Chapter Text
“Where are we going, Ser?” Egg asks. The lad is gripping the reins of his horse tightly.
“To the coast,” Dunk answers. They have only just left Summerhall once again, and so he’s yet to find work. “And then follow it north, perhaps.”
“Could we perhaps go somewhere a little further away? Ser.”
“Where did you want to go, then?” Dunk asks, humouring the prince.
“Bravos, perhaps?” Aegon suggests. “Although that is likely not far enough. We may need to try Volantis, or Lys.”
By now, the lads fingers are downright trembling against the saddle. Dunk has a sense of slowly dawning horror.
“Somewhere Aerion cannot find me. Us,” the boy insists. “Because he will look.”
“Egg,” Duncan asks, “what did you do?”
“It was hardly my fault!” the boy protests. “Only-”
“Only what?”
“Aerion said there was a sure way for it to hatch, and that he would use it to burn me, and anyone I cared for, and - and if anyone cannot have a dragon, it is Aerion,” the boy insists. Then, very slowly, he turns over on his horses back and reveals the dragon egg sitting within the saddlebag.
“Gods,” Dunk whispers. “Fuck.”
He knows little of his squire's brothers. Stays in the barracks with the other men-at-arms whenever Aegon goes to visit his family at Summerhall. Dunk had only met the oldest, Daeron, and even that had been a single instance, back at the tourney in Ashford. The other princes had been absent; one in Oldtown, the other unable to leave Summerhall for an unclear reason, albeit there were whispers. Sickness. Madness. It was beyond Duncan’s scope to determine the truth of whispers, however, so he paid it little mind.
Perhaps he should have.
“You took it. And before, your brother Aerion had it?” he clarifies. Egg nods. “How’d he come by it?”
His squire shrugs.
“We must return it,” Dunk determines. It is a prince’s stolen property, even if the thief was another prince.
“No!” Eggs denial is immediate. “Aerion wasn’t meant to have it either, I’m sure.”
“Well we cannot keep it.” Dunk says. That much is clear. “Where’s it meant to be, then, if not with the prince?”
“Dragonstone?” Aegon guesses. “I do not know. They are kept well hidden.”
Going to Dragonstone involves a ship, Duncan knows. Never mind that the castle is only manned by a castellan at current.
“Kings Landing then,” he suggests. Aegon visibly mulls it over.
“You think Uncle will help us?”
“King Baelor is an honourable man,” Duncan replies. Certainly he is better equipped to deal with a manner of dragon eggs than Duncan is, albeit that applies to just about anyone.
Aegon huffs his acquiescence. “But we really must be off the road, Ser. My brother will chase us.”
They turn the horses into the fields and ride the remainder of the day in uneasy silence, only stopping when the sun is nearly gone. There is a little burbling stream and a few trees to provide shelter; as good a place to rest for the night as any. Aegon eyes it sceptically.
“Are you certain this place is safe?”
“I’m certain we’ll not find better,” Duncan replies, and turns to unhook the saddle bags. In truth, he feels uneasy. Dunk can only guess at the scope of what he stumbled on to. Dragon eggs are valuable, yes, but if there’s a way to hatch a dragon from them again in truth-
Battles have been fought for less. That is why we will go to the king. In this night, there is nought to do but rest so they can travel again in the morn.
“Let’s gather kindling for the fire,” Dunk decides. Aegon looks between him and the bundle of their saddle bags.
“Should not one of us remain with - with our luggage?”
Dunk raises his eyebrows.
“Very well. Off you go, then.”
“Come on, Ser. I didn’t mean-”
“This over there seems a likely thicket,” Duncan declares, and Aegon drudges off.
He takes a moment to study their luggage, like as not worth more than its weight in gold. The egg seems unremarkable for something that may cost him his head. As large as a mans forearm is long, perhaps, the dull green surface etched with ripples that catch the dying sunlight. Dunk traces the ripples, curious at this relic that once promised untold strength and power. The surface of the egg is cold and hard beneath his fingers. Little more than a stone. He turns toward their dinner preparations instead.
When Aegon returns holding a bundle of sticks, he looks as though he has been dragged through a hedge - which perhaps he has. There are scratches all over his face and arms, and brambles knotted in his fine black cloak. Every time they visit Summerhall, Prince Maekar outfits his youngest son with fine clothes befitting his station, and every time the fine clothing lasts barely a moons turn before it is little better than rags. This set seems bound to head the same way. The young prince drops his bundle beside their fireplace.
“I did not know being a hedge knight would involve quite so many fights with the hedges,” the boy declares, but despite his grumpy tone the task seems to have settled something in him. Aegon turns to start the fire and within minutes there is a small blaze for them to sit beside as they eat their dinner. Duncan turns to hand the boy his half of it, not just hard salt beef but bread and even a hunk of cheese to go with it. Instead he finds the boy staring at the egg intently. It looks different in the firelight. The flames’ reflection flickers and gleams across the surface, until it seems almost a living thing.
“We should put it in the fire,” Aegon says. Duncan looks dubiously between the egg and their little campfire.
“Will that not break it?”
Aegon looks unsure himself.
“Well, it is not like a goose egg,” he says finally, a ringing endorsement. “There used to be fire, I think. There’s still braziers shaped for it at the Red Keep.”
Duncan, who has never been to the Red Keep but has only seen it from far below, has little to say to that.
“If you think it necessary,” he agrees, feeling once more utterly unprepared. “Make sure not to smother the fire.”
Aegon nods and carefully lifts the egg up, cradling it with his entire arms. For him, it is nearly the size of his own torso. He carefully edges it close to the fire.
“Good,” he finally decides. “This way it will not lose its warmth.”
Duncan remembers the egg feeling cold under his fingers earlier. It must take heat well, to warm noticeably just from sitting next to the fire for such a short while.
“Let us sleep, then,” he says, and Aegon curls up on his bedroll with only a small grumble, edging himself so close to Dunk that he is nearly resting under his arm.
“The stars are bright tonight,” Egg says after a moment. Dunk follows his gaze to the sky. Indeed they are; a bright, glittering tapestry. Between them something gleams red, drifting across the skies.
“They are bright,” Duncan agrees, “and that one must be plenty of good luck. It’s even got your house colours.”
Dunk turns to look at Egg at the lack of answer only to see him fast asleep.
Despite Aegon's growing tension, the next days pass without any sign of pursuit. Not by Aerion or any other force. They make a good pace with the weather holding, each day bringing blue skies and clear nights. The horses are tiring and they’ve run out of the cheese, but there’s ought else amiss, and supper is easy enough to supplement if they take the time to put up a snare or two. Every night, Aegon hauls the egg into the fire. He seems content with it.
Dunk still feels unease. At first it was a slow, creeping thing, but now he is certain - something is wrong with Egg.
His squire is quieter than usual, oft staring into the distance. At night he looks into the fire rather than chattering along as he is wont to. His arms still bear the same scratches from their first day of travel, looking deeper and redder than they did then, traces of rusty dried blood across his pale skin. Eggs face looks drawn.
Duncan supposes it could be worry about his brother, still, but he’s near certain it's to do with the egg itself. Aegon insists on riding with the egg stored in his own saddlebags. Often, he rides with one hand pressed to its surface. He builds their fires higher around the egg so they burn through the night.
A few days into their ride, Duncan wakes at night to see Egg kneeling by the dying fire, pulling at the cuts on his arm and letting his blood drip into the flames.
“What are you doing?” he demands, pulling the lad back from the fire. Aegon looks startled.
“I was just-” he starts. Then he shakes himself. “I don’t know.”
Duncan settles him back onto the bedroll, and this time he does rest his arm over Aegon’s slight frame.
“Go to sleep,” he insists.
“But I need-”
“D’you want a clout in the ear? What you need is to rest.”
Egg trembles against him. Sleep evades Duncan for the remainder of the night, and the next day Egg seems farther away than before.
“Egg,” Duncan asks, “what were you doing last night? Bleeding yourself, it is- you ought not do it.”
Aegon pets the egg almost absentmindedly.
“But I need it,” he replies, “she needs it.”
“She?” Duncan questions. “Who?”
Egg blinks. “I don’t know.”
Something is amiss.
“What is the matter?” Duncan cuts to the heart of it.
“Nothing,” Aegon insists. His gaze drifts. “All is well. Save for Aerion. How far are we again from Kings Landing?”
“Close,” Duncan answers, and wills it so. Dunk pushes the horses even harder, despite the tiredness. Something is very amiss. Something beyond Duncan’s knowledge. But they are bound to reach Kings Landing soon, and surely the king will help. Dunk had met King Baelor only the once, but even in that single meeting, the man had proven himself honourable, knowledgeable and kind. He will know what to do. He must.
So they ride on. Duncan keeps a near constant eye on the lad to stop him from bleeding himself, and yet Aegon is growing paler and further away each day. And then, the day before they are bound to leave for Kings Landing, accompanied by a loud crack, the egg breaks in half. Duncan stares in disbelief.
There, within their cooking fire and between the remains of a roasted squirrel, sits the first dragon Westeros has seen in fifty years.