The golden haired troupe made as quite of an exit as they could manage, and Damon breathed lighter once they were in the relative quiet of the inner corridor of Winterfell. Tommen reached for his hand, and Damon obliged him.

Three kings—the first of seven kingdoms, the second of a smattering of tribes and the third of memory—bellied up a snowy ridge on the edge of the world. It was a beautiful scene, landscape wise.

Lord Rykker had capitulated the port city a moon earlier after a brief siege, and his young daughter Marei now served Arianne as handmaiden and hostage. Aegon had led that campaign, taking a force of three thousand of the Golden Company, bolstered by an equal number of Dornish spears, to subdue the rest of the Crownlands.

Prince Damon Baratheon took a seat beside him, his longer legs dangling towards the water below as his equally emerald eyes stared at the moon's reflection in the shining water. He was in a black and gold tunic and black pair of breeches, the golden stag near glowing in the moonlight.

"The Golden Stag" is a A Song of Ice and Fire fanfic by kerjack centering around Damon Baratheon, twin brother of Joffrey Baratheon and how he affects events. Can also be read here. Age Lift: The story primarily draws on the show's version of ages. Joffrey, and Damon by proxy, is 16 as in the show. Myrcella is mentioned as 12 years old.

By: Kerjack His siblings looked nothing like his father, what with their golden hair and emerald eyes. Why, looking at Myrcella was like looking at a mirror of his mother.

The golden haired troupe made as quite of an exit as they could manage, and Damon breathed lighter once they were in the relative quiet of the inner corridor of Winterfell. Tommen reached for his hand, and Damon obliged him.

Sep 5, 2018 · Title: The Golden Stag Author: Kerjack Rating: T Pairing: Appears to be Margaery/Damon Fandom: Game of Thrones / A Song of Ice and Fire Summary: His siblings looked nothing like his father, what with their golden hair and emerald eyes. Why, looking at Myrcella was like looking at a mirror of his mother. Not that Damon had any right to talk.

It was a blunted sword hitting a durable shield, but it still hurt to high hells when its wielder swung hard. Damon Baratheon swung hard. "Yield, yield!" Shouted the Westerman squire, a lad named Falwell who would have been horribly outmatched even if he wasn't visibly hungover.

When she met the king's return at the wall the next night, haggard and filthy and his handsome face drawn into an uncomfortable grimace, she knew without his saying a word. She took the golden brooch of her brother from his hands, kissed the king's bearded cheek, and silently led him back to the wagon she had ridden from the tower.