Chapter Text
The tree I took cover under barely hid me from the rain, and I felt my clothes become soaked; gods, I should’ve gotten a room at that Inn. I debated transforming, if only to keep myself warm, but the threat of someone seeing my dragon form held me back. I wished I had stayed in Essos, as the weather was almost always clear, and the chance of being recognized was far lower. Even Dorne would’ve been more optimal than these dank lands; a huge drop of water crashes through the leaves above me, soaking my hair and causing some of the freshly applied dye to run down my face.
I wiped the black liquid from my face, cursing at the thought of my hair looking like a spotted chicken’s feathers again. I could still hear the giggling of the local whores when I had last gotten more dye. I really needed to find a better kind, as this one only seemed to maintain the desired color for a few weeks. In fact, I was sure I had spent more on this stupid dye than on all the food and hay I had bought for myself and Kline over the last year.
The realization served only to further my foul mood. Wiping more of the bleeding black dye from my face, I checked my sack to see if I had any of the coloring left. I didn’t. By the time this storm would pass, the dye would probably be entirely gone, and my hair would once again return to its natural white color. The thought of being mistaken for a Targaryen bastard made me curse once again as I put the sack onto my lap to hopefully at least avoid the mud ruining my feKw possessions.
Kline snorted and stamped his hooves, clearly as displeased with this weather as I was. “I know. You hate the rain even more than I.” Standing up, I swung the sack over my shoulder and adjusted Suneater, my Valyrian steel sword that I had acquired back during my adventures in Essos, before making my way to Kline and gently stroking him. His beautiful brown fur glistened from the rain, and his darker mane made him resemble a beautiful Dornish woman. He was by far one of the most majestic beings I had ever had the pleasure of meeting.
Honestly, I spoiled this beast more than I did myself, making sure he always got clean water and the best food I could afford. It was strange, how much I made a note to avoid other people, and yet so willingly let animals-who had far shorter lives-into my orbit. Perhaps I found it easier to release them from my thoughts, since I couldn’t form as deep a connection with them. I hummed in contemplation as Kline nickered happily under my touch.
“Will I cry when you die?” I mused aloud; all my former horses I’d sold before they had gotten too old, but with Kline, I doubted I would ever be able to bring myself to do such a thing. Although I also doubted I would have any tears for him when I did inevitably leave him behind in the dirt. A ripple of lightning accompanied by the roar of thunder ripped across the sky, startling Kline, who jerked under my hand. Unbothered, I calmed the beast and glanced up to the sky. I wondered if my older sister, Visenya, was gazing down at me, still enraged over my deceit all these years later. The promise, or rather oath, I’d sworn to her on her deathbed, was still heavy on my tongue.
The halls of Dragonstone had always felt suffocating, as if it sought to crush me in between its jaws and drink up my blood and guts. I wished I had refused King Aegon Targaryen’s command all those years ago to live within that depressing tomb. Unfortunately, he never understood my distaste for it, as it was his ancestral home.
I remember the stink of filth and sickness that had assaulted me when I entered my sworn sister’s and lover’s chambers. She was alone, save for a few maesters. Maegor, her son, and the boy we had raised together had left for the Westerlands, intent on crushing the uprising from his unworthy nephew, who opposed his claim; Aegon Targaryen, grandson of my sworn brother, Aegon the Conqueror, and son of King Aenys I. I recalled how Visenya and Maegor had always dismissed the young prince due to his lack of a dragon, never considering he’d simply waited to claim one, just as his uncle Maegor had before him. I imagined the pure fury Maegor had felt upon discovering his nephew had stolen King Aneys’ old dragon, Quicksilver, from right under his nose.
I had shooed the maesters from the room and had held my sister’s infected hand as she struggled to breathe. “Vyral…I’d thought you wouldn’t come.” The idea that Visenya, the sister, the queen, and the lover that I had grown with, trained with, and fought with, would now think that I had abandoned her sickened me. How many times had I lied for her, fought for her, killed for her? Even now, I planned to march to King's Landing to support her son, despite all that he’s done.
“Of course I came, sister, did you really think I’d let you die alone?” Visenya’s blinded and deformed eyes couldn’t even find me in the small chamber, searching desperately as if unsure if I was truly there or just a disembodied voice. I gently squeezed her hand to help her understand I was being true when I said I had come for her.
“...Will you side with Maegor?” I urged my voice not to crack as I spoke; however, my body didn’t heed the command. “Sister…how could you think I wouldn’t? I raised that boy with you, and-and I know he can be a great king, a strong ruler who will bring prosperity for the rest of our brother’s dynasty.” The lies tasted disgusting on my tongue.
Visenya, with the few vestiges of her strength, reached her arm up and gently gripped my bicep. Her lips curled into a placid smile, “I knew you would, my love. We raised him to be strong, a king, together after all, didn’t we?” Visenya erupted into a fit of coughs, blood, and a strange green liquid I had seen once before when Rhaenys, the younger of my two sisters, Aegon’s second wife, and the rider of Meraxes, had also been awaiting death. “You won’t fail me, will you? You won’t fail him, I’m sure.” The strange liquid dripped from her lips as she spoke, staining the beautiful white sheets. I felt like a drowning dog, trapped and helpless in the face of my sister’s expectations. I knew it was wrong; Maegor wasn’t in line for the throne, and he wasn’t a good king, not even a good man. “Visenya, sister, please, save your strength, Maegor yet still make it to say goodbye.” I kept to myself the fact that Maegor couldn't care less that his mother lay here dying, his gaze was set too heavily on the twisted metal chair his father and I had crafted during our Conquest.
The strength had left Visenya by then, as the sickness reached her lungs and heart, forcing every breath to be more laboured than the last. I couldn’t bear the sight; Visenya was one of the strongest warriors I’d ever known. She’d won more battles than even our brother, and she’d been just as central in shaping Maegor into the brilliant fighter he was as I’d been. Yet now, she lay here alone and too weak to even smile. Except, I could also not deny the justice in such a fate. I loved Visenya, and I loved the boy we had raised together. But I wasn’t fool enough to say I was proud of either of them, or their decisions.
How many women had Maegor abused? How many men had he killed and tortured? And how many times had Visenya turned a blind eye, or even encouraged it? I wasn’t innocent, far from it, but at least I left when Maegor had begun burning children. And even now, with the last ounce of her strength, Visenya cursed me once more, she cursed me to stand by her son’s side, as she had done, and encourage him and help him and tell him he was a true king, just like his father, my brother.
I felt the stones of the wall next to me crack under the power of my punch, the small pieces of stone mixing with my blood. I felt the dragon-fire in my blood boil and pulsate underneath my skin. She had no right, no right to claim Maegor had even a sliver of the greatness of Aegon, and no right to ask me to do the same.
For a moment, when I gazed down at Visenya, I wondered if she was dead, until, with barely a whisper, she spoke, “Vyral? Vyral, my love? Are you still here, or have you left?” I could hear the terrible quiver in the proud woman’s chest, “Have you left along with my sister and brother, have you abandoned me with Rhaenys and Aegon?” Then, with a voice that was barely perceptible, “Have you left my son? My sweet boy?”
I couldn’t will my eyes to meet hers as I spoke, “Of course I haven’t, Visenya, I…I would never, I love that boy, just as you do.” She let out a relieved sigh that sounded more like a guttural gasp as the sickness further infected her lungs. “So you will stand with him? With the boy we raised?” Guilt dug its cruel claws into my chest as I spoke, “...Of course, my love.”
She opened her mouth, mayhaps to thank me, perhaps to ask another impossible task of me, but as she did so, the green sludge poured from her throat, and she drowned upon it before I could even move. The maesters had been quick to clean up the mess and hide the body, not wanting anyone to see the Dowager Queen in such a meek and grotesque state. I was grateful for that; my sister ought not be remembered for the terrible way she died when she had lived a life grander than most.
Another thunderclap brought me back to the present, as I once again had to calm Kline. Suddenly, a bird, most likely a raven, from the flash of black feathers I saw, whipped past us, once more startling Kline. Cursing, I glared up at the bird as it flew away, confused as to why a random bird would even be trying to fly through this storm. However, as I continued to watch it fly, my eye caught something off in the horizon. A man, a giant man, carrying what appeared to be another’s corpse in his arms. Shit, had he killed him?
I quickly ran through my options: I could feed my curiosity and go investigate, or I could do the smart thing and mind my business; unfortunately, my body acted first, choosing the fool’s choice. I tied Kline to the oak I had been using as a shelter and commanded him to watch over my sack. Placing my hand on the hilt of Suneater, I made my way over to the neighboring hill.
I comforted myself with the fact that I was confident I could defeat any murderous commonman, enormous or not, especially since the man had no armour. Coming to the top of his hill, I made sure to keep the giant elm between the two of us, analyzing the man now that I had a better view of him. He was incredibly huge, both in tallness and muscle mass, even more so than I had previously predicted. He appeared to be praying over the body, which he had also buried with quiet respect, suggesting he was more likely a family member or squire to the man who had died, rather than his killer. I looked over the three horses the distracted giant man had tied to the tree, and to be fair to this extremely poor-looking man, they appeared to be very fine stallions. Mayhaps he had a similar mentality as I did when it came to taking care of your animal companions before yourself.
Still unsure about the man and not wanting to disturb his private mourning, I remained behind the tree, calming his horses so as not to alert him. I also made sure to slick back my hair and pull my hood forward as far as I could to hide my, most likely, whitish hair. Taking the moment to further observe the man, I couldn’t help but admire his physique more. His shoulders were nearly perfectly sculpted, and his back appeared equally as impressive, as the rain made his patchy shirt cling to him, allowing me to see the rippling muscles.
Nothing about him was all that special besides that, as he had simple dirty blonder hair that appeared closer to a poorly maintained mop then real locks, and his tan skin appeared somehow dirty even with the rain- wait, I froze, the realization that I was standing here in the pouring rain watching this random peasant like a creep, hitting like a lance to the face. What the fuck is wrong with me? Was I that lonely that I took to people-watching now? Shaking my head, I turned to leave before I was caught. Alas, the gods with their sick sense of humor had other ideas. “Wait! Who’re you?”
Motherfucker. I slowly turned my head, watching as the clumsy giant stumbled over to me, his hand placed on a longsword held to his waist by a rope. Shit, maybe he wasn’t a squire, but a hedge knight, actually, not maybe, he was a hedge knight giving the sword and shield he was currently holding. Fine. I needed to face the consequences of my choices sooner or later.
“My apologies, ser, I saw you from across the valley,” I gesture over to my own oak tree, which reminds me that I’ve left Kline and all my things save Suneater unprotected for nearly an hour now. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, truly. In fact, if you’re willing to be so forgiving, I was just about to leave.” I lightly bowed, hoping to appeal to the man’s ego and get out of this conversation.
“Oh, oh no, ser! You’re a knight, you shan’t need to bow to someone like me.” I straightened myself back up, confused at the embarrassed expression the oaf was currently wearing. “Aren’t you as well?” “A what as well?” Was this man actually not a knight? “A knight?” Somehow, the giant got even redder, shaking his head vigorously, as he shouted, “No! Wait, I mean, no, I am, I mean my- I mean Ser Arlan of Pennytree knighted me recently, ser!” He straightened his spine and lifted his chin, as if to look more “knightly”; he simply appeared ridiculous.
I hummed thoughtfully, so I was partly right, this man had been a squire to the man he was burying-Ser Arlan?-until recently, which also explained why the boy was greener than the grass beneath us. “Well, good to know, I hope you have a prosperous knighthood then, ser…?” “Ser Dunk!” Why was he still shouting? Even outside in the middle of a storm, he was being far too loud, or were people normally like that in this new era? And I had been too self-isolated to learn of it?
“Alright, Ser Dunk, well, I hope you succeed in the future.” Now, what he was going to succeed at as a hedge knight who probably hadn’t been taught piss, I wasn’t sure, but as long as the affirmation got me back to my solitude, I didn’t really care. “Thank you, ser.” I waved as I walked off; however, before I could even make it three steps, I heard the hedge knight call after me. “Wait, I-I’m sorry to bother you anymore, M’lord, but you didn’t give me your name?”
I turned, ready to tell him off for further bothering me, until I was met with the saddest eyes I had ever seen. His blue eyes, which were bluer than I had first realized, nearly luminous even in the misty grey of the storm, had a quiet pleading in them that pulled at something in my chest, and reminded me of Kline whenever he got spooked by something. And there was something about that thought that I couldn’t shake, so I relented, “Ser Hyler.” The huge oaf, still with those weirdly sad blue eyes, nodded his head, once again reminding me of a horse. Honestly, I didn’t think I was uneducated in the ways of society anymore; I was more confident that this man was just queer. I awkwardly nodded back to him before finally escaping the strange encounter.
By the time I reached my stuff and Kline, the rain had all but stopped. I doubly checked my sack out of a paranoid fear someone had come and stolen something while I was gone. It was foolish considering it had been raining, and I had nothing of value anyway, but I still checked. Assured that nothing was gone, I prepared Kline for the journey ahead of us. I was thinking of traveling to the Vale, if not only to see those towering peaks I’d used to fly around for sport back when I could safely transform.
I felt my entire body twitch at the idea of taking to the skies in my dragon form as I did back when other wild dragons still occasionally roamed the skies. Sadly, after the Dance of Dragons- a civil war between two raging Targaryen factions- had nearly killed all of the dragons, and later caused the rest to die out, I had been unable to fly without generating much suspicion.
Additionally, it had been nearly as long since I saw any of my draconic-kin as the last time had been the Battle Above the Gods Eye, as the commonfolk called it, where I had witnessed the old she-dragon Vhagar and her rider, whose name I had never learned, clashing in a dance above the cool, clear waters. They had been locked in combat with another raging prince, whom I’d heard terrible things about, an older man who rode a long-necked red dragon, whom I also had never bothered to learn the name of.
Both had been terrorizing the smallfolk and were equally dishonorable, which is why I’d lost no sleep upon seeing both send each other to their graves; however, I did mourn the dragons; I’d wished they hadn’t had to die alongside their masters. Especially Vhagar; I still remember flying alongside her and my elder sister Visenya during the Conquest and afterwards. In fact, one of those many times we had flown together was when we had been raising Prince Maegor together on Dragonstone.
Kline knickered, reminding me to hurry up, “Fine, you impatient whore.” I chuckled and mounted him, urging him forward northeast towards the Vale. I loved the slow trot of a horse; the sound pleased me, it moved fast enough for me to feel as if I were actually making good distance, and most importantly, it gave me time to observe the countryside.
Aegon had never understood how I could enjoy both the adrenaline high of intense combat and the calm of nature. And I’d never really given him a true answer, but in my opinion, it was simply due to my twoselves: the dragon in me that burned for fire and blood, and the immortal who longed for a quiet journey.
Even after meeting Aegon, Visenya, Rhaenys, and later Maegor, and many more interesting people during my time in Westeros, I still looked back on my first hundred years of existence in Essos with the most fondness. Likely due to the constant surprises I faced every day, as granted, I still found the occasional unique wonder here, but it was nothing like it was back then. For when I knew nothing, everything I discovered seemed more interesting and life-changing than the last. It was also then that I first discovered my ability to transform into a mighty dragon, which I still consider to be the happiest day of my life.
Focusing back on the landscape around me, I watch as a family of ducks traverses a pond, and later I see a rock that resembles a big tittied whore, which greatly amused me. I also saw a few people on the road, whom I mostly avoided, partly because human interaction had grown very strange to me, and also because I’d yet to fix my hair.
It wasn’t as white as I’d feared it would end up, as luckily, the dye had some time to dry before it had gotten too wet, so now it was just a mild grey. Though I still didn’t like that, as it made me resemble an old man.
It was a few hours into my journey when I heard a voice call out to me, a familiar and partly unwelcome one, “Ser Hyler?” I sigh, before slowing Kline, and turning to face Ser Dunk. I needed to tell him how foolish a name that was. “We met again, Ser Dunk. Mayhaps I ask what brings you this way?” Be polite, I reminded myself, even if he was a hedge knight, so was I, technically, making it hypocritical to treat him any less than I would prefer myself to be treated.
He gave me a cheeky grin, “Probably the same as you, M’lord, the tourney at Ashford?” There was a tourney happening at Ashford? How was I this disconnected from the goings on of the world? I didn’t know whether to be impressed or annoyed with myself. “Yes, I was planning on attending that.” Wait, why did I just say that?! No, I wasn’t; in fact, I made it a special note to stay away from tourneys.
Unfortunately, the dragon in me disagreed with that rationality, excited at the thought of jousting and the fresh smell of blood. “Really? Well then, mayhaps we can travel together, ser?” What? Why did he want to travel with me? We had only just met, and not at the best of times either, could he be playing a jab? No, I may not be the best with people, but I can tell this man wouldn’t be able to make a jest out of another even if he wished to.
“I suppose. It is always better to have friends than not.” “Of course, M’lord!” Dunk shook his head vigorously, similarly to before, making me wonder if it was some kind of twitch or uncontrollable thing. Otherwise, why would he be risking his neck and spine just to over-enthusiastically say “yes”? I fell in line with him atop the biggest of his three horses, who he told me was named “Thunder”, and out of proper courtesy, I indulged and told him Kline’s name.
“So, M’lord-” “You can stop calling me ‘My Lord’, ser is fine, I own no lands.” The hedge knight had the decency to be abashed at the correction, once again overdoing his head nods. “You should also stop doing that, shaking your head so eccentrically, I mean, it’s not good for your neck, and it’s undignified.” Dunk grew redder and nearly burst into those same head nods before catching himself, “My apologies, Mil-I mean, ser. And you're right, it probably is best for me not to injure myself before the tourney.” He chuckled nervously, yet another thing I didn’t understand about him: how a knight of his size and age could act so childish. “So you plan to participate then?”
The hedge knight smiled shyly, which nearly caused me to burst out laughing at the ridiculous sight of him looking like a princess with a crush. “Most likely. What of you, ser? Do you plan to joust?” I shrugged, not wanting to fuel the dragon in my gut that roared to be released, and indulge in the intoxicating violence of a tourney.
“Are you aware of what happens if you lose a joust, Ser Dunk?” He tilted his head in confusion; how did he not know? Was this lunk seriously going to have gone in there thinking he could show up, win some glory, and risk nothing? “When you joust, you put something up for winnings, which means if you lose, you could lose important possessions, for example, horses,” I gestured towards Thunder, “Armour, weapons, gold, or a combination of all. With the only way to get it back being ransom.”
I could see the hesitation in the knight’s face; he clearly didn’t have the money for ransom, and he knew it. He probably, at least hopefully, also knew that to lose any of those things would be the end for his knighthood. “How good are you at sword or lance, Ser Duncan?” He blinked slowly at me, as if befuddled by the simple question, “I-I think I’m good enough with both, ser.” He paused, glancing at me peculiarly, “Why did you call me ‘Duncan’, ser?” Now it was my turn to pause. Was he being sincere? Was his real name really just “Dunk”?
“Oh, my apologies, I had assumed your full name was Duncan, ser.” “Real-Really? Is Dunk not a normal name?” How could I say this kindly? “Nope, in fact, most would likely laugh at such a queer name.” “Well…then you can call me Ser Duncan, if it is better for you, ser.” What? Just like that, he was going to let me call him something new just because I pointed out how foolish his name sounded? If he truly wished to be a knight and beat a lordling in a joust, he needed to grow a little spine…and know how not to get knocked on his arse in the first tilt.