Chapter Text
“You know that none of us can help if you go there, right?”
Dunk still remembered Egg’s worried face before he left.
Dunk was just as terrified as the others, perhaps even more. His long legs trembled, something twisted uneasily in his gut, and sweat dampened his brow.
No, he did not want to go there. But he knew tomorrow’s battle would be their last. Too many good men had already fallen, most of the lords had given their lives. The enemy army was nearly three times their size.
Now, to Dunk’s despair, women, elders, and even children stepped forward to fight beside them. He might be shaking with dread, but he would not let those innocent people die in battle. Just no. He would give his life before that happened.
That was why he walked deep into the woods, searching for the feared witch’s cabin.
At night, children frightened one another with stories about the witch. People dreaded the dark because they believed he lurked within every shadow. They feared death because they thought he would steal their souls from The Stranger and The Father and devour them whole, an evil, sadistic creature who lived in the heart of the forest.
Some said the witch was the forest’s very heart. Others claimed he feasted on the eyes of anyone foolish enough to wander too deep beneath the trees. Seven hells, Dunk was fucking scared.
He walked beneath a brand-new full moon that made the night strangely bright. Sometimes a faint laugh rode the wind and brushed against his skin like a whisper. Each time he heard it, Dunk fought the urge to turn and run. There was not a single animal in sight, even they seemed to be hiding tonight.
All he had was common knowledge: spells were stronger near running water. So he walked for hours in search of a river, feeling watched and glancing over his shoulder more times than he cared to count.
At last he heard the faint sound of water. Dunk tried to remind himself why he was doing this, tried to remember the faces of his battle companions, men who had been far braver than he had ever been. So he walked on. Whatever pain or misfortune fate had waiting for him, it would be more bearable than letting children die.
Dunk’s heart skipped a beat when he spotted a clearing and caught the scent of smoke.
Lit by the moon, a large cabin stood there, surrounded by a lush and colorful garden filled with plants and flowers Dunk had never seen before. Moss crept along the stone walls, and the windows were made of strangely twisted glass. From the chimney rose a thin thread of red smoke.
He walked slowly toward the entrance, his heart pounding so hard it felt ready to burst from his chest. Then, in a blink too long, or perhaps only a trick of the light, a figure appeared before the door and Dunk stopped breathing.
He had expected the witch to be anything, anything at all, except what now stood before him: the most mesmerizing creature Dunk had ever seen.
Cruel violet eyes pierced straight through his soul. Silver hair gleamed beneath the moonlight, the strands somehow lying together in a pattern that resembled dragon scales. Lips slightly pouted, head tilted in a way that felt… magical. It was certainly not something or someone of this world.
Red jewelry shimmered softly over white translucent fabric that revealed far too much smooth skin.
If he weren’t a witch, Dunk thought, people would write songs about his beauty.
“What do you need, little knight?”
His voice drifted through the night air as softly as the breeze itself, and it reminded Dunk of how certain predators stood very still before the strike.
“May I know your name?” Dunk asked before he could stop himself. Damn it. A rough chuckle answered him, and Dunk felt so fucking stupid, but gods, he truly needed to know. Did that creature even have a name?
The figure before him shook his head as if in disbelief, clearly amused by Dunk’s audacity.
“Aerion,” he said at last, a mischievous glint in his violet eyes.
Dunk felt the hairs on his arms rise. Even the name sounded beautiful and reckless. From somewhere in the dark forest came the sudden hoot of an owl, making Dunk jump in fright. A sharp smile curved across the pretty face before him.
“Now you can go back home,” Aerion said softly. “The forest can be quite dangerous at this time of night.”
Dunk sensed he was about to vanish and panicked. He needed to act. Now. So he threw himself to the ground, knees and hands pressed against the earth like a dog.
“Please,” he begged. “There will be a battle tomorrow. Many of us have already died, too many. The enemy is far more numerous. Innocents are joining the front lines to fight. I would do anything to ensure none of them die. I'm sure of what I'm asking for, I would pay any price. Please, Aerion. I don’t know what else to do. Please.”
The witch walked ahead, and Dunk caught a disarmingly pleasant aroma in the air. He tried, he truly tried, but could not help drawing the deepest breath he could. Aerion looked as if he had been sculpted by the gods. If the moon itself had taken human form, it would be him.
Dunk knelt, and the witch stood far too close. From where he was, Ser Duncan the Tall found himself staring directly at Aerion’s elegantly straight shoulders through the delicate, translucent white fabric that covered him.
He knew Aerion was following his gaze, violet eyes filled with malicious delight, so Dunk struggled very fucking hard not to look at his nipples.
“Such a kind heart,” Aerion said, smoothing his hands over Dunk’s shoulders as though measuring him. Dunk leaned ever so slightly into the touch. “Such a pretty soul. I might have just the right thing for you on a night like this, puppy.”
“I’m not a puppy.”
“Then who are you, little knight?”
“I’m Ser Duncan the Tall.”
“The Tall?” Aerion tilted his head, amused. “How observant of you.”
Dunk lowered his gaze, feeling his face grow hot with embarrassment.
“No, darling, I don’t want to see you sad right now,” he said, lifting Dunk’s head with a single finger. Despite the cold appearance of Aerion’s skin, the touch itself was warm. “I’ll help, don’t let this trouble you anymore. All your little friends will live long, happy lives. I only need you to remember one thing tomorrow.”
He stepped even closer, pressing his body against Dunk’s. Suddenly Dunk felt dizzy, intoxicated by the scent surrounding him. Everything about Aerion felt impossibly ethereal. The edges of his vision slowly turned a lovely shade of red as Aerion wrapped an arm around him and guided Dunk’s head down to rest against his shoulder.
“You asked for it.”
Dunk felt his body relax. The incomparable comfort of deep sleep after too much fatigue settled over him. Then the world caught fire.
The next morning, Dunk’s body seemed to reject his soul. A searing pain spread through his bones and every inch of his flesh burned as though his body were melting from the inside out. Even his teeth hurt, as if they had been rearranged inside his mouth.
He was lying on the bank of a river, but there was no sign of Aerion or the cabin.
The day was painfully bright and beautiful. Dunk’s old clothes were even dirtier and more torn than before, hanging loosely from his body, as though they had been worn by someone much larger. He did not want to think about what might have happened the night before.
He did not want to know what Aerion had done to him. Had the witch taken his soul? Was Dunk even still alive?
Seven, everything in his body fucking hurt. But he needed to get back to camp, he needed to be there when the enemy attacked. He needed to make sure Egg would live to see another day.
So he moved awkwardly toward the water and bathed. Each movement hurt, but interestingly, the longer he stayed in the running water, the more the pain seemed to fade. The sensation was almost… sweet.
Dunk tried to ignore the foreign sensation blooming in his chest. Pulsing just beneath his heart, something pulled at him, like a quiet magnet, drawing him toward a part of the forest that remained dark even under the daylight. Aerion’s pretty face was the only thing occupying his mind and somehow, Dunk realized he was being gently pulled in Aerion’s direction.
He knew he should be afraid of that. Yet what spread through his chest was not fear, it was a strange warmth.
When he arrived at camp, wet and pathetic as a dog, as a puppy, Egg ran toward him.
“Ser Duncan, are you alright? Gods, I thought I’d never see you again.” The boy ran to him and wrapped his arms around his legs. “Does that mean you didn’t find the witch?”
“I found him. But I don’t know what happened. I’m still so confused… I can’t talk about it right now. I’m sorry, boy.”
Egg pulled back and looked him over. “Of course, Ser. You’re all red, and you look half-dead. You should rest.”
“Can you help me find something to eat? I’m starving.”
“I was eating bread,” Egg said. “We can share.”
“Meat. I need to eat meat.”
The hunger lasted all day and never went away. The roasted meat they ate tasted burnt, and his mouth watered as he looked at the raw cuts that were yet to be prepared.
When Egg stepped away, he quietly slipped a piece of bloody meat into his mouth and almost moaned with pleasure. Restlessness settled in his bones. Something was wrong, and he knew it had something to do with Aerion.
Aerion, Aerion… He wondered what the witch was doing at that moment. Then he shook his head and pushed the thought aside, resisting that subtle, persistent draw that kept pointing him back toward the trees.
When night fell, innocent prayers echoed along the battle lines. Elderly men bent under the weight of makeshift armor. Children looked even smaller beneath the weapons they carried. Women stood with sharp determination and worry in their eyes. Knights were tired and wounded.
Something crawled and twisted and screamed silently inside him. He was so restless. He did not doubt the witch’s words for a second, he knew the creature would do what had been asked.
The full moon illuminated what would soon become the battlefield, and he found himself impatient to see the land covered in blood.
And, damn it, he was fucking hungry.
Then they heard it. The sound of hundreds of knights marching and shouting as they rode into battle. He tensed and, when the enemy appeared on the horizon, it was as if the world slowed to a crawl. His eyes fixed on the moon’s reflection on their armor and swords. And while staring at that pale light, his vision darkened.
Then there was fog. Thick and cold, tinted with a deep shade of blood-red. Had he finally died?
The same excruciating pain from the morning surged through his body, though now he seemed better able to endure it than he should have been. He tried to move but found himself pinned beneath the weight of several corpses. A shiver ran down his spine as he forced himself free.
Everything was sticky. His armor was gone, and he was naked, utterly confused. From head to toe he was covered in a thick, drying layer of blood and entrails. Could it be that, after meeting Aerion, he himself had become a demon?
He wanted to apologize to the gods, but he knew they were no longer looking at him. When he looked around, his stomach dropped.
Hundreds of corpses littered the battlefield, most barely recognizable. Organs, blood, broken armor, shattered swords, everywhere, yet he did not have a single scratch on his skin.
He could not help noticing the cruel contrast: the most beautiful creature he had ever seen had somehow given birth to the ugliest sight he had ever witnessed.
He hoped Egg had not seen whatever he did. Seven hells, Egg. He couldn’t let the boy see him like that. So he grabbed a pair of trousers from a fallen soldier, (perfectly ordinary for any man, just far too small for someone his size) and stumbled toward the nearby river.
The water felt gentle, merciful. Like Aerion. He barely formed the thought and immediately knew that was a ridiculous idea. A force of nature like that could hardly be merciful.
When he returned toward the camp, joy bloomed in his chest as familiar faces appeared in the distance. They were alive. In that moment, he forgot the pain, the blood, the magic, because they were all alive. He quickened his pace. Dunk wanted to hug them, to hear the children laugh, to see life moving again.
But as he approached, people began to move away. In his entire life, no one had ever looked at him with fear. Now they did. They stared, then hid.
He stepped back, frightened himself, and horror rippled through the crowd. In the distance he spotted Egg, so small among them.
For a heartbeat, relief flooded through him, the boy was alive. His eyes looked hollow and sad. When Egg saw him, he flinched and quickly hid behind a tent. Dunk turned away at once. His heart broke at the sight of Egg being afraid of him.
What had he done?
He needed to leave.
So he walked into the forest without direction, trying to ignore the invisible tug in his chest that carried the witch’s name. Dunk wanted to be angry, but the words from the night before returned to him. You asked for it.
The bittersweet taste of consequences filled his mouth. He thought he knew what he was doing when he went searching for Aerion. Still, he held onto one thought: no one had died, Seven knew how. There had been a reason for all of it. Egg was afraid of him, but he was alive.
But Dunk could not return carrying such horror on his shoulders. So he stopped resisting what his body demanded and allowed himself to be guided by the invisible force that seemed to bind him to Aerion.
Time barely seemed to pass as he walked and the forest closed gently around him. Looking at the trees, he began to feel as though something of them lived inside him now. Or perhaps something of him had taken root among them.
Gods, he did not want to think about the implications of any of that. There was nothing in his head, and far too much in his chest.
A red butterfly flew above his head, landed in his hair and, somehow, a small smile managed to appear on his lips. Life could still be sweet sometimes. The forest was truly very beautiful, in a way nothing else was. And, if he were honest with himself, there was something strangely comforting about walking toward Aerion. Dunk knew he would find answers with the witch.
There was no need to think about the future now. One step at a time, that would be enough.
The butterfly followed him along the path for a while, drifting lazily through the air beside him, and that simple companionship felt… nice.
When he reached the cabin, the witch somehow looked even more striking than the day before. He stood in the middle of the colorful garden, radiant beneath the daylight, calmly cutting flowers as if nothing in the world had happened.
A delicate blouse of translucent green fabric clung softly to Aerion’s body, paired with brown trousers that made him seem almost like a living part of the garden itself. The plants were not very tall, he was simply short.
“So your little battle went well,” he said without even looking up. “You’re welcome.”
Dunk hated realizing that no flower in that garden was more beautiful than the hand that cut them.
He did not know what to say or what to ask. At that moment, he was simply taking in the sight. It bordered on the unreal.
“Your room is in the back, by the way,” the witch added, still tending to the plants. “I guessed you’d like to be close to the river. Again, you’re welcome.”
What the fuck?
Dunk stared at him, understanding jack shit. His thoughts tangled together, racing faster than he could catch them. Questions piled on top of one another until they burst out of him all at once.
“I—what—how—what did you do to me?”