Disclaimer: Game of Thrones is D&D's property, after being GRRM's property. Or else, Lancel would be the happiest kid in Westeros, should it be mine.
Summary: Bowed, bent and broken, Lancel had tried so hard to be who everyone wanted him to be! But in the darkest of times Life can take some interesting twists.
Author's note: This story is the sister story of Not so different – Arya. Assassin Master Ezio 91 came up with the idea of having this double story, him focusing on his precious Arya, me focusing on my beloved Lancel! Please go check him out!
Author's note 2: English isn't my first language, it's french. If you see any mistake or issue with the language, feel free to tell me so that I can improve.
WARNING! THIS FANFICTION CONTAINS MATURE THEMES SUCH AS DEPRESSION, SUICIDE ATTEMPTS, MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES IF THESE TRIGGER YOU, PLEASE FEEL FREE TO SKIP THIS FANFICTION. THANK YOU.
Not so different - Lancel
Chapter 1
"You're not doing any effort. You need to want to get better. It's not by staying inside all day that you're going to recover."
Lancel paid no mind to the nurse who scolded him. He didn't even bother replying that his medicine was so heavy on his body that he needed to sleep them off to avoid puking them. He slept most of the day and his entire night. And he had to admit it, whenever he went at some group activity, he was so worn off he didn't really enjoy people's company or the activity itself, just craving silence and the comfort of his bed. He didn't care what she thought, he didn't care about anything anymore.
Caring hurt and he was tired of hurting every second of his life to meet people's expectations of him.
He didn't loathe his family name, far from it. He was actually proud to have his father's name, he looked up to the man. But being a Lannister came with a heavy price, one he was not fit to pay apparently.
To be a Lannister, to be seen as a true Lannister, you had to be clever, you had to be rich, you had to be beautiful, you had to be better than everyone else on every level.
To make the clan proud, to avoid tarnishing the name his father and his uncle worked so hard to clean up after the mess their own father left, due to his too gentle nature.
He had to pretend he was happy.
He had to pretend to not care about how people view him.
He had to pretend to hate things he secretly enjoyed.
He had to pretend to agree to things he denied in his mind.
He had to be the perfect son, the perfect nephew, the perfect Lannister, like all the others, to honour the previous generations.
And Lancel had tried.
The Seven were his witnesses, he had tried!
He had tried to befriend Joffrey, and when he realized he couldn't, he had tried to show that the Lannisters stood for each other, and the cherry on the cake was that it bought peace between Kevan and Cersei.
He had tried to always get straight A's, to be good at everything, to be everything he was supposed to be.
He had epically failed.
His body had given up as well as his mind and while he had thought of ending it all, the thought never remained. He actually feared Death and he thought of his parents, who had battled so hard to start a family. That would have been betraying them. Martyn should have been the firstborn son, he thought. Martyn was what the Lannisters expected him to be and he didn't have to force himself, he was a natural. He was a brainbox, always the first of his class, didn't give two shits about those who called him a nerd, stood up for his family while never sunking as low as he did, was interested in everything. Martyn would have made his father proud, a father happy with his heir. His father was stuck with him, the bloody mess who didn't even deserve to be his son in the first place. He thought of him, of the issues he had created. And despite everything, his father stood for him, still loved him, cared for him. Lancel felt like crying everytime it came to his mind. He hated this place, he hated himself, he hated the world, he hated his life. His only light was his family, his immediate family. He missed his talks with his dad, he missed how his mom kissed him goodnight as if he was five years old, he missed his movie marathons with Willem, he missed Martyn suggesting him books, he missed babysitting Janei whenever his parents had to go, allowing him to pretend he was five years old again. Sometimes, he even wished he hadn't been born at all, or miscarried. He admitted it, it would have meant he wouldn't be in such a bad shape. He also thought that, at least, his parents would have suffered less too. He wouldn't have disappointed them with who he was, compared to what they might have envisioned him to be. He sighed, realizing his brain was working too much once again. He took a glass of water, swallowed the pill and as he was about to cover himself to nap, something familiar irked his attention.
A familiar face.
And while being a woman, while being as brown haired as he was blonde, for a mere second, it was him he saw. Another broken, desperate soul who yearned to be free of pain. Until a shiver went down his spine.
For before his eyes stood a person he helped in making miserable, along with Joffrey, back when he was still a cowardly lion.
Before his eyes stood Arya Stark.
To Be Continued