Chapter Text
What is it about Dunk that brought trouble? Was it something inside of him, some strange trait that made him more susceptible to danger than others? Or was it the way he looked, some feature that made others want to inflict chaos upon him?
”Big men get punched more than little men.”
Lyonel had told him that upon their first meeting and Dunk hadn’t been surprised to hear it. Perhaps that was why life felt like punching him so much this past month. In the past thirty days, Dunk had lost his girlfriend as Tanselle had finally booked a permanent spot in a traveling theatre troupe, set to tour across the seven kingdoms and didn’t want to be ‘tied down’. Following that, he had failed his algebra midterm, had a rent increase, and gotten fired from his job due to scheduling conflicts with his schooling.
In short, he was fucked. He knew trying to go back to school late would be a challenge, but he had never anticipated something like this. Perhaps it was some sort of divine punishment for not knowing his place, for trying to reach higher than his station.
In any case, Dunk hadn’t thought he could sink to a new low, until this moment. He had lingered on the field after practice. The rest of the rugby club had left, down to the pub for a drink, but Dunk wasn’t quite finished.
Anxiety had taken hold of him as of late, likely because of the absolute shit-storm that was his life at the moment, and instead of drinking about it, he had decided to put his body through a little more work, hoping the exercise would tire him out.
He probably should have been paying more attention. If he had he surely would have seen the child in his peripherals. Perhaps if he were not such an emotional wreck, he might have had better luck controlling his kick and not sent the ball flying.
Bringing a hand up to block the sun, Dunk watched as the ball whipped through the air, lowering like a bullet until it made contact with an unmoving object. There was a loud thud, a shout, and a gasp that tore from Dunk.
“Oh fuck!”
This was it. This was his lowest moment. Dunk had hit a child with a rugby ball. Knocked him clean into the dirt.
His legs took him to the boy far faster than he thought possible, kicking up grass and dirt behind him as he came to a heavy stop before the boy. He was small, far too small to withstand the impact of one of Dunk’s kicks, with a bald head and a distinctly bloody nose.
“Oh fuck, oh I’m so sorry!” Dunk crouched down, hands hovering as fear gripped him.
“It’s alright, sir,” The kid grumbled, his voice slightly nasally as he pinched his nose and sat up. “I should have moved when I saw the ball coming towards me.”
“Are you all right? I’ll get your parents,” Dunk stood, looking around only to find the pitch empty. Dunk’s was the only car in the lot as well, which was troubling. Had the boy appeared out of thin air?
“My parents are not near here,” The boy informed him, pulling his hand away to look at the blood. The sticky liquid continued to drip down the boy’s face, staining the gentle blue of his t-shirt. Tipping his head back, he brought a hand up to try and stem the flow.
“Don’t do that,” Dunk warned, having been very familiar with nosebleeds due to his chosen sport. “If you tip your head back the blood drains and you’ll get a stomach ache. Might even puke. Here, come on.”
Reaching under the boy’s armpits, Dunk hefted him onto his feet and steered him towards the seats at the edge of the pitch. The large man instructed the boy to stay put before he jogged to his car, grasping a handful of napkins from two days ago when he had eaten pizza in his car and cried. Returning, he tore up the pieces and helped plug them up the boy’s nose.
“I’m really sorry about this, er-” Dunk trailed off, unsure what to call the kid. Was it appropriate to ask for his name in this situation? Given that he’d nearly concussed the poor child.
“Egg,” The boy responded, voice distorted from his nose.
“Egg,” The man repeated, doing his best to ignore the curious name. It was probably a nickname. Kids could be cruel. “Well, I’m Dunk.”
“I know, sir. I watch your club practice. You’re very good,” Egg seemed a bit cheerier now. “They have you playing full-back, but I think you’d do better as a lock. You’re strong and aggressive.”
The compliment and sheer excitement from the boy had Dunk blushing, reaching up to rub a hand at the back of his neck. “You really watch enough to notice that?”
“Of course. I’ve always wanted to learn, but my father says that rugby makes men stupid. They hit their heads so much, they can scarcely do basic maths,” Egg spoke with a twisted frown on his face, as if he did not enjoy repeating the words.
“He might be right about the head hitting and maths,” Dunk muttered, remembering his failed algebra exam. Shaking the thought from his head, Dunk takes another look around the empty pitch. “Look, Egg, is there anyone I can call for you? Have your parents come to pick you up?”
“My father is working and my mother is dead,” He says it as if he is discussing the weather, something mundane and known. Dunk doesn’t know what to do with that, except perhaps commiserate in the shared trauma of a lost parent.
“Well,” Dunk wracked his brain, unwilling to leave a child literally bleeding on a rugby pitch. “I suppose I could give you a quick ride home. Probably best to give your parents my contact information, incase they need to…I don’t know. Sue me or something.”
“No offense, sir, but you don’t look like you’d have much to take,” The boy pointed out, causing Dunk to scowl before gesturing for him to follow.
His car was a bit of a beater, but it worked hard and got Dunk where he needed to go, thus he was hesitant to upgrade it. Besides, it’s not like he could afford a new car bill without his job anymore.
The inside was relatively clean, though it stank a little from his gym clothes and the half of a pizza he had in the backseat that he had yet to throw out. The passenger side was clear and he ushered the boy in, reminding him to buckle up before getting in on his own side.
“Where to?” Dunk asked, receiving the first of a small series of instructions guiding him towards Egg’s home.
He had expected another flat similar to Dunk’s, or perhaps one of those cookie cutter houses that seemed to pop up out of nowhere. Yet the longer they drove, the nicer the neighborhood got until they got to some sort of gated community, the houses more akin to mansions than anything else. Dunk was sure seven families could fit in each one they passed, driving up a winding road until Egg reached across and pointed at a particular house.
It was modern, sleek and ostentatious in size, though not in decor. A deep charcoal color painted the outsides and there were beautiful plants all across the yard, various modern sculptures dotting the place.
Dunk suddenly felt very uncomfortable, almost ready to turn and ask Egg if he was sure, but the boy had already unbuckled and scrambled from the passenger seat, trudging up the path to the front door.
Groaning, Dunk unbuckled and chased after him, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder before ringing the doorbell. It was a few tense moments that Dunk had to wait before the door swung open revealing a young man, likely barely older than Dunk, with blond hair tied back, jeans, and a sweater that looked as if it costs more than Dunk’s car on. The scent of vodka rolled off the man and he looked distinctly hungover.
“What the fuck?” The man hissed, looking from Dunk’s dirty form to the boy who had blood smeared on his face. “I thought- Are you not- Where the fuck have you been?”
“I went to watch the rugby club on Waters street,” Egg shrugged.
“I just passed Sonya and she said you were in your room playing minecraft,” The young man sputtered.
“I’m sure that’s where she thinks I am, considering she never checks,” Egg crossed his arms and rolled his eyes.
“What happened to your face?”
“Sir, that’s my fault,” Dunk interjected, finally finding a way to squeeze into the conversation. The sooner he could get this over with and go home the better. He was afraid if he stayed out any longer he might accidentally knock over a mother and baby or perhaps hit a dog with his car. Seven knew his luck was heading that way. “I was practicing on the pitch and one of my kicks got away from me. The ball hit Egg.”
“It wasn’t Dunk’s fault though, I should have moved,” Egg hurried to add. “He offered to call father for me but-”
“Yep,” The young man nodded, finally stepping aside and gesturing for Egg to get into the house. “I’ll talk to father about this later. For now go get washed up and we’ll take a look at your face. Dunk, is it? Thank you for returning my brother.”
Dunk was about to offer his contact information in case of things like medical bills or insurance claims, but the door was swiftly closed in his face, not an ounce of care shown by Egg’s older brother.
There was no choice but to leave, so Dunk found himself turning in time to catch a sleek black car approaching. Two men exited the vehicle, one tall and lean with dark hair and mismatched eyes. The other was white of hair, an equally colored yet impeccably groomed beard doing it’s best to mask scars on his face. They reeked of money, if the way their suits fit were anything to go by or the calibre of vehicle they arrived in.
Dunk felt small by comparison and any chance he had to escape without drawing attention to him was squashed as the white-haired man’s gaze narrowed on him like a snake spying a mouse. “You there! Is that your car in my driveway?”
“Er, yes, sir,” Dunk answered, wiping his sweaty palms on his shorts.
There was a beat of silence before the white-haired man grew impatient and prompted him. “Why?”
“Oh, I was dropping your son off,” Dunk answered, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth. “I assume he’s your son since you said this was your driveway. I accidentally hit him sir and I brought him home and wanted to apologize.”
“Oh what the fuck has Aerion done now,” the man pressed a hand to his temple as if a great headache was forming.
“He said, accidentally, brother. With Aerion it is usually on purpose,” The dark haired man next to him spoke up, a slight smile on his face. “What is your name?”
“Dunk, sir, Duncan actually but everyone calls me Dunk-”
“Oh for fucks sake,” The white haired man groussed, evidentelly losing patience with Dunk already. He could not blame him, the young man tended to stammer and stutter in his anxiety. “Who did you hit?”
“Egg, sir,” Dunk answered. “I didn’t hit him exactly. I kicked a ball and it hit him in the face. I drove him home because he said you were working and I felt bad.”
“As you should for hitting a child,” The man hissed, crossing his arms and leveling a sneer at Dunk. “Do you not have fucking eyes? Did you not see him?”
“Maekar, it was an accident,” the dark haired man chided gently, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder.
“I really am very sorry, Sir,” Dunk scrambled to apologize, the sweat on his palms gathering quickly at this point. He should have just left with the others after practice, gone to the pub and drank his problems away. Surely alcoholism was better than hitting a child with a ball. “I can give you my information if you-”
“Enough,” the white haired man, Maekar cut Dunk off, holding up a hand. “I have no need for that. Take your car and leave, sir, before you test my patience and my mercy even further.”
The way he strutted off was reminiscent of a lion stalking through the grass, effortlessly regal and Dunk couldn’t help but watch after him for a moment. Of course, then he remembered the other man and whipped around to find an amused stare leveled at him.
“You’ll have to forgive my brother, his children are a sensitive subject for him. It was good of you to bring Aegon home,” The man folded his hands in front of himself, his posture much more relaxed than his brother. “Here, give me your contact information, just in case.”
The man fished in his pocket and held out a phone to Dunk, one that likely cost more than he could ever afford. The young man typed his phone number and name into the contacts, adding ‘hit Egg with ball’ after his name for a bit of context. He handed the phone back to the other man and gave a slight dip of his head.
“I should go. Thank you, sir,” Dunk gestured to his car before teetering off, almost running to get back to the vehicle before he could get himself in even more trouble.
Navigating back home was a bit of a chore since his flat was quite far from Egg’s home. The sun was beginning to set and Dunk was, at this point, unwilling to do anything but get a shower, a meal and maybe have a good cry, as was his ritual for the past few weeks.
The flat wasn’t anything to be impressed by. It was a one bedroom, compact and sparsely decorated, save for a few of his rugby trophies lining the wall and the various fantasy books he enjoyed. The couch was littered with blankets and pillows, Dunk having spent a majority of his time on it rather in the bed as crying in bed somehow felt more pathetic than crying on the couch.
The shower was small, annoyingly small for someone of Dunk’s height and he had to duck down for the water to actually get his hair wet. The shampoo was cheap, but it did the job, the water turning a drab brown color at his feet from the mud and dirt he had accumulated during practice.
When he was finished, Dunk dressed in a pair of his comfiest pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt that smelled relatively clean, before heading to the kitchen to make a bowl of instant noodles, pulling out his phone and scrolling to instagram.
The first thing he saw was a picture of Tanselle somewhere in Dorne, happily in costume and posed with her castmates, a broad grin on her pretty face. She looked happy, far happier than Dunk had ever seen her and though his heart ached that she was somewhere far away, he could not deny the joy he felt in knowing she was doing well.
Still, seeing his ex living the life of her dreams had him bitterly looking down at his noodles and not-quite-clean t-shirt with some disdain. Tomorrow he would have to apply for some jobs, but tonight he was determined to sit and take his mind off everything, instead shoving his phone into his pocket and turning on the tv, settling on some mindless cartoon, the first thing he saw really.
It wasn’t the healthiest way to end his night, but it got him through the worst of it so far and thus Dunk continued on. He would get through it, no matter what. He always did.
No luck on the job market, at least not in the two days that Dunk had been frantically looking for work, literally any work. He knew it would take ages, logically, but at the same time he could not handle the waiting.
Thus he distracted himself, once again finding himself on the pitch in the afternoon, practicing his kicks for hours now. His leg was beginning to hurt, but at least the ache in his limbs kept him distracted from the ache in his mind.
“You’re kicking to the left, sir,” A familiar voice piped up and Dunk spun to find the boy, Egg, with a freshly bruised nose sitting in the grass behind him. “Do you know you do that?”
“What are you doing here? Are you trying to get hurt again?” Dunk chastised, picking up the ball and coming to stand before the boy.
“I told you I come and watch usually,” Egg shrugged, picking at blades of grass.
“Does your father know you’re here?” Putting his hands on his hips, Dunk suddenly felt himself mimicking the posture of a single mother. His answer was a pinched expression and a slight sigh, which was enough to tell Dunk that no, Maekar did not know. Huffing, Dunk dropped to a seated position on the grass, the silence stretching between the pair for a long moment. “Does your brother know or your babysitter at least?”
“Sonya is not my babysitter. She’s a live in nanny and no, she does not,” Egg shook his head, mouth pressed into a firm frown. He looked far too serious for a boy of his age. His foster father, Arlan, had been a hard working man, but Dunk could not remember a time where the man had not been acutely aware of Dunk’s location. “She’s usually too busy talking to someone or sleeping. Daeron, my brother you met, he knows where I am though.”
“Suppose that’s a bit helpful,” Dunk sighed, taking another look at the child. “How’s the nose?”
“Hurts, but not too bad,” Egg admitted with all the air of someone trying to remain brave.
“Still sorry about that,” Dunk rubbed the back of his neck. Taking a long look at the boy, Dunk sighed and stood up. “Come on.”
“Where are we going, sir?” Egg asked as he stood, brushing the grass blades from his lap.
“Snack.”
Five minutes later the pair sat on a bench outside of a convenience store, a packet of crisps between them, a gatorade and a juice box on each side, and a sandwich split down the middle. It was Egg who spoke first, having spent a few minutes inspecting his sandwich before taking a large bite. “Can I ask you something?”
“No one’s stopping you,” Dunk muttered through a mouthful of food, chasing it down with a drink of his gatorade.
“Do you think you could teach me to play rugby?”
Dunk made a face, swallowing his mouthful before turning to look at the young boy. “I thought your father didn’t want you playing.”
“He wouldn’t care. He’s hardly home anyway and it would be good for me,” Egg insisted. “I’m already at the pitch watching. What would the harm be in playing?”
“Suppose that makes sense,” Dunk pursed his lips, unable to find the fault in that logic. Besides, rugby had done him a world of good as a kid. It helped him gain confidence and get out a bit of his aggression. Arlan had never been anything but supportive. “Fine. I can teach you in the afternoons, until I get a job.”
There were no more words exchanged, but Egg began to grin, a new energy rushing through him as he happily munched on his food. As for Dunk, he was sure he was going to regret this, ever mindful of the scowling white-haired man that spawned Egg. Yet, he still couldn’t bring himself to say no. Egg seemed like a good lad. Besides, it wasn’t like Dunk had anything important to do in the meantime.
No job, no girlfriend. Just Dunk and now Egg.