Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or a Song of ice and fire
The Phoenix and the Griffin
Chapter 25: What we become
My dear friend
A few days ago Dalish approached the borders of Sarsfield, demanding that they be allowed to excavate ruins on their land. The lord of Sarsfield, Robert Sarsfield refused their entry, the Dalish keeper requested to meet with him. After some time of debate and compromise, the Keeper was forced off of the Sarsfield lands, but not content with guiding the Dalish out, Robert had his archers fire a volley into their camp. As expected the Dalish retaliated, and so began a few days of what they called 'arrow warfare'.
I know you like to sing praises of the Dalish and their archery skills, but there is a reason the Sarsfield sigil is a green arrow. There was no glorious victor, Lord Robert's son Oliver struck his father in front of all of his men and wept apparently for the dead Dalish. Their second took them as far from Sarsfield as they could go, the Western lords didn't care to know after that.
A second Dalish clan went onto the Lorch territories, to try and find the ruins discovered by Lord Quenten. He immediately commanded for them to be killed, and it was a massacre for Quenten's men, they were ambushed by two more Dalish clans, caught within a crushing pincer his household guard fell along with the workers he had conscripted into battle.
Days after, he sent a request to the Rock, Lord Tywin had his brothers Kevan and Tygett gather five hundred men at arms and lead them to Quenten's territories. But Tywin wasn't just counting on an army from the Rock, but a hundred men each from House Swyft and Clegane Hall. It is expected to be a battle, and the eradication of all three clans.
From your friend in the West
My dear friend
I admit when you sent Cassius and Balthazar to us I had expected us to come to blows with the Dalish. There were those at my father's side who wanted to fight the Dalish coming into our lands, who wanted to cover up those ruins. Cassius and Balthazar are the images of warriors, so naturally I thought they were coming here to help us kill all the elves. But the advice they offered, to have the Dalish help us understand the ruins, to understand the artefacts and in particular what caused the disappearance of our brethren.
Your brother too in particular was eager to speak of the mutual gain cooperation with the Dalish could bring. He was met with opposition, but my grandmother encouraged the court of Highgarden to listen to him. We've allowed the Dalish in, and together we have begun studying the ruins. The things we learn together are quite extraordinary.
From your friend in the South
Revion read through the letters he had received, through the details given to him by those he had gathered as allies across the Kingdoms. He smiled, putting them into the fires of his lantern. Then he looked to his loyal wife.
"You truly believe that we can carry out the plan, the plan to see an end to the old era?" Selene asked.
"Yes, the era will end, and we will tear down the walls of the old world and build up the new one," Revion said.
He cast his hand over the map of Westeros and Essos.
"Conflict will consume this land, will remind the lords of Westeros what battle is," he said.
West
Leo looked out at the Dalish camp, it was the dead of night and some of their Halla were in their pens. Around his armour he wore the coat of arms that had the Banefort Sigil on it. It was a hooded man surrounded by flames. There were certainly a few aspects of this that fit Leo. He clouded his intentions, and he commanded fire but it felt more fitting for the fire to be within his heart. Whenever he read a letter from Kira, he felt enamoured, when she complained about her work it wasn't weakness, when she told him about the virtues of working as Revka Amell's hand maiden it was a pleasure to read the words and not once had Leo thought how much he could use the information to his advantage. He enjoyed his chats with Igraine too, they shared cups of wine and kept one another's minds sharp. Normally he would have considered a woman to be weak, for them to complain for nothing when it came to the lives they lived and their difficulties. At best he could respect a woman, but he had come to understand Igraine and perhaps daresay consider her a friend.
'I have changed,' he thought.
Again he looked down at the Dalish camp and again he reminded himself that he had changed. Quenten and Lorent were decked out in their full armour; the younger Banefort was gleeful and wanted the chance to prove himself.
"They are best at range, so we eliminate the threat of their archers and attack in the morning as they awake, it will rain tonight, this will turn their camp into a bog we can trap them it. The elves will be incapable of retreating," Quenten explained, standing over the map of the region that the scouts had crudely drawn up.
The man didn't know his lands, didn't know his history and he above all didn't know his enemies. Dalish were capable fighters, and they had the greater knowledge of terrain. They would not fall victim to the rain and their hunters would not be caught early in the morning, when they were at their most awake. Quenten wanted to sleep and drink and to attack when he was rested and when he had light to see where he was going when he fought. The militia he pulled together from the surrounding villages was inexperienced, men worn from the days of digging the elven ruins and green boys who certainly fantasised about knights, but when faced with proving themselves would freeze from the fear.
'This will be a massacre for both sides,' Leo thought.
It was the last thing he wanted, and that fact surprised Leo. Death and murder was his game, yet he found himself more and more valuing death with purpose. Whatever status he could gain from killing the Dalish wasn't worth it. He turned away from the camp in frustration, he didn't want to kill them, but abandoning his service of the Banefort's now wouldn't look good. Sometimes it was necessary to do things you didn't want to do in order to move forward. But then again, sometimes you have to make your stand. He left his sword, left his armour and walked out to the Dalish camp. With raised hands he approached them, knowing the archers had their arrows aimed at him.
"Where is the Keeper or his first?" he asked.
"Who are you to demand their presence?" one of the hunters demanded.
"No one, just like you, just like all of you, just like those men up there pulled away from their homes so they can die in the muck, men whom dug through your ruins for the promise of a few silvers and no thanks. They did that work for their families, right now you can walk away and preserve your families or you can sit down and discuss things with Lord Banefort," Leo explained.
"There will be no discussion with the Shemlen," another one of the hunters said.
"That is our history, our culture you're wading through for trinkets," said another.
"Humans have advanced and profited enough from our people's history; if the city elf slaves side with you then we won't be held responsible for what happens next."
"It's ours; you have no claim or right to it!"
Leo took a deep breath.
"Why did I even bother, why, why, why did I give you a chance, even consider the possibility that you might relent, that you might choose your present, your future over your fucking past," he snarled. "I don't believe in the maker, but Maker damn you all, gods damn you all, the Evanuris damn you all, if only you knew that they were just mages, if only you knew that they became powerful through the same means humans have, that those marks on your faces are the marks of slaves. But no, you wont listen, you won't consider, you own and cling to your fucking victimhood and…you're all so fucking rude too!"
That's what he imagined saying to them, but he didn't. He turned away and walked back down the field, donned his armour and weapons and waited for the dawn. It wasn't as if he didn't warn them of what was going to happen. The Dalish got a few got shots in, killing some of the Westerosi men at arms, but their camps burned, their Halla were taken for the meat and any survivors fled into the plains. Leo looked down at the bloodied victims he'd left behind and sighed in relief.
'I thought I was becoming something better, but this, this is good, a reminder that I am the villain of this story. A villain, awaiting the hero,' he grinned gleefully before throwing himself back into battle.
Thedas
Jon opened his eyes slowly, seeing the faces of Robb, Morrigan and Sam. He coughed from the aftertaste of something, a metallic taste, but bitter too. The young man rose and stretched his arms with a new strength.
"It feels like a fog has been lifted," he said.
"The enhancement of your senses, a body that could withstand the Blight and even use it," Morrigan said.
"What has been done to him?" Robb asked.
"He has gone through the joining Robb, everything is all right I assure you," Leliana said.
"Jon," Bran called out to his brother.
The bastard of Winterfell walked over to the group of Westerosi children, some backing away from him. Margaery stayed closed, watching him with intrigue as he hugged the younger Stark child. The way they embraced just reminded her of how she would hold her brother Loras to reassure him. Bran held him tightly, clearly traumatised from the near death. Though Jon's legs shook slightly and his skin still had a clammy tone, the change had been almost instantaneous. She had heard of the stubbornness of the Starks, and she saw that when the new warden turned to the Amell's companions.
"Where are Daylen and Alistair?" he asked.
Both Wardens stood in the area where their predecessors had made their last stand. The last remnant of that age stood at a ritual circle, slitting his hand for the power of blood to take effect. The weakened veil began to expand and both Alistair and Daylen nodded to one another. There was no debate between them, they both accepted the risks. Daylen driven by his need to push himself and his abilities, to claim as many advantages as he could and Alistair inspired by his friend's choices to follow him into those risks. Both drank the contents of the alchemical formula that Avernus had created. As the demons emerged, their eyes went blank, Alistair's white, Daylen's completely red as the taint within them changed from their tool, to their weapon.
The shades leapt at Alistair and with a gush of blood from his mouth, the demons were knocked back. His eyes remained white, the blood leaking from his nose as he rushed the demons. His blade tore through their flesh not because it had become sharper, but because the strength behind the swings was greater. He knocked them back with his shield, even using it to cut through them as well. Again he released a shockwave, his blood fury knocking some of the demons, even demons of desire against the wall. Yet even through his blood thirst, Alistair could tell that he was in danger of blood loss. He stabbed a rage demon through the head and regained his composure, using the smiting arts of his templar training to drain and debuff the demons.
Daylen released a blast of fire from his hand, burning a few of the demons emerging from the gate. He then followed with a flurry of ice skewers, forming lightning rods he used to chain his electricity. His fist was surrounded by rocks before he launched them at a desire demon, crushing its head. He formed a barrier, stepping between himself and Avernus, protecting him from the swipes of the shades. Then he swung his axe through the barrier, splitting one shade open before setting another on fire. He slammed his axe into a desire demon, then lifted it up and imbedded the weapon in her head. Dead skeletons began to rise around him, and he released a few bolts of lighting. A red and black aura spread across his arm, the veins on his hand throbbed before it mutated, becoming a bloodied and clawed appendage.
"Alistair, I would get down if I were you," he snarled before sticking the claw in his side.
The wound he made glowed as the blood became the fuel for his mana. This dark sustenance powered his spells, allowing him to create a targeted storm. When the storm passed a Pride demon emerged, lightning crackling in its fist. Daylen's blood claw expanded as he slammed his foot forward, grabbing the Pride demon's lightning whip. Alistair grabbed his arm, accessing his blood thirst to increase his strength. Together they turned and threw the Pride demon over Avernus and Levi, slamming it into the wall. It was about to rise and attack, when it noticed a dark haired boy on its chest. Jon stuck his sword through the demon's chest, drawing a roar from its mouth as blood from the tainted blade burned the inside of its body. Arrows and knives flew into the battle, skewering and impaling the rush of demons and undead. Jon ran alongside a giant spider, slashing at his targets whilst Morrigan bound them with webbing.
"Jon was never that fast before," Theon said, knocking back another arrow.
Robb took up his shield and sword, trying to get close to Jon. But Jon was faster, more nimble, his skin was redder as blood was pumped through his body faster than before. Jon yelled as if he was possessed, cutting with more fury than he was taught to. He stumbled slightly, blood gushing out of his mouth. Morrigan however turned to her human form, supporting him with her shoulder and burning a few demons with fire from her hand. Robb took that as his chance to rush, stabbing a demon through the eye. He took to his brother's side and they began to fight alongside one another.
Daylen grabbed a shade with his new spell, new weapon, the bloody grasp. He ripped through his opponents, corroded their skin, but fell to his knees from the blood loss. Sten and Oghren swung their axes into the demons trying to surround the Warden. His companions joined him, protected him and in turn protecting Avernus and Levi. The mage brought his hands together and the chaos died down, the last of the demons falling dead as the portal shrunk.
"It is done, the veil is restored, no more demons will haunt this castle and its spirits have passed on," Avernus said, looking down at Daylen as the warden's hand returned to normal. "Interesting, I had never seen what the power of blood could do to a mage, you have practiced blood magic in the past haven't you?" he asked.
"We're done here, Jon of Winterfell, welcome to the Grey Wardens," Daylen stood and looked to Jon.
"You should rest," Wynn scolded him when he nearly fell.
"Daylen Amell, you have saved my brother's life, the North…I owe you a great debt," Robb said, trying to sound like a formal lord and not a grateful brother.
"Twenty years give or take, he's safe for now, but remember this is a calling," Daylen struggled to speak as he swayed slightly.
"A calling and not a kindness, but thank you all the same, for believing that I can be a warden, I swear I will fight the Darkspawn with you and I will serve the order," Jon said.
"Finally found a place you can belong eh Snow?" Theon asked with a grin.
"Well he's in good company, the three bastards we could call ourselves," Alistair draped his arms over both Daylen and Jon, pulling them together.
"I…need to pass out now," Daylen chuckled.
"Children," Wynn shook her head whilst Leliana and Zevran laughed.
"What about me, I closed the veil, what becomes of me?" Avernus asked.
"This isn't my castle," Daylen looked to Levi, who widened his eyes in surprise.
There was a shine to his eyes as well, the realisation hit him that his quest had been a success.
"Well, I suppose you can stay, so long as you try to help the wardens, without those grotesque experiments again," Levi said, looking to Avernus with more strength that he once thought he was capable of.
"You offer redemption? Very well, I will do what I can, whilst I still can, and what is your next move Warden Commander?" Avernus asked Daylen, who stiffened slightly from the title.
"Elves, let's go and find some elves," he said.
Essos
"We will carry out attacks on the cities of Bhorash, Tolos and Mantarys," Fausten spoke amongst his new generals and his squires.
Their numbers had increased, as had their ambition. In the war council tent Fausten relayed the plans to launch simultaneous attacks on the three cities. Both Targaryens understood the historical significance of taking the cities, all of them were linked by the Valyrian roads and were once fiefs of their Valyrian heritage. In taking the cities, smaller than the greater cities of Slaver's bay, they would prove themselves to be more than just an army of mercenaries, but a legitimate political faction with ambitions of war. Generals whom led their armies to take these cities would become lords. Which presented the new challenge for Fausten, and the lesson for Daenerys and Viserys.
"Stone will lead five thousand troops alongside Devan to attack the city of Bhorash," Fausten said.
The Stone brothers knocked their fists together in celebration. Yet no one patted them on the back, they all knew whom Fausten referred to. Stone bowed his head, smirking at the fact the two brothers hadn't yet learnt the truth of Fausten's declaration.
"I assure you general Marcher, we will take the city," Marcus said.
"Don't be so hasty young man, I haven't yet said where you will be going," Fausten said.
"General?" both looked at the man in confusion and then followed his gaze to his oldest friend. "No, you would pick the dwarf to lead the attack?" Werner stood and grit his teeth in anger.
The glare was like a dagger aimed at Fausten, and those others sitting at the table, despite any prejudice they had against Stone did not share in the brother's outrage.
"Sit down boy," Saito said.
"You don't belong at this table either stranger, my brother and I have excelled ourselves on the field, we have brought back riches from raids, supplies, brought men into the fold," Werner explained.
"Boys, you brought boys desperate for food," Norman corrected them.
"You bought your boys," Marcus retorted.
"My boys and my girls know how to swing swords," Norman smirked and Marcus too stood in fury.
"This is a direct order, there will be no debate," Fausten said.
He stood, and countered the gazes of the brothers with a stern expression. His eyes spoke volumes of his fury, and though lately Fausten's skin had begun to pale despite the heat, he still carried himself with such strength and ferocity. It was that ferocity and his reputation that made the brothers sit.
"I apologise for my actions and on behalf of my brother, we are inexperienced general, we are simply eager to serve, please forgive us," Marcus explained.
"We are reaching a critical point, the point in which the very purpose of the Phoenix Wing's formation has been reached. Jenken of the Spear and Norman of the Axe will take Tolos with the turtle legion and the surviving Crows we picked up. I will take the ships we bought and take the city of Elyria," Fausten explained.
"What of Mantarys?" Stork asked.
"Mantarys," Fausten said, his eyes wide in surprise.
A surprise born of forgetfulness, for a moment he looked at the men as if he had already explained his plans. He stood straight rather than looked embarrassed, putting his hands behind his back and smiling confidently.
"Our new commander will lead a force to take that city," he said.
"You want me to what?" Maric asked.
The legally still king of Ferelden looked at his host in confusion and shock, mirroring the expressions of those in the tent. Fausten had left the council tent, closing the meeting with a stern expression that finalised his orders to anyone who had a complaint. He smiled at Maric despite his hesitance, but the king felt in no way obligated to simply accept Fausten's orders, even when Daenerys and Viserys came into the tent.
"I see what you're trying to do, split your forces and take key positions of authority one by one, then you can take the significantly more powerful city states with the resources you gain from the previous conquests, naturally you'll try to take Meeren, Astapor, Yunkai and perhaps eventually Qarth right?" Maric asked.
"I see you weren't the type to leave strategy to Loghain," Fausten chuckled.
"Loghain, he is my friend, but from what you say he was responsible for my son's death yes?"
Viserys and Daenerys both remained silent, but exchanged uneasy looks with one another. Maric had regained much of his strength in their travels, he was outfitted with Reinforced Mercenary plate armour, often used by the companies in the Free Marches. Beside him was a sword that Fausten had given him as a gift, Perrin's Nail, despite the name it resembled the sword Maric was said to have left with Cailin in Ferelden.
"I am grateful for you saving me, but I have issues to address in Ferelden," Maric said.
"By the time you make it back there, the Blight will already have taken your country," Fausten said.
"What of your grandson, I thought you had faith in him," Maric huffed and Daenery's grip on her knees tightened.
Fausten though was not outraged, in fact he seemed surprised by Maric's statement.
"Yes, yes of course Daylen is there, my grandson, he can save Ferelden," Fausten said.
"In truth I hated being king, Loghain was better suited for governance, though I wanted freedom from those not so undying bastards, I was content in the belief that Ferelden was in good hands. Whatever Cailan lacked in wisdom he made up for with charisma, eagerness, earnestness and his short comings when it came to ruling were made up for by his marriage to Anora. By the Maker Anora, she was every bit her father's daughter, but much more devious as well. I hate the game of politics, of thrones, it is a game you two will have to learn to play because I suspect it is more than just Fausten's memory that is getting to him," Maric explained.
"What does he mean?" Viserys asked.
"My memory is fine, my mind is fine, yes," Fausten scratched the side of his head, his voice dripping with frustration.
But then he turned to the Targaryens and lowered his gaze in embarrassment.
"My hands ache, after battle I feel like collapsing, I can't fight for as long as I used to and then there are the nights. I've pissed before I've realised I have needed to, my teeth have broken chewing tough meat and after spending a night on my back I feel a greater ache in it…and don't get me started on when I'm on a horse," he explained.
Viserys shook his head; his expression seemed unfamiliar to Daenerys though she knew she had seen it before. There was shock in his eyes, fear in the tremble of his lips and the very shaking of his head was the evidence of a concern Daenerys had nearly forgotten he was capable of.
"You cannot be saying that you are getting too old," he said.
"I finally feel as if the years are catching up with me," Fausten said.
"No, you are to be my hand, you said you would help us reclaim my throne," the hiss of Viserys's voice was again familiar to Daenerys, his old self was throwing a tantrum or at least that's what Daenerys thought for a moment.
Then she saw the tears in his eyes, and she was reminded of the day their mother died, of the day Fausten found them and finally offered them true help. Again Viserys shook his head and stood from his sat position, gripping Fausten's arms.
"You cannot be trying to replace yourself with Maric can you? No, I deny it, you will not pawn this task off on him, it is not just," he said.
Fausten hung his head back and laughed, shrugging off Viserys's grip.
"Do not speak to me of just, you are the last person to speak to anyone of what is just Viserys, I saw your father's eyes when we first met," Fausten said, his voice as fierce as a snarl.
But despite this and despite Fausten's taller frame, Viserys showed a strength that had been slowly built since the day Fausten took them in. Burning their old shelter, burning their clothes, cutting and dying their hair and pushing them across deserts had made them truly aware of the struggles of those without coin of status. To say that carrying equipment and chains, and burning bodies was simply a way of increasing their muscle strength was not the complete strength. Through their training, through accomplishing tasks and through tending to the bodies of those they had befriended, inner strength had been built up in both Targaryens. The strength required of a warrior, of a person who was not just their title or their family, but could stand on their own.
"A king must be firm and fair, that is what you have taught me, a king is not a servant and that is what Maric is, a king. He is not ours to command, we should not use him as a general but as an ally. King Maric, as the rightful king of Westeros I ask only this of you, not for your sword but for the opportunity to open trade between our kingdoms," Viserys explained.
He bowed his head, he pushed a fist against his palm and he spoke not as the beggar prince but as a man of status negotiating terms. Maric saw it, Fausten saw it, and Daenerys swelled with pride knowing that he brother truly was becoming something better.
"And you Fausten Amell, do not yet get to die, you are to get us home," he said.
Fausten sniffed, dragging his arm over his eyes. He then clapped Viserys on the shoulder and laughed.
"Well done my young squire, you truly have grown, yet there is still more yet to do," he said.
"Fifty sovereigns," Maric smirked.
"Excuse me?" Fausten asked.
"Fifty sovereigns give me that and I'll take the cities for you. You're doing more than just building forces to retake a kingdom aren't you; you're building an empire right?" Maric asked.
The Valyrian freehold, Daenerys looked at the map again and realised the plan of her mentor. Valyria had once been the greatest civilisation in the known world. The Targaryens had survived that disaster, conquered Westeros and ruled it for centuries. Upon the realisation of Fausten's plan, Daenerys began to wish for those times as passionately as Viserys did. She wanted to see it become better, to grant the peasantry more rights, to empower them whilst maintaining the honour of those houses that would pledge allegiance to the Targaryen dynasty. Fausten brought them back to his tent and presented them with two sets of armour and weapons. To Viserys, Fausten gave him the Stonehammer's gift, Tevinter armour that had once been worn by a king. Daenerys was awarded the Diligence armour, modified to fit her size and the nimble fighting style she had crafted.
"That will protect you for now, until your true armour is finished, but we have finished your weapons, which shall fit you both," Fausten spoke with enthusiasm and pride as they picked up what they had been given.
"Viserys, you will carry with you the Sword and Shield of the Dragon, the blade has been enchanted with a master fire rune, spared no expense!"
"Daenerys, upon your belt you will carry with you the dagger of the dragon which itself also has a master fire rune in it. But your true talent lies in the bow, the bow of the dragon will be your weapon now, but be careful for any arrow you release will be set aflame."
"These are my gifts to you my wards and the promise that soon, we will reveal ourselves to the Lannisters and Baratheons," Fausten said.
The preparations for the coming campaigns were underway, whilst Fausten dispatched Stork for an additional purpose. His oldest friend, the lanky elf put a letter into his satchel and mounted his horse with enough water and supplies to see him across the desert. What Fausten had tasked him with he told no one, not even Daenerys and Viserys. The Targaryen siblings changed into their armour and admired their new weapons in the light of the sun. And they admired the fully outfitted army that was Phoenix Wing; even the second sons had been fully merged into their ranks and outfitted with the chainmail and armoured doublets, silver helmets and spears and shields. Classes included their men at arms, their archer and scouts, cavalry in full plate armour and an assortment of tools and machines for a siege. Fausten's personal guard were outfitted in red, and his ships bore the symbol of a rising phoenix.
Yet still a heavy price would be dealt by this campaign, for no decision is without consequence and no plan is infallible.
King's landing
Aristanna traced her quill over the paper, and spoke what she wrote to Myrcella and Tommen. The prince stroked his cat yet focused entirely on the lips of the Amell songstress, though lately she had become known by the moniker 'story teller'. She walked amongst the people and told her stories, wondrous stories of sacrifice and heroism, of monsters and magic and dungeons and dragons. The small folk spread the words, but more than that Aristanna wrote the words and sent them to the citadel to be compiled into scrolls and books that she would sell, through a loan she secured from the Iron bank.
"The Phoenix and the Griffin wondered what they would become, one drifting into the darkness of his age and mortality, and the other drifting into the darkness of his decisions and the path he walked. Where one had many friends, time had claimed them and his decisions would claim them, and his own plots would isolate him. And where the other had few friends experience and decisions led him to befriend many, yet still there would come times when he felt alone. The Griffin whom saved many, whom would save many needed to be saved, by an action, by a sign that somehow his decisions were good, and were right, for always he doubted himself. The Phoenix too was slowly being consumed by the weight of his decisions, and the tragedy of the war he sought. Many people died in his conquest, some innocent, and some not, some his enemy and some whom wanted nothing to do with his quest.
"Though the Phoenix claimed victory in some of his campaigns, when he met again with his generals he learned a terrible truth. His friend the dwarf warrior ran to battle and was betrayed, the warrior brothers that the Phoenix scolded turned their cloaks and fought against their old allies, they joined the city defenders in splintering the dwarf warrior's forces, causing his young eager ally to flee. In the end the dwarf held his ground, slaying many of his foes but the traitorous brothers joined one another in attacking him. A fierce duel was fought in front of the city in the sands, swords and against twin axes, despite his bulk the dwarf warrior was fast, bellowing a roar that all across the battlefield heard and trembled against. The brothers once mocked him, yet they came to fear him. One was spectacularly cut down by the dwarf warrior, and the remaining brother recoiled even when he was able to put his sword through the dwarf's chest.
"The roar of the dwarf echoed through the land of sand, and all came to realise that he was a true warrior. Yet he was still the Phoenix's friend, one of the first friends he had made. Upon learning of that death, the Phoenix wept, and he wept for another, for he learned that the elf rogue he trusted with his secret plans and gold had been ambushed on the road by the screaming riders. He wept and wept, and raged, and swore that he would see the riders pay for what they had done," Aristanna nearly ripped the paper and stained the ink with her tears.
"Aristanna," Myrcella walked to Aristanna's side, touching her shoulder.
"Oh stories," Aristanna chuckled. "I suppose I'm more attached to these characters than I thought," she said.
"Why not let the dwarf and elf live, I liked the dwarf and elf, especially when the dwarf yelled 'IDIOT' when the dog general interrupted his letter, I loved the fact that you had the Phoenix pre-emptively put his fingers in his ears," Tommen explained.
"I liked that moment too, but you see Tommen, sometimes there is no meaning behind a death…because that's how life is sometimes," Aristanna said.
"Why make your stories like life?" Myrcella asked.
"Well you see…" Aristanna bit her lip nervously and chuckled sheepishly.
"I will miss the elf rogue's sullen and sarcastic drawls and the dwarf warrior's fiery retorts, but there is a meaning behind their passing's, wouldn't that make for better writing?" the princess asked and Aristanna smiled.
"Yes, you are right, every moment should have a meaning, like the moment that the Griffin chose to let his friend get away from punishment," Aristanna said.
"The nervous mage is back?" Tommen asked with excitement in his voice.
"The Griffin questioned whether his choice was right; the adventurer's guild posted a bounty for the nervous mage, seeking his capture or death. The Griffin took the job, ripping the poster away, going to where the nervous mage was once seen. There, he and his companions came upon a group being attacked by Orcs, at it was a mage protecting them with spells of runes and lighting. The Griffin and his companions joined the fray, slaying the monsters easily. It was in that moment that the Griffin recognised the protector."
"He's the nervous mage isn't he?" Tommen asked.
"He looked upon a ghost of a familiar expression of nervousness across his old friend's face. But then the face changed, the conflict that once plagued him was gone and the nervous mage showed that he was now a courageous mage, forgiveness was not what he sought, but what should be sought, atonement. The Griffin understood this and smiled, 'you look like an old friend,' he said and the courageous mage smiled too, 'You as well, he was a friend I valued very much, I did not show him much kindness,' he said. The Griffin brushed it off and said; 'what kindness you did give was enough, I'm sure your friend wasn't so insecure that he needed constant reassurance,' 'very funny' was the courageous mages last words to the Griffin before they parted. That was a good day for the Griffin, whom finally forgave himself for whatever part he had played in his friend's downfall, and he finally forgave his friend and moved forward with a smile."
"And that my prince and princess will be all for today," Aristanna said.
"Oh no," Tommen groaned.
"She is correct children," Cersei said, walking into the room with her guards.
"One more mother, please one more," Tommen begged.
"Perhaps tomorrow, I may join you, off to bed both of you," Cersei said with the cold firmness of a mother, or at least her style of parenting.
A somewhat warm smile crossed her face when her children left and she turned to Aristanna.
"You have been kind to my children, but how does this story of yours end? I don't want my children to be having nightmares," Cersei said.
"Neither do I your grace, as for how the story ends…" Aristanna drifted as she remembered her dreams.
The grieving of the Phoenix and him throwing himself into battle with his grand children's father. The kneeling of the Chimera to a golden lion and his campaign against the Dalish elves. A rebellion in the Meadow, the fall of one lord and the rise of a lady. The evils of a lord would be revealed, but the Griffin would be saved by a traveller from Westeros. And then the Griffin would go on to Denerim, where he would triumph but still lose.
"Sometimes heroes become villains, and villains become heroes, and others simply become what they were always meant to be. How does this story end? Well your grace, I'm not sure I want it to end," Aristanna explained.
"You have the same disdain for endings I do, and I always thought it was your aunt whom was my kindred," Cersei smirked.
"I am at the royal family's service, always your grace, whether it is to play a song, tell a story or to be a friend to the princess," Aristanna said.
"Your aunt is due to arrive tomorrow, rest Lady Amell, and dream of more stories to tell to us," Cersei commanded and Aristanna bowed.
She did dream that night, of a boy whose sigil was a wolf, becoming a wolf!
Next Chapter 26: Nature of the beast
Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, Jon's induction into the Wardens and the upcoming Targaryen campaign.