Disclaimer: I don't own A song of ice and Fire or Dragon Age
This little update might be the first of a few, to show off some deleted scenes, abandoned ideas and joke chapters.
House Amell of Westeros
Omake 1: An old game
Laughing at a king was not something one could get away with. But Fausten Amell wasn't just anyone, he admired the skulls of dragon's that decorated the throne room. Then he looked at the Iron Throne itself, a death trap if ever he saw one but seven hells of a flex on the part of the Targaryens. It reminded Fausten of the days he and Aerys pretended to be the lords of Westeros during the time of Aegon's conquest, coming up with ways to stop the conqueror. They made scenarios that bordered on the ridiculous. Fausten's involved mages, launching themselves up in the air with fire spells and then using haste spells, adding them to Fausten as they threw him one mage at a time through the air. His speed would build up until he reached Balerion and drove his enchanted sword through his back, dragging it across the dragon before he jumped off.
'Wouldn't you break your legs when you landed?' Aerys had asked him.
'Not if I landed with style,' Fausten had responded.
Aerys had been even more ridiculous, he imagined himself, a Targaryen against a Targaryen using dragons against a dragon. But his dragons would be mere babes, fresh from the eggs and flying and their first meal would be Balerion, they would swarm around him, nipping at his scales, each rapid bite adding up until Balerion finally began to panic. It was the classic case of numbers being the deciding factor over strength.
'So these baby dragons would just go up to the biggest dragon of the age, overcome their fear and basically nip it to death?' Fausten asked.
'Yes, well it's a lot better than a ring of air bound people throwing a swordsman at a dragon,' Aerys retorted.
Part of the old game also involved imagining people's reactions to Aegon's request.
'You want us to make a throne with them your grace?' Fausten played the smith.
'I will bring you the swords of the defeated and you will melt them down into a throne,' Aerys as Aegon had said.
'Your grace, this could go very wrong, at worst the result could cut deep into your arse as you sit, at best it might give you a little prick.'
'I have no problem with little pricks…that came out wrong.'
That fond smile crossed his face again, and faded somewhat as Owen Merryweather approached him. The man was easy to get on with, but in terms of his qualifications as Hand of the King, Fausten couldn't see him coping well in a crisis. Some hands served through periods of nothing happening, and were never truly tested, it was easy to call a hand successful during a time of peace when there was no famine and the people were relatively entertained.
"Lord Amell, a fine morning," Owen said.
"Lord Hand Merryweather, how are you?" Fausten asked.
"Eager to serve the realm as always, never in my life did I believe I would be called to serve upon the Targaryens, especially one as great as Aerys," Merryweather said.
"Great, ah yes I remember, his wish to be known as Aerys the great or the wise, I remember when I wanted to be called Fausten the fabulous, my father told me that was far too effeminate," Fausten explained.
"Lord Amell, Aerys is the king," Owen frowned.
"No offence has been given to him, dreams are good but reality needs to be accepted as well. A city of white marble on the Southbank of the Blackwater Rush? Good luck finding enough White Marble, building a new wall North of the current one? You have to cope with raids from the Wildlings, the cold and finding enough builders whom could work through said cold alongside the difficulties of local wildlife, as well as the practicality of a stone built wall when there is a massive wall of ice behind it. The Iron Bank of Braavos can buy multiple armies bigger than yours, so good luck toppling them and war with the Stepstones whilst possible will cost the treasury and what the benefit reap, what could they bring to the Seven Kingdoms? Aerys knows this, it's why these plans never came to fruition," Fausten explained.
"Of course, the king is most wise," Owen said.
"Yes, it is why I am king," Aerys's voice came from the entrance to the throne room.
Owen bowed before Fausten did, the hand bowed lower too. Fausten looked up briefly at Aerys, his eyes asking him in a way if he was finished. The king beckoned with his finger and both men ceased bowing.
"Strange how early you are Fausten, one would think you were the Hand and not Merryweather," Aerys said, walking past Fausten, his king's guard in tow.
"Alas I have the job of setting up the Meadow, taking over and winning the hearts and minds of both its people and nobility, an adventure in itself," Fausten said.
"You still call these little things adventures?" Aerys asked.
He ascended the throne, each raise of his foot revealing some of the scabbing on his legs. His overgrown nails tapped at the arm rests when he sat down. Many saw one of the blades scrape against his arm, but it was such a common occurrence that Aerys did not seem to be bothered by it. Fausten approached, never stepping more than a few feet from the guards.
"One has to take their pleasure where they can find it, Steffon's was fighting, Tywin's was books, yours was women and mine was going off on adventures," Fausten stated.
"Only you could call fighting bandits, finding stray dogs and uplifting peasants an adventure. And Tywin's interests were not books, before he married his wife and after her death, that hypocrite took more women than I did," Aerys huffed. "Steffon's son is similar, in terms of the fighting and the women though he's less charming about it than the old lion was, he also has a love for wine or so I've heard."
"Who doesn't love a good cup of wine?"
"A barrel more like, interests changed though, since the birth of Viserys I have taken no woman but my sister-wife," Aerys said.
His face had gone solemn as he looked to the floor. It was a look Fausten shared, but he noticed the slight shake of some of the guards, and the brief second of fear twitch across Merryweather's lips.
"My condolences for your children, to lose a child is a pain I can only imagine," Fausten said.
"But not understand," Aerys suddenly snapped.
His change in demeanour was sudden, his voice echoed through the room and Owen winced. Fausten however stood, still holding the look of sympathy but in no way afraid.
"You know I've already begun to imagine your grace, what my grandson would be like here, the things he would do," Fausten said.
"With him would come the lost magic," Aerys's voice drifted slightly as he looked up.
"One wonder born after another, fearful but perhaps filled with the hope that their lives now can be more, more than what they once were," Fausten continued.
"Their lives made greater with fire," Aerys said the last word with reverence.
"When he's older he'll turn the simplest of granite into White marble, and build that city you dreamed of your grace," Fausten said.
"Yes…wait, no, no, from what you've said that isn't how magic works at all, and he's too overpowered," Aerys said.
"Fine, what would you prefer your grace?"
"Clad in black armour, styled after a hawk, to match the dragon armour of his king Rhaegar. They would stand together on a ship, the Targaryen and Amell banners fluttering behind them. And together they would take the Step stones, the Targaryens would be conquerors again. Together they would mount their dragons…"
"Dragons, where do you propose they'll get dragons?"
"They'll find a way to bring them back!"
Merryweather looked between his king and the Lord Amell, astonished by the back and forth. Aerys did still indeed appear to be having his mood swings, yet Fausten was not afraid, and the conversation was being shaped in such a way that any shift in Aerys's mood was simply benign. He saw it as masterful manipulation of the king's chaotic nature. To Fausten and even Aerys, they were young men again, up in the early hours riding on top of the dragon skulls, pretending to be old dragon riders and adventurers.
In front of the iron throne, they were playing an altogether different game, an old game.
End
Omake 2: Our fathers, sons of great lords
Damion hated being in the city again, despite it being years since the day the old Targaryens fell, he could not shake away the memory of what had happened. Nor could he cast aside what had become of his honour. Westeros was supposed to be his second chance, for glory, for fame, but also for honour. People praised him as the man who defeated Arthur Dayne alongside Ned Stark, but there was no real defeat there, just execution. Then there was what came after, the screams of a woman whose drive for independence led to war.
'You fought for love, to free her from a fucker who would have become fat in peace, whether it was a lion or a wolf, Robert Baratheon was destined to be the fat stag and you Rhaegar, you could have been a king, a most loved king, but now you're dead, your children are dead and your siblings in exile,' Damion thought.
He had already paid Robert a visit, and could see the makings of obesity in him, another year and Damion suspected the king would need a horse trained to carry his weight. The rest of the time Damion would see his sister, though she was apparently spending her days with Cersei Lannister of all people.
'You try to make the strangest of friends sister,' he huffed.
So he went to the training yard, he had no squire, his armour was in a bag strapped to his saddle. Amell branch family members had always prided themselves in being good with spears or halberds. There had been some talented swordsmen, good fighters but not good generals. Or at least that was the embellished history Damion's father told him, his uncle would tell him that the Amells built their fortune through trade and knowing the right people. Damion had tried trade, but he only incurred a debt that drove him away from Thedas.
"Sir Damion," he stopped hitting the dummy and turned to a golden lion.
Though Jaime wore a silk shirt and red boots, his white cloak was perhaps elsewhere but his hand rested on the gold hilt of his sword as he approached.
"Sir Jaime, what brings you here?" Damion asked.
"Training, but I see no one who would provide a decent challenge," Jaime said, having no shame in referencing the other knights and squires in the yard.
Damion turned away from the dummy and walked with Jaime to the centre of the fighting ring. It drew some attention; the two sons of great lords, squires looked in anticipation and knights in barely disguised contempt, there were many reasons they were both respected and hated. Jaime drew a training sword with a somewhat dramatic swing, assuming a practiced fencing stance that Damion too assumed.
"There's something I've wondered since the day Fausten Amell came here, since Aerys embraced him like a brother," Jaime said.
"What is that?" Damion asked.
Jaime suddenly struck, their blades clashing once before Jaime tapped Damion's arm. The squires looked down in disappointment, but the knights knew the fight wasn't over there. Damion brought his struck arm up to his chest, making it seem as if he had lost the use of that arm. Jaime took step forward, swung and pulled back as Damion brought up a guard.
"I was wondering…"Jaime began as their feet shuffled across the yard, both constantly adjusting the 'aim' of their blades. "What is it like being the child of that great man?" he asked.
"Which great man are we talking about?" Damion asked back.
"Disrespect to your father?" Jaime mockingly said and Damion pressed forward.
Jaime parried, but Damion stepped to the side, avoiding Jaime's lunge and making him guard. He pushed Jaime back and delivered a flurry of blows that Jaime blocked, but the strength in those blows was clear. Jaime was forced back with each clash, there was both annoyance and anticipation in his eyes.
"It isn't disrespect to him to acknowledge what he is, he's always been uncertain, a mercenary at one point in his life, and a trader the next, 'Fausten the indecisive' I heard my aunt call him," Damion explained.
"Such disrespect from your family," Jaime smirked.
"They too were simply acknowledging what he was, the least loved son," Damion said.
"I find that hard to believe," Jaime blocked one of Damion's swings before going onto a counter attack.
He moved from side to side, keeping Damion guessing, making him parry and dodge and forcing him to move and exert himself. The knights could see the clear difference in the builds and techniques of both men. Jaime had muscle, but he had less broad shoulders and though not obvious Damion was taller. The son of Fausten wore a black shirt with rolled up sleeves, and the wideness of his arms and the thickness of his chest was obvious. Jaime was adored for his looks, his facial beauty, Damion was admired for his body. Yet when Damion fought back there was speed, Jaime had fined techniques and raw talent, Damion had brute force applied to basic teachings.
"There was great love between our family, but Fausten didn't follow the path his father dictated, he wanted to experience adventures and capture that glory that our ancestors had," Damion explained.
Jaime grinded his sword against Damion's, pushing forward and going into a crouch, he was able to slip his sword through Damion's guard and touch his chest.
"Best of three?" Jaime asked and Damion nodded.
They drew their distance, got into stances, Damion gripped his sword with both hands and Jaime maintained his one handed grip.
"Did he capture that glory?" Jaime asked as they clashed again.
He nearly stumbled when Damion swung hard, knocking him partly back. But Jaime was quick to recover, moving to a two handed grip and parrying, aiming for Damion's shoulder but missing and receiving a shoulder barge in return.
"The blade isn't the only weapon you have," Damion said.
"Indeed," Jaime struck again, kicking Damion's leg and nearly catching his chest with a follow up slash.
Jaime caught Damion's leg with his sword, making him kneel. But when Damion knelt he grabbed the collar of Jaime's shirt and pulled him down. Simultaneously he put his sword into a reverse grip and put it to Jaime's wrist.
"You've given me a limp, but I've taken your hand entirely," he said.
"Both could become infected," Jaime retorted.
"But could you live broken?" Damion asked.
"Give me a good clean death!"
"Death isn't clean or good!"
"When someone suffers it is," Jaime said.
They both stood, Damion resting his sword on his shoulder whilst Jaime leant against his.
"When I got my first sword, my father stood me in the training yard and beat me soundly, no lesson, no techniques, he just told me to hit him, 'don't try, hit me,' he said," Damion explained.
"My father taught me to read, the Maesters tried, but I struggled, I had no interest truthfully but my father was told that it was my eyes, I would never be able to recognise the letters or focus on them. He sat me down in front of the most complicated book he could find, we spent hours looking through the pages and he didn't stop until I could read," Jaime explained.
"My lessons tended to be less academic; did lord Tywin ever spar with you?" Damion asked.
"He watched my uncle Tygett teach me, he said why should he bother when I had a better teacher in my uncle."
"After my father trounced me, he told me about the sword, about war, about what it felt like to watch a man die," Damion said and Jaime's dropped his smile. "Then he told me about our ancestors, about heroes of the past, great conquerors and builders of noble houses, how they were terrible people, who cut throats and stole, murdered and burned until one day they were suddenly called noble. 'To be truly noble, to possess moral principles which you would stand by earns you contempt, it earns you hatred and jealousy, because you believe in good things and because you try to be good you're viewed as weak or naïve, to be a 'gentleman' can be a death sentence'," he explained.
"Too true, but not all can be good, the world is filled with bad, but why does one have to view it as good or bad?" Jaime asked.
"Your father's lesson I presume," Damion said.
"He once asked the questions that needed to be asked, Baelor the Blessed, holy and pious, yet he fasted his way to an early grave because he believed food was of their world and this world was sinful, and then justness and forgiveness, Aenys the first was just, yet he was murdered in his sleep by his own brother, was it just of him to abandon his subjects to an evil he was too gullible to recognise?"
"Do you have your own opinion of the subject?" Damion asked.
Jaime did not speak, he simply took to his sword stance to begin a final match. Damion kept his sword on his shoulder, looking around, his eyes narrowed and nodding his head in a growing fury.
"But Tywin's right, how inconsiderate of Aenys the first to be murdered, a lot of people inconsiderably get themselves killed like Elia Martell and her children. How dare they, how dare little baby Aegon go and get his face smashed into a wall, and how stupid of Rhaenys to get stabbed so many times, and don't even get me started on Elia herself, how unjust of her to watch her children die one by one, how unjust of her to be raped by a man covered in their blood and to top it all off she goes and gets her head blown up like a melon, who does that? Who goes and dies like that?" Damion asked.
Jaime looked at him in disgust, and suddenly, raised his sword as Damion's came down. He felt Damion's raw strength and fury, if they were on a muddy field Jaime was sure his heels would be dug into the dirt. The kings guard looked into Damion's eyes, those once bright blue eyes and saw a dark sky. 'Ours is the fury,' 'hear me roar', 'winter is coming' these words of great houses seemed better suited to the Amells in that moment. Again and again Damion struck, pushing Jaime back.
"You have contempt for good just like your father, but you don't really share his beliefs do you?" Damion asked and without waiting for a response hit Jaime's guard again. "That's why you killed the Mad King and became the King slayer isn't it?"
Jaime's eyes narrowed and he locked blades with Damion, pushing against him. The knights widened their eyes seeing the grit of both men's teeth and the hatred in their eyes.
"He was to do something so terrible, so evil, that you couldn't obey anymore isn't that right Jaime? For a moment, you did something terrible, committed a dishonour for the right reasons," Damion stated.
Jaime swung and swung again, knocking Damion back, keeping him on the defensive and for a moment making him stumbled. He swung his sword at Damion's back, but the Amell had reversed the grip on his sword, putting it around his back and catching Jaime's blade. The move was performed so quickly that it drew a gasp of awe from the watching crowd.
"But then you fell into sloth, you stopped there Jaime and just sat on the throne as your father's men murdered the remaining Targaryens, did they not deserve your protection, was it just of you to abandon them, was it just of those bastards to have killed them the way that they did, like you said, good clean deaths right, were they unworthy of even that?" Damion demanded.
Their swords clashed so fast and hard that both training blades began to bend, they would be useless by the time they had finished with them.
"I came to an answer regarding the contempt for goodness, my own answer, such belief in morality, in embodying all that is heroic and kind, is mistaken for wisdom, for realism, it is mere pessimism, which is not wisdom, it is born out of sloth, in GIVING UP!"Damion swung, making Jaime stumble back.
Jaime swung his sword back, knocking Damion to the side. Their swords locked, grinding together, both trying to push through the other's attack. What they had spoken about had been ignored, the knights focused only on the fight. Both men yelled as they swung their swords, Jaime's stopped at Damion's throat, and Damion's at Jaime's chest. They let out deep, tired and angry breaths, and stepped away from one another. Neither spoke, instead they turned their backs to each other and returned their training blades.
After that, the sons of Fausten Amell and Tywin Lannister had nothing left to say to one another.
End
Omake 3: Westeros market
"Hello there, good evening to you my dear friends. Please, please, come closer…"
Thump!
"Too close, a little too close…thank you, welcome to Old Town, largest and oldest city in Westeros, home of the Hightowers, city of mystery and enchantment, and the finest merchandise this side of the Trident come on down."
Westerosi Merchant wares:
Light Northern Armour (Fan name: Ned Stark armour/Jon Snow Season 6 armour) 2 Sovereigns and fifty silvers
Medium weight Northern armour (Jon Snow Season 8 armour). Eight sovereigns and twenty silvers
Northern Plate armour (Robb Stark armour) Ten sovereigns.
Ironborn armour, light weight armour, must be looted.
Westerland plate Armour (Lannister soldier armour), twelve sovereigns.
Kingsguard replica armour, twenty sovereigns.
Kingsguard (Targaryen era) replica armour, twenty five sovereigns.
Dornish light armour (sand snake armour), two sovereigns and twenty silvers.
Dornish coat (Areoh Hotah armour) Medium weight armour, five sovereigns, six silver, twelve coppers.
Riverland scale armour, three sovereigns, two silvers, fourteen coppers.
Highgarden plate (Mace Tyrell armour) seven sovereigns.
Stormlander medium armour (Stannis Baratheon troops), three sovereigns, fifty silvers.
Stormlander plate armour (Renly Baratheon troops), seven sovereigns.
"And as a subject of interest for your purchases, all Westerosi companions receive a stat boost when equipped with armour from their native regions."
"Wait, wait, wait don't go, I see you are only interested in the finest and rarest of merchandise, come with me my friends, down, down, you have heard of the Black Emporium, correct? Well, welcome to the Red Emporium of Westeros, created by a lost Targaryen prince, don't ask me who, that is spoiler territory. But come and browse the wares, perhaps a House of the Dragon Kingsguard set? The Crabfeeder mask? Corlys Velaryon's axe (or you could get it by your pre-order code) or perhaps a look into the mirror of Transformation, look now and have the face you've always wanted, and for an additional sacrifice of coin, you can give those around you a new look as well, Book Appearance? Show appearance? The choice is yours!"
End