Your hands are drawn immediately to touch his stomach “Wait!” You cry after he tries to lower his shirt down, to prevent you rubbing the cute pudge of fat storage. He is always so concerned about being undesirable to you, even after years of reminding him that you find him extremely desirable. You trail after him around the cottage as he removes his dusty, sweaty shirt. “Where are you going?”

“Let me wash up first” the floor creaks as he walks over to the wash basin.

You watch Dunk as he leans over to splash water on his face, hands, forearms, underarms. Leaning against the wooden bedpost, you contemplate the broad expanse of his back and impossibly wide shoulders.

“Wanted to be nice smellin’ for you.” He explains sheepishly, as you hand him a small cloth to dry his face.

—

You had wanted to go into town to buy beeswax candles. Candles were something you needed - something practical. But you couldn’t help shopping at all the other vendors stalls, right?

You browsed the wares, when suddenly an older man darted in front of your path. He wore an overloaded belt of herbs and tinctures. “Dear girl. You have beared no children correct?”

You could only manage a surprised grunt at the man’s brazenness.

“I have just the thing for you! Fertility herbs. Only one brew is needed for you to be with child” he held out a vial of dried flowers. “If you need something to pique your husband’s interest, I have some very effective pollen. It would be at a discount for a beautiful lady such as yourself.”

You studied the vial in his weathered fingers, stained green from ages of handling plants. Before you would even hold out your hand to the man’s offering, Dunk was blocking your body with his own- becoming the barrier between you and the man. “The lady has no interest. You’d be wise to leave her be” He snarls. Dunk’s hand wraps around your waist, leading you away from the vendors so quickly your head spun.

—

You were in riding atop Dunk. You wanted to go like this forever, looking down at your handsome husband falling apart. Your knees wobbled a little as you raised yourself up the never ending length of his cock, then let your body slide down to the base. It was a nice, slow pace that you were in no rush to end. You gave a wiggle of your hips to grind against his coarse hair. “Gods above” he wheezes. “Little lady ‘m not going to last.”

“But I want to continue!” You lean forward, still sheathed with him, and prop yourself up in elbows, face in your hands, looking down at him. “You make me feel so good, and I love you so much and-“

“You must stop” he runs a hand though strawberry blonde hair in exasperation. “I cannot last” he shakes his head, hand covering his eyes so he cannot see you atop him, since he is teetering so close to the edge of release.

“Well you may finish, but then we can keep going, yes? It doesn’t have to stop after you release. Men and women can have multiple.” You remind him.

the sole mention of another tourney turned daeron’s stomach upside down. never had he been considered a good knight. in fact, even his youngest brother titled him a shit knight. and yet despite what happened at the infamous ashford tourney, his father made him attend another. 

he had joked throughout the journey about the prospect of losing another ear, but in reality, he was terrified. the horse accident still loomed over him, leaving his foot improving in recovery, nowhere near its previous condition. his body was in no shape to contest against the knights and lords of the realm. daeron tried posing it as one of the arguments against his participation, but his father would not hear it. as his only son at hand, with aerion still being exiled, aemon at the citadel, and aegon squiring for ser duncan, maekar had no choice but to send his eldest to one of the lords of the crownlands’ name day celebrations. even if he was a shit knight. maekar was rightfully worried whether daeron would be even able to represent targaryens well.

‘do not disappoint me.’ the words of his father echoed in the young prince’s head. too bad, father. too bad i am incapable of making you proud. 

upon arrival at the tourney grounds, daeron’s morale got completely lost. seeing so many noble houses’ pennants from all across the continent, made his palms sweat and mouth dry all at once. the nerves for his safety grew stronger with each tent he passed with his entourage. although if asked, he would have sworn the bodily reaction was from the heat and the wine, not the fright. 

he was received at the manor with utmost respect, with the host and his family personally greeting him. the pleasantries were cut short, as a commotion from across the courtyard captured everyone’s attention. a swordsman stormed out of one of the gates, followed by a younger lad sharing their resemblance. 

‘alora, wait!’ the young man called after the knight, trying to catch up to the angry figure for whom everyone moved out of the way, scared of potential escalations. 

‘i wonder what was that about…’ an out-loud thought escaped daeron’s lips, while he followed the boy with his eyes until he could no longer differentiate him from the servants and lordlings gathered down the path to the manor. 

‘by the looks of it,’ said one of the host’s sons, ‘someone got rejected from entering the lists. northmen if i had to guess.’

‘if i had to guess,’ the lord father barged in before his son could say one-word-too-many, ‘we might hear about it later from the game master. for now, i am sure the prince would like to rest after the journey.’

‘that would be splendid, thank you.’ only then did he feel the actual effects that the road had on him, and realized how truly tired he was. the thought of a warm bath and 

—

on the morrow, daeron followed the host lord to the jousting grounds, as the promise of afternoon drink per the lord’s invitation seemed far more entertaining than the sparring itself.

‘do you plan on participating yourself, your grace?’ asked the older man, pouring daeron a cup of his finest wine. 

‘i um… thank you,’ he took the goblet away and had a gulp of the beverage, ‘i am working on it.’

‘you must haste then, my master of games is a rather impatient one.’

‘i will keep it in mind then,’ he said, emptying his cup of wine in one gulp, and stretching his arm out towards a cupbearer to refill. the sweet alcohol soothed his nerves temporarily, as the prince did not want to dwell on the idea of his own participation in the tourney just yet.  

both men sipped at their drinks and snacked at some prepared delicacies, while observing the sparring below the audience seats. daeron treated it as a scouting ground - looking for potential knights to bribe and find someone reasonably skilled to fight in his name. they’ve exchanged some comments about the host’s sons fighting, some gossip about the knights that daeron or his father were better acquainted with, and those who were less familiar to the princeling. he then spotted the young man from the day before, battling against the other man, both of their light armors covered in mud. it almost felt like a trance, watching the lad’s opponent dance around with the sword, striking him hard with the practice weapon.

‘taken interest with the mormonts, i see?’

‘mormonts you say…?’

‘yes, my prince. the siblings from yesterday.’

‘interesting pair those two.’

‘far more interesting than you would think.’

‘elaborate.’

‘well you see, the one that’s currently laying in mud, is the younger brother. poor thing hardly classifies as a man and they had him sign up to represent their family.’

‘really? why not the older brother then? he looks far more skilled.’

‘that is very simple. because that is a woman.’

‘a wo-’ daeron almost choked on his wine. he got up quickly and had to take a double look at the two figures on the fighting grounds, as the standing one pulled up the young lad off the ground with ease, ‘that’s a woman?!’ 

‘a feisty one,’ the lord said, chuckling a little at the prince losing his composure, ‘or so says my game master. she cursed him out alongside ten of his generations onwards after almost cutting his finger off with a dagger for not letting her sign up.’ 

‘don’t poke the bear,’ the young prince concluded, smiling to himself. 

‘so they say.’ 

‘you are right, that is very interesting.’ daeron commented trying to wipe off some of the wine that stained his tunic. he could not understand why such a skilled fighter would not be accepted as a participant for the tourney, only to be then reminded how old-fashioned some of the lords and knights could be. yet he amused himself with the thought of spitefully having a lady knight join the tourney and maybe even win in the name of a drunkard prince. the prospect of amusing his father with a white lie of his victory, only to then anger his sire by admitting he had a lady knight champion for him, struck a mischievous chord in daeron’s heart. 

— 

and so that very same evening, he took it upon himself to find the mormont pavilion and present the girl with an offer. he stepped inside one of his acquainted lordlings’ pavilions and asked for direction and a cup of their best wine. his friend let him know that the lords of the north settled at the very back of the tourney village, but he could not say where the specific tents were located. daeron thanked him, and marched out toasting his companion with a freshly refilled cup. 

he could easily tell where the northerners were stationed, simply by the atmosphere around. the aura surrounding them was much different to what he was used to, because while still gathered around tents and campfires, their mingling was limited to other northmen. he tried to decipher the stoic looks that they sent his way, but he could not tell whether it was simple hostility towards outsiders or lack of interest. 

finally he spotted the familiar lad walking out of an inconspicuously-looking tent in washed-out green, carrying what looked like laundry ready to be hanged. he followed him with his gaze and spotted a small bonfire counterintuitively placed away from the other tents, with a few logs circled around it. one of them was occupied by a hunched over figure sharpening their sword. 

the young lady sat firmly grounded with her legs spread, which made daeron think she was not like a lord’s daughter at all. the damp short locks fell on her forehead as she slowly ran the pocket grindstone up and down the blade. she held the weapon up, looking for places that still needed work. for a brief second while lowering her sword down, their eyes met. daeron could not help but to stare at the deep scars running from the side of her head and down across her right cheek. the carvings in her skin made him almost reach for his much more neat scar. as he observed what once could have been considered fine features, he wondered how difficult it was for a noble woman to deal with an eyesore like that in social situations. 

she frowned, being certain the scars would be one of the first things the stranger brought up. they usually were. 

‘you fight well,’ he said standing beside her work station.

‘is that a challenge?’ she asked without looking his way, too busy working on her sword.

he chuckled at the question, ‘no, i could hardly wield a sword as a young boy against my younger brother, let alone a skilled warrior like yourself.’

she glanced up at the stranger before getting back to her work and asking a follow up question, ‘even if that warrior is a woman?’ 

‘especially when that warrior is a woman.’ 

a moment of silence fell between them, broken by distant chatter of other people and the rythmic sound of a sharpened metal. 

‘so, are you going to just stand there and gawk or-’ she resumed the conversation, with eyes still focused on a blade.

‘right, pardon me,’ he cleared his throat before continuing, ‘allow me to introduce-’

‘i know who you are,’ she interrupted, switching the side of the blade and dampening the sharpening stone with a flask against her log, which daeron failed to notice earlier.

‘you do?’ he asked for clarity. 

‘you fit the description of the oldest princeling of prince maekar,’ she admitted, taking another glance his way.

‘i see… well, you’ll be happy to know that i am in fact him: prince daeron targaryen, the prince of the summerhall,’ he proclaimed, straightening up a bit. 

‘also known as the dreaming drunk,’ she noted, nodding slightly towards the cup he forgot he was holding. 

‘among many things, yes.’ he took a sip of the wine before continuing, ‘any problem with that, lady mormont? alora was it?’ 

a prolonged sigh left her lips, and she soon stopped her work, to pay full attention to him. she laid the sword against an empty log and dropped the grindstone to the ground. she turned to face him and leaned back on the log, propping herself with her hands placed on each of her sides. ‘to what do i owe this dubious pleasure?’ she asked with a grimace, looking up at him.  

‘ouch,’ he placed the cup-holding hand against his chest ‘northern women and their-’

‘watch your tongue.’ her frown deepened. ‘get to the point.’

‘well, i came with an offer. stand as my champion in the tourney and i will reward you.’   

‘and what makes you think i would want to do that, especially with that attitude of yours?’ she asked, eyes rolling at his nonchalance as he took another sip of his drink, trying to maintain their eye contact.  

‘for starters, you could get whatever you’d like as your pay.’ his response was greeted with another look of dismay from alora.  

‘do i look like a sellsword to you?’ she asked standing up, clearly upset by a sole hint of that allusion. 

‘on the contrary, a good fighter with lack of opportunities,’ he replied, moving slowly behind her to stand on her other side.  

‘what’s that supposed to mean?’ 

he stood closer, shortening the distance between them. the sudden move caused alora to hold out a dagger and press it against his chest. he held his hands up in a sign of defeat and stepped away, but not too far. ‘simply that we both know you should be the one competing in the tourney, not your baby brother. by the looks of it, neither you nor him are thrilled about this whole squire-knight arrangement, when clearly he should be serving the better knight.’ 

she stared intensely at him, not knowing what to say. it struck her ego, knowing that a princeling like him would figure things out between her and her brother. but he couldn’t have known her heart. not so easily. 

‘i know a thing or two about the first-born's expectations versus what we truly want,’ he said, moving away to circle around the fire. 

‘you know nothing about what i want.’ 

‘and that’s where you’re wrong, sweet cub.’ his teasing comment was embellished with a smirk, and his eyes focused only on capturing her reaction.

she clutched her fists. ‘don’t call me that.’ 

‘oh, i see that i have managed to poke the bear…’ a cocky smile appeared on his face for a second, only to quickly change to a serious expression as he rested one hand on his heart bowing slightly. ‘my apologies. what i’m trying to say is that we might be able to help each other out.’ 

‘how so?’ she asked, crossing her arms on her chest, waiting for his explanation. 

‘it’s simple: you stand as me at the tourney grounds, while i support your bravery from the crowd,’ he said standing before her, this time with no dagger between them. 

‘that’s your plan? 

‘perfect isn’t it?’ he rested his hands on each side of his hips, feeling proud of himself. ‘you get to fight, i get to watch…’ 

she could not believe her own ears. the young lady mormont sighed heavily and brushed her locks back before asking for details ‘very well, smart-ass, how would i fit in your armor then?’ 

‘that…i did not think through…’

‘right,’ she smiled half-heartedly with her eyes narrowed. ‘end of discussion, then?’ 

‘you can always wear your own and i publicly proclaim you my official champion.’  

‘highly doubt that would work either. they’re already skeptical about the northern customs of female warriors. your lords and their backward ways would not fathom a sight of a woman competing in a tourney against men. this entire conversation would not be taking place right now if it was otherwise.’

‘i shall take care of it then.’  

‘right…’ she chimed in without confidence in the actual power of his agency.   

‘i’m a princeling after all, am i not?’

alora sighed with annoyance. she was not sure if she could believe him. she wouldn’t want a royal to play with her hope, only to have her dreams shattered. it was very tempting to agree, to participate. especially since that’s all she really came there for, and the organizers denied her. and even though relying on someone with such an unstable reputation pained her, she had started to feel this might be her only chance to prove to those southerners what she’s truly worth. 

‘is that a yes then?’ he asked hopefully, seeing her features soften as she went through the mental gymnastics of calculating all the pros and cons.  

she stared at him, still uncertain about his intentions. ‘what about your honor then? wouldn’t you be embarrassed to have a woman fight in your name?’ 

daeron laughed softly at the comment ‘what honor? you think i care about that?’ 

she nodded and sighed with resignation. ‘right…’

‘if that makes my offer more convincing,’ he said, attempting to place a hand on her shoulder, only to have it smacked away, ‘i can assure you that i will be honorable in keeping my word when it comes to the reward.’ 

the prince extended his hand with his cup out towards her, with little of the wine left inside, in hopes of sealing the agreement with a shared toast.

the lady stared intensely into his eyes, trying to find anything that would indicate deception, yet failed to catch anything that would reveal any trickery. ‘whatever i want?’ 

‘within reason, yes. whatever you want.’ 

instead of drinking from the cup, she grabbed it to hold for a second, while shaking his hand with a tight grip. ‘deal.’

she handed him his drink back, and started collecting her things to pack them in the tent. 

‘this deserves a toast! why won’t you drink it?!’ he asked, taking a sip himself. 

‘i don’t drink wine! i hate that watered down piss!’ she said over her shoulder while disappearing in her tent. her words caused him to gasp loudly, to which for the first time that evening, she let out a short but sincere laugh from the inside of her temporary accommodation. ‘i don’t drink in general before fights,’ she said, reappearing for a moment. 

‘responsibly.’

‘i try.’ 

a moment of awkward silence filled the air as daeron stood there smiling at her, without noticing the inconvenience he was creating. 

‘you better go. i need good sleep if you want me to do well at this thing.’

‘oh, right. yes. my apologies.”

‘let me know if i can actually participate.’

‘yes, i um… i will send someone your way.’ 

‘thank you.’

‘no i-’ he wouldn’t finish, as she disappeared inside her tent. 

the young prince smiled to himself, hopeful that his plan may actually work. he turned to head back to the manor, crossing paths with alora’s brother coming back to their tent. the young lean man was a carbon copy of his sister except for the scars and the long dark locks that fell past his shoulderblades. in daeron’s eyes he must have been no older than fourteen or fifteen. the mormont looked suspiciously at this stranger roaming around his pavilion. he stood outside for a minute, following the prince with his eyes as the blonde moved away slowly, only to smile to himself mischievously before entering the tent. 

‘oh loraaaaaa! who’s that loverboy of yoursssss? sister, how wonderful it is that you have finally managed to snatch one for yourself!’

daeron looked back hearing the commotion behind him, only to see the young man bursting out of the tent and tripping over to the ground. alora rushed after him with her dagger unsheathed, pointing directly at her sibling. 

‘one more fucking word rymor and i will personally feed you your own tongue. understood?!’

the young boy giggled, getting up from the ground, taking a glance towards the direction in which daeron had been headed. she followed his gaze, and upon seeing the prince she lowered her weapon and turned back to the tent. 

‘run while you still can, my lord!’ rymor shouted after him, which angered alora even more and she reappeared outside to bring her foul-mouthed brother back inside by his ear, much to his dismay and exclamations of pain.