A Dragon Never Regrets

“Where the fuck is my brother?!” Maekar’s jaw is so tight, it’s a wonder that her teeth don’t crack and leave her mouth as bloody as she’s left her brother’s skull. “Maester! We need a maester—ah, the—the Prince’s maester!” She’s not even really paying attention to the book in front of her, but at least it keeps her fingers busy. “Yormwell, follow me! You; boy, take me to my brother, now!” Maekar blows out a quiet breath to steady herself as she finally hears footsteps approaching. She clears her throat just as she hears one of the guards speak through the door. “Your Grace, we have Ser Duncan.” Maekar takes another quick breath to keep herself calm. Back ridged as she speaks, “Come.” The tall hedge knight seems to be more battered than she remembers. Though, she was more focused on her brother, so, to be honest to The Seven, she really doesn’t remember looking at anyone else. The two guards leave at the simple nod of the Princess’s head. And while she knows those men in the trial would never have laid a true ill hand on her because of who she is, she still doesn’t blame the knight for looking nervous. She would tell him to sit, but as well as looking like he wouldn’t be able to stand so easily again, she can see the small annoyed glint in his eyes. She almost wants to smile, because it turns out he isn’t as useless as she first thought. And if Baelor was willing to fight for him... Maekar shuts that train of thought down immediately. Mainly, because she still has mixed feelings about her own brother taking sides against her after every fucking thing they’ve been through, just the two of them. The knight just stares at her, either too tired or actually remembering his basic manners this time. Maekar starts by telling him, “I’m sending Aerion to the East. A few years in the Free Cities may change him for the better.” She, also, is fucking tired after everything, as she can tell by the look he gives her that they both know that is a fucking longshot. But Maekar is not one to dwell on failure. No matter how familiar she is to it. She will never not keep trying. So long as she still holds breath in her lungs. Still, it is not easy for her to say the next words... “Some men will say that I meant to actively try to kill my brother.” She swallows around the swell in the back of her throat, even forces back a glare as the knight looks on her with just a slither of sympathy. “The Gods know it is a lie, but I will hear the whispers ‘til the day I die.” At his look of recognition, she knows he didn’t know until now, and oddly, it makes her feel a little less like wanting to fucking kill herself. “You swung mace, m’lady...” It’s not a question, but Maekar nods mutely anyway. Presses her back firmly against her chair. Anything to keep from running away from it all. “But it was for me that Prince Baelor almost died. For me that Prince Baelor now cannot be woke from the land of dreams.” And it is because of me that my arrogant little shit of a pup’ caused me frenzy enough to almost cave half my brother’s head in! Maekar bites her tongue to keep from snapping those words out, instead, says, barely above a cracked breath, “You will hear them whisper as well.” The knight looks like he already knows that. At least he’s smarter than she gave him credit for. Maekar takes a steadying breath, says, “The King is old. If he dies before Baelor should wake, or if—Gods forbid it—my brother should die...” Another breath, this time, a little longer and still a lot less steadying. “It will be me that takes the Throne. Me, the fourth child and a woman; the last resort.” Anybody else, she wouldn’t dare breath a word of this to. But Baelor trusted this man. And Maekar can see the loyalty shining in this knight’s eyes for her brother. A good man finding a good man. One knowing the other; recognising one another. Maybe that’s why Baelor chose him over her. Because she knows she’s not a bad person, but she also, very much knows she isn’t a good one either. Not like Baelor. “No! Ser! Get up, Ser! Please, get up! Ser!? Ser!!” And clearly, not like Ser Duncan. Maekar blinks away the horrid memories, still fresh from just last night. Says, “And if that time comes, from then on, each time a battle is lost or a crop fails, the fools will say that Baelor would not have let it happen... But the hedge knight killed him.” She glares at him very slightly; she just wants to test his reaction. To test his loyalty. To test his goodness, if you will. She needs to know this man is who Egg says he is, otherwise, Maekar really will be fucking lost with her last and only hope for a successful heir. Dunk finally glares back at her. Though, only for a split second, his head bowing immediately again after her brow lifts just a fraction. “If I had not fought,” He says, still not looking at her. “You would have had my hand and foot.” He knows he doesn’t need to look at her, knows they both know his words are true. Maekar raises brows to herself in agreement while he’s not looking. Dunk warily continues with, “I sat under the tree this morning and I asked, could I have spared one?” He chokes on the lump in the back of his own throat as he bitterly, but quietly adds, “I mean, how could a foot be worth a prince’s life?” “He’s not dead.” Maekar grits out the words, snapping from what tiny shred of composure she had left. Dunk’s eyes widen up at her before he quickly lowers his head again. Nodding furiously as he just as quickly stutters out, “N-No, of course n-not! That’s not what I—“ “Stop.” Maekar snips with a huff. Leans back in her seat and relaxes just a tiny bit as she asks him, “Well, then, what answer did your tree give you?” Dunk fights back a tiny smile at the fond memories that come with thinking about his foster father, not wanting to piss the Princess off even further. He hobbles slowly closer as he tells her, “Every day, at evenfall, Ser Arlan would say, ‘I wonder what the morrow will bring. Mightn’t it be that some morrow will come when I’ll have need of that foot, when the realm will need that foot even more than a prince’s life?’” “Baelor? Baelor! Oh, fucking Gods...” Maekar side-eyes him intently, and with a little annoyance as she snipes back with, “Not bloody likely. The realm has as many hedge knights as hedges.” “Bealor? Bealor! Oh, fucking Gods... What have I done?” Maekar tears her eyes from the knight’s when his expression annoyingly turns sympathetic once again. She doesn’t need anyone feeling sorry for her. Especially not a fucking hedge knight. Still, he’s clearly more observant...still infuriatingly compassionate even after her son tried to fucking humiliate and kill him. Obviously, the Gods look down on Maekar for entertainment purposes only, because both good men and bad seem to ruin her fucking life, one way or another. (They must do to have her invest her only hope left in a fucking hedge knight.) Maekar slowly rises from her seat. Walks around the desk as she begrudgingly states, “My youngest son seems to have grown fond of you, ser. And it is time he was a squire. But he tells me he will serve no knight but you.” Dunk smiles fondly to himself before slowly turning to face the Princess, gripping his wooden crutch as he hobbles around. “He is an unruly boy, as you will have noticed.” “He’s a good lad.” Maekar bows her head, fights back a faint smile. “Just needs a stern hand, that’s all.” This would be the only time Dunk would ever dare to say such words to the Princess. But he feels like she is silently asking for his take on her boy. He’s right, but still surprised when the Princess asks, “Will you have him?” He can hear how the words pain her to even say, and Dunk would offer some comfort if he wasn’t so shocked as asks, “Me?” Finally, Maekar forces herself to produce a very small smile for the knight as she says, “There is a place for you at Summerhall.” Though, her expression is rather tense as she says, “You’ll swear your sword to me, or my father, and hopefully, my brother. And Aegon can squire for you. While you train him, my master-at-arms will finish your own training.” She can see his blue eyes widen in earnest. She can see the appeal her words hold to him. She hopes words will be enough. (Because Baelor was the one with all the charm to back his words up; Maekar has never had such luxury.) Her smile is tight, but soft as she adds, “Ser Arlan did all he could for you, I have no doubt.” She doesn’t want him to think her words only mean to offend, so she softens her tone a little, too, as she says, “But you still have much to learn.” The room is silent for several moments then. Maekar simply lets him think it over, because she can see him thinking about it, at least. He coughs before answering, as if his final decision weighs greatly upon his chest. And when he does, much to Maekar’s potential hope and utter dismay (and maybe also, a little fear), he shakes his head slowly, and says, “I beg your pardon, m’lady, I do, but...” He shakes his head again, looks regretful but firm as he says, “But I think I’m done with princes.” Maekar nods to herself as he mutters a “yeah” to himself. She already knew that may be his answer. She doesn’t blame him for his feelings, of course. But she doesn’t simply have the heart to force him either. When he looks at her silently, but warily then, Maekar simply gives him a nod before waving a hand to the door. She watches him leave then, and for once in her life, she actually feels helpless.