Chapter Text
Dunk already regretted his decision. He had been so confident when talking to Maekar, sure that he had made the right choice. But now, stepping out of the room and hearing the quiet click of the heavy door locking behind him, he couldn’t fathom what had gotten into him.
Maekar had looked so startled, it had made Dunk’s heart stutter. The man had regarded him as if he was out of his mind, yet couldn’t actually do anything against Dunk’s decision. After all, he had offered it in the first place. He had simply nodded with a pinched expression on his face and thrown him out of the room.
Dunk shook his head. At himself, first and foremost. He had never been this bold before, nor had he ever been this confident in himself. Not even at the trial was he entirely convinced that he was doing the right thing. Back then, he had wondered if it would have been better to simply surrender and accept defeat. But just now? Standing in front of Maekar and deciding about his future, no choice seemed more rational.
Only the ever-expanding distance between him and the prince made Dunk come back to his senses. As he fled through the countless corridors, not knowing the way out of Ashford castle, the gravity of his decision became clear to him.
He had ignored all reason, had disregarded Maekar’s silent urging, and had irreversibly sworn his life to House Targaryen. There was no turning back, no way for him to change his mind. It was done.
Dunk was lost. He had turned way too many corners that all looked the same, and has passed just as many identical archways all leading deeper into the castle. Every time he looked out of one of the many windows, Ashford Meadow stretched before him from a slightly different angle, making it impossible for Dunk to determine the right way to turn to get back to the main gate.
With a heavy sigh, he leaned against the wall next to the window he had just looked out of. The weather had cleared over the last hours and sunlight was gleaming through the opening, illuminating the floor in front of it. Ashford Castle was gloomy, its walls made of dark stone draped in curtains that shrouded many of its hallways in eerie shadows. The only sources of light were the occasional chandelier and candlesticks adorning the narrow corridors. Not a single noise permeated the suffocating stillness. Dunk could hear every breath he took, setting him on edge even more than he already was.
Maybe he could find someone’s chambers and ask them for help. Surely they would know the way out. Although, as he thought about it now, it would seem incredibly inappropriate to bother anyone, let alone a noble living in a castle, by knocking on their chamber door.
Dunk cursed inwardly. His options were really starting to run out here.
Just as he was about to disregard any hesitation still coursing though his head, the faint sound of footfalls caught his attention. They were irregular and seemed to be moving quite slowly. The distinct scuffling of a lame leg made Dunk pause.
Fuck. That could only mean-
A moment later, Aerion rounded the corner. He was running his hands through his hair, lightly scratching his head. He froze the second he saw Dunk leaning against the wall, his eyes narrowing.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake”, Aerion cursed, rolling his eyes, “are you stalking me now?”
Aerion was wearing a loose pair of black trousers and a silken red blouse elegantly draped over his muscular shoulders. It should look ridiculous, Dunk thought. And yet…
The colors of House Targaryen made Aerion’s hair look even lighter than it already was and his eyes shimmered in the darkness of the hallway. The cut of his clothes accentuated the shape of his body, making the man look sharp, almost lethal. He reminded Dunk of a snake, cunning and poisonous.
“My apologies, Your Grace”, Dunk mumbled.
He wasn’t keen on starting another argument with the man. Especially now that Dunk could see more clearly that Aerion seemed to still be in quite a bit of pain. He must have taken some milk of the poppy when the two had last met at the clearing, as Aerion looked much worse for wear today.
He was leaning on his left leg heavily, trying to take as much weight off it as possible. The other was tightly bandaged, the fabric bunching up around his thigh.
“Why are you lingering in hallways, oaf?,” Aerion huffed. “The likes of you have no business within castle walls.”
His voice was quiet and smooth as always, yet the expected bite behind his words was missing.
Aerion lifted his hand and leaned it against the nearest wall. It was supposed to look effortless and relaxed, Dunk thought, but the pinched expression between Aerion’s bows betrayed his intentions.
He was in pain and trying to look like he wasn’t.
“Are you alight?”, Dunk asked hesitantly, choosing to ignore Aerion’s question.
He reached a hand out towards Aerion, whose face had become unnaturally pale. Dunk feared the man was going to keel over any second.
“Fine”, Aerion barked, louder than usual. His hand on the wall was full of tension, shaking slightly.
Dunk took a few steps towards the prince, but stopped abruptly when Aerion’s gaze snapped towards Dunk’s. He was met with a sharp glare, almost daring Dunk to take another step forward. He was sure that if he did so, Aerion would punch him straight in the face, whether he was in pain or not.
Worry, it seemed, was not something the prince appreciated.
Dunk cleared his throat, letting his eyes drift over the man in front of him. He did not come any closer.
Dunk should not worry about Aerion anyways. The man was a narcissistic monster who found joy in breaking an innocent woman’s finger and played with the lives of those beneath him. No pity nor empathy should be bestowed upon him.
And yet, Dunk had difficulty looking away.
“Get out of my way,” Aerion snapped as he pushed himself off the wall.
He limped slowly past Dunk, not sparing him a glance.
“Wait,” Dunk blurted out without thinking. The second the word left his mouth, Dunk winced.
Shit. He should not have said that.
By now, Dunk should really know that Aerion did not appreciate any form of command uttered in his direction. He had seen it time and time again during the Trial of Seven and before.
Dunk grit his teeth, anticipating the prince’s wrath.
How come Dunk could go without speaking a word for weeks when on the road, yet when it came to standing in front of Aerion, he could not simply keep his damn mouth shut?
“Excuse me?” Aerion swiftly turned around, eyes blazing with indignation. The quick movement made him wobble a bit. A moment later, he had found his balance again and cocked his head to the side.
He seemed to have forgotten the pain in his leg the second Dunk had spoken.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?”, Aerion hissed, taking a step towards him, his finger pointed straight at Dunk’s forehead.
“I-,” Dunk started, but was immediately interrupted.
“Shut the fuck up!”, Aerion was seething with anger, Dunk realized in surprise.
Dunk had never seen such intense emotions on Aerion. Usually, the man was disconcertingly composed, regarding the people around him with cold indifference. At most, he would huff an annoyed breath or grin wickedly if something amused him. Other than that, little emotion made it past his cold exterior.
Now, though, Aerion was basically vibrating with rage.
Instinctively, Dunk walked backwards, lifting his arms in surrender.
“I apologize, Your Grace. I did not mean to-”
“I don’t care what you meant. Nobody gives orders to a prince of the realm. Nobody.”
Aerion matched Dunk step for step, closing the distance between them quickly.
Irritated, he lifted his head to look at Dunk’s face, one hand gripping the front of Dunk’s shirt harshly. He pulled on the fabric, forcing Dunk to lean forward. They were almost at eye-level now.
“If you ever order me around, I will have your head for it”, Aerion grit out.
“I apologize, My Prince. I wasn’t thinking.”
“You rarely do.”
Dunk couldn’t help the small grin that crept on his face. He was starting to figure Aerion out and was slowly beginning to know what to expect of him.
Did Aerion always use his physical presence as a way to intimidate his opponents? Dunk figured that close proximity to a royal prince would discourage many men from showing disrespect. Gods know that simply being in the same room as Maekar was enough for Dunk to freeze and stutter out words.
Dunk stared into Aerion’s eyes. Up close, their pale color was mesmerizing.
Unlike his father, Aerion’s eyes were a cold shade of violet that seemed almost gray in the dim light of the hallway.
Slowly, Dunk lifted his hand to gently circle Aerion’s wrist. He was still clenching Dunk’s shirt in his hand.
Aerion’s eyes widened.
Carefully, Dunk removed Aerion’s hand from his chest and took a small step back.
“I did not mean any disrespect, Your Grace,” Dunk muttered quietly, “I only meant to ask you for directions.”
Aerion seemed not to have heard him. He was frozen in place, his eyes locked on Dunk’s hand still encircling his wrist. Without meaning to, Dunk’s grip tightened.