duncan's lamb

There were rules to being a daughter of House Tyrell.

Liora had memorized them before she ever understood them.

Walk softly. Speak gently. Smile when spoken to. Do not contradict. Do not wander. Do not be seen where you are not meant to be.

And most importantly;

Do not want things that are not meant for you.

She had followed those rules well enough to be considered a good daughter. Which was unfortunate, because Liora Tyrell did not want to be good, she wanted a sword.

~

The tourney grounds sprawled like a living thing beyond the city walls; bright banners snapping in the wind, crowds thick with laughter and wagers, armor gleaming beneath the afternoon sun. It was loud.

Alive in a way her father’s halls never allowed. Liora watched it all from beneath the shadow of her hood. Cloaked in dark green, face half-hidden, she moved carefully along the outer edges of the crowd. Not too fast, not too slow. The trick was to look like you belonged without inviting anyone to notice you.

It was a skill she had learned out of necessity, because if her lord father knew she was here—

No. She didn’t finish that thought. Instead, she leaned slightly forward, just enough to catch sight of the tourney field through a break in the crowd.

Two knights clashed in a spray of splintering wood. The sound of it sent something electric through her chest. Gods. She wanted that.

Not the spectacle. Not the cheers. But the impact. The purpose. The certainty of action. To stand in armor and be something other than ornamental. To choose.

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides beneath the cloak. “Foolish,” she murmured to herself. The word tasted bitter. She shifted her weight, stepping back from the crowd—

And walked directly into something solid.

Not just solid. Immovable.

Liora barely had time to gasp before she bounced back a step, her balance tipping awkwardly as her shoulder protested the collision.

“Oh—!”

A hand caught her elbow before she could fully stumble. Warm. Steady. Immediate.

“Careful there.”

The voice was low, rough around the edges, and far closer than she had expected. Liora froze. Slowly, she looked up. And up. And… up. He was enormous.

Not in the polished, courtly way of highborn knights who wore their strength like decoration. No, this was something else. Broad-shouldered, sun-worn, built like someone who had earned every inch of himself through work rather than inheritance. His armor was mismatched, dented in places, and his surcoat bore no great sigil—just a simple design that had seen better days. His face? Gods, his face..

Wasn’t refined, but it was kind. Earnest in a way that felt disarming. And right now, very, very close.

“I—” Liora straightened quickly, pulling her arm back just enough to regain composure without seeming ungrateful.

“My apologies. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“That’s plain to see,” he said. There was no bite to it. Just simple observation. Which somehow made it worse.

“I was distracted,” she said, a bit more defensively than she intended.

“Mm.” He glanced toward the tourney field.

“That’ll do it.”

Liora hesitated. Then, cautiously: “You’re competing.” It wasn’t a question. He had the look of it. The readiness. The quiet tension of someone waiting for their turn to step into something dangerous.

“Aye,” he said. “Ser Dunk... I mean, uh, Ser Duncan.”

He said it like it still felt new in his mouth.

Like he was trying it on. Liora tilted her head slightly. No house name. No grand introduction. Interesting.

“…Ser Duncan,” she repeated, letting the title linger just enough to acknowledge it.

He seemed to notice. His expression shifted—just slightly. Like he was bracing for something. Judgment perhaps, but she didn’t give it to him. Instead, she said, “You stand like a tree.” That caught him off guard.

“…Beg pardon?”

“When I walked into you,” she clarified. “You didn’t move.”

A pause. Then, slowly:

“I suppose I don’t.”

Liora’s lips twitched faintly beneath her hood. “That’s either very impressive or very inconvenient.”

“Depends who you ask.”

“I imagine the tree would disagree.”

That—finally—got a real reaction out of him. A small, surprised huff of laughter. It softened his whole face. Liora felt something strange shift in her chest at the sound. Unfamiliar. Unwelcome. She ignored it.

“You’re watching the fights,” Duncan said after a moment.

“I am.”

“You don’t sound like you should be.”

“And what does that mean?"

He gestured vaguely at her cloak. “At a guess—you’re either hiding from someone or hiding as someone.”

Liora went very still. That was… closer than she liked.

“I could say the same of you,” she countered.

He blinked. Then frowned slightly. “…I’m not hiding.”

“No?” she said lightly. “No house. No colors worth boasting of. You introduce yourself like a man who expects to be questioned.”

That hit. She could tell it did, but instead of offense, Duncan just scratched the back of his neck, a little sheepish.

“ 'spose I am,” he admitted.

That wasn’t the reaction she expected. Most men would’ve bristled. Postured.

He just… accepted it, like truth didn’t offend him. Liora studied him more carefully now.

“…You’re not from a great house,” she said.

“No.”

“And yet you compete.”

“Aye.”

“Why?”

Duncan shrugged, simple as anything. “Because I can.”

That answer—

It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. No one in her world said things like that. Not without layers of expectation wrapped around them.

“You make it sound easy,” she said.

“It isn’t.”

“Then why say it like that?”

He glanced at her. And for the first time, there was something steady and grounded in his gaze.

“Because if I don’t believe I can,” he said, “no one else will.”

That—

That landed. Liora looked away first.

The tourney field blurred slightly at the edges as something in her chest tightened again.

“I want to fight,” she said suddenly.

The words slipped out before she could stop them. Duncan didn’t laugh. Didn’t scoff. Didn’t even look surprised.

He just said, “Aye.”

Like it made perfect sense. Liora blinked.

“…That’s all you have to say?”

“What else is there?”

“Most would tell me I can’t.”

“Most are wrong about a great many things.”

That was… dangerously close to encouragement.

“You don’t even know who I am,” she said.

“Don’t need to,” he replied. “You’ve got the look of it.”

“The look of what?”

“Someone who’s already decided.”

Liora swallowed, because he was right.

Gods help her, he was right.

“I can’t,” she said anyway.

“Why not?”

“My father—”

“That’s not a reason,” Duncan said gently.

“It is where I come from.”

He considered that. Then nodded once.

“Fair.”

A pause. Then:

“Doesn’t mean it has to stay that way.”

Liora looked at him sharply.

“You speak very freely for someone with no standing.”

“Aye,” he said. “I’ve noticed.”

That made her laugh. She didn’t mean to. It just—happened. Quick. Bright. Gone just as fast. Duncan stared at her like he hadn’t expected that either.

“You want to be a knight,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“No,” she said automatically.

Then, quieter:

“…Yes.”

He nodded, like that settled it.

“I can teach you,” he said.

Liora’s breath caught. “You don’t even know me.”

“Don’t need to,” he repeated.

“That’s absurd.”

“Maybe.”

“And what makes you think you’re qualified?”

That made him pause. Not offended. Just thoughtful. “I’m not,” he admitted. “Not properly.”

That honesty again. Disarming.

“But I know enough to get you started,” he added. “And I know what it’s like to want something you’re not supposed to have.”

That was different. Not pity. Not dismissal.

Understanding. Raw and unpolished, but real. Liora hesitated, then asked the question that mattered most:

“And what would you want in return?”

Duncan frowned slightly. “Return?”

“Yes. You’re offering me something dangerous. Men don’t do that without expecting something back.”

He looked genuinely confused for a moment, then realization hit.

And his expression shifted—firm now, in a way that felt almost protective.

“I don’t want anything from you,” he said.

That should’ve reassured her. It didn’t.

“Everyone wants something.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “But not that.” A beat. “I just think you should get the chance.”

That was worse, because she believed him, and believing him made everything more dangerous.

The sounds of the tourney swelled again—cheers, steel, the crack of another lance breaking. Duncan glanced toward the field.

“My match is soon,” he said.

Liora’s chest tightened unexpectedly.

“Then you should go,” she said.

“Aye.” He didn’t move. Not yet. Instead, he looked back at her. “If I win,” he said, “I’ll find you.”

Her breath hitched. “That’s a bold assumption.”

“Maybe.”

“And if you lose?”

A small shrug.

“Then I suppose it won’t matter.”

That wasn’t good enough. “Where would you even find me?” she pressed.

He glanced at her cloak, then back to her.

“You’ll be watching,” he said simply.

Liora opened her mouth to argue, and closed it again. For, yes. She would be. Damn him.

“Hypothetically,” she said, carefully, “if you did win… and if you did find me…”

“Aye?”

“…what then?”

Duncan’s expression softened slightly.

“Then we figure out how to get you that sword.”

Her heart skipped. Hard.

“And if that means running?” he added.

The word hung between them. Dangerous.

Tempting. Alive. Liora felt the weight of everything she was supposed to be press down on her shoulders, and for the first time in her life; it didn’t feel immovable.

“…Then you’d better win,” she said quietly.

Duncan smiled. Not smug. Not cocky. Just… certain.

“I’ll do my best.”

And somehow—

That felt like more than a promise.

Below the surface, the world was theirs. Simone moved first as she always did. Her red hair burning through the water like flames, impossible and bright even in the murky depths. She circled once beneath the shadow of the ship, quick, curious, unafraid in the way Liora never quite was.

“There are more of them this time,” Simone said, voice soft, carrying easily through the water. “Listen.” Above them, the hull creaked, voices muffled and strange.

Liora lingered a little deeper, slower in her movements, her gaze fixed upward. “They’re louder than the others.”

“They always are,” Simone teased, though her attention was already drifting higher. "I want to see them.”

Liora frowned slightly. “Simone—" But she was already ascending. With a small, reluctant breath, Liora followed.

They broke the surface only in fragments, never enough to be seen fully.

A flicker of red beneath the water. A pale hand just beneath the ripple. A shadow that moved where none should be.

Simone was closest to the ship now, her curiosity pulling her dangerously near the hull. She tilted her head, listening.

And then—

A voice.

Familiar.

Even through wood. Even through water.

She stilled.

“…Raymun,” she whispered, barely sound at all.

Liora surfaced just beside her, careful, quieter. “You know one of them?”

Simone didn’t answer right away.

Above, footsteps crossed the deck. A shift in weight. A presence she knew as surely as the tide. Her hand pressed lightly against the underside of the hull, as if she could feel him through it.

“He’s here,” she said finally.

~~~

On deck, Raymun froze. His hand tightened against the railing, breath catching in a way he couldn’t explain.

“…She’s here,” he said under his breath.

Duncan glanced over. “Who?”

Raymun shook his head, like the words didn’t make sense even as he said them. “I don’t know. I just—”

He stopped. The water moved. Not wind. Not current. Something else.

Duncan stepped closer to the edge, that same pull settling deep in his chest again.

“You feel that?” he asked.

Raymun didn’t answer. He was already leaning over the railing, searching the dark surface below. Simone couldn’t help herself. She rose. Just enough. Just for a second. The water parted around her face as she looked up.

And there he was.

Raymun.

Closer than he had ever been. Clearer than memory. Real in a way that made her chest ache. His eyes met hers. Shock at first. Then something softer. Something they both recognized.

“Simone?” he breathed.

Her name sounded wrong in the open air. Fragile. Exposed. She dropped beneath the surface instantly, heart racing, the water closing over her like a shield.

Duncan turned at the sound of Raymun’s voice, “What did you see?”

But Raymun wasn’t listening. He was still staring at the water like it might give her back.

~~~

A few feet away, Liora had not moved. She hadn’t risen as high as Simone. Hadn’t meant to be seen, but her eyes were fixed on Duncan. He stood at the edge of the ship, broad and steady, his presence cutting through everything else. Not frantic like the other. Not searching wildly.

Just… waiting.

Like he knew something was there.

Like he trusted it to come closer.

Liora drifted upward without realizing it.

Careful. Slow. The surface shimmered above her as she hovered just beneath it, close enough to see him clearly now. And then—

He looked down. Not guessing. Not searching. Looking. Straight at her. For a moment, the world stilled. Water. Air. Distance. None of it mattered. Liora’s breath caught. And then, just as quickly,

she vanished back into the depths.

Simone grabbed her wrist as she swam deeper, eyes wide. “We need to go.”

Liora didn’t argue, but her gaze lingered upward, even as the ship faded into shadow.

“He saw you,” Simone said.

Liora shook her head faintly. “…Not fully.”

But it had felt like more than that.

~~~

Above, Duncan stepped back from the railing.

“…There’s something down there,” he said quietly.

Raymun let out a breath that didn’t steady him at all. “Aye.”

Neither of them slept easily that night.

And below;

The sea did not forget them.

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