Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or A Song of Ice and fire
This fic is a sequel to my story House Amell of Westeros, and the second part of a series I've planned that crosses these two franchises over. In this fic, Thedas and Westeros are in the same universe with both being nations far away from one another, Westeros knows of Thedas and the people have a sceptical belief of the magic and monsters that exist there.
In the previous story, the family of the mage origin Warden, Daylen Amell, went to Westeros and became involved in Westeros politics. This story focuses on Daylen as he fights through the Fifth Blight and the Amell family's reactions to reports on his actions. Meanwhile, in Essos, a mercenary leader begins a conquest on behalf of the Targaryen survivors.
Game of Dragons
There once existed, two great men, two very different men from different countries and different origins. One destined to be a king, another seeking to be a hero. But to one another, they were simply Aerys and Fausten. Two men, two friends, unaware of the destinies of their bloodlines.
They sat in the red keep, both presiding over a chessboard. The silver haired prince threw Fausten's white knight up and down, taunting him with the knowledge he had just moments ago taken it.
"Tell me birdy," Aerys began, using his affectionate name for Fausten.
The joke originated from the Amell sigil. It was a pattern based upon a bird, none knew what species, most assumed a hawk or eagle, something grand. Aerys believed, from Fausten's unassuming appearance that it was a little bird. They were contrasts to one another, the prince dressed in red, with gold cloth across his chest and a fine leather belt. His friend wore faded leather boots, worn trousers and a dull grey cloak with some loose threads.
"Have you ever heard the story of the Long Night?" the prince asked.
"I can't say I have," Fausten said, moving one of his pieces.
"It tells of the day the White Walkers will return, on a winter colder than any before it, they will march on the wall, the dead rising in their wake," Aerys stated.
"Spooky, and then they'll wipe out the world!"
"Oh, so you have heard the story," Aerys smirked.
"Nope, but that's always the story!" Fausten rolled his eyes and Aerys grinned.
"They will spread across the land, bringing forth an eternal winter, and thus the storm bringer will purge all life and rule over the dead, the Night king," Aerys explained.
"I'm sensing an unless," Fausten said.
"Unless the prince that was promised comes, one of royal blood whom defies death, will command the light and drive away the night," Aerys looked at the board.
He appeared to have the advantage, but Aerys knew Fausten to be a cunning young man. One could not always trust appearances when it came to him. For though Fausten often came across as naive, he was in actuality as clever as the lion of the Lannisters, Tywin, another whom Aerys considered a friend. Fausten however, Aerys knew he was more trustworthy, stronger and smart than Tywin.
"A prince huh? And of course, the story ends with a royal being the saviour," Fausten huffed.
"They are lost without us Faust," Aerys said.
"There's more to those of 'lesser' stock than meets the eye. Some believe it to be great power, or prophecy that drives away evil, I think it's something smaller. The deeds of smaller folk, acts of kindness and heroism, done beyond honour or glory, done for righteousness. Not a prince that was promised, but one and many whom simply made the choice to act, whom stood," Fausten explained.
"Ever the romantic, you should write stories yourself...still, prophecy or chance? Destiny or choice? It would be interesting to see which is greater," Aerys mused.
"You make it sound as if you want it to happen," Fausten said.
"Greatness can only be achieved during a time of crisis, unless you're a noble, then apparently you're already great," Aerys said.
"Greatness can come from the most unexpected places, you'd be surprised just what even the apparently lowest person can achieve," Fausten grinned.
Aerys looked at the board and widened his eyes. Fausten had just taken his queen. He shook his head and laughed.
"When will you drop the facade?" he asked.
"What facade, I really am a fool you know," Fausten said as he took the queen and laughed with his friend.
That and been then, a time when a prince who wanted to be a great king and a boy who wanted to be a hero, sat as friends. But the years rolled past, the boy returned to his land and became a man of great reputation, yet he always felt he fell short of being a hero. The prince became a king, but far from the great king he wished to be. He did though change his country, in a way he didn't expect.
The Phoenix and the Griffin
Chapter 1: Undefeated
James Marcher stood upon a sandy hill, the cloak covering his shoulders and arms fluttering in the wind. Strapped to his hip was an eastern sword from a land very few had visited. A Katana it was called, James based most of his armour on them. Vital parts of him were protected by the fusion of food and steel, but he had freedom of movement. The curved bow on his back was also from that region, as was the helmet he was wearing. He opened the palm of his gloved hand, and smiled at the black queen chest pieces he held. Pocketing the precious trinket, he looked over the horizon, felt the wind and smirked like a hunter whom had found his prey. He turned and walked down the hill, to where his allies stood. They stood in various makes of armour, some cheap, others more expensive. There was no official uniform of armour of the army that James had assembled. Young men, older men, men from the Free Marches, the Free cities, Westeros, even Par Vollen. There stood men and women, elves and dwarves and even renegade Kossith. Fear was in some of their eyes, anticipation in others, and some even held boredom.
"I promised you a battle, a battle upon which our legend will be formed, some of you I know well, others I don't. We stand against a horde of 'monsters', the Dothraki of the Dothraki sea. Some of you have come from villages they have raided, some of you have come from across the sea or in the free cities. All of you came because you expected some sort of payoff, it may not come today or even tomorrow but it will come eventually, when lords are demanding our services as they are the golden company," James explained and the men laughed.
"After this battle some of you may stay, and I will look after you. But I demand things from you first, you will not be like the Dothraki...try to rape another, and I will kill you. Remember this and we may be friends. For honour, for riches, for glory, for revenge or family, or just because you like the sight of blood," James huffed and again a few laughs and chuckles ringed throughout the small army. "I do not care why, so long AS YOU FIGHT!" he yelled and the men roared, raising their weapons. "Follow my orders, my plans, fight as one and stand firm!"
He leapt into the army, grabbing a spear offered to him by one of the men. They stood firm, even as the ground shook and the stampede of horses came over the hill. Garbed in only leather shirts and dark haired, the Dothraki, known as the greatest mounted fighters in Essos, feared in Westeros. James saw a terrifying army, but directed his rage on something very different.
'They are monsters,' he thought, 'monsters nothing more, rape and dominance is their religion!'
He looked to his side, Deacon was from a village hit by the Dothraki. As a boy he was taken to be a slave, his mother and sisters raped by the screamers. Later on he discovered one of the Dothraki referred to it as an 'honour' for the women to have experienced such a thing.
'Monsters, rapists, who deserve everything they are going to get,' James set his rage upon them, holding firm to that belief.
The Dothraki outnumbered them, but James was counting on the weather. The strong wind made it impossible for arrows to be directed as they would. Then the rain began to fall, eventually it would weaken the integrity of the sand, making the movements of the horses sluggish. But there was one thing the Dothraki didn't count on.
(Dynasty Warriors 8 OST-With Vengeance)
When the horses neared the ranks of Marcher's army, the ground fell beneath them, and the front line of horses were impaled by spikes. A ditch had been dug into the sand, plenty of water had been used, and many wooden spikes had been planted. Sharpened to the point that they could penetrate a horses skin. Men were thrown from their horses, their screams of fury turned to shock and even fear as they landed amongst the ranks of the army. A dwarf brought his axe down on a dazed rider's head with a furious yell. The Dothraki piled on top of the ditch and those who broke through were struck by spears from the front ranks. James had always been better with a spear than he had with a sword. Stabbing, slashing, in his former life, some people called him the greatest spear fighter to ever live, surpassing the likes of Oberyn Martell. He thrust and thrust, bringing down horse and rider, until the spear snapped. Then he drew his sword and swept clean through the flesh of any Dothraki knocked off of their horse.
The Dothraki were good fighters, even when knocked off their horses. They killed a few of James's men, but for every one they killed, a dozen more Dothraki fell to axe and spear. James slashed a screamer across the chest, then another through the jaw. He walked over the pile of horses carcasses and gripped his sword with both hands. More riders approached, and with perfect timing James disembowelled the horses, or cut the riders off of them. But then he fell back and joined the muster of men fighting one another. He beheaded a swathe of fallen blood riders, stabbing one who had just picked up two swords.
Dothraki Arakhs were impressive blades, got for slashing. But James always wondered why Westerosi knights had a fear of meeting the Dothraki in an open field. Their weapons could do little against full plate armour. In fact, if the Dothraki horde clashed with an army of mounted knights, they would lose, badly. True, as they were doing now, they would take a good many men with them. But in the end, the result would be the same as it would be today. James split through a man's jaw and shoved him aside. He looked towards a Dothraki distinguishing himself with many kills, a Ko, a type of general in the Khalasar. Perhaps it was he known as Jhago or Pono, James cared not for the identity of his attacker, only that he was a second in command of the horde.
"Stand and face me Ko, prove yourself a real warrior," James challenged the man in his rough Dothraki tongue, a language he always found difficult.
The Ko replied something about flaying the man with a single strike. James smirked when he blocked the Ko's first strike. He parried the second and elbowed the man in the face. The force behind the blow must have surprised the Ko, after all James surpassed his age by many decades. James ran at the man, assaulting him with a flurry of slashes. He caught the Ko's wrist and then his ear. To give credit to the rumours concerning Dothraki strength, the Ko didn't recall in as much pain as James thought he would. He swung his Arakh at James one last time, James ducked and then swept his blade through his belly.
(End OST)
James walked past the dying Ko, swinging his blade, and the blood of his enemy onto the sand. Jhago was clutching his innards, trying to keep them inside. But his efforts were wasted, his head hung low and he bled out. Those whom survived from James army rose and joined their leader. He sheathed his sword and looked up at the sky, watching the clouds, following the direction the flag one of his men held was flowing. The flag wasn't a marker of their allegiance, but a way to read the wind. As the second wave of the Khalasar approached, James smirked. He grabbed the flag and raised it high.
(Dynasty Warriors 3-OST Yellow Storm)
It was in the distance, that James's friend Stork saw the flag. An elf, Stork had been nicknamed by James for his bird like eyes. Eyes that made him a great commander of the archery battalion. He stood in Dalish leather armour. The silver haired man raised his bow, an action every archer behind him repeated. They knocked back their arrows and in synch with Stork, released their hold and fired. Drogo's second Ko, Pono was leading his riders on a path to flank the enemy. But the wind, it carried the arrows, straight into the horde. Pono grunted as an arrow struck his shoulder, but he had a high tolerance for pain. He noted the men falling from their horses, they were weak to lose their stallions. Stork released volley after volley, striking the flanks of the riders. Amongst the archers was a young Tal Vashoth, Durad Adaar. Like many Kossith he was horned, and growing to be a large individual. He held his new long bow and smirked. Marcher had insisted on using them, saying they were the best for the range he intended the archers to shoot at. Stork had also trained the archers well, they followed his movements, matched his targeting and shaved the numbers of the Ko's unit.
"FORM UP!" James commanded.
The men and women in James's unit followed him, running to another section of the field. He twirled his finger and several dozen men gathered around him, linking their shields together. The rest formed a ring of shields, spears and swords. At the tip of James's flag was a lance blade. He held the staff with both hands and prepared himself as the Khalasar circled his chakram formation.
"STAND FIRM!" he roared.
Shield bearers stood behind one another, three men in a line, providing one another strength. Like a phalanx, the chakram formation relied on those in it working together to form a complete defence. So when the horses struck the shields, riders were again knocked from their horses. James's formation in the middle of the ring was the blade that struck those men knocked off their horses. He aimed his spear past the men in front of him, piercing the necks and hearts of any Dothraki unlucky enough to get into the ring. The other men around him struck down enemies as well, crashing sword through necks, spears through mouths. Again James waved the flag, signalling Stork's battalion. They fired, hitting the riders on the chakram's 90 degree. James waved the flag again, and again, the archers firing volleys into a different degree and killing many more Dothraki. Pono charged at the Chakram formation, leading a dozen men with him. They slammed into the shield wall, cutting down a few men in it.
"Keep steady," James commanded.
A young woman in the ranks of James formation looked up at the Dothraki. She was a Free Marcher, 'free' to choose her own path. Leather armoured covered her chest and skirt, simple iron greaves and arm bands protected the rest of her body. She held up her shield as well as the other men. Her spear however had been snapped, and she was forced to rely on the blade.
"A woman, her place is beneath us, I will mount you after this battle!" Pono said to her.
She knew enough about the ugly Dothraki language (ugly in her opinion) to know that the Ko wasn't saying anything delicate to her. She beat her fist against her chest and left the formation, pointing the spear tip at Pono. He grit his teeth together in anger, placed his legs on the back of his horse and leapt over the formation. His Arakh in hand, he circled the woman.
"Alexa!" James called to her.
She had very much the same features expected from her region of the Free Marches. Tanned skin, brown hair that went to her shoulders, but her eyes were blue and they matched James's when she looked back at him. She had the gaze of someone who did not wish to be protected, but there was something more specific she didn't want from James. He nodded his head and Alexa slid the spear tip through her belt, and drew her Kopis style sword.
(Sirius the Jaeger OST-Main Theme)
"Shouldn't we help?" one of the men asked.
Alexa suddenly rushed forward, knocking Pono across the sand with her shield.
"Which one?" the other soldier asked.
Pono jumped to his feet and swung his Arakh into Alexa's shield. He couldn't find a gap in the defence however. Attempting to kick the shield, he was instead launched onto the sand again. He spat the grains out of his mouth, and yelled in fury. Throwing the sand into Alexa's shield, he swung for her legs, catching her greaves. She attempted to hit him with her shield, but he grabbed it and threw her across the sand.
"You hide behind a shell, Dothraki do not hide, we MOUNT!" Pono yelled.
He ran at Alexa, kicking her across the head. James took a step forward, then realised that aid was the last thing Alexa wanted. Indeed, all of the Dothraki were holding to watch Pono murder this woman.
"Like any horse I will break you, show you what your role truly is," he kicked her in the gut, forcing her to drop her sword and knocking her saliva out of her.
Alexa spat onto the sand again and narrowed her eyes. An image formed in her eyes, of a man standing over her, his spit hanging from his fat mouth.
"THEN I WILL MOUNT YOU!" Pono roared as he swung his Arakh for her neck.
Alexa rolled, dodging the blade, then she drew the spear tip and thrust it into Pono's groin. He yelled in agony, blood spurting onto the sand. Some Dothraki yelled out of sympathy, others laughed. He hobbled back, clutching the bleeding area whilst swinging his sword at Alexa. Blood on her lip, she picked up her sword and side stepped the sword swings.
"I assume you were saying something about mounting me, raping me, like I'm guessing you've raped a few women in your time," Alexa said to the man.
She swung her sword, cutting off Pono's fingers, making him drop his sword. Then she punched him across the face.
"Did you beat them before 'mounting them', did you smile as you did it huh?" she asked, stomping on his groin.
She tugged his braid, dragging him across the dirt, leaving a trail of blood out of his groin.
"Did you laugh when they screamed, or where they too afraid, or did you just assume they enjoyed it in some way...did you even care? Or did you consider yourself bestowing them with an honour?" she demanded, stabbing her sword through the back of Pono's leg, pinning him to the ground.
He screamed, a sound not even the Dothraki laughed at.
"Rape is not an honour, violation is not something to be enjoyed, perhaps it's time someone gave you a lesson," she tore away Pono's trousers, cutting his arm when he tried to reach behind him. "This is a lesson to all of you, rape will not be tolerated, if any of you claim another's flesh as your prize, then I'll do THIS!" she roared.
She shoved the spear through Pono's arse, and his blood curdling scream echoed through the desert. A Ko of the great undefeated Khal, died crying and screaming. Alexa ripped the spear out of him and looked to the other men in the army, and of course the Dothraki themselves.
"ANYONE ELSE WANT A LESSON!" she yelled.
(End OST)
Across the sea, was Essos's neighbour, Westeros, where the Targaryens landed and founded a dynasty. That dynasty however came under the control of the Baratheons and Lannisters, and was on the verge of failing. The joining of Baratheon and Lannister was perhaps what kept the land from falling back into war. Baratheons whom had a claim to the throne through their shared ancestry with the Targaryens. The Lannisters, whom due to the efforts of their family head Tywin Lannister, had become the richest and most feared family in the land. But, slowly, a new family was earning respect, coin and power. And some even stated that they weren't even playing the game of thrones. This family was the Amells of the Meadow, formerly the Amells of Kirkwall. Revka Amell, daughter of the deceased Fausten Amell stood by the side of the queen as her companion and care taker of her younger children, the prince Tommen and Princess Mycella. That was supposedly as close to the game as the Amells were getting.
For in the capital of King's Landing, and many of the surrounding villages and towns, the child of Fausten's son, Damion Amell applied her craft. Aristanna shared letters of her name with her uncle Aristide. The girl bore brown hair and a petite frame, and like all Amells she had bright blue eyes. With a crowd of people watching her, she danced. Her white scarf flapped with every spin she performed. She also wore white gloves, a red coat and skirt, none of them were clean or bright, and none of them had cost fortunes to make or own. That was the lot of the Amells, they needed no expensive trinkets, no lavish events or riches. Aristanna's passion was her flute, and she played it as vigorously and skilled as any swordsman. The people watched this young woman play a most beautiful song, about the kinds of things that they took for granted, or had stopped caring for. But in the presence of the 'Melody of the Amells', daughter of the knight whom stood up for the small folk, they cared and cried again.
Southwards, contests of strength were held, jousts, melees, chances for hedge knights to prove themselves. It was there, where Dayla Amell, the second child of Revka fought. Dressed in full armour, she fought in the melee, spear and shield in hand. She was a fighter since the day she was born, coming screaming into the world, resisting her mother until Revka took a firm hand. Her love for her family was strong, though she still pursued her own dreams. Self improvement being one of them, she trained to be stronger nearly every day. Ultimately she wished for control of her own destiny, she would not marry for land or title, nor would she allow another to decide for her. To be a warrior was her dream and she took the chance to show that whenever she could. When her family held a tourney in the Meadow, she entered in secret and became a runner up in the joust. But she didn't test herself in the joust anymore. The dirt was her arena.
Dressed in black armour, blood and dirt having stained it, Dayla was ferocious. She bludgeoned through men with her shield, took punches to her elegant face and rolled in the dirt. A few stubborn knights overreached, they would rather suffer grievous wounds or even die than submit to a woman. And a few paid for their pride, Dayla's efforts were not fruitless, nor did Fausten let her try alone. He wanted her to be ready to fight, wanted all his children and grandchildren to know how to fight. Not simply fighting, not bowing or etiquette or handling weapons, but winning fights. Dayla moved fast, around me, striking them in the back, taking out their legs, hitting them in the groin. The fact that she could win was what made the fight fair, she could parry, block, and counter, her counters were the best. .
When her spear snapped, she beat her opponents with the shaft. A final opponent faced her, and turned out to be the greatest challenge of her day. They both fought viciously, sword against shield. Dayla saw in the knight's form great skill and strength and when she managed to knock her helmet off, she discovered the identity of her opponent. Brienne of Tarth, daughter of Selwyn Tarth, lord of Evenfall Hall. Dayla remembered the tales her grandfather told her of Lord Tarth's prowess, clearly he'd passed on what he knew to his daughter. In Brienne Dayla saw a kindred spirit, a woman who needed to fight. They fought brutally, and when Brienne was declared the winner, Dayla shook her hand in respect. People called it the best duel they had ever seen, though the elders stated that it didn't surpass the one Fausten had with the Mountain. Dayla parted the tournament with a smile on her face, she had learnt all she needed to from it, gained a purse of coin and even found a friend.
In the North, the youngest son of Revka stood in the fields of the villages surrounding Winterfell. He was coordinating efforts to plant and grow new crops. The Stark's words were 'Winter is coming' and they spent much of their time preparing for the winter. For the North was always hit the worst by it, even in the Summer it was a cold region. Dayk stood with some of the finest animal breeders and trainers in the North, and taught them some new methods to care for and strengthen cattle. When Dayk put his mind to things, he could be quite brilliant. Though once referred to as 'the Shame of the Amells', he was beginning to redeem himself. When he met with noble families to discuss trade with the Meadow, he spent more time speaking with elders than he did the heiresses. Though he would look their way, leading many a girl to blush.
Dayla was fair haired, but Dayk, like his brother and many other Amell males, had black hair. His blue eyes scanned documents carefully. Even in the North, there was such a thing as treachery. For hope and trust was a quality many Amells had. Dayk however was jaded, suspicious of others. Honour, tradition and even promises were things he took with a grain of salt. But he knew how to present the best version of himself, a version of himself that people could like. For the Boltons, he was stoic and respectful, for the Glovers he was polite and soft spoken and for the Umbers he was boisterous and loud. He knew that people only really warmed to those whose personality matched them. There were very few people he felt he could be himself around. But there was one among the Starks he could call friend. With the bastard Jon Snow he stood, conversing as a friend and equal. For Dayk knew what it was to be an outsider to his family, to feel as if he didn't belong.
It was a frustrating contrast to his older brother, Dayla's twin, and now lord of the Meadow. Revion Amell, standing atop a hilltop, dressed in black, he watched, watched a land that operated like a machine. People were in synch, there was order, no hunger and debates were settled amicably. The people of the Meadow had a satisfaction that none in any other land in Westeros had. The people loved the Amells, and the Amells loved them. People were allowed to have ideas, allowed to use their talents. And everything a person, was theirs to keep or share if they wished. Revion turned to his wife Selene and smiled. She stood beautifully in her green gown, her auburn hair tied into a tail, bangs drifting over her eyes. Revion was considered the quietest of the Amell siblings, he had been from one lord to another, one region of Westeros to the next. He claimed one bit of knowledge after the other, never satisfied with one bit of wisdom.
He was the quietest, but the most brilliant of the Amell siblings. And the one they all underestimated. Revion Amell, the proper one, the one who married, the one who respected his lords and played the game. The game, that name suddenly came to Revion's mind as he walked to his white horse. Unconsciously, his hand squeezed the creature's neck. The horse let out a whine, forced to its knees. For though Revion was compassionate and quiet at the best of times, there was a savagery hidden underneath it all, and an inhuman strength. Selene placed her hand on his back and smiled, her very presence calming him. He stroked the fur of his horse apologetically and climbed onto his back. He offered Selene his hand and smiled, and without hesitation she took his hand and climbed onto the horse with him. For each village they visited, they were met only with adoration. Not even the most challenging of citizens or criminal dared disturb them. It wasn't just love for those people, but fear as well. Revion's wrath was something no one wanted to earn.
The Dothraki sea
In the blood soaked lands of the seemingly barren Dothraki region, the horse lords were unknowingly facing the wrath of the Amells as well. James cut down one screamer after another, stabbing his blade through the jaw of a final one. He looked to the horizon, as another wave of riders came towards his group. With a swing of his arm, his group began to fall back, running over the bodies they left behind and up the hill. At the front of the Dothraki horde was its leader, Khal Drogo, called the undefeated Khal because his braid's length surpassed all other Khals. In the Dothraki, when one won a battle, they braided their hair.
(Dynasty Warriors 3 OST-Arena)
"So what now old man?" one of James's soldiers asked him.
"We stick to the plan," James grinned.
Alexa shared the sentiment, still high from her earlier kill. She was high on the fear she had filled the men with. None would fuck with her, or try to fuck her, and she liked it that way. Whoever she would take to bed tonight, would be by her choice. And there was never a doubt in her mind that she would survive the day. They crossed the point, and awaited the Khal's arrival. He charged unflinchingly towards them, determined to avenge his Kos and the others slain by the foreigners. Raising his Arakh over his head he roared and the screams of his horde shook the ground.
"NOW!" James yelled.
Drogo commanded his horse to jump, his best fighters jumped too, but others behind them fell through sheets of cloth and sand, into pits of spikes. Sections had been dug into the ground, areas where infantry could walk safely, but horses would collapse into the spikes. One half of Drogo's unit had been cut off from the other. From behind the second half of the unit, dwarves emerged from the dugout pits. They had used their wall shields as paths the horses could walk over, and then as stairs to climb out of the pits. Drogo looked over his shoulder, seeing James's ally and friend Stone. The grey haired dwarf was in armour of the legion, helmet included, crashing a great axe through the flesh of horses and riders. Despite the bulk of the dwarves, they were fast, some jumping off of others and running riders through with their spears.
"Archers," James called out, raising his flag.
A volley of arrows suddenly rained down Drogo's group. They had missed him, but the men around him were not so lucky. He grinned, not just because of the challenge this fight had presented him with, but because he had not just charged blindly. Drogo was not some beast, he too knew of strategy. James however was better. Over the hill came, instead of Dothraki reinforcements, infantrymen led by recruits James had entrusted to intercept Drogo's reinforcements. Led by Asher Forrester, a Westerosi whom James had entrusted with his true identity and leadership of the interception unit. James stabbed his flag into the ground and walked ahead of his men.
"DROGO!" he yelled.
He gripped the sheath of his sword with one hand, and the hilt with the other. Drogo, realising it was challenge and opportunity.
(Final Fantasy 9 OST-Feel my blade)
"EXCELLENT!" he yelled.
He galloped forward, swinging his sword as he yelled, yelling at the top of his lungs. James however was the picture of patience and calm. He stood low, head bent low, his hand on his sword. Drogo raised his sword as he approached. Then, with a swing of his arm, James drew his sword. Drogo's horse whined, blood spraying from stumps on its feet. The Khal was thrown from his horse, landing in a roll, and looking at his dying mount in shock. That shock turned to rage as he turned to James, then respect as James put both hands on his sword and stood against Drogo.
"Now you are reduced to my level," James said, his blood lust grin matching Drogo's.
They rushed towards one another, the flurry of swords and spears around them lost. To one another, they were the only warriors in the world. Drogo swung his Arakh wide and James ducked, swinging his blade for Drogo's gut. But the Dothraki was quick despite his size, jumping back and delivering a vicious hook to James's face. He felt his nose break, but to him it was a minor thing. They parried one another's slashes, ducked and side stepped their blows. Drogo locked blades with James for a moment, then pushed him, slashing his chest. James felt the blade cut his armour, but it didn't penetrate the skin. He countered, slashing Drogo across the chest. It wasn't a fatal blow, but it was a blow that bled. Drogo caught James's cheek with his Arakh, then punched him with the hilt, enough to force him to the ground. James's helmet slipped off in the fight, and he immediately got up from the floor. They locked blades and slammed their heads together. Drogo was astonished, and exhilarated by James's vicious fighting style, never before had he had a fight like this, and the man's age surpassed his by a generation.
'Across the chest, now arm,' James thought, catching Drogo's arm with his sword.
He sidestepped Drogo's swing, cutting his side. Drogo elbowed him and swung his sword for his face. James quickly raised his arm guard, catching Drogo's Arakh. With two quick swings, he cut Drogo's chest and left shoulder. Blood flowed onto the sand and with every swing of Drogo's sword, another bit of blood soaked the grains. On his wrist, his thigh, his belly, back, face, James had stopped parrying and began cutting. His own movements slowed because of his age reduced stamina, but Drogo's slowed for a very different reason. For all the strength of the Dothraki, their mastery of horses and raiding techniques, they put too much faith in speed.
'Armour makes a man slow, it also keeps a man alive,' James remembered someone once saying.
Despite his blood loss, Drogo was still determined to kill his opponent. He swung until his own breathing became ragged, until his vision began to blur and just lifting his arms became a laboured task. James cut an X across Drogo's back, making the man roar out in pain. He cut his arms, cut his legs, bringing him to his knees. And with a final swing, he defeated the Khal who until then was undefeated. James held up Drogo's braid and roared for his victory.
(End OST)
A few throats were cut, and more bodies were burned. Horses were kept for the meat, and it was a victory that the Marcher company revelled in. Drogo was chained to a cross, ridiculed and forced to watch as his horse was roasted. James did not consider himself a cruel man, but he knew when cruelty was warranted. He knew when examples had to be made. The man threw water on Drogo's face, just to keep him awake and alive. He drank with his men, but didn't get so drunk that he couldn't keep an eye on them. The slaves that Drogo had taken were given a choice, leave or stay, but they would have to work for their keep. James forbid the women to use their bodies as payment, they would learn laborious tasks as the men would. But the Dothraki women, the pure blooded Dothraki women whom had known the ways of the Dothraki people since they were children, their blood stained the sand just as much as the men did.
"Watch him for me," James told Stone and Stork.
They were two of the people he trusted the most. They would guard Drogo with their lives if they had to. James walked over the hill, away from the torches until he was out of sight of the men. He removed his chest armour and coat, and stabbed his sword into the sand. Looking up at the stars, he remembered the days he looked at them as a child and dreamed. He remembered the days in Kirkwall when he was an adult, and dreamed. And he remembered when he grew older, had children, and eventually a grandson, who looked up at the stars and dreamed.
(Sirius the Jaeger OST-Definition of Fate)
James looked at his shaking hands and saw the blood of Dothraki children, children who would have grown up thinking that their beliefs were acceptable. Perhaps there was more to the Dothraki culture than rape and murder, but James did not see it, nor did he particularly want to see it.
'Destroy it all, burn it all,' he thought.
But he could not stop the tears from falling off of his face as he remembered each little throat he had cut. When he had done that, then he considered himself a cruel man. Perhaps a man worse than Tywin Lannister.
"Daylen, I am sorry," he whispered. "I could not save everyone, and I am old now, I cannot fulfil my dream!"
"But he is young old friend," a voice said behind him.
James looked over his shoulder and saw a white haired man, no, the image of a white haired man. An old friend, whom became a mad man. He saw him as he remembered him, handsome, well groomed and smiling arrogantly.
"He'll be young for a long time, which means he'll still have dreams, so he will become a hero, the hero you wanted to be," said the image.
"Yes, he can succeed where I failed," James nodded his head.
"Why do you shed tears for them birdie? You should not feel anymore guilty for their deaths than you should have for mine!"
"They were children, children," James whispered.
"There, that's what separates you from the lion, will you stop? Because there is a longer road ahead of you, and you'll have to stain your hands with blood again birdie!"
"I will not stop," James stood up and gripped his sword.
The image nodded his head, a sad smile crossing his face. Like sand he was blown away by the night wind and James, no Fausten Amell sheathed his sword.
'I will not stop,' he vowed. 'Not until I have restored the Targaryen Dynasty!'
Next Chapter 2: Unshakable
First chapter, first big battle, and no not the first major character death. Drogo isn't dead yet (will he die though?)
James if Fausten Amell, one of the main characters of the House of Amell series, you'd have to read that story to understand his motives here. The main character of this series as a whole I would say is the Grey Warden, Daylen Amell, who will be introduced next chapter.
My pattern is going to be this, one chapter focusing on Fausten's actions, then a chapter focusing on Daylen, then a chapter focusing on a mystery character, then Fausten, then Daylen and so on and so forth with snippets of the Amell actions in Westeros in all the chapters.
Hope everyone who followed the House Amell story has enjoyed this first chapter, as well as newcomers. I try to make my stories as new reader friendly as possible, but keep in mind this is a sequel.