Chapter Text
Dunk had expected horses, as anyone does when stepping into a barn.
The smell was right for it, the thick, warm tang of hay and dung, leather and old wood. Even if Summerhall’s outbuildings were grander than anything Dunk had known in his life, stretching long and low beneath a sloping roof of weathered slate, a stable was a stable and he knew horses better than people.
Egg had been detained at the courtyard, speaking with one of the servants about some princely thing or another, and had asked Dunk to wait for him; but Dunk, ever the impatient sort, started to wander on his own. Until he found the barn and stepped in, expecting to meet glossy coats and gentle eyes; but there were no horses inside.
In place of the usual sounds of shifting hooves and soft nickering was only silence, broken only by the faint metallic clink of chains and breathing too soft to belong to a warhorse.
Dunk walked further in and let his eyes adjust to the dim gold of filtered sunlight. For a long moment he simply stared, his mind refusing to make sense of what he saw in front of him.
In the center of the barn, where a stall had been outfitted with sturdy wooden beams, there knelt a young man. He could not have been more than twenty, perhaps a few years younger than Dunk himself judging by his short stature. His hair, short and disshelved, barely reaching his eyebrows, was pure silver, luminous even in the muted light. And his eyes were a deep violet, also strangely luminous, framed by golden lashes. He wore a long cotton shift without sleeves, too coarse and simple for his looks, fitted close to a lean, almost fragile frame. The man’s pale legs, tucked under his weight, were bare too, not even covered by boots or any sort of footwear.
The man was unmistakably beautiful; too beautiful even, otherworldly and unsettling in a way that commanded all attention. But it wasn’t his beauty that had taken Dunk’s breath away.
It was the chains; thick iron shackles biting into his wrists and ankles and a heavy collar circling his slender throat. Each was linked by lengths of chain to iron rings hammered deep into the wooden beams beside him, forcing him to remain on his knees, fixing him in place with no more freedom than a tethered beast.
And as if that wasn’t enough, there was a muzzle over his face. A cruel contraption of leather and metal, strapped tightly around his head and jaw. Broad bands crossed his cheeks and wrapped beneath his chin, while a perforated metal cage covered his mouth and nose, allowing him to breathe but preventing him from opening his mouth more than a fraction. It was the sort of thing one might use on a rabid hound to prevent it from biting people, not on a person, and certainly not on someone who looked so soft and frail, like a fallen angel.
Gods. What in the Seven Hells was this?
He had heard whispers in his youth about the excesses of highborn lords and their peculiar pleasures behind closed doors. Could this be some twisted game? Did Egg’s family indulge in such cruelties behind the walls of Summerhall?
The thought made bile rise in his throat. Surely, that was not the case. But then, why would anyone do this to a man?
Before he had fully decided to move, he was already striding forward, boots crunching on straw. The young man’s violet eyes lifted slowly to meet his, blank and distant, as though he were looking through Dunk rather than at him.
“Don’t worry, ser,” Dunk said, his voice low and gentle as he dropped to one knee beside the chained man. “I’m going to take these chains off you.”
The muzzled man simply watched him with that same empty, uncomprehending stare as Dunk reached for the manacle on his left wrist and began working at the locking mechanism with his fingers, tugging and twisting with determined strength. The iron was heavy, cold, and unforgiving in his hands, and the captive’s skin was rubbed raw, marred by red circular welts where the iron had bitten too deeply.
Dunk had nearly worked the first pin free when the barn door slammed open.
“Ser Duncan! No!” Egg’s voice cracked with panic as he came sprinting inside, breathless, eyes wide with alarm. “Don’t free him!”
Dunk’s head snapped up, confused and momentarily enraged that his squire would stop him from freeing a man from such depravity.
“Egg! This is barbaric and he’s suffering!”
“But he’s dangerous, Ser!”
“Dangerous how?” Dunk demanded, still gripping the chain. “What has he done to deserve being chained and muzzled like this? It’s inhuman!”
“He’s killed people, Ser!” Egg said quickly, chest heaving. “He set his own chambers on fire and burned one of our servants alive! He threw my cat into a well and would’ve broken my neck if Ser Donnel hadn’t risked his life to save me!”
“Oh,” Dunk said, after a moment. That was quite a list.
Still, he glanced back at the silver-haired youth kneeling so miserably in his bonds. The raw skin beneath the manacles, the way the heavy collar forced his head slightly forward, the humiliating muzzle pressing into his beautiful face; it stirred something fierce and protective in Dunk’s chest, despite all the crimes Egg just said he had committed.
“If he’s done all that,” Dunk said slowly, “why not keep him in a proper cell like any other criminal? Why chain him here in a barn like some beast?”
Egg’s face twisted with discomfort. “Because…he’s a Targaryen prince. And my father loves him.”
“What?” Dunk didn’t know if he was more shocked at hearing the muzzled man was a prince or that a Targaryen’s definition of love was to keep a man chained and muzzled like a dog inside a barn.
“He’s Aerion,” Egg said reluctantly, as if the very name pained him. “My brother.”
Dunk rocked back on his heels, stunned. “That makes even less sense. Why would you treat your own blood like this? Like an animal?”
“Because he is one,” Egg replied flatly.
“Egg, that’s not a nice thing to say!”
“No, Ser. I meant it literally.” The boy exhaled. “Haven’t you noticed?”
“Noticed what?”
Egg let out an exasperated breath. “He’s not entirely human.”
Dunk frowned and looked down at the kneeling man. He looked human. Strange, yes, otherworldy even, with that silver hair shining like moonlight on water and those luminous lilac eyes shining like some precious stones. And beneath the leather straps, Dunk could easily imagine a face of such refined beauty that bards would love to immortalize in their songs.
“He looks human enough to me,” Dunk said with conviction.
“Look at his back.”
Dunk hesitated, feeling strangely awkward about circling the bound, helpless man to inspect him like livestock. Egg rolled his eyes in exasperation.
“He has wings, Ser. Dragon wings.”
Dunk’s eyebrows shot upward. “Dragon wings? He’s… a dragon?”
The notion was absurd. Dragons had been gone for generations; something even Dunk, who had grown up in Flea Bottom with more rats than books, knew were the stuff of history and songs.
“Not a full dragon, obviously,” Egg said while rolling his eyes. “He’s a half-dragon.”
Dunk only stared at him. Egg threw up his hands. “Just look, ser! I’m not jesting!”
Still doubtful, Dunk turned his gaze to the kneeling prince. He cleared his throat, cheeks flushing with awkward courtesy.
“May I…um…look at your wings, my prince?”
Behind him, Egg sighed loudly. “Just go look, Ser. He’s little more than a dumb animal. You don’t need to ask his permission. It’s not like he can even understand you or say anything if he could.”
The casual cruelty in the boy’s voice sparked anger in Dunk’s chest. Even if the prince was a criminal and not entirely human, he still had a man’s shape, and there was intelligence in his eyes, even if they appeared a little cloudy and distant as if in a trance. Egg should’ve known better than to dehumanize anyone like this; least of all, his own brother.
Reluctantly, Dunk stepped around behind Aerion with a muttered apology. And then he gasped loudly. There, at the man’s shoulder blades, pushing through slits in the coarse tunic, were wings.
Not the great, fearsome things of legend, but delicate, bat-like structures, their thin membranes stretched between fine, bony struts. The skin was sleek, faintly translucent and obsidian-black, shot through with veins of deep crimson and molten gold. They trembled faintly at Dunk’s inspection, as though sensitive to every shift of air.
“These are dragon wings?” Dunk breathed, a smile tugging at his mouth despite himself. “But they’re so small and…cute.”
Aerion snarled, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through his chest, and lunged himself at Dunk as far as the chains allowed, jaws straining uselessly against the muzzle.
“Easy, easy!” Dunk said quickly, raising his hands. “I didn’t mean it as an insult, little dragon.”
The half-dragon growled again, lilac eyes flashing with unmistakable fury as he struggled against his chains, causing the metal to dig even more forcefully into his skin.
“Ser, stop antagonizing him,” Egg warned. “If he weren’t muzzled, he would have set your entire face on fire just now.”
“Fire?” Dunk gulped.
“Yes, fire. That’s one of the two reasons the muzzle is there.”
Dunk stared at Aerion with new wonder, his initial horror slowly giving way to raw fascination. The prince was miserable, there was no denying the humiliation in his captivity and the way the heavy chains forced his small frame into such undignified submission. Yet there was also something powerful and elegant about him. Dunk found himself fighting the absurd urge to reach out and stroke that soft-looking hair, to soothe the creature who looked so strangely powerful and so terribly broken at the same time.
“What other dragon traits does he have?” Dunk asked, instead of giving in to the urge to pet the half-dragon and evoke more of his ire.
Egg shrugged. “That’s mostly it. He can’t speak in human language, just whines and growls like a beast. Though Father thinks he may have burned his own vocal cords with his fire long ago.”
“That must have hurt,” Dunk winced in sympathy, gaze softening further. “Does his own fire harm him?”
“It’s only a theory, Ser. He can’t tell us. And even if it does hurt, it hasn’t stopped him from using it to burn our poor servants.”
Dunk’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean he can’t tell you? Surely there are other ways to communicate? Writing, gestures…?”
“Ser, he’s a half-dragon. He doesn’t know human language. He can’t write. And with his hands always shackled, he can’t use gestures, either…” Egg pointed to the manacles with exasperation, as if Dunk was being purposefully obtuse.
“But this is cruel, Egg,” Dunk said, voice thick with irritation. His eyes traced the angry red marks on Aerion’s wrists where the iron had worn the skin raw. “How do you even know he doesn’t understand us? He reacted when I called his wings small, didn’t he?”
“He understands simple things. Like a dog might. But not complex sentences. You think we haven’t tried? My father spent years attempting to teach him, to make him more man than beast, but it all failed. He may look like us, but his mind is dragon.”
Dunk’s heart ached as he looked at the beautiful, chained figure. Surely there was a better way to care for a half-dragon than to keep him chained and isolated in a damn barn! If Aerion were his, he would treat him kinder. He would care for him and make sure he was happy; well, whatever happiness meant for a half-dragon, Dunk would do everything in his power to provide it. Gods, he wanted to take the man in his arms; to remove those offensive chains off his delicate wrists and ankles and bathe the irritated skin with cool water and salve. He wanted to take off that horrible muzzle and see what true expressions and beauty lay beneath the metal cage.
His hands moved of their own accord, reaching toward the nearest manacle.
“Ser, stop. Please.” Egg’s voice was urgent. “I know what you’re thinking, but believe me, this is the best place for him. Since Father brought him to the barn, he’s been calmer. Less likely to hurt himself or others. It’s for the best.”
Dunk shook his head. “You can’t convince me this is the best environment for him. He may have dragon traits, but he’s half-human too. Is this the best place for any part of him that’s human?”
“It’s the best compromise,” Egg insisted, again in a tone that suggested he was more mature and intelligent than Dunk. “It is better than the dark cell we tried before. He went feral there, tried to kill himself. At least here he has light and more stuff to look at. He… seems to like it here, we think.”
“You think? Have you tried asking him about it? Oh, wait, he actually can’t talk because you’ve put a damn muzzle on him!”
Dunk didn’t know where the sneer and the bitter tone came from; it was not like him to be venemous when talking to anyone, least of all Egg, who was just a child, and a good one at that, too, the current situation aside. But there was no part in him, not even a tiny little bit, that had sided with Egg’s family regarding Aerion’s condition. And weren’t Targaryens known for their obsession with dragons? Shouldn’t they be celeberating Aerion, putting him on a pedestal and parade him around town instead of hiding him away in a barn like a shameful secret?
“Ser, just let it go,” Egg sounded tired, and also a little chastised by Dunk’s tone, but his eyes were still incensed with conviction that what his family had done to his brother was justified. “Aerion has already brought my family enough grief, driving my father mad with guilt. He doesn’t need you to remind him of all the hard decisions he had to make to keep Aerion alive and harmless. My grandsire had ordered to have Aerion beheaded after he nearly killed our cousin, Valarr, but father begged for his life. He nearly lost the King’s favor for it. He loves Aerion, Ser, believe me he does. Mayhaps even more than anyone, seeing as he is allowing him to live and risk all our lives. So, please, just let it go.”
Dunk let out a deep, pained sigh. There was nothing he could do for the chained half-dragon right now. But he would come back for him, and he would do his damndest to free him from his chains.
“Can I come visit him again?”
Egg’s face fell with clear resignation. “It’s best if you don’t, Ser. But…I’ll accept this compromise if you promise me you will never try to free him. Do you promise, Ser Duncan?”
Dunk’s jaw tightened. In his mind, he was already thinking of a way to free Aerion. For now, though, he had no choice but to accept Egg’s terms if he wanted to keep his trust and be allowed to see Aerion next time.
“I promise,” he lied without any shame or guilt. Lying wasn’t an honorable thing for a knight, but the less honorable thing was to abondon Aerion to his misery.
He turned back to the kneeling prince, whose violet eyes watched him with that same blank yet strangely compelling intensity. For the briefest moment, Dunk thought he saw a faint spark of interest flicker deep within them, measuring and appraising him and finding him something.
“I’ll come see you again, Aerion,” he said softly. “All right?”
The half-dragon gave no reaction, only continued to stare at him with those luminous eyes.
It took every ounce of Dunk’s willpower to turn and walk out of the barn, leaving the silver-haired man to his small, isolated world. Outside, the sun shone brightly over Summerhall’s green fields, and a cool breeze brushed across his face like a gentle apology. Egg slipped his small hand into Dunk’s larger one and looked up with a tentative smile, as if to say his knight had made the right choice.
Dunk wasn’t sure anything about this was right at all.