#vardunk

Valarr found the other half of his soul when he went into the slums of Kingslanding, his heart was amongst the other filthy bodies of fleabottom but his radiance shone through. He had caught Valarr's attention swiftly and has kept it locked to him ever since. He squirrelled away his Dunk and has kept him to their castle tending to all his needs and wants.

Dunk's mark is on the wide expanse of his back, in the shape of a red dragon in an Ouroboros form, four stars in diamond formation adjoining it. Valarr takes to painting him naked to capture Dunk in all his glory. No one gets to view it but him and Dunk.

Kings landing au! admiration at first sight, no getting together or hooking up(book ages, so Valarr is older than Dunk, I just googled who was older in the books. So maybe Valarr is 15 and Dunk is 13? So, just a two year difference)

(This is fictional. It is just for fun and imagination)

Evey orphan and low born peasant in Fleabottom knew when royals rode through the slums no good was bound to happen. Either someone was being accused of a crime or they were looking for able bodies for the nights watch, neither good options for the poor or starving.

Rafe and Dunk, like any orphans, were tight-knit and inseparable. They'd known each other since Rafe dragged him out the way of a gold cloaks sword in a riot. Any closer, and he'd have lost his life.

She was rough and mischievous, but she had a kind heart for him, Dunk the lunk she'd say but should she hear any other call him by the name and you'd think they'd stolen her meal right from under her. She was vicious when the need arose, which was often. She was his family. His only family. She was his sister in all the ways that mattered.

The royal precession continued on deeper and deeper until they finally stopped near the worn down Sept, it used to be run by a group of four Septa's who'd switch on and off with another four Septa's each group rotating week by week. They would bring new clothes, new blankets, second-hand shoes, soup, and even a Maester in training so he could practise his hands on real flesh.

It stopped fairly quickly when the rougher gutter rats broke in. After that, no more new clothes, no new blankets, no second-hand shoes, no soup, no Maester to tend to wounds.

Dunk and Rafe watched from across the lane in another run-down building. They'd snuck into it after being chased by a group of men. The men had been watching Dunk and Rafe for more than a week, leering and muttering amongst themselves.

When the carriage stopped, a boy stepped out and inspected the building, his mismatched eyes taking in its entire ruined state. From the holes in the roof to the smashed windows and finally the two doors broken and falling off their hinges. He must have found what he was looking for because he entered the abandoned building with a cluster of stewards following behind.

He came out soon after and stood talking with his parade of men. Outside with the sun catching his hair in a soft caress, he looked unworldly and ethereal. His eyes looked even more striking with the sun hitting them, highlighting all the differences between the two. A deep earthy brown and a magnetising violet.

Dunk's eyes kept straying back to the boy. Who was he ? A noblemens son? Whose? He was dressed well and carried himself with a calm gait and an air of great importance. He'd grow to be a fine man one day. A handsome man for sure, even as young as he looked, he wore his features well and dressed even better. He looked suited for a high position. Dunk could not think to what reason a beauty such as he would come here of all places.

It wouldn't be until a week later that the low born of Fleabottom will see any change happen to that old Sept, its roof was patched, the windows replaced and two new doors set in the doorway. Soon, it was bustling with able bodies and people shouting orders this way and that.

They were rebuilding, and soon, it had the attention of every street urchin within a mile radius. Everyone who had remembered the Septa's and their kindness coming to see what was being done to their old house of worship.

Rafe scoffed and said it wouldn't do any good for the small folk. It'd probably be torn down again by the very same people it was trying to help. Because the people of Fleabottom didn't know how to comfort or to soothe, they only knew to take and hoard. It had been ingrained into each and every one of them since they took their first breath.

Dunk thought the gesture kind, he hoped it'd last.

"Hope is for the nobles," Rafe would say, "and hate is for the weak to wield."

Soon, the Sept's doors were being opened to the general public, and new faces beckoned the mass forward. The boy was there again, his mismatched eyes scanning the crowd, cataloguing all the starving faces and meagre bodies pushing closer to the fresh smell of feed.

"Children and women first!" A voice boomed. Complaints rang out, but true enough, children and women were front and centre. Dunk did not know whether he and Rafe were counted as children anymore. Did children not have mothers? Did children scavenge bodies of dead noblemen for sliver ? Did children kill to eat and eat to live ? They stopped being children long ago.

It did not matter, for they were grabbed and pulled forward. They were entering the front doors now and being ushered towards a table filled with pots filled to the brim of stews in all varieties.

None of the children or women approached, all waiting to see how they had to beg or plead for even a spoonful of food. Everything stopped, and the groups breaths stilled, waiting and watching. Always waiting and watching.

"Not hungry?" A voice chimed behind them. Nervous chuckles answered, stood behind them was the boy, the pretty boy to be sure, dressed well and hardly any dirt smeared on him despite his location, it was a hard thing to stay clean in Fleabottom. His eyes were pools of fire, one dark one light. His eyes were a history of a long and lasting lineage. His were the eyes of the dragon.

Dunk couldn't see his entire profile the last time he was at the Sept. Just the few scant glimpses he'd gotten. If he thought the boy, no prince, was beauty incarnet before, he was even more majestic and exquisite in person. A true blood of old Valyria and their ruling family.

Prince Baelor Targaryen? No, too young. His son, maybe? Prince Valarr Targaryen ? It had to be, but what a prince of the realm was doing in the slums was beyond anyone at the moment.

"Eat, this Sept has been reopened for the people. It shall serve the people now as it did then"

He really was a kind and gentle prince. Nothing at all like Aegon The Unworthy described.

Prince Valarr Targaryen seemed good-hearted and benevolent to the small people of Kings landing. Though most people did before they had their fill of Fleabottom. Dunk would wonder more about it, but it only ever gave him the shits to think too hard about such problems.

For now, he and Rafe would eat till their stomachs ached. Dunk could admire the strong figure the prince cut even amidst the unpolished and unrefined riff raff belonging to the only home he'd ever known.

The Prince shines even among his own finely dressed companions, Dunk could wager he was the most gallant and fare this side of Westeros. Just thinking it left him flustered and red-faced.

Just thinking of the refined and gallant prince being so debauched and depraved in the public eye, no shame to be seen as he ruts up against this giant man. He's holding him down by his hips, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh and leaving red cresents to trail in his wake. Their left gasping in oxygen but deny themselves air just so they can continue to lip lock, hands roaming and clothes leaving their bodies, baring themselves to the world, completely oblivious to anyone but them. Dunk is stripped quicker than Valarr, Valarr makes sure to leave a hickey on every surface he can reach. Dunk in return rakes his nails down his princes back. Now their both in each others colours.