Chapter Text
CHAPTER I – THOUGHT TO BE LOST
Dunk had always been the biggest in the room. Even in childhood. A boy of his stature was rare, even rarer in Flea Bottom. People barely had anything to eat, let alone feed a child so nutritiously that he grew to such a size. And so Dunk was noticed no matter where he went. Fortunately, one snarl and a flash of his teeth would quiet any who tried to harm him.
Once, his friend Ferret had mentioned that his teeth were sharper than those of older alphas. Dunk had stared at his reflection in a puddle of water for far longer than he usually would after that.
It was one fateful night that Dunk, Ferret, Rafe and Pudding had gone beyond the misery of Flea Bottom, all the way to the city walls to look at the stars. Then and there they dared dream that maybe one day they wouldn't have to thieve and beg all their lives.
It was but a short dream.
When Ferret decided to climb the wall so he could see better, none of the boys objected. Ferret was the best climber among the children, but fate has a humorous way of proving you wrong. As Ferret had gotten to the top, and the children below were cheering, a guard appeared behind them. He shouted at them and startled the boy on the wall. Losing his footing, Ferret fell. And what a fall it was, spread hands as if he was to soar, not crash. Mouth open in a silent wail, eyes wide, breath hitched.
Rafe and Pudding took off and did not witness the death of their friend, save for Dunk, who could not look away.
He was beaten within an inch of his life that night, yet he did not feel any pain. Strike after strike, kick after kick, the pup was numb. He had witnessed death, had seen what the hands of man could do to another. With one key difference, these hands had never been his, and the end of a life had never been to one he held dearly. The guard had not slowed his assault, nor had he been gentler. Dunk had not made a sound. All he could think of was his friend, and how he must be broken and dead beyond the walls.
After the beating, Dunk still lay there, not daring to move, lest he felt the pain that was on the borders of becoming reality. Were it to happen, it would make it all true; it would mean it was not a dream. A never-ending nightmare, beyond his control. When men sleep, they are defenseless; Dunk had hoped that he might be attacked in his sleep, so he would wake and prove it all but slumbering lies.
He did not awaken.
Minutes, maybe hours, Seven knew it could have been years of darkness, and Dunk wouldn't have known. Then, as if to prove that the night wasn't over, his mind had spoken up.
A cruel thought crept into his mind.
Could he save him?
If Ferret were alive, he could save him and fix what was broken. Make it all go away; they could go back to Flea Bottom, to their home. Rafe and Pudding would welcome them, and then they would take care of Ferret until he was well again. But as tall as Dunk was, he was twice as lumpish.
There had been no dream in which Dunk could climb the walls without dying himself. And so he once again sat, beaten blue and purple on the cold road, and he thought.
He thought of the way it would hurt later, the hunger he would soon feel, the stench of his clothes. The guard who had beaten him and killed Ferret, his friends who had run and never returned. Of the bleak world where some had none and others far too much. The skinny kids on the street begging for a piece of bread and the fat lords who spat upon them. Children who would never know their fathers, and mothers who would never see their pups become men and women. So he thought of Ferret, who had been like a brother. Rafe, who could outrun a hundred grown men. Pudding, who could never bore you with his stories. Of the family he had never known, and of the anger that was rising within him.
Pure, unimaginable rage.
Was he crying, or was it rain? Were they tears of raindrops that felt so soothing on his bruised flesh? He would never know, for when Dunk finally opened his eyes, what he saw made him forget his surroundings.
A claw.
A great bronze claw with whispers of silver along its edges. Scales that glistened as if wet. Nails. Sharper than a guard's sword lay before him, curved at the ends, like that of a great bird.
Dunk was frozen. This was no dog, bird, no cat, nor any animal he knew of. His breathing quickened, eyes going wild, his thoughts running, searching for any bit of sense. Dunk was close to fainting when he heard it. Soft, but unmistakable.
Growling.
A great rumbling coming from his own throat.
Dunk blinked heavily, then finally focused before him.
Years later he would say, humorously, that this day might have been the last time he had ever thought that hard.
As he contemplated what to do, he began noticing in finer detail. The claw was connected to his shoulder; turning his head, he saw one, much the same, on the left. The young alpha then tried to close his hands into fists, perhaps to prepare to run – he could never say for certain – but instead the claws scraped the dirt beneath them, and Dunk felt every bit of it.
He then knew.
The beast he was seeing was neither in front of nor behind him.
It was him.
Dunk had been the being of bronze and silver.
The horror that surged through him, the sheer panic and fear, overwhelmed him so completely that he fainted, only to awaken the next day to a guard screaming over him. Still on the road, Dunk had scrambled to his feet before he could think and ran all the way back to Flea Bottom, where he hid among the shadows and stayed hidden for a long time.
The young alpha never went to the wall again, even when his friends had begged him to. Even as they were pleading and weeping, asking of their companion Ferret, of what had become of him. They had asked him of that night, but Dunk had stayed silent. After days of begging for answers, Dunk had only told them of the fall, and of the guard. More time would pass, and they would ask him again, but the young alpha had by then changed.
The fear of who – what – Dunk was was too great to face.
Years later, Ser Arlan of Pennytree would find him chasing a pig, and he would take him under his wing. Something in the boy had spoken to him, he would say. During their travels, Dunk would come to love the man as he would a father, and the one night when the hedge knight had assigned him as his squire, Dunk would confess what had happened beside the city walls on that fateful night.
Ser Arlan had only frozen and set aside his drink, with not a word to speak.
The very next day they had traveled to seek out a wood witch, of whom Dunk knew not. There she had told him and his mentor that the boy was a beast-shifter. Such a power must be hidden, she had told Ser Arlan, for men would take his head if it became known. The hedge knight, said none again, went outside the tent and left Dunk alone with the witch. Awkward as he was, the boy said nothing until the woman had spoken to him directly.
Years later, Dunk would learn that what she had told him had been a prophecy–
"Boy…the day will come when a dragon looks upon you with a man's eyes. Beware of the silver flame that begs to burn. He will bare his throat and call it pride; he will wear madness as another man wears silk. You will think him poison, yet the beast within you will know him before your heart does… Refuse him, and the dragon in you shall never sleep. Claim him, and the Seven Kingdoms will remember what fire was made for. "
But for the young boy, the words of the omega witch and the prophecy she had spoken struck terror beyond the common fear. At last he had hurried outside to join Ser Arlan, who, from that day onward, had slept closer to him, but with his sword unsheathed beneath the covers of his bedding.
Dunk had all grown in the years with Ser Arlan. A squire of his size had gathered the eyes of many, but Dunk had no eyes for them, for all he cared was his travels and the hedge-knight who raised him.
The knight had taught him much of things Dunk had never known. As to how to take care of the three horses that accompanied them, how to navigate by the stars and moss on the trees. Ser Arlan had showed him what a simple cut on a man's flesh can do out in the open, how the bite of a cold night leaves corpses in the morning's wake.
Most importantly, he taught him how to control himself.
The beast within him would waken, say when a chapman goes beyond his means to haggle and refuses to sell. On one such occasion, Dunk had remembered, the hawker in front the shop lied and the goods had been so bad, not even a beggar would eat them. Dunk marched to the shop to demand justice and truth, when Ser Arlan had grabbed him by the arm and put him cloak on him. Confused, the boy tried to escape the knight's painful grasp, but could not budge. A few minutes later away from prying eyes and in the shade beneath a great tree, Ser Arlan had taken the cloak off of Dunk and struck him on the face. The hedge-knight told him what had happened, and how in blindness to his anger, Dunk's hands had sprouted scales of bronze, and fingers had curled with great claws.
Still holding his head down in shame, the beastling had apologized to his elder, yet he knew that no apology could change the fact that if he had been seen, he would've been captured, or worse – killed.
Ser Arlan had told him once, he would never strike him unless deserved. Dunk had been more than deserving in his youth. His demeanor making him a target for some, gossip for others and a potential mate for those who were braver. And whenever there was a quarrel, his mentor knew he would find Dunk there. Be it in a fight with another square of his age, or with the son of a vendor, Dunk would be there, using the tricks he leaned while in the slums of King's Landing. Any, but no knightly duels, he had said once to Ser Arlan, those are kept for other knights, and those deserving.
Year or two later, Ser Arlan had finally decided to teach him how to wield a weapon. Unable to keep him away from his nature as an alpha and as a beast, he had given him a greatsword and had instructed him how to use it. As previously stated, even at the age of ten and two Dunk had been bigger than alphas his age.
The greatsword as uncomfortable as it had seemed in his hands then, would serve him great in the future.
A man his size needs a weapon that he can wield, had said Ser Arlan on one bright morning, a weapon that can protect and serve the realm and it's people. Since that day onward, Dunk had learned the art of the sword, the art of the squire as well as how to control that which he was born with.
He no longer lost his footing and turned part beast part man, no longer angered as easy, for no realm and no people want a knight who cannot protect himself.
And so came the day of grief, as one had said many moons ago, happiness is but a fleeting thing. One day Ser Arlan had mentioned a pain in his chest, no more than a week later at the age of ten and seven, Dunk had held the burial service of his former mentor, inspiration and found father. Ser Arlan of Pennytree had left him three horses, his armor, sword and a great hollow pain in his heart. With no one to bear witness he had knighted young Dunk and passes in his sleep the same night.
And with no one to bear witness, Dunk had become a beast once again and for the first time had taken flight.
Lost in his grief and sorrow the great bronze being had flown all night, roaring and with his voice, so loud and so thunderous that some who heard it faintly would speak of it for years to come. Small folk claimed to have seen a giant shadow on some mountains, others have said to have found whole hills on fire, yet none were sure of what had been. They did not know it yet, but for the first time they have seen the wrath of a dragon, and as word spread it reached far.
Far enough to reach a certain someone all the way to Summerhall.
A prince who by birth right should have had a dragon.
After finding the calmness in himself once again, Dunk had gathered all his worldly possessions and had decided to travel to Ashford, join the tourney to make coin, maybe find some lord to take him and finally be a proper knight. On one of the days where he would ride, a stableboy no older than nine had caught his interest, and as fate would have it, the boy, of whom he then had not known the name of, Egg followed him to Ashford in his shabby camp, withing to become his squire. Seeing the frail small figure, Dunk had been unable to refuse.
On the other side of the Ashford tournament, in the royal quarters Prince Aerion Targaryen had been bored out of his mind, begged by his father Maekar Targaryen to join the tourney in hopes of finding him a suitable mate. The omega of ten and seven had not cared for tournaments, mates or anything else after hearing the rumors of a great flying beast who's call had been heard from miles away.
It must have been a dragon, he had told his father and uncle, we must send people to search and find it all at once.
But none had listened to the princeling, for they knew of his madness and thirst to have that which had gone extinct many years ago.
His uncle, Baelor, had firmly put his foot down and forbade him from such foolish acts, lest the folk and lords learn of the foolishness of the Targaryen blood, searching for something they themselves had destroyed. Unable to argue with them, Aerion had gone to the tourney. Every man and woman, omega, beta or alpha had known of him and his temper.
Aerion Monstrous they called him, all but one.
On one of the nights during the tourney, after Dunk had met Lyonel Baratheon and had of what he thought, made a friend, he had heard of a puppet show. Excitedly he had gone there, for he had no such Luxurieties in Flea Bottom. There he saw the puppeteer, Tanselle and her magnificent work. Unable to move his eyes, enchanted by the dragon made of wood before him, Dunk failed to notice when Aerion Targaryen had walked into the tent.
Still watching the play in front of him, speechless.
Was he too such a monster when the beast took over, would people fear him and fight him as well?
But tonight at the Ashford Meadow was not the night when Dunk would think such thoughts, for seconds later Tanselle would be on the ground and a man of silver hair and purple eyes would be shouting over her for treason. Her hand would be bend and so would her fingers. The man above her would continue to assault her, that is until Dunk intervened and punched him straight in the jaw, sending him falling backwards.
All who had been in the tent then had left, save for Dunk, Tanselle, Egg and the man of silver hair.
"Seize him at once!"
Dunk was grabbed by his arms and made to kneel.
"Do you know what you've just done, you oaf?", asked the man.
Dunk could not help but notice how beautiful he was even with blood dripping down his lips and chin. A sudden panic overtook him as he felt the sudden pull in his chest. An unforgiving headache and a blurry vision reminded him of something he long hoped to forget –
"looks upon you… silver flame…the beast within you will know…"
Before Dunk could say something, the man before him grabbed him my the hair and tugged it backwards to expose his face.
"I am Aerion Brightflame Targaryen, son of Maekar Targaryen, son of the King of the Seven Kingdoms Daeron II Targaryen! You dare lay your common hands on me and strike me? I will have you hanged by your tongue for touching the blood of the dragon. "
Dunk was never good with words, and before he could think, he felt himself already speaking.
"And yet here you stand with no dragon m'lord. "
The slap he felt on his cheek was nothing compared to Ser Arlan's but it still stung. The look on the prince's face was another thing that brought pain on Dunk, for why he did not know. Aerion looked half mad and on the verge of tears, and had Dunk been a lesser man he would've reached out and comforted the prince.
Seven above, he might have been a beggar, a commoner, a squire, a knight, but at the end of it all he was a man. And when such a beautiful person like Aerion Brightflame Targaryen had all but grazed the side of his face with his hand, Dunk knew he would do anything that this man had wanted him to. Be it to slay someone, or keep him company in his chambers, Dunk would do anything to feel his touch again. In retrospect many would call him a fool gone mad, for even thinking such of the prince, but within Aerion's angered look was something else, curiosity. Such a primal emotion could not be ignored easily, and Dunk again spoke with no thought before it.
"My Prince–"
Aerion struck him again. This time with more power behind it.
"Silence, boor! You dare interrupt me, dare strike one of the royal blood and then have the nerve to speak. I will spare you the misery and will have your head instead of a hand and a foot! Guards!"
Even as he knew the grave situation he was in, all Dunk could see was Aerion. The damn witch was right, Dunk would die for this man if he so wished for it. The beast within him had gone wild. The alpha could already feel the scales on his arms. His back hurt from where the jagged edges of dragon skin were trying to come out. Yet he could not look away from those captivating purple eyes. If only he could free himself from the guards holding him down and get to the prince. Dunk would devour him whole. He would pin him down in front of everyone and show them how a beast takes a man and claims him. He would burn the entirety of Ashford so none could gaze upon Aerion's beauty, save for himself. Aerion would thrive in both pleasure and pain and Dunk would savor everything he could like a man starved.
Seven above he has to have him.
He needs him.
"My Prince… Please–"
His plea fell on deaf ears.
"I said silence!"
The young Targaryen royalty refused to hear him at all. Dunk felt every word Aerion said and drank it up, listened to each and every syllable, focused on the way his mouth would open and how his tongue danced inside of it. How his lips would pout like an upset child. Dunk wanted to eat him whole.
One of the guards holding him down reached on his side and took out his sword. It was now or never, Dunk had to either beg to be spared or accept the fate he had brought to himself mere minuted ago.
Or, he thought, I can take him now.
Kill the men behind him, and make a run for it with the prince in his hands. He would be upset, would scream and try to attack him, but Dunk is stronger. He could easily overpower him and after that he would calm him down, there would be no other choice. After that he would claim him. It did not matter if Aerion was an alpha or a beta, as long as he was his.
Pulled out of his thought by a sharp gasp, Dunk noticed the silence around him, save for a deep beastly growl coming from himself. He had taken his fantasies too far and now the beast inside of him could barely be contained. He tried to breathe, but could not calm himself enough to will it away. He would die tonight like a dog.
"Guards! Release him by order of Prince Aegon Targaryen! Release him immediately!"
Dunk looked up, his squire Egg had spoken. Poor child must've gone mad in his fear and tried the impossible. Yet against all odds the guards let him go and Dunk slumped on the ground.
The boy ran up to him and tried to help him up, when he saw the state that his companion was in. Dunk had to give it to him, Egg, now apparently Aegon, did not frighted when he saw him, or at least held himself together.
Smiling softly at the boy, Dunk's gaze fell upon Aerion's again. He was furious, shocked and there was something else. Something so well masked you would not notice if your eyes did not bore into Aerion's like Dunk's were.
Fear.
The prince had seen the dragon.
Aerion Targaryen knew what Dunk had wanted at that moment. He gazed at the beast and the beast gazed back.
In his post primal haze, Dunk missed what was said between the brothers as well the arrival of the third brother, Daeron, he did not however miss the way the second oldest kept looking him in the eyes. The alpha knew they had changed, could feel shift in his vision.
Royal purple eyes locked on slit silver ones.
The older prince was still demanding his head for hurting one of the king's blood. Egg, now Aegon, could not deny his demands for he was in his birthright. They were arguing amidst the people looking and whispering around them. Dunk could not stand it anymore, he just needed everyone to leave and to be left alone with Aerion.
He knew that could not happen, the princeling had at the least two guards following him around at all times, so if he could not be alone with him, he could at least speak directly to him. This time uninterrupted. A sudden and searing voice boomed over everyone, silencing the three royals still arguing.
" If you wish to have my life, my prince, I will gladly let you try to take it fair. I demand a Trial of The Seven, let the Gods decide if I am guilty or innocent…"
"Very well. " Spoke Aerion, "I get to kill you with my own too hands. "
Turned around, prepared to leave he spoke once again.
"You dare demand like a royal, but you do not realize where I stand and where you will kneel. I will either have you dead, or chained. There is something you hide, and I will know it all. I will tame you Ser Duncan The Tall, whether you want it or not. "
Dunk had lied, he was a lesser man, for the word the prince spoke did not evoke fear, but something more dangerous.
After Aerion and Daeron left, the knight and his squire sat in silence for a few seconds, before getting ready to leave.
Egg broke the awkward atmosphere first.
"Ser Duncan, we are in great trouble…"
Dunk smiled solemnly, and put a hand on the cheek that Aerion had struck previously.
"I know. "