dany loyalist

The grave has claimed them, every one, yet he endures, this pale bird with bloody beak who perches on King Aerys's shoulder and caws into his ear. The mark of hell is on his face and in his empty eye, and he has brought us drought and pestilence and murder.

Margaery & Sansa are personal to me 🤍

“My uncle says I must humbly beg your forgiveness for deceiving you.” “Your uncle,” said Dunk. “That would be Prince Baelor.” (The Hedge Knight)

His father would have raised his voice immediately, demanding that Egg explain himself forthwith. Uncle Baelor merely raised his eyebrows and waited for Egg to speak. Egg found it nerve-wracking, truth to tell. His uncle’s patient yet still expectant expression was far more bewildering than his father’s angry scowl would have been.    

Egg began, “I – he – we –”

“Choose a subject first,” Uncle Baelor said, not unkindly. “It is always better to begin by admitting our own mistake. You lied to Ser Duncan. Was that not what you did, Aegon?”

Egg protested, “I did not lie, uncle.”

Uncle Baelor stared him into submission, until Egg finally admitted, “I might have misled Ser Duncan, but not on purpose! He … he thought I was a stableboy. He just assumed … and I – and I –”

“And you did not see fit to correct him of that misapprehension?”

Egg pointed at his shaved head. “He would not have believed me, even if I told him I’m a prince. I don’t look like a Targaryen, do I? I don’t look like the blood of the dragon, without my hair.”

“Must a prince look like the blood of the dragon, to be counted a true prince?”

For the prompt: Egg mourns his grandfather and Ser Duncan tries to comfort him.

“When Ser Arlan died, did you … did you cry for him, ser?”

Dunk had cried in the rain while digging the old man’s grave, and then pretended to himself that his tears were not tears at all, merely raindrops falling down his cheeks. I never wept. I might have wanted to, but I never did, he kept telling himself afterwards. Most of the time, he was half-way into believing it.

He didn’t pretend this time, though. He knew why Egg was asking. “I cried for him, aye,” Dunk replied, truthfully. You can cry too, Egg, for your grandfather, he thought, but had he said those words out loud, he suspected the boy would force himself not to cry, would try his very best to stifle his tears.

Sometimes telling people to do something was the same as telling them not to do it, the old man used to say. Sometimes the best thing you could do was wait people out, wait for them to reach a conclusion in their own time.

“I cried for Ser Arlan when he died, but I was crying for myself too,” Dunk added, watching Egg’s face.