Lunch and A Chat With Robert Baratheon

Sitting down at the table, I smiled at my mother, "Will father not be joining us today, mother?" I asked, despite knowing exactly where he was - off getting drunk and fucking whores, probably.

Forcing a smile, Cersei shook her head, "No, not today, little Lion. He's King, he has work to do," she lied, not outwardly saying that Robert, our father only in name, was out getting drunk instead of eating with his family.

Nodding, I started to dig into the pork laid on my plate, but Joffrey didn't seem happy with that, as he snorted before speaking, "Don't you know anything, brother?" he spat, his disdain and contempt very clear, "He's King, do you expect him to have so much time? If you're so ignorant, you shouldn't be King after father," he said, his underlying frustrations and hatred for me coming through even as he tried to hide it.

Looking at him, I rolled my eyes, "I don't wish to be King. You can have it, if you want," I shrugged, putting some pork in my mouth and relishing the taste of it, "I want to be a Knight like Uncle Jaime, and if not a Knight, then I want to be a Soldier. Being a King seems boring," I said nonchalantly before eating another piece of pork. Joffrey, once again, snorted before replying, seeming to take personal offence from what I said.

"You'd rather be a lowly Knight, than to rule the Seven Kingdoms?" he asked with disbelief pouring from his mouth.

"Those 'lowly' Knights, as you so aptly described them, are the people who keep you safe, little brother," I put emphasis on 'little brother' just to annoy him, and smirked as I carried on, "I'd rather be personally strong than politically strong. When you're face to face with someone who wants to hurt you, personal strength is all that matters," I said with some finality to my voice, telling Joffrey to shut up and leave it, without actually saying those words.

"I want to be a Knight as well!" Tommen suddenly said, bouncing up and down as he sat on his seat next to me, his smile blasting innocently, not knowing that me and Joffrey were at odds somewhat.

Though it was more Joffrey who thought he was at odds with me. I just liked teasing the stuck-up twat. Even when he became King, I doubt he could do anything to me. I'm already stronger than most of the Kingsguard, so who knows how strong I'll be when canon and the plot starts. I'll definitely be strong enough to make an escape if needed, at least.

"I'm sure your Uncle would be very proud of you two for wanting to be Knights," mother smiled proudly, probably thinking about how much we were like our father, Jaime, before she carried on, "But, you need to stop fighting when we're eating," she looked between Joffrey and I, "So eat, please."

Joffrey hadn't gotten too big for his boots just yet, so he did as he was told and ate, while I had nothing else to say, so I also continued to eat.

"How has your day been, then, Damien?" mother asked, a smile on her face as she sipped at some red wine.

Thinking back to what I'd done to say, I forced a smile before replying, "Good. I've been training quite a lot, but it's fun and exciting when you get used to it," I said, feeling some truth to it. Fighting, and even killing, to some extent, can become exciting and thrilling things. Battle seems to be a hobby of mine. At least what I gathered from how excited I was when I was fighting those prisoners earlier.

Nodding with a happy smile, mother went on to ask her other children how their days had been, while I just ate and listened to my younger siblings recount their days.

. . .

"Hah...hah....hah..." I stood in front of a specially made striking/practice dummy, my claymore in hand. I picked to use such a heavy weapon because it would complement my Witcher strength and the heavy blade was easy enough for me to wield. Even then, practicing and getting used to how to move it was a bitch.

I lifted the sword, one-handed, and sent a combination of slashes at speeds some wouldn't be able to see.

There were no real sword styles in Westeros, just ways of using a sword to not get killed and to kill your opponent before he kills you. Even the eldest prince like myself was the same, I had to practice a crude, yet effective style.

I cast away the fancy moves, and stuck to the ruthlessly efficient ones.

My style, if you could call it that, was one that focused on crushing my opponent with overwhelming speed and overwhelming strength. To pressure them and give them no openings to exploit and no time to counterattack. That was my style. At least my style with my claymore.

Looking down at the claymore I'd been given, I couldn't help but smirk.

The blade was Valyrian steel and as sharp as anything I'd ever seen or felt. The quality of the blade and the smithing process that made it was immaculate as well. The claymore's overall length was around 55 inches, so around the same height as me, with 42 inches of that being the blade and the other 13 inches being the grip of the sword. The cross-guard was the same color as the blade, a silvery color, yet it had golden inscriptions of lions and stags dancing along the two pieces of metal that stuck out. The grip was black and also with golden inscriptions of lions and stags clashing.

It was a wonderfully beautiful and effective sword. Yet I could never think of a name for it. All great swords have names, after all.

Putting my free hand on the hilt, I swung the blade as hard as I could at the dummy, slicing through the leather armor and the chain mail underneath that. The only thing that stopped me from cutting through the whole thing was the specially treated wood that was incredibly resistant to slashes.

I wonder, if after my next physique upgrade and the next few perks, would I be able to cleave through this wood? I hope so.

Suddenly, I heard laughing and clapping as someone walked over to me.

Turning to see who it was, my nose picked up an ungodly scent of sex and wine, so I already knew who it was. Nodding my head toward the approaching man, I greeted him, "Father," I said, stabbing my sword into the ground. My 'father' was a tall man, but also a wide one, as after his rebellion against the Targaryens, he lost all sense of purpose. Especially after the love of his life died.

His meaty hand clapped down on my shoulder, his laughter continuing as my 'uncle' walked in through the door after him, an apologetic look on his face for some reason.

"My boy!" Robert shouted, clenching my shoulders with both his hands now. I looked up to see him smiling through his mighty beard, his eyes full of joy, "You're getting stronger and stronger everyday! You've got your old man's strength, that's for sure!" he laughed. I just smiled along, not really the one to burst his bubble that I was the product of his wife and her brother, not him.

His words also seemed to annoy Jaime as well.

"Thank you, father," I bowed my head a little again, before tearing my sword from the ground and walking over to where I'd left it's specialized scabbard. Because of it's size, it wasn't really efficient to carry it on my hip, so I had to carry it about like one would carry a pole about - by hand, that is. The scabbard was just to make sure I didn't cut myself or anyone else on accident while I was carrying it around.

Setting the claymore, now in it's scabbard, on the ground, I looked toward my daggers. They both looked exactly like the Valerian dagger used when the Lannister wanted to kill Bran Stark, just slightly longer.

But I didn't pick them up. Instead, I slipped on some gloves. They were leather, with metal plates embedded in the knuckles and finger portions of the gloves. The knuckles also had pointed metal spikes over where the knuckles were, to boost the already impressive damage these gloves could dish out to the human body.

"I'll never understand why you didn't take up the warhammer like me, boy...But it's good that you like brawling just as much as me!" Robert burst out in laughter once again, and I cracked a smile.

I remember him in the show and he was one of my more favored characters for his duration in the show. He was a source of comedy when he wasn't sending assassins after a young girl. Or hating the Targaryens as a whole.

Shrugging, I looked over at him, "I like the claymore. It has more advantages on the battlefield," I said before I walked back over to the dummy and started punching it, refining the way I threw punches to get the most out of them while wasting the last amount of energy. Hand-to-Hand would be my last resort on the battlefield but off of it, I don't know when I won't have my weapons, so it's best to refine it now to save myself the trouble later.

"Hmm, I suppose you're right. Though I doubt there's gonna be much battlefield fighting in your time, Damien," he chuckled and I mentally gave a laugh.

If only he knew.

Standing in front of the dummy, I began my hand-to-hand training regimen.

With my upgraded physique, my perks, and natural physiology as a Witcher, I was throwing punches with such speed and strength that I doubt I could be matched by a normal soldier, no matter how well-trained, in physical capabilities. Robert and Jaime just watched as I threw punch after punch, mixing jabs with hooks, uppercuts, and straights, forming a fluent combination of fists that struck like lightning.

I occasionally threw in a kick, making sure that I used a vital part of my body. Legs are stronger than arms after all, and seeing as my arms are pretty strong, it's safe to assume that my legs are very strong.

I don't know when he did - I had been concentrating too much on training, it would seem - but Robert had told some servants to bring in a table, a chair, and some food and wine. He was sitting there, eating, with a prideful smile on his face.

Part of me did feel sorry that he thought I was his son. That he didn't know that I was a Lannister through and through. But the least I could do was treat him with respect anyway, he had done what he could to provide for me and my siblings. Despite all his bad whoring and drinking habits, he has kept us safe by being a decent King.

"Come, Damien. Sit," he motioned to a chair opposite him, "We have to talk about what you've been doing today," he said, a smaller smile on his face than before.

Hearing him, I knew the jig was up and turned to glare at Jaime who raised his hands, a smile spread over his face, "What was I supposed to do, nephew? The King himself asked what you were doing with prisoners from the dungeon. I could only answer," he smirked, seemingly finding some small amount of joy in my annoyed face.

Rolling my eyes at his ever playful nature that never took things seriously, I took my gloves off before sitting at the table.

"If you wish to punish me, father, punish me. Just keep it a secret from mother. She'd go mad if she knew I was fighting prisoners from the dungeon," I asked hopefully, grabbing some chicken and eating it, still hungry despite having had lunch with my family earlier. A growing Witcher's body needs it's nutrients after all.

Mainly protein, honestly.

Opposite to what I expected, Robert just laughed and slapped the table, "I'm not gonna punish you, boy! Why would I punish you for preparing yourself for a world like ours?" he questioned, a smile on his face. Seems that he wanted to tease me by being so serious earlier. Bastard. "I just wanted to ask you...how do you feel, boy? Your first is always a big deal, and you did seven more of them after your first. Mustn't feel nice," he shook his head, a rare frown on his face, before he downed some wine and bit off some chicken from the leg he was holding.

Hearing this question, I was kind of shocked at the emotional context of this conversation. You had to realize that all I'd ever spoke to my 'father' about was that fighting and training. Nothing like 'how are you?' and 'are you okay?'. It just wasn't his style, honestly.

"Um, I'm fine, I guess?" I answered, unsure on how to answer, honestly. Not even I was sure how I felt, so I had no idea how to put it into words, "I felt bad when I did it, but soon the excitement of fighting washed that away," I shrugged before eating some more chicken, "Maybe I just adapted quickly to it?" I asked, my golden eyes looking into Robert's dark eyes.

Nodding, he gave a smile, "The thrill of battle washes away many things, guilt and regret being some of the main things. But think about it, Damien. Think about why you killed them and come to terms with it, otherwise you'll fuck up your head with nightmares and regrets. Battle can only repress the issue, not sort it out," he said, a smile on his serious face. Despite him swearing, I could tell that he was being sincere and not joking.

"Mhm, I'll think about it, father," I said, before smiling, "I've got a somewhat vague idea of why I did it already, however," I said, and from his gesture to carry on, I carried on, "I did it to become stronger. I can't be like some high born ponce who's never seen blood before. Nor do I have the chance to dawdle around and do nothing with my life. Killing them was the first step," I said, smiling calmly.

Jaime looked at me with some shock before pride shown through on his face. Robert, however, started laughing, his hand holding his cup of wine, shaking and spilling the red liquid, "Bwahahahaha! Too right, Damien! Too right! Your the son of Robert Baratheon, King! You're the eldest prince, so you can't be like some stupid high born who's never swung a sword!" he clapped his free hand off the table, still laughing. Finally, after a short while, his laughter came to an end and he put down his cup, "You practice in the dagger and brawling just as much as the sword, yes?" I nodded, "Then I'll arrange for you to have the best tutors I can get you. Now, I must take my leave. Some godforsaken duty of the King to be done," he said before heaving himself up and walking off.

Jaime gave me a smile and a nod before walking after Robert.

I, on the other hand, got back to training. This time, with my daggers.

. . .

Opening my eyes, I heard bells ringing from the towers above Kings Landing.

"So, it's begun..." I mused, taking a breath of fresh air as I sat up slightly, shuffling in the bed that wasn't my own. My movement brought a pair of groans from next to me as two pairs of arms wrapped around me, seemingly trying to siphon off every little bit of heat from my body.

Expertly, I moved the arms off of me before flipping myself over the person to my left and off of the bed.

Though just as I was about to put my pants on, a hand snaked around from behind me and grabbed my cock, beginning to stroke it, gently, "Now, now, Prince...isn't it a little rude to leave without saying goodbye?" a sultry voice said behind me and I turned to look down at the redheaded woman I'd bedded last night, her green eyes shining up at me with lust.

"I'll think you'll find I'm needed else where - can't you hear it? Those are the bells only rung when someone important dies," I smiled, stroked her cheek before backing away from her touch.

Though I would love to stay and fuck her, and the other woman, some more. I had places to be.

"Hmmm," the redhead entered a state of thinking before standing up, soon followed by the other naked woman, a Dornish woman with light brown skin, dark hair, and matching dark eyes, "I think we can convince you to stay, Prince Damien," the lust was practically palpable and I could help but wryly smile.

"If you're really that needy, why don't you ask for my Uncle Tyrion - I'm sure he'd be more than happy to see to you both," I said, knowing that I really needed to go, but seeing the two natural and very sexy women in front of me, I could feel that resolve slowly breaking.

The Dornish woman walked over to me, her bigger than average tits shaking with each of her steps, "Why settle for a dwarf's cock," she said with a sultry accent only made better by her beautiful Dornish accent, her hand slowly finding itself around my cock, "When we can have such a big and thick cock, hm?" she questioned, her dark eyes looking into my golden one's.

She really wants it, huh?

One round wouldn't hurt, would it?

"...Okay, okay, but only one round. Nothing more," I said, being led back over to the bed, "I haven't got any money with me, not right now, so I'll have to pay you some other time," I said, smiling apologetically. Only to get a scoff and a snort as a reply.

"We don't need your gold, Prince," the redhead smiled at me, "We need your cock. It's payment enough," she and the Dornish woman laughed and I just smiled.

Though at the back of my mind I was slowly figuring out how I'd changed things from here on out in the plot. Those bells that woke me up? They were signalling the death of Jon Arryn.

The plot of GoT had finally started. So, let's see what happens when a Witcher is added to the mix.