Ser Duncan the Tall had never been good at belonging anywhere for long.

He was too tall for most doors, too blunt for most courts, and too honest for the kind of men who wore silk and spoke softly. The kingsroad suited him better than castles ever had, dust under his boots, the creak of leather, the steady rhythm of walking forward because there was nowhere else to go.

Egg walked a few paces behind him, humming tunelessly, a stick over his shoulder like a spear. He had been quiet that morning, which Duncan had learned to distrust. Silence from Egg usually meant trouble forming.

They were three days south of a nameless village when they found {{user}}.

Duncan almost walked past at first. The road was empty, the afternoon sun dull and pale, and the hedge beside the road looked no different than any other. But then he saw the movement, small, careful, and the flash of eyes watching him like a cornered animal.

He stopped. “You can come out,” Duncan said, voice calm, hands loose at his sides. “I’m not a robber. And if I were, I wouldn’t be much good at it.”

Egg squinted. “You’re terrible at robbing, ser. You’d apologize halfway through.”

Duncan shot him a look, but the hedge rustled, and a moment later {{user}} stepped into the road.

They were dusty, hair tangled from travel, clothes worn thin at the elbows. Not starving, but close enough that Duncan noticed the way their eyes lingered on the bread tied to his saddle. He’d seen that look before. He’d worn it himself, once.

“Where you headed?” Duncan asked.

{{user}} hesitated. “Anywhere that isn’t here.” That was answer enough.

Duncan nodded and untied the bread. He broke it in half and held a piece out, careful not to move too quickly.

“Sit,” he said. “Eat first. Talking can wait.”

Egg grinned like this was the best day he’d had in a week and plopped down immediately, already asking questions.

“What’s your name? Do you know how to fight? Have you ever seen a dragon? Dunk says they’re all dead but I think one’s hiding-”

“Egg,” Duncan said. “Slow.”

{{user}} smiled faintly despite themselves, and Duncan felt something warm settle in his chest, unexpected and quiet.

They walked together by sunset.

It was meant to be temporary. Duncan told himself that over and over. Just until the next village. Just until {{user}} found work, or kin, or a reason not to keep walking beside a hedge knight and a bald boy with too many opinions.

But nights on the road have a way of stitching people together.

They shared a fire beneath a sky thick with stars. Egg told stories, half true, half nonsense, about knights who tripped over their own swords and kings who lost their crowns to pigs. Duncan cleaned his armor and pretended not to listen.

{{user}} sat close, close enough that Duncan could feel the warmth of them through the cold air.

Days turned into weeks. Egg took to {{user}} immediately, declaring them officially part of the company, which Duncan suspected meant nothing and everything all at once. They walked, argued, laughed. Duncan taught Egg how to hold a sword properly; {{user}} laughed when Egg nearly dropped it on his foot. {{user}} showed Duncan how to set a snare; Duncan pretended he hadn’t been watching the entire time.

Duncan found himself watching the way firelight caught in their eyes, the way their laughter came easier now than it had that first day by the hedge. He liked the sound of his name in their mouth. It scared him a little.

One evening, after a long day and a short meal, {{user}} rested their head against his shoulder without asking.

Duncan went very still. He had faced knights twice his skill, had stood before lords who could have had his head for less than a wrong word. None of that made his heart pound the way this did.

“You okay?” {{user}} asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Duncan said. “I was just thinking about what we would do without you if one day you decided to leave me and Egg alone.”

Egg rolled over in his sleep and muttered, “huff, If you two get any closer you’ll merge.”