Chapter Text
Dunk didn't notice the men sneaking up on him, could barely dodge their dagger. The blade slashed his chin, millimeters away from the bare skin of his throat. Then there was another, another, and another one. The first thing he noticed about them was the smell: Filthy, twitching men in ragged, beggar clothes swarmed on him like rats, biting down on him with teeth made of steel. Then the pain, on his arm, his forehead, his legs. The ringing of his ears as hands grabbed his hair and forced him to his knees. He tried to fight them off, but the sword in his hand was heavier than stone. It flung from his grip in the struggle.
Some flashing words from Ser Arlan: Pain will ease. Adrenaline kills it momentarily, allowing you so stand and fight. Dunk felt like he'd spent all the adrenaline his entire life for the Trial. He didn't need to be very smart to realize he was too wounded and spent to survive this.
Dunk stared up at one of the little man pinning him down, defiant to the end. But it seemed his killer wouldn't, or couldn't even catch his gaze. Bile dripped from his chin, eyes blood red, arms shaking as they raised in the air and attempt to swing down-
Only for him to stop, a tip of a sword poking through his chest.
Dunk saw yellow. He'd thought there was a glimpse of relief in Lyonel Baratheon's eyes, but Dunk's visions weren't really good to begin with. Lyonel tore his sword away and turned his back to him, his gown flowed in the darkness, catching little light yet glowing all the same. Dunk had this strange image of a gigantic human sized butterfly, his movement swift and light, but bold and flamboyant. Butterflies sure as hell weren't this loud, however. He winced as Lyonel's booming incessant yapping rang through the air as he danced and killed.
"I was going to wait until dawn to meet you, damn it! I had a speech prepared and all!"
"Stay back! Stay the fuck back! You'll only get in the way!"
He sagged back to the tree and watched through his one good eye, feeling oddly comforted. Dunk the Damsel in Distress, he thought to himself. Saved by his knight in shiny sleeping gown.
"Get up, get up! Damn you if you get yourself killed again after I saved your ass!"
So the stag had slaughtered them all, Dunk realized. Lyonel was not wearing his stag crown. Up close, his wounds became visible to Dunk: his hair slicked backwards revealing cuts on his head, bruise on his eyes. The Laughing Storm, they called him. But Dunk didn't hear him laugh once.
"Where are the maesters? Get me the maester- GET ME THE MAESTER!"
Dunk closed his eyes, and let himself be taken by darkness.
—-
For a brief moment, when the trial concluded, the boy was by his side. Dunk had been sitting on the ground, his back pressed at the stone of the gates. Steely Pate and Ser Raymun Fossoway had hovered over him, had helped him with his wound. The boy had been there, in his own little solemn corner behind watching on him with worrying eyes. Dunk remembered hearing his little shrieking voice admist the chaos. His voice had been right there along with Ser Arlan's face, with Rafe's hugs; as he clung to the memories of his loved ones to carry on.
"You'll be fine, ser," he said. "My family's maester is checking on my father. My uncle said he'll let him tend to you once he's finished. He will-"
In blurry vision, he saw another figure walking up to the boy, someone he didn't recognize. He saw the boy expression stiffened. Then he saw the back of the boy's long coat, black wool adorned with red lining, silk worthed more than all of Dunk, as he turned his back and ran off without so much of a word.
He hadn't seen Eg- prince Aegon, he reminded himself. He hadn't seen him since.
—-
"No. Somebody here want you dead," Lyonel said. "We both know who it is."
"I need to find the boy," Dunk insisted.
Lyonel was sitting across Dunk just as the first day they met, only Dunk was sat back into a large chair fully cushioned down to the armrest, while Lyonel had his own chair. Between them was a round wooden table, messy with bowls of medicine and food: bowl of soups, bread with butter and muffin pie. Around them, the pavilion was half cleared out. There were only them, the table, the two chairs. The floor was made of grass, but when Dunk looked up he saw no stars, but little trees and stags embroider golden stitches. And Dunk knew, despite its calm barren look, it was heavily guarded.
"Do you know who tended to you while you were abed? Who asked to see you and carried your damn stuffs back for you? Me, Harding, Beesburry, and that damn Apple Boy! We kept you alive. We almost fucked up with the oil, but sure. Now two of us are dead, but we had to keep taking care of you, and yet here you are, begging to go out there and die alone."
"I will not die," Dunk said. "I will-"
"What? Go back to the dragon den? Beg to see their youngling? Why don't you check up on Brightflame as well?"
"Baelor fought for me. He wouldn't let anyone harm me."
"Yet here you are. And had your Targaryen boy come looking for you? I think not. I was here. Neither of them were."
"Eg- prince Aegon? He was the one who went to you when I needed the men!" Dunk said, standing up. The sudden jolt almost brought him down, and Lyonel moved to catch him, but only just. Dunk already caught himself, aware of his weigh as he tried to keep straight. He knew carrying someone like him would take too much effort. Lyonel lowered his arms.
"When you needed me," Lyonel repeated, as if mulling it over. Dunk saw it again, a flicker of defeated-ness. But there was no time. Lyonel was right: it was strange neither of them showed up to Dunk at all. All the more reasons to look.
"Please," Dunk began to plead. He found himself gripping on Lyonel's hands. "I shan't ask anything no more. Just let me go find the boy."
"If you need to go, I won't keep you," Lyonel said, pinching his eyebrow. "Fu- I would prefer to have you locked up in a dungeon, or have you whipped until you came back to your senses and reconsider."
"Thank you," Dunk had only said. "Truly."
"The Strangers take you," Lyonel said, waving his hands dismissively. "You'll find your armor and your horses right outside the pavilion. Just let the guards know I'm letting you leave, I ordered them to chop off your legs if needs be as long as it keeps you here."
Dunk smiled, a warmth fluttering in his chest. But he pushed them down as easy as duty: there was no time.