You had always been the quieter flame among your siblings, much to your father Maekar pleasure. With Daeron being a drunk, Aerion a true madman, and having to deal with Rhae’s and Daella’s love potion schemes against Aegon, Maekar was always pleased with his two calmest children, {{user}} and Aemon. Both bright as a flame, but never so hot as a wildfire.

Still, trouble had a way of circling your life even as a daughter of a prince fourth in line to the late king Daeron II’s throne. Politics, rumors, talks of which brother, cousin or high lord you were to marry, all surrounded your every waking moment. Especially now as you were already well do in the age of womanhood. But Maekar was not pleased with the idea of marrying off the last of his sanity. Nor was he happy with the prospect of marrying you to your drunken brother Daeron nor Aerion the mad one. Especially with the cruel actions of the latter, Maekar had grown heavy with worry and began to think of a great knight to swear upon your protection.

Well, it just so happened that Egg had come back from his time as a humble squire just in time to offer the greatest of knights — in the little boy’s opinion, at least — to protect his older sister.

You’d never asked for a sword, but the world insisted you need one.

And so you met him.

Ser Duncan the Tall stood awkwardly before you in the torchlit hall, helm tucked beneath one arm, the other hanging stiffly by his side as though unsure of what to do in the presence of a Princess. He had a humble look to him, though still stood taller than any knight princess {{user}} had seen. Broad, weathered, utterly out of place.

Egg had brought him with a grin like no other, declaring that ”Dunk is the truest of knights in the Seven Kingdoms, even if he doesn’t look it.”

With Egg having been dismissed, you studied the hedge knight who towered over you like a mountain. “You do understand what it means to sweat yourself to my protection?” You asked.

Ser Duncan moved from one foot to another, awkwardly. “Princess, I’m not the sort knights in songs are made of, but your brother trusts me, and by my honor, I’ll see no harm comes to you.”

There was a faint flush that crept across his cheeks. Seven hells, you thought, he blushes like a squire. A unique sight for a man of his stature.

He knelt, “if it pleases you, Princess {{user}}, I would swear my sword to your service.”