Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or A song of Ice and Fire
Finally an update, with a bit of a twist on this chapter.
The Phoenix and the Griffin
Chapter 11: A dream
The bells rang, echoing through the streets. Fausten stood near the thrones, white haired and in silver armour with a green cloak. He stood proudly holding the crown, seeing the crowd of knights and nobility. His charges stepped through, the seven white knights beside them. Revka was cheering in the background, the other Amell children spread out. But when the pair reached the throne, the crowd grew silent and Fausten raised his hand.
"Two years ago, we set out on a journey, a journey to take back the seven kingdoms. And through great sacrifice, we achieved that goal, it is my great pleasure as hand of the dragons to now crown them both," he walked behind the young white haired man, holding up the crown. "I hereby crown Viserys Targaryen, third of his name, king of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the first men, lord of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm," he said as he placed the crown on the man's head.
Then he walked behind the girl, raising another crown over her head. "I hereby crown Daenerys Targaryen, first of her name, queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the first men, lady of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm. People of Westeros, I present to you your king and queen, long may the dragons reign again!"
The crowd was in a frenzy, cheering in blissful happiness. White and blue flowers were thrown at the feet of the queen and king as they walked forward, both raising their hands. The people became silent on the unspoken command of their king and queen.
"We would not have done this alone, and there is still more to be done, step forward grey warden!" Viserys commanded.
Forward he walked, the nobility clearing the way, knights bowing their heads in respect. His silver boots clanked against the ground, plates of armour also covering his scale shirt. A small breast plate covered his chest, and on it was the gold symbol of the Grey Wardens.
"Remove your helmet," Daenerys said.
His gauntleted fingers fixed over the helm, pulling it off and revealing himself to the crown. His tanned complexion, his wild brown hair, his Amell blue eyes. He knelt to the king and queen, lowering his head. But both quickly stepped to his sides, grasping his shoulders.
"No Daylen Amell," Viserys shook his head.
"It is we who bow to you," Daenerys said.
And both newly crowned rulers bowed, followed by the knights, then the nobility and then the common folk gathered on the streets, and the rooftops.
"We bow to you, hero of the Fifth Blight!"
Fausten looked over his grandson, the celebration echoing out of the great hall. A banquet was being hosted for the returned rulers of Westeros, the true rulers of Westeros. Finally the dragons sat on the iron throne and a new age would begin. An age of peace and prosperity, in which Westeros would trade and cooperate with the region of Thedas. Yet still, one person whom the nobility also celebrated stood in the yard, swinging his sword. Again and again Daylen swung it, holding the blade with both hands and slashing the air. It was as if he was imagining an enemy in front of him. There were still enemies to face, the stag and the lion, all they needed to do was end them. Fausten walked down the steps, clapping with each step he took. It drew Daylen's attention as Fausten intended.
"A warrior's training is never done, your siblings are waiting Day," Fausten said.
"I'm sorry, just a little longer," Daylen took a step and swung the sword over his head, then at a wide angle.
"Many women in that hall would want to dance with you, even the queen herself," Fausten grinned, stepping closer to Daylen.
Daylen took a step back and thrust his sword, then swung again and held it out in a blocking stance. Holding the blade in front of him, he relaxed his stance and ran his gloved hands over the flat edge of the green blade. An expression of curiosity crossed his face and he stared at the blade, fascinated by it until Fausten slapped him on the back.
"Come grandson, there are people wishing to meet you, we will have time for training and the like later," he said.
The young man nodded his head and followed Fausten up the steps. Upon entering the hall, all of the nobles raised their cups to Fausten and Daylen. One whom had united the kingdoms under the dragons, and the other whom had saved the world. Fausten and Daylen raised cups together and toasted the rule of the dragons, drinking and eating. A dance began and the two men clapped their hands, crisscrossing feet and joining hands with their partners. Fausten looked over to Daylen as he danced with a red haired girl, the first smile of the night crossing his face. He moved to a blonde elf, whom threw her arms around him when the music pace quickened. Soon most of the hall was dancing in a circle.
"Oh thank you, sorry, sorry, I have to stop," Fausten said.
He laughed and let out deep breaths, taking another drink. It had been a long struggle, and his life of war was finally beginning to take its toll. But he was surprisingly eager to spend his last days resting. Only after the Targaryen dynasty was truly secure. The Baratheons were still out there, and as the night grew calmer the war councils formed at each family table. Fausten though stood close to the head table, where the king and queen sat. Not far from them stood Daylen, whom listened in as Fausten expected him to.
"There is dissent amongst the Baratheon ranks, they do not think that the usurper can win the coming battle," Fausten said.
"Can we expect the Stag's men to defect?" Viserys asked.
"They are usually known for their loyalty, yet times have changed, he has become more monster than man," Daenerys said.
"I fear what may happen if it comes to a battle," Fausten said.
Daylen had been listening, his mind already beginning to formulate a plan, as Fausten expected. The young man looked up at the ceiling and seemed lost in it when a woman threw her arms around him.
"Brother, it's wonderful to see you," Dayla said.
Daylen stepped back, seeing Dayla, Revion, Aristanna and Dayk. His hands shook as they approached him.
"What troubles you brother?" Revion asked, grasping Daylen's shoulder.
"Weren't expecting us until the morning were you? We rode out early from the Meadow, our men are ready to follow you Daylen," Dayk said.
"But of course, who wouldn't want to follow the hero of the blight, and the new lord of the Meadow?" a voice asked behind the three Amell youths.
They moved aside, smiling as Daylen widened his eyes, looking upon his mother. She walked past her niece and children, to embrace her oldest son. He lowered his head for a moment, burying his face in her shoulder for just a moment. It was long enough to enjoy a hug with his mother. But it was only a moment. He took hold of her shoulders and pulled her back.
"Revion is Lord of the Meadow, the title is his," he said.
"It can be yours if you want it brother, you're the oldest of us after all," Revion said.
Daylen turned away, walking towards the door again, much to Fausten's disappointment. He knew a great many men that couldn't live in peace, that couldn't turn away from the fight. Those kinds of men seldom met good ends, and Fausten had no desire to see Daylen meet such a fate. He followed his grandson through the door, towards the training dummy. Daylen took a sword from the weapon's rack and began to hit the dummy, he held the sword with both hands and swung it in a wide arc, a forward slice and a thrust with one hand.
"What is wrong Daylen?" Fausten asked.
Daylen stabbed his sword into the ground and turned to Fausten.
"I just feel tired, all of this though feels wrong, for the longest time I thought we would never see each other again," the mage said.
"You should have known better boy, nothing can keep us apart, we are your family, our paths are destined to cross," Fausten stated.
"You were dead, how has this come to pass?" Daylen asked.
"Come now Daylen, you did not truly believe that I was gone did you? You did not truly believe that I had given up on the Targaryens? That I would not find a way to end the corruption of Westeros, to make a place where everyone can be happy?" Fausten walked around Daylen's sword as he spoke, gesturing to the stables, the ground beneath them and the stars above them.
Daylen gazed up at them, trying to distract himself in the familiar lights. Fausten saw this and smiled at his grandson, stargazing was always something he enjoyed. He decided to leave him be, to enjoy it. Passing the young man, he patted his shoulder and continued towards the main hall.
"It was a night like this wasn't it grandfather?" Daylen asked.
Fausten stopped, looking back at Daylen in confusion.
"What do you mean?" he asked him.
"When my dream was formed, when you passed your old dream to me," Daylen said.
"Yes, my old dream, try to rest Daylen, try," Fausten mused as he returned to the hall.
Before the paths of Griffin, Phoenix and Chimera converged, both Phoenix and Chimera reacted to the changing world 'without the Targaryens'. In Essos, Danielle and Vincent Marcher rode through the desert with their new teacher and commander. James Marcher rode beside Aeron, his grandson whom reminded him so much of Damion in terms of his facial appearance. The man looked over his shoulder at his aunt and uncle, smirking as Vincent frowned and Danielle looked away, uncomfortable with her hair.
"Don't worry, you both look good as brunettes," he laughed.
"Play nice Aeron," James scolded.
"So you are the son of my mother's bastard? What happened to him?" Vincent demanded.
"Long story," Aeron said dismissively.
"We are in for a long ride," Vincent huffed.
"Not really, we're approaching our camp now," James said.
"Camp?" Danielle raised her eyebrows in confusion.
They saw no tents, no stalls or carpets flung across the ground. Only the remains of old fires, and the men and women cleaning equipment, conversing or sparring. Danielle looked towards Durad, the horned man a new sight for her. He caught her staring and winked at her, causing her to blush. Durad finished applying the string of a bow and handed it to one of the recruits. A boy with messy blonde hair faced off against Asher. He brandished his knife and yelled as he ran at the Westerosi, who tapped the side of his face with the flat of his blade, then tripped him face first into the sand. Danielle expected the child to cry, but to her shock the boy looked up with utter hatred in her eyes.
"You have experienced quite a hard life, the both of you," James said, catching her attention. "But you'll quickly find your suffering has been nothing in comparison to what some of these people have faced."
"When will we march for our next battle?" Vincent asked.
"When I have picked a contract my squire," James said.
They were given a near stale loaf to share amongst themselves. Brother and sister ate the crusty crumbs and drank the warm water they were given. Vincent received sunburn by the night time, and they had to huddle together by the fire. Danielle watched from the fire as James ran drills with his troops. Exercises that stretched their muscles, she watched whilst Vincent fell asleep. It was not the sight of rippling muscles that caught her attention, rather the unity she saw in that moment. Each of the soldiers moved in synch with one another, dedicated to getting stronger. When the sun rose, James dropped two spears, the shafts still soaked with blood, onto their huddled bodies.
"What is this?" Vincent demanded.
"The weapon you're going to start practicing with," James said.
"What about a sword?"
"Most common conscripts start with a spear, sometimes they're lucky to even get a shirt of chainmail. You're both going to carry those spears along with a bag of pots and pans, you'll run exercises with the spears, practice with them and come nightfall sleep with them in your grip," James explained.
Danielle recalled a time at their first hideaway, when she carried a bucket of water from the well. That paled in comparison to walking in the sun with a bag of equipment and a spear. She and her brother fell behind the soldiers, whom did not wait. There came a point when Vincent fell to his knees, demanding her water. As his sister, she gave it. After a rest, they kept on and found the soldiers already drilling. Running on the spot and then dropping to the floor, they repeated this in synch. Then they pushed their arms against the sand, lifting their bodies up again and again.
"VINCENT! DANIELLE!" James yelled to them, holding a wooden stick.
He twirled the staff around and quickly slapped Vincent's legs, knocking him face first into the ground. Then he swung the stick, stopping it at Danielle's cheek. To his disappointment, she had dropped her spear in shock.
"Get up Vincent," James tapped his back and stood in front of both of them, gesturing for Danielle to join her brother.
She moved to help him, but James shook his head. Vincent already sported sun burn on his face, and he had to spit sand out of his mouth. James slammed his stick into the ground, waiting for them to form up.
"Both hands on your weapon, adjust your footing for balance, then," he demonstrated, swinging the staff to the left and right before thrusting it. "NOW!" he yelled.
Vincent and Danielle practiced with the spear, thrusting and slashing. After training they were sent to an oasis to wash clothes and pots.
"This is the job of servants," Vincent snarled.
"What happens when the servants are gone? A ruler who can do these things is clearly someone who isn't useless, now scrub," James demanded.
Immediately after they were subjected to the spear exercises again. They slept holding the weapons, the smell of whoever had used it last no longer bothered Danielle.
"UP NOW!" a voice yelled above them.
Sand was thrown into their faces, and when they recovered they looked up at the towering form of a dark skinned man.
"Up now little squires, you have training to do," he said, voice thick with an accent Danielle didn't know of.
"Try not to break them Kas'Im," Asher and a few of the other men laughed.
"I was a slave in Tevinter, and a labourer in Par Vollen, it is time for you both to get a taste of the life of a slave, for however long it takes to turn your stick like limbs into glorious muscle," the man flexed his arms as he spoke.
"How will we have a taste?" Vincent asked and the man grinned.
He held up in his powerful arms multiple links of chains. And so, for the whole day, Danielle and Vincent dragged those chains behind them. They marched with the soldiers carrying those chains, rested with the chains as pillows. Kas'Im put together pulley mechanisms, using the chains as weights they had to lift. They were exhausted and aching by the end of the day. And they were subjected to the same treatment again the next day.
"Commanders must be strong, fighters must be strong, strength can be measured by technique. But greater strength and stamina makes for better technique," James said as she ran with them around the camp.
Danielle collapsed from the exhaustion of her muscles.
"No more, please, please no more," she begged.
"Keep going little girl, KEEP GOING! RUN!" Kas'Im yelled.
"I can't, I CAN'T PLEASE!" Danielle screamed.
She felt ashamed when she slept alone and Vincent moved onto training with a sword.
"Hey Danielle," Durad shook her shoulder.
"No more training please," she said.
"Oh trust me, you don't want to miss this," the Kossith grinned.
He carried her to the training area, where people watched Vincent face James. The older man had only his blade, whilst Vincent was wearing a chest plate and gloves. He drew the sword he had been given, swinging it in a wide arc before getting into a stance. James batted it out of Vincent's hand with a tap, and the crowd roared in laughter. Danielle found herself sharing their amusement over the situation. James ran his hand across his face in embarrassment.
"This is going to take a lot of work," he said.
Danielle cooked, cleaned, and after two days she put herself back into training. The company took on a contract for land owners, and battled a rival mercenary company. Danielle heard the throes of battle, but she supported the wounded. Vincent would carry men in, utilising his strength training. And Danielle would learn of sewing wounds, disinfecting and being merciful to the suffering. She saw healers remove daggers from their belts to put in pain men out of their misery. She cried that night and that morning, but threw herself to her training. Carrying chains with hatred, performing the stretches with the army, practicing with her spear. It would be a long time before she could consider herself a fighter. But she certainly stronger now than the girl she used to be. Her brother though:
"Attack, attack slow, ATTACK! slow," James said, parrying Vincent's thrust.
Vincent stood uncomfortable following James's movements of the sword.
"Very good, now, how about a drink?" James asked.
The company celebrated a victory and a pay day. Four weeks since they joined them, and Danielle could see the difference in her brother's temperament as well as his physique. The intensive training was paying off not just in Vincent's body, but like her he was stronger in character than the person he used to be. He at least wasn't wording his complaints over scrubbing pots whilst the rest of the soldiers drank. By the time the men fell asleep, Vincent had fallen asleep hugging one of the pots. Danielle rubbed the last bit of grime off of a cup before she looked up, dazzled by the beauty of the stars.
"It was a night just like this!"
James walked around Vincent, sitting down between former prince and former princess.
"What was?" Danielle asked.
"A night my grandson and I sat and looked up at the stars, and discussed the nature of dreams, the hope of the future and the disappointment of old age," James explained.
"What was your dream Fau...James?" Danielle corrected herself.
"I dreamed of being a hero, of saving others, I told Daylen that and in that moment I felt truly happy. Because that dream became his. Yet, the bitterness of old age tells me that he must have changed, as all do in age, yet I still hold hope. Because every other grandchild of mine never told me that, that they would become a hero. Not even my granddaughter, so defiant of society's expectations of her, not even her brother, so strong and determined to do right, or the youngest of them who always sought approval. Even their cousin had no interest, instead wishing to speak of heroic deeds and commit them to song," James explained.
"What is your dream now?" Danielle asked.
"Now I dream of seeing an old family restored, but greater than it was before, not repeating the mistakes of the past and willing to make their country better. But more than that, I dream of seeing him again, of seeing him fulfil that dream, of being a hero," James whispered.
Daylen looked up at the stars, raising a gauntleted hand to cover one of the stars. In place of the gauntlet, he saw a glove, and simplistic armour over it. Withdrawing his hand he ran it across his face and shook his head. He looked towards his sword and saw in its place a staff. Why did he see these things? He asked himself, where was her truly? Was this really how his life had turned out? Was this really his dream?
Honestly this was not his dream. Yet, it was appealing. The common people looked at him with love, and his opponent looked at him with respect. Leo slid his visor down and readied his sword and shield. His opponent slid his own visor down and drew his long sword. The young man was a knight in service of a lord whom had tried to touch a page of common birth. He claimed the boy had stolen from his room. It didn't matter what he stole, what mattered was that when he touched the boy's cock, his feelings were not reciprocated. In truth, Leo knew that the boy had stolen from his lord as well. He wanted to slaughter the lord, because he was so weak as to be driven by 'that' kind of desire. He didn't even take the time to remember the bastard's name.
His opponent though, Percy Wallstone, was someone worth remembering. He was the same age as his true rival, and was himself a worthy opponent. A good person, perhaps, if not for his honour. He served his lord, and right or wrong, he did as his lord commanded. For that was what honour demanded. As he and Leo clashed, Leo again faced the rush of an opponent stronger than him. Percy had been trained in a yard, Leo gained his training from the dreams of the fade, and through struggling through the dirt. They slammed their blades together and tackled one another to the ground. Percy managed to pin Leo and punch him, heavy plate crashing against a heavy helmet. Leo heard their laboured breathing. Yet neither were willing to give up. Leo tackled Percy before he could grab his sword from the ground.
Wrapping his arm around Percy's neck, he locked his legs around Percy's arm, taking the blows to his head from the knight's free hand. They rolled across the dirt and Leo felt his bones ache. Percy was relentless, legs kicking, bashing at Leo's head and side. Yet Leo tightened his grip, his dream fading from his mind to focus on that boy. A thief true, but a victim also, the lord was not exercising power but conveying his true weakness. Leo had no disgust over same sex relationships, but he considered rape, the abuse of authority for sex to be the greatest of weaknesses. Even more so than cowering when one had spent their whole life tormenting others. Percy thrashed around out of survival instinct, not out of fear of dying. That made Leo respect him even more, and consider the knight's master even more pathetic. But he tightened his hold and broke the knight's neck all the same. Throwing off his helm, drenched in sweat, he dropped coins at the lord's feet.
"Your man was brave until the last moment, see that he is treated with honours," he said to the lord.
There was no reward waiting for him, save for the love of the common folk, and the respect of those knights. The boy thanked him, swearing to serve him or perform any service when he asked. A favour would be a good thing to use in the future. But Leo was too tired to stay in that village. He accepted the thanks and left. Being thanked by the villagers felt too good, it wasn't what he truly wanted. Leo sat at his fire, stroking Omega and looking up at the stars.
'This is all just a build up to my dream,' Leo thought.
In the light of the star, he saw the light his rival created that day. The sword of pure mana, more powerful than any blade a Knight-Enchanter would create. More powerful than that Iron Maiden of Orlais. Leo touched his chest and remembered its sting, truly his rival appeared like the hero of a tale that day. He saw in the light of the stars the defiance and courage of his rival, the rage he had always wanted from him. Arm burnt, face scarred, having lost the woman he loved in exchange for his own life. That day, Daylen Amell had awakened, and after suffering defeat, so too had Leo's true self. In the night he felt the scar on his chest and remembered his dream, the yearning for that battle again.
'You dream Daylen, immortality through heroism, my dream, immortality as your villain,' Leo grinned.
Yet, being a hero too felt good, even if it wasn't his dream.
Daylen sat on the field, looking at his hands and then the stars. A woman appeared before him and smiled, red haired, beautiful, like...Daylen tried to look away from her, back at the stars when she forced her lips on his. She tried to unbuckle his belt but he slapped her hands away.
"Husband, why do you recoil?" she asked him.
He trembled, walking away from her. Looking ahead, Daylen saw the corridors of the castle. They grew darker, the walls grew cobwebs, the doors became iron bars. He heard laughing, leaning against the wall and seeing his siblings playing in the banquet hall. Their laughs slowly turned into screams.
Revion heard the screams of celebration outside his office. A united Meadow, and the first step in his plot. He continued applying quill to paper, writing out invitations and correspondents. All the while, he looked at the star shining through his window. That star that caught his eye, that star that reminded him of his dream. Then the other star came and Revion smiled. Selene locked the door behind her and walked towards him.
"It is done, one army for one land, our families now truly united," she said.
"Just the beginning my love, our dream is only just beginning," Revion mused, adding more words to his letter.
She took the quill from his hand, gripping the sides of his head. He rose to embrace her, then they kissed.
"What was your dream Revion?" she asked as he kissed her neck.
"You know my dream, an end," he said, their hands in synch with one another, unbuttoning one another's clothes.
"No, I want to know, I must," she said between kisses, linking her lips with his passionately whilst he gripped the back of her head, deepening the passion of the kiss.
They fell onto the bed, losing themselves momentarily to the passion. Making love whilst their kingdom in the making celebrated its rise, they intended not just to love each other, but to conceive their first child. As Selene gasped in ecstasy, Revion gave her a final kiss before slipping onto the spot beside her. Still holding one another, Selene smiled at him.
"My old dream," he said between breaths. "I wanted to fix everything that was wrong, and stand beside heroes. For all of my brothers and my sister to stand with me as we changed the world," Revion explained.
"You want to bring your family together again, that's why you asked that girl to find your brother in Thedas," Selene said.
"I did, so that I could first give him the sword, the first part of my will," Revion said.
"Your will," Selene looked at her husband in confusion.
"He took on grandfather's dream, why would he not be able to take on mine? My brother, if he aims to really be a hero, then shouldn't he do something that truly matters? Something that will change this ugly world?"
"Is the world truly as ugly as you say?" Selene asked, kissing Revion's cheek.
"No, it's worse."
Revka looked up at the stars as she stirred her tea. She smelt the fumes in her cup and smiled, thinking of the starry night she watched her three children play together. Her three children, one so far away, yet not even that could keep her from enjoying the sight of those three children dreaming of being heroes and icons for the age. It was Revka's hope to live and see her children, every one of them become all they intended on being. She had witnessed Dayla become a warrior and champion, had witnessed Revion become lord of the Meadow. In her heart she knew she still had to wait and see what both Dayk and Daylen would become. Her oldest and her youngest, yet the furthest from her, both in different ways.
"It was a night like this also wasn't it Daylen, when I saw you dream for the first time," Revka whispered.
Daylen walked onwards, towards his uncertain future. He came to a grand hall where his family celebrated. Fausten waved him over, holding a goblet in his hand.
"My grandson, here he is," he said. "A toast, to the hero of Ferelden, the hero of Westeros!"
Daylen walked over to Fausten, unphased by the people who toasted.
"What are we celebrating?" he asked.
"Your defeat of the Archdemon of course, a spectacular achievement," Fausten said.
"How did I achieve that?"
"Oh that matters little, come now join us in toasting grandson. you have returned to us. Crossed the ocean, defied treaties and joined us where you truly belong," Fausten explained.
"HAIL THE HERO OF FERELDEN! LORD OF THE MEADOW!" the family members yelled.
"Enough," Daylen snarled, teeth gritting together.
Fausten looked at Daylen in shock as the king and queen came over.
"Is there something the matter Daylen?" Daenerys asked.
"It's fuzzy, but here I am being praised for killing the Archdemon, praised with a place at court, and I even have a wife who is exactly what I like in a woman at least physically," Daylen explained.
"I see," Viserys laughed. "Not enough is it, fine, hand of the king!"
"Oh Daylen, I can't think of anyone better suited to replace me," Fausten said attempting to clap Daylen on the shoulder.
But Daylen smacked his hand away, frowning at all three of them.
"My memory is incomplete, but I know a fake when I see one."
"Daylen, perhaps you should rest, it has been a long day," Revka said.
"Yes brother, I am sorry, we didn't think of how exhausted you must be," Dayk said.
"Shut up!"
His siblings paused, the whole room fell silent.
"Dayk, Revion, Dayla, I've never met any of you, so I have no idea what you really look like, or sound like. But you all look exactly like I'd imagine you to look in my dreams," Daylen said, smiling briefly.
"Yes brother, isn't it beautiful...
"Life though isn't that great, the simple fact is my dreams won't tell me the reality of what you'd look like. Just like they won't tell me what Westeros armour looks like, why it just seems to be a variation of what the Grey Wardens wear," Daylen brushed his hand across his chest plate.
Then his finger snapped towards Fausten's armour.
"Or why it's a variation of what Templars wear. My 'wife', even Daenerys, they're just Surana with different shades of hair and alterations to the cheeks. I'm no expert on Westerosi architecture but why does the hall look like the hall at the circle tower? Why do the corridors look like...like," Daylen put his hands to his head as he spoke.
"Rest Daylen, just rest," Fausten tried to approach Daylen again, but had his arms swatted away.
"NO!" Daylen yelled.
He stepped back and raised his head, putting a fist to his heart.
"This is a good looking dream, but it's a dream, it isn't real. I'm not a hero yet, but I'm trying to be...Redcliffe, I remember Redcliffe. The promise I made to save Conner. Your deception is over DEMON!" Daylen yelled, his armour fading to be replaced with the clothes he was actually wearing.
'Fausten' narrowed his eyes as the other people around him sneered.
"Very well, keep your darkspawn and your blights if you want boy, if you will not rest in this dream, then fall to the nightmare!" his voice echoed as he took on the demonic appearance of a Revenant.
Likewise the other people in the hall turned into shades, wrath demons, Bereskarns and undead warriors. Daylen flexed his hands, electricity and fire burning between them before a pair of short swords materialised in his hands.
"Now I've got a child to save, a circle of friends to stop getting annulled too, so get the fuck out of my way asshole!" Daylen dropped into a stance, eyes burning red before he rushed forward.
Next Chapter 12: Battle for the tower
Gasp...it was a dream!
Next time, Daylen's story continues as he faces the Sloth demon and Uldred in the broken circle.