Tales of a Misplaced Extraterrestrial

It was Donnel who cracked first.

He considered himself a man of great restraint. A man of endurance and patience and all such things a knight of King Daeron II's Kingsguard should be. He had stood a silent guardian in tedious council meetings, fought in the war against the Pretender King, suffered wounds both serious and slight in his leal service to the realm.

None of those things, however, came close to the unbearable pain of watching Prince Baelor and Ser Duncan dance around each other.

Now, he was fond of the young knight, who applied himself to his service as the prince's sworn sword with unrelenting dedication. He was a jovial lad and pleasant company when he joined them in the Kingsguard chambers in the evening. But his mooning over the prince was becoming unbearable.

"Brothers," Donnel announced at the table that evening. Three of his sworn brothers joined him. Roland Crakehall, his closest friend. Edwyn Arryn, who was half Donnel's age but half again as tall. And lastly, the ageing Olyvar Redding, the lord commander, a man who took no nonsense.

"We have reached a breaking point, I fear. It is time we act."

"In what matter?" Edwyn raised his eyebrow.

"In the matter," Donnel leaned forward, waving his dinner knife as he spoke. "Of Prince Baelor and Ser Duncan."

The gathered men groaned. Olyvar pinched his brow. "We are knights, Donnel, not matchmakers."

"Are you saying you do not find it grating, ser?" Edwyn answered, "Duncan ever stands behind him, looking as lovesick as the Dragonknight himself, and the prince is just as bad - I watched him blush like a maid on her wedding night when Duncan stopped him tripping in the courtyard."

"Aye, I have suffered it too." Olyvar conceded gracefully. "But why should it be our matter to resolve? The Prince ought to speak his mind. Ser Duncan is too humble."

A murmur of agreement went through the table. It was inconceivable that Duncan would confess anything other than knightly devotion to the prince; Baelor would have to be forced to make the first move.

"The Prince is not a timid man," Roland tapped his fingers against his goblet, as though he were a lord pondering his council. "Why does he not speak? Who would spurn the advance of a prince?"

"Perhaps that is just the problem." Unlike his brothers, Donnel was of low birth, though in truth his father had been wealthier than many small lords. This, he thought, gave him some insight into their new friend. "A man like Ser Duncan, he will not even think to refuse Prince Baelor. Perhaps the prince fears he will be perceived as pressuring him."

Roland frowned. "Then it is hopeless."

"No," bright-eyed Edwyn said, "Not at all. They only need a little encouragement to see each other as plainly as we do."

The other knights looked at him expectantly. "Have you a plan, brother?"

Edwyn's smile was as sharp as the falcon of his house.

"I do. I think the problem is, they are never truly alone together. So listen here..."

Edwyn Arryn's plan was simple. Prince Baelor, increasingly recovered now from his unfortunate injury, would be encouraged to ride in the Kingswood for the good spring air, and of course, he would take his sworn sword with him. Donnel, accompanying them, would lose his way in the woods, and alone in the beauty of nature, surely the prince would take his chance to unburden himself.

That was how Ser Donnel found himself creeping through the undergrowth like one of Lord Bloodraven's spies, dirt soiling the hem of his white cloak as he peered through the branches. Baelor and Duncan were deep in conversation - or rather, the prince was talking, and Duncan listened with starry eyes, offering a few words here and there.

Finally, Baelor pulled his horse to a stop and looked over his shoulder. "Ah." he had a faint smile on his face. "It appears we have lost our escort."

Duncan turned, following the prince's gaze. "Oh. Ought I go and find him, my prince?"

No, you oaf. Donnel cursed silently. They had not considered that Duncan might be concerned for him. Enjoy the moment.

Thankfully, the prince gave a small shake of his head. Donnel watched his face as he gazed at Duncan. There was a softness in his mismatched eyes that Donnel had never seen before, as he looked at the back of the hedge knight's head.

Then Duncan turned back around, and Baelor looked like himself again. "No, ser, he will find us shortly, I am certain. I need only your strength to protect me here."

A faint blush splashed across Duncan's face. Donnel smiled to himself as the two of them rode slowly down the path. He stalked after them, impressed with his own skill at secrecy. It was rare indeed that knights of the Kingsguard had to slink about like catspaws.

Baelor drew his horse to a halt, Duncan coming to a stop a little behind him.

"My brothers and I used to ride out here." Baelor was saying, though Donnel's attention was focused on Duncan. "Do you see the oak there? My brother Aerys once dared me to see if I could reach the top - I broke my ankle on the way back down."

Duncan smiled uneasily. Baelor glanced at him. "Oh, you may laugh, ser. I was by far old enough to know better. Four-and-ten."

Duncan dismounted and chuckled quietly. Donnel did not blame him. It was hard to imagine Baelor as a reckless young boy, and Donnel was three years the Prince's elder. Still, it was an encouraging sign that Baelor was sharing such a personal story.

Baelor began to dismount his horse. Donnel saw the fall before it came - his left side was still weakened, his foot twisted in the stirrup. Donnel tensed, picturing the prince striking seven-knew-what as he hit the floor.

But Duncan was closer, and faster, and he caught Baelor in his arms like a swooning maiden. As Donnel watched, the knight held the prince in his strong arms, against his firm chest. Donnel held his breath, as the whole forest seemed to still itself.

Baelor did not pull away. Duncan did not let go.

The prince's gloved hand had come to rest against Duncan's shoulder, steadying himself. Duncan still held him securely about the waist, one broad hand splayed across Baelor's back.

"I have you," Duncan said softly.

"I know." Baelor's voice was hardly more than a breath.

Their eyes met.

Donnel had seen Baelor fight against all odds at Redgrass Field. He had watched him face charging lances in tourneys without so much as a blink, heard him debate effortlessly and calmly with the most ill-tempered of lords. Yet now, he heard wavering in his voice, something small and uncertain. A man's voice, not a prince's.

Duncan continued to stare, wordless and still. Donnel saw his grip tighten ever so slightly, as though reluctant to surrender the prince to his own feet.

"I fear," Baelor murmured, his voice finding more surety as he spoke, "that I am making a habit of falling into your arms."

"I don't mind catching you."

Yes, Donnel edged closer, clenched fist between his teeth. This is it. Go on, Ser, kiss your prince.

He could not see it, but he could hear the smile in Baelor's tone. "No?"

"No."

Somewhere deeper in the wood, a bird called once and fell quiet. Neither man seemed aware of anything beyond the other. A bee landed on Donnel's sleeve, where he remained as still as stone.

Slowly, Baelor tilted his head. Duncan leaned down, bending almost in half to meet the prince's mouth.

Donnel should look away.

Instead he watched, unblinking, as the distance between them dwindled to scarcely the breadth of two fingers.

"Fuck!"

He did not realise the cry had come from his own lips until it was too late. The bee, wasp, whatever wretched insect it was, had crawled up in the inner part of his sleeve, and stung him right on the inner part of his elbow. It hardly hurt, but the shock of it in the stillness of his position made him forget himself, and flail wildly to get the thing out of his sleeve.

Baelor sprang backwards as though struck, wrenching himself free of Duncan's arms and steadying himself against the flank of his horse. Duncan spun toward the sound, one hand already on the hilt of his sword.

"Who's there?" he barked, then relaxed at once. "....Ser Donnel?

Donnel closed his eyes and sighed. There was no pretending now.

With as much dignity as a man could muster while covered in twigs and burrs, he pushed through the bushes, trying unsuccessfully to disentangle a branch from his cloak. His face burned redder than his hair.

"... Prince Baelor." he inclined his head. "Ser Duncan."

A pause.

"I... I was searching for dangers."

Duncan stared at him, as though unable to understand what he was hearing at all. His face was almost as flushed as Donnel's. The silence was heavy.

"... I am glad you have found us again, Ser." Baelor, who alone seemed unflustered, broke the tension with a chuckle. "Though I do not think you need to search the undergrowth for assassins, my good knight. Bring your horse, and let us continue."

"Well," Donnel dropped dramatically into his usual chair. He still felt flushed with embarrassment. "That did not go as I had hoped."

He recounted the story to his fellow conspirators, soothed by the goblet of beer in his hand.

Roland sighed. "It is proof the affection is there," he said, trying to find a positive in the story. "If only you hadn't put your foot in it, Donnel, they might have kissed."

Donnel glowered at him. "The bee had it out for me," he insisted, "It was guided by the Stranger himself, most surely."

"Does the Stranger routinely command insects?" Roland rolled his eyes. "Divine punishment aside, we still need a new plan."

"A plan for what, ser?" A high voice came from the doorway. The knights turned to the door.

Young Prince Aegon stood there, his arms folded and his expression serious, as though he had caught them in the middle of plotting something devious - which was half true, Donnel supposed, though it was for the good of the realm.

"Prince Aegon." The knights rose from their chairs, but Egg dismissed them with a little wave and came to sit on the low table between them.

"Well, sers? What did you need a plan for?"

Lord Commander Olyvar cleared his throat. "It is not a matter for children."

Egg raised an eyebrow. His hair had half grown back, and when he looked at them like this, he looked unnervingly like his father. "So it is about Dunk and Uncle Baelor."

Olyvar blinked. Donnel laughed. Damn the sharp eyes of children.

"Yes. Do you think Ser Duncan is fond of your uncle?"

Egg snorted derisively. "More than fond. Even a blind man could see it, sers, don't look so surprised. What are you going to do about it?"

Donnel shrugged. "I already tried, and failed. They will never tell each other without aid - why are you looking at me like that, Aegon?"

Egg smiled, and Donnel felt an uneasy twist in his gut. That smile meant trouble.

"Just leave it to me, sers."

Lady Shiera was in her chamber. When her handmaiden allowed Egg in, his aunt was at her desk, a large, strange volume in front of her. She smiled at him, a slow, sinister smile that set his nerves on edge.

"Little Aegon," she greeted him, standing. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Egg looked nervously about the room. There was something distinctly unsettling about Shiera that he did not know how to name. He always felt as if she was three steps ahead of his own thoughts.

He steeled himself. "I need a love potion."

Shiera's laugh was like tinkling bells. "A love potion? Why, my young prince, I thought we had a few years yet before you asked. Who is the girl?"

Egg turned pink and shook his head adamantly. "Not for me." he explained, "For my uncle and Ser Duncan."

Shiera stood and laughed again. "Ah. Our noble Kingsguard have roped you into their plots, I see."

"You know about that?"

"My little prince," she said, a sly smile on her beautiful face, "dear Lord Bloodraven may have a thousand eyes, but a woman has a thousand ears, and our friends are not subtle. Are you quite sure you wish to drug your uncle, and your tall friend?"

"... yes." Why would he not be? There was surely no harm in it; it was obvious to Egg that Dunk and his uncle were in love. The potion would only help them realise it. "They need the help, and I want Dunk to be happy."

Her gaze softened. "Very well. Just a moment, little prince."

With the swishing of silver silks, she crossed the room to a large black cabinet. Opening it revealed a vast collection of vials, bottles, and more herbs than a maester's supply. As Egg watched, she took several vials from the collection and brought them to her work desk by her window. Shiera dropped three drops of something gold as his grandfather's crown into a crucible with water over flame, then mixed in something pink as powdered petals. A sweet scent filled the air as she mixed the potion, whispering something in a language Egg did not recognise.

She poured the heated liquid through a funnel into a small vial, and stopped it with a cork.

"Now," her voice was thick with amusement as she held it out to him. "You must be very careful with this, Egg. You would not want it to fall upon the wrong lips."

"Do not worry aunt Shiera," he said, clutching the potion to his chest. "I know just what to do with it."

Egg's plan came to fruition at dinner three days later.

It was to be a family affair, in the queen's dining hall. Egg had told Dunk about it while training the day before, telling him which cousins would be there, which surcoat to wear, how to address his grandfather and uncles. Dunk had tried to weasel his way out of it, but Egg insisted he was as good as family, and that Uncle Baelor would want him there. The last had been said to the back of Dunk's head while he helped him out of his armour, so his friend did not see the smirk on the young prince's face.

Singers were easy to find in the court of King Daeron II, for his grandfather loved music, and Egg had sized up a suitable set of them already. All it took was two gold dragons (pilfered from his father's bedchamber) and the promise of performing directly in front of the king to get them to agree to perform every romantic ballad they knew.

His grandmother the Queen had insisted, strongly, with a wink in Egg's direction, on arranging the seating herself. It was a dinner to celebrate her eldest son's recovery, and who better to have the place of honour beside him than Ser Duncan, that noble and true knight. His grandfather and father had looked surprised, but neither of them dared argue with the queen, and so, everything went ahead as Egg had wanted.

At the head of the circle of tables sat the king and queen themselves, of course, with his uncle on the king's right. Usually, his cousin Valarr would sit beside Baelor, but he had graciously given up his seat for Ser Duncan, who sat stiff and awkward at the table. The rest of the family filed into their usual seats, with Egg at the far end of the table with the other children.

The singers, as promised, were half through a rendition of Let Me Drink Your Beauty when he put the next part of his plan into action.

The main course had been cleared away, and the mood in the hall was merry. Wine and good food had relaxed Dunk, who now listened as Baelor spoke to him animatedly. Everyone was engrossed in the music or conversation, and servants came to bring out desserts. No one noticed Egg slip from his seat.

He worked his way around the table, weaving unnoticed between the servants until he was behind Duncan. His grandmother caught his eye and nodded once. Egg took this as a sign his plan should go ahead.

Prince Baelor was in the midst of a story about his days as a war commander. Dunk had leaned forward, listening intently. Egg uncorked the vial. All he had to do was drip half the potion into Dunk's wine, which sat unguarded to his left. Then he could pass his grandmother the vial and the Queen would do the same to Baelor's goblet.

It should have been easy. No one was looking at him. Egg chose his moment.

He chose wrong. In the split second that he held the vial over the goblet, Dunk laughed at something Baelor had said, his elbow knocking the goblet and Egg to the floor with a crash as Egg collided with a servant carrying a tray, sending thankfully empty plates to the floor. The singer's music faltered as the room went silent, all heads turning towards him.

Dunk sprang to his feet, apologising profusely to the startled servant and gathering the plates in his hands. Egg looked at the empty vial in his hand. Damn.

He glanced at the table, sheepishly. The King had his face in his hands, but his grandmother was smiling.

"Aegon." Baelor broke the silence, and even as he tried to reprimand him, Egg could hear the laughter held back in his voice. He picked himself up off the floor and took the plates from Dunk before he could drop them again. "What are you doing?"

Fortunately, Egg was always quick with a lie. "It is a game the other squires taught me, Uncle." He held his hands behind his back, hiding the vial. "You have to try and take something without anyone noticing."

Baelor, it seemed, believed him. "Let us have no more games like that, hm?"

They were going to need a new plan. Egg nodded. "Yes, Uncle."

"Good. Now," Baelor turned his attention back to the singers and waved a hand. "Please continue, bard, you were just getting to the good bit."

"I really thought it would work."

The next morning, Egg dropped dramatically onto a chair in the White Sword Tower. Donnel patted his shoulder sympathetically. At least he was no longer the only one who had embarrassed himself in the service of princely romance.

"What are we to do? I saw how Duncan looked at the prince during dinner. If we must bear them making eyes at each other fruitlessly for much longer, I may renounce my cloak and become a septon." Edwyn Arryn declared, throwing up his hands.

"We have tried everything," Olyvar declared, though that was decidedly untrue. "If they will not admit it even when they almost kissed, what hope is there? Start practising your hymns, Edwyn."

"Not everything." Roland scratched his beard. "Perhaps it is time for something more direct. If they will not confess, given the opportunity, and magical means are out of the question, then we must force them to act."

"Force them?" Egg frowned. "I do not think anyone could force Uncle to do anything."

Roland had a spark in his eyes; Donnel could practically see the idea forming as he spoke. "We can. Here is what I propose - in the royal wing, there is a cupboard in the hallway large enough for them both. Prince Aegon, you will tell your uncle his father has summoned him, and he will certainly bring Duncan with him. As they pass, Donnel and I will spring our ambush and trap them inside. Then, we simply do not let them out until they admit their love."

"Prince Baelor will kill us."

Roland grinned. Donnel wondered if other people could see his hair turning grey at the sight.

"Being in Ser Duncan's arms will soothe his temper."

"You are mad."

"Have you anything better? I bet you all a gold dragon that it will work."

"I think it is a good idea." Egg chimed in, sealing Donnel's fate. "And there is a crawlspace in the wall. We can spy on them from in there if we make a hole in the plaster."

"What?" The knights all turned to stare at him. "There is? How do you know that?"

"Uncle Bloodraven showed me. I used to hide from my lessons there."

Donnel sighed. Roland laughed.

"What would we do without you, lad?"

Lacking better ideas and spurred on by Roland's confidence in his own, the plan went ahead. The knights moved the cupboard into place, making sure it was empty, and placed themselves as guards opposite it. It might look strange to have them guarding an empty stretch of wall, but they hoped to be fast enough that neither target would notice anything amiss.

Egg played his part gallantly. He was more invested than either of them, rushing through the halls to find his friend and his uncle talking in a shady courtyard. When he relayed his false message, Baelor stood from his bench with a grunt and leaned on Duncan's arm to regain his balance.

Egg led the way towards the ambush, pleased he was ahead of them so that no one could see the smirk on his face. As he passed the cupboard, he slipped aside, and the trap was sprung.

It took both knights to shove Duncan into the waiting cupboard, and it was surely only successful with the element of surprise on their side. Baelor, swept up in the confusion, did not say anything until the door was shut on them, Donnel's sword holding it shut from the outside.

"Donnel? Roland?" The doors rattled. "Have you gone mad, sers? Let me out! The King —"

"The King is not awaiting you, my prince." Roland answered as a giggling Egg dragged Donnel to the hidden entrance to the crawlspace. "It was a trick."

"A trick?" he heard Duncan repeat, confused. "Why?"

"Yes, Ser Roland, why?" He knew the prince would be scowling at him and shivered. Few men were the targets of Baelor Breakspear's anger, and he did not like that he was joining those ranks.

"May I be frank, my prince?"

Baelor scoffed. "You may as well be, ser, after this."

"We could not bear another minute of it, my prince. The longing stares, the wistful sighs. You and Ser Duncan are in love, and you shall remain in there until you admit it."

There was silence from inside, and he wished he could see their faces.

".... let me out, Ser Roland." Baelor's voice had turned sharp and serious.

Roland did not answer and kept his solemn guard before the doors.

"Ser Roland, what are you doing?"

Roland turned his head to see Lord Bloodraven walking before him, his pale brow furrowed. Lady Shiera was on his arm, her mouth hidden behind a fan.

"Guarding the cupboard, my lord."

Bloodraven's frown deepened. "Is it a royal cupboard, ser?"

"It is now, my lord. Prince Baelor is in there, with Ser Duncan." His eyes darted to Shiera, uncertain if certain things ought to be said in front of a lady, when that lady was Shiera Seastar. "Alone, if you take my meaning."

"What..?"

Shiera shrieked with laughter, either at his words or the expression on Bloodraven's face.

"So I gave them a true potion after all." she declared, tugging on Bloodraven's arm. "Come, Brynden, let us leave our nephew to it, and I shall tell you the whole tale."

Bloodraven spared the cupboard one more glance, then, with a little shake of his head and the hint of a smile on his lips, placed his hand over Shiera's on his arm and continued his walk.

"Who was that, Ser Roland?" Baelor's breathy voice came from inside the cupboard.

"No one, my prince."

Baelor called him a rather unflattering name.

In the crawlspace, Donnel finally pulled himself into place beside Egg. The boy had found his way through with little trouble, but Donnel had had to divest himself of his armour, cloak and sword belt to get between the walls. Two perfect holes had been bored through the wall and the back of the closet, roughly the height of his eyes. Egg had his ear pressed to the wall further down.

"What do you see, ser?" he whispered. Donnel peered through the hole.

Prince Baelor was pressed against the side of the cupboard, but he did not look half as squished as Duncan, who had sunk to a crouch just to fit in the space. Baelor looked furious, but Duncan was once again pink-faced.

"I am terribly sorry about this, Ser Duncan. I do not know what has gotten into my knights. Egg, I would expect such childishness from, but Donnel and Roland? I would never... it is unbefitting of knighthood."

Duncan cleared his throat awkwardly. "They only mean well, I think."

"They have a strange way of showing it."

"Aye."

Silence settled again. Baelor filled it quickly, as though he could not bear the weight of it.

"I must apologise on their behalf. I do not know what they have been seeing, but there has been no staring and no sighing. I am not a maiden with her first crush, and regardless, it would be... unfair, to indulge in such behaviour. I truly am terribly sorry, Ser Duncan."

In the crawlspace, Egg leaned close enough that Donnel feared the boy would come crashing through the wall.

"It is ridiculous." Baelor finished.

Duncan was silent. Donnel wondered what he was thinking, in that thick head of his. Come on, Duncan. Now's your chance.

"Is it?" Duncan's voice came softly. Egg grinned by Donnel's knee.

Baelor blinked. "What do you mean?" The man's voice was back, nervous and unsure of himself in a way that did not seem to fit all he knew of Baelor.

Duncan let out a long breath. "I mean... it doesn't seem so ridiculous to me."

Egg's fingers dug into Donnel's trouser leg.

"I know I'm only making a greater fool of myself," Duncan continued bravely. "You've every right to forget I ever spoke. You're a prince. I'm... well, I'm no one. Knighthood is all I have.."

"Ser Duncan —" Baelor began, but Duncan awkwardly held up a hand to stop him.

"Please let me finish, my prince," he said. "I know it can't come to anything. I know that. But if we are to be trapped in a cupboard until we speak the truth..." He managed a crooked smile. "Then the truth is as Ser Roland says. You are the best man I have ever known, your grace. I would die for you. I..."

Baelor was speechless, his eyes wide, and Donnel could see him holding his breath.

Dunk forged on, growing in confidence the more he spoke. A seal had been broken, and there was no going back now.

"I like hearing you laugh. I like riding beside you. I like that you always remember everyone's names, that you are as warm to a servant as you are to a lord. And to think of you in danger, to think of you hurting, or distraught, or..., I..." He shrugged, as much as the cramped space allowed. "It feels like someone put a hand round my heart."

Baelor's mouth opened and closed again. His cheeks had darkened with a blush.

"So," Duncan concluded, "there it is. I am in love with you, your grace. If you want to tell me I'm an idiot, I'd not argue."

Baelor's voice was a whisper. "You impossible man."

Dunk winced, but their hiding space Donnel and Egg beamed.

"I spent these last months convincing myself I had imagined it," Baelor said. "Every glance. Every every touch. All of it."

Baelor smiled, sheepish. "I told myself you admired me as a prince. Or as a knight. Or merely tolerated me for Egg's sake." He gave a helpless little laugh. "I did not want to assume, and to ask would be worse. You are a good man, ser, and a loyal knight. I did not want you to feel as though you owed me love as well as that loyalty. I feared... you know what they say of the old king, my grandfather. I would not be him."

Duncan had leaned closer, impossible as that seemed in the small space. "What are you saying, your grace?"

"I am saying that I am in love with you, Ser Duncan. I fear I have been for rather a long while."

Duncan's answering grin spread slowly across his face. "Oh."

"Oh." Baelor echoed.

Despite the lack of space, Duncan reached forward, hesitating halfway. His hand was huge compared to Baelor's face. "May I?"

Baelor smiled. "You may."

Duncan cupped Baelor's face with his hand, their faces now mere inches from each other. Duncan pressed their foreheads together.

"I have wanted to do this," Baelor murmured, "for an embarrassingly long time."

"So have I."

Baelor smiled once more before he leaned in and kissed him.

It was a tender kiss; Baelor did not lack in confidence, for Donnel knew he had kissed his share of men in his time. But it was slow and soft, testing and curious as Duncan brought his other hand to rest on Baelor's shoulder. Duncan made a quiet sound of pleasure, half a groan and half a gasp.

Egg wrinkled his nose. "Are they kissing? Ew."

Donnel shushed him and kept watching.

When they drew apart, they were both smiling like fools. Duncan laughed under his breath. "That wasn't half as frightening as I thought."

"So," Baelor said, laughter in his voice "would you object if we did that again?"

Duncan answered by claiming his lips again.

Donnel tugged Egg by the arm, beginning to edge out of the tunnel. He had a feeling it was best to leave the prince and his knight to their own devices. With considerably more effort than it took to get in, he hauled himself out of the tunnel and onto the floor of the hall. Egg sprang out easily behind him.

"I take it, then, we have been successful?" Roland offered his hand to help Donnel up. Donnel busted himself off.

"Abandoned your post, have you, Crakehall?"

"I could hear every word they said. I figured they wouldn't want me standing there."

"Aye. Now, come on. We better go and tell the others."

While my giftee is no longer involved their prompt was illuminated manuscript with a kneeling Dunk (amazing line up with my own offer), and I knew just the Codex Manesse image.

Though the 'plot' veneer here is after Ashford, Ser Arlan's coat of arms (with the black diamond of a funerary hatchment) gets a top spot as part of Dunk's lineage.

Dunk's arms are simplified to be a little more real world heraldic.

The Targaryen arms are not the show version again for real world heraldry - where the important part is a consistent blazon (written description) rather than a absolutely consistent image. So unless the dragon was specified as in annulo (in a circle), these are can still be described as Sable, a thee-headed dragon Gules.

The little arm beasts are also Dunk & Baelor. I like to imagine them curled up together like the weirdest little cat things.

Dunk-beast is pointing specifically at the 'hold honor in their breast' line as an "I remembered my vows, did you?"

The helmet Baelor is presenting has the Targ color torse (fabric twist) as livery for a knight sworn to the house - the similar twist on Dunk's arm is absolutely his King's ✨favour✨. Winged crests in shield colors were very common in Germanic heraldry though it also double up here as a trace of Ser Arlan again.

Baelor's little cape has a pattern called vair which is supposed to look like a squirrel's winter fur. Royal mantles and all that.