Chapter Text
Dawn's light had not yet reached their side of the castle when the servants of Maegor's Holdfast came knocking, and Aerion made an aggrieved noise from where he was sprawled over Dunk's chest, his eyes still closed.
"Turn them away."
"I don't think we can," Dunk sighed. "Lyonel's party is set to arrive early this morning, and we're to greet them with the rest of your family."
He scrubbed at his aching eyes and blinked a few times in the semi-darkness. They had been delayed on the road to King's Landing. The twins had insisted that they would ride on their own instead of using the lined carriage, a last minute change that had greatly incensed Aerion. Dunk had to race down to the stables himself to secure mounts small enough to fit the boys' saddles while the rest of their party sat about waiting in the afternoon heat. Their usual riding ponies could not handle long-distance travel. And barely a mile in, Jaehaerys had started to squirm and complain about the saddle being too hard, and his brother soon followed. Maegor lasted halfway to the capital before he was waddling around bow-legged off-horse and wincing when he thought his parents weren't watching. By the time their group finally arrived at the Red Keep the night before, they were two days behind schedule, all of the boys had been banished to ride in the carriage with their septon, and Baelor's irritated stable master had been forced to take into his care an extra horse and two exhausted ponies from Summerhall.
"Why did we agree to this?" Aerion moaned into his neck. He threw a bare leg over Dunk's hip when he tried to get up. There was another timid tap at the door to their quarters. It was probably one of the sweet-faced serving girls they'd seen last night coming to drop off hot water and linens.
"One moment," He shouted at her before lowering his voice to correct Aerion, "we were summoned, my prince. It is your cousin's big day after all."
"Big day," Aerion sneered past a yawn, "he's marrying a fucking Baratheon."
"You were supposed to marry a Baratheon," Dunk reminded, smiling down at him. Aerion's eyes glittered jewel-like in the low light. He was beautiful, and it was as if time had not dared touch him where it carved lines into the skin around Dunk's eyes and all along his forehead.
"I was, but I ran away with a hedge knight," his beautiful prince murmured. He wound a lock of Dunk's long copper hair around his pale fingers and tugged gently, "and he ruined me for anyone else."
"Because you belong to him and no one else," Dunk pressed the words into the pale smooth column of Aerion's neck with teeth and felt a spark of pleasure when his scent flared sweetly in response. It quickly soured when more knocking reached their ears, followed by the familiar sound of their eldest child's voice.
"Get up," Maegor yelled from the other side of the door, "grandsire says I'm to have you both in the courtyard in an hour's time."
Aerion's lip curled. "Letting my father get to that boy was the single worst mistake of my life."
"What's the difference between a wedding tourney and a regular tourney?" Maegor asked as they went about dressing for the morning.
Aerion had dismissed the two serving girls after they'd brought in water and clean linens and a light tray of food and drinks, and it was the three of them once more — Maegor already impeccable in black and red (no doubt Maekar's work), Aerion clawing fingers through his short white hair with his doublet still hanging fully open, and Dunk in his unlaced trousers, scrambling about and trying to find the fine black velvet tunic Aerion had gotten him the year before. He rarely wore it but he'd packed it for the road.
"There's a wedding at the start of it," Aerion muttered distractedly. He flung aside some clothes and let out a triumphant laugh, "Duncan, it's here." The nice black tunic was thrown unceremoniously into his face. Aerion retrieved a white bone brush from the depth of the trunk. "Quickly. Put it on and come here. I need to do your hair before we go down."
"That can't be it, can it?" The boy insisted. He examined a fresh date piled high in the silver platter on the table and took a curious nibble. "Have you ever ridden in a wedding tourney, sire?"
"Once," Dunk grunted, fingers flying over the laces of his breeches, "it was not much different than something for a hastilude or a nameday celebration."
"I'd like to try my hand at a proper joust soon," Maegor announced, and they both paused to stare at him.
"You're barely ten," Aerion said.
The boy tipped his chin up. "And already as tall as you, father."
Dunk grabbed both of Aerion's wrists before he could launch the brush at their son's head.
"Maybe once you've squired for a proper knight," He said hurriedly. Aerion grunted and shook him off. "Eg- Aegon would probably love to take you on."
"He would, but he's not much of a jouster," Maegor lamented as Aerion ran the brush through Dunk's hair, "and besides, uncle Aegon's been stuck here at the capital for ages now."
"Aye, he has princely duties to perform," Dunk sighed. He had missed the lad. They'd not seen each other in more than two years time. With the worst of the second Blackfyre rebellion behind them, both Aemon and Aegon had been summoned back to King's Landing, but Aerion chose to spent most of his days at Summerhall, and naturally, Dunk spent most of his with Aerion.
"You are entering the lists, are you not, sire?" Maegor asked, "can I squire for you?"
"You can, if your father allows it," Dunk said. He was fickle sometimes. Aerion had adamantly refused when Maegor had begged to be Baelor's cupbearer a few years back. Dunk had thought it was a great opportunity, but he was not the one calling the shots in their marriage and what he said did not have much impact in the grand scheme of their children's lives. Or his own life for that matter.
"We'll see," came Aerion's vague response this time. He chuckled and gathered the loose hairs falling over Dunk's forehead, "imagine if you drew Valarr as your opponent. I wonder who my uncle would cheer for then."
"I would root for you to win, sire," Maegor declared, "even if it were against the Crown Prince. You should strive to defeat every opponent and crown father as your queen of love and beauty."
"He's won a single tourney in its entirety out of the twelve he's attended in his mediocre career as a knight, Maegor," Aerion muttered, "the King himself had five under his belt by the age of eight-and-ten. As much as I'd like to place blind faith in your sire to come in first place at Matarys's wedding, the truth of the matter is that he's not the best lance in all of Westeros as your uncle Aegon may have told you."
"Actually, uncle Aegon said he's a bit of a shit knight," Maegor admitted after a delicate pause.
"Oh good, he's finally stopped telling those ridiculous tall tales."
"I'm not a shit knight," Dunk protested weakly, "I'm just…I'm too big of a target in a joust to be much good at the sport."
"Precisely," Aerion said as he deftly twisted a neat braid into Dunk's long golden locks, "and for some damned reason, your fat ass refuses to stay in a saddle. A strong cough from across the tourney field could unseat you from your horse, ser."
Dunk scowled. "That is simply not true, Aerion."
"But you are undefeated on foot, sire," Maegor tried for positivity.
"Yes, being a literal mountain does have its advantages when it comes to close proximity hand-to-hand combat," Aerion said sarcastically.
"So just drop to the ground and fight them there," their son strategized.
"Then it's not jousting anymore is it, boy?" Dunk pointed out.
"Why does it matter as long as you win?"
Aerion grunted in agreement.
"Because it's not honorable," Dunk said firmly, "the whole point of entering the lists is to prove your honest worth against other skilled knights of the realm."
"And when you've lost both your armor and your horse?" Aerion prompted him. It had only happened once at Whitewalls, and his sharp-tongued lover had laughed himself sick before eventually taking pity on Dunk.
"Then I beg and grovel until my sweet dragon prince hands me the coin to ransom both back."
Aerion snorted, and Dunk felt the faint pressure of lips against the top of his head.
"Your sire is determined to be the most honorable oaf in all of the Seven Kingdoms," Aerion sighed woefully into his hair, and Dunk twisted to smile up at him.
"Well I can't compete for the most beautiful, can I? You've already taken that title," he declared and stuck his lips out expectantly like a baby bird waiting to be fed.
"Can you two not do that in front of me?" Maegor complained when Aerion smirked and leaned down to give him his reward.
"Go retrieve your brothers, Maegor," He ordered, allowing Dunk to press another lingering kiss to his jaw. "We have a busy day ahead of us."
"By the gods, man," Lyonel Barathon cried as he jumped off the handsome blood bay. He ignored the King and went straight for Dunk, "have you somehow gotten bigger?!"
"Maybe it's you that has shrunk in our days apart," Dunk laughed and allowed his old friend to draw him into a tight hug.
"You and I are going drinking tonight, big man," Lyonel hissed into his ear. "Lots to catch up on. Bring the apple boy, too."
"Gladly," He whispered back, "a proper tavern this time, no brothels."
"Where's the fun in that?" Lyonel complained when they broke apart. He was still grinning as he thumped a good-natured fist into Dunk's chest. "It is good to see you again, and these…" Lyonel's gaze skidded over to the three children beside Dunk, all violet of eye and white-gold of hair. Targaryen colors. He waved a helpless hand. "Your, uh, sons…Maekar, is it? Seven above, he's massive. And boy one and boy two. I forget their names."
Further down the line, the King's Hand narrowed his eyes their way.
"Maegor," Aerion corrected, his face cold, "Viserys and Jaehaerys."
"Oh, right," He said and then smirked and smacked Dunk on the shoulder, "you're a busy man, Duncan. Everytime I see you, there are more of them."
"Lord Baratheon," The King called out to him and Dunk watched as Lyonel sauntered over to greet Baelor and Maekar.
The Baratheon boy Matarys was to wed had black hair and blue eyes; Lyonel's nephew, Dunk had learned from Daeron earlier, an omega boy three years Matarys's junior. They'd written letters back and forth but had never met in person until now. The one Aerion had been promised to ten years ago had also come along, and Dunk saw him for the first time. He was tall and broad shouldered with the same black hair and blue eyes, and there was a blonde woman at his side. Cedric, Dunk remembered. He was strikingly handsome, but Aerion was too busy trying to drill a hole into the back of Lyonel's head with his eyes to pay him any attention.
Something tugged on the edge of his tunic. Dunk looked down. It was Maegor.
"I don't like your friend," their eldest leaned in to confess in his ear, and it was as if Aerion had spoken instead. Maegor folded his hands behind his back and studied Lyonel without much expression, and there was no questioning whether dragon blood ran through the boy's veins despite everyone's insistence that he wore Dunk's sweet face. That look in the boy's eyes was pure Targaryen. He'd seen the same flavor of disdain in both Maekar and Aerion before. Though theirs had mostly been directed at him.
"He's a good man," Dunk murmured, frowning down at his boy.
"Mmm," Maegor hummed, clearly not convinced. But he smiled up at Dunk all the same, not because he believed him but because boys naturally wanted to please their fathers, and he was a boy and Dunk was his father.
A strange sense of unease stole over him then, like a sudden cloud casting shade over a clear blue sky, and the hairs on the back of Dunk's neck rose unpleasantly. It went away as quickly as it had come, and he forced himself to smile back. They were only going to be in King's Landing for a little over a fortnight. Nothing was going to go wrong, Dunk was sure of it.