The Voice of Reason II - Damien Lannister

Grassy Vale, inside Damien Lannister's personal tent, the evening after the Melee, First Moon of 399AC.

A rare moment of vulnerability between Damien and Princess Ysilla Nymerios-Martell, inside his tent, deepening their bond with personal tragedy. He would retell the story of what prompted him to want to become the Protector he was now. That grim moment in his childhood that would end up pushing him for the rest of his life.

"I feel like I've left you at a disadvantage. You've allowed yourself to be vulnerable with me, and I have not yet reciprocated," he said as his hand gently caressed her. 

"When I was young, my family and I went to Old Town for my father to study some new manuscripts they brought to the Citadel."

"He's always been a genuinely good man, caring and loving of my mother, but his health affliction rendered him rather immobile. The disease of Kings, the maesters call it."

"He could walk only for short distances, and that meant he was mostly either in his chambers or his study. It was great to be out of the Westerlands for a little bit, so I thought," he said with a new kind of melancholy in his voice, though his eyes remained on her.

"I went with him as his love for books rubbed off on me as well," he said with a short chuckle. "Poetry, rules of ruleship, the art of war. Whatever I could lay my hands on from my father's collection. My mother used to tell me that before I could read, I used to put an open book against my forehead and claim that I was absorbing the knowledge," he added with another laugh, 

"It was silly."

"It was a late evening when we were returning from the Citadel to our accommodations. I was incredibly excited about finding something new to learn. It was a manual on fencing. It had drawings and instructions so that anyone could learn, but when I picked it off the shelf, it was dusty. Perhaps it's best I found it before anyone else did," he jested.

"I had my new study material held tightly in my arms, skipping down the street with enthusiasm and planning a night of reading under the candlelight."

"But the plans were soon about to change when a petty thug tried to rob us."

"Well, well, well... You lot look rich. And I look hungry. And thirsty! Why don't we help each other out here?" the man said twirling an iron baton in his hand.

"My father tried to reason with him, but he wasn't taken very seriously when the man realized he couldn't move much without his cane."

"We are well of, good man. You are right" he said, pleading for us. "I shall give you some coin to buy yourself a hearty meal and as much drink as your heart desires," he offered, unclasping his coin pouch from his belt and handing it over to the man.

"But what my father handed him did not seem to be enough. He pushed my father to the side, stumbling with his cane, then looked at my mother, pointing at her golden necklace around her neck."

"That looks like a nice little bauble as well. Hand it over!" the man demanded, not really waiting for my mother to unclasp it, rather just taking it for himself.

"It still wasn't enough. He hit me in the face, dropping me to the ground. I put my hands to my mouth in pain in an attempt to soothe it, but I only felt the warmth of blood filling my mouth and my palms."

"Then tried to force himself onto my mother. I was begging my father to do something, and he, in turn, was begging the thug to stop."

"Please, father! Do something!" I said. "Please! Do something!"
"We gave you what you wanted, please leave us alone now!" my father pleaded trying to get up with the help of his cane.

"But I'd had enough of begging, I couldn't let this go on anymore. I was upset with him for not saving her. For not being able to protect her. And something pushed me to take matters into my own hands."

"My father had gifted me an ornate dagger for my name day, one that he allowed me to carry with me at all times. I took it out of its sheath and took advantage of the fact that the man was distracted. I went behind him and stabbed him in the back until he ran away into some alley." Damien paused, his eyes now blank as if he were recalling that night.

"That's when I swore to myself that I will never be in a position where I cannot defend my family." he stopped again, focus recovering in his eyes. "And that is also how I obtained this scar," he said as he pointed to the one on his lips.

Damien rarely ever told that story, for it was something he did not wish to garner pity from. That night served as his catalyst for his obsession with becoming the best. It also served as the first crack in what would become a personal rift between him and his father.

---

!This is mainly a narrative chapter. Any people mentioned/tagged in here are the Characters Damien retells these stories to. A reply isn't required, but you can do so if you think it deepens the initial interaction.!<
!u/AnotherBabyEchidna!<