Author's Note: Long time no write.

So I'm still having issues with getting this story where I want it to go. I have a lot in mind, but most of it is towards the middle and end, and the beginning really isn't changed all that much from canon. You'll see more of that below.

I apologize for the delays. The chapter below covers a lot of ground in not a lot of words, but it's getting me to the parts I actually want to write faster, so I hope you're okay with it. As sorry as I am for the delays, I warn you: in a week or so my job starts a turnaround, which means I'll be on twelve hour shifts seven days a week for about two months. I doubt much will be written in that space of time, but I'll try my best!

Check out the second author's note for some needed words. As always, I hope you enjoy and review this update.

Damon hated Loras Tyrell.

The Baratheon prince knew it was simple jealousy that made him dislike the Knight of Flowers as ardently as he did. The Reachman had flair about him, a charm and gravitas that made women swoon and men follow. Already a jousting champion of renown despite being a scant couple of years older than Damon, not to mention well respected with a sword, Loras would make any young man jealous; Damon didn't feel overly petty in his own envy.

But he certainly hated Loras. The trick with the mare made it even more potent.

"I wish Clegane would have let his brother take the flowery git's head off."

He meant to speak where only his uncle could hear it, but Tyrek nodded his assent from Damon's other side. His cousin had accompanied the prince as he squired for Ser Jaime, assisting when Damon requested it and otherwise staying out of the way. So he pretty well stayed out of the way all day. I need no assistance with the few normal chores a prince is allowed to do. "Clever bit, the mare."

Damon whirled on his cousin, glaring down at him. Tyrek paled a bit, taking a half step back. "Clever? Dishonorable."

Both of their blonde heads were doused with water when Jaime, sweat stained and in only breeches, withdrew his head from the bucket it'd been submerged in, blonde hair stuck to his forehead and spitting water from his mouth as he spoke. "Clever."

Both of his kin turned to look at him, one in shock and the other in disbelieving shock. "But it disrupted Ser Gregor's stallion. It was no longer a match of skill it was a farce of a fight…it was underhanded!"

Jaime turned to look at him, cocking an eyebrow. "Gregor Clegane is near eight feet tall, strong as a giant and with plate mail as thick as your head of hair. Skill only goes so far, prince; it was already a farce before they climbed on either of their horses." Jaime pulled a clean shirt over his torso and gestured towards his freshly-polished armor, which both squires rushed to attend to.

"So you support the move? If I can't beat a man in fair combat I should resort to tricks and treachery?"

Jaime's gaze locked on Damon's, emerald to emerald. "If it was real out there I would've killed Loras Tyrell before he got to the Mountain. But if I hadn't, Tyrell would have to live with talk that he tricked another knight in order to kill him. But Clegane, who did no such trickery until long after Tyrell would have been all over him? Clegane would be dead. Think on that."

"It wasn't clean."

"War isn't, Your Grace. I hope neither of you ever learn that firsthand."

It was an offhand comment, one Damon paid little attention to at the time. Later, he would wish he had.

The world went to shit quicker than I could ever have imagined.

"Mother, save the watery words for Myrcella and Tommen. What in the seven hells happened?"

Damon Baratheon knew as well as anyone that it was never wise to demand anything from Cersei Lannister. His mother loved him and his siblings fiercely, but she took little in the way of disobedience. By the tightening of the skin around the queen's eyes and slight clenching of her jaw he knew he had spoken too harshly, but Damon couldn't focus on apologizing, not while everything in his life was changing much quicker than he could ever have anticipated.

Identical eyes held stares a long moment before the queen finally gestured towards the seat on the other side of her desk. Damon took it impatiently, as impatiently as he had stormed through the halls of the Red Keep in just breeches, boots and a soaked shirt. He had been training with Ser Barristan the Bold and cousins Tyrek and Lancel, his uncle having firmly insisted the prince remain behind while Jaime went about some business of the king. That had been this morning, and now, in the darkening of evening, the second son of Robert sat in his mother's chamber, sweating and angry.

The queen never let things slide, though. Even when giving an inch, she took one back. "Never speak to me like that again, Damon."

He nodded softly, already regretting the sharpness of his earlier tone. His mother was a good woman who gave everything she could for his happiness; she didn't deserve to be barked at simply because Damon was concerned at the sudden changes. "I apologize, mother. I am only…confused. What happened to Lord Stark?"

His mother watched him a long moment, mouth in the thin line Damon knew meant she was trying to find proper words. He waited, though his impatience flared. The Hand of the King had, according to rumor, been returned to the Red Keep from the streets of King's Landing by Goldcloaks, the Lord of the North unconscious and wounded. Three of Lord Stark's men, including the hand of the Hand Jory Cassel, had been slain, the last by Damon's uncle. Three Lannister men had also died, and Jaime was nowhere to be found.

Damon, much like everyone he had asked, had no clue why.

Cersei finally spoke, voice calm. "Your uncle Tyrion was taken on the road while travelling south."

"Taken?"

"Captured, by Catelyn Stark at her husband's command."

Damon blinked thrice, mind having difficulty wrapping itself around the news. It took him four more blinks before he managed to speak. "Why?"

His mother's voice remained calm, eyes startlingly blank. "He seems to believe Tyrion tried to have his son Brandon killed."

Damon shot forward. "The boy fell!"

"Yes, he fell. But, according to his wife and his heir Robb, an assassin wielding your uncle's blade attempted to kill the child in his sickbed."

Damon stared incredulously, mind racing. Tyrion has no reason to want the boy dead. Even if he did, Tyrion isn't the kind to kill a child. Damon may not be close to his dwarf uncle, but he didn't believe for a second that he would do such a thing. Or that he'd be stupid enough to arm the assassin with his own knife. "I don't believe it."

"Neither do I, or your uncle Jaime. That is why he confronted Lord Stark outside a brothel. Things unfortunately took a violent turn."

Eddard Stark at a brothel? That was only one piece of the shock of news Damon was being assaulted with. He supposed there was precedent, Jon Snow being evidence, but Damon had seen the adoration the Lord of the North held for his wife, as well as Stark's emphasis on acting honorably.

But that was a rather unimportant detail. The bigger issue was that uncle Jaime had fought with Lord Stark in the street, leading to the deaths of men from both households. Whatever the foolish and brash move seizing Tyrion had been—and while Damon had had only limited interactions with Lord Stark, foolish and brash seemed out of character—there was no sense in attacking him in the streets. If there was a misunderstanding it needed to be worked out in the courts, not with steel. Those sort of actions were what brought on civil wars.

And, most devastatingly to the prince of the Iron Throne, Jaime had spoken of none of this to Damon before he carried it out. He had neither taken his nephew to the confrontation, nor had he given him a warning of what had happened to his own family. Damon was crushed; he thought Jaime told him everything.

Damon had been lost in his own thoughts, eyes unfocused. When he came back to the present, Cersei was watching him, as stony faced as ever. "Where is uncle Jaime now?"

His mother shifted slightly, and Damon swore for a moment he saw both anger and concern in her eyes. "No one is sure. He has fled King's Landing." That twisted the hurt deeper; Jamie had left him behind.

For the first time in Damon's life, his uncle was gone.

Cersei spoke again after only a moment. "Your grandfather has called his banners in response to Lady Stark's actions. It is likely Jaime is riding to meet with him."

Jaime left me to fight a war. I'm his squire, I should be with him. "What is father going to do?"

This time the anger in the queen's gaze was unmistakable. "He has ordered Lord Stark to be cared for in his chambers, and intends to wait for him to awaken before learning what has happened. It is a foolish, weak move. He should be arrested for attacking the queen's brother in the street."

It sounds to me like uncle Jaime attacked him. The much more likely cause of arresting Lord Stark would be his order to abduct Tyrion. Even in his state of shock, Damon knew that particular point was low on his mother's list of priorities. She and Tyrion had never gotten on well. "He is doing nothing?"

"No."

"But civil war is threatening to break out under his nose. Envoys should be sent to both Lord Tywin and Lady Stark, demanding both Tyrion's release and Tywin to stand down. This is all a misunderstanding!"

Cersei cocked a brow at him. "Neither Jaime or Lord Stark see it that way. Neither do I, for that matter."

"But, mother, Tyrion didn't attempt to assassinate Bran. All of this violence has started for nothing."

"The Starks have acted against House Lannister. That has repercussions."

Damon shook his head. "Those repercussions should be doled out by House Baratheon. The law of King Jaehaerys is clear, mother."

"King Jaehaerys was a Targaryen, and has been dead for centuries. You are a Lannister. House Stark has acted against you."

"I am a Baratheon as well, mother. And I am a Prince of the Iron Throne, which is the body that should mediate this dispute." Damon shot to his feet. "I will follow Uncle Jaime. I can convince him to return and settle this matter diplomatically."

Cersei had risen as he did, and her grip was firm on his wrist. "You will do no such thing."

Damon titled his head down to look at her. "I am his squire, my place is by his side. I am also a prince, and my place is to keep my realm from going to war."

"You are a boy." The words cut deep and true. "This matter is for men like your uncle and grandfather to settle." Her eyes tightened alongside her grip. "You will do nothing, Damon. Your place is here, with your sister and your brothers, unless the king tells you otherwise. He hasn't, and won't."

"But mother—"

"But nothing. You will remain here, where you belong."

The queen's tone was final. Damon wanted to argue, wanted to fight it fiercely. Instead, he turned and left.

And that night, he left King's Landing.

A/N: The above is the first chapter I've ever posted that I didn't really like, but I HAVE to post something that accomplished what the above does in timeline or this story will die forever. I didn't want to just do a time jump of like a whole year, so I finally settled on the brief bit here. I hope you all forgive me for it, and please still do leave your thoughts on Damon and his interactions and what he might change. If you want to discuss ideas or theories, feel free to holler at me, though it may take a while for me to get back to you.

I like where I want this story to end up. Getting it to the part where my own plotlines come in has proven difficult for me, but I hope you'll stick around while I figure it out.

Cheers,

Kerjack