Chapter Text
Six months into their travels, Dunk begins to hear whispers about a plague that has begun to creep across the kingdoms. They had been traveling north on the Ocean Road alongside the Sunset Sea when they came across the first burnt-out town. The sign for sickness and the seven-pointed star marked on the outskirts, warding off all who would dare enter.
Not long after, they run into a small contingent of armed men, guarding a group of maesters heading towards Lannisport from Oldtown. It is from them that Dunk learns without a shadow of a doubt that there is, in fact, a plague, and they need to be very careful. Whilst Egg is distracted, peppering a younger maester who vaguely knows his brother, Aemon, Dunk asks questions he doesn’t want his squire worrying over. The guards are vocal about their own concerns: looters and highwaymen, despots who turned a profit off the misery of other smallfolk. Trade is being choked out amongst the smaller communities, and it’s not worth the risk to go into cities. Taverns and roadhouses across the land are shutting their doors for the first time in a century. No one wants the Stranger as a patron.
Before their paths diverge, the maesters warn them off from coming in contact with unknown or vulnerable persons. The virus apparently spreads quickly because some don’t even show symptoms but carry it on their clothes.
Despite only being a few days' ride from Crakehall, Dunk now knows better than to keep going, choosing to turn back south as they separate from the group. Not just on the words from the maesters, he explains to the irate Egg. Experience is a strict teacher, and it has taught that even the slightest upheaval in the daily schedule can cause an uproar. Instincts make animals of them all after all. If he had been alone, he would have hunkered down somewhere in the wilderness and kept to himself as Ser Arlan had trained him to do. Wait for the worst to pass and enter back into the realm to help when he no longer risks others unknowingly. However, with Egg at his side, he has more concerns than just himself.
Egg is not just the squire of a hedge knight or actually Dunk’s pup, but a prince, and as a prince, certain measures need to be taken for his continued safety. Measures that were explicitly expressed to him by Egg’s father before they left Ashford. Even though they could have gone to Crakehall to send a raven, Dunk did not want to risk interacting with others, either for sickness or madness. Egg did write a small message to his father and begged the maester who knew Aemon to send it when they were able, and thankfully, the young man agreed.
So, they make their way towards Summerhall. Egg had explained at some point that it was his father’s castle, and likely that he would be there with Egg’s sisters, Daella and Rhea. It was considerably more isolated than any of the other larger cities, such as Kings Landing, and Dunk figured that would make it safer from illness.
To follow the most direct routes, it would take them nearly a month to ride to Summerhall; however, Dunk realized they would need to stay off the main roads. Egg had tried to argue that now was the time for a true knight to do his duty to the realm and protect the smallfolk who had to travel during these dark times. Dunk became all too aware that the pup was only nine. Telling the pup that it was Dunk’s knightly duty to get the young prince to safety would go poorly, so he tries to phrase it as that Egg’s family would need them.
Egg does not buy it for a moment, complaining loudly, until they reach the second town put to the torch. Even from their distance, they could see that the pyre had started in the center, where several bodies still lay. Some hung and some clearly slain. The ashes are cool, and yet the stench of burning flesh remains. After that, the boy agreed.
The only stop that they make is in New Barrel to check in on Raymund and Rowan. While both Egg and Raymund wish to greet each other as friends and to share a roof, Dunk disagrees. Even from the distance that he keeps Egg and himself, he can see Rowan’s relief. By this point, she is moments from popping, and Dunk refuses to add any more stress or risk to the pregnant omega.
Not to say that the Green Apple Fossoways are unkind hosts. They graciously allow them to kip in one of the barns that one day will be used to cellar some of their ciders, but presently is just a barn. Neither complains after months of hard sleeping, hay, and coverage is worth more than words can say. Raymund leaves food outside the door, both for Dunk and Egg, as well as for Chestnut and Thunder.
They only stay a few days, despite both Egg and Raymund’s puppy eyes. Both argue that if they don’t get sick after a few weeks, they could stay long-term and help around the orchard. Rowan laughs at their said faces, and gently tells them to move on before Raymund forcibly kidnaps them. The determined look on the beta’s face makes Dunk think it's only sort of a joke.
He refuses to take much of the provisions they try to give him, taking only some apples, water skins, and horse feed. They couldn’t load down the horses with the types of trails that they would soon be traveling. Besides, he cannot help but worry that the food that they could take would be better off in Rowan and their impending pups’ bellies.
Making it through the Dornish Marches is difficult but manageable. They follow game trails through the hills and passes, trying to follow paths suited for animals. Only a few times do they find themselves cliffed out, or at the dead end, with clear signs of a predator’s den.
Dunk is able to keep Egg distracted, teaching him how to hunt and gather, how to read clouds, so that his own worries do not infect the pup. Food sometimes grew thin, but never enough that Egg had to notice, thankfully. Though the area is more arid, Dunk recognizes the dried husks of many plants he knows are edible. The horses grow lean on dormant bunchgrass and yellowed needle grasses long after the feed from the Fossoway’s disappears. He is just thankful that it is warm and he doesn’t have to worry about the horses not being able to keep weight. Still, daily, Dunk promises them that when he is able, he will give each a bushel of apples.
With each day, they get closer, and Egg gets more anxious. It takes a couple of tries for Dunk to get him to talk about what is actually bothering him. When Egg finally tells him, Dunk feels incredibly stupid.
They have no idea if Aerion is going to be in the castle, and if he is, what kind of guard he’d be placed under, if any at all. Egg worries about it constantly, a low hum that builds with the days. Dunk swears on his life that he will protect Egg from his brother, but that doesn’t get the response he is looking for. Instead of looking relieved, the boy looks terrified, and won’t calm down until he is curled up in Dunk’s arms.
Gently pressing his nose against his squire’s freshly shaved head, Dunk promises himself that if Aerion is present, he will not give him a chance at Egg. He vows to the gods then, under the starry skies, deep in the wilderness, that if it comes to it, he won’t be at risk of losing a hand or foot this time. Because if Aerion even so much looks twice at Egg, Dunk will turn him into paste.
Two months after making the decision, they finally arrive at Summerhall in the middle of a rainstorm. From where they exited the Marches into the valley, they could see the storm roll over the land before it finally hit them with a gust of cold, wet wind. Despite being mid-afternoon, darkness clings to the valley where the castle sits. Sheets of rain obscure the path, but thankfully, the large, well-lit castle remains a hopeful beacon. During the hours-long ride to reach it, Dunk could only marvel at its beauty. He knows very little of castles and battlements, but Summerhall looks less like a place to hole up in a siege and more like a place for royalty to abscond to relax.
The gates are, understandably, closed when they arrive.
Equally understandable, the guard at the front of the closed gate gives them a hard time. The man lets them into the closed gatehouse, suspicious of their story. Dunk cannot blame the man; truly, it is a tale that is a bit hard to believe.
“Forgive me, ser, I do not know a Ser Duncan the Tall, and we are under orders for strict quarantine,” The man says, his words are blunt but not unkind. Likely much of his duty these days is turning away folks begging for sanctuary, “Prince Maekar’s orders are clear: I cannot let you in.”
“Prince Maekar is my father!” Egg pulls out his father’s signet ring, given to him before they had left Ashford. Dunk can plainly read the disbelief on the guard’s face. Egg is dressed in the part of a hedge knight’s squire: poor, rough-spun clothes and a shaved head. Even as he sits straight in his saddle and tries to put on the airs of a Prince of the Blood, he just looks like a silly peasant boy.
“I doubt that, boy,” the guard says with a frown, mood turning in the face of Egg’s “obvious lie”.
“May we speak with Prince Maekar to prove ourselves whom we say?” Dunk asks,
It is a somewhat reasonable request. If they were liars, then it would be easy work to turn them around and kick them from the barbican. Still, the guard shakes his head,
“No offense, good ser, but Prince Maekar would tan my hide if I brought him out in the rain for this,”
“Maybe not the Prince, perhaps a steward or someone that could recognize Prince Aegon.”
The guard hems and haws for a moment before nodding and sending one of the others lurking around the guard shack on the other side of the inner gate. While no small talk is made, the guard does allow them to dismount and huddle around the brazier to keep warm.
“Ah, Ser Duncan, you are late, good ser,” An amused voice breaks through the gloom not too long later. It is not Prince Maekar, however, much to both Egg and Dunk’s surprise, it is a Kingsguard who comes out and rescues them from the rain.
“It’s good to see you both, times such as they are,” Ser Donnel says as they follow the Kingsguard through the barbican after the inner gate is opened, to find a place to stable Thunder and Chestnut.
“If you are here, does that mean my grandfather or Uncle are here?” Egg asks without a proper greeting, and it takes everything for Dunk not to smack himself in the face. Prince Maekar is not going to let him take Egg out again if the first thing he does is be rude to a Kingsguard.
Thankfully, Ser Donnel doesn’t seem to mind, or is used to it; Dunk isn’t sure which is better.
“The Hand of the King was visiting when word of the sickness arrived, and it was decided that his Grace and his heirs would remain here.”
“Valarr and Matarys are here?” Egg confirms with a smile on his face, apparent frustration at the quick return to palace life cushioned by the thought of his cousin.
“As well as Lady Kiera,”
The boy, for a moment, behaves as the child that he is and tries to run off and find his cousins, but Dunk forces him to stay with a firm hand on his shoulder.
“Thank you, Ser Donnel, for your timely assistance,” Dunk says as they go about stabling their horses. A stable hand piers out from the tack room, but Dunk waves him off; there's no need for the lad to get wet.
“Of course! When I heard the guard saying that two beggars at the gate were claiming to be a Prince and a Knight, I knew you were in need of a rescue,” The alpha smirks before nodding his head, “I will leave you here, no doubt Prince Aegon knows the way and I should inform the Princes of your arrival,” With a swirl of white, Ser Donnel disappears into the heavy rain.
Egg, for a moment, acts as if he wants to follow, no doubt excited to be back at home and out of the rain, but Dunk makes him finish tending to the horses. The stable boy shows up to help rack the saddles, pitiful as they are when placed next to the glistening royal ones, and to show him where he can hang the wet horse blankets.
Just as they are finishing brushing the horses down, a sharp “Aegon!” cuts through whatever question Dunk was going to ask, and he turns to see Prince Maekar striding across the lower bailey through the rain.
The alpha is quick to grab the pup by the face, checking over for anything out of place before pulling him into a hug and scenting. Egg makes a show of trying to escape his father’s grasp but is quick to relax into it despite the fussing. Finally, after a moment, Prince Maekar turns a sharp lavender eye towards Dunk himself.
“I am glad that you both came here, though later than I would have liked,” He says, his voice clipped, but Dunk cannot find it in himself to blame the man.
“Ser said we couldn’t go near people, Kepa, so we had to go the long way round,” Egg parrots what Dunk had explained earlier in their trip.
“Dangerous to go off the roads,” Maekar comments dryly, raising a silver eyebrow at Dunk.
“Aye, but twas more dangerous to follow them, better to risk the wilderness than sickness.”
Maekar hums in the back of his throat, almost looking like he may say something, his face twisting into something unreadable, until Egg begins to squirm in his hold. With a sigh, the prince looks down at his son with a critical eye.
“We have prepared rooms for the two of you in hopes that you would arrive. They may be a bit stale, but while you are washing up, I will have some servants open the windows and change the linens. Aegon, please show Ser Duncan the baths, afterwards, you both can join us for dinner.”
Dunk bows and manages to stutter out a quick thanks before the Prince turns on his heels and disappears back into the gloom. Egg rolls his eyes, clearly amused by Dunk’s continued hesitance around his family. Dutifully, Dunk follows the boy back into the rain and towards the castle proper.
The baths at Summerhall reveal the true reasoning for the placement of the castle. Despite the battlements and guards, Summerhall felt more like a palace than a fortress, and the thermal pools did nothing to dissuade him from that thought.
Several large rooms with high glass ceilings filled with hot, steaming baths awaited them. Dunk stares up at the ceilings in awe before Egg tugs him along. He cannot even begin to understand the expense. Egg skips the larger, more public-looking baths and takes him to a much more private one, which, with a growing suspicion, Dunk believes to be the private bathing chambers for the royal family. Beautiful teal blue tiles covered the ground with mosaics of dragons on the walls. In large white and orange pots, plants suited more for tropical climates thrived. While intimate and private, it was no means small. A wooden bucket containing several bars and jars waited for them at the edge of the water.
Dunk finds the water blessedly hot about halfway in the pool, while the little dragon lord sits closer to where the water flowed in, much too hot for Dunk. Months of grime, or in Dunk’s case, years, flow through down into the exit spout and back deep underground. Above them, the rain pitters against the glass.
“I have never seen anything like this before,” Dunk wonders aloud, eyes wide as he takes in the space.
Egg snorts, “You’ve seen natural springs before! I don’t know how this is so different outside of all the extra pomp and circumstance.”
Dunk doesn’t know how to explain to the put how much difference the “pomp and circumstance” makes. Sure, he has bathed in thermal springs before, but those are down steep hills near rivers of glacial melt. Not inside private hot houses. So he says nothing, instead sinking into the hot water and trying to wash the years of grime from the road and the life of a hedge knight from his skin.
Before he can get too relaxed and do something silly like fall asleep, Dunk urges the pup out of the bath. In the adjacent room, they find some fresh clothes left by a servant. Dunk is surprised to find something for him that doesn’t fit him too poorly. Egg’s clothes look a bit small, clearly having done some growing in the past months, separated from his family, but nothing that couldn’t be ignored.
Once again, he follows Egg like a dog through the twisting turns of Summerhall, and distantly, Dunk wonders if he is ever going to be able to find the baths again without a guide. How anyone manages is beyond him.
Dunk tries to explain to Egg that it likely wasn’t appropriate for him to join the royal family for supper, and is more than happy to find the kitchens. But Egg would not have it, responding that his father had clearly said for both of them to join. The pup’s small hand tight on the sleeve of Dunk’s tunic, along with its small tremors of nerves, is grounding enough that he is distracted. Then, without so much as a by his leave, the pup drags him into the small dining area.
Only Princes Maekar and Dearon are present so far, and Dunk dearly hopes that he will be dismissed when noticed. There are six chairs total around the table, and Dunk counts people in his head; if all of Maekar’s brood show up, there will be no room for him. However, clearly the gods are not smiling down upon him when all Maekar does is look over both of them before nodding once,
“Good of you not to be late for this at least. I am glad the clothes we had will tide you over until better alternatives can be found.”
Egg rolls his eyes and sits down next to Daeron, and Dunk follows his lead.
“Baelor has a migraine and will not be joining us today. Valarr, Kiera, and Matarys have decided to eat with their father. They are, however, very pleased to hear that you made it home safely. So once the girls arrive, it will be just us,”
Dunk blinks, there is no talk of Aerion. A quick side glance at Egg shows that he is equally surprised, so it is not a common occurrence. Perhaps the boy heard that they were to be there and did not want to face the man who had beaten him so publicly. Although Dunk doubts that Aerion would miss a chance to torture either one of them.
If either of the girls are surprised by his presence at the table, they are good at hiding it. Rhea, the youngest of Maekar’s brood, is quick to start talking to him, excitedly asking him and Egg questions about their travels. Dunk does his best to keep things child-friendly, as the road is oft not want to be. He had done well in the six months with Egg to keep things light-hearted, and they had not run into too many horrors.
Thankfully, Dunk is good at talking with children, and it's not long before even the more reserved Daella joins in the conversation. He apparently does the right thing by asking both girls questions about their interests, ignoring Egg’s eye rolls and barfing.Rhaeis currently very into insects and salamanders, much to the horror of her septa and siblings, as she enjoys bringing them inside with her. Daella loves reading stories about hero knights and tapestry work. Dunk doesn’t know much about any of those things, but he is willing to learn, and he has found that makes for good conversation with people excited about their passions.
Occasionally throughout dinner, Dunk looks up to find that Maekar is staring at him. He is quick to lower his gaze to not risk the prince thinking he was challenging him, but still, Dunk worries that the man thinks he was being too bold with his pups. Even with that concern, Dunk finds that he cannot pull himself free from the children, not that he actually wants to either.
Daeron also joins in as he is able, but as dinner continues, he gets deeper into his cups. His commentary is silly and makes the pups laugh, though some of what he says is just barely child-appropriate. By the end of the evening, the poor lad is barely able to string a sentence together. His family keeps him in the corner of their eyes, but Dunk notices that they talk around him. When he does manage to string together a sentence, they do their best to respond, even if it sounds like nonsense.
After dinner, Daeron is clearly unable to return himself to his rooms.
Maekar is turning towards one of the guards, clearly finding the prince a chaperon to his room, when Daeron speaks up,
“Ser Dun’ can help, correct ser?” The young alpha slurs out, and Dunk watches from the corner of his eye as Maekar’s head swivels around with narrowed eyes and flaring nostrils.
With all of the subtlety that a lunk like him can manage, Dunk catches Egg’s eye again, trying to see if the boy felt safe enough to be left alone. The nod in response is barely there, and Dunk can read some of the nerves in his squire's face. Hopefully nothing poor comes of this, he thinks to himself.
Unable to deny a Prince’s request, and none of the others bringing up any verbal complaints, Dunk finds himself holding up the Prince as they stumble together through the confusing twists and turns of the castle. He may be turned around, but Dunk is fairly sure that the prince gets them lost several times, unless the Targaryens have several ugly paintings of fruit and orgy scenes lining the walls of the palace.
By the time they reach the royal suites, Daeron is practically in Dunk’s arms, unable to truly move himself forward without help. With a large hand, Dunk gently whips some of the sweat off the other’s fevered face, and without any thought at all whispers, “You should take better care of yourself, my Prince,”
Both stiffen as the words hang treasonously in the air around them before Daeron snorts, clumsily slapping Dunk’s hand away. “Dreams have been strange as of late. I know not what to do, except to carry on,”
Dunk wants to ask, wants to help, but already he feels he has said too much.
“They have been gentler since the Trial, and everything with Aerion. But still, I fear that if I change course, they will strike once more,”
It is the sort of confession that one would make to a septon, not your younger brother’s hedge knight. A sadness stirs in Dunk, the helpless kind, where you want to help but you cannot do anything to change it.
As if sensing his mood change, Daeron drunkenly pats his face.
There is no guard standing post yet outside of Daeron’s door, so Dunk helps the prince inside when the other does not let go of him. The room is dark and stinks of unwashed alpha and stale wine. It is not a pleasant combo, but Dunk’s alpha doesn’t stir as it doubtlessly should. Probably because, despite the fact Dunk thinks Daeron is older than he is, he cannot help but see the man as a lost pup. It is clear as day that the dreams have rooted out any peace that Daeron could find and nestled themselves deep into his brain.
With as much care as he is able, Dunk deposits the Prince in his bed and does the due diligence of removing his boots. He briefly debates undressing the other further, but decides against it. Before he can go, Daeron grabs at his sleeve, leans close, breath stinking of heavy wine, “I dreamt of you again, Ser.”
Immediately, the rich dinner spoils in Dunk’s stomach. The last time the other had told him that Prince Baelor had nearly died. While Dunk had not seen it himself, too busy trying not to be drowned in mud by Aerion, he had heard later from Egg. If not for the skills of the maesters and Maekar being swept off his feet by Lyonel Baratheon at the last moments, the blow dealt to the Crown Prince would have been fatal.
“My Prince-”
“You were under the dragon again, this time it wasn’t alone, there were two, and they both were alive. They curled around you, tighter than any prison bars. The silver one bit at your shoulder until you bled before the black one did the same. You couldn’t escape, not that you tried. You seemed happy, even with the biting and everything,” Daeron slurred out before letting go of Dunk, and slipping off to sleep, “That was what was strange about it, that you seemed happy,”
It takes a brief moment before Dunk is able to shake off the strange words from the Prince and escape his rooms to realize that he has been left alone in a castle that he has never set foot in prior to today. Thankfully, clearly Prince Maekar had thought ahead, and two guards soon were walking up the hall. One to guard Prince Daeron and one to walk Dunk to his rooms.
“I am going to be so lost the entire time I am here, aren’t I?” Dunk asks,
The guard, who had introduced himself as Jaddon Kennewick, laughs, “Aye, it is a maze for sure. There are still some parts that I get turned around in, though those are the parts I don’t travel often.”
“I’ve never been in a castle like this before. I feel like I’d be better off navigating Braavos blind,”
Kennewick grins, “That would be a sight, big brute like you blundering through those fussy streets,”
They talk a bit more as they change floors, and finally, Dunk is left to his own chambers. He wishes Kennewick a fair night and goes inside.
It is small but serviceable, in the servants' area for visiting nobility, according to Kennewick. Which explains why it’s so quiet. There is an unlit hearth, a table and two chairs, and a freshly made bed with a chest at its foot. His things were placed politely just inside the door. A small frosted window graced the far wall. The room, as Maekar had warned, does have a slight stale smell, but it is better than the scent of a hundred others like inns have.
There are a couple of things that did not arrive with him, placed on the bed: a new black tunic, red doublet, and breeches. They are well-made, the stitching clean and professionally done. Night and day from his current clothes, even the borrowed clothes he wears now, pale in comparison. In the low candlelight, Dunk almost misses the three-headed dragon that is embroidered in black on the right breast of the tunic. It is nearly impossible to see, but as he tilts the fabric, the stitches catch the light.
‘Beautiful,’ Dunk thinks softly to himself, running a thumb over the dragon.
The Targaryens spoil him, Dunk knows. How his life has changed since his Ser’s passing. It almost makes him ill to think of the decadence he has seen and has reveled in. The bed is soft, almost too soft, and even though he is too tall for it, it is very comfortable. As he lies there, he falls asleep trying to remember the last proper bed he had slept in.
He dreams of two dragons that night, one black, one silver, circling him, as Daeron had.