fell on Alec, who had grown oddly unreadable. Two and ten? Given his height, Dunk would’ve assumed him to be years younger, but they were not terribly different in age. The boy’s voice was carefully measured when he spoke again. 

“Prince Maekar is an omega, and he is the Anvil himself.”

Alec’s blank gaze did not leave the man who had disrespected him, even when the one beside him attempted to mend the awkwardness. 

“That he is, little knight. I’m certain that—”

“The Anvil is a prince. You think he would’ve been allowed to fight if he wasn’t? You think the crown has any use for an innkeeper’s runt when the Kingsguard is full of highborn alphas?”

“Gawen, that’s enough. The boy is plenty capable.”

Said boy suddenly wriggled out of his seat and rushed to the hearth, fetching the two thinnest logs he could find from the pile of wood beside it and returning to the table. 

“Ser Arlan, spar with me.”

At least Alec’s unbridled confidence was enough to return smiles to several faces, Ser Arlan’s being one of them. He raised his hands in surrender to the boy who nearly matched his seated height. 

“Afraid I’m too far into my cups for that, m’lord. Give it to Dunk, he’ll fight you.”

Dunk’s brows shot to his hairline while Alec’s furrowed. 

“Who is Dunk?”

“It—that would be me.”

Alec whipped his head around to scrutinize Dunk once again, this time from his head to his feet. 

“Does he know the sword?”

“Eh, he’s a squire, he knows well enough.”

No, he absolutely did not. He knew the very basics at best, and even those he was not particularly skilled in. Dunk was not afraid of playing swords with sticks, certainly not with someone a head and a half shorter than him, but he was afraid of embarrassing himself. 

“Ser, I’m not certain—” Dunk began, but was cut off by a stick being shoved against his chest by the scowling boy who seemed even smaller up close. 

“Won’t fight an omega?”

“That’s not it. I just… I’m only a squire.”

The malice drained from Alec’s expression at Dunk’s obvious nervousness, but he did not back down until Dunk accepted the stick. 

“I won’t hurt you. Not too badly, at least.”

The taunt did not even reach Dunk’s awareness as he was pulled to the biggest open area of the room after Alec instructed several patrons to help him clear it. Dunk could not imagine so many people to know him by name, much less to listen to him. Alec’s parents must have been very well liked. 

“Take your stance, squire. I’m certain you know at least that.”

Dunk did know that, though he proved it might have been all he knew when their sticks only connected twice before his flew from his sweaty hand. Alec waited kindly for him to retrieve it as their audience cheered, but only half a breath’s time passed after it was back in his hands before the boy was lunging forward again. 

He moved like a viper, making up with speed what he lacked in size, and it was not long before Dunk found himself disarmed a second time. The cheers turning so wholly in his favor was almost equally as humiliating as his disappointing performance. 

Alec snatched up the stick with a frown and smacked Dunk in the arm with it before handing it back to him. 

“Fight me truly.”

“I’m trying…”

“Clearly not. Come on, use that size for something.”

Dunk took a deep breath and nodded before Alec struck again. He finally managed to dodge, only for the boy to twist at the last moment and strike him in the ribs. 

“Alec, you’re torturing the poor boy!”

“He can do better,” Alec answered without taking his eyes off of Dunk. 

For a boy who found mercy so insulting, he did not seem to be hitting Dunk very hard the next few times he found an opening. Though, it did feel like he moved faster with each success, and the subsequent shouts that followed. 

Blocking Alec’s attacks was not difficult in terms of the strength required to do so, but he would adapt faster than Dunk could move. Dunk was certain that he had a nasty bruise growing on his side by the time he realized they were following a pattern. His first success in blocking three consecutive strikes raised the volume of the room substantially, but Dunk was only aware of the shocked expression in front of him. Alec stepped back with his eyes still wide, but his face broke into a grin before he darted forward again. 

Even if Dunk was not failing completely anymore, he was still focused on defense alone, and Alec’s renewed enthusiasm had Dunk losing ground quickly. He felt his heel hit the wall behind him, and in a final effort to avoid total humiliation, he swung his stick down from above his head. 

Unfortunately, being poked and smacked for so long had irritated Dunk past the point of restraint, and he did not think of how small his opponent was when he moved with his full strength. Very, very fortunately, Alec was fast enough to block it—which made all the difference between a broken shoulder and a broken sword. 

The sound of wood cracking felt deafening even in the boisterous room, and time seemed to slow as the thin log snapped above Alec’s face, the momentum carrying it fast enough to scrape his cheek. 

Dunk froze where he stood, watching Alec look between him and the splintered wood in his own hand as blood welled up in the scratch on his face. That was exactly why Dunk did not want to fight him. He knew he would only embarrass himself with his lack of skill, and the last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt someone solely because he was too—

The sound of a young boy’s laughter yanked Dunk back into the present moment before he could fall further into his panic, and the collective sigh released in the much quieter room told him that he hadn’t been the only one fearful of his opponent’s reaction. Alec turned to show their audience his broken stick, and the bearded man who had previously defended him was the first to clap. 

Dunk wished desperately that he could sink into the wall as Ser Arlan’s table and the other patrons who’d been drawn in by the commotion erupted. He’d never had so many eyes on him in his life, and he didn’t think he’d even done anything noteworthy, other than look a fool and cut the face of the innkeeper’s son. 

Speaking of which, while Dunk felt stiff and uncomfortable under so much attention, Alec preened in it. He laughed and grinned and insisted to all who would listen that he still would’ve won if they’d been using real swords. His presence seemed far too big for such a small body, too big for such a small place. Too big for the world, perhaps. 

Dunk made his way back over to Ser Arlan, smiling awkwardly at the repeated congratulations and compliments, and sat down heavily beside the man once he reached him. He was exhausted, and the sun had barely set. 

“Time for you to bed down?” Ser Arlan asked, and Dunk’s eyes strayed back to where Alec was still speaking animatedly despite the man attempting to clean the blood from his face. 

“Maybe not yet?”

Ser Arlan’s smile was far too knowing for a man as drunk as he had gotten, but Dunk was saved from having to address it by a woman’s shrill shout that managed to carry above all others across the room. 

“Alec!”

The boy in question paled instantly and his bearded friend laughed heartily. 

“Better run, little knight. Your lord’s callin’.”

Alec took off without a moment’s hesitation, but he was caught by the elbow before he made it far. Dunk recognized the woman from earlier, but her face had looked very different when she’d welcomed them to town. Now, she was leaned down to scold Alec quietly, with fury etched into every line of her expression. 

“Jeyne, leave him be. He was only—”

“You, shut up. I’ve told you he’s not to speak to travelers, and you allow it every time.”

The bearded man stepped closer to Jeyne, saying something softly enough that Dunk could not hear, and Alec used the woman’s distraction to wrench from her hold and sprint up the stairs. For a moment, it looked as though she would follow him, but she only sighed. 

Ser Arlan turned to Dunk again. 

“Now are you ready to sleep?”

It took Dunk some time to check on the horses once more and make his way to their room, with Ser Arlan choosing to stay downstairs with the townsfolk for a while longer. His mind did not stray from the innkeeper’s boy for a single moment, which made it understandable that he assumed he was imagining things when he entered their room to find Alec laid flat on the bed. 

“Why did you take so long?”

“I had to see to the horses.”

“My brother did that earlier.”

“Yes, but I wanted— Sorry, why are you here?”

Alec sat up with the softest frown he’d worn since they met, and Dunk scrambled to correct himself. 

“Not why as in— I meant, is there something you need, Alec?”

The boy shrugged and shuffled sideways with the clear intention for Dunk to sit beside him. Dunk went along with it the way one might accept a wolf’s invitation into their den. 

“Not really, I’m just bored. I’m always bored. And I don’t like that name.”

“Mine?”

“No, stupid. Mine. Jeyne calls me Aerion when we’re alone. She says it’s pretend, but it feels more real than Alec.”

“Aerion? Like the prince?”

Alec, or Aerion, turned towards Dunk, which made him uncomfortably aware of their close proximity. 

“Yes, but he’s dead, so why shouldn’t I get to use it?”

“I never claimed you shouldn’t.”

“Good,” he said with a sharp nod. 

“I think it suits you.”

The small space between them shrank as Aerion leaned forward with hopeful eyes. Dunk had to look away. 

“Really?”

“Aye, you look more like a prince to me than an innkeeper’s son.”

Dunk was tempted to add that he acted like one too, but he was already uncertain if Aerion would take offense to what he’d said. 

“I agree. I think Father agrees as well, and he hates it. He always makes me cut my hair or put color in it, but he’s not here, so I can do as I like.”

“Oh. Your father does not have white hair?”

“No, his is black. Though it does have gray in it now. Jeyne says my mother probably had white hair, but neither of us knew her. Father told me she died when I was born, just like Jeyne and Mark’s mother, because we were all such fat babies. I think he’s lying, Jeyne says I was so small she would lose me in my cradle.”

Years of traveling with one man alone had evidently left Dunk with lacking social abilities, because he could not for the life of him think of the right thing to say. 

“Both of my parents are dead.”

Yeah, it probably was not that. 

Perhaps Aerion was not especially better than him, because he simply hummed and continued the conversation without thought. 

“Did you know them?”

“I knew my mother, not for very long though. I never knew my father.”

“I wish I never knew my father. I hate him, I only like Jeyne. Someday, when I have a real sword, I’ll put it through my father’s heart,” Aerion said, jumping to his feet and acting out the promised stabbing with an invisible sword. He dropped his hand with a sigh. 

“But I can’t do that yet. Mark is useless, Jeyne does not want to run the inn alone, and I’ll be no help if I’m hanged for murder.”

Dunk realized, quite embarrassed that it had taken him so long, that there was something deeply wrong with his new acquaintance. Just as embarrassing was the fact he did not like him any less for it. 

“Knights can still be punished for murder.”

“Not Kingsguards. I’ll tell everyone that my father had to die for the good of the realm, and they’ll have to believe me in my white cloak.”

Aerion turned to Dunk with a smirk. 

“And you, the second best knight in the nine kingdoms, will support me.”

“Second best?”

“Of course you can’t be the first, that will be me, but you broke my sword today—”

“Your stick.”

“My sword, and my sword could not have been broken by a nameless, forgotten hedge knight. I’ll not allow it. So you must improve your sword wielding, you must not forget me, and you must support me when I slay my father.”

As peculiar and bloody as Aerion’s demands for the future were, Dunk could not help but be charmed by them. He did still feel strange sharing a smile with the boy over plans that involved killing his father. 

“Aye.”

Dunk expertly ducked below the inn’s doorframe as he entered, steadying his shaking hands by grabbing the strap of what had recently become his shield. He had not been so nervous to see Aerion in years, but traveling without Ser Arlan for the first time left him feeling untethered. 

“How many rooms?”

“Just the one,” Dunk said, smiling for the first time in days when Aerion’s head snapped up from the book he was lazily flipping through, seated on a stool behind the inn’s counter. He did not match Dunk’s grin, but he never greeted warmly when he deemed the time between visits too long. 

“You’re late.”

“I’m sorry.”

Aerion waved him off with a suspiciously casual roll of his eyes and leaned to look around Dunk’s shoulder. 

“Where’s the old drunk? He owes me a trip to the lake.”

Despite his best efforts, Dunk’s dimming smile betrayed the truth before he could speak it, and Aerion’s face went blank. 

“Oh. How?”

“I believe it was a festering wound, but I could not say for certain.”

Over their sparse visits in past years, Dunk had learned the tells of Aerion’s feelings quite wholly. For instance, it was not difficult to see the difference between an angry scowl and one that existed only to redirect grief. 

“Old fool. What have I always told you about cleanliness? This was bound to happen eventually.”

“It’s not so easy to stay clean on the road.”

“Then he should not have been on the road. He should’ve known he was too old. How could he be so—”

“Aerion…”

Aerion went quiet quickly, and Dunk made his way around the counter to pull him into his arms. He knew that hearing of Ser Arlan’s death would upset the boy who’d come to think of him as a sort of strange uncle, and he’d spent the journey there learning to hide his own grief so as to keep from adding it to Aerion’s. Dunk did not need to be held through tears when holding someone else felt so much warmer. 

“Get off of me, brute. You reek,” Aerion said as his arm raised to wrap around Dunk’s back. 

“I’m sorry, I’ll bathe before supper.”

“You’d better. Jeyne will wish to see you, and you stink so badly the babe in her belly will smell it.”

Dunk laughed and knew better than to address the way Aerion was tucking his face into his neck to chase the scent there. His clothes probably did smell something awful, but since they presented, Aerion had not been very shy with his appreciation for Dunk’s natural scent. Though Dunk would not have expected anything different from such an improper omega. 

In full honesty, Dunk likely would have never known the societal rules that Aerion broke if he did not complain of people scolding him so constantly. Dunk always knew his friend to be a rude and somewhat twisted child, but he’d never thought of it in any sort of relation to his gender. Dunk was glad Aerion behaved the way he did, a more polite omega would have likely been married by then. 

“How long are you staying?”

The most wretched question for a nomadic man with something to return to. 

“Not as long as I’d like. I hope to compete in the tourney at Ashford meadow.”

Aerion pulled back to frown at him. 

“Compete?”

“Aye, Ser Arlan knighted me before he passed...”

Dunk worked very hard not to look away as Aerion studied him with narrowed eyes. He let out a soft sigh when Aerion simply returned to his place against his neck. 

“Ashford is not terribly far.”

“It’s not.”

“I do not want to miss the first time you’re knocked from your horse.”

Dunk smiled against Aerion’s hair, still cut short, but long enough to tell him his father had been away for months. 

“You want to join me?”

“Is that not my right?”

“I plan to sleep outside.”

The wrinkling of Aerion’s nose tickled Dunk’s neck, and he was briefly worried that he’d already dissuaded him, that he’d again lost the opportunity to travel with Aerion. 

Once, Jeyne had approached reluctantly and asked if they would ever consider taking Aerion on the road with them. Before Dunk even had the chance to beg him to agree, Ser Arlan had said yes. 

Unfortunately, Aerion’s first heat began not two days later, and Jeyne had changed her mind. The disappointment Dunk felt when he went from believing that he might see Aerion more often to having to leave without saying goodbye could not be overstated. 

“I will bring my own bedroll, and if it rains, you will shelter me with this giant body.”

Dunk laughed again and went willingly when Aerion pushed him away. 

“Shut up. And go clean yourself.”

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.”

Chapter Text

“Stop that, you’re going to make me fall.”

“Then slow your pace! My legs are too short.”

“Why don’t you just let go of me?”

“I can’t, you might run off!”

“As if your puny little fingers could keep me anywhere I did not wish to be.”

Dunk rubbed his temples in hopes of suppressing the growing headache beneath them. Aerion and Egg had been bickering all morning, and even though they’d only had to be physically separated once, it was still getting difficult to manage—especially with the frustration of seemingly no lord in the realm remembering Ser Arlan. 

“Ser, please tell Alec to walk slower.”

Aerion pinched the boy’s ear, and Dunk had to grab him by the wrist to make him stop that. 

“You two— Egg, quit pestering him, and Alec, you’re too old to be fighting with a pup. Both of you keep your hands to yourselves.”

For all their troubles, Aerion and Egg did bear a striking resemblance to one another when showing their annoyance with Dunk’s orders. 

“I’m sorry, Ser. We should not trouble you so when you have to bear the indignity of your master dying over and over.”

Dunk put a hand on Aerion’s shoulder when the boy’s comment made him bristle, but he didn’t know what to say to comfort him when there wasn’t any real way to dispute Egg’s words. The sound of horns playing saved Dunk from having to try. He grabbed the attention of a man walking past. 

“Hey. Who’s come?”

“Can’t you see the banners, you giant cunt?”

Dunk was a bit taken aback by the unnecessary hostility, but the royal procession drew his attention before he had much time to think on it. 

“Perhaps I should go back, Ser. Check on the camp?” Egg suggested while Aerion pulled his hood up to cover his head. “Make sure no thieves have been nosing about.”

“And what would you do if they had? I will go as well,” Aerion said, much to Egg’s obvious displeasure. 

“Perhaps you should stay with Ser Duncan. Don’t you want to see if you can catch a glimpse of the hammer and the anvil?”

“Perhaps you should shut your mouth. I will have plenty of time to catch a glimpse later on.”

Aerion took the horse's reins from Dunk, who could only watch in confusion as the boys argued. 

“Alec, you are being unreasonable, you must stay,” Egg said, earning the same amount of annoyance from Aerion as he’d gotten all morning, despite that comment being notably more bold. 

“I am being unreasonable? You little—”

“Enough,” Dunk interrupted. “I have an idea, and the two of you best behave yourselves while I’m gone. I see a mark on either of you, the other will get one to match.”

Aerion rolled his eyes as he turned away, but the hand he used to nudge Egg’s back was not unkind when he urged the boy to start walking. Dunk had no doubt some choice words would be exchanged between the pair, but he hoped that would be as far as it went. 

Sneaking into Ashford Castle was concerningly easy, though making his way through the halls to find the Targaryens did take Dunk some time. He knew he was being too risky—borderline mad, even—but he was getting desperate. 

“Perhaps they were delayed?” Dunk heard Lord Ashford ask.

“Fuck me. “Delayed”. They’re not delayed,” a harsh voice responded. 

Dunk did not expect to hear a prince of the realm speak with such vulgarity, and he found himself even more surprised when he peeked into the room to find that it had been Prince Maekar. Even though knowing his dearest friend had taught him well not to expect submissive behavior from every omega, it was still rare to find one as aggressive as Aerion. 

“Do not curse our gracious host,” said the man that Dunk recognized from the procession’s arrival as Prince Baelor. His tone was far, far softer than his brother’s. 

“I said fuck me, not fuck him. It’s not his fault Father bade us attend this miserable circus.”

“Might we discuss this another time?” 

A strange thing, for a hedge knight to feel any sense of solidarity with the heir to the iron throne. Dunk was certain he’d had similar exchanges with Aerion a thousand times, right down to the attempt at diversion going ignored. 

“I say we go hunting,” Maekar suggested, nearly pacing in his frustration. 

“Daeron has done this before. You should not have commanded him to enter the lists.”

A sharp shush behind him yanked Dunk from his spying, and he turned to see Lady Gwin Ashford herself. 

“Two of the Prince’s remaining sons are missing,” she whispered. “Probably dead.”

“Dead?”

Lady Ashford nodded. 

“Wars have started for less.” She regarded Dunk silently for an awkward moment where he failed to think of a response, and hissed “You’re big and stupid,” before running off. Gods, nobles were too strange…

“They have only been missing a day. No doubt Ser Roland will turn him up, and Aegon along with him,” Baelor said. 

“No doubt? Just as there was no doubt that my Aerion had simply gotten lost fucking… playing in the woods?”

Even from the hall, Dunk could feel the air of the room shift with that remark, and Prince Baelor stayed quiet for a long beat. 

“That is not a fair comparison, brother. Aerion disappeared alone, and the boy was even younger than Aegon is now.”

“Yet, I seem to recall you being the one to insist that my son was well until his decayed body was laid before us.”

“…It is not a crime to hope.”

Maekar scoffed. 

“Gods, if that wretched heir of mine loses me another child, I may believe he’s doing it on purpose,” the younger prince grumbled, dropping into a chair with a loud groan. “If he loses me another babe, I will see to it personally that Aemon is my sole surviving son.”

Another moment of silence passed before Maekar spoke again, now much louder, and much more terrifying. 

“You! Who are you? What do you mean by spying on us?”

Dunk could not wait to tell Aerion and Egg that he’d finally found a way to enter the lists, and Aerion especially that it came by way of the Targaryens. Well, one Targaryen, and not the one Aerion idolized, but he admired the hammer well enough, even if he preferred the anvil. 

Though he soon realized that he’d have to wait, considering he found his companions watching the puppet show he and Aerion had seen the previous night. Aerion was seated directly behind the children so that Egg could lean against his legs, but he looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else. Dunk did not understand that. It was an entirely different show they were putting on, surely he couldn’t find it that boring.

Egg was the first to notice Dunk once the crowd began to filter out, and he was exceptionally more pleased to see him than Aerion was—for reasons unknown. 

“Ser Duncan, did you see the puppet show?”

“Oh, he wouldn’t dare miss it,” Aerion said with no lack of mockery. Dunk was entirely lost. Was there something wrong with liking puppets?

“Uh, aye, lad. I should stay to speak with her— them. The puppet— I should pay them, since we’ve watched it twice.”

Egg looked quizzical; Aerion, disgusted. 

“That does seem like a good idea, Ser.”

“Speak to “them” as long as you like. I’ll be waiting outside.”

A small hand darted out to grip Aerion’s cloak before he made it a single step away. 

“I’ll come with you.”

“Stay with your knight, little rat. Who knows what he’ll do if left to his own devices?” Aerion said bitterly, prying the boy’s fingers from his clothes. Egg continued to look up at him with wide, worried eyes until Aerion sighed. “I will stay where you can see me. Is that suitable, Your Grace?”

Egg’s begging expression lasted another few seconds as he contemplated the offer before he ultimately nodded, and Dunk was once again baffled by the strange relationship those two had fostered. Egg was constantly frustrated with Aerion, but extremely hesitant to part ways for even a moment? Aerion was compromising?

Dunk resolved to question Aerion on it later. Preferably when the omega was not grumpily stalking away from him, and Dunk did not have any puppeteers to speak with. 

“Forgive me if I don’t understand why you would pay a random puppet maker to paint your shield when I, your oldest friend, am right here.”

“Wh— Alec, you hate painting.”

“Yes, but I’m still good at it.”

“And what paint would you use?”

Dunk knew his point had landed when Aerion looked down to pick at the table he and Egg sat on. 

“We could find some… You didn’t even ask my thoughts on the sigil you chose.”

“Because you weren’t—” Dunk sighed. “Look, if I don’t lose everything in this tourney, you can repaint my shield with whatever you want on it. Would that be better?”

“Better, maybe, but not good. You are still competing in your first ever tourney with another bitch’s mark on you.”

“Hey, watch your tongue!”

Aerion only huffed in annoyance and turned away. Another bitch—what was he, a sellsword? Why was he talking like that?

“And she’s left no mark on me, I’m paying her for a service, nothing more. Unless you don’t believe omegas can do honest work…”

Aerion shoved Dunk’s shoulder and succeeded only in rocking himself. 

“Oh, fuck off. Quit twisting my words, bastard.”

Dunk leaned back against the table so he could rest his arm behind Aerion, even though he knew a direct touch would not currently be welcome. 

“I’m not twisting—”

“Yes! Hedge knight!”

All three of them looked up at the sound of Lyonel Baratheon shouting as he stumbled away from his game of tug-of-war and over towards Dunk. He grabbed the side of Dunk’s neck with a severe expression. 

“Hedge knight, I need—” Lyonel stopped speaking abruptly when his eyes darted to Aerion, who was attempting to hide his face in his shoulder rather conspicuously. “Oh? And who might this be?”

“That—That’s Alec. My friend.”

“Friend, yes,” Lyonel teased, but his half-drunken mirth gave way to something sharp and speculative when Aerion finally looked at him. “Beautiful eyes for a hedge knight’s mate.”

Dunk was too busy attempting to figure out the unusual statement’s clearly present underlying meaning to deny Aerion being referred to as his mate. He was even more confused to see those “beautiful eyes” narrow in a way that suggested Aerion found no trouble understanding the message. His tone was unreadable, even to Dunk, when he next spoke. 

“You flatter me.”

In the strangest picture yet, Aerion allowed the Baratheon lord to take his hand and kiss the back of it, but he snatched it away when Lyonel sniffed near his wrist. That, at least, made sense. Dunk truly would not have expected Aerion to let the man touch him at all. 

“Might I ask where you hail from? You don’t speak like a man from Essos.”

Dunk may have still been completely bewildered by the entire conversation, but one thing he did know was how to spot any ounce of distress in his friend, and despite how well Aerion hid it, something was unnerving him. 

“Alec is from The Reach, it’s his mother who was Lyseni,” Dunk answered before it became too obvious that Aerion was struggling with his response. 

“Ah, I see…” The hand that had just been holding Aerion’s returned to Dunk’s shoulder with a smack, though Lyonel’s gaze did not. “Afraid I have to steal your mate for a moment, Alec. I need muscle, and no man here is bigger than yours. No man alive, possibly.”

“Please, take him. I may thank you for it.”

“Good man!” Lyonel shouted, urging Dunk to his feet, which he quickly planted in the dirt. 

“Uh, will you—May I have one moment, M’lord?”

Dunk gave Lyonel a grateful, sheepish smile when he nodded and slapped his shoulder again before walking off. 

“Don’t keep me waiting, hedge knight!”

Aerion was stubbornly pouting at one of the tent’s posts when Dunk turned his attention to him. 

“What in the seven hells was that?”

“I know not what you refer to…”

“Horse shit. That was— That was strange!”

“It was a rather usual conversation with a lord, I believe,” Egg said, as if Dunk currently seeked the opinion of a boy no taller than his waist. 

“Exactly as the runt said. What, Duncan, did you want me to spit in a lord’s face?”

“You spit in the Fossoway boy’s face.”

“The Fossoway boy was not of a great house,” Aerion stated, before his defensive look shifted into the smirk Dunk knew to mean no good. “And he did not look like that…”

Like that? Like what? Dunk gaped at the obvious appreciation on Aerion’s face as he watched Lyonel dance between conversations. He couldn’t possibly… That man? Well, Dunk couldn’t claim he was not handsome, nor that he lacked charm, but he… He was a bit older, wasn’t he? When did Aerion gain an eye for older men? Why had Dunk heard nothing about this?

Dunk did not bother suppressing his own souring scent as he thought of how easy it would be for someone like Aerion to earn the role of a lord’s mistress, but he was pulled from his miserable musings by the sound of Egg snorting a laugh. 

“You are very cruel,” the boy said to Aerion between snickers. Aerion hushed him but hid a smile of his own behind the cup he plucked from Dunk’s hands. 

“Go on, hedge knight. The man needs muscle.”

“You won’t join?” Dunk asked. He did not need to look at Aerion’s face to know the disgust he was surely wearing, but he figured he should invite him regardless. 

“No, I will not play in the mud with a dozen lowly men, reeking of sweat and arrogance. I would rather get something more to drink.”

“Do you have enough coin?”

“Yes, Ser Duncan. Go, and don’t let the pup dirty himself too terribly.”

“Do not eat so fast, boy. You’ll make yourself sick. Gods, have you never been taught how to behave?”

Egg scowled in response to Aerion’s scolding, and the sight had Dunk turning away to hide his smile. 

“I’ve been taught just as well as you.”

“Hm, then it seems that massive head of yours has worked as a shield to all teachings of manners.”

“And… And your breasts have stolen all of the softness meant for your heart!”

Aerion physically recoiled at that, blinking rapidly in confusion. “My— What? What’s the matter with you? Breasts?”

It was not often Dunk got to see Aerion too baffled by an insult to even feel any offense, and he could not have kept from laughing if he tried, though he did attempt to suppress it somewhat with his hand. Egg was delighted by his poorly hidden amusement, and it was not long before they were both laughing with Aerion sitting there, silent and completely perplexed. 

“…Breasts?”

The whispered question only made the two of them laugh harder, until Aerion finally left his stupor and smacked Dunk over the back of his head. He could not stop smiling, but he did make the effort to quiet himself while Egg continued giggling. 

“Insufferable. I despise you both.”

So he said, but the fact he simply sat at the table, rolling his eyes as he drank from his cup instead of storming off in a rage spoke to how real his claimed hatred was. Dunk felt something constrict in his chest—the type of melancholy that only ever made itself known when he was at his happiest. 

He was nervous for the tourney, unbelievably so, but at the moment, little occupied his mind other than thoughts of Aerion and Egg. He hardly knew the boy, but he could tell he was a good lad. He had the makings to be a great squire, perhaps a great knight if he so desired. And Aerion…

Well, that one was simple, wasn’t it? Dunk was in love with him. Had been since the day he thrust a stick into his hands and demanded Dunk fight him without restraint. It was an old ache, but that did not make it easier to ignore. Especially not in moments like these, where Dunk’s mind could so clearly show him what an ideal life would look like. 

Aerion and Egg bickered more like siblings than a parent and child, but their conversations made it easy to imagine the way Aerion would behave with his own pup. He would be stern, that much was obvious, and perhaps a bit too critical, but Dunk could not picture a world where Aerion would not love his child fiercely. 

He could almost see the imaginary child sitting at the unoccupied side of the table across from himself. He could see the four of them traveling together for tourneys, or perhaps visits to Jeyne if they settled anywhere but Aerion’s home, which they ideally would. Dunk would not want to take a baby on the road, especially not when Aerion would likely be the one stuck caring for them under unfortunate circumstances while Dunk worked, and there were no lords for the two of them to serve anywhere near the inn. 

“Stop looking at me that way.”

Dunk blinked back to the present, and the view of Aerion avoiding his gaze with a reddened face. 

“What way?”

“That way. That stupid smile. You look like a fool…”

Despite the harsh words, Dunk was certain that even a stranger could tell Aerion was more flustered than annoyed. Dunk must have been staring like quite the lovesick idiot to turn him that red. 

It felt rather impudent to fantasize of a life where Aerion was tied to him by way of a pup, marriage, and mating bite when Dunk knew the omega wanted none of that, but his imagination harmed no one so long as it stayed in his mind. Even if Aerion did want a family, he would not want one with Dunk. 

As if the fantasy had not been soured enough, thinking so much of children reminded Dunk of the conversation he’d overheard that morning. Gods, Dunk had only a squire and an imaginary babe, and the thought of what Prince Maekar had experienced nearly made him sick. To lose his child so early, and clearly in quite an awful way, considering what he said regarding the boy’s body…

Dunk actually knew very little about the royal Aerion. It was not publicly shared how he’d passed, only that it had been sudden and unexpected, but Dunk was certain there were rumors he'd personally been ignorant to. Between a Targaryen admirer and an orphan boy who seemed to know an unusual amount about nobles, Dunk was likely in the best company he could hope for to get that information. 

“Do either of you know much about Prince Aerion?”

Both Egg and Aerion stiffened before sharing a look, and Dunk felt oddly left out. It wasn’t that he didn’t want them to get along, he did, he simply… Well, what did the two of them know that he could not? 

“Why do you ask, Ser?”

“I heard Prince Maekar and Prince Baelor discussing him today before I asked about Ser Arlan, and it made me—”

“What?” Aerion asked, as close to a shout as he'd get. “But he—He died nearly a decade ago, why would they still speak of him now?”

Dunk frowned at the thinly veiled panic on Aerion’s paled face. Why was that upsetting to him? Did he suddenly feel guilty for using the dead prince’s name? He’d never felt that before. 

“I imagine it takes longer than that to forget a child who’s passed.”

“It’s true,” Egg added. “From what I’ve heard, Prince Maekar has not forgotten him at all. He's never stopped wearing mourning black, and it’s said he even keeps the prince’s ashes in his personal chambers.”

“Stop,” Aerion whispered, strained and nearly inaudible in the loud tent. 

“You asked why they still speak of him, I am simply telling the truth. They never recovered from his death, neither of them. It’s said that Prince Baelor will still hold audiences with people who claim to be Aerion.”

“What? They found the boy’s body, did they not?” Dunk asked. 

“Yes, but it was badly mangled, Ser. I heard that it was so grotesque, both princes vomited upon seeing it. Prince Maekar was especially—”

“Enough.”

Aerion’s hands landed heavy on the table when he shoved himself to his feet.

“You’ve said enough.”

Dunk watched stupidly as Aerion took an unsteady breath and shook his head before turning on his heel and leaving swiftly. What was that? Egg grabbed his arm when Dunk moved to stand up. 

“Perhaps I should be the one to go after him, Ser. I was the one who upset him.”

“You think that’s wise?”

“Sure, if I go to apologize,” Egg said with a shrug and a pat to Dunk’s shoulder as he stood and made his way out of the tent in the same direction Aerion had gone. 

Dunk stayed in his seat only as long as it took him to process what had just happened. Egg had a point about the apology, but Dunk didn’t exactly know what the boy meant to apologize for, and if Aerion was not ready to accept it, that would only make things worse.

Finding the two of them was not difficult when Egg’s head reflected light brightly and they’d gone in a straight line from the tent, even if they had made it rather far from the festivities. Neither one noticed Dunk approaching where they stood hunched by the stream—Aerion too preoccupied with his dry heaving, and Egg too preoccupied with rubbing his back and speaking to him quietly.

“I just don’t understand why.”

“Because I don’t fucking want to, that’s why.”

“But all this will bring is hurt. To yourself and Ser Duncan included…”

Aerion gagged again and shoved Egg away from him with enough force to make the boy step back, but not enough to send him on his ass. 

“Just shut up, Egg on...”

On? On what?

“You’re being cruel. Unimaginably cruel,” the boy said with all the frustration of a child who knew there was little to be done within his control. 

Aerion stood up straight and wiped his mouth despite the dry ground in front of him making it clear his retching was fruitless. 

“So you’ve said.”

“Why can’t you just—”

Both of their heads whipped around when a stick crunched beneath Dunk’s foot, and he put his hands up in mock surrender. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. I only—The joust is set to begin soon…”

Eyes closed and head tipped back towards the night sky, Aerion groaned quietly. 

“Of course it is.” He sighed. “Fine, then. Lead the way.”

By the time they found a decent spot in the crowd to watch the joust, Dunk had Egg on his shoulders and Aerion’s back flush with his chest in a similar manner as the night before, this time with Dunk opting to wrap his arms around Aerion’s shoulders instead of his waist. Only because this way made it easier to block anyone from getting too close to Aerion—Dunk would have much rather let his hold drift lower. 

“Can you see well?” 

“It’s fine,” Aerion said sharply. 

It didn’t sound fine. What Dunk wouldn’t give for a second pair of shoulders…

The arrival of the joust’s participants was quick to distract Dunk from his fretting over the man in front of him, who had fortunately found an angle to peek between bodies. 

“Hey, who’s that?” Dunk asked when a handsome man in dark armor rode in on a dark steed. Egg was the one to answer him, though Dunk was near certain that Aerion could as well, if he’d been in the mood for it. 

“Prince Valarr. Baelor’s son. Second in line to the throne.”

“He’s the favorite, I’d wager.”

“I’ll take that bet, Ser,” Egg said at the same moment Aerion scoffed. 

“Valarr is the first person I would challenge.”

“You think you could unhorse a prince of the realm?”

“The only reason he’s even halfway decent is fear. He’s been terrified of falling from his horse since the single time she kicked him, it’s pathetic.”

Dunk laughed softly and contemplated covering Aerion’s mouth when two people nearby gave them odd looks for his comments. 

“Where’d you hear something like that?”

“What?”

Aerion tilted his head back to look at Dunk with furrowed brows. Dunk felt Egg lean over to reach Aerion’s line of sight as well. 

“Where’d you hear that about the prince?”

Dunk only vaguely registered Egg’s gasp of excitement, his attention was more focused on Aerion’s confusion that began looking more akin to fear by the second. 

“It’s— I simply heard someone say it once at the inn. It’s a rumor.”

“It’s not a rumor! You remembered!”

“Remembered what?” Aerion snapped. “It’s a rumor I heard, nothing more. Fuck, it’s— Fuck.”

Dunk was getting very tired of having to watch Aerion being upset by things he would not allow him to understand. He did not resist for long when Aerion tried to break free of his arms, but he wanted to. Even more when the charred scent of his distress began turning heads. 

“Alec, you… Please try to calm yourself.”

“I am fucking calm.”

“Oh no,” Egg said, his body going tense atop Dunk’s shoulders. “Put me down, Ser. Quickly, quickly.”

“Aye, I hear you.” Dunk crouched as much as he could within the crowd and slid the boy off his shoulder to set him on his feet. “What is it, lad?”

“Nothing! I… I simply wanted to get a closer look, Ser.”

And that was urgent enough to make him smack Dunk in the head? Dunk glanced back up at the joust Egg was apparently quite desperate to see, and took a moment to understand what he was looking at. Was it… No, it was not a trick of the light—Prince Valarr was staring rather intently in his direction. 

Dunk wondered what could have caught a prince’s attention in a crowd of smallfolk, but he did not have long to dwell on it. 

“I wish to return to camp.”

“Now? Alec, the joust’s not even begun.”

“I wish to return alone.”

Dunk grabbed Aerion’s upper arm and leaned down to speak quietly when it seemed like he was planning to take off without another word. 

“I don’t want to leave you by yourself when you’re upset…”

“And when the fuck do you want to leave me by myself?” Aerion hissed. “I can’t take a step without you kicking my heel. Has it crossed your mind that I may desire even a brief moment without you clinging to me like a giant leech?”

“…Oh.”

It hadn’t crossed his mind, actually. Dunk wanted to be near Aerion so desperately and so constantly that he missed him when he blinked. He hadn’t considered that Aerion might ever wish to be apart during their limited times together. The thought had him wondering how many visits had been made miserable for Aerion by Dunk wanting to spend every waking moment at his side. He dropped his hand from Aerion’s arm. 

“I’m sorry. I never realized I was—”

Dunk was drowned out by the sound of the joust starting, and he closed his eyes with a sigh. Aerion couldn’t have chosen a quieter, more private moment to confirm a fear so deep seated that Dunk had forgotten it entirely? He couldn’t have picked a more convenient time to break his heart?

“I’m sorry. I will… I’ll try to stop.”

Between the cheering around them and his own mumbling, Dunk was unsure if Aerion even heard him until the man was staring at him with wide, worried eyes. 

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Dunk caught only a glimpse of Aerion’s scowl before he was nearly jumping to give Dunk an odd, half-embrace and a kiss on the cut of his jaw. The touch was enough to freeze Dunk in shock, and Aerion took advantage of the stillness to whisper in his ear. 

“I want only a moment alone. No more. I’ll be waiting for you.”

By the time Dunk regained his bearings, Aerion had already let go of him and slipped into the crowd. Dunk squeezed between people in the opposite direction to reach where Egg stood at the wooden barrier. At least one of them was watching the joust. Even with Aerion gone, Dunk could never hope to focus on the event. 

Aerion had kissed him. It was brief, and nowhere near his own lips, but it was still undeniably a kiss. He’d never done that before. 

“Are you feeling well, Ser?” Egg asked on their way back to camp, some amount of time later. Dunk had no way to tell. 

“Ser?”

“I’m well, Squire.”

“Did you watch the joust at all, Ser?”

“…A bit.”

“That means no.”

“Do you think someone like Alec could ever like me?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about…”

Egg sighed. 

“I don’t believe Alec is a very wise person to fall in love with.”

“What? What does that—Oh, what do you know? You’re just a boy.”

“You asked my opinion, Ser.”

“Aye, and forget I did," Dunk snapped.

They walked in tense silence until the light of their camp came into view with a distinct silhouette standing beside it and Dunk forgot all about their short conversation. He hadn’t expected Aerion not to be there, but it was still a relief to see him standing barefoot in the grass, wearing a tunic Dunk easily recognized. He believed he’d lost it months before. Little thief…

“Took you long enough. I trust you did not keep me waiting for the sake of seeing another puppet show?”

“‘Course not. Are you wearing my clothes?”

“No. It’s been mine longer than it ever was yours.”

Dunk let out a short laugh and shook his head. Gods, he was exhausted, and the tourney hadn’t even begun. He could not wait to lay down and leave his strange day behind him. He began setting out his bedroll while Aerion stood still. 

“You bathed after the mud today?”

“You threatened me if I did not,” Dunk said, and continued when Aerion only stared expectantly. “Yes, I bathed. Why?”

Aerion didn’t answer him immediately—instead, he nodded resolutely and walked over to put a hand on Egg’s shoulder. 

“The boy will sleep across the meadow tonight.”

“What? I will not!”

“Yes, you will, because I…” Aerion said, leaning down to whisper the rest of his statement in Egg’s ear. Egg, who paled with a look of absolute horror. 

Dunk frowned. 

“Hey, you’d best not be threatening the boy.”

“I’m not, but I believe he will do as I say all the same.”

Egg nodded quickly, and Dunk was not entirely certain that Aerion was telling the truth. 

“He can even take my bedroll,” Aerion said. 

“And where do you mean to sleep? Because I know you won’t use the one the boy laid on last night.”

Dunk wished he could say he was surprised by Aerion crawling into the bedroll he’d just laid out with a sly smile. 

“You’d have me sleep in the grass?”

Aerion’s brow furrowed as if he could not understand the meaning of Dunk’s words. 

“What?”

“You know I can’t sleep in either of the others, they’re too short.”

“Are you being intentionally stupid?”

Dunk knew his friend had been moody all day, but stealing his bed and insulting him on top of it was especially petulant, even for Aerion. He studied Dunk’s face for a long moment before sighing and slumping back with a forced air of disinterest. 

“I do not intend to banish you from these blankets, Ser Duncan.”

“But you said you’ll sleep there,” Dunk argued, earning himself an unwavering frown from the lounging omega whose cheeks glowed red even in the dwindling firelight. Oh, he meant…

Dunk scooped up Aerion’s unprepared bedroll and handed the blankets to Egg with a bit too much force for his small frame. 

“Good lad. Shout if you need us, yeah?”

“I assure you, Ser, I will not,” Egg replied, fighting off a shiver of disgust before scurrying away as fast as his legs could take him. 

“Don’t go too far!”

“I’ll go as far as I must to keep from vomiting, Ser!”

Aerion huffed a laugh from where he lay, and while Dunk did not exactly understand what was happening, he still nearly tripped over himself removing his boots and cloak to join him. Aerion adjusting to make room for him was the final confirmation Dunk needed, and he was very careful not to crush his friend when he lay down beside him. Or touch him more than necessary at all, for that matter; though his efforts were made meaningless when Aerion immediately plastered himself to Dunk’s side. 

“Are… Are you comfortable?”

“I’m fine, but there is a way you could make me more comfortable.”

“How?”

Aerion tugged on Dunk’s tunic. “Take this off.”

Dunk had already sat up, pulled the tunic over his head, and laid back down before he thought to ask “Why? Ah, Aerion—”

Aerion’s fingers were cold where they crept across Dunk’s ribcage, but the temperature was not what made him shiver. Dunk’s hand instinctively went to the thigh thrown over his hips, and the feeling of bare skin beneath his palm made his mouth go dry. Dunk really, truly did not understand what was happening. 

“Aerion, your smallclothes…”

“I’m not wearing any.”

“You… You’re not?” Dunk practically squeaked out and winced at the pitch of his own voice. 

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” Aerion grabbed the hand on his thigh to guide it higher, but Dunk yanked it away before he could reach somewhere untoward. Aerion’s scent did not fully shift into the charred wood of his displeasure, but it did seem to singe. 

“…You do not want to touch me?”

“What? No! No, that’s not—I just… I’m just confused.”

Aerion scoffed and put as much distance between them as he possibly could when sharing a single bedroll. 

“Why did you act so excited to lay with me if you did not want this? Did you simply wish to see me embarrass myself?”

The scent he gave off rivaled that of the fire crackling nearby, and Dunk was almost tempted to cover his nose to escape the clear indication that he’d upset the omega. What he actually did, unfortunately, was let out a whine far too pathetic and apologetic for a man nearly seven feet tall. 

“No, Aerion. I just don’t understand what “this” is. You know I’ll do anything you want me to. Always,” Dunk whispered the last word, taking a risk to try and find Aerion’s hand beneath the blanket. He brought it to his lips when his touch was not immediately rejected, and Aerion watched raptly as Dunk kissed his knuckles. 

“Then will you fuck me?”

Dunk blinked before responding quite eloquently,

“…Huh?”

“Will you, fuck me?” Aerion asked a second time, returning to his place pressed to Dunk’s side, not stopping until he laid halfway on top of him. “You can imagine that puppet whore while you take me, if you must.”

“Don’t call her that.”

It took Aerion’s expression crumbling for Dunk to realize he should have addressed two parts of that statement. 

“Aerion—”

“Fine. Imagine your puppet woman. Just do not deny me this.”

“I won’t. I won’t deny you, but I also won’t…” Dunk covered the small hand resting on his chest with his own, and waited until Aerion met his eye before continuing. “If we lay together, I want to see you. I want to think only of you. Is that… Will you allow it?”

In lieu of an answer, Aerion surged forward to crush their mouths together. 

As embarrassing as it would have been to admit, Dunk had never kissed anyone before. Why would he, when the only person he’d wanted in that way had not deigned him worthy of it before that very moment? That being said, he still believed he knew enough to recognize that most kisses did not hold so much desperation. Aerion did not kiss like he wanted to feel his lips, he kissed like he wanted to eat him. 

Dunk couldn’t complain, even if his own lack of experience meant he could do little more than futilely attempt to keep up. Aerion bit his lip and took advantage of Dunk’s involuntary groan to slide his tongue into his mouth. He was moving fast—a romantic, yearning part of Dunk may have called it too fast, but the much louder part demanding he devour the omega on top of him took no issue with it. 

“Fuck, Aerion…” Dunk lifted Aerion to straddle his waist when he broke away to kiss his neck, and he absently wondered if Aerion had assisted him, or if he was simply that easy to toss around. Dunk bit back a moan when Aerion reached behind himself to grip his cock through his trousers. 

“Need you inside.”

“Wh—Already?”

Aerion pushed himself into a sitting position with his hands on Dunk’s chest to stare down at him, and Dunk had to force himself not to fixate on how small Aerion looked in his lap, wearing his clothes. 

“What do you mean, already? Are you not aroused enough?”

The skin of Aerion’s thighs was softer than Dunk could have imagined, and he shoved down the feeling of disrespecting him in order to drag his hands higher. In his defense, it was not easy to go from hating himself for even thinking of his friend when he took his cock in hand, to letting himself touch Aerion as freely as he demanded. 

“Believe me, I am, but I thought there was…” more to it, is what Dunk did not allow himself to say. “I don’t want to hurt you,” is what he said instead. 

He did not want to give Aerion the impression that he was underwhelmed or disappointed—though, he doubted that to be possible when his heart was thundering beneath the boy’s hands—but Ser Arlan always said that only practiced whores could enjoy fucking without preamble. With as little as Aerion even tolerated the company of others, Dunk did not believe he could fit in amongst practiced whores. 

“I don’t mind. You are… much larger than me. It will hurt regardless,” Aerion said, smirking with half lidded eyes when his words made Dunk unconsciously buck slightly into the air. 

“But I want you to enjoy it.”

“I will enjoy it regardless as well.”

To prove his point, Aerion adjusted the tunic still draped over him until the wetness of his core could touch Dunk’s lower stomach without barrier, and that was nearly enough to break his resolve. Not quite enough, but nearly. 

“Will you let me try something?”

“No,” Aerion answered sharply, barely allowing Dunk to finish his question. 

“What? You don’t even know what I—”

“I don’t want you to use my other hole. That will truly hurt me, and I will not like it.”

Dunk watched Aerion’s sensual confidence fade as he curled in on himself. 

“You’re large. The usual one will be tight enough.”

“What in the— Why would you think—” Dunk cut himself off and shook his head, rubbing his hands over Aerion’s thighs soothingly. “Never mind that, it’s not what I was suggesting.”

Aerion did not immediately relax, but he knew how to calm himself, and only a moment spent leaned down, tucked into Dunk’s shoulder had the remaining tension bleeding out of him. He made it very difficult not to give in and take him the way he asked, especially when he began purring softly with one hand in Dunk’s hair and the other holding the side of his neck. 

“What were you suggesting, then?” Aerion asked, soft and sweet in a way Dunk rarely heard him. 

Dunk did not realize how embarrassing his suggestion was to voice until he was trying and failing to do so. 

“Do you trust me?”

Aerion stiffened for a brief moment, and Dunk hated that he had to contemplate his answer at all, but he could admit that it was a serious request. He kissed the side of Aerion’s head when he whispered “yes.”

“May I lift you?”

Even from his place lying on his back, Dunk had no trouble lifting Aerion by a hold on his waist after he sat back up with a nod, and he did not have to guide him forward very far before Aerion understood his intentions. 

“Oh. You want to…”

“Will you let me?”

Despite all of his earlier forwardness, Aerion looked the perfect image of a blushing maiden as he clutched his tunic and nodded with a bitten lip. Dunk did his best to convey his gratitude with a smile before his face was covered by Aerion finally hovering over it. 

Admittedly, Dunk did not know much about cunts in general. He knew Ser Arlan was fond of them, he knew they could drive alphas mad with desire, and he had a basic understanding of their form. He did not know they could be described as cute until he was crossing his eyes to get a good look at Aerion’s above him. Beautiful might have been a more accurate description for the flushed red folds, framed by sparse white hair and wet enough to catch the dim light of the fire through the thread worn fabric of the tunic tented around Dunk’s head, but cute would not have been inappropriate either. 

“Every part of you is so beautiful.”

“What? It’s just a—Oh…”

There was no technique to the way Dunk moved his mouth once he pulled Aerion down to sit on it, only the overwhelming need to get closer, to taste more. He tasted like plums, the same way he smelled of them when he was in a pleasant mood, though Dunk would not have been able to make the comparison only days before. He’d tasted the fruit for the first time in Lord Baratheon’s pavilion, and he knew now that it had also been the last time in his life he could eat one without imagining Aerion’s cunt on his tongue. 

The ambient noise of the open night was near silent compared to the vulgar sounds Dunk was pulling from Aerion’s body. Even the sound of his own lips and tongue would have been enough to make Dunk blush if he were not so preoccupied. 

He could not understand why Aerion had felt the need to reassure him that he would be “tight enough” when even too much of Dunk’s tongue pressing inside of him met resistance. Dunk couldn’t say he held no concerns, but he knew Aerion’s tolerance for pain was abnormally high, and he had said he would enjoy it even if it hurt. The thought of Aerion willingly accepting the pain of Dunk splitting him open because he wanted more than his body could comfortably bear made Dunk groan and force Aerion to rest more weight on his face. 

“Dunk.”

Dunk had all but made peace with his impending suffocation by the time Aerion stripped himself of his tunic and angled his hips lower with a hand in Dunk’s hair. Perhaps someday he would be skilled enough that he preferred to stay in control, but that day had not yet arrived, and he appreciated the guidance when Aerion made it clear he wanted more attention paid to the pearl that Dunk had only been nudging with his nose. 

“Yes, that’s— Fuck…”

The grip that was surely ripping some hair from Dunk’s head played no role in his feeling of urgency to bring Aerion to completion. No, that could be attributed only to the fact that Dunk hated having Aerion so exposed to the open night, now that he was completely bared. If anyone were to wander over towards the scent of plums and arousal, they’d see Aerion’s entire body before Dunk had the chance to cover him. The thought of someone else seeing Aerion in that position made Dunk growl, and the rumbling against his cunt had Aerion grinding down even harder. 

“More.”

Dunk did not hesitate to follow his directions, and it was not much longer of Aerion riding his face with increasingly loud whimpers before the omega’s body was tensing up on top of him. As grateful as Dunk was to have the privilege of successfully bringing Aerion to his peak, he did wish he hadn’t thrown his head back when he came. Dunk would’ve liked to see what face he made. 

Ah, perhaps another time. 

Dunk continued his ministrations until Aerion was trying to squirm away from his tongue with shaking thighs, and Dunk lifted him once more to help him lay down. Feeling the puffs of air against his chest as Aerion tried to catch his breath was too endearing for Dunk to bear without squeezing his friend as tightly as he could. 

“Calm yourself. You hold me as if I will run off.”

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just happy.”

“…that so?”

“Of course. I… I enjoyed that. Thank you for allowing it,” Dunk said, feeling even more foolish than he already did when his clumsy words made Aerion chuckle. 

“Yes, I can feel how much you enjoyed it,” Aerion whispered with a grind of his leg against the stiffness between Dunk’s own. How embarrassing…

“Uh, just— Just give it a moment. It will go away.”

“What?” Aerion pushed himself up to stare at Dunk with a clear frown. “Why would it go away? You said you enjoyed that. Why do it if it’d make your cock soft?”

It was almost impressive how quickly Aerion could go from satiated calmness to agitation. Dunk released his best attempt at a soothing scent and gently rubbed his hand up and down Aerion’s spine. 

“I meant only that you needn’t concern yourself with it. You can rest.”

“Rest… So you lied. You do not wish to fuck me,” Aerion said coldly. 

Impossible. He was just impossible. 

“I do! Of course I do, you’ve no idea how badly, I just… Well, you’re finished, are you not?”

Dunk looked away in discomfort when Aerion stayed silently staring for a long moment. 

“You want to fuck me, but because I came, you expect to hold me while I sleep and you wait for your cock to soften, is that correct?”

“Don’t see what’s wrong with it…”

“Gods, you’re a fool,” Aerion said, but his tone was far more fond than mocking, and he leaned down to kiss Dunk before the words had finished leaving his mouth. 

Dunk may have been a bit thick and a lot inexperienced, but he was not too dimwitted to understand what Aerion meant to achieve when he began moving his leg with intention while he licked into his mouth. 

“I still want you inside of me, Ser.”

“Don’t call me that…”

“You must get used to the title, now that you’ve finally become a real knight.”

Dunk’s hand stilled on Aerion’s back. 

“A real knight… Aerion, I—”

“If you are about to confess, I already know.”

“You know?” 

“I knew from the moment you said the words without telling me the story of your knighting. I know you. I’m only surprised you could keep quiet this long.”

Oh, that’s what he meant by “confess”. Not necessarily an easier conversation to have. 

“I only—”

“I care little for your explanation. You were bound to become a knight regardless, and we have better things to do with our time,” Aerion said, head tilted and eyes lowered. 

Well, Dunk certainly would not argue against that. 

The next time Aerion leaned down, Dunk used his hold on his back to roll them over so that he could finally be on top. He’d wanted to feel Aerion’s body caged in beneath his own since the first time his cock got hard, and the experience did not disappoint. Especially not when Aerion was clinging to him so tightly that Dunk was certain if he stood up, Aerion would go with him. 

Even in Dunk’s fantasies, it had always felt too far-fetched to imagine Aerion desiring him so openly. Dunk would have expected him to be more reserved with his affections, the same way he refused to shout or let anyone know the extent of his feelings, but Dunk did know Aerion to be a rather physical person.

“Do not dare to touch my cunt with those filthy trousers.”

“Sorry, I’m—I’ll remove them.”

“Good,” Aerion nearly purred into his ear as he kicked off his trousers, and Dunk wondered how honest his aversion to the fabric touching him had been. 

“Are you… Do you want to—”

“Why are you so nervous? It’s only me here,” Aerion said in an uncommon, complete misunderstanding of Dunk’s feelings. He was most comfortable around Aerion, sure, but he was also made the most nervous by the person he loved. It was a peculiar, stressful contradiction. 

“I want this to be good for you.”

“I already told you it will be.”

“But, should I use my fingers first?”

“If I wanted your fingers, I would tell you. Stop stalling.”

Dunk was sweating. Just another addition to his endless list of little humiliations. He tried to avoid thinking about the sight they made. Aerion, the most beautiful person to ever live, covered by Dunk—giant, nervous, graceless... And sweaty, apparently. 

“Sorry,” Dunk whispered when he failed to enter Aerion on his first attempt. 

“It won’t bite you.”

“Be quiet.”

Aerion laughed breathlessly at the command and Dunk was once again struck by how unimaginable the entire situation was. He did not understand what inspired Aerion to initiate any of this; truly, he did not understand the majority of Aerion’s behavior since they’d reached Ashford. 

Thoughts of how strangely Aerion had been acting brought a hesitation that had nothing to do with nerves. Dunk could not imagine Aerion doing something so intimate if he did not want to, but he’d been nothing but unpredictable in recent days. 

“Why did you stop?” Aerion asked, and his voice had taken on that odd uncertainty again. The fact that Aerion—hisAerion, who had never shown a sliver of insecurity without hiding it behind anger or distaste—seemed to be one wrong word away from shattering did not help quell Dunk’s hesitancy. 

“Are you certain you want to do this?”

“Do you not—”

“We’ve talked about me, Aerion. I’m asking you.”

The crease between Aerion’s brows that had been deepening with each moment Dunk stayed on top of him instead of inside him smoothed out, and he leaned up to press their lips together. It was a far cry from the desperate licking and biting of before—it was much closer to what Dunk had expected his first kiss to be, and the rare moment of gentleness had him forgetting he’d even asked a question at all until Aerion pulled back only far enough to whisper “I do”.

Dunk did not fail to enter him a second time. 

“Slowly,” Aerion gasped as his nails dug into Dunk’s shoulders. Between trying not to hurt him, trying not to come instantly, and trying not to let his scent betray how terribly nervous he was, Dunk could not manage a more articulate response than a hum. 

Aerion ran hot, Dunk had always known that. His body ran hot while his fingers and toes stayed cold, which led to many instances of him sitting in front of the hearth to warm his hands and then complaining that the room was absolutely stifling. Still, knowing this did nothing to prepare Dunk for how that heat would feel around his cock. 

Dunk dropped his head down to pant into Aerion’s neck, and the close proximity to his scent gland did not make it easier to move slowly. 

“For fuck’s sake, how much cock can one man have?”

“You don’t have to take all of it,” Dunk said, earning him a sharp, offended intake of breath and a smack on his shoulder that he likely should have expected. 

“Fuck you. How… How much is left?”

“Less than half.”

Aerion groaned rather dramatically before yanking Dunk’s head back by a hand in his hair and leaning forward to bite his lip as he shoved his hips up. They let out matching grunts of pain when the feeling of Dunk bottoming out made Aerion bite down too hard. 

“Aerion!”

“You’re not bleeding,” Aerion said after a moment of catching his breath and dragging his tongue across Dunk’s surely bruised lip. 

“Not that. You—I was going slow.”

“Too slow. I do want you to fuck me before the sun rises.”

Dunk huffed out a laugh and decided against reminding Aerion that he’d been the one to dictate the pace. 

“Does it hurt?”

“Of course it does, you’re in my lung,” Aerion complained, but tightened his legs around Dunk’s hips when he began trying to pull back. He released Dunk’s shoulders and let his hands rest beside his head in a picture he very clearly knew to be alluring. “It hurts so terribly, dear knight, won’t you distract me?”

“Aerion…”

Did Dunk need to remind him that it was his first time touching or being touched by anyone in such a way? It was taking every bit of willpower he possessed not to embarrass himself by finishing too quickly, and the teasing did not help. The first roll of his hips made his endeavor feel near impossible. 

It was more instinct than intent to pin Aerion’s arms down by his wrists when he started writhing, but the move pulled such a pleased purr from him that Dunk almost wished it had been a conscious choice. 

“Move, Ser. You claim to want to take me so badly,” Aerion leaned up to peck him on the lips. “Prove it.”

Dunk pulled out until only the tip remained inside and shoved forward swiftly enough for their skin to clap. Aerion’s groan of pained pleasure was so loud Dunk almost wondered if it was fake. 

“Too—Was that too hard?”

Aerion growled and tried to free his hands, likely to scratch or smack Dunk again, but the fact he couldn’t get the grip on his wrists to budge seemed to calm his ire, oddly enough. 

“I will not hold my tongue if you fuck up, so stop asking. You are irritating me.”

“I just want this—”

“To be good for me, so you’ve said. Do you know what would truly achieve that? If you would stop fretting and fuck me,”Aerion said, and squirmed when Dunk did not immediately start moving. “I want… Seven hells, just show me that you want me at all, bastard.”

“You know I do. I want you so badly I feel sick.”

Dunk did not think that was the most romantic statement to make, but Aerion’s scent told him that he at least found it endearing. 

“Then why don’t—”

“Because I care more about how much you like it. Because I—” love you. 

But he couldn’t say that. If Aerion had wanted this to lead to something more, he would have said as much, and he certainly would not have told Dunk to imagine someone else while inside of him. 

Dunk shook that line of thinking from his head. No, he was not going to dwell on that in the middle of what was possibly the only time he would get to hold Aerion. He was… He needed to improve his performance greatly if he wanted to be invited back into his bed, and getting whiny over Aerion not asking to be his omega would extinguish his chances quickly. 

If he did well enough, proved that he could provide him pleasure the same way he provided company and protection, maybe Aerion would change his mind. Maybe he could start to see Dunk as a possible mate instead of a friend he apparently wanted to bed. Who could say?

Dunk did not release Aerion’s wrists when he shifted down to rest his weight on his elbows, and Aerion purred again at the feeling of their chests pressed together. Dunk was careful not to crush him, but even someone half as sharp could tell that Aerion liked being covered and held down. Dunk was the one to initiate a kiss for the first time as he began thrusting. 

It was hard. He was hard, obviously, but fucking Aerion was hard too. Dunk was struggling to temper his strength, find a proper rhythm, and keep Aerion’s strangely dexterous tongue from choking him all at once. 

He thought he was managing fairly well, even if the amount of thought he was putting into it annoyingly distracted him from the sensation of sliding his cock into the warmest, wettest, tightest cunt to ever exist. He wanted to lose himself in the feeling of it, but what he was currently doing had Aerion taking the sweetest little gasps, and he did not want to end that. 

Dunk discovered rather quickly that he did not have much of a choice in the matter when Aerion’s scent of arousal thickened enough to cloud his mind, and the omega broke away from his mouth to suck and bite at his scent gland. 

Aerion didn’t bite deep enough to break skin, and certainly not deep enough to form a bond, but he clearly knew what he was doing. Goading Dunk to take what he wanted with words hadn’t worked, so he’d moved on to provoking his more primal side. 

“Stop that. I’ll… Aerion, stop,” Dunk whispered, but he did not sound the slightest bit firm, even to his own ears. 

“Afraid you’ll enjoy yourself?”

“More afraid I’ll tear you to pieces.”

Aerion whined loudly despite the fact Dunk had stopped moving while they spoke, and his scent spiked to something intoxicating as he bit Dunk’s neck even harder. Dunk would have been concerned about the scent traveling if he had any rational thought left over. 

When he began thrusting again, he had no hope of maintaining his earlier, deliberate movements, and the part of his mind telling him to slow down, to be more gentle, was quickly drowned out by Aerion’s moaning. 

“Yes, like—Fuck, like that.”

Dunk released one of his wrists to grab his jaw instead, but once he’d tilted his head the way he wanted and crushed their lips together again, his hand moved to Aerion’s throat. It was not tight enough to impede his breathing, but Dunk’s hand was large enough for him to graze both of the scent glands on his neck. Dunk groaned into his mouth when he pressed on them and felt the body beneath him shudder. Aerion’s cunt clenched nicely as well, but that was hardly noticeable when he was already so fucking tight.

“You feel so good, so warm… Want you like this… Every day.”

Aerion’s only response being a moan encouraged Dunk to continue his whispering as he felt the beginning of a knot start to grow. He’d never knotted anything outside of a rut—it was a strange feeling when he was sound of mind. Mostly sound of mind. 

“Want to… Want to put a babe in you.”

Dunk could not tell what Aerion’s gasp indicated at all, but he was presently more receptive to his scent, which was too sweet for Dunk to even smell the burnt wood of the real fire still slowly dying near them. 

“Knot. Knot me,” Aerion rasped as he tried to pull his knees up to allow Dunk even deeper. 

“You want my knot?”

“Yes.”

“Can you take it?”

Aerion nodded quickly, chin tapping the hand still around his throat that he had made no attempt to remove. Dunk tightened his hold gently, just to test, and Aerion’s free hand rose to claw at his back. 

“More, more.”

Dunk would not choke him, he did not trust his understanding of his own strength enough to take such a risk, but he did grip him a bit tighter, again making sure to press on his scent glands. The sound Aerion let out could easily be described as a sob. 

“Please, Dunk. Knot.”

“I will.”

“Kiss.”

Dunk did not hesitate to grant that request, currently unaware of how permanently the image of Aerion looking up at him with pouty, swollen lips and teary eyes, asking for a kiss while he took his cock so deeply that Dunk could swear he felt the distention of Aerion’s stomach against his own, would sear itself into his memory. 

It did not take long for his knot to grow too big to pull out without hurting Aerion, and his final thrusts before they locked together fully were sharp but shallow. The instinct to bite down on one of the scent glands under his hand was powerful, but not as difficult to resist as it would have been if he were further out of his mind. 

Dunk had never bedded anyone before, so he’d certainly never knotted anyone, but he was unprepared for how different it felt from knotting his fist during a rut. He could barely hold himself up through the waves of pleasure that he quickly recognized as Aerion’s cunt spasming around him.

He dropped his head to look between them and watched Aerion’s stomach quivering as his peak continued with an assortment of gasps and whimpers for longer than Dunk thought possible. He pressed his hips down to grind against the place Aerion had told him to lick before, and nearly jumped from how loudly it made Aerion cry out. He repeated the motion until Aerion was openly crying and pushing at him. 

“Enough,” he choked out between sobs, and Dunk would have felt guilty to the point of contemplating suicide if Aerion’s scent held even the slightest hint of smoke. Fortunately, it did not, and where its potency had abated as Aerion attempted to catch his breath, it sweetened once again when Dunk moved them so that Aerion could lay on his chest with his arms wrapped securely around him. 

Never having popped a knot outside of a rut meant that Dunk was unsure of how long it’d take to go down, but that was not a concern. He would have been perfectly happy laying naked, sweaty, and locked together with Aerion for years. 

“I am exhausted.”

Dunk laughed softly at the complaint and kissed the top of Aerion’s head where his hair had become a mess. It was almost impressive how unruly such short strands could be, forming into soft peaks with little order to the directions they would point. Dunk had always found it cute. 

“Was that your first?” Aerion asked after his sobs had finally shifted to soft hiccups, and then only shaky breaths. 

“It was.”

They laid there in what Dunk assumed was comfortable silence for a long moment before Aerion was repeatedly jabbing him in the chest with his finger. 

“You’re not going to ask me?”

“Ask what? Oh, if it was… Well, I just assumed…”

Aerion shoved back as far as he could with them still tied together to look Dunk in the eye. Dunk noticed his frown first, but the blood near Aerion’s bottom lip caught his attention quickly. The skin was only broken in two places, just little punctures, but the curve of a bite mark they sat on promised a rather suggestive bruise. Dunk did not remember doing that at all. It must have— Gods, what kind of alpha would bite an omega’s lip bloody when they came, simply because they wished they could bite their neck? 

Dunk opened his mouth to apologize, but Aerion’s voice cut him off before he could begin. 

“That I’m a whore?”

“What? No! No, I just… I figured if it was your first time, you’d not want to have it with me, that's all.”

“Why wouldn’t I? I’ve done everything else with you. I would have wanted it to be with you.”

Something fluttered in Dunk’s chest at that statement, but his mind went in a less pleasant direction. 

“Then why didn’t—”

“I find myself weary of this conversation. Talk about something else,” Aerion said, laying back down in a position where he could still see Dunk’s face.

Aerion’s cheek squished where it pressed against the chest he laid on, and it took everything in Dunk to keep from cooing at the sight. He was certain that his scent was conveying his overwhelming affection quite clearly, if his expression was not enough on its own, but he imagined he could be allowed an emotional moment after what they’d just done, even if it had truly meant little to Aerion. 

Though, the scent mixing with Dunk’s was not sour by any stretch of the word…

“You smell like plums.”

“Why are you saying that as if it’s something I should not know?”

“I didn’t know. I’d never had a plum before yesterday,” Dunk said, and Aerion hummed in understanding. 

“I’ve been told I smell of dornish plums, more specifically. My father said— No, it was my… it wasn’t Jeyne, it was…”

For the first time in a long while, Dunk smelled that damned burnt wood. 

Aerion’s breathing grew quick and shallow, and he hissed in pain when he pulled off of the cock inside of him to sit up with his knees pulled to his chest and his back facing Dunk. That was too bad—Dunk wouldn’t have minded staying connected a bit longer. A lot longer. 

“I hate this. I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to,” Aerion whispered, shifting in a way that looked similar to a child rocking back and forth to soothe themselves. 

Dunk’s stomach dropped. He doubted he’d ever sat up faster in his life. Aerion did not look at him when he tried to catch his eye, but he did not turn away either. 

“Aerion, did… Did I hurt you?”

“Not this, you idiot,” Aerion said, gesturing between the two of them. “Of course I wanted to do this. It’s something else.”

Of course?

“Will you tell me what it is?” Dunk asked, but he knew the answer even before Aerion shook his head. Dunk sighed. 

“Well, whatever it is, you don’t have to do it alone.”

Given the relationship they’d always had, Dunk did not expect that sentiment to be anything less than obvious, but Aerion still regarded him skeptically. 

“You don’t know what it is.”

“Do you have to do it?”

“I…” Aerion’s eyes drifted away from Dunk’s. “I think I do.”

“Then I’ll do it with you.”

Of all the reactions Dunk would have anticipated, Aerion darting forward to kiss him softly was not one. Dunk's own arms naturally came to wrap around him again when Aerion hugged his neck. 

“Hold me. Just… Just tonight,” Aerion whispered in a tone so uncharacteristic of him that it was truly worrying. 

Dunk nodded despite his concerns and guided them to lay down, pulling the blanket back over them without dislodging Aerion from his neck. 

“It doesn’t have to be just tonight, you know,” he whispered back. 

With his face pressed as close to Dunk’s scent gland as he could manage without suffocating himself against his skin, Aerion sighed. 

“I am scared that you’re wrong.”

And Dunk was scared to ask what that could’ve meant.