all parts of one tale

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄. Jena had pitied the young Lady Gwin, who certainly could not have anticipated the celebrations of her thirteenth nameday be thwarted in favour of wounded noble pride. Of all things, a trial of the seven — gods be good. In the wake of the profound relief of learning her nephews had been recovered, Jena had sought Baelor in the study Lord Ashford had offered him. She had found her husband far more weary than any single day’s burdens ought to have left him. She had scolded him gently, but with the full force of a wife who knew his heart, for the harshness with which he had spoken to Egg. While she herself was dismayed by his mischievous antics, she could not deny that she understood. She had reminded Baelor he knew well how capricious Aerion’s humours could be, knowing well that Ser Duncan had done only what any true knight must. The duty of protecting the innocent, she had argued, ought to have weighed heavier than a prince’s bruised vanity. They had spoken long, and when she left him she carried with her the small victory of her husband acknowledging his ire had perhaps been disproportionately focused on Egg alone. Yet the matter was far from settled. Baelor’s hands were bound; to forbid the trial outright might be seen as mercy by the smallfolk, or as weakness by those who watched the Iron Throne for any sign of it. And there was Maekar’s pride to reckon with as well. Gods, such a terribly convoluted situation this was.

She had only just begun the nightly ritual of unbinding the braids from her hair when the knock came; impatient raps against the doors to the chambers granted to her. Jena rose at once, the puzzled crease between her brows vanishing the moment she opened the door and found her youngest nephew. Sweet, defiant little thing who had sought adventure in the wide and dangerous wilds — alongside a hedge knight. That Ser Duncan had proven honourable and without cruelty was a mercy Jena would not soon forget. Her heart clenched with a fierce, aching tenderness, and with sorrow for the injustice she knew the boy carried. She listened without interruption. The words poured from him in an urgent rush that allowed scarce time for a wisp of breath; it was evident he had been granted precious little chance that day to speak his truth and feel heard.

❛ Oh, sweetling—come here. ❜ Jena cooed with every fragment of warmth she harboured. Her gentle hand found the space between his shoulders and she drew him inside, shutting the door against the rest of the unfair realm. ❛ I know, darling. I am so terribly sorry. I understand how fond you are of this knight of yours. ❜ She guided him towards the modest chaise placed before the hearth, settling herself and beckoning for him to nestle near should he wish to, ❛ I spoke with your uncle. I fear he finds himself in an impossible position. He recognises it was kindness and honour that guided Ser Duncan's hand. However, it is difficult to deny the unfortunate truth that the recipient of his knightly duty was royal blood. ❜ Jena spoke softly, both voice and countenance woven with remorse, ❛ You have been named this man’s squire, have you not? That means he places great faith in you, sweet one. On the morrow you will place his sword in his hand and his shield upon his arm, and Ser Duncan will later look to the crowd to find you. You must give him every measure of courage that you possess. ❜

Aegon's memories of his mother were not as many as he might have liked, and with each passing year they grew fainter still, but he had always known that being in his aunt's presence felt like being with a mother. She was a mother. Just not his. Although, she was certainly the closest thing to it.

The door shut behind him, it felt like he could speak freely and even allow tears to well - though he was ten, so he would not let them fall. "It is more than just me being fond of him, Aunt Jena," Egg insisted, wondering why no one else could see this as greater than a childish friendship. "He is a good knight. Far more worthy of the name than Aerion, or-, or Daeron or any of them!"

But still, he did as bid and settled down beside his aunt, not nestling close for now - he was ten, after all - and he pulled a face in consternation at the situation he found himself in. Better, the situation Ser Duncan found himself in.

"Yes I know all of that, but-," he started, but had to quieten at reassurances of his role as squire. Egg knew he would be required upon the field tomorrow, and would take pride in equipping the man who fought against his brother, but he also hoped dearly that he could avoid it getting to that point.

"Aunt Jena," he said firmly, and finally, wanting to speak his part. "Aerion might be of royal blood, but he is a knight too. He swore oaths to the gods to protect the innocent, to defend women, and all of the rest of it. He broke his vows. Ser Duncan kept his. Yes, he struck a prince, but to claim he is more in the wrong surely is to claim that the royal family is of more standing than the gods, and I am sure Uncle Baelor would not claim such a thing!" he said insistently, thinking his debate, his argument, was impossible to prod holes into.

By the fountain, he dozed quietly in the sunlight, the book on his lap long ignored, until heavy footsteps awakened him. Ser Duncan.

Gods, he had not seen that face since ... bile rose in his throat at the memory and he cleared his throat with a cough, watching Duncan on his knees.

"Rise, good ser." he said slowly, closing his book. He did not know if he should be angry or endeared by Duncan's presence - how did one face the near-stranger one had almost died for? Baelor took a deep breath and continued.

Dunk could barely get ahold of himself, almost afraid of what he might discover in this conversation. Was Baelor Breakspear the same man he had known, albeit for so short a time? Was he ever changed? Had the damage he had done been irreparable, even though the man still lived? He could scarcely bear the thought of it.

Rise? Well, at least he could speak. At least he could issue instructions. Dunk nodded once, and rose to his considerable height, but desperately wished he could be smaller. He tried to speak, but found his throat tight. Dunk cleared it, before raising his eyes for the briefest of moments.

"I thought it best to bring Eg-, Prince Aegon back to see his father for a time. He's getting older, your grace, but faring well as a squire. Still, he should see his family," Dunk explained. Not that he knew much of anything of having a family himself, but that had him all the more insistent in bringing Egg home for a time.

Jorah could tell when he was being baited. Usually, it would have soured his mood, but... gods, she was charming with it. Flirtatious, like she was enjoying herself as well. Maybe she was.

He sat up just enough to kiss her lightly as she leaned down. Sliding his hands further up her thighs and under her shift, he grabbed her hips, and even though he had only just pulled her on top of him, he flipped her so that she lay on her back and he was over her, between her legs, his weight resting half on her and half on his arm beside her.

Myriam laughed happily as she was ever so quickly flipped upon the bed. And her laugh was genuine. Ever since a girl, she had always been quick to laugh. Likely, customers and other girls alike probably thought it insincere, an example of how well she could fool those who wished to be, but they were wrong. She wondered if she had learned it young - that it's better to laugh than to cry.

But she need not think of weeping with this man, she decided. His kisses, his nips and caresses were already rather pleasing, and she found herself looking forward to actually enjoying herself that evening. It made her work a hell of a lot easier.

She almost replied to him by saying that it mattered not what she wanted or wished for, that he was the one who had parted with coin and he need only continue if he wished for it. But... He seemed the type to search for her pleasure. It was not common, but not unknown. No, he would not wish for such a response. He wanted her to revel in their encounter.