Disclaimer: I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire or Dragon Age
We return to Westeros and Thedas (albeit briefly) with Fausten's plans progressing, and Daenerys's ambitions and dreams growing.
The Phoenix and the Griffin
Chapter 28: The genius of Fausten Amell
Every night since meeting him, since finding her fire magic, since killing the undying, she dreamt of a kiss. Not a marriage kiss witnessed by sycophants or doting ladies in waiting, or a tender caring kiss, and especially not the savage attempts of a would-be suitor or thief. No, this kiss enveloped Daenerys with such passion and feeling of safety, appreciation and lust that she threw her arms around him, pushing herself against him. It was a perfect kiss, one that told her that he was hers, that he needed her. She could feel all that loneliness and pain, all that hope and determination and vulnerability that she knew she was in love with him. When they finally pulled away, she said to him the same thing she said every night.
"Become my king."
Daylen woke up with a yell, teeth grinding together, fire glowing across his hand. He was in darkness for a moment, his wounded eye adjusted to the light, and he threw his hand forward. The man in front of him raised his hands cautiously, his eyes wide in fright.
"DAYLEN!" Zevran yelled.
The mage stopped, he was truly awake now and he back away from the assassin, hitting with his back a stone wall. He looked cautiously around, rubble to his side, old, crafted walls behind him. Zevran held a torch in his hand, he was coated in blood and just past them Daylen saw why, a giant spider's corpse was on the ground.
"The others…"
"I couldn't find them, whoever attacked us separated us, you hit your head when you landed," he gestured to the bandage around Daylen's head. "I used a poultice, considered using poison but we all know how Wardens are with poisons," Zevran stated, his usual grin having returned.
"You could have just slit my throat in my sleep," Daylen muttered.
He looked around for his staff, nothing, leaving him with the sword he couldn't use.
"You looked like you were having a dream, which quickly turned into a nightmare, I'll take a guess, a stunning red head on top of you before her face grows fangs and a snout?" Zevran asked.
"She had platinum hair, Valyrian features actually, and we weren't even having sex," Daylen admitted.
"What happened?"
"She asked me to make a commitment I couldn't make."
"Oooh, now that is a nightmare, still to garner such a reaction, she must have been a monster or a great beauty," Zevran stated.
"She was all right!"
Zevran looked at Daylen in shock, seeing for the first time the small smirk across his lips. They both began to laugh before they heard a howl in the distance. Zevran drew his knives and Daylen prepared a fire spell. The moment passed and they began their cautious trek through the elven ruins. Zevran had a mild interest, he would have preferred to have been away from the place altogether. Daylen was tempted to call out, but he realised that for all his tactics and plans on the surface, the werewolves could very well have been hunting them. Cocoons showed the latest feed of giant spiders, bones on the floor had an ethereal glow, wisps were just waiting to possess them so they could find fresher corpses to possess. The veil was thinner underground than it was in the forest, that much Daylen could sense. He found an old but usable mace and used his blazing arm as a torch alongside Zevran. There were no more whispers, meaning no more blighted creatures.
But that didn't mean they weren't still being hunted.
Across the seas
Madness and genius often went hand in hand, that was at least what Daenerys heard Fausten say, smiling like a fool as he revealed his latest scheme. His plan to separate the forces was part of a long going strategy to forge what he described as a new empire. So, he gave orders to commanders in order to discern who amongst them he could trust. His split attack on the free cities was false, when far enough out of range, Fausten had his ships land on the shore and those who had earned his trust opened the letters he had given them, detailing their true marching orders.
Viserys and Daenerys looked to their mentor as he touched the mask he was wearing. His helmet had been built with a mask and a mane of white fur and horns. As well as his red armour he rode atop his horse with a spear. Other riders beside them held the standard of the Phoenix Wing. He looked across towards the battalion of riders.
"There is more than one way to take a city," Fausten said. "That man who leads our cavalry is an example of such."
Maric nodded to them, sliding his tower helm over his face and drawing his sword.
"MABARI DIVISION MOVE OUT!" he yelled; the riders began to gallop across the desert.
Fausten raised his spear high and smiled over his shoulder at his squires.
"DRAGON DIVISION FULL ATTACK!" he roared.
He told every general he didn't trust, and every general likely to betray him, and even a few he actually liked a plan that seemed foolish. Splitting his forces, forces that had proven to be able to steal victory from defeat and sending them to potential targets. Then when halfway to the destination he stated, he turned and went a different path. He even had his closest allies Stone and Stork pursue respective campaigns and tasks that were simply feints to draw attention away from them. Assigning Stone to lead a Siege would draw out the traitors, reminding Fausten of exactly who he could trust. Stork he gave a false letter to, marching orders to a Khalasar he had supposedly made an alliance with for them to attack another Khalasar. Scouts of the said Khalasar at least caught up with Stork and stole his satchel. Commonly the Dothraki couldn't read, but certain slaves they had were able to. The Dothraki fighting amongst themselves, more than usual, suited Fausten's later plans.
But his split attack was to divert forces from his real target. Astapor's greatest import was slaves, one particular type of slave being the Unsullied. To fight them head on was a difficult task, not one that Fausten wished to test. Cities looking for a decent fighting force of course would hire through Astapor. And Astapor itself would have its force of Unsullied so reduced that they would hire another mercenary company to compensate, to protect themselves from Dothraki attacks. Astapor was the target of both Fausten's defence and attack. They were given the same welcome into the city as most mercenaries would be. It was amongst the slaves however that Daenerys began to feel a tension, false looks of loyalty to their masters and reverence. The slaves gave them more respect than the masters.
Fausten lured Dothraki hordes in a pattern that made the masters of Astapor believe that the horse riders would attack their city. In truth they had been pursuing Stork after his false intelligence. The Dothraki hordes were met by their cavalry and then lured towards the city where their archers fired, releasing volley upon volley on the raiders. There was something unique about these Dothraki though, they had used more than leather for their armour.
"They are learning," Daenerys heard Fausten laugh.
They were a heavier cavalry than previous Dothraki riders, which made escaping them a bit easier. Daenerys looked over her shoulder at the Dothraki riders as they fell in waves to their archers. They had learned, they had changed their tactics and she wondered if the next time they fought would they likely lose to a changed Dothraki culture, was that Fausten's goal all along when he allowed Khal Drogo to live in shame. She looked to her mentor, the man her father would have had as his hand and once again saw the age in him. He had to hold his reins tightly to keep himself on his horse. When they reached the city and dismounted, Fausten's knees trembled for a moment.
"Welcome my lord, welcome to the city of Astapor," one of the masters said.
Maric dismounted his horse and nodded to Fausten, who embraced the master like an old friend. Payment for their service was minimal, what the wise masters of Astapor did offer was food and drink and lodging for the night, at least for those they recognised as the commander of the army. Fausten's other troops would aid those on the wall in providing security, Unsullied men who did not enjoy merriment, but were the batch that were inexperienced in fighting.
"Lord Phenex, your reputation has not disappointed, never did I think someone of Thedas's Anders have such good taste in wine or such a mind for battlefield tactics. Only our own legion of Unsullied would have been able to offer such a decisive victory against the savages, it would have cost us much to send the horde away," the master explained.
"How much would a flagon of the wine of courage cost?" Fausten, or rather Marcus Phenex asked.
"Wine of courage?" Viserys looked up from his cup, curiously looking between the Astaporian master and his mentor.
"There are many ingredients to it, not limited to nightshade, bloodfly larva and many other secret things. From the day we cut our Unsullied they are fed this wine at every meal, over the course of a few years it begins to numb their sense of pain, you see it is not just their training which makes them so deadly, our Unsullied are a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield because they feel no pain," the master explained.
"Which means they won't realise they've been cut," Maric grumbled slightly as he drank.
"They will at least kill their enemy before they bleed," the master said.
"I meant no offence by it, from what I've heard the Unsullied are something to be reckoned with, but how affective can a force numb to horror and pleasure be? Fear and rage can be just as much a tool as it can be a hindrance," the former king stated.
"You speak of things you know little about, our Unsullied are the greatest fighters in the region, it is why so many were sent to defend the cities being attacked now by foolish mercenaries fancying themselves an army of conquerors," the master explained.
"Only the masters of the Unsullied can stop them," Fausten said, pouring more wine in the cup and giving it to the master.
Charisma was in every smile and compliment that Fausten offered the masters. He poured wine and drank with them, not too much or too little, but just enough to convey the image of a man revelling in the party. The Astapori masters had grown complacent and arrogant, as most people did during times of peace. Fausten taught Viserys and Daenerys this about Robert's rebellion, though Rhaegar was a good warrior he still did not understand the horrors of war. He was late to the battles, by the time he faced Robert's army on the trident, the Baratheon and Stark forces had already been hardened into a force that was familiar with war.
"Honour still guided your brother, may he rest in peace, there comes a time in war when one must decide whether they will be an honourable warrior, the good man, or a good general, the man who chooses cruelty for victory's sake," he had told them.
He elaborated this as he told them of his plan for Astapor. Masters became drunk, their slaves bribed, and select groups of Fausten's men struck key places in the dead of the night. Maric taught them the tactics that he and Loghain used to win back Ferelden. Raids, securing their messenger birds, cutting the throats of messengers and guards. Some rioting broke out and the city watch, filled with slaves, became divided. Fighting broke out within the streets and after Daenerys and Viserys slew a messenger, they joined the melee on the streets.
"SLAVES OF ASTAPOR! IF YOU JOIN US IN THIS FIGHT THEN YOUR CHAINS WILL BE BROKEN!" Fausten yelled.
"Tywin Lannister is a cruel man, a hypocrite in the worst of things, he hates his son because he is a dwarf and because he killed his mother at birth. But your father liked to gleefully remind me that Tywin fucked whores himself. What he had done to king's landing was a truly horrific act, but it was a smart move, appearing as a friend so that you can get through the gate, and then, you take what is given on your terms," Fausten painted their enemies in new lights.
No longer would they be told of the weaknesses of their enemies, but their strengths. The strength of Astapor was in its legions of Unsullied, all of which would soon return, ignorant to the fact that their original masters and trainers would be killed. By the time they got through the gates and realised the events that had transpired, it was Fausten holding the whip. The Unsullied knew no loyalty but to the master and in their eyes, through might, Fausten had become the new lord of Astapor.
"Taking a city works better when you have allies inside of it," Fausten said to his charges as they walked through the ruined and decimated streets.
Many people had died, both on their side and for the Astapori. When Fausten declared that slaves would have their chains broken there was an upheaval of angry and young slaves eager for a new life, or revenge. But there were also those slaves who had loyalty to their masters, who had never known abuse in their lives.
"You find those noblemen who are open to new ideas, and you make them lords, councillors, friends even, you have to do more than just provide them with banquets, you have to be willing to make certain dreams come true," Fausten explained.
"Like you dream of being a hero?" Daenerys asked.
He smiled at her, looking at the corpses being given traditional burials.
"Every person wants something, but dreams, these are particularly special desires. They're born from deep inside of us, they can be as wondrous as we like and occasionally, they'll shape everything that we do. Tywin Lannister wants a dynasty that will last a thousand years, to not be his father, irrelevant, laughed at, its why he wanted his daughter to marry your brother, its why he had your nephew and niece slaughtered and I bet its why he prayed for Lyanna Stark's death so that he could give his daughter to Robert and finally be part of the royal family," Fausten explained.
"What do the people of Astapor dream of?" Viserys asked.
"I cannot speak for all the people, Cleon, the former butcher for Grazdan mo Ullhor dreams of revenge against his master," Fausten said.
Grazdan was a common name in Astapor, many noble people called their sons by the name of the city's founder. Daenerys stabbed in the back a tall man named Grazdan, freeing some of his slaves for her. Mo Ullhor fell to Viserys's sword, literally running into it as Viserys warded off a couple of Unsullied guards. Those two were killed by Fausten, who gave Grazdan Mo Ullhor's remains to Cleon. The bald man had a red beard on his chin, his arms built from repeatedly carving meat, yet he had more weight than the other slaves. When Fausten gave him his former masters estate and position, he began to wear his old master's jewellery.
"Grazdan Ol Nitram dreams of a less bloody Astapor, he wants Astapor to be known for something besides producing cockless soldiers," Fausten said.
"You had noble support?" Daenerys asked.
"Of course, you need money and influence, the vision of the poor overtaking the rich looks pretty on paper, but the reality is there will always be those who have more wealth and privilege than another. But that wealth and privilege isn't a bad thing if used correctly, people must always be led. Which is why we made allies amongst both the nobility, peasantry and slaves. From the slaves we pick a butcher, a man not afraid of blood, a man not afraid to use his rage. And to temper that we pick a teacher, someone who is familiar with logistics, with history and money, and then we pick someone from a somewhat respected noble house, amongst both free and enslaved people, these three pillars will balance the others, and if not, then we of course order commanders of the Unsullied to keep an eye on such people, to enforce the laws we write," Fausten explained.
"What now though, will we set them free?" Daenerys asked.
"We have gained control of the city; we should continue to control the market on the Unsullied," Viserys said.
"But if we are simply to repeat what the masters did before us then what is the point?"
"The point Dany is that it is ours," Viserys looked at Daenerys with a sincere look in his eyes. "As the old man said, people must be led, cruel things must be done for a greater good."
"What greater good is being served here, Daylen saw this for what it is, Fausten's revenge," Daenerys said.
"I don't want to hear that name again," Viserys groaned.
"Daylen!" he fumed, glaring at his sister.
"Daylen," he bit the corner of his lip, his fists tightening.
"Daylen, Daylen, Daylen!" she whispered again and again.
"ENOUGH!" he yelled, raising his hand to her.
She flinched but did not turn away. Viserys's hand never came however, as Maric gripped his wrist tightly.
"I would not turn on your family Viserys, history shows it is never good when dragons dance with one another," he said.
"How long have you been waiting to use that?" Fausten asked.
"Actually, I only just thought of it," Maric grinned.
Viserys lowered his hand, shaking his head and looking at Daenerys with regret.
"I can hear you, every night whispering his name," he said.
"That is enough, both of you," Fausten stepped between them, gripping both their shoulders.
The taller man softened his grip and gaze, appearing more the kind man that Daenerys often saw outside of war council tents.
"You are both correct, it is morally right to free them, but it is not a kindness to deprive someone of purpose. The Unsullied already cut and trained will never know the joy of a normal life, it isn't just cruelty that makes the masters castrate their soldiers. Chemically you see a person's mind changes, but that is neither here nor there, the Unsullied have had their lives dedicated to one thing, battle, some might find peace, others will seek out war and die in someone else's battle to which one could ask what was the point? What would all their sacrifices and suffering be worth, just for someone to feel like they were doing a good thing. But Daenerys you are also right in that we have to provide the people with something different, everything is about balance, easing a society that is used to slavery into becoming a society that no longer needs it," he explained.
"We grant the slaves more rights, give them freedom in name, provide them with purpose and coin, protected rights," she proposed.
"Indeed, it might take time, but the nobility will see that ultimately a slave work force is unproductive, we turn the slaves into workers to keep the city going, reward them and they will work harder," Viserys stated.
"Yes, a pleased work force is a more productive workforce, we will need manpower, give people an incentive to help you beyond promises," Fausten said.
"We mustn't continue the barbaric creation of Unsullied though," Daenerys said.
"Instead, we could keep the Unsullied that we have, making this affective fighting force a rarity which we can charge more for," Viserys added.
Fausten smiled to himself, Daenerys nodded in part agreement with her brother. The Amell-branch patriarch was seeing the results of the lessons he had planted and the risks and rewards of his gambles and labours. Astapor was more than a resource hunt for his cause, it was to give his two charges a ground for which to practice their future conquest and governance. He clapped his hands together, smiling with pride as he stepped away from them.
"Good thinking you two, but this city can provide more than just Unsullied, we spoke of it with the fat Grazdan," his voice drifted, seeking to test them again.
"The wine of courage," it was Viserys who had worked it out first.
The two Targaryens were present when Fausten, as Marcus Phenex discussed with the Unsullied trainers their retirement plans. Rather than deprive them of purpose, he gave them a new purpose and a new market for which Astapor to prosper. Those ships that they had used to arrive on the shores they repurposed, turning into trading ships and thus began the trade of something infinitely more valuable than slaves. They established a market for a powerful numbing agent with both military and medicinal applications, and beyond that a private market for lords seeking to numb the pain of old wounds but carry on with their duties without losing consciousness, a means for knights to give themselves an edge in tourneys and even 'holy men' looking to imitate a miracle.
Astapor was their first city and the start of a long rest for Fausten and his forces.
Rest however would be the problem for both Daenerys and Fausten however.
When taking his office in Astapor, Fausten sat, placed his hands on his knees and sighed in content. His plan had been a success, yet it would come with a hefty cost. Lieutenants didn't like to be manipulated, and friends didn't like to be sacrificed.
'How ironic Tywin, I abhor your methods, I abhor you, and yet, here I have become you,' he thought.
Stone, or rather Durin Cadash fought hard on the battlefield. Clad in his Dwarven massive armour he brought his war hammer down on one enemy after another. He pushed a young soldier to the floor and crushed his head with the hammer, backhanding another tired soldier. Heaps of soldiers formed piles in the sands, some dead, others trying to crawl away, others so exhausted they were barely grappling with their enemies. With the sun blazing above them they fought.
"Our soldiers are being hit by archers, we can't take the city," Werner said.
"We are overrun, that bastard Marcher sent us to DIE!" Marcus yelled.
"SHUT YOUR MOUTHS!" Durin bellowed. "HE IS BRAVE AND TRUE! A TRUEST FRIEND! WE MUST FIGHT HARDER!"
He swung his hammer into a soldier, breaking the weapon. His knives came out and he jumped onto a group of soldiers, stabbing through the gaps in their armour. Marcus and Werner fought hard too, but they were overcome by their doubt and hatred. Quickly they gave the call for their troops to turn on their allies. They found too late that they had no more of their own troops left, it turned out Fausten had been right about them bringing boys to a fight. Their orders fell upon death ears, but they saw that Durin was alone in his fight. Any other ally close by was dead already. When his knives broke he took off his helmet and began using it as a bludgeoning weapon, smashing an officer's face in.
'Fausten,' he thought.
'My friend!' he thought as he stood ready to keep fighting.
'My friend,' he thought when a spear pierced through his back, sticking out of his right shoulder.
He gasped for air, snapping the shaft and turning to his enemies, his eyes burning with rage. Werner and Marcus looked at the man they had backstabbed in shock, not expecting a dwarf to be so durable.
'My friend,' he thought before he roared like a madman.
The dwarf tackled Werner to the ground, crawling up and then head butting the man so hard that his target's nose broke. He slammed his fist into the wound before rolling back, avoiding Marcus's slash.
'My friend,' he thought, picking up a fallen axe.
He threw the axe at Marcus, who deflected it with a quick raise of his sword. But as he deflected it, Durin moved forward, grabbing his legs and lifting him over his head. Marcus flipped in midair, landing head first onto the shield of a fallen soldier. He was dazed, too dazed to notice Durin come up behind him with a knife. Durin dragged the knife across Marcus's throat, with Werner watching.
'My friend,' he couldn't hear Werner's screaming, only his own.
He heard his own cries of pain when Werner slashed him across the face with a sword. Then he heard his yell of frustration when he was rattled by a strike against his shoulder. Werner hacked at him, his sword striking plate. Durin grabbed the blade when he the tired brother brought it around, gripping it and pulling Werner down towards him with bloody hands. Durin only heard his own roars of anger when he began punching Werner, bashing steel gauntlets against soft and untested flesh.
'Fausten my friend, who I would have died for,' the dwarf thought.
He was about to punch Werner again when an arrow suddenly hit his eye. Durin recoiled, his fingers twitching, reaching for the arrow before another hit his hand and armpit. The pain began to subside though as Durin became lost in old memories.
'Fausten my friend,' he remembered the meeting, the basis of a joke really, a man and elf and a dwarf, hunting adventuring.
'Fausten my friend, who I would die for,' he remembered the many battles against evil sorcerers and corrupt nobility.
'Because you would die for me,' he remembered the man who fought beside him and smiled.
Werner later walked amongst bodies; his face ruined by the dwarf's vicious assault. Other mercenary soldiers had formed a poor defensive arc around their commander. It was not an act of incompetence though, even if the battle had been in full swing, they were utterly confident in their commander's ability to defend himself. That day, Daymon Kallus was wearing his red robes with a black chest plate, drinking from a gourd.
"You were in charge of the defence," Werner said.
"An amateur would have been able to defend against your attack, you were sent here to die," Daymon said.
"I know, I know, which is why I wish to swear allegiance to you, take this as my vow," Werner dropped the head at Daymon's feet.
Daymon looked upon the head of Durin Cadash, his expression was unreadable for a moment.
"We were sent by James Marcher to die, and worse, our campaign put in the hands of a dwarf," Werner said.
"I see the dwarf gave you trouble despite his…lack of qualification," Daymon said.
"He killed my brother," Werner said.
"After you both tried to kill him presumably," Daymon huffed.
"Here is the head of one of Marcher's most loyal lieutenants, on that head I offer my…" Werner never finished his words.
Daymon suddenly drew his sword, swinging it through Werner's neck as he did. It was a clean stroke that opened Werner's throat, spraying his blood onto the sand. The young man's eyes were locked in shock as he fell to his knees. Daymon wiped the blood on his sleeve and slowly sheathed his sword.
"I have no need for cowards who betray their own in the middle of a battle, but your gift is appreciated," he spat on Werner's head before the man's body crashed onto the floor.
He looked at the dwarf's head and tipped his head in respect. Half a smile crossed his face.
'I don't whether to call you a genius Fausten, or just another cold-blooded bastard,' Daymon thought.
'What a coincidence old man, we both seek the return of greater powers, dead powers, which will come out on top I wonder?'
Daenerys's days were filled with smiles, smiles as she studied languages with an interpreter. Missandei was a gifted girl, she could see the experience in her eyes despite being a child. Days began to turn into weeks and Missandei finally began to smile during their lessons.
It was the nights that Daenerys found difficult, or rather the mornings after the nights. Her dreams were quickly becoming, alongside her time with Missandei the greatest experiences of her new life. Though Daenerys smiled at court meetings and during her walks with the Astapori slaves and small folk, she could not truly feel the joy. Her joy came in the nights when dreams overtook her, when her body drifted out of the black and brown leathers Fausten had her wear and into elegant gowns of summer, when her hair was restored to its beautiful length and shining silver and not the short and greasy dye that her mentor insisted she use to keep her identity safe. In her dreams, she was Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of Astapor, conqueror of Slavers Bay, mother of dragons and soon to be queen of the seven kingdoms.
And every night she embraced Daylen Amell, running her hands through his wild brown hair as they kissed, touching his scarred body as they stripped and making love, on a balcony, in the warmth of a bed, over a map of the land she intended to conquer.
"Become my queen," she would whisper.
But then she awoke and found herself alone and facing the reality that he who was the subject of her dreams was far, far away.
Far away in another land facing the evils that people turned into jokes within the halls of the Westerosi, or simply had not heard of in the sands and pyramids of the east. She walked to Fausten's office and found him coughing, her violet eyes lit up in concern before he smiled at her.
"My dear, come, we need to begin the joint training with our troops and the Unsullied, your brother is already seeing to the transfer of our new trade income, soon our coffers will be filled and ready to spend," he stated.
"What will we spend it on my lord?" Daenerys asked.
"The greatest investment one can make, people, now go on ahead, I will be with you," Fausten said.
He waited for the princess to leave before he opened the basket on his desk. Stone looked back at him, but he did not cry.
'Have I become the evil that you will face Daylen, or perhaps the evil that Daenerys, or even Viserys cast aside?' he wondered.
Fausten bent his back as he coughed, putting his hand to his mouth. His coughing became so violent that his body shook, and his skin turned red. Blood had painted his palm when he pulled his hand away. He laughed, hanging his head back, that laughter nearly shifting into crying.
'Or perhaps we will never reunite, my pride!'
Next Chapter 29: Faceless
Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter.
Next time we go to Daylen and Zevran as they are ambushed, and Robb faces the curse of the werewolves.