Chapter Text
Since Dunk can remember his only dream was to be a knight. Seeing the men in their fancy armor and their big weapons, riding by on their big war horses. They seemed like gods. strong, honorable and unbreakable.
When Ser Arlan came to the village, he saw his chance. He badgered the hedge knight every day to take him to squire. He has no use in the village, no family that will miss him. He will do whatever it takes, he can carry everything, he can cook, he can clean the weapons, he can wash his clothes. He learned all of that in the inn.
He knew since he was a child deep down in his heart that he is destined to be more than just a simple orphan. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life on Dragonstone. His only friends the horses, cattle and seagulls. He didn’t want to continue his aimless wandering around in the villages. Seeing the dreadful grey stones, listening to the heartless cold winds, eating the small sad fish daily.
He knew he should be grateful that Bertha took him in when he was a babe, but he has never felt a part of her family. Her sons ignored him at best and made fun of him when they didn’t.
He was always too tall, too hungry, too thick. Everything he did was not enough or wrong. Their friends joined in the mocking, the adults turning a blind eye. They rather wanted the young ones to be united and too distracted to fight among each other. Dunk was always the outsider.
He thanked the gods daily when Ser Arlan accepted his request to be his squire. He asked the old man countless of times what motivated him to let him come along, but the grizzly knight never answered. He just shrugged his shoulders and said Dunk was too big for such a small island. It was a favor for the villagers. One less giant mouth to feed.
He traveled years with his Ser. Seeing corners of Westeros he could never even imagine. From the filthy streets of Flea bottom to the snowy wilderness of the North. He trotted happily next to his master. Every step away from the cursed island was a blessing for Dunk. He never took the freedom of the road as a given thing. It’s a gift from the gods, showing him the different factettes of the realm.
He saw pain, blood spurting out from coldhearted men, disgusting wounds already festering. Moans of pain, desperate prayers to different gods.
He saw happiness. Weddings where the bride and groom were covered in flowers, children running through the festivities, giggling and playing with each other.
He saw the good and the bad. He took everything in.
Served his old man. Took care of him.
He saw what a knight was supposed to be.
A man willing to fight for what’s right, not only with weapons but also with words. No matter how poor or rich, a knight helps. They have sworn their life to the innocent.
Through their travels he saw many of knights. He never had a chance to talk to them or their squires, but seeing how proud they were, he believed every single one of them carried honor within them.
How wrong he was.
Honor is a word not known by many of them. He learned that the hard way at Ashford.
They laughed at him. Send him away like a mutt begging for scraps. Laughed loudly at him, spit at him, insulted him. Dunk was nothing more than a disgusting peasant to them. They cared about whoring, wine and coin.
Honor is something warped in their mind. They do not care about protecting women, helping the innocent. No bravery is to be found anywhere in their bodies.
They cower in front of the royals, not willing to stand up for what is right. They rather see a crazed prince maim a innocent woman, then step up, for they life is worth more in their eyes.
Tanselle.
She was hurt. Her finger broken in a gruesome way, by a honorless little man.
She was supposed to be a danger to the crown disguising it as a puppet show. What a mockery of knighthood.
The prince said knighthood has fallen on sad days, to just spit later on the honorable oath that every knight should follow.
The words were echoing in Dunks head when he came to help the dornish woman.
He swore an oath to the old man and to the gods. He will always step up to help the helpless. He once was in their spot. He knows what it’s like to be on the bottom, everyone looking down at him.
But even shortly before the trial Dunk still believed in the good of the other knights. He could understand his ridicule. Dunk does look like an overgrown child playing at being knight, he was a sorry excuse for a knight.
But when asking them to fight for him, for the goodness and honor they claim to carry. No one answered.
He was angry. For how long he looked up to them, thinking they were the best of the men that the realm offers.
Now he lies here in the dirt. His body is unable to move. His right eye swollen shut. Blood trickling down, turning the mud even darker. His open eye no longer being able to blink, it would cost him too much power. Dunk feels his life draining out of him.
Wounds bleeding starkly, with every drop of blood his life draining out of him. The mist is covering more and more of his field of vision. He does not know if it is real or the stranger welcoming him into his arms.
Instead of the coldness that Dunk expected will come from the embrace of death, it is warm and comfortable. The mud a soft bed, lulling him to close his eyes forever, singing sweet lullabies and promising a peaceful sleep he will never wake from.
Just vaguely he can make out the armored legs in front of him. Black impressive armor dulled with speckles of mud and blood. There are details of scales on it, going up to the flame formed helmet. Every piece adorned with dragon-like traits.
Dunk wants to snort, but only a weak gust of breath escapes him.
A man covered in dragon scales is still a man. A weak and pathetic man.
Dunk can hear how the mad princes' yells in the direction of the lords and knights. He does not make out the words spoken, for his ears feel like they’re filled with his blood. He hears his own weak heartbeat getting quieter and quieter. The oppressing silence is getting louder.
The crazed screams of the prince only a high screeching noise in his head. Dunk sinks deeper into the mud. He tried his best. He failed.
But he kept his oath, even for this short time he kept it. Lived by it. He can die. He can die the way he always wanted, a true knight's way. Dying for what is right. He takes his last breath.
He expects nothing but darkness, but he finds himself under a starry night. The wind pushing against him in punishment, his old dirty rags that he calls clothes are threatening to fly away from his body. He hears the ocean crash against the stones below him. A clash of titans, neither will win. He finds himself on Dragonstone.
On the night he decided to let the storm decide his fate. Standing close to the edge of the cliff.
He only needs to bow a little forward to see the dark waters beneath him. Illuminated beneath the star light he sees the darkness move. When he was young, he first thought it was the sea calling to him, but it was something else that he saw and felt tugging at him.
Something he called his only friend for most of his life.
The tug he only felt twice, once when he touched his friend for the first time appears in his chest. Dunk smiles. He will not die alone.
He pours his love and gratefulness into the memory between him and his friend. He hopes the gods will send his emotions to him.
So, he will know what he meant to Dunk.
He has been close to him only once, on the evening of the cliff. After this he only saw him from afar, laying down or flying above him. Only at night.
But he was his only friend.
His friend didn’t mind when Dunk came to him and talked about everything and nothing and Dunk didn’t mind that he couldn’t get closer to him. He still felt a beautiful friendship between them.
He never saw his friend fully, he always was just a big dark shape in the night. In the day he never saw him. He thought for a long time that it was a dragon, but this was just a foolish and notion.
Dragons have been dead or lost for years now. It was just a childish wish to be special, to be more than just another orphan on the island.
Dunk doesn’t understand why he is still reminiscing about a time long ago. The darkness should have already overtaken him.
He never expected death to be so full of his own thought and emotions. Strange. But fitting for the domain of the stranger. However, the pull gets stronger. It was a long time ago that he felt it so intensely. The last time and second time he felt it was on the day he left Dragonstone. Why is he feeling it now?
The vision of the cliff disappears from Dunks mind. Reality crashing back into him. The pain burning him, every breath he takes a battle in itself. The screaming of the prince stopped. Under the pulsing of his blood, he hears the high voice of Egg yelling in desperation in his direction.
Dunk doesn’t understand but hears the distress clearly coming from the boy. Dunk hopes he is far away enough, so Egg won't remember the cruel picture of his death. He wants Egg to turn away from the bloody half dead figure he must make. He opens his mouth, trying to form the words, begging him to turn around and not look at him. His squire is too young and innocent to see death that brutal.
He lets out a croak, with it a mixture of mucus and blood dribbling out of his cracked lips.
The mad prince turns around to him, alerted by the sound. He is sneering down, his lips curled in disgust. „What a pathetic sight you make. A rat playing at being more than it is. A shame I have to dirty my sword with your filthy blood. “
The words are cutting, making Dunk shutter. Why can he not just do it and kill him. The prince circles Dunk, not caring that the mud splatters on Dunk with every step. He is preening in the attention he gets, emitting an aura of sick satisfaction.
Prince Aerion raises his sword above his head, ready to strike down. His purple eyes blazing with hatred and glee. Madness shining through the mud painted face.
Dunk looks back at him, too weak to replay or even lift his head. But his open remaining eye staring at the prince. He is not afraid. It will be a quick death. He is already only one step away from greeting the stranger. He is ready to let go.
Out of nowhere Dunk is overcome with a burning sensation, different from the pain he feels from his open bleeding wounds. It fills his body, holding the cuts and punctures together with force and determination. It fights his body exhaustion to give up. It burns the want of surviving into every part of Dunks body. Screaming at him to keep breathing. To keep fighting.
Dunk twitches. His fingers trying to find hold on the slippery ground. He digs them deep into the mud, curls his hands into the dirt. Somehow, he finds enough hold to stabilize.
He tries to raise up on his arms, to get his hands on his sword again. His upper body lifts slightly from the wet mud. The sword doesn’t lay far away from him, he could crawl to it. Slash against the ankles of the prince.
He needs to stand against the evil man in front of him.
Dunk hears the mocking laugh coming from the prince. „It’s not worth it. Stay down little knight. It will be over soon. “
The burning gets stronger, but instead of pain he feels soothed by it. Something presses itself against Dunks mind. Instead of fear he should feel in this moment he feels relief. Whatever it is, it will help him. The loud rushing in his ear’s quiet downs, the painful pressure disappearing. It’s like a veil has been lifted, he can hear rightly again. His frantic heartbeat is no longer the companion to his doom.
Dunk, however, doesn’t realize at first that his hearing turned back to usual, the silence still present all around him.
The mocking laughter of the hurt prince has stopped. Egg is no longer crying. Even the constant clash of weapons hitting armor and other weapons has stopped. Dunk looks around and sees three bodies lying not moving on the ground the same as him, the other figures with raised weapons standing without movement, like a painting come to life. The smallfolk at the barricade stopped shouting and tittering. The lords and high knights on the stands also a now unmoving mass.
The horses on the field stand still, not even their ears are twitching. Their eyes show most of their whites, their nostrils flared wide open. Their bodies are taunt, ready to bold any second. The pure panic they’re showing makes Dunks heart bleeds for them. They do not deserve to be a part of this senseless violence.
Everyone looks in the same direction, their heads turned east and upwards.
Dunk tries to move again, to finally sit or stand up and see what has everyone enthralled. But he fails. He keeps on laying down in the mud. His muscles are cramping, refusing to help him. His body is protesting every shift.
The sudden burst of energy from earlier is diminished, leaving him to fight for breath again. The heat in him grows stronger, fighting against his exhaustion. It is the only reason Dunk can still have his eye open. It lashes in anger at Dunks mind, pushes and crawls at the imminent approaching Stranger.
Dunk faintly hears a deep rumbling in the distance. Fitting for a thunderstorm to come when he dies. Even the gods are displeased to see injustice win. He wishes he could turn around and feel the rain for the last time on his face. He wants to look up at the clouds, dreaming of the endless freedom the sky offers, as he has done as young lad.
The horses begin whining, running and trying to escape the confinement of the field. They jump over the fences into the crowd, who scream at the big beast running into them. The silence is broken, sounds of fear come from every side. The knights still standing are trying to evade the wild beasts, while still having their head tilted up.
He sees Lyonel jumping out of the way from one of the royal steeds, swearing. His antlered helmet missing one antler, the gold now dull and speckled with dirt. He is limping.
The other knights Dunk recognizes are the royal brothers, standing close together. Their weapons are still in their hands, however not ready to strike. They are lowered, for their hands hang motionless to their sides. Dunk cannot see Raymun, his field of vision too small, to see everything. Blood is dripping into his open eye.
The rumbling gets louder. The sound of thunder traveling far. The wind is starting to pick up. Dunk can hear the whooshing of the flags in the wind. The storm is coming nearer. Faster than any storm Dunk has ever experienced. It approaches the meadow with unnatural speed.
Is that why everyone appears to be scared? Did the gods send the storm to stop the fighting?
The sunlight starts fading quite rapidly. The usual brightness of daytime disappears faster than is natural. It is like night has fallen. The roaring thunderclaps echo high up in height of the sky, the boom bearing down to the people. The pressure of the deafening sound pressing upon one’s body. It is peculiar that no lighting is to be seen.
The already biting wind is turning into a hurricane, ripping at everything. He sees shreds of fabrics, flags fly by on the ground. The men on the arena ground are kneeling, fighting to not fall due to the strong winds gripping at them. Aerion puts his sword into the ground, holding it strongly to remain balanced.
The thunder rings out louder, appearing lower than the earlier booms. It sounds like mountains clashing against each other. The earth is trembling under the unnatural force of nature. Every clap sounds nearer and nearer, descending to the frightened people. It appears as if the storm is circling the field, wanting to rain exactly on them.
The heat in Dunk is blazing, but it is a balm to his wounds. It is a reassurance that everything is alright, that he is finally safe from the fight and the constant pain. Dunk can’t help himself and smiles at the comforting feeling.
It almost feels as if the heat is not only inside of him but also caressing him from the outside. Burrowing it deep into his armor to reach his skin. He feels the prickle of warmth everywhere, his chainmail warming up slowly. Before him he sees a slight shimmer in the air, as if it’s high summer.
Dunk doesn’t know if it’s blood loss playing a trick on him or if what he sees true.
He sees Aerion lower his hand from his sword, falling on both of his knees. His eyes shining with unshed tears. The madness is blazing more than even before, but the cruel glee has been replaced by childlike wonder. His arms are raised up, fighting the strong wind trying to fell him.
Aerion and Dunk are the only ones staying on the field. In the corner of his eye, he sees the multiple knights crawling away from the upcoming storm. They scream at each other. The words lost in the howling of the wind. He sees them enter the rampart, one after another.
He sees the nobility run down from their seats, hastily climbing over each other to flee. The smallfolk are scattered. Through all the chaos it is difficult for everyone, no matter their status, to get away from immediate danger. Their terrified sounds, swallowed by thunder.
A boom echoes again in the meadow, the air trembling. The ground shaking as if something heavy had landed. The squall has stopped abruptly. No storm is heard anymore, but the blazing heat is remaining. The shadow that has befallen the field is also still to be seen, but on the border of the arena he sees sunlight fighting its way down again. Illuminating the mud in a strange, serene way.
The sudden silence doesn’t last long, screaming from every direction rings out. A cacophony of fear and panic rings out, they sound more animalistic than human.
A loud woosh is to be heard, accompanied by cracking bones and strange squishing sounds. The earth trembles with heavy movement. Whatever has brought the storm is a beast of old, coming to destroy.
Dunk is thankful for not being able to see this creature and the carnage it did. He thanks the gods that it has landed behind him, he could not imagine the terror that is standing there.
His vision is swimming before his eyes. He hopes that at last the beast will finish him, instead of Aerion. He does not deserve to be the one who ends his life. But it seems to Dunk that the prince has no notion of raising his sword against him. The prince is openly crying, looking behind Dunks bleeding body.
„Zaldrizes ao emagon māzigon ñuhor ao āeksion!” he yells like a child glad to see its long-lost pet. With shaking hands, he takes his gloves off, throwing them into the mud without any care. He slowly rises to stand, his hands held up in front of him.
A calming gesture. It is ironic to see such a cruel man act so calm and peaceful. Dunk sees his legs almost buckle under him, but the prince is determined to approach the murderous beast.
Dunk feels the shift of the large body behind him, the hostility from it almost visible. The prince truly is mad wanting to get closer. “AERION! MY SON! DON’T! STAY BACK!” the desperate cries of Prince Maekar ring out. His son is ignoring him, confidently taking more steps forward. He continues to speak in the strange language, trying to appease the beast. Dunk just wants to close his eyes. But the insistent heat is not letting him. Why can’t it let Dunk go?
Aerion has almost reached Dunk in the meantime, trying to step around him. The same time that his foot is almost touching Dunks head a dangerous growl is to be heard. It rattles Dunks bones. The pain of his wounds flares up stronger. The snarl disappears, a strange cooing sound replaces it.
The head from where the sounds are coming from comes nearer. Dunk feels it move towards him, every breath it takes blazing air hits his back. The smell of sulfur and fire spreads in the atmosphere. He can feel the beast staring at him. Dunk hopes it is big enough to eat him in one bite.
He does not want to be bitten in half.
He shudders just thinking about it, finally fear is setting in. His heart is pumping harder again, his limbs are no longer so heavy. His body gifts him his last bout of energy.
He does not stop to think what he should do, his body is screaming to get away from this predator, but he is not able to move. His mind is somehow convinced no danger is to come to him. He braces himself up with wobbly arms, his head finally raised high enough to see more of the arena. Dunk sees bodies thrown on the floor, flecks of blood reflecting the sunlight in the spots where the shadow of the beast has not reached.
Aerion’s head swivels to Dunk, as if he has forgotten that he is still there. He looks back to the beast and again to him. “You will be the first sacrifice for my destiny hedge knight. You should thank me for the honor.” He reaches his belt pulling out a knife, ready to plunge it into Dunk.
But before the prince can even move one muscle, a huge, scaled head appears, throwing Aerion into the wall of the abandoned stand. He falls like the puppets he has cut down, limps sprawled in every direction. The head hovers over Dunk, completely covering his battered body.
It is at least double the size of his body, black dull scales covering it. The snout long and almost elegant looking, large terrible teeth gleam in the light. The mouth is slightly open, a strange glow coming from deep inside of it. The smell of sulfur stronger than before is evading Dunks nose and throat, scratching his sore throat.
He coughs loudly, trying to get the disgusting taste out. It burns in his lungs, the pain spreading. Every cell in his body is aflame, screaming for the sweet release of death. Dunk can no longer support himself, falling again into the mud. The heat trying to keep him upright, to keep his eyes open.
But he can’t. His eyes fall close. His eyelids fluttering. Dunk can see the blurred giant head of the beast moving towards him, forest dark eyes staring into his soul. The glow in his throat dimmed, the keening from before coming out.
It inches towards Dunk. The last thing he feels before sweet nothingness embraces him, is a soft nudge of the head against his hand, lying outstretched in the mud. The scales feel softer than he thought, but still as hard as stone.
It feels familiar, like a deep buried memory.
He feels like his friend from the cliff.