Author's Note: Hello again!
Another chapter that moves a lot of plot forward, even though it all takes place in one day. Y'all know these parts of the story so there's no point in rehashing it really, and moving forward finally starts to get to where I can make the changes I want to. Check out the second author's note, where I talk a bit more about that.
Thanks for all the favorites follows and reviews! Hopefully updates will become more frequent in this new year but who the hell knows.
As always, I hope you enjoy and review this update.
*Minor edits made 07-15-2024
The Red Keep had never been so full. Damon hated it.
He hated the look his brother was giving him even more.
I despise attention. All attention. Mother knows this, yet here I am. I should've let bloody Stannis have them all.
The prince didn't mean that, of course. He'd fought hard to prevent that very thing, hardly sleeping over the days it had taken the Lannister forces under his grandfather to withdraw from the Riverlands, merge with the Tyrells and what few houses remained with them after the mysterious death of Renly, and march to King's Landing to repulse Stannis. He'd nearly worn Bella into the ground, finding the whore's ministrations were one of the only things that could take his mind off of the danger his family was in. When he'd strapped on his armor and joined the final mad dash in the middle of the night, he almost swore he heard her sigh in relief.
He'd been in the vanguard, riding alongside Mace Tyrell's two youngest sons and the best knights the combined forces could field. It had been an honor to ride with Ser Garlan, for the second born of the Tyrell brood was a great warrior, as Damon saw more than once in their mad dash to and through the city. Damon had been careful to keep his opinion of his own skills in check, but the prince knew he was far above average with a sword; even so, he wasn't sure he would win in a duel with Garlan the Gallant. He admitted to himself that watching the older knight fight had humbled him.
Fighting alongside Loras had been less of an honor. Not because the Knight of Flowers wasn't skilled; much to his vexation, Damon wasn't sure he would win a duel with Loras either. Regardless, Damon hadn't liked him beforehand for a dozen petty reasons and a few good ones, and their time together since hadn't changed his stance. The prince knew the rumors about Tyrell's relationship with Renly, and the knight's actions since Damon had seen him again after Renly's murder only confirmed it, at least in the Damon's mind. The Knight of Flowers skulked and snapped and seemed on the verge of tears more oft than not, seeming like he was the woman widowed instead of his sister Margaery.
Damon didn't know really what to think about that, so he simply didn't. It wasn't hard; Damon didn't seem to know anything these days, and it took little to add one more subject to the overflowing pile of things he refused to contemplate. Damon simply pushed the implications of what he was seeing and hearing away to the back of his mind, to join other concerns like what the hell he was doing in this war and where it ended and whether or not his uncle Jaime was still alive, and so many other things that thinking about them would certainly cause his brain to burst and kill him.
Though I have to say, death would be a welcome reprieve right now. It had been only a scant two days since the Battle of the Blackwater, bodies and salvage teams still knee deep across the gates and bay, but seemingly half of the nobility in Westeros had come to the Great Hall to shower affection on the men partially responsible for the mess. His grandfather had gone first, dressed in red and gold armor with a crimson cloak and seated atop a marvelous white stallion. He'd ridden the destrier into the throneroom itself, through the columns of guards on either side. Joffrey, first of his name, had declared him Savior of the City and named him Hand of the King, Tywin accepting those honors in the cool, emotionless manner he always exhibited. It was the obvious move, the Lion of Lannister returning to the position he had willingly resigned decades ago due to foolhardiness of Aerys Targaryen.
Even so, Damon pondered for a moment at the blatant dismissal of Tyrion. Their uncle even now lay unconscious of wounds he sustained trying to protect the city, while Joffrey had, by accounts, left the walls. Tyrion had destroyed countless of Stannis' ships with a boom and wildfire on the Blackwater Bay long before Tywin and Damon arrived, and before the siege had held the city together through bread riots and starvation caused by the effects of war. Damon had gone to see his uncle twice - even if he and Tyrion weren't close, the dwarf was still his blood - but to his knowledge Tywin hadn't even made the attempt. Nor had Cersei, and certainly not Joffrey.
It didn't seem fair. Neither did praising the Tyrells, whose former allegiance to Renly was the main reason for the very bread riots and starvation Tyrion had battled, but Damon knew they were to follow him in line.
No, none of it seemed fair, but Damon was next. Damon went, as was his duty.
The prince supposed he could have ridden a horse as his grandfather had, but such display was not his nature. It would draw attention, something Damon desperately wanted to avoid. Not that I can, walking down the center of the Great Hall with dozens of nobles on either side. The way he was dressed didn't help either, but at least it was comfortable to him. He wore the black and gold armor he'd been near-living in for months, though he had noticed it was starting to fit him a bit too snug through the chest and arms. The black plate was scrubbed to a high shine, devoid of the smoke stains and blood that had covered it after the battle, but the sun streaming through the big windows pointed out the scars the plate had accumulated. Only the helm was unblemished; Tywin had set a smith to work on a helm that matched the prince's black and gold armor before Damon left for Harroway, and the prince carried it now for show.
Though I'll never use it. His grandfather, unaware of the revelations of Damon's first battle all those months ago, had had the piece made with a visor and a golden stag crest. Damon had accepted it graciously of course, even wearing it as he first rode away with the vanguard from the Lord of the Westerland's tent a few nights ago, but he had had Tyrek bring the battered, plain chunk of grey steel that Damon had scrounged up before Riverrun and then switched helms just before the charge. A man nearly broke my neck because of needless additions to a helm. The Seven saved me from it once, and I don't intend to squander the blessing by letting some other fool finish what the first started. At least it looked brilliant tucked against his right hip by Damon's right hand, while the prince's left held the lionhead pommel of the sheathed sword on that hip.
It was these things that Damon tried to focus on as he made his way towards the Iron Throne his father had taken, the feel of his armor and the rattle of his blade. It took all he had to not sprint the seemingly indomitable distance and get it over with, but the prince somehow managed to keep his pace at least somewhat serene, even if it was a touch too brisk for the event. As Damon walked Joffrey spoke, his voice sounding sincere though the look Damon had seen in his twin's eye was anything but. His brother was livid. At what exactly Damon wasn't sure, but the second son of Robert imagined the first equated what he was saying to drinking horsepiss.
But Joffrey was an excellent mummer when in public, and when Damon dropped his gaze to the foot of the throne's dais he could almost believe his brother meant the words he spoke. "Prince Damon Baratheon. You are hereby commended by the Crown for your bravery in battle, both beneath this city's walls and in the fields of the Riverlands. For your deeds, which include the slaying in single comabt the rebel Lords Alester Vance and Bryce Caron as well as dozens of their knights and men-at-arms, you are hereby granted the Lordship of Dragonstone, to be assumed after the wars we now fight are concluded."
Damon came to a stop at the foot of the dais, dropping to a knee and bowing his head, showing respect he didn't feel. He knew the grant of title and land had been coming, his mother telling him the night before after berating him for the thousandth time that he had left her and gone to war. The mention of his slaying Bryce Caron was a detail he hadn't known - Damon couldn't remember doing it, but then again most of the enemy had been faceless in the dark of that night. Damon didn't feel much of anything towards the land grant, since it was currently a hollow appointment; they'd beaten Stannis badly at the Blackwater, killing a large number of his men and causing an even larger number to change allegiance in the middle of the battle, but he still held some amount of power and still poised a threat. Even if Stannis didn't, Robb Stark certainly did now that he'd been left alone in the Riverlands or wherever the hell he was, and Balon Greyjoy had proclaimed himself king...again. This war was far from over, though the celebrations of the past two nights made Damon wonder if anyone but him realized it.
Damon glanced out of the corner of his eye at poor, pretty Sansa Stark, standing perfectly still off to one side. The difference between the vibrant girl who'd first come to court and the quiet, exhausted one with bags under her eyes she was now was shocking. Damon wondered what it was like to be a fawn in a court of wolves, and how she would feel if he told her her brother had refused to negotiate. Damon imagined it wouldn't go well, and though his heart had hardened towards the Northmen the night of the fires, he hoped Sansa at least was managing decently. They had spoken hardly a word, but she'd seemed sweet and innocent, even if contact with Joffrey had certainly changed that.
Damon realized he had waited a hair too long to respond, and barely managed to not flounder his words in his embarrassment. "You honor me, Your Grace. I only fight for the honor of the King."
He heard Joffrey stand. "Come, brother," the king said with a warmth so false it made Damon's skin crawl. "Stand, let us embrace. You have served me well."
Damon did as he was bid, meeting eyes identical to his own as he ascended the steps of the dais. Joffrey's smile was flawless but Damon recognized the anger beneath it. Normally he would look away then, never one to instigate deeper disagreements with his twin, but something in Damon made him hold his brother's eyes until their quick, horrid embrace. As he turned away, he saw the rage and jealously in Joffrey had doubled.
As the prince took a spot to the left of the platform, finally out of the public eye, he couldn't find it in himself to regret the stupid show of defiance. And when someone in the crowd shouted "Damon the Daring", the name echoed by dozens present, he nearly smiled.
It died before it started, however, as Loras was the next to enter. Only Garlan's presence in the forefront made it tolerable.
What followed was the most grandiose display of utter bullshit Damon had ever seen.
It took everything he had to keep his face still through it all. Garlan spoke of how Margaery, Renly's former queen, had fallen in love with Joffrey from afar. He spoke of how her marriage to Renly had gone unconsummated, and how she desperately desired to wed the 'true, just' king. Damon barely paid attention to Joffrey's elegant and clearly scripted response. Of how he claimed he had made a solemn vow that he must keep to Sansa Stark, of how a king's word was a special thing, and all manner of other storybook sayings that made Damon want to smack his twin upside the head with a mace.
Their mother broke in then, followed by Pycelle, and it all accumulated in Sansa Stark being set aside for the Rose of Highgarden. It was an insult to House Stark, war be damned, and one Damon could only believe was coming because it came from his brother. The flatterings and chitterings about love and friendship between Baratheon and Tyrell annoyed him to no end, and it nearly made him curse aloud when, at the end, Loras was appointed to the Kingsguard to fill the spot of recently slain Ser Mandon Moore. It was all done tactfully and elegantly and politically, and it all made him want to throw his helm through the glass of the window to make them all shut up and be done with it.
When it finally, mercifully ended, and the long stream of men to be knighted started forward, Damon sighed inwardly, resigning himself to a long day. And he was right, for it certainly was.
There was one bright spot however. When Damon glanced over to see Sansa Stark leave, he couldn't help but see the pure joy in her eyes. Realizing the sweet girl was free of his brother, a faint smile of his own finally broke through.
A/N: Okay.
There are gonna be alot of changes and tweaks. Most will be intentional. But there are bound to be some changes that happened simply because I forgot how the original story went. I haven't reread the books or rewatched all the show in a long time, but there will be elements of both thrown in. I hope you enjoy it when it comes around.
I know the last couple of chapters have moved a lot of time and several somewhat major events forward without much detail, but trying to retell the entire story from Damon's perspective-every interaction, every emotion, yadda yadaa-was gonna 1) drive me nuts and 2) ensure this story never got wrote. So this is how I've done it and may doo another chapter or two, until I get to the shit I actually want to write. Giving characterization is necessary adn great, but it's monotonous if I don't get to the events that actually start to change that character for the better or the worse.
I hope you all are still hanging around, and I hope you enjoyed what all has happened so far! Y'all rock.
*tease* Next chapter: Damon meets Margaery. And damn.