Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or Game of Thrones, A song of Ice and Fire, and am obviously in no way profiting from this, please support the official releases etc.
A little something I was working on, in preparation for something big I was planning. I've always liked the mage origin of Dragon Age, and I've been into Game of Thrones for a while. But how could these work in a crossover? I decided to take a page from what I did with Mass Effect and Transformers, make them a shared universe.
Exploration of how these two universes are linked, and the deeper past isn't something I'll explore in this story. This mainly focuses on the titular House Amell, and at times the Amell origin mage character.
Anyway, enjoy
Game of Dragons
There once existed, two great men, two very different men from different countries and different origins. One destined to be a king, another seeking to be a hero. But to one another, they were simply Aerys and Fausten. Two men, two friends, unaware of the destinies of their bloodlines.
On the field near a red keep they sat, enjoying the incredible beauty of summer, a kind that Fausten did not know in his distant homeland. He was a well built man, tall and strong, dark of hair with bright blue eyes. In contrast to the unkempt clothes Fausten wore, Aerys wore the spotless clothes of a prince. His hair was silver, and his eyes were purple, a common trait of his famous family. Also in contrast to Fausten he was short and slim, not stick like but not the warrior's build that Fausten had. The beautiful sword strapped to his belt was more for decoration than battle.
"We should go, the Maestar told me it might rain today," Aerys said.
"Here, but if we go further to the west, we'll avoid the rain altogether," Fausten said.
"What makes you say that?"Fausten stood and pointed to the clouds, he formed a circle with his hands, on one particular dark cloud. "Notice how it is shifting a little to the East, the wind will carry the rain here, but if we go west, we'll avoid it. Have I ever led you wrong before?" Fausten grinned, turning to his friend.
"There was the time you led us into a very unsavoury place filled with unsavoury characters," Aerys said.
"But I bested all of them before your baby sitters arrived!"
"As I recall," Aerys huffed, sitting up from the grass and frowning at Fausten, "I saved your life at least six times during the fight, I also threw sand into the big one's helmet slit, thus distracting him long enough for you to aim your spear through the said slit," he explained.
"He nearly cleaved us both in half when he started swinging that ridiculously large axe of his about," Fausten retorted.
"Ah, but I am the one who convinced those baby sitters of mine to not tell my father, that was a good night, I don't think I've ever been that drunk," Aerys laughed with Fausten, both remembering how drunk they had been.
Fausten looked over his shoulder, catching sight of three men on horseback, all of them dressed in white armour.
"Best make up your mind dragon," he said.
"I think it's time to fly birdy," Aerys smiled.
He ran and jumped onto his white horse, kicking the sides and bringing the horse's front legs up.
"Try to keep up," he said.
Fausten slapped the rear of his black stallion, climbing up the horse's side as it ran after Aerys. Both men rode for hours, leaving a trail of dust behind them. When night passed they made a fire, both sat on the ground. Fausten looked up at the stars, and Aerys looked at the fire.
"Why look up when you have a magnificent sight in front of you?" Aerys asked.
"Fire is known to us, but the stars, they're infinite in mystery, that is truly wondrous," Fausten said.
"Mysterious things can't be beautiful, but what we know of, fire," the word echoed from Aerys's lips. "Its warmth destroys, but come winter, we are dependent on it. The death dealer, and life preserver, there is beauty in that!"
"Let us agree to disagree my friend," Fausten said, sitting down next to Aerys and looking into the fire.
"I wish this moment, could last forever," Aerys said, his eyes shining slightly.
When he wiped his eyes Fausten smiled, putting an arm over his friend.
"One day I'll come back here, our children will laugh together as we recount tales of our friendship, and our grandchildren..." Fausten paused, tears of his own flowing from his eyes.
"What will they do?" Aerys asked.
"I don't know...isn't it brilliant?" Fausten grinned, and Aerys began to laugh.
It was the final moment the two men had, in which they truly knew one another. The last time they were young men, and the last time one would know joy.
House Amell of Westeros
Chapter 1: the Eagles flight
Beware the red eyed foreigner, whose fire will blaze a trail.
That was what several were told, they were told to beware the arrival of a man who would take from them everything. A woman whom hid her deformities and age through magic. She was a fire priestess, whom had taken many men, and burnt many others, all in the service of a lord she claimed was of the light. Through the flames of prophecy, she saw something that terrified her.
He came from the East, where the magics of old still lingered, where monsters treaded the depths of the dwarven lands, where elves walked free. Shrouded by darkness he was, staff crackling with power, his hair wild and untamed, a magician of chaos whom disregarded all the lord of light stood for. She looked at him through the fire, feeling as if he was truly there, feeling his hands on her neck. His eyes looked back at her, the pupils narrow like the eyes of a beast. The red haired beauty recoiled from the fire for the first time, this man would be her doom, this man with his red eyes, would be the doom of everything she knew. Crawling on her knees, she felt truly weak, her once perfect skin and figure sagged and wrinkled, her hair touched by fire, like brittle snow. She reached for the jewelled collar on her neck, but found that it had shattered.
'No,' she thought, accepting the vision, as a command.
She served the lord of light, and the lord of light gave her power. Emerging from her room, a new collar on her neck, bound in red and radiant as the fires she worshipped, she resolved to stop the rise of this foreign man, this red eyed man.
In another part of that world, there was a little girl. A little girl and her companions whom walked outside of their safe and secure castle. She would be a beauty one day, her face and contemptuous eyes, held all the expectations of what she had been promised. A marriage to a king, a chance to rule, the love of a man. But these things could be fleeting, empty promises. One friend fled, another stayed, an unwise choice. Fearlessly, as if it was her right, the girl asked a witch of the wilds for a prophecy. Blood was given, and the girl cried, yet when the light rose from the witch's hands, there was wonder in her eyes again.
"Will I marry the prince?" she asked.
"You will marry a king, he will have many children, none of them yours. You will have three, gold will be their crowns, and you will reign as queen, until another, younger, more beautiful than you will come to take what you love most away from you. Oh..." the woman's voice croaked and quivered, and a smile crossed her face. "Beware of him, the red eyed man, the man whose body is made of swords, whose fire blazes a trail, beware him. For he will take everything from you,"
The girl's beauty faded with that scowl she wore, a scowl she would bear for many years, and it would grow worse still. Her dreams and expectations would fade, but still, she would bear the bitterness and the fear, fear of her younger brother, fear of the red eyed man. That fear would fester like a wound, becoming hatred, hatred for all.
These prophecies, these tales, all occurred in the lands of Essos and Westeros.
In Thedas however, there was joy, joy in the city of Kirkwall.
After a great fire, Revka Amell, of the Amell branch family, emerged into the rebuilt city with a child. Her bastard child? A found child? None knew, but the boy was Revka's son, her love was the love only a mother could have. The boy brought joy to both her father Fausten and brother Damion. They named him Daylen. For the people of Kirkwall, he was a curiosity. Where had he come from? They wondered, debated and rumoured.
He was a brown haired boy, uncommon for Amell children. His skin light, but a slightly gold hue, similar to some Qunari or those born in Tevinter. But his eyes were the bright crystal blue of the Amell family, so the majority accepted him as the inevitable heir to the Amell branch family.
Revka watched Daylen play with the estate staff's children, elf children and dwarf children. From such an early age, he didn't question why they looked different from him. They simply were, and they became his friends. The group of children played 'knights and dragons', with Daylen playing the dragon. He snarled, and pretended to breath fire, and carried out an overdone 'death' cry. Revka laughed as her child fell back to the floor, gripping a wooden sword underneath his armpit. Behind her, she heard the light footsteps of one of her closest friends.
Sister Bella was a priestess of the Chantry, a beautiful blonde haired woman, whom cast aside the status her beauty would have won her, and turned to the Maker. Though Revka did not believe in gods, she and Bella were the greatest of friends. Bella cared for Daylen whenever Revka attended to Amell family matters, and loved him as much as the heiress did. Rather than dedicate herself solely to the Chantry, she advised the Amell's on matters of religion and morality. But above all she served as friend and confidante.
"Two years old, and already he is smarter than any of the children on the estate," Bella said.
"Truly?" Revka asked, turning to her friend.
"Yes, he hasn't quite perfected reading and pronunciation, but he understands and recognises the letters. Curious, he can't write, yet he remembers the images in the books, he can describe them very well from just a single glance at the book, no matter how much time has passed," Bella explained.
"A good memory, that skill will serve him well, how I wish these moments can last forever," Revka said.
"Perhaps Damion will father a son, and spare Daylen of the responsibility," Bella suggested.
"You know my brother, he wishes to be a knight, or to make money, who knows. I love Damion, but he loses more tournaments than he wins, and his gambling is not helping. Uncle Aristide keeps on lecturing father, telling him he's too lenient, yet he's the same with cousin Gamlen," Revka explained.
Bella sat on the ground next to Revka, refusing the chair she offered.
"Damion seeks his own path, yet, he remains very much an Amell, if ever the family needed him, he would be there," she said.
"But actions speak louder than words, sometimes I wonder if he really cares," Revka shook her head as she looked down.
"MOTHER!"
Revka quickly looked up, and stood. Daylen rushed towards them, tears in his eyes.
"Caladin, it's Caladin mother, we were playing duel knights, I hit him on the head and he just fell down," his feet were still shuffling, desperate to move quickly for help.
Bella and Revka followed Daylen's haste and ran to the other children. Caladin, one of the dwarven children, was lying on the ground, blood on the wooden sword beside him. The other children were either too shocked or upset to do anything. Picking the dwarven child up, Bella quickly ran with him inside. Revka ushered the other children inside, blocking Daylen from entering. He tried looking around her hips, trying to catch a view of Bella treating Caladin.
"Stork, STORK COME QUICKLY!" she yelled.
A thin, white haired elf quickly ran into the kitchen, taking one look at the boy and knowing what to do. He ran to the store cupboards and began gathering bandages and elf root. Quickly he emptied a box of grains and began putting jars of ointment into it.
"What happened Daylen?" Revka asked firmly.
"It was my fault, we were pretending to sword fight, and I took things too far. I took the pommel end of the sword and smacked him across the head with it, I just took it too seriously and used the techniques I saw grandfather practicing," Daylen's voice was hysterical, eyes blood shot as he tried getting around his mother.
Revka placed comforting hands on Daylen's shoulders, drawing him into a hug.
"Oh my little Day, you used a half swording technique didn't you? That isn't something to play around with, even when playing games," she hushed the crying boy, hugging him as he wailed.
Later that day, Revka watched as Daylen spoke to Caladin's parents. His father, a bulking dwarf known simply as Stone, was an old friend from Fausten's adventuring days. He was an intimidating man, even making taller and adult men afraid. Daylen spoke of how he took a game too far. Stone stood over Daylen, placed his hands on his shoulders and spoke with him sternly.
"My son will be fine, you didn't mean to hurt him and I'm told you've apologised a thousand times, to people you didn't even need to apologise to. Tell me, did your mother tell you to apologise?" Stone asked.
"I have to say I'm sorry, I have to make up for it, it's my fault," Daylen said.
Stone took a hold of his head and pulled him into a hug.
"It is not for me to forgive you, but for Caladin, I do not blame you, I am glad Calidin has a friend like you," Stone said, and his wife joined him in relieving Daylen's concerns.
Life moved on, the days went by and summer came. Fausten walked through his estate, nodding to the staff, he would never call them servants. Each of them was fairly paid, never punished for the sake of it, and even then the punishment was never death for the simplest of insults or mistakes. The old warrior looked intimidating, and his voice had a rough quality to it. But the man himself was compassionate, understanding, a man people followed because they wanted to. He came upon the child, the light of his life, whom swung a wooden sword, a look in his eyes no child he'd seen before had.
Dedication, determination, these things reverberated with every swing of the boy's arms. In that moment Fausten saw not a boy, but the man he believed he would become. He saw the promise of the future, the pride of it. Daylen Amell, his grandson, whom he picked up and carried on his shoulders, pretending to be his horse. The boy smiled and swung the sword, as if leading an army, and Fausten galloped. He visited no whores, drank no wine, his pleasure was family. Smiles and joyful laughs were what made him feel glorious, not the thrill of battle or even service to a crown.
He told him stories, tales of dragons, griffins and blights, and the truth of his own adventures. Fausten told him of the people he had met in his long years, dwarves, elves and humans, of Qunari and chantry priests. Kings and commoners, barbarians and nobles, he told him about the land of Ferelden, where a king had won his nation's freedom. Of Orlais he spoke of the game there, the lavish lifestyles of the nobility and the duplicity of the bards. Even as night fell and he tucked him into bed, he told him of the great nations of Thedas, and beyond.
"From old Valyria it was said they hailed, the dragon riders, their hair silver, eyes purple. The Targaryens built a dynasty that lasted many ages, they conquered and brought together seven kingdoms into a single nation," Fausten said.
"Wouldn't that make them an empire?" Daylen asked.
Fausten bobbed his head back and laughed.
"Indeed it would, but they apparently prefer one king for seven kingdoms," he said.
"Do they still have dragons?"
"Alas no, the last of their dragons died out, and perhaps for the better."
"What do you mean?"
"Though the Targaryens most likely trained their dragons, what do you think it would take to feed such beasts? Farmers and herders would have to raise more, just to feed the beasts of their rulers. There is nothing noble or kingly in starving those you lead," Fausten explained.
He left Daylen's room to let him sleep, and sat in the garden, looking up at the moon and stars. Everyone else seemed to be asleep. Yet still Fausten heard the pit pat of footsteps behind him. He turned to see Daylen standing there, looking at the moon as well.
"What are you doing out of bed?" he asked.
"I'm sorry sir, I couldn't sleep, and I like looking up at the stars," Daylen said.
"Truly? I do too my child," he patted the spot next to him, and Daylen sat. "Losing myself in the stars, in their mystery and promise, it helps me to experience a simpler time, a brighter time," Fausten explained.
He looked into Daylen's blue eyes and smiled.
"When I look at you, at your mother and uncle, that too reminds me of a brighter time," he said, and Daylen nodded.
"Sir, your adventures, why did they stop?" Daylen asked.
"Because eventually my duties as a family head called me back, and I got old, my dreams couldn't be fulfilled anymore," Fausten said.
"Your dreams?"
"To be a hero, but as I got older I realised that...I could not save everyone," there was a small tear in his eyes as he said this, looking up at the stars, and their promises. "To save one, also means to sacrifice another, and I could not keep doing that, because I lost hope that I could save everyone."
Daylen waited a moment, before he smiled and looked at his grandfather.
"Then I'll do it for you," he said.
Fausten looked at the boy, at the maturity in his eyes, and the smile on his face.
"I'm still young, and I'll be young for a long time, which means I'll still have dreams. So I'll become a hero, the hero you wanted to be," he explained.
With tears of joy Fausten hugged Daylen, feeling hope yet again.
But hope can sometimes fade, and there came a day in which the joy the Amell family felt, faded.
Seeing Daylen play was Revka's happiest memory, Daylen's promise was Fausten's. But they both shared the worst memory of their lives. The rain pouring, templars around them, blood on Daylen's hands, fire on one side, ice on the other. His eyes no longer shone blue, but red.
Magic had been in the Amell family for years, waiting to awaken. Daylen was a mage, and the law of all of Thedas dictated that he be sent to the circle of Magi. The circle of Kirkwall was in disarray, a result of the change in templar leadership. Arrangements were made to send Daylen away, to the Ferelden circle. Revka and Fausten never said goodbye to their beloved pride, not even the Amell family staff bid him farewell.
Damion Amell returned that day to comfort his sister and father. He had not spent more than a few months with the child, yet already understood the profound depths of his family's sorrow. It was this sorrow, and the hope that one day, Revka would have more children. That prompted a decision that would change everything for the Amell branch family.
"To the West, I formed some renown, in those lands, the Prince I befriended is now the king," Fausten said, with no passion or hope in his voice.
"Where is this land to the West father, and who is this king?" Damion asked.
"Westeros, and his name is Aerys, I remember him being a good man," it was only then that Fausten smiled.
He pictured himself, a younger man, sitting with a thinner, silver haired man. They laughed like brothers, sitting on the fields near a red keep. That memory faded as Fausten pointed at the map.
"Westeros, where there is no magic, that is where we will find a new home, a new future," Fausten said.
Damion nodded his head in agreement, but a look of sadness crossed his face as he looked at his father.
"I was not there for you and Revka when I should have been, please forgive me, I was too hungry for coin and glory, please let me make amends," he said, putting a fist to his heart.
"My son, there is nothing to forgive, you did as I did when I was young, you sought out a path that would make you happy. Perhaps in Westeros we can still find it, a place to make our dreams come true, to make the kind of land we can be proud to live in, the land which makes it's people happy. It will be a long journey fraught with danger and obstacles, but if we overcome those obstacles, we will succeed, together," Fausten explained, touching his son's shoulder, and pulling him into a hug.
Thus the path of the branch family of Amell was set. One ship sailed to the North, across the Waking sea, towards Ferelden. The other, sailed beyond the Amaranthine ocean, to the land the Thedosians known as the Osian islands, also known as the 'lands beyond the sunset sea', and the 'lands of the narrow sea'. To the North of Westeros and Essos, Fausten found adventure, to the South of those lands he found only death. But Westeros and Essos were lands of opportunity. In Essos they stayed in the free cities, trading wonders from Thedas to secure coin.
Then they moved, to their target, Westeros, the land that dragons conquered. Fausten raised the banner of his house, as his boat sailed through Blackwater, towards the harbour of the nation's capital. King's landing welcomed the duo of red eagles, and Fausten breathed in the air, the smell of shit was reality to him, a reminder that he and others like him had to improve this reality. A nation could be measured by its people, and Fausten saw what he expected, people in need of food, in need of work and hope.
When he reached the red keep, and walked towards the famous Iron throne, he walked past the skulls of numerous dragons. Gradually, they got bigger and bigger as he approached the form, made from the swords of those the Targaryens had defeated. Fausten bowed his head and smiled at the king, Aerys Targaryen, second of his name. The silver haired man was thin, not the fighter Fausten remembered. His skin had become pale, nails long and dirty.
"I see not the boy I knew once, but a man, a man in need of grooming," Fausten grinned.
Several of the men and women in the room gasped at Fausten's tone. One who sat beside the king an older man looked completely horrified. The queen, a woman with Aerys's hair and eyes, looked nervously between her husband and Fausten. Slowly standing, the king walked towards Fausten as he bent the knee.
"I may need grooming old friend, but it's clear you need a bath, one can't tell if you're a nobleman or a commoner," Aerys said, twitching his finger to get Fausten to stand.
Owen Merryweather, hand of the king, gasped as Aerys embraced Fausten. His sister-wife, Rhaella too looked at him in shock, seeing a side of her husband she had not seen before. There was a true smile, even a tear in Aerys's eyes as he and Fausten patted one another's backs.
"What brings you to Westeros old friend?" Aerys asked.
"You my king, across the seas I heard of the Benevolent rule of Aerys the second and his hand Tywin Lannister, yet I do not see the grumpy old lion, where is he?"
Aerys scowled at Fausten's inquiry, walking closer to his throne.
"This is perhaps a conversation best carried out in private, come, join me for a meal," Aerys said.
The royal apartments had finer decoration than the Amell households. Aerys had the servants come to bring in food, and there was a long wait. Fausten watched as each servant tasted the wine and food. It was no simple taste, they had to slowly chew and consume the food, take in every bit of it. Aerys watched them apprehensively, his fingers twitching, heart racing if they showed even the slightest discomfort. Those dishes they simply disliked, he had them throw out.
"Leave us now," Aerys said.
The stern gaze of a king faded as he looked at Fausten.
"There is no wine, one cannot be too careful," the king said.
"Has your life been threatened?" Fausten asked.
"No one would be foolish enough to make their intentions clear, but my old friend I fear you are ignorant to the ways of Westeros," Aerys said.
"To the political game, I know of this Aerys, we knew of it when we were young men," Fausten said.
"Yes, but when one has more power, the risks are even greater. Fausten, I am king now, every family seeks to use me, they will only help me rise if it helps them. They would even see me fall, damned any oaths they have made, damned the chaos it would bring to the kingdom. I would burn them all, if it meant the land would no longer have to suffer their ambitions," Aerys explained.
Fausten hid his fear well, this sweating, twitching man, was not who he once knew.
"What became of your previous hand?" he asked.
"Tywin Lannister," Aerys scoffed. "The small and petty man took insult to the wife I chose for my son. I thought him a friend once, but you were right Fausten, the man cares not for friends, perhaps not even his family."
"He cares for his family when he needs the excuse," Fausten said.
"Indeed, ambition is all that man cares for, he wants his daughter to be queen. I would rather keep the bloodline pure, but the Martells insisted, and Rhaella has not yet given me a girl," Aerys explained.
Fausten nodded his head, somewhat understanding it. He dared not speak his mind though, even to his friend. Instead he wished to gauge just how far his friend had fallen into this paranoid, and aggressive belief. Fausten knew many horse and sheep breeders, when you spent so much time interbreeding, you would create virtues, but also inevitably create faults, mutations born of incest. Children with sicknesses of the body, or sicknesses of the mind. The Targaryens had wed and impregnated their sisters for generations, such was their way. Throughout that history there had been good Targaryan kings, and bad ones. At first, Aerys had been a good one. Now though, Fausten predicted there was a madness within his old friend.
"What of you Fausten, I heard you have a daughter and son," Aerys said, his eyes and tone becoming more at ease and friendly.
"I did, both are my image, one foolhardy but well meaning, the elder wise and brave, they would serve the realm well and your family well if given the chance," Fausten explained.
"Are they wed yet?" Aerys asked.
"No, Revka found love briefly, but neither are married, at least not yet, if we find a land to call our own then I am sure they will find happiness."
Aerys stood up and paced around the room, as if debating, in front of Fausten, with himself, whether he should grant his request or not. A few minutes passed and Fausten waited patiently, never trying to rush the king. For a moment it seemed as if Aerys was frozen in thought, the rest of the world was nothing to him. His eyes just looked forward, not really seeing anything. The sun had begun to set when Aerys turned to Fausten.
"The Meadow, it is small, but big enough for people to settle there and grow," Aerys said, walking back to the table and sitting there. "Make your lands there Lord Amell, turn it into something that will aid the realm."
Fausten bowed his head and stood.
My beloved brother
I hope you are well Aristide, I am sorry I have departed. But we are beginning to settle in Westeros. Though our place there is contested at the moment, we have taken residence in the Valley, lands own by the Freys. The words I have for them should not be exchanged by letter, or even spoken really. Suffice to say they are not pleasant people. They have harassed those I brought with me and recently I discovered something concerning the elves whom live in Westeros.
They are treated so horribly brother, I could not stand for it. Lord Frey thought I was announcing some kind of insult when I took in some of the elven families, living in the trenches of his lands. It is as if the nobility of Westeros believe they should not be heard or seen. That is something I am hoping to change. But already my loyalty has been tested.
Aerys has plunged the nation into war, he has done something I cannot forgive. Truly the people are right to call him, 'the Mad king'.
I know you would counsel loyalty to my old friend. But to have burnt villages, sons and fathers, to have burned them alive. I can pledge no allegiance to a man like that. If you receive no letter from me within a few months, then I fear yours will be the last of clan Amell.
From Fausten
Let my actions speak louder than my words can
Two stories both intermingle. In Ferelden, a boy arrived at the tower on Lake Calenhad. This boy, brown of hair, red eyed, looked at his gilded prison and saw no potential for home. Whilst in Westeros, his family, all dark of hair, all blue eyed, saw not a home, but a place to stay. As the boy began to study, the men fought. Fausten and Damion both walked the camp of the rebels against the crown. On the tents flapped the flags of the three families of that alliance.
A bird flying towards a crescent moon, the sigil of House Arryn, led by Jon Arryn of the Vale. Then there was the wolf, sigil of House Stark, inherited by the young lord Eddard, whose father and brother had been murdered by the king. Finally there was the stag of House Baratheon, led by Robert Baratheon, the man who would be king. Those three men looked at the small force of knights Damion and Fausten brought with them. They were only a hundred men, most wearing Marcher mercenary armour of plate and leather, some wore the armour of the Kirkwall guard. But there were knights whom stood out.
Sir Byran, a man who looked like a commoner with his cheap mail and coat of arms. Then there was sir Darius, a man who often smiled and wore brown and gold armour. Sir Uldrich was a pale skinned, ginger haired man who wore black armour. Damion and Fausten stood proudly before Robert, Damion in plate armour with the Amell symbol on his chest and Fausten wearing mail and a blue coat of arms. They knelt, putting fists to their hearts.
"We will fight to bring the mad king to justice, and to restore peace to the land, this we swear to you!"
The oath was made, and the red birds served the stag from that point on. Fires raged in two parts of the world, kings landing, where the king burnt his enemies and executed the hands who failed him. Then there were the fires that burned in the tower of Lake Calenhad. There, the boy of the Amell clan showed the fires of his magic.
"Fear this power," he was told.
He did not need their words to fear his flames. As he slept peacefully in a bed, the brave hundred of the Amell clan raided royal camps, protected villages, and clashed with their enemies on open fields. Every night in the tower was a fight for sleep and peace of the soul, the boy heard the whispers of demons in the fade. Whilst every night the Amell hundred fought and prepared for the next fight, burning their dead as was the custom of Thedas.
"Don't be afraid," his grandfather had told him.
"Don't be afraid," he said to himself, light glowing through his hands.
The senior mages of the tower, even the first Enchanter Irving, dropped their jaws in awe. From his mana he shaped complex runes that mages who had lived there a year struggled to form. There was no smile on his face as he used his natural gift.
Likewise on the field of battle, Damion and Fausten didn't smile. They never smiled in battle as they took one life after another. When they took up their swords, they saved many lives, at the expense of many more. In the capital, the king ordered the burning of more men, laughing as they screamed. Yet none could see the tears that filled his eyes, the tears of a man betrayed by a friend. For that was the tragedy of the choices people made, to do what was right something had to be sacrificed, and Fausten had sacrificed much.
Embers rose from the pyres, and what had begun with a hundred men, would come to a close with twenty five. Those loyal men whom died left behind sons and daughters, people Fausten led, people whom counted on him. Within the confines of his tent he shed tears for those men, as far away, his grandson had no tears to shed. Red eyes looked up at the ceiling hopelessly, and blue eyes looked at the map of the trident, searching for hope.
Fausten brushed everything off of the table and put his hands together.
"Maker, today I have sent many sons to join you, I called some friends and other enemies. I could offer any platitude and sacrifice, yet still it would not equal the lives taken. Not even Aerys's life would put things right, Aerys whom I called friend, Aerys whom I abandoned."
"What if? I ask myself, 'what if I stayed with him?' 'What if I had joined him? Despite all the cruel things he has done, could I have saved him? As I could have saved my grandchild.' I have not asked you this before, but why? Why?"
"Did I not dedicate my life to kindness and goodwill, did I not forgo glory and fame to help my family? Did I not help a stranger for the better? Did I not find joy and bring joy to another IN TURN!"
He slammed his fists against the table, and then looked up as if waiting for an answer.
"Daylen, Aerys, I will...I will endure, no matter what I will endure, I will continue to fight for the innocent and for the future we dreamed of," Fausten said.
With a renewed determination, he began to put on his mail, and the plates of red armour he wore in his youth.
"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter, I will endure these tasks, I will stand," Fausten put on his gloves and gauntlets and picked up his spear.
The spear had a flag on it, one that previously bore the Amell family crest. Now it bore a new symbol, the wolf, the moon, the eagle and the stag as one. Exiting his tent, his prayer in his heart, Fausten addressed his waiting men. They had lost true, but also grown, strong volunteers from villages they protected join their ranks, and had been fitted with armour and weapons.
'For though the high ground is difficult to climb, eventually, one will gain an advantage,' Fausten smiled as the men bowed.
'This is what I have endured to receive, I have lost one friend, but gained many others. So Maker, have I lost Daylen for a reason as well? Perhaps his destiny was never with his loved ones, yes, a greater destiny must await him!'
With his faith renewed, he led his men to the Trident, and the battle that would decide the fate of Westeros for years to come.
Next Chapter 2: The fall of house Targaryen
Hope everyone enjoyed the first chapter, I based some of the Amell family members on different actors, Jeremy Irons for Fausten, Cate Blanchett for Revka and Henry Cavil for Damion.
The story will include time skips and multiple perspectives, mainly focusing on the Amells building their home in Westeros, and Daylen Amell's time in the circle and his eventual recruitment into the grey wardens.