dreammetheworld:

“I was on the field at Marlas,” said Laurent.
    As the words penetrated, Damen felt the world reshape itself around him.
    “They wouldn’t let me near the front. I never had the chance to face him. I used to wonder what I’d say to him if I did. What I’d do. How dare any one of you speak the word honour? I know your kind. A Veretian who treats honourably with an Akielon will be gutted with his own sword. It’s your countryman who taught me that. You can thank him for the lesson.”
    “Thank who?” Damen pushed the words out, somehow, past the pain, but he knew. He knew.
    “Damianos, the dead Prince of Akielos,” said Laurent. “The man who killed my brother.”

                                                                                       —Captive Prince; chapter three

Nikandros said, “Your back.”
    Damen flushed. Nikandros was staring at him as if he had needed to see it up close to believe it. He knew… he knew there was scarring. He knew it extended across his shoulders, down to his mid-back. He knew the scars had been well taken care of. They didn’t pull. They didn’t twinge, even during the most strenuous swordwork. The smelly salves that Pashcal had administered to him had seen to that. But he had never taken himself to a mirror and looked at them.
    Now his mirror was Nikandros’s eyes, the stark horror in his expression.
    “Who did this to you?”
   “I did,” Laurent said.

                                                                                            —Kings Rising; chapter nine