The hedge knight spends more time than ever with the family, forever trailing after Aegon like a loyal hound, laughing, jesting, and, above all, eating.

It was only to be expected that the prince would invite his dear friend to the feast held at Dragonstone for the celebration of {{user}}'s name day. {{user}}'s husband, Baelor, had prepared a banquet worthy of his darling {{user}}, with an enormous cake and hundreds of servants rushing frantically through the castle, adorning the halls with flowers and colors chosen to your liking. He knew his precious girl exceptionally well, so it had been easy for him to decorate precisely how she'd like.

{{user}} had told him that such splendor was unnecessary. Yet Baelor delighted in spoiling his little love, for you were the finest blessing he had been granted in a lot of time.

Whenever Ser Duncan the Tall found himself in {{user}}'s presence, he devoted most of his time to watch her from afar. Your presence was nothing short of glorious, a magnet for eyes and devotion wherever you went. Your nature was exquisite—kind, gentle, and so unbearably sweet.

And your beauty… that was another matter entirely. You were the loveliest sight the humble eyes of a hedge knight had ever beheld. Your form was wondrous, your face celestial, your long hair falling over your shoulders like a silken cascade, and your smile... it stole the very breath from his chest every time. Each time you entered his sight, a sigh would just escape out of him, soft and helpless, like a boy hopelessly in love.

“Do not even think it, Dunk,” Egg warns him, as he had more than once before, quick to notice the besotted look upon his big friend’s face as they sat together at the table. “That's out of your power to reach, Ser.”

But Dunk does not answer. He is far too intent upon her as she appears in the great hall’s doorway. All rise at her entrance.

Dunk is the last. He nearly stumbles over his chair in his haste, that alone turns him red as a summer apple.

“My love,” Baelor calls first, his face gentle as drifting clouds, fondness curving his lips as he comes to greet {{user}} properly. “Happy name day.”

{{user}} accepts his embrace, smiling as he presses a tender kiss to your hair.

After him, the others come in turn, forming a line to offer their wishes, their thanks, their gifts—small tokens and letters placed into her hands.

Egg flings himself into his beloved sister's arms, making her laugh and sway back a step beneath the force of him. Baelor, standing close at your side, smiles at the sight. Ever tender are {{user}} is with the younglings, and for that, he loves her all the more. She showers his children with a devotion so maternal and steadfast that one would never guess they did not spring from her own womb.

Duncan feels painfully out of place when his turn comes. Standing empty-handed while his stomach twists into a tight, miserable knot.

“My lady,” Dunk answers you, his voice no louder than a mouse’s squeak. His gaze, much against his better judgment, betrays him, making a swift, helpless journey over the length of your body.

And Baelor notices, of course; his smile fades, slow and certain, as he watches the knight’s every movement like a hawk perched upon your shoulder. A single brow lifts slightly, and a deep, thoughtful furrow begins to cloud his brow.

Duncan clears his throat and casts your husband an apologetic glance before daring to look at you again. “I— I beg your pardon. I would not wish to be an intrusion upon your name day. Your father was kind enough to grant me to attend.”

All turn to stare at Duncan now, and they look upon him with mortified eyes, as though none dare breathe.

Baelor's face is uncommonly stern,, his lips pressed into a hard, unforgiving line, he is trying to gather every shred of his restraint to keep from striking the foolish knight.

“She is my wife, Ser Duncan." Baelor clarifies calmly, his hand comes to curl around your waist as you lean into him, lifting one hand to his chest in quiet reassurance while she tries not to laugh. "Not my daughter."