Disclaimer: I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire or Dragon Age

The following segment has used part of the History and lore feature of Game of Thrones, as narrated by Viserys Targaryen.

Game of Dragons

It was a gentler time, when Viserys still had compassion within his heart, when Daenerys could still see the love her brother had for her. When that love was not some petty lust. She was still a child, bored of the travelling, looking up at the stars from the window of whatever guest house or inn they stayed at. It was a night like that, when Viserys read to her.

"This world wasn't always so small and petty," he began, at this point in time he didn't need a book.

Viserys had his faults, but when it came to the history of their family, Daenerys thought he knew everything.

"Thousands of years ago, while the rest of men prayed to gods, the Valerions became them. Through magic or sheer will, they mastered the greatest creatures in history. A horse grants man dominion over the land, a ship over the sea, but dragons gave us the sky, and everything and everyone beneath it."

As her brother spoke, Daenerys imagined such majestic and magnificent creatures. She imagined them flying across the skies, through the clouds and over the towers of the cities of her ancestors, the Valerions.

"At its height, our ancestors ruled the known world, whatever parts we didn't, weren't worth knowing. Our capital of Valyria shamed the magnificent cities of the east, for hammers and chisels were no match for dragon fire and sorcery. It was a city and an empire, built to last until the end of time, it didn't," that dark tone in his voice filled Daenerys with dread.

"Four hundred years ago, the doom fell on Valyria, mountains cracked open like eggs, lakes and rivers boiled, fountains of fire and ash and smoke spewed from the ground, so high, and so hot that even dragons burned in flight." Daenerys imagined the great fires consuming the once great city, the dragons falling from the sky and it brought a tear to her eye. "And the angry sea rushed in, in hours, the greatest city in history, became history."

Seeing the look of shock on Daenerys face put a reassuring smile on Viserys's face. He held it before continuing.

"But our ancestors didn't burn or drown with the rest of their race. Twelve years before the doom, despite the sneers of his rivals, Aenar Targaryen abandoned the capital with his family. Legends claim that his daughter foresaw the destruction of the city in a dream, more likely Aenar met with some mishap at court and chose exile over execution. He and house Targaryen slinked away to a dreary, remote, god forsaken island, forsaken, no longer. With arts now lost to the world, we transformed a tiny outpost into Dragonstone, a fortress fit for the last dragon lords. Then Aenar's descendents settled into it like a tomb for their lost homeland. Until Aegon!"

She could see it, and saw it every night in her dreams. The great fortress that was once their home, where she had been born, and where the last of her family had been driven away. And every night she saw her ancestor, looking to the horizon from the castle wall, imagining the future.

"When he looked east, he saw the past, old, tired, dead, but when he looked west, he saw the future. Gold in the ground, gold in the fields, and no dragons in the sky but his. He and his sisters, Rhaenys and Visenya flew over the great continent, ostensibly visitors to a strange land, but when Aegon returned, he ordered construction of a massive table, carved in the shape of Westeros, with all the notable rivers and mountains they had seen, a personal map of the seven kingdoms, then ruled by seven squabbling families."

"House Durrandon held the Stormlands from their seat at Storms End, due South of Dragon's stone," that statement invoked within Daenery's mind the image of that house, the yellow flag with the black stag, its neck crowned.

"House Hoare of the Iron islands, had also conquered and enslaved the Riverlands, and ruled them from Harrenhal, a monstrous castle rising from the shore of the Godseye," she imagined the complicated, chained Sigil of that house, with its black raven, gold long ship, pine tree and grapes split apart by those chains.

"House Stark held the frozen wasteland of the North, the oldest, largest and emptiest of the kingdoms," there was the subtle hatred in the voice of her brother, as well as the image of the grey dire wolf.

"House Lannister ruled the Westerlands, the wealthiest kingdom thanks to their gold mines," the hatred was more in Viserys's eyes, and Daenerys understood why, their gold lion on a red field was a mark they would spit upon.

"House Gardener held the Reach, the second wealthiest kingdom thanks to their crops," Viserys inspired in Daenerys the green hand of the now extinct house.

"House Arryn held the Vale, or rather the Vale held them, the mountains were impassable except through the bloody gate, which had never been taken," she thought of what such a mountain would look like, with the flag of the white falcon on it.

"House Martell held the deserts of Dorne, probably because no one else wanted them," the dismissal and subtle humour in his tone made her laugh, as she pictured the spear piercing the sun.

"The Seven kingdoms made Westeros, a realm that wasn't yet a realm ruled by great families who didn't know what greatness was. Aegon would teach them!"

She held on to every word he spoke. He was her brother after all, but often she yearned to hear another story. This was when he was still willing to speak it.

"Tell me," she whispered.

"Dany!" he shook his head, chiding her.

"Please, tell me of the Eighth kingdom, tell me of the Meadow!"

"Well my sister, firstly the Meadow was never formerly recognised as a kingdom. In the centuries before Aegon's conquest, it was a simple patch of land where the undesirables resided. Savage clans of human tribes, elves, there were even caverns that dwarves resided in. The people of that land held a deep connection with it, with the balance of nature in that land, and with the magic of it. Some years before Aegon's conquest, a wizard taught and raised a boy, turning him from a simple farmer, into a leader. The Wizard forged a sword, the name of which has been lost to us, yet it held the power to unite the lost peoples of the Meadow. Together, he and the boy created a place where the anger of elves faded, where the selfishness of dwarves was shattered, and even the ambitions of humans was replaced with serenity. Together they created a self sufficient society, said to be a fair society, and a peaceful one, where the young warrior ruled not from a throne, but a round table."

Her brother's story stirred romantic feelings of such a great world in Daenerys's mind. She could see the table within the centre of the forest, the armoured warrior raising a beautiful sword high, the wizard beside him, face hidden by his hood.

"Some say this man was the inspiration behind the stories of the legendary knights, others that the place he created was that place, though many continents have claimed to be the origin of the story of the knights of round. What is known, is that this incredible place was one that people wanted. The Lannisters tried to take such a place, yet fell, House Hoare and others whom ruled the lands they owned before them tried and failed, even House Stark once attempted a conquest of the Meadow. Yet each time they faced with an enemy, the legendary warrior drove them away. Some say the very forest his home was built around drove them away, others the more logical course that the caverns owned by the dwarves served as ideal places of ambush. Yet no source ever disputed the great strength that the warrior possessed, his skill with the sword. When Aegon had conquered the regions surrounding the Meadow, he set his sights on that land."

"Can you tell me the story, please," Daenerys begged him.

"Fine, fine," he laughed and shook his head.

When he did speak of the story, he always spoke it eagerly. Now he never spoke it, but back then despite his protests it was a story he wanted to tell. For it was a story held in the deepest regards by the Targaryens. Aegon himself wrote the first volume of it after his conquest. He wrote it and decreed that no amendment ever be made of it. What he wrote, most wondered whether it was the ravings of a madman, if he was trying to justify his failures, or if he possessed the flair for the dramatic all writers had.

The first interaction that the Targaryens had with the Meadow, was when Rhaenys flew over the region. Her eyes were drawn to a hill top, where, a hooded figure stood. She described how the man casually waved up at her, as if the sight of a dragon was nothing surprising to him. Later, after conquering the much larger families, Aegon sent Visenya to show the power and authority of the Targaryens.

"Bend the knee, or burn," she said, never one for the gentle approach.

"Before we answer, let us ask a question," the Wizard said. "How many dragons do you have?" he asked.

"Three," Visenya boasted, speaking of Balerion the biggest of them all, whose fire could level a mountain, of her own dragon, unmatched in ferocity and Rhaenys dragon, Meraxes.

"Oh, that shouldn't be a problem," the wizard said.

Visenya was angered, how dare this single man make light of dragons, of her family? So great was her anger that she drew her Valerian steel sword, Dark Sister. But as soon as she drew the blade, her strike was parried by the warrior. His sword was said to be so great that it shook Visenya's arm, she knew a strong opponent when she found one. Aegon first called upon armies to strike at the Meadow. He called upon the armies of the surroundings regions, already fearful of the stories of the Meadow, some even survivors of past attempt to conquer it, suffered greatly at the hands of the fast and merciless strikes of the Meadow's residents. The Meadow was not so vast that it would prove as difficult to take as Dorne, yet it was called 'the one year campaign'. For the Meadow held, and finally, in the last few months of the conflict, all three dragons converged on the Meadow. Aegon wrote of how, with a raise of his hand, the wizard conjured a great barrier that covered the entire meadow. It was only when the dragon's tired, that he dropped it. Though the fatigued dragons couldn't use their fire, they still had their wings. On the day of their great battle, lightning filled the sky, and avoiding the clouds, Aegon saw from atop Balerion, the wizard, plodding along the grass, even waving to him as he had Rhaenys.

"You are not invincible," Aegon said.

"And neither are you," replied the wizard.

Aegon was fearful for the first time in his conquest, for he had heard the wizard's voice within his own mind. Pillars rose from the ground, trees from the forests, forcing the dragon's to fly higher. But Aegon would not be denied. He swooped down on the Meadow, intent on killing the wizard and the warrior. But to his shock, Balerion was brought down by a great gust of wind. His dragon hurt, Aegon faced the great warrior in one on one combat. A great warrior himself, Aegon and the warrior fought for hours. In desperation, he called upon Balerion to breath fire on the warrior, damn his honour. At point blank range Balerion spat fire onto the unifier of the Meadow. Yet when the flames passed, the warrior was unscathed. He had been protected by the wizard, the only damage he had suffered was a burnt off sleeve. The warrior raised his sword to finish off the conqueror, but at the last moment, the wizard touched the warrior's arm.

"I believe we've made our point," he said.

None besides the Dornish had pushed the Targaryens to such limits. Terms were met, and the legendary warrior agreed, his life for the lives of those whom lived in the Meadow. He walked into the flames, willingly to death. As for the wizard, the last the people of Westeros ever saw of him, was a hood hung by the window of Aegon's bed room.

That was the time when he was happy, before the hope faded from Viserys heart, and all that was left was resentment.

The Phoenix and the Griffin

Chapter 7: In pursuit of dragons

Daenerys looked upon the statue of their host. In his youth, Illyrio Mopatis had been a sell sword, slender, tall and handsome. Today, he was a morbidly obese man with an obscene yellow beard. Though Daenerys could often smell the perfumes on him, when in a room alone with him, she could smell the stench caused by the severe sweat that accumulated on his persons, and the problem of his bowels. Though far from the servant they were hoping for, the Magister of Pentos was their only friend and the only one to show them kindness for a while. Living in his manse, they were safe, hidden, but every night, whilst her brother drank and ranted bitterly, she wondered just how long into the assassins found them. There had been times when she was younger when Daenerys remembered running off in the night in her brother's arms, wondering if they left because of assassins, or some threat their hosts represented. For a few months they had been staying with Mopatis and so far he had been a good host.

"You said you could help us, tell me Magister, was that a lie?" she heard her brother speaking.

She walked around the statue, seeing emerging from the garden her brother and the Magister. Her brother in a Pentosi noble doublet, and the Magister in a robe custom made to fit his girth. The prince, self styled king walked with a grace and discipline, his frown set. Mopatis stroked his beard as he walked.

"Of course not your grace, with every day that passes, the anger of the common folk and the abuses they suffer at the hands of the usurper increase. In secret noble ladies cling to the Targaryen banners they have made and the lords pray for your eventual return, but unforeseen circumstances have arisen," Illyrio explained.

"What circumstances?" Viserys demanded.

"My hope, once Daenerys had been properly prepared, was to suggest marrying the princess to Khal Drogo, a year by now he would have been the most powerful Khal of the Dothraki, but a few months ago his Khalasar was wiped out. Reports indicate that it was an up and coming mercenary company, led by a man named James Marcher, already he has protected several cities from Dothraki hordes, his status grows with each day," the magister stated, leading Viserys to his statue.

"What is the name of this company?" Viserys asked, his eyes betraying his fascination.

Phoenix Wing was the name James had chosen for the company. At the head of his cavalry, James raised his spear high, a spear that bore the flag of his company. Simple wings that rose from the flames of a black field. His horses, the black and purple armoured warriors on top of them, slammed into the line of Unsullied. Their master had begun a daring march through the territories surrounding Pentos, intending to take slaves from nearby settlements. James and his company took a contract from the local people, their payment not being gold, but favours.

Favours were just as valuable to James as coins. They provided food, wood for their bows and arrows. As James's battalion rode away from the Unsullied, their dazed enemies were struck by a volley of arrows. Durad and Alexa knocked back another set of arrows with their battalion, their projectiles struck the Unsullied, piercing through their arms and necks. The Unsullied were formidable fighters, taught to endure pain, but even the mightiest of warriors could be felled by multiple arrows.

Asher then led the infantry, charging head first into the Unsullied formation. They cut down five for each soldier the Unsullied were able to kill. James's flanking attack did the rest, obliterating the Unsullied line. By the end of the battle, the Unsullied were stripped of their armour, their carcasses piled up and burnt. It was the only real funeral pyre that James could think of for slaves that had been stripped of their identity. His men he gave the funeral rituals of their homelands. As well as securing further favours from the settlements, many of the young men had been inspired to join the Phoenix's ranks. They were a growing army, and when they entered Pentos, they were bombarded with contracts from nobles looking to protect interests on the beaches and on the golden fields.

"Durad, I want you to handle equipment for the new troops, order in bulk, quality is up to you, but stay within the budget," James gave the Kossith a bag full of coins.

"I've heard of a pretty good place, I'll see to it general," Durad said.

"Alexa, we're going to need some fresh horses, sell all of the Unsullied armour we've taken, and then the horses we have with us now, then go to this place, they sell very good horses," James again gave a bag of coins to Durad.

"And myself general?" Asher asked.

"Set up camp in the Flatlands, we'll meet you there in a few days time, in the mean time see to the training of our new recruits, Durad will meet you first once he has secured the equipment and Alexa soon after with the horses," James explained.

"What will you be doing?" Durad asked.

"I'll be making arrangements of my own, you have your duties, see to it."

The trio smacked their fists against their shoulders and separated from the general. James walked across the markets of the free city, seeing nobles with their servants, whom slaves in only name. Slavery was illegal in Pentos, yet, there was still those whom organised 'indentured service', contracted and legalised slavery with terms that may be possible to meet within a few years. He also spotted street urchins, entertaining the nobles with 'magic' shows, distracting them so their friends could pick their pockets. James kept hold of his coin pouch, but not in any way that would give away how much he was carrying. He knew the pick pockets when he saw them, the con men, the brothel whores serving as distractions. James life had been filled with financial successes and failures, his brother was one to play it safe, he wasn't. For maintenance of his armour, he chose one of the least popular smiths. Walking into the store he placed the plates of armour in front of the young smith.

"I'll need some of the plates cleaned, and possible replacements if you can, if you have whetstones I'd like to see them," James said to the smith.

He was young, had just formed his store and couldn't afford to say no to customers, or take the risk of conning them. But James wanted talent, the scars on the boy's hands and arms were indications of his experience. As the boy began his work, James looked and saw the way he handled his hammer, the delicate care he took into the metal. He had talent, but was a little too cautious. Not someone he could recruit for the company. Looking over some of the whetstone's, James thought of his next move, and why he had come to Pentos in the first place.

'Aerys, your son and daughter, I know they are here,' Varys had his birds, but James was no stranger to it either.

After all, the Amell's heraldry was a bird.

Steam rose from Daenerys's bath, she always wanted them to be scalding hot. Some of the Magister's servants would recoil and keep their distance, but the heat never bothered her. Tilting her head back as she washed, she remembered the house with the red door, the lemon tree underneath her window. She remembered Willem Darry, the only man at Dragonstone who wouldn't sell her and her brother to the usurper. He'd been an old knight, and slowly he wasted away in the free cities. When he died, all of the kindness in his house was gone. The third great betrayal, as Viserys often called it. The Magister was no Ser Darry, she could feel his eyes on her whenever she walked in the garden. Darry never looked at her like that.

"Sister," Daenerys heard her brother whisper behind her.

He walked over to the bath, sitting at its edge and caressing her cheek.

"You become more beautiful every day," he said.

It was compliments like those that Daenerys held onto. She preferred her brother like this than the other way she saw him.

"Khal Drogo was a lost cause, but the Magister has another plan, the golden company," Viserys said. "A mercenary company, they have in their possession elephants, elephants, we could retake the seven kingdoms, and then use the treasury to pay off the debt," he explained.

"Will it really be that easy?" Daenerys asked.

"It is the only option we have, once we have returned to Westeros, the loyal houses will rally behind their true king and we will be able to make a suitable long term arrangement with the company," Viserys explained.

"So I will not have to marry?"

He took hold of her cheek, forcing her to look deep into his eyes.

"You know your duty," was his simple answer.

She knew it well, the Targaryen blood line began pure because Aegon married his sisters, because Rhaenys provided him with a pure blood heir. That was to be her duty, to be her brother's wife, his queen, the mother of his children. She loved her brother, her brother. When he let her go she lowered her head, and lost herself in the warmth of the water. Her brother called himself a dragon, but around him she only felt cold. After the servants dried her, she put on a blue, Pentosi styled dress and began studying her books. She only really had the stories of Westeros, stories of knights like Duncan the tall.

"Once you have secured funds your grace, the golden company will be willing to serve you," she heard Illyrio address her brother in the dining hall.

"And pray tell magister how will we secure these funds? What honour these mercenaries has extends only to those whom pay them, they will not fight for promises," Viserys explained.

"You are indeed wise your grace, a loan from the Iron bank of Bravos will allow you to pay the costs of the golden company sailing to king's landing, take the capital and then the rest of Westeros will kneel," Illyrio explained.

"Do you think I have not already tried it, six months ago I sold my mother's jewels, and when I hosted a party for the golden company commanders, they laughed at me, 'the beggar king' they called me, I am the last dragon," Viserys voice had grown angry, hysterical even.

The 'dragon' he called it, and Daenerys had no desire to face it today. She prayed the Magister would say something to appease him, else her brother take his rage out on her.

"The Iron bank would trust a veteran mercenary commander and financially successful magister your grace. If I was to secure a loan, on your behalf I would employ the golden company. Once your reign is secure, I will pay the debt back myself, my only price your grace is to continue to serve House Targaryen as your small council's master of coin."

There was a great pause, and for a moment she wondered if her brother had only been further angered by the magister's proposal.

"Once my rule is secure, those whom have been loyal to me will be rewarded, and those whom have gotten in my way, will suffer with fire and blood," he said.

That dark tone of voice, was what Daenerys always feared, especially in the night when her brother drank. Sometimes he cried and she saw a shard of the kind person her brother had once been, but more and more he became the dragon.

As James waited for his armour, he walked through the markets of the free city. Silks, fruits, he looked at the stock and smiled at the people trying to flog him their wares. Walking through the streets took him back to the days when he was just a boy and his sword. Now he was an old man and his sword. James knew of a few men he could implicitly trust, but most would be loyal for as long as he could pay them and provide them with victories. Victory was like the roll of a dice, and he liked his chances. As for matching the price of his rivals, well, the only rivals he needed to worry about was the Lannisters. They were the richest family in Westeros next to the Tyrells.

The Tyrells were ambitious, James's source told him of their hopes to one day marry into the royal family. It was unlikely though that Margaery Tyrell, for all her beauty and charm would be able to win over the heart of Robert Baratheon. And Robert, despite his infidelity, would not break up his marriage to Cersei Lannister, not with Jon Arynn counselling him. Then there was the fact that, James's source within King's landing, told him that despite Arynn's advice, the crown was in debt to the iron bank, and the Lannisters. The Lannisters, whose daughter was queen, ergo the Lannisters were losing money they wouldn't get back.

'Oh Robert, sometimes I think the only thing I have to do is sit back and watch you and the Lannisters destroy yourselves,' James thought.

He knew the game of thrones that the Westerosi prided themselves in. Back stabbing, black mail, spying, even murder and assassination. The nobility of Westeros were like the nobility of Orlais, their country would never be what it once was, because they held one another back. Everyone of them was more concerned with being at the top, rather than each lord playing their role, supporting their nation and helping it.

'Deep down inside, I have always despised that country,' James thought.

He could wait for the major families to destroy themselves. It would certainly be the smart play. But that wasn't what he wanted to do. At night he would picture it, the lion, the stag, the wolves all fighting one another, murdering each other. And then, the phoenix would rise and burn them all.

'Fire and blood, for the true knight that died during the Greyjoy rebellion,' he closed his eyes and let out a deep breath.

His grip on his sword had tightened, and he knew he had to contain himself. Long ago, he hid his intellect and rage behind a demented mind. This great deception convinced Westeros that, Fausten Amell, was no longer a threat. The lords of Westeros believed he died a mad man chasing lost glory in the free cities, only for his age and battle wounds to catch up with him. His scars had not yet broken him, as for age, that was another reason James wanted to move his plans forward. Walking through the alleyway, he flexed his fingers, there were days that they hurt sometimes.

"Old man," he heard people whisper behind him.

James straightened his back, held his head up high and smiled.

"What can I do for you?" he asked, though he knew the answer.

"That's a nice set of boots you have on, hand them over first, and the purse," the man said.

One with a spiked club in front of him, two with knives behind him.

"And that weird sword too," one of the men behind him said.

The window was the key, where the real threat came from. Desperate and starving children were not to be underestimate, they could be little monsters.

"You know I'll be turning 69 soon," James said.

"I don't fucking care old man, give us what you have," the leader began making his way over to him.

Suddenly, James drew his sword, slicing the man's neck. The children with the rocks above him were in shock, as were the two me behind him. Blood sprayed across the wall, and James took care to not get any on himself.

"Oh dear, that's a shame, I meant to take your head off," that was the Maker honest truth.

Without waiting for the other two to surrender, he killed them and looked up at the youths. They began to throw their rocks, but much to their shock, James was deflecting them with his sword, or slicing them apart.

"It is frustrating when your body no longer reacts the way it's supposed to," he said.

He'd made clear he wasn't someone to mess with. Anymore would be excessive, but truthfully he wanted to kill those men. They were younger, probably fitter than him and he needed to test himself. Often James wondered how much longer it would take, a year, six months, a few weeks, perhaps even days, it kept him up at night. He was not the warrior he once was, the man who took on the Mountain and toppled it. Once he'd been able to climb a mountain, now, he considered himself lucky to be able to walk up a set of stairs.

'Which is why we must move quicker, I want to see it, the stags and lions burn, and the dragon nestle back onto its throne,' he sheathed his sword and walked out.

The time was near, he had planned it to the letter. His sources in the Magister's household told him of how their master frequented a specific brothel in the city. This brothel had one girl whom always served the magister, she reminded him of a lost love. James slipped her a little extra for her service, just enough to keep the magister there for longer. Then he walked to the magister's home.

"James Marcher, at your service, is the master of your house in?" he asked the magister's seneschal.

"I am afraid not, you are a mercenary captain correct?" the grey haired man asked him.

"Of course Kallin, I mean 'stranger I've never met before'," James grinned.

Kallin had been an old friend from those days when he was nothing but a boy and his sword. He found Kallin two years ago, and upon discovering his service to Mopatis, immediately made him a spy. There were not many people in the free cities whom would be willing to put their lot in with the exiled Targaryens. Mopatis was just the right kind of man, ambitious enough to take a gamble, rich enough to know he would lose nothing.

"You'll have no interruptions, the kitchens are ready on your signal," Kallin said.

"Don't forget to let my men in, everything falls apart if it's not convincing," James said.

The grey haired man retreated through one of the doors, leaving James to explore the house alone. He walked to the dining area and saw as he had expected, the image of Aerys.

"Who are you?" Viserys demanded, sliding his chair back.

He nearly spilt his cup of wine, looking at James with fear.

"Viserys, brother," Daenerys called as she walked into the room.

She froze upon seeing the stranger in the Magister's home. Daenerys looked at the older man, seeing the shock in his eyes at seeing her. A warm expression crossed his face.

"You look so much like your mother," he said.

Daenerys took a few steps back, watching as the man took a seat.

"It's frightening really, it feels like I'm facing the images of old friends, your father and mother," he said.

"How do you know our parents?" Daenerys asked.

"Old friends as I said, I knew them when they were Prince Aerys and Princess Rhaella Targaryen, two people bound by the expectations cast upon them by their father, you're slightly taller than your mother though," the man stroked his chin and smiled, placing his sheathed sword on the table.

"Whoever you are, all we have to do is scream out for the guards, the Magister..."

"Forgive me Viserys, but the fat fuck is too busy fucking, unaware he's being fucked. I suppose you wouldn't recognise me, your father kept you away from court so much, he put a lot of hopes on you, perhaps more than your brother. I never saw much of your father in him, I see a lot of him in you, although you have your mother's brow," James explained.

"Who are you?" Viserys demanded.

"James Marcher, and I've come to offer you a service, my mercenary company Phoenix's wing, has been formed for the purpose of...altering the destiny of Westeros," James smirked.

"Why would you care about Westeros?" Daenerys asked.

"Because once I was known as the phoenix, and I carried out of the flames a dragon once, I called him friend. But when madness took hold of him, I could not save him," James ran his fingers over the hilt of his sword.

"You can't be him," Viserys shook his head and stood up.

"Yes Viserys, I am he," James stood up, drawing his sword.

Daenerys brought her hands to her mouth and quivered in fear. Viserys grit his teeth together, squeezing his hands into fists.

"I am Fausten Amell, and I am here to kill you both!" the man said as he raised his sword.

Next Chapter 8: A long night

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, the meeting of Fausten and the Targaryens will continue in chapter 10. Next time we carry on from Daylen's chapter and the fight for Redcliffe.