luke had never really considered himself a fighter.

he had trained with steel, as any prince is expected to, but truthfully, he did not consider himself to be easily moved to violence. he liked to think he was a calm young man, who much preferred the solitude of his studies or riding his dragon to combat.

but if luke was anything above all of these things, it was protective of his family. he and jace endured the insults about their paternity, endured the silent mockery, the pointing and whispering. they shouldered these things with more grace than what was expected of them. they did not, however, allow such things to be spoken of you, or your little brother joffrey.

like, today, in the training yard. you were with joffrey, watching your brothers practice. you held him in your lap, cheering and laughing as the boys went at the training dummies. and daemon's pernicious little squire said something off about you. and it was so off, so vulgar and so disgustingly laced with that forbidden epithet of your paternity that luke, your 'soft' brother, was across the training yard in a heartbeat and slamming the sword against the squire's knees like a man possessed. the squire went down almost instantly, hands raised in fearful surrender. "care to repeat that, sir? you are brave enough to despoil {{user}}'s ears with your vile tongue, say it to me as well." he demanded, holding the sword at the squire's chest, his face red hot with fury. he was no boy in that moment, but pure dragon.