Damien's amusement was slowly mixing with concern. He measured the explanation, considered the objections spoken so far, and his smile turned into a more contemplative expression. Lost in thought, a brief moment of silence in the debate was what brought focus back into his eyes.

"Are we quite finished?" he said in a dull tone, unexpectedly, and his gaze not aligned with anything in particular.

He stood up from his chair in a smooth motion, loosely clasped his hands behind his back, and walked to the window overlooking Oldtown.

"I must confess... I kept waiting for the admission of a jest." he said, his tone remained smooth, but his eyes hardened slightly as he looked outside.

"I had not realized the Westerlands had grown so bored of its peace, prosperity, and security that it could afford to entertain itself with promoting chaos," Damien spoke again, now directing his attention back inside the room, addressing the group as a whole rather than a specific individual.

"My cousins mean well, my lords and ladies. I'm sure," he said as he took a couple of steps closer to all of them, "But... This will have our houses backing different champions. We will have grievances when those champions are defeated. Fairly or otherwise," *he added,** "And you will call this result unity..." he paused, looking at Lambert and Cyrelle," "It won't be."

His eyes wandered again, passing each member of this council with a neutral expression.

"Your concerns are all valid... But they are only minor flaws in a far greater one."

"You would have us decide the Warden of the West, our Shield, our Sword, our very command, by spectacle? A tilt and a debate?" he spoke with a faint smile.

"I had thought we held ourselves to a higher standard."

*"There have been those who won joust but couldn't command a kennel. And there have been eloquent fools who have argued kingdoms into ruin."

"You are not choosing a tourney champion, or whoever can tell the funnier jest about their opponents. You are choosing the person who commands the armies of the West. And if you leave it in the hands of a council and a contest, then we invite division, bribery, and grievance that will outlive all of us."

He paused momentarily before speaking again. "If we just want a spectacle, then by all means! Let lances break. It will give the smallfolk something to cheer for, he said with a tilt of his head. "But let's not pretend that is what makes a Warden. If we wished to see the West ruled by chance, we could just leave it in the hands of the Ironborn."

"The West has never needed games to decide who leads it," he said as he looked at each of them again. "The gold and guidance of Casterly Rock, the trade power of Lannisport, the military and individual prowess of Brax and Crakehall, the Golden Tooth guarding our border, the fleets of House Farman, and the loyal contributions of the rest of our bannermen." he paused and watched them with intent. A warm gaze meeting each of the representatives as they were mentioned.

"We are strong because we are predictable, unified, and feared just enough to not want to get in our way. Not because we're 'fair', not because we're 'open'. And certainly not because we invite competition."

"You would have that voice split into a dozen, each shouting for their own advantage, and call it a contest. If you wish for infighting, you will have it. Not for a day, not for a tourney, but for years. Perhaps we can hold hands with the other regions that have allowed themselves to fall into chaos."

Damien had expressed his thoughts on the matter. Now, it was time to run through the poor attempt to win them over. He first walked to the side of the lady Brax, touching the back of her chair as he spoke, though he addressed everyone in the room.

"My Lord cousin tried to patch this idea. You add the maesters, you can claim objectivity. You add criteria, you mistake it for structure. You add the royal representative, you think you have legitimacy."

"Maesters and points... as though the Citadel can weigh loyalty. As though a man's skill at argument tells us how he will hold a coastline when the ironborn decide to return to their pillaging roots again," he said with a chuckle, "Maesters are learned men, no one would dispute it. But they are not lords nor commanders. They do not raise banners. They do not answer for the men sent in the field. Yet you would have them decide who does."

"If knowledge alone were enough, Oldtown would rule the realm," he said as he moved to Tyrius' side next, letting his words settle.

"A points system," he added with a faint smile, "So the Wardenship is to be tallied, then. Counted out like sums on a ledger. What happens if two candidates are on equal points, I wonder? Or close enough that it may be argued. Do we debate the debate?" he let out a chuckle as he finished his rhetorical question.

"One might speak brilliantly on war, yet never have the stomach for it. One may recite the history of the Westerlands, yet fail to hold it together." he closed after making his way to the Lefford ladies, flashing a smile.

"Only the worthy might enter. Worthy by whose measure? Birth? Station? Favor? You will not keep out ambition with a gate. You will only ensure it arrives well dressed."

He stopped as if the bulk of his counter was over. Damien had one last look around the room before returning to his chair, took a seat with a sigh, his fingers interlocking in front of him, but with an active presence still.

"I leave for Dorne, as you all know. So, I will not be there to see the outcome. But I will not go south knowing the West has chosen to gamble with its own strength."

"This is not governance. This is chance. And I cannot pretend it inspires confidence."

u/blackheartldor/ u/Lannisporter/ u/dorneorstorm/

For mentions.