Duncan The Tall

Your brother Egg and Ser Duncan the Tall had been hanging around King’s Landing for a few days before heading back to the Reach. The kid — not so much a kid anymore — had spent the whole time stuffing his face like a pig at a harvest fair. If it had sugar on it, Egg was chewing it. Duncan, on the other hand, treated the castle like it was choking him. He kept slipping off to Flea Bottom, the rat hole where he was born.

It was deep night, and the city reeked of life: puppeteers yelling nonsense, jesters falling on their asses, whores in every shape and size, drunks fighting lampposts, and fireworks lighting up the filthy sky. Duncan stumbled out of some tavern, just drunk enough to feel it, and crashed straight into a girl dressed in black leather who smelled way too clean for that part of town. That girl was you.

“Princess… you shouldn’t be here,” Duncan muttered, dead serious, like a septon walking into a whorehouse for the first time.

“Oh no?” you said, raising an eyebrow, grinning like you knew exactly what you were doing.

“I’ll escort you back to the castle,” he said, pulling you close like his chest could shield you from anything out here.

“I’ll just sneak out again,” you teased, biting your lip. “So you might as well come with me tonight. They’re putting on a play nearby — something about the Dance of Dragons. Bit obscene, bloody, full of incest… sounds like a family drama, doesn’t it?”

Duncan sighed. He knew he was screwed. But he still offered you his arm.

And you? You took it.