Chapter 2
The Falseness False Man

False. This had to be false. Her mind was fit to bursting with questions – who was this man? He claimed to be from some house she had never heard of, could that be true? She knew of all the houses in Westeros. Her brother had taught her at a young age, "it is a Noble's duty to know of all the great houses," he had stated matter-of-factly and she had done her duty, a thousand times over with her brother watching just waiting for her to slip up. She did, once or twice, mixing one houses motto with another which resulted in threats to awaken the dragon. Now, as she thought back to those days reciting the colours of sigils in the dusty heat of Braavos she realised that the wrath of her dragon brother was nothing more than a lizard bite.

But her brother was gone, melted in glorious gold and all that remained was what he taught her - never to trust a pretty face.

The false man remained on his knees and bowed like any good subject would in their Queens presence. Yet, how did he know her to be a Queen? She was not known, not truly, for if she was Daenerys was certain the Usurpers spawn would have come to slay her dragons. That single thought and all the other treacherous ones bubbled to the forefront of her mind and as the man shifted to look up at her she scrambled back, grabbing hold of the arakh on her way and pointed it squarely at his throat.

"Don't move," she snarled, her voice held still composure, she was practised at dealing with threatening men.

The man showed her his glove covered palms in a way of surrender but she did not lower her weapon, her fingers curled around the handle of the blade as if willing her very life's blood to pour into the steel and give her strength. The false man raised his eyes to meet hers. False house or no house before her stood a murderer with eyes like the coming of the storm. That was all she could see now, piercing through her defence, a blue as bright as the sky and swirling with white as luminous as the clouds but, there, lurking in the very depths of those eyes were shards of yellow as bold and as brash as lightening. He locked those eyes with hers refusing her permission to look away.

"I-"

"Do not speak," she growled "do not speak falsely, tell me who you are...tell me who you are or I shall kill you...like you killed Jhogo," she shifted the arakh for a second to point at the lifeless Khal sprawled on the ground. She had never directly killed anyone before but if he hinted at slaughtering her then she would kill and let the blood stain her hands and taint her mind. That very thought disturbed Dany more than anything the murder had just told her. Daenerys was the blood of the dragon, she was a Queen amongst ashes and had the life of the First Men coursing through her veins but she was not a cold blooded killer. She took no enjoyment from seeing people suffer not even her greatest enemies. She accepted death as a cruel and twisted mistress but she could not wield her because she simply did not know how to live afterwards.

He, however, didn't need to know that.

With hands still raised in surrender the man slowly backed away from her, a few inches at least, giving himself enough space between the Queen and the arakh. "Amos, Your Grace, my name is Amos – like the Conqueror or the singer from Pentos my mother, oh so kindly, named me after," he smirked and she jabbed her weapon forward a hares breath away from his throat.

"Your family name, tell me your family name!"

"Or was Amos in the songs the singer sung?" he shrugged "not much rhythms with Amos so I can't see how that would be false"

She growled.

"Amos, fa-mous, mandamus...ignoramus," he chuckled "I can assure you I am not the later".

"You! You are false, there is no House Obsidian," she spat, her eyes held no humour "I know of all the houses and have never once met anyone from yours," she thrust the weapon forward trying to scare him but she was a virgin swordsman and he was fast. His hand latched onto the blade, the sharp edge biting into his skin and blood spilt quickly out of his glove. With flawless grace he was on his feet and tugged her forward by her weapon till their bodies were only a slither apart.

"Tell me, My Lady, have you met many of Nobility from Westeros?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper but his eyes they never broke from hers, "I can't imagine the Butterwells of the Riverlands have ever left their cows long enough to learn about the Red Waste and I've heard most of the Thrones from the Crownlands are freezing their cocks off on The Wall," he smirked, his hand tightened on the blade. He showed no pain and although she could feel the blood trickling down her arm she could not will herself to look away from the wildfire burning in the storm. "There are one hundred and thirty nine houses from Dorne to The Wall and you're telling me you have met them all? Well, it appears I am in the presence of a God but which one are you? There are many these days it leaves me awfully confused."

A small flush crept upon her pale cheeks exposing her embarrassment and anger. It had been a long time since someone had spoken to her like this. She was not a simple housewife who believed she held no value, she was a Khaleesi and he was disrespecting her.. "How dare y-" she started but he quickly interrupted.

"Perhaps, I did not make myself clear before. My name is Amos Agustas Remanous Obsidian, first of my name, third child of Ransus Obsidian", he dragging the name out as if it held great importance and paused as if praying to his memory "sworn by oath and by blood to protect, assist and defend House Targaryan from the very first day to the end of all days," his eyes bore into hers, glowing like an inferno and she matched that look with a fiery one of her own.

The anger that she had held in for the last few months travelling with the Khalasar caught in her throat and the blood of the dragon simmered in her veins threatening to spill over and unleash true chaos. She wanted to ask him where his "so called" protection had been when she was staring death in the fighting pits, she wanted to ask him where his "so called" assistance had been when she fought to hold a starving Mereen and she wanted to ask him where his "so called" defence had been when she was sold to Khal Drogo for empty promises. All of those questions set her fire alight but her anger was too great, she wanted to shout at him, ask him everything but she couldn't, she simply couldn't compose herself. Instead, she swallowed hard and asked him the all-encompassing question.

"Where...have...you...been," her words stunk of spite and curdled with venom. She must have startled him because the storm cleared from his eyes and his hand loosened on the blade, releasing a stream of blood that trickled down her arm.

She looked down then, free from his gaze to see crimson red that stained their arms. She should continue to ask him questions, she should wait for his answer, she should cut his throat with the arakh and have done with it but she couldn't because it was in her nature to care about others. It was in her nature to worry. She felt the anger melt away as her hand raised up to gently pull the sword out of his hand. He must have noticed the change in her as before she could reach him he jerked it out. Then, quicker than she could fathom he threw the blade across the tent leaving a streak of blood as it skidded across the ground. Just as swift he lowered his hand, tugging at his glove as if he was making an attempt to hide something

"What are you doing..." she questioned, her hand reached out to grab his own but he pulled back catching her wrist instead. For a single moment there was silence and an urgency in his eyes that spoke volumes. Whatever he was hiding he didn't want her to know but Daenerys Targaryen didn't like secrets.

"You're bleeding," she remarked, the gash must have been deep for the amount of blood currently seeping from his wound. "If you don't bandage it up you might loose function of-"

"Your Grace," he cut her off, tightening his grip on her wrist as if to prove he still had function of his hand. "I-"

She would hear none of it. None of his excuses, if she didn't clean up his wound then he could lose his hand or if the blood poured like it did now perhaps even his life. She wanted answers before she could allow that to happen. Besides, her eyes quickly fell on the Khal, murder had already taken place tonight and with the blood lacing Jhogos arakh she knew that the Dothraki would kill them on sight. She grabbed his wrist with her free hand trying to wrench his grip away but he was strong, unseasonably so.

"Do not be a fool, let me see it"

"It would not be wise...not now Your Grace"

She almost choked on her smirk, "it was not wise for you to come here claiming claims and killing kings but you did and now you're hurt , I caused your wound so let me help you before we get into more trouble"

Either he softened or she found strength she did not know she had because she managed to drag him to the ground. She sat across from him a breaths worth of distance separating them. With a forceful rip she tore off a strip from her shirt which left more of her stomach exposed. Gently she lifted his hand turned it over with a physical winch, she noticed how deep the cut went and she wasn't sure if she could save it. "I'm sorry, I have no ointments nor anything to stitch your wound..." she looked up at him, even as they sat he was still quite visibly taller than her and more than that he was quite visibly handsome. A rugged kind of handsome as most of his face was hidden behind thick stubble. "...It may scar," at that he laughed shaking his head lightly, his hair moved slightly as he shook she noticed the two tone colour more clearly then. She had never seen that before not as prominent as if both brown and blonde weaved into one and other every strand of his hair different from the last.

When she realised he was not going to respond to her she slowly peeled off his glove as she wanted to be careful and make sure the leather didn't catch in his gash. She could feel his eyes on her then as if waiting for something as if when she removed his glove his hand was going to burst into flames and singe her eyebrows off. She was Daenerys the unburnt the last thing she had to worry about was fire.

This was greater than fire. This was the past.

As she cleaned up his blood his hand appearing in the aftermath she felt her earliest memories spring violently from her mind.

She must have seen no more than five name days, this young version of herself with long silver hair and innocent purple eyes. She ran through the house with the bright red door laughter ringing in her ears as she chased an old, grumpy tabby cat. Her chase led her to the room at the back of the house where the door usually remained locked – that day it was open. Curiosity beckoned as her fingers gently pushed open the door and she walked into the forbidden room. It was there that he sat staring out of the circular window at nothing and yet everything all at once. He couldn't see, she remembered, he was half blind, half blind, grey and built like a bear. He was Ser Willem Darry and he was the reason she still breathed. Not that she knew that fully at the time, back then he was her friend, her loyal and most trusted friend the only father figure she had ever known. "Dany," he had rasped and she took a step back. He was getting old and sick Viserys had told her don't bother the old fool he had muttered to her several times when she had gone searching to give him his supper. "Come here sweet princess," and she did she strode to him in that room filled with chests and dusty books. She had placed a hand on his knee and he had closed own hand around it. She grinned at him, a smile she had long since forgotten and he matched hers with an almost toothless one of his own. He had once been mighty and his companion Arthur had once said he was handsome but he was none of those things any more, not on the outside but in his eyes and grip Dany felt that brave man who had smuggled her out of Dragonstone. To her, he would always be mighty. Willem's fingers traced her cheeks as he told her she would grow up to be of undeniable beauty. She had smiled, undeniable was too complex a word for her to process. Come play with me she had asked so full of hope "not now child, now we must talk" he had said pulling her onto his lap and together they watched the sun as it set. That night he spoke of her mother and of her father. He told her stories of battles he had been in. He spoke of great triumph and of even greater sorrow. By the end Dany did not not whether to laugh or cry although she couldn't remember half of the stories she could remember the fierce stinging in her eyes and the tightness in her chest. Then there was silence until the moon revealed itself from behind the clouds. That was when he pulled the necklace from his pocket. It seemed to come alive with the light of the moon and it was the brightest black she had ever seen. Until then she didn't know the colour could hold so much life but this necklace did. It was tied together by two long, thin leather strips bound together but it was the pendent that hung from it that where of the most interest. One looked like three swirls joined together and the other hung just slightly lower appeared to be a triangle with an upside down triangle on top. She took it and he told her who it belonged to but the memory buzzed and stuttered as if it was too long ago to remember. He then lent into her ear and whispered the words that blazed widely in her memory, words she could not forget even on her death bed. Fire and blood.

"Your Grace"

She was a women grown when he snatched it away. Where did you get this? He had seethed and smacked her square across the jaw. This is not yours to own, this is not yours she could still hear his screams the cracking in his voice erupting with anger as he hit her again. She had never seen that necklace again and her heart had felt heavier for it.

Now her heart rose and her breath caught in her throat as she cleared the blood from the mans hand to reveal that triple swirl etched onto his palm slightly split from the gash she had created. Her fingers lightly traced the marks drawing over it resurfacing old memories.

"What is this...?" she breathed eventually and when she looked up at him her eyes were wet with tears that she would not let fall. He did not answer her but he looked torn between opening his mouth and keeping it shut. She looked back down at the mark and saw how brightly the black shone as if it was freshly inked that very same day. Was this some coincidence? That a man claiming to be from a house sworn to protect her had a tattoo on his hand that looked like the very same pendent she had been given by her sworn saviour? Just then her eyes shot to his other hand. It would be of no coincidence if he had the triangles embedded on his right hand. She made to grab for his wrist but he caught her with a painfully tight grip.

"No...not right now," he spoke fiercely and full of urgency as she struggled in his grip.

"Please...tell me..." she was alive with the innocent she had lost all those years ago. The immortal curiosity sprung to life in her whole frame as she tried to wriggle from the lock he had on her. She had to know, suddenly all the other questions seemed unimportant she had to know what those marks where, what they meant and as her eyes met the storms again she realised that above all else she had to know him.

"What in the Nightlands is going on here?"

The sound of a new voice startled Dany and she lost her grip on Amos a flurry of knew wonders danced on her tongue.

Standing at the mouth of the tent was a girl no older than she. With hair that pooled down her back as dark as the night sky and eyes even darker than that. She stood confidently with two arakhs at either side of her hips but it was her face that blurred in Daenerys memory. She had seen her before. She had seen that face and heard that voice.

She was the girl who had brought her here.

"Sachia"

Dany whipped her head back around to look at Amos who had visibly relaxed since she had taken her hands from him. He met Dany's eyes and with one effortless move he grabbed her wrists and hauled both of them to their feet just in time for Sachia to stride towards them.

"I know what this looks like b-"

He had no time to finish his sentence before the strange girl grabbed his hand, ripped at her cord shirt (tearing a much bigger strip than Daenerys did) and wrapped it around his wound. She sighed as she tied up his injury. "You said their would be no blood"

He shrugged, "there wasn't"

"What do you call this?" she slapped his hand causing him to winch slightly.

"Ah," he coughed, a cough to conceal laughter Daenerys thought. Is he always so cheerful?

"This is serious Captain, you promised me no bloodshed"

Captain?

"I promised you there would be no enemy bloodshed, I did not guarantee my own. A man bleeds Sachia he can not help it"

"A man does not bleed on purpose"

"A man can not control his bleeding"

"No, a women can't" she barked seeming ready to rip off his hand.

He chuckled and the strange women seemed to grow angrier.

"You...are...infuriating" she sounded out every word as if it took her great strength not to spit a string of curses at him.

"And you are rude," he gestured to Daenerys who had watched their spat from a few metres away. This night grew stranger by the minute.

Sachia looked at her for the first time since entering the tent. Dany had not noticed her looks before when she had come to get her from her small tent. But now she saw the girl was not of great beauty. Her nose was slightly bent out of shape, her jaw looked as if it had once been broken and her eyes seemed too small in proportion to her face but she was ferocious she didn't need to know her to see that.

The girl nodded slightly before turning her eyes back to her Captain. "So...this...this is truly her?"

"Aye," he answered back no smile on his lips. "Aye."

She looked back at Dany then and for a moment she could have sworn she saw jealously burn her eyes as they narrowed but it was gone in one swift blink.

"Then we must go, we are already running behind schedule...they will grow suspicious soon"

"Are you prepared?"

"I have been for over an hour," she snapped back causing her Captain to smirk.

"Then let-"

There was a low grumble from the back of the tent and every eye in the room turned to meet it. From the ground the body of the Khal stirred and rumbled as if awakening from a long slumber.

Amos's eyes and that of his companions widened at the sight. "We have to leave now," she half yelled as she ran for the tent door and was gone leaving her words to hang in the air.

That was when he grabbed her, grabbed her by the top of her arms and turned her eyes from the twitching king to his. "Your Grace," he began his eyes as wild as before "I know you do not know me and I know you have questions but I can not answer them if our heads are severed on the ground. Come with me and I will do what I was born to do – let me protect you," his last words were no more than a whisper as if it were meant for just the two of them.

"You did...not kill him..."

"No," he shook his head and his grip tightened.

"Why...?"

"Murder, My Lady, is not a sport I participate frequently in"

Every moment this man became a greater mystery.

The Khals groans grew louder and his fingers began to scrape against the dirt.

Daenerys knew that in that second she had two choices. She could either stay and face certain death or she could run and face it later.

She was out of the mouth of the tent before Amos and for half a heart beat she remembered the guards who stood outside the tent. As she laid eyes on them they stood staring straight ahead with a similar look the Khal had before he had fallen on top of her.

"What did you..." she turned around to feel Amos's hand grab her wrist and half pull, half run with her away from the tent and around the corner.

"Who...are you?" she asked again, every new thing she found out about him just added to the endless list of mysterious just waiting to be discovered.

"Your loyal solider," he remarked stopping at the back of the Khals tent where Sachia was waiting sitting upon a large grey mare.

His fingers slipped around her waist as he lifted her up and sat her on the back of the horse.

"Who just got a bit lost trying to find you but ah...My Queen you have no idea how glad I am...how happy I am that I found you. I am your sword in the darkness and your most trusted companion," his hands found a place to settle on her knees as he looked at her with softened eyes. "I am sorry it has taken me this long to get here but I promise I will make amends."

He pulled off his long black cloak and for the first time she could see what he wore. Apart from his swords astride on his back there was not an inch of steel on him. He wore a simple white tunic that cut down to reveal his neck and some of his chest and simple black pants. But it was the long brown belt that hung low from one hip to the next that caught her eye. They had compartments to hold things but it was the 7 different daggers of different sizes that gave her shivers.

He wrapped his cloak around her and gently pulled up the hood. "Sachia will keep you safe"

"Where are you going?" she asked confusion crept into her voice.

"They will wake up soon and you must outrun them"

"You mean to fight them? I thought you did not murder?"

He smiled, "I don't. But I won't stand by and let it happen to you...then...I really would be false," he laughed and took her by the shoulders and answered her question before it even left her lips.

"Sachia will take you across the Red Waste to my friends in the Mountlands. You will be there in three sunsets. Look for the women who sells pears. Find her and you'll find me. Then we will go. "

His hands moved from her shoulders to grab the claps of her cloak.

"To where...where are we going?"

She asked but she knew she would get no answer. He had uttered enough true truths tonight.

He smiled and clasped the stag to the moon. "North, My Lady, we go North"

He nodded at Sachia who took the reigns and muttered some words to her steed.

Amos carefully took a hold of Danys hand and she looked at him from behind the darkness of her cowl. He leaned in and his lips barely brushed against her ear she could feel his stubble scrape against her skin. He placed the palm of his injured hand over hers. That one touch sent her body into a frenzy and scorching with fire. It was not love or lust or any other fire she had felt before. It was natural. It was forgotten. It was...

"Fire and Blood" he whispered into her ear before striking the horse and she watched him disappear into the darkness drawing his twin blades ready to face the impending fire.

Phew. Sorry this chapter took so long, I wrote and re-wrote it three times because I wasn't happy with it.
I am pretty happy with this one. Amos is a really big original character with a whole backstory that melts into Danys and fills in all of the darkspots left by GRR in A Song of Ice and Fire (that is until he writes the rest of the books). This is pretty much my version of the next book, how I see Danys attempt at claiming her throne going etc etc

I hope you're enjoying it so far - read, follow and review please. It would be very much appreciated.

Pronounciations -

Amos's middle names are pronounced - A-gus-tus and Rem-an-ous

Sachia - Sa-ch-eea