"Well, you already know I'm the youngest of four brothers. Robert is king, because he bashed in Rhaegar Targaryen's head over a woman - so we get it honest, at least - and the next of us is Stannis, a grouchier goat you'll never meet, then there's Renly, who's too worried about his beard and trim to be of any real use, and then there's me, the only one with any sort of sense."
He smirked as he said it.
"When I was twelve, I traveled to Essos with one of my family's retainers, and our convoy was attacked by the Dothraki. I was taken captive and kept as a war slave, because I was tall for my age, and looked, according to them, 'exotic'." Daemon gestured to his face. "Light colored eyes, lighter hair." After the briefest pause, he went on. "I learned a lot from the Dothraki, both their men and their women. When I was big enough, and seasoned enough, I challenged one of the Kals to mortal combat, and I won. Both my freedom, the friendship of the clan, and the stallion I now ride."
It was a succinct tale, but he still carried scars from those brutal years of slavery. Scars at his neck, hidden by his collar, and around his wrists, hidden by leather cuffs.
"When I made it home, I found out my brother was king, and as a welcome-home gift, he put me to work. Typical Baratheon."
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"Well, you already know I'm the youngest of four brothers. Robert is king, because he bashed in Rhaegar Targaryen's head over a woman - so we get it honest, at least - and the next of us is Stannis, a grouchier goat you'll never meet, then there's Renly, who's too worried about his beard and trim to be of any real use, and then there's me, the only one with any sort of sense."
He smirked as he said it.
"When I was twelve, I traveled to Essos with one of my family's retainers, and our convoy was attacked by the Dothraki. I was taken captive and kept as a war slave, because I was tall for my age, and looked, according to them, 'exotic'." Daemon gestured to his face. "Light colored eyes, lighter hair." After the briefest pause, he went on. "I learned a lot from the Dothraki, both their men and their women. When I was big enough, and seasoned enough, I challenged one of the Kals to mortal combat, and I won. Both my freedom, the friendship of the clan, and the stallion I now ride."
It was a succinct tale, but he still carried scars from those brutal years of slavery. Scars at his neck, hidden by his collar, and around his wrists, hidden by leather cuffs.
"When I made it home, I found out my brother was king, and as a welcome-home gift, he put me to work. Typical Baratheon."