Chapter Text
It had been roughly three weeks on the road with Egg, and Dunk found himself being a fair bit gentler than Ser Pennytree had ever been with him. He knew how hard the road could be. He remembered it well enough from when he was young. The sore legs, the boredom of travelling, the hunger that never quite left.
He took more rests than he normally would, mostly because of the whining, though Egg didn’t get his way every time. Maybe if Lord Maekar had thought to send Aegon off with a small allowance, they might have lived a touch more comfortably. But he hadn’t. Which, Dunk supposed, was the whole point. Toughen the boy up. Teach him what life was like for the common folk.
Dunk did his part in that. When Egg got too sharp with him, he’d remind him he wasn’t some lordling who could say what he liked without consequence. That usually came with a light thwack to the back of the head, nothing more than a warning. The boy was tiny, and Dunk knew his own strength well enough. Truth be told, a stiff breeze could likely knock the lad flat if it caught him right.
They had stopped at Nightsong before crossing Prince’s Pass, then travelled on through Kingsgrave and Skyreach. The views there had left both of them staring longer than they meant to. The mountains were something else entirely. After that came the long stretch of harsh road to Sandstone, where they managed to find a bit of work with House Qorgyle. Nothing grand, just delivering a package to Hellholt, but it was honest coin.
The journey had been anything but easy, and it would only worsen when they reached the Scourge.
They had left Hellholt three days earlier with fresh supplies and one less member of their party, though they were still bound for Vaith.
Dunk had half a mind to box Egg’s ears for all the complaining, but one look at the boy’s face kept his hand still. His skin was red raw from the sun, even with a cloak pulled over his soft, peach-fuzz hair. The heat was relentless. If it meant taking the longer path to get them closer to water and in more manageable temperatures, then it was worth it over trying to do the short, hotter journey through the worst of the desert.
If not for themselves, for Thunder. He didn’t want to think about poor Chestnut. His eyes still stung from crying, and the dry desert air did him no favours. Losing the horse had felt like losing a piece of his past, one of the few things tied to Ser Arlan. He had cried, openly, right there with Egg watching. Let the boy see it too. Let him learn. Damn those knights who mocked such things. They’d cry just the same if it were their own horse lying dead in the sand.
There was no shame in caring. None in showing it.
Now they both rode Thunder through that same miserable heat, the poor beast carrying double the weight without complaint. Egg looked half-fevered, flushed and sluggish, and he made sure Dunk knew it. Aegon let out a long, suffering groan. They had been up before sunrise, and now the afternoon dragged on with no sign of the heat breaking.
“Ser Duncan, how much longer?” he whined. “I’m going to turn into dust at this rate, and you’ll likely lose me in the sand.”
Dunk glanced back over his shoulder. “An’ what’s that supposed to mean? If I were Ser Pennytree, your feet would’ve melted off by now. Count yourself lucky you’re ridin’ Thunder.”
He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, squinting against the sun.
“This trip’s already taking longer than it should. And I’m not leavin’ anyone else behind in the desert.”
The words came out firmer than he meant them to. He couldn’t do it. Wouldn’t. Not again. Better it be him left for the crows than another under his watch. What kind of knight loses both his horse and his squire. Dunk shoved the thought away with a scowl. Heat had him thinking foolishly. “Maybe if you stopped drinkin’ all our water just to piss it out five minutes later, we’d be there by now.”
Aegon puffed up, ready with a sharp reply, but the words died in his throat.
A water-cooled breeze swept over them.
In the distance, a stretch of green broke through the endless sand. Trees. Shade. And, if they were lucky, a river running cold beneath it.
“Finally,” Aegon said, brightening at once. “I’m going to jump in the water and never come out again.”
Dunk snorted. “You’re blood of the dragon, not a fish, last I checked.”
By sundown, they reached a stretch of green marking the river’s edge. The moment they found a decent bank, they led Thunder down to drink. The poor beast needed it as much as they did.
Dunk was just about to tell Egg to brush Thunder down when the boy was far too quick for him to verbalise it
Egg had stripped and bolted for the water without a second thought, clothes left in a heap on the bank.
“Oi-” Dunk started.
Too late.
The boy vanished beneath the surface.
Dunk froze for half a heartbeat, heart kicking once in his chest, before Egg burst back up with a loud, pleased sigh.
“Turns out dragons can be aquatic,” he said, grinning as he floated on his back like he hadn’t a care in the world.
Dunk frowned at that. He hadn’t the faintest idea what aquatic meant, but it sounded watery enough. He wasn’t about to ask and give the boy another excuse to laugh at him. He got enough of that as it was.
He shook his head, turning back to Thunder with a huff. Some squire. He started untacking Thunder leavin on his bridle.
Never thought he’d be teased half to death by a child.
Still, he stripped down not long after, wading in to wash off the dust of the road. Bringing Thunder in with him to cool him down. “Egg”, he said before tossing the boy the brush. “You wanted to be a squire, didn’t you?” he said with a raised brow. Egg rolled his eyes, swimming back over to the shallows to take Thunder’s reins and lead him in.
Dunk went to walk out into deeper water only to make a misstep, having him dunk completely under water, having him come up sputtering, which had Egg cackling again. “Behave, or I’ll dunk you, you brat” Dunk splashed him for it, though he didn’t quite manage to dunk him under like he threatened. The boy was too quick to move away, giggling behind Thunder.
Once Thunder was thoroughly cooled down and back on the bank.
Egg came back into the water to wash off all the horse hair. He floated like he hadn’t a care in the world, drifting with the slow current, pale limbs cutting through the water like some strange river creature.
“Don’t go too far,” Dunk called, already loosening the tack. “An’ don’t drown. I ain’t explainin’ that to your pa.”
Egg snorted, ducking under again just to be contrary.
It felt like their first break in a long while, and they stayed cooling off till the sun’s last light.
Dunk was the first out, warning Egg to be out of the water by the time he got the fire started.
He worked quickly. Fire pit first, then bedrolls, then the bundle of food they had. Nothing fancy, just hard bread, salted beef, and what water they hadn’t already sweated out. By the time Egg joined him, cheeks still pink but no longer angry with the sun, everything was near normal.
They ate in companionable quiet for once, the earlier complaints spent. The heat had drained them both of any thoughts; they would sleep well tonight.
It didn’t last. As long as he had hoped. Egg had just gotten into his bedroll when he heard it.
At first, Dunk thought it was the wind. A faint sound, carried thin across the distance. Easy to miss if you weren’t listening for trouble. Then it came again. Shouting. Not the loud, boisterous kind of men around a fire, but something sharper. Pained. Wrong.
Dunk’s head came up slowly. “Stay here,” he said, already pushing to his feet.
Egg frowned. “What is it-”
“Stay,” Dunk repeated, firmer this time, grabbing his sword.
That had wiped the tired look he had previously been sporting clean off the boy’s face.
Dunk didn’t wait for an answer. He was already moving.
He moved quickly, following the sounds up the embankment. He had heard the sound of steel on steel. Trying to be quick and quiet at his size was rather difficult, but he managed as he always did. The noise of steel and shouts suddenly disappeared, which was worrying, because it had gone far too quiet. Now he didn’t know how far away he was from the fray.
He stayed cautious, not wanting to be spotted first. What he did spot first were three men already down, their bodies streaked red.
He drew his sword, moving past the few trees obscuring the fray. Four men were struggling to hold a clothes-stripped body down in the dirt. From the pale skin and small frame, it had to be a poor young lass.
Dunk’s heart dropped before the anger took over. The cruelty was disgusting, his fist tightening around his blade as he worked out what approach was best to stop the attack.
Which, now that he was in the moment, it didn’t seem wise to say ‘stop raping sir’. It would be four against one, and though it wasn’t very noble to attack from behind, neither was raping.
Then a familiar voice he couldn’t quite place broke through the men’s laughter, raw but not an ounce of fear in it, and much deeper than he had been expecting.
“I’ll burn you all for this.”
One of the men did something that drew a sharp, pained groan from their victim, then yanked their head back out of the dirt.
Even from a distance, he knew that silver hair. The sharpness of him. The way he held himself, even now, even like this, like the world owed him something.
Aerion…
For half a heartbeat, Dunk froze.
Memories flashed quick and ugly, Ashford Meadow, steel ringing, the look in Aerion’s eyes when they fought, when he had yielded under his hands. He looked just as blood-soaked as the last time Dunk had seen him.
That was enough.
Dunk moved.
The man inflicting the pain went down before he could even turn, Dunk’s blade swinging true, the man’s head toppling to the ground. The others reacted slower than they should have, too focused on their prize. His stealth was blown, but it gave him enough of an advantage to land a solid blow through the arms of one of the men pinning the prince. One rushed him with a shout. Dunk met him head-on, knocking the man off his feet with sheer force. The other tried to make some distance, shakily pulling out his blade. The man had armour, and Dunk did not. Their swords met a few times, steel ringing with each blow. The man was more skilled, but he struggled against Dunk’s strength.
The tide turned when a sharp scream sounded from behind him. Whatever he saw made the soldier in front of him lose his footing. Dunk didn’t hesitate as he brought his sword down on the man scrambling for his blade, ending the fight before it could turn again. The screaming cut off just as suddenly as it had begun. It was over faster than his body could comprehend, his ears ringing not from any hit he had taken, but from the rush of it. His heart pounded, leaving him in that same strange state he remembered from the trial.
Dunk stood there a moment, breathing hard, the fight still thrumming through him.
Then the smell hit him.
Burning.
He turned.
The bodies near Aerion had caught alight, flames licking up cloth and flesh alike. One of the men lay where he had fallen, still smoking, fire crawling across him in a way that didn’t make sense for how quickly it had taken. Dunk frowned, trying to piece it together. He remembered one of them holding a torch, but he hadn’t seen it fall, hadn’t seen the fire start. He shook his head. That wasn’t something to worry about right now. He needed to make sure the prince wouldn’t die. Aerion was curled into a ball in the dirt, his body covered in his own blood and that of the men Dunk had just killed.
Dunk swallowed around the tightness in his throat. It was a hard thing to look at. At least at Ashford, he had his armour, so he hadn’t looked so small and fragile. Then he noticed the hand he had cut clean off one of the men was still resting over the prince’s wrist, smoking like the rest of the bodies. Dunk wiped his blade clean on a dead man’s cloak and sheathed it before stepping closer, kicking the offending hand away.
“…Your Grace,” he said, a bit awkwardly.
The words felt strange, given the last time they had stood this close.
Aerion’s head snapped toward him, eyes sharp despite everything.
“You,” he spat.
There it was.
Dunk huffed a quiet breath. “Aye. Me.”
For a second, it looked like Aerion might say something cutting, something cruel enough to put distance back between them.
It didn’t come.
Instead, his jaw tightened, and he looked away. He looked like he was fighting not to cry.
Dunk crouched down, and Aerion flinched when he reached out, the reaction quick and instinctive before he could hide it.
Their eyes locked in a quiet stalemate. Dunk didn’t want to upset him further. Aerion’s face was tight with anger, brows furrowed deep, but there was something else there too. Dunk didn’t know what to say.
“…I’m sorry,” he said softly.
That seemed to break something in the prince. His jaw clenched and unclenched as he fought and failed to hold back the tears escaping.
Dunk reached out with a gentler touch, hands steady as he checked him over, quick and practical. He had no wounds that would kill him. Bruises were forming, and some nasty cuts, but the most concerning thing was the blood down the back of his thighs. A sheathed knife lay close by, the hilt stained with his blood.
Gods.
He wouldn’t wish that on his worst enemy, and Aerion was close enough to that.
Aerion had been leaning heavily into his support as Dunk checked him over. He almost missed the small voice.
“You’re sorry-” His voice caught. Dunk could hear the tears in it, even if his face was hidden against his shoulder.
Dunk stilled.
He could see the way the prince’s hands trembled where they pressed into the dirt, like he was trying to will them still by sheer stubbornness, but it wasn’t working.
“I’ve got you,” he said instead, simple as that.
Aerion went rigid at the words.
For a moment, Dunk thought he might pull away, snap, lash out just to prove he could.
He didn’t. His hands shifted instead, clutching at Dunk’s shirt, curling into him further. Dunk could feel the way his body shook, though the prince kept his voice near silent.
Dunk held him close, rubbing a careful hand up and down his back, trying to soothe him like he would a spooked horse.
It took a while for Aerion’s body to stop trembling. When he finally looked up from the wet patch he had made, Dunk realised just how striking his eyes were. Purple, like some flower he couldn’t name. Now those eyes blinked at him in confusion.
“You’re crying,” he said, brows furrowing like it didn’t make sense.
Dunk gave a small shrug. “As are you… For me, it’s not even the first time this week. Or even today.”
That earned him an exhausted, wet laugh. “I don’t cry. And again, knighthood has fallen on sad days…”
Dunk rolled his eyes. Targaryens, all of them, too quick with a sharp tongue. He let that sit a moment before huffing, “You ought to be nicer to someone who’s been crying.”
The prince used more of Dunk’s shirt to wipe his eyes, then paused, like he was working up to something honest, something hard to admit, but it caught in his throat.
“Why?” he asked instead.
Dunk looked at him, jaw tightening. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”
That earned him the same look Egg gave him when something went over his head, followed by an eye roll that made Dunk rethink his answer.
“Oh… My horse. Chestnut, died.”
Aerion squeezed his bicep softly, a small sigh leaving him, like it might hurt to be kind. “I’m sorry you cry so easily over things you shouldn’t, Ser Duncan.”
That made Dunk huff a quiet laugh. It was an attempt, at least. “Wasn’t so hard, was it-”... “’T’was the worst,” Aerion muttered.
Dunk shook his head. “Right… let’s get you cleaned up and back to camp before Egg comes looking. I told him to stay-.”.... “But he doesn’t listen,” Aerion finished for him.
Dunk got to his feet and held out a hand, but Aerion struggled and refused to take it. So Dunk simply picked him up, which drew a pained, indignant noise from the lordling.
“Ah, you oaf! Do I weigh anything to you?”
“No, Your Grace,” Dunk cut in, adjusting his grip. “I’m sure you’d fly if I threw you. On account of your dragon blood. Not your remarkably tiny stature.”
Aerion glared at him. “I thought you were meant to be nice to someone who’s been crying.”
Dunk shrugged. “You said it yourself. You haven’t been crying.”
That earned the smallest twitch of a smile.
“Well then, be a good knight and tend to my dragonic royal blood gently.”
Dunk took that for what it was. Be gentle. I’m hurting.
He carried him to the water’s edge and set him down carefully in the shallows. Aerion stared at his own body like he didn’t quite recognise it. Dunk stepped closer, about to help, but his hand was slapped away.
“Don’t touch me. I can do it myself. Just collect my things. I want to be away from here.”
Dunk nodded. “Yes, Your Grace. Call out if you need me.”
He turned back to the scene. Seven men dead. Ironic, after the trial, but not something he would ever say aloud. They looked like mercenaries. Strong ones too. He was impressed Aerion had taken three down on his own.
Nearby, he spotted a familiar horse with a temper to match its owner, tack laid beside it. A small fire had been set, a fish roasting on a stick. Looks like Aerion had made camp before he was ambushed.
Dunk scratched his head, trying to work out how the hell Aerion had ended up here, when a branch snapped behind him.
His head turned sharply.
“Egg. Gods, do you not listen?”
Egg’s expression matched his brother’s, all sharp edges. “I do. But it had been too long. Was I meant to wait forever if you didn’t come back? What happened? Why are those men burning?”
Dunk let out a breath. Fair point. What if he had not come back?
He stepped closer, placing a hand on Egg’s shoulder. “Well… It’s your brother. Don’t know how or why he’s here, but… look, I know you don’t like him. But what happened wasn’t good.”
He shifted aside so Aegon could see Aerion bloody and sitting silent at the water’s edge.
Egg didn’t move at first. He just stared. His jaw tightened, eyes flicking over Aerion’s hunched form, the blood, the way he sat too still at the water’s edge. Whatever he had been expecting, it clearly hadn’t been this.
Then his expression hardened. “No.”
Dunk blinked. “No?”
“No,” Aegon repeated, sharper now. “He is not coming with us.”
Dunk let out a slow breath. “Egg-”
“No,” he cut in again, stepping closer, voice rising. “You don’t know him, you didn’t have to grow up with him. He is the worst. Cruel for the sake of it.”
His gaze flicked back to Aerion, something uneasy passing through it before he shoved it down.
“I bet he lit those men on fire for the fun of it”, Aegon added flatly.
Dunk shifted his weight, glancing around the scene. This isn’t something he should really be letting Egg see “He could barely stand. I don’t think he did that…” he scratched at the back of his head, not wanting to sound dumb “Unless that’s some magic thing you dragon folk can do…”
Eggs brows got even closer, which he didn’t think possible “No, Ser, that is not something Targaryens can do… But he is a monster”
Still, he shook his head. “We’re not leavin’ him here.”
Aegon’s head snapped back toward him. “Yes, we are.”
“No, we’re not,” Dunk said, firmer now. “Not like this.”
Aegon stared at him, anger flaring bright.“He would leave you. Worse, he would probably kill you. And you’re just-what-going to take him in like some wounded stray?”
Dunk huffed. “Aye. Looks that way.”
“That is absurd.”
“Maybe,” Dunk allowed, scratching at the back of his neck. “But it’s right.”
Aegon made a frustrated sound, “You are going to get us both killed. You should drown him”
“Not tonight,” Dunk said. “I’ll lay down rules. He won’t come near you. He won’t have a weapon. I’ll keep watch.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“Sleep in my armour, but this is not negotiable. You wanted to be my squire, we do the right thing”
Aegon looked back at Aerion again, longer this time. The anger was still there, but it seemed to have shimmered.
“…Just for tonight?” he said at last.
“Just for tonight,” Dunk agreed. “After that, we’ll see.”
Aegon didn’t look convinced.
But he didn’t argue again.
Instead, he turned on his heel and stalked off toward where Aerion’s bags were.
He gathered some of his clothes roughly, not bothering to be careful, his arms full of clothes. When he reached the river’s edge, he let them fall in a loose pile beside Aerion with a soft thud.
“I wish you would just leave us alone,” he muttered, low but not quiet enough to be missed. “Or die somewhere else.”
Aerion didn’t answer.
Aegon lingered for half a heartbeat, like he might say more, then thought better of it. He turned sharply and made his way back to Dunk, shoulders tight.
Dunk watched him come as he lifted the saddle back onto Aerion’s horse. “…That went well,” he muttered under his breath.
Aegon shot him a look. “Do not start.”
Dunk held up his hands slightly. “He didn’t attack you after you threw his clothes in the dirt. It’s a good start.”
Dunk set Aegon to continue packing while he went about collecting anything that looked like it belonged to Aerion. Some of the clothes were beyond saving, but his sword, boots, and belt were fine. He also gave the dead men a quick look over, taking anything useful. There was a bit of coin, a cloth, some medicinal tincture, and a few bandages.
He made his way back to the river, making sure not to be quiet so he didn’t spook him. Aerion had barely moved.
“Your Grace?” he said softly, squatting down beside him on the bank.
Aerion didn’t turn. “Come to drown me, Ser Duncan?”
Ah. He had heard.
“If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve ignored your yield and done it at the trial.”
Aerion’s shoulders shifted, what might have been a silent laugh. “Indeed. Would have been smarter. And if I wanted Aegon dead, he would be. We slept a room apart.”
He let out a small sigh, dropping his head to his knees, arms wrapped tight around himself.
Dunk dipped the cloth into the water and wrung it out before pressing it gently to Aerion’s back. The prince startled at the contact.
“None of that,” Dunk said. “No being cruel to him. You’re brothers. You ought to be kinder to each other.”
Aerion didn’t look at him, but Dunk could feel the eye roll. “Says a man who clearly has no brothers.”
Dunk huffed as he kept cleaning him off. “Just behave until we sort something out. You know I won’t hesitate to hit you if you piss me off. So if you’ve got nothing nice to say, don’t say it.”
Aerion finally glanced back at him. “I’ll try. No promises.”
He made a weak attempt to stand, but his legs gave out. Dunk caught him easily.
“Easy,” he said. “I’ve got you. Let’s get you dried and patched up.”
Aerion proved far fussier than Aegon. Dunk got him dry enough to clean the wounds, dab on the tincture, and wrap what needed bandaging, but the prince refused to put proper clothes on while he was still damp, insisting the cape was enough for now.
They started back toward camp slowly, Aerion leaning heavily into him. He tried to hide it, but the strain showed clear enough in the tight set of his face.
“It’ll be morning before we make it back at this pace,” Dunk muttered.
Before Aerion could argue, Dunk simply picked him up.
Aegon, of course, noticed immediately.
“Is this the first princess you’ve rescued, Ser Duncan?” he called, grinning.
Aerion groaned. “You should have killed me, or let me die, and spared me this embarrassment.”
Dunk shook his head. “You’re both as bad as each other…”
He glanced down at Aerion, who had been looking at him before quickly turning his head away, like he’d been caught at something. A moment later, Aerion’s gaze drifted back toward the burning bodies, confusion flickering across his face before he tucked himself in closer again.
“Egg,” Dunk said, firmer now, “lead your brother’s horse, and keep your mouth shut. I’m not breaking up any more fights tonight.”
Aegon rolled his eyes but took the reins, leading the way.
“Balerion…” Aerion said softly. “My horse?” he almost looked anoyed at himself as he said it shaking his head at himself.
Which he was glad Ser Arlan gave him a thorough history lessons, even if he couldn’t read. Dunk glanced down. “The Black Dread,” Dunk murmured. “Fitting. I remember her temper.”
The horse had nearly knocked a man out cold with a single kick.
The walk back to camp passed in silence.
Dunk set Aerion down on his own bedroll, then moved to take over from Aegon, untacking Balerion and settling the horses. Aerion’s bedroll was a finer thing than theirs, better made, better kept.
Aegon frowned at Aerion and quietly dragged his own bedroll further away. Thankfully, no one commented on it.
By the time Dunk returned, Aegon had restoked the fire. Aerion had pulled his clothes back on and, somehow, already made himself comfortable enough to fall asleep.
Dunk glanced at Aegon, brow raised. “Would he be more likely to kill me if I woke him, or if I used his bedroll?” he whispered.
Aegon shrugged as he climbed into his own. “He’ll kill you either way. Pick the one that gets you a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow will be worse.”
Dunk snorted softly. He spread his own bedroll between the two of them and finally lay down.
By the Seven, Ser Arlan would never believe this. Guarding not one, but two Targaryen princes.
It had been far too long a day.
Sleep came quickly.
