Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or A Song of Ice and Fire
The Phoenix and the Griffin
Chapter 34: Heroes at the river
Loghain ran his hands through his hair, rubbing his eyes intensively.
"Is there something wrong my lord?"
He looked to his right, Ser Cauthrien, his most trusted lieutenant. She had come from a farm like him, and had earned her place as head of his personal troops 'Maric's shields'. The look of concern across her face was like what Anora would wear, at least within the private moments. In the presence of Arl Howe, Anora wore the stern look of a queen.
"Everything is wrong Ser, everything, most of the countryside burns, people have either fled here or disappeared, I can only pray it is because they have fled the country entirely and not for the darkspawn," she explained.
"There are rumours of Darkspawn, but so far the blight has not reached Denerim, which is more than I can say for Highever or Amaranthine," Howe said.
"Are you over worked? Perhaps Highever would have been better off in the hands of the Couslands," Anora glared at Howe, who fought with every ounce of self control to not bite back.
She was right though, Loghain agreed, Howe's attack on Highever and the execution of Teryn Bryce Cousland and his wife Eleanor. Anora could have brought up the deaths of Fergus Cousland's wife and child. The woman Oriana was Antivan and part of an important trading family, her marriage to Fergus was the basis of Howe accusing the Cousland's of treason. Loghain cared not for the woman, the child needn't have died at all as Fergus was still unaccounted for and his brother Aedan was leading a band of raiders in Amaranthine. Oren could have been used as a hostage; instead Howe stupidly had him gutted.
Loghain felt a particular fury when he heard that the four murdered members of the Cousland family had been thrown into a pit with all the other dead and burned. The dishonour and disregard of propriety did nothing to win Howe any allies; ergo it did nothing for Loghain's popularity. Howe was his beast, his shield, whatever was necessary to protect Ferelden could fall on him, disposing of detrimental families in Denerim (Vaughan Kendells was too sadistic with his mistreatment of the elves, and his father Uriel never made it to Ostagar, it was no coincidence there had been agents of the Crows available for hire) or interacting with unsavoury individuals (like the said Crows).
"The Couslands are our enemies, Aedan Cousland leads a band of brigands against me, even with the Darkspawn attacking," Howe said.
"Because you murdered his family you blithering idiot!"
Loghain fought the urge to smirk, instead opting to slam his hand against the table and stop the arguments. He stood over the map of his country, pointing at three regions as he spoke.
"Gwaren was attacked through the Deeproads, old tunnels were still left from when it was a Dwarven outpost," he saw the barely restrained grimace on his daughter's face when he spoke of the fate of their home.
"Then the next Terynir Highever, and then Amaranthine, places close to the coast with their own ports, what else do our scouts say concerning these places and Darkspawn movement?" he asked.
"The usual, women going missing and the rest being infected, crops die and people become ghouls," Howe said dismissively.
"Trees father, trees have been uprooted, and some sort of construction has been going on," Anora said.
"What?" Howe looked at her in shock.
"You're not the only one with scouts Arl, mine are just better at seeing and being unseen," Anora retorted.
She ran her finger over the area of the map representing the Coastlands.
"Coastal areas, they are attacking farms but the majority of sightings have been in the coastal regions," she stated.
"That matches our own reports Teryn," Cauthrien said.
"What of the trees?" Loghain asked.
"The Brecilian forest fights back, but other forest areas are being ransacked, cut down and carried off," Anora said.
"The work of poachers," Howe scoffed.
"The work of a Horde, the dead roots confirm it," Cauthrien said and Howe glared.
"What of current predicaments, movements of the Orlesians?"
"Our borders are still well defended my lord, no emissaries from the Wardens or the empire are being let through," Cauthrien said and Loghain nodded in approval.
"What of Tevinter emissaries?" Anora asked.
"My idea to deal with the plague spreading amongst the Dalish, with the circle no longer helpful we needed magic," Howe said.
"Forgetting the rebellion that just so happened to occur when we were having a blight, what exactly are the Tevinter mages doing that requires them to gather the elves at the port?" Anora asked.
"We need to protect our citizens."
"Elves are our citizens, no matter how much distaste you may have for them Arl," Anora said.
"I am a Teryn now," Howe huffed.
"Oh and a fine job you have done so far for Highever, leave us, I wish to speak with the actual Teryn here alone," Anora said.
Speak with the Teryn, not her father, Loghain again resisted the urge to express his pride. He nodded to Cauthrien, and shot Howe with a firm glare that put down any attempt the man might have made to argue with the queen. Though an obstacle to his own plans, Anora remained the queen and her voice needed to be heard unless the rest of the Bannorn used it as further excuse to rally against him. Everyone knew that whilst Cailan was hunting and playing, Anora was the one governing the country, heeding Loghain's council and her own wisdom. Although Cailan in his last days, seemed to have played his own version of the game and exchanged correspondences with Orlais that seemed far more intimate than simple diplomatic letters. As well as allowing the Orlesian Grey Wardens to pass through the border, Cailan arranged for a legion of Chevaliers, enough men to not only reinforce Ferelden forces (only after suffering massive projected casualties) but occupy the country on a long term basis. Loghain was no stranger to such a tactic, present a region with a crisis, offer aide, even when the threat was eliminated or passed there would still be the after effects.
Like the Inquisition of old, like any kind of organisation really that would be granted great power, the authority to act in the 'best interests' of the regions they occupied. Such was the risk of an organisation that had such power, when their purpose had been fulfilled, would they truly give up all that power?
His thoughts faded as the door closed and Anora looked at him not as the queen, but his daughter.
"Our people are being sold into slavery, opportunists are taking advantage of the desperate, and they are turning to whatever help they can find. Like a Grey Warden declared an enemy of the crown," Anora said, not frowning but shaking her head.
It was disappointment and not dismay as Loghain felt.
"I offer rewards, punishments, and yet they help the wardens," he remarked.
"They sing their praises father, and I fear…"
"That he is another opportunist," Loghain said and again Anora shook her head.
"I fear he is right father, an opportunist in a manner but the kind our people can actually trust and will trust over us," she explained.
"The rebellion at the circle was put down, my men sent to Orzammar were beaten, yet returned, and reports of movements in the Brecilian forest, settlers in the old Warden's keep and a battle at Redcliffe. What do your spies…pardon me, scouts, say to you?" Loghain asked.
"They speak of a kind man, they speak of a man who risked his life, was injured protecting people, our people. A man who comforts a grieving family after telling them of their son or husband's death, a man who protects elf, dwarf and human alike, a man who both helped the law and stood against it when it was unjust. That father is what they say," Anora explained.
Her voice was filled with both awe and fear, both fighting in a battle on the scales. She was inspired by both good and frightened by it and her earlier statement was not lost on him. If the warden was not to be her ally, then people would trust him over her. So in that regard, he was a potential threat to both her and Loghain's authority.
"You sound almost as if you admire him," he muttered.
"Strange, he almost sounded like you once upon a time," Anora said.
"We were never truly all good, I've heard reports of rage from him," Loghain said.
"Righteous fury father, every decision he is making could be considered right from a certain point of view."
"Like travelling with a known murderer, an assassin, a potential Orlesian spy? A Witch of the wilds? What of Haven, an entire village disappeared…"
"A cult father, we tolerated them for some time you know…"
"And an apostate…"
"One you hired to poison the Arl of Redcliffe," Anora retorted.
Loghain crossed his arms and snarled in frustration.
"When you paint it like that then, I suppose it is hard to not see him as a hero, but heroism only lasts for so long before reality takes over," he said.
"Like Cailan?" Anora asked.
"Cailan was…"
"A fool, an adorable fool yes, a dreamer, I was not blind to his fancies or his letters father, I am aware that Empress Celene is apparently quite stunning and I have failed in one aspect of a queen's role," she stroked her belly as she spoke.
That final time she said 'father' was filled with so much vulnerability. Her tone mourned for something she couldn't have, and apologised for something seen as a failure from king's wives. But it wasn't a failure to a father, or at least it wasn't to Loghain. He wanted to pull her into his arms in that moment, seeing her as that little girl with pigtails again.
'No child, you have never disappointed me, you have always made me proud,' he wanted to say.
But some things were better left unsaid.
"He was going to cast you aside so he could strut about and call himself emperor, the puppet of Orlais," he seethed.
"So you deliberately abandoned him and those soldiers?" she demanded.
Loghain lowered his head; some things truly were better left unsaid.
"I acted to save what I could," he whispered.
"Some might call that the actions of a hero, others might say you gave up," Anora said.
There was no malice or decision in her voice. She simply turned away, considering leaving for a moment before another thought came to her.
"The elves father, if we allow Tevinter to take them, they'll never forgive us for it," she said.
"The representatives from Tevinter will not be allowed to leave until I have come to a decision, I assure you my queen," he said.
"Teryn Loghain," she bowed her head, curtsied and then walked out of the room.
Alone, he tightened his fist over the map and banged it on the table in frustration.
"If only, if only I could start over," he whispered.
Tired, the Teryn removed his boots and took the pillow from his bed. He would not sleep comfortably, but he would at least rest and hope that regained stamina would grant him a clearer head to defend his country, and make the decisions he needed to make for the 'greater good'.
Daylen felt like he was sinking in water, everything was dark around him. Apparently the deeper you swam, the darker the water would become. That information had come from a book he had read in the tower. The mage opened his eyes, seeing the flicker of the sun high above him. That flicker shifted and for a moment he thought he was looking at a skull. His arms and legs felt numb, eyes tired and hunger, thirst, it all felt so far away from his body.
'Have I been pulled into the void beyond the veil?' he wondered.
Finally, he could move his hands, his skin and bones were gone and all he could see was the shadow of his body. He reached up and began to swim, swim as hard as he could upwards.
'I can't, can't let it end here,' he raged on, or at least tried to.
The rage left him and he became tired again, just wanting to sleep, to sleep and seek comfort, some sort of comfort.
"There's so much expectation isn't there?"
He looked ahead, what was this darkly lit room, who was this girl with shockingly white hair he looked at? Daenerys? She turned and he saw it wasn't Daenerys, she had the looked of a princess smiling teasingly.
"So much expectation, the realm, duty, honour," she looked at him, speaking the word honour playfully.
"The expectations, to rule, to save, do you really want to be a hero? How could you in a world like this?"
She came over to him, putting her hands on his cheeks.
"I have my duty, but I am a dragon, we can have what we want and what I want, is for you to be my hero," she said, softly bringing her lips to his.
Her kiss was gentle at first, before it became hungry, forcing their lips together with the enthusiasm that came from someone knowledgable on the matters of sex and affection, but inexperienced. He gripped her shoulders, standing and pulling her away. Suddenly her face was different, some years older, she had been crying though whether it was tears of joy or sorrow he could not tell.
"You are a hero Daylen," she said.
He was kneeling again, but he could not recall going to his knees. She urged him to stand by gripping the sleeves of his shirt. There was vulnerability in her eyes that reminded him too much of the teenage girl she must have been once.
"Aegon saw it, he saw a great darkness gathering in the frozen North, stay with me Daylen and help me fight this darkness, help me fight the blight," she said.
She kissed him again, slower this time, a gentle push that seemed as if she was asking permission. When he parted his lips, she pushed forward, a deep, needing, loving moan came from her throat as their lips joined.
'No, no, no, this is wrong, this place and the time, it's wrong, no, STOP!'
He was a shadow again, sinking into the void. The light of his eyes flickered and he turned his head, looking into another branch, where a fire glowed. As the shadow he moved towards the fire, towards the way lit for him. He reached out with his hand and saw the flesh return to it, touching the warm cheek of a brown haired woman in a green dress. She closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of his hand before her eyes snapped open and she swung her hand at his cheek.
He fell to his knees, his bloody white armour heavy as he leant on his sword. The dragon stood over him, its rider looking down at him with regret in her eyes.
"Dracarys," she said.
He dragged his sword across the ground, running through the flames. He ran towards the throne of blades, the figure on it extended their finger, and the guards charged towards him.
'Am I seeing worlds?' Daylen wondered.
Three dragons flew across the skies, the biggest of them shook the very ground with its roar. Yet he stood at the tree, staff in hand, heart on fire, raising his fist high even as the conquerors came towards him.
'These places, they are not mine, not my times, not my worlds, not my fights,' he thought.
"Would you prefer the worlds you will only find in Thedas?"
The shadow snapped his head around; he was in a great hall, seeing Marian fighting a Qunari. He had horns grander than any Daylen had seen, wielding an axe and sword he fought his cousin.
The sky was split open; demons filled the fields of Ferelden. A single Qunari man stood, holding his hand high, green energy surging out of the mark he had.
Demons had spread across a city, but the demons were not familiar to Daylen. He could see how they once resembled the demons he encountered, but their forms had drastically changed as if drawn by a new artist. A figure in a hooded purple cloak stood with a dwarven archer, an elf with a strange shaped bow, an elf warden with a griffon of all things beside him, a necromancer and his corpse construct, a Qunari woman, an assassin in a black coat and a mage in a unique head dress.
"The small conflicts of a city, the fade ripped open, gods return and where, where is the great warden?"
"I will tell you, doing nothing, is a hero a hero when he stops after one fight?"
Daylen the shadow screamed as he fell, overwhelmed by the visions and the voice that tormented him. So he stopped flailing his arms around, stopped trying to fight the current.
He started to listen.
"Lyanna," he heard.
"Lyanna," it was a whisper.
"Lyanna," it was a silent cry of defeat.
"Lyanna," but it was also a final insult that burrowed deep into the mind of the insecure man hearing it.
"Lyanna," it was the moment any man with an inkling of intellect would have fired out, that the one they coveted, the one they killed someone for was not truly theirs and never would be.
He killed him every night, every night he was back on the trident, young again, able to fit into his armour and carrying his war hammer. Gods he was strong back then, crushing people's chests with single strikes. The demon of the trident they called him, every night he was the nightmare unleashing the storm upon all those who sided with the dragons. The Conningtons, the Martells, the Tyrells and all those cunt houses, he wanted to crush them all and repaint the trident red. Robert Baratheon finished his dream as he always did, with Prince Rhaegar on the ground, the kings guard members Jonothor Darry and Lewyn Martell dead before him. The rubies on the prince's chest plate broke away and the bloody trident would carry them away.
But the dream did not end.
"Lyanna," he heard her whispered as he had so many other nights.
"Lyanna," the whisper became huskier.
"Lyanna," he recognised the whisper, the tone, for though he forgot the names of the girl's, Robert remembered when he whispered their names to them.
But when Robert heard Rhaegar whisper Lyanna's name he felt his rage die as his armour melted away, his belly stretched through his shirt and his cheeks and fingers expanded. The hammer he prided himself in wielding became a cup of ale in his hand and instead Rhaegar stood with his Lyanna.
"I marry that?" she reached in disgust.
"LYANNA!" Robert screamed as he was pulled under the water.
Sleep offered no comfort for Loghain, sleep became a prison as it was for so many others and Loghain's dreams were the pokers that seared his skin. He saw the Orlesians as the demons, riding atop horses with skulls for heads, the horns on the noble's heads burning as they beat the starved or vulnerable with sticks. Loghain moved away from the demonic horse and rider, and looked to the fields of his old home. A field his father worked hard for, tending the dirt, planting the seeds, protecting them from weeds and insects and pruning the plants that rotted. Instead of reaping a reward though, another Orlesian rider came; stuffed into his armour, salivating constantly the nobleman had his skeletal men rip out the harvest, leaving Loghain and his family with a bowl of grain. The rage died out as he took another step forward, his foot touched a slap on the ground. It let out a whine, its fur was ragged and flea ridden, the weight it should have was stripped down to bone. Loghain knelt by the Mabari hound's side, touching her fur and offering it a comforting stroke. He ignored the rider trotting around him, hearing only a dismissive huff as the nobleman rode away. The Mabari rotted beneath his touch, its eyes bursting before it disappeared. Loghain stood and took a few steps back; the stripped fields were gone and replaced by dead bodies, some on the grass, and others in the river, the River Dane.
He heard the screams of grown men and looked towards a fight, if one could call it that. A group of young Chevaliers stumbled as they tried to gain an advantage over their opponent. But he was relentless, dressed in black armour with fur trim; he savagely stomped on a Chevalier's head, crushing the man's face with the masked visors all Orlesian soldiers wore. He swung a knife and pick axe, taking off chunks from a man's neck, ripping the visor off of another. The Chevalier was a boy, probably used to fighting unarmed elves. Loghain felt no sympathy for him, even as the warrior stabbed him through the throat repeatedly. The warrior's knife broke, but he pulled two arrows out of the quiver on his back and began using them as stabbing weapons. The last of the Chevalier's fell to his knees with his hands together.
"Please, please no more, I surrender," he said.
But there would be no quarter, the warrior kicked the Chevalier to the ground, pinning his arms with his knees. The Chevalier screamed as the warrior pushed his fingers into his eyes, breaking the orbs, pushing until blood came out and pushing even more, overpowering the man's scream with the squelching of flesh. The warrior stood, breathing heavily as much from shock as exhaustion. He removed his helmet and revealed a young face Loghain remembered seeing in his mirror. Even the expression was familiar, that moment he had truly killed a man and actually felt something for it. Loghain however huffed and turned away.
"What next?" he demanded.
"WHERE ARE YOU?"
Loghain swung his head around, the River Dane was gone and he was standing on a field, surrounded by a blood red mist. He could hear battle around him, the screams of the dying, the snarls of Darkspawn and something else too. It was an eerie song, echoing like a whisper in his inner ear. The song kept on playing even as Loghain heard Cailan's voice.
"THE FIRE IS LIT! LOGHAIN SAVE US!" the king screamed.
He saw not the brave king, but a man bumbling with his sword, barely able to kill a Darkspawn. His armour, once gold and shining was ruined; coat in blood whilst his hair had become unkempt and panic struck his once smiling face. Cailan fell to his knees, his sword breaking as he looked to Loghain.
"Please, I trusted you, MY HONOURED FATHER!" the king screamed.
Loghain remained impassive as an ogre's fist grabbed the king and pulled him screaming into the mist. There was a clapping sound behind him and Loghain turned, looking at a man in Orlesian armour finer than any he had seen a nobleman wear. He had an elaborate cloak and a jewel sword and he clapped his hands, covered by many rings, together in applause.
"Well done Loghain, a fine move in the great game, you make a fine Orlesian," Emperor Drakon bowed with a smirk on his face that made Loghain seethe.
"I trusted you," Loghain froze; he knew the voice all too well.
He didn't need to turn to know it was Maric, looking at him, judging him.
"I trusted you with my kingdom, I trusted you with my child and you betrayed them both," Maric said.
"HE LOST US THE BATTLE!" Loghain yelled. "The battle was lost anyway, your child would have let the Orlesians march their forces in; everything we sacrificed would have been undone."
"He offered peace," Maric said.
"Peace," Loghain scoffed. "You may claim to embody war and peace, spirit," he spat. "But we human beings know that peace means fighting someone else's enemies in someone else's war for someone else's reasons," Loghain said.
"So instead you sacrificed their lives for your pride?"
"YES!" Loghain yelled.
This time he turned, and looked up at a Pride demon. Electricity sparked around it as it marched towards Loghain.
"You want regret? You are not the one to judge me!" Loghain said defiantly, even with the Pride demon towering over him.
"Oh we'll find the one to judge you," the pride demon laughed.
The sandy ground beneath Loghain suddenly turned to water, and the Teryn sank, feeling unseen tendrils pull at his legs. He struggled, trying to reach the light at the surface of the water, though water did not fill his lungs, not truly, he could only barely breathe. But he could scream, scream in rage and defiance as he fought to wake up, fought to stay alive.
Daylen heard screaming, heard the curses of the dead. He raised his head, had he been sleeping in the void? He wondered, had the void beaten him? For a moment perhaps it did win, but the instinct within him awakened and that need to stop the screaming made him stand. He kicked out with his legs, swimming through the darkness, rising up fast. First he saw the dark hair, but even as he saw the face, Daylen followed the instinct, taking the man's hand and reaching for the light. They gasped for air, both consumed by the illusion the dream offered. Even as they climbed over empty air as if it had been the water that trapped them, they believed in the pain that the dreams put them through. Rolling onto a patch of rocky ground, Daylen and Loghain recovered their strength.
"You, you were at Ostagar, one of the…oh of course," Loghain's expression changed as he realised.
"I'm no spirit come to judge Loghain, this is the fade, but we've not been brought here by conventional means," Daylen said.
Loghain stood up, facing the young man, though there were some more scars from cuts on the mages face, he looked just as he remembered. Then he saw something else, something that wasn't in the projections the fade had conjured, a genuineness in the eyes, a lack of a ghostly shimmer.
"You are real," Loghain said slowly. "Why save me though?" he demanded.
"Because you were screaming, can you hear it?" Daylen asked.
Loghain frowned at the mage, thinking for a moment some madness had taken him over. Slowly though an echo sounded in Loghain's ears. He thought it was that eerie song from the darkspawn, but it was far too human. It became clearer and clearer to both men until they could make it out fully.
"We only work together until we can get out of here," Loghain said.
"Naturally," Daylen huffed.
The path formed as they ran, rocks came together to create a road of floating brick and stone.
"You expect me to believe that the magic that has brought me here isn't yours, I have read of dreamers," Loghain said.
"I'm not a dreamer, if I was why wouldn't I have used it on you before?" Daylen asked as they ran across the rocks.
"People can be hesitant to wield a weapon they've only just started using, or they could be reluctant to cross certain lines even if it does result in the defeat of an enemy," Loghain stated.
"I thought us Grey Wardens didn't have morals," Daylen retorted.
"HA! So you have come to judge me!"
Daylen held out his hand, keeping Loghain from walking off a ledge. The mage's hand glowed as he touched an invisible wall in the path. Ripples spread across it like the surface of a river. Each ripple revealed what was on the other side, a world that Daylen found familiar.
"The circle tower," he muttered, going through the portal.
Loghain reluctantly followed, coming out on the other side and realising that the memory was not the mage's, but his own. Soldiers fell left and right, Templars, Ferelden knights and Grey Wardens. Daylen looked towards a man with a strong resemblance to Alistair and Cailan, taking cover behind a mana shield conjured by an elf woman in Grey warden armour.
"What am I seeing?" Daylen asked.
"Before Irving became the First Enchanter, his predecessor supposedly worked with Darkspawn," Loghain said.
"Supposedly," Daylen echoed sceptically.
"I never trusted the wardens or their explanations, they had too many secrets," Loghain said.
"That they did," Daylen huffed, crossing his arms.
He widened his eyes slightly when he saw the former First Enchanter use a magic he had never seen before.
"That's the Blight, he weaponised it, but he would have had to have been carrying it for that," Daylen said.
"He found a way, but we won the day," Loghain huffed just as Duncan stabbed the former First Enchanter.
"Why would the First-Enchanter do that?" Daylen asked.
"He was Orlesian, he had influence when the Orlesians occupied Ferelden, you are truly unfamiliar with what people will do for power?" Loghain asked.
"A dragon cult Reaver tried to get me to sabotage the Urn of Sacred Ashes so he could take power, a dwarven Paragon fed her whole house to a Brood mother and a witch…asked her lover to kill her mother, who was willing to use her body as a means of reclaiming her youth, before that there was Uldred, I've grown familiar with what people are willing to do for ambition but I've seen atrocities just as horrifying performed by the fearful," Daylen explained.
"You've only scratched the surface of the depravity of what people are capable of, your friend Duncan, he had his secrets didn't he, there were two other recruits right, a thief and some knight what happened to them during this joining?" Loghain asked.
"Daveth died drinking the darkspawn blood, and when Jory refused to partake, even drawing his weapon, Duncan killed him," Daylen said bluntly.
His honesty made Loghain blink in confusion. The circle tower faded and they were back in Ostagar, Daylen saw his younger self scream as Duncan stabbed Jory through the chest.
"This scene, is this…"
"The Fade recreates memories based on emotions, emotions can be difficult, you have a Grey Warden not willing to compromise his order's secrets and defend his life against a coward and a husband desperate to get back to his wife and child, there's no right or wrong perspective," Daylen explained.
"And what does the fade see from my actions?" Loghain asked.
"What does the fade see, or I see?" Daylen asked.
"You…" Loghain seethed. "You were a new warden, yet Cailan was willing to trust our strategy to you, a crucial plan in the hands of an unproven warden who was only recruited apparently after helping an apostate," the Teryn explained.
"Yeah, a pretty stupid thing for the king to do, I barely managed to get the beacons lit too," Daylen shrugged.
"It annoyed me when you turned up near my tent, here was this upstart thinking he was worth my time," Loghain huffed.
"In full agreement and I apologise Teryn Loghain for wasting your time, it was all so new to me, here I was meeting a king, I had to meet the hero of River Dane. I had so many expectations of who Cailan and you were, who the wardens were. Then Daveth, a thief who joined the Wardens to escape execution but came to fully believe that their cause was one worth dying for, and Jory, a noble knight with plenty to fight for only to grow so desperate and fearful that he would try to kill a man, Duncan who I respected, was unwilling to allow a man to back out, a man who wasn't even under any oaths or obligations, when it came to his secrets and his life Duncan chose to leave a wife without husband and a father without a son. There was a lot I had to rethink, even Alistair, he may be younger than me but he was still the senior warden, he was all too happy for me to take charge. But he never hesitated to join the fight," Daylen explained.
"Like father like son, Maric had his moments when I had to make decisions, a fine picture of nobility he was not," Loghain said fondly.
"From what Alistair told me about his serving girl mother I'm inclined to believe that," Daylen said.
"Oh what a surprise, a king with bastards," Loghain muttered and Daylen chuckled.
He then let out a deep sigh; Loghain had been frowning at him throughout their conversation. The screams returned, cutting off whatever else Daylen could say to Loghain. They walked away from the site of Jory's death, towards where the council table had been set in Ostagar. But when they passed the stone pillars, the world changed again. A grotesque smell seeped into their noses, even Loghain, familiar with the smell of cow shit reached. It was a truly horrifying stench, but they were in a city of some kind. Their path led them to where the screams came from, a brothel where desire demons engaged in the kind of things people did in brothels. They opened the door, and both Loghain and Daylen widened their eyes in surprise.
"Do you want more my king, more, more drink, more food, WELL HERE IT IS!" a woman was straddling an overweight man tied to a chair, stuffing pieces of meat into his mouth and pouring a seemingly never ending supply of ale into his mouth.
The dark haired man struggled against his bonds; his torturer had the body of a woman but the head of a wolf.
"An illusion?" Loghain mused and Daylen shook his head.
"Another soul trapped in a dream, that demon isn't desire, what do you see?" Daylen asked.
"Myself," Loghain grumbled.
"Ditto, self-loathing," Daylen muttered.
The demon swung its head around, revealing to Daylen his own face.
"You'll never be a hero," he snarled.
Daylen thrust his hand forward, releasing a cone of cold that froze the demon's top half solid. The dark haired man let out a roar, lifting his chair off of the ground and using his own body weight to shatter the ice statue. He fell onto his side, the chair breaking as he released a puddle of vomit from his mouth.
"Gods what the fuck is this? WHY WON'T I WAKE FROM THIS NIGHTMARE!"
"You aren't alone in this endeavour," Daylen said.
"Who are you, what are you?" the man demanded, getting to his feet with his fists raised, the vomit and ale still dripping from his beard. "Stay back demons, stay back or I'll…"
"Suffer a stroke before you throw your second punch, calm yourself fool," Loghain said.
"You dare, I am Robert Baratheon, I WILL NOT BE HELD IN THIS…THIS…WHATEVER THIS HELLSCAPE IS!" the man roared.
"The king of Westeros," Loghain muttered with an unimpressed tone.
"Mother's description was apt it seems," Daylen huffed.
"The visions, the whispers, they've stopped, gods am I free?" Robert asked.
"Your gods have nothing to do with this place, so far as I know. I am Daylen Amell, this is Loghain Mac Tir, we've been drawn into the Fade, which now that I've said it shouldn't be possible considering where you are your grace," Daylen explained.
"Is Westeros truly clear of magic though?" Loghain asked.
"Magic, what madness do you speak of?" Robert asked.
"We've saved him; can we not be on our way?" Loghain asked and Robert snarled at him.
Daylen was about to speak when he heard a whisper. He widened his eyes in horror; it shouldn't have been possible for him to sense darkspawn in the fade.
'Do Darkspawn dream?' he wondered, looking to the door he and Loghain had come through.
Suddenly the door and the wall were smashed open. The maw of a dragon came at the trio, prompting Daylen to summon a wall of blue energy. He felt the dragon's head make contact with his barrier. The force of the shield shattering sent the three flying, the walls behind them replaced by darkness. Loghain and Robert disappeared and Daylen rolled across a body of water that appeared at his feet. He got back to his feet and rose as two figures began to rise from the water.
One was in black armour with a ruby chest plate; a dragon's head with wings was the ornament of his tower helm. He drew a sword from his shield, emblazoned with the symbol of a red three headed dragon. The figure next to him was covered in armour, but it was armour Daylen recognised.
"Cailan," Daylen whispered.
The helmet the dead king wore was like Daylen's juggernaut helm; 'Cailan' drew the dragon slayer great sword from his back. A glowing gold Mabari hound appeared over 'Cailan' whilst a three headed, red scaled dragonling flapped its wings over the man with the rubies on his armour. Both creatures moved like ghosts around their hosts, before they ran towards Daylen.
"Fine then," Daylen said, fire glowing through his right hand, whilst ice covered his left.
He could see again, in his dreams he could see and feel more than the arthritis, the aching cold. In his dreams there was no wall, no chains and now vows, just him and Egg leaving toys on Maestar Melaquin's table.
"Again, let's set the table again, the battle of the Redgrass field," Aemon said as he placed the figurines on the table.
"Again? You want to lose again do you?" Egg asked.
"Oh I will beat you Egg," Aemon smiled.
"But it just gets boring brother," Egg said.
"I don't want the game to end," Aemon said.
He was nine years old and Egg was a bit more coherent with his speech.
"Why brother, because after the game father sends you off the citadel, sends you away," Egg muttered.
"I didn't want to go, I had to go, and being a Maestar has been…"
"What did it bring in the end brother?" Egg asked, he was a year or so older, a shaved head, dressed like a peasant with a straw hat on. "Our family on the run, our crown taken from us," he said.
"We lost our throne, our madness finally caught up with our family," Aemon said.
"Is that what you think I was brother?" Aegon was an adult, a king, slamming his hand into the table and knocking the figurines off. "I needed allies, family and you left."
"I had to go, you know the game Aegon, in the Knight's Watch I could not be used against you," Aemon said.
"You were a man grown, family, no one was ever going to use you. I needed your help, if you had been there, THIS WOULDN'T HAVE HAPPENED!" Aegon screamed as fire spread across his skin.
Aemon stumbled back, gripping his arms as despite the fire he grew cold. He was old again, old but not yet blind and he cursed himself for being able to see. See his brother burn, see Aerys fall to madness; see Rhaegar fall on the fields and Viserys and Daenerys, deprived of their mother and on the run. His family members were either all dead or running, but at least not alone. He sank to his knees, a Targaryen alone.
"Hello," he heard the faintest whisper in the dark.
The Maestar stood, looking through the darkness and seeing a dark haired boy, looking around in confusion.
"Child," Aemon walked towards him.
"This place, I went to sleep and…" but the boy rubbed his eyes, as if the act would get him to wake up.
"I too slept, tell me your name child, so we can help one another," Aemon suspected the boy was of the North, he had the colouring in his hair and eyes of a Stark child.
There was however something in the eyes, the faintest flicker of purple.
"My name, my name is…" Jon widened his eyes.
"Who am I?"
Next Chapter 35: Torrent of regrets
Jon Snow truly does know nothing :)
Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, some flashes to Dragon Age 2, Inquisition and the upcoming Veilguard, just as the Fade/Void serves as a preview centre for future parts of this series, it also serves as a future place or spin offs too including the rewritten House Amell of Westeros: the Targaryen loyalists I'm planning and Dance of the Dragon Age a dance of dragon's/house of the dragon era crossover with Origins.
Next time, Jaime Lannister is plagued by ghosts of his past and Daylen is forced to fight apparitions of Cailan and Rhaegar.