Chapter Text
In hindsight, the night could have been much worse. Dunk had been letting himself relax for the first time in what felt like an eternity; Raymun and his wife Rowan dragging him out for a night on the town against his will. He really hadn’t wanted to go out, rent was due and money was tight and his main source of income had told him they didn’t have anything lined up right now for him to do. Stress was running high and his stomach was aching with each nagging thought of what to do. After his adoptive father, Arlan Pennytree, had passed of old age, Dunk just tried his best to keep moving forward. He cried when the paramedics had taken Arlan’s body away to the morgue to be prepared for the funeral. He cried all night and of course at the funeral, but then he just had to try to get on with it. Arlan would do the same, as he had when his nephew had been killed while in the army. Of course Arlan mostly drown the pain of his loss with alcohol and the company of women, but everyone mourns in their own way. Dunk mourned by working as hard and as much as he could, doing as many odd jobs as possible just to make ends meet. So far he could afford this month’s rent, a few minor groceries and have enough for bus fare for the week but after that he needed a new plan. Raymun had grabbed Dunk’s arm and dragged him off the couch as he vented his frustration to him and Rowan. Now plopped on a stool in a very upscale nightclub, cold beer in his hand and surrounded by his friends, Dunk felt the tightness in his stomach ease away little by little.
“How did you even get us in here?” Dunk asked, having to speak loudly over the thumping music. Rowan tossed her hair and rolled her eyes. “Raymun’s cousin knows the bouncer so he was willing to let us in. Dirty bastard was eyeing me up like a piece of meat. Asshole.” Dunk patted her arm sympathetically. She was stunning, her long red hair curled and worn in a loose ponytail, her dress a nice shade of jade green. Raymun turned into a puddle whenever she was dressed up, even more than he was already a mushy mess for her. “Oh Dunk, you have no idea how lucky I am to have her.” He had said, when he and Rowan celebrated being together for a year. “When we get married she’s going to have the wedding of her dreams, I swear it. I’ll do anything to make her smile.” Dunk sipped his beer and smiled to himself, remembering when the day of the proposal came as well as the request of being the best man was bestowed upon him. The ceremony had been a small one and the couple looked magnificent together, sharing cake and cider then dancing the night away. Dunk had felt so awkward in his rented tux, the tie feeling tight around his neck, a nice shade of green for the Fossoway family crest as well as the wedding colors. He loved his friends and at the same time he envied them. He hadn't attempted to find love again after his last girlfriend, Tanselle. He was beginning to wonder if he was being punished for something with loss after loss he was suffering from.
In truth the night had been going well, he had two beers, danced with Rowan when she pulled him out onto the floor while Raymun laughed and encouraged his awkward shuffle on the dance floor. Beer after beer he drank trying to not take up too much of Rowan's time so she and Raymun could dance. It wasn’t until he had made a hasty exit looking for a bathroom when he accidentally wandered into the VIP section of the club. In fairness, how could Dunk have known, since there was no one there to stop him and it wasn’t roped off and because it honestly didn’t look much different from the rest of the club? The people looked him up and down, mostly due to his height but then they took in the way he was dressed. Unlike Rowan and Raymun who had dressed up a bit, Dunk had worn his jeans and an old grey long sleeve shirt. His shoes were just his boots he usually wore to his odd jobs and his hair probably looked messy from not having time to shower before leaving. Sure there was fancier food laid out on platters, including what looked to be everything from sliders and chicken wings to cheese platters and sushi. Desserts including chocolate covered fruit and fancy looking pastries looked so tempting in the dimmed lighting of the club. It wasn’t until he left the nice restroom, enjoying the smell of the cologne the bathroom attendant had spritzed on him as he left (even though the man had given Dunk a strange look) did he realize that maybe he had made a mistake. He wandered around a bit not trying to garner much attention as he scoped out the food tables looking so inviting to Dunk's rumbling stomach. Part of his issues with his stomach was the fact that he was living off canned soups and meat to spend as little as possible. After sampling what looked to be some sort of tart with jam, did he realize that two large men were standing behind him. Both dressed in black pants and black button up shirts, and they looked vaguely annoyed at him. “Lyonel Baratheon wants a word with you.” A hand grabbed his shirt and yanked him over to a booth of sorts filled with various people dressed very extravagantly. He was shoved forward roughly and the group all fixed their gazes on him. The women laid across the men’s laps and sipped martinis while looking at him with almost boredom, while the men looked at Dunk with annoyance. In the middle of the group sat a man dressed in a black shirt with a vest over top of it with a yellow gold paisley pattern on it. Dunk wasn’t sure but he assumed this one was the leader and that this was Lyonel Baratheon. His hair was black and silvery and it curled wildly atop his head, his beard also flecked with silver hair. A single earring dangled in his left ear and his large brown eyes fixated on Dunk, curiosity filling them as he was dragged forward.
He fiddled with his watch for a moment, readjusting his sleeve when he was done and then fixed his gaze on Dunk’s. “You ever been punched in the face before?” Dunk blinked, and his head tilted slightly. “I beg your pardon, sir?” A small smile crept onto the older man's face and he mimed a fist slamming into his own chin. “Big men, get punched more than little men, did you know that?” Dunk shook his head slightly. “No, but I believe it.” Lyonel tilted his own head this time, studying Dunk. “Is that why you slouch? So you don’t get punched?” Dunk’s face turned red at that, thinking of how his height was a hindrance sometimes. Doorways were unforgiving to those who were particularly tall. “I-I don’t slouch.” He stammered out in protest and a chuckle came from that. “Oh you’ve been cowering like a virgin on her wedding night since you arrived.” Lyonel’s entourage snickered at his joke and Dunk could feel the blush deepening in his face. Had he really been that noticeable? Curse his stupid lumbering height and his awkward nature. Arlan had always told him he was as thick as a castle wall and slow as an ox. 'Dunk the Lunk.' The old man had chuckled when he gave him the nickname. “I mean no disrespect honestly. Just where I grew up, you learn to not draw unwanted attention.” He said, looking down at his feet not wanting to think back to living on the streets when he was just a boy. All the things he had to do just to wake up another day.
Lyonel didn't seem to really notice his reaction or he just didn't care. “You were blessed with tallness so be tall.” Lyonel said, drawing Dunk’s gaze back to him. “Or else I’ll think you're nothing but a hypocrite and kick the shit out of you.” His friends laughed and tittered in excitement, making sweat spring onto Dunk’s forehead. Lyonel looked pretty fit from what he could see, maybe not as tall as Dunk but he’d have a hard time against him in a fight. Especially out numbered as he appeared to be. “So… what did you want that couldn’t have waited for a meeting on Monday?” Lyonel asked, a serious look crossing his face as he stared at Dunk. Blinking in confusion, Dunk just stuttered. Meeting? “I-I’m so sorry… there must be some misunderstanding sir, I’m not here for…” But he was cut off abruptly. “You mean to tell me you have nothing you need to discuss with me? That you have no need to pitch me some sort of sales pitch for crappy products or bullshit mergers with the hope of forming some sort of favor of the Baratheon family?” Lyonel’s voice was booming and everyone was staring in shock and awe at the fury he exuded. His brows tight and the intensity in his eyes bore daggers into Dunk’s wide ones. “So are you one of our competitors then? Here to mock me and try to cause some sort of scandal and ruin my reputation is that it? Perhaps even cause my untimely demise?” “W-what?! N-No not at all sir!” Dunk was going to have a heart attack right here and now from how frightening this whole situation had become. “Then why the fuck are you here?” The question was so direct and to the point that Dunk just answered as directly back as he could after a moment of thought. “S-Supper?” He answered, the uncertainty creeping into the word making him mentally kick himself. Silence. The older man stared at Dunk as though he had sprouted another head and a tail. Then he blinked and a booming laugh came from him. “Actually, that makes sense.” He said, still chuckling and picking up a glass of some amber liquid to drink from. Sensing that this was a good thing Dunk just nodded. “What is your name, man?” Lyonel asked, setting the glass back down, his angry disposition seeming to have gone now. “D-Dunk, sir.” “That’s ridiculous.” Ouch. “Duncan Pennytree.” He tried again, trying his best to make himself stand up a little straighter thinking on what Lyonel had said. A smile crossed the older man’s face and he gestured to Dunk to come closer. “Do you like dancing, Duncan Pennytree?” “Doesn’t everyone?”
Maybe he did like dancing but to be honest Dunk was not the best dancer. He shuffled about, trying not to bump the others around him. A few women brushed up against him, dancing with him momentarily before going back to their partners. Meanwhile, Lyonel was moving about with the confidence of a peacock. Strutting about, not caring who stared or who ignored him. He might have only been slightly smaller than Dunk but he got right up into his face and stared him down, the music pulsing through them both with how loud the beat was. And then Lyonel’s caiman skin boot crushed Dunk’s leather one. He yelped in pain, jumping back as Lyonel tried to stomp his foot once more. They danced about, like a cat and mouse chase. Dunk was getting more and more agitated and Lyonel seemed to feed on his discomfort and it made him all the more determined. Finally, his temper overflowed and taking the moment to wait until Lyonel missed him again did he quickly stomp his own heel onto the attacking foot. Lyonel let out a roar of pain and Dunk froze, putting his hand on the man’s back instinctively. Sensing he just made the biggest and final mistake he’d ever make, all Dunk could do was watch as the angry man slowly straightened up to his full height once more. And a toothy grin met Dunk’s eye instead of a fist and Lyonel winked at Dunk. He breathed out a sigh of relief as he playfully shoved Lyonel away and the two continued to dance. Unbeknownst to Dunk from off outside the VIP section, Rowan and Raymun watched; both full of delight and surprise as they watched their friend loosen up and be happy after so long.