Illusiveone
patreon
9: Dragonborn Conqueror, New Companions
🕑 Added 2024-10-03 19:25:44 +0000 UTC"What was the name again?" Harald asked, his brow furrowed as he glanced around at the gathered Blanetree men.
"Ironholt," Chett answered, leaning against a tree with his arms crossed.
"Ha," Brannik said with a bitter chuckle. "Of course Vikon’s going to be there. It’s the largest Ironborn outpost on the Blue Fork."
"I thought Fairmarket was," Willem, the youngest of the group, chimed in, his voice uncertain.
"No, you fool," Chett scoffed, shaking his head. "Fairmarket’s a Riverlander town... our town. Ironholt was built by the Ironborn."
Harald raised an eyebrow and turned to Chett. "Have you been there? Have any of you?" he asked, his gaze sweeping over the men gathered near him.
Chett shook his head, and the other Blanetree men followed suit. "I’ve been to Fairmarket," Chett said, "but never to Ironholt. I don’t think they even allow us Riverlanders to enter."
"Aye," Brannik added. "Ironholt’s one of the settlements they built after the conquest. It’s the largest on the Blue Fork."
A moment of silence followed.
Chett, still leaning against the tree, broke the silence. "The prisoner said Vikon’s waiting for his men to come back. He’s using Ironholt as his base until they return, and after that, he’ll continue the search for Rodrick."
Harald’s eyes narrowed. "Then we have no time."
Willem frowned. "But why go to Ironholt? Why not just continue to Fairmarket like we planned?"
Harald turned his gaze to Willem, his expression stern but calm. "If we leave Vikon alive, his search will eventually lead him to Robard," Harald explained.
Willem’s eyes widened, the gravity of the situation dawning on him. "Lord Robard…" he whispered, realizing the threat Vikon posed not just to them, but to his lord as well.
Harald nodded. "He’ll turn his attention toward Robard and the keep if he continues his search. We can’t afford that."
The camp fell into thoughtful silence for a moment before Harald spoke again. "On the matter of Ironholt… considering none of you have been there…" He paused, scanning the faces of his men. "Perhaps Septon Leobald knows something," he said, glancing toward the village. "Where is he, anyway?" Harald asked, his eyes searching the horizon.
It was then that Harald heard it—the distant sound of hooves, the rhythm of horses galloping over the hard ground. His head snapped in the opposite direction, and he spotted riders approaching quickly, their cloaks billowing in the wind.
Without hesitation, Harald grabbed his battleaxe from the ground, standing at the ready. The others followed suit, gripping their weapons tightly, alert.
As the riders drew closer, their banners became visible.
"Blackwood riders," Chett said, recognizing the sigil.
Harald’s grip on his battleaxe loosened slightly. "This might be good," he muttered, watching as the riders slowed near the village. Their leader spotted Harald and his men, his eyes narrowing as they approached.
The riders, mounted on strong, dark horses, moved with practiced precision. The sound of hooves slowed to a near stop as they surrounded Harald’s group in a tight circle. The leader, a stern-faced man with a black cloak, set his gaze on Harald.
Harald remained alert, his muscles tensed, ready for whatever might come next. The other men exchanged confused looks, wondering why someone from House Blackwood would approach them with such hostility.
The leader of the riders raised his hand, signaling for his men to halt. The circle tightened as the Blackwood soldiers sat silently, their eyes trained on Harald and his companions.
The leader, whom Harald surmised to be a Blackwood, sat tall in his saddle, his face set in a grim scowl. He pointed his sword directly at Harald, his voice cold and commanding. "Drop your weapons and surrender, now."
Harald raised a hand, his tone measured and calm. "I think this is a misunderstanding—"
"Shut your mouth, bandit scum!" the Blackwood leader snarled, cutting him off.
Harald frowned, his grip tightening slightly on his battleaxe. "We are not bandits," he repeated, trying to keep the situation from escalating further.
Chett and Brannik stepped forward, trying to explain. "We’re Blanetree men," Chett called out. "Loyal men of Robard Blanetree, vassal to Lord Blackwood!"
At this, the Blackwood leader’s face twisted with anger. His eyes darted to the sigils on their armor, and his grip on his sword tightened. "You are the worst kind of men," he spat, his voice filled with contempt. "You besmirch the Blanetree name by becoming bandits!"
Chett shook his head, his voice pleading. "No, we still serve Robard Blanetree—"
"You dare sully the name of the dead?" the Blackwood interrupted, his fury boiling over. "I know no Blanetree lives!"
Harald could see the situation spiraling out of control. He needed to end this peacefully.
"Put your weapons down," Harald ordered his men, his voice low but firm.
There was a moment of hesitation, but the Blanetree men, trusting Harald’s judgment, slowly obliged, lowering their swords and axes to the ground.
Harald followed suit, placing his battleaxe down gently. The Blackwood leader looked skeptical, but seeing them disarm gave him enough confidence to press forward.
"Bind them," the Blackwood commanded. His men began to dismount, swords drawn as they moved toward Harald and his companions.
Harald's eyes flickered with calm determination. He whispered under his breath, drawing on the power of the Thu’um.
"Zun... Haal..."
The disarm shout rang out in the air, rippling through the space between them. The approaching Blackwood men suddenly felt their swords yanked from their hands, the weapons flying through the air and clattering uselessly to the ground.
The men gasped in shock, their eyes wide with disbelief.
"What… what vile sorcery is this?!" the Blackwood leader stammered, his voice trembling with fear. But before he could complete his sentence, his horse reared back, spooked by the sudden blast of magic. The other horses, sensing the disturbance, began to panic, neighing wildly and bucking.
Harald acted swiftly, summoning the power of Kyne’s Peace. "Kaan… Drem," he whispered, calming the horses with the soothing force of his shout. Instantly, the animals stopped their frantic movements, their fear replaced with a serene stillness.
The leader, still seated on his horse but visibly rattled, barely had time to react before Harald spoke again.
"Zun," Harald intoned, releasing another disarm shout. The leader’s sword flew from his hand, leaving him defenseless atop his horse.
Harald’s men, seizing the moment, picked up their discarded weapons and quickly gained the upper hand. The Blackwood soldiers, disarmed and shaken, hesitated, glancing nervously between their leader and Harald.
Harald stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "We are not bandits. I only want to talk."
The leader, his chest rising and falling rapidly, had no choice but to comply. He and his men were terrified, outmatched by a force they could not comprehend.
"Fine," the Blackwood said, his voice edged with both fear and reluctant acceptance. "We’ll talk."
Harald nodded, the tension finally beginning to ease as the soldiers slowly backed down, and the Blackwood leader dismounted from his horse.
=====
As the situation calmed, Harald heard a familiar voice from behind. It was Septon Leobald.
"Lord Jonnel," Leobald called out, jogging forward.
Harald turned his attention to the Blackwood leader, now revealed as Lord Jonnel Blackwood. The lord’s stern expression softened slightly when he recognized the septon. "Septon Leobald," Jonnel muttered, his voice laced with surprise.
Harald's mind eased slightly. ‘Good,’ he thought. ‘They know each other.’
Leobald hurried toward them, a mix of relief and concern on his face. "Lord Jonnel, what are you doing here?" the septon asked breathlessly.
Jonnel's expression hardened again as he gestured toward Harald and the men. "I should be the one asking questions, Septon. What are you doing with this sorcerer and these traitors?"
Leobald's eyes widened in shock, his voice almost a whisper. "Traitors?" He shook his head, stepping closer to Jonnel. "No, no, my lord, these are not traitors. These men are loyal to Robard Blanetree."
"Robard is dead!" Jonnel interjected, his frustration clear. "I know what Rodrick Greyjoy did to him and his family."
Leobald placed a hand on Jonnel's arm, his voice firm but filled with emotion. "Robard lives, my lord. He took back his keep. Robard and his sister Gwen live."
"Gwen…" Jonnel's voice faltered, his eyes wide with shock. "I thought… I thought Rodrick…"
"Rodrick is dead," Harald interjected, stepping forward.
Jonnel stared at Harald, his face pale, his eyes wide with disbelief. "How… how did you—" Jonnel stammered, unable to finish the sentence.
Harald met his gaze calmly. "I played a part," Harald said, his voice steady. "But it was Gwen Blanetree who did the deed."
Septon Leobald stepped forward, nodding fervently. "Harald speaks the truth, my lord."
Jonnel was silent for a moment, his mind struggling to understand the revelation. Then, one of his men spoke up, his voice filled with suspicion and fear. "He’s a witch! A dark sorcerer! No good can come from him."
Jonnel frowned and turned to Leobald. "How can you, a septon, associate with him? What madness is this?"
Leobald straightened his shoulders, his voice firm. "Because Harald was sent here by the gods, Jonnel. He was sent as an answer to our prayers."
"Septon," Jonnel said, incredulous, "do you hear yourself?"
"There is no other explanation," Leobald said, standing his ground. "Harald's magic is not like the blood magic the Valyrians once used, or the dark and twisted sorcery of the First Men. His is different. It is holy, Jonnel. From the gods themselves."
Harald couldn’t help but smile to himself, amused by Leobald's staunch defense of him. The idea of his magic being described as "holy" was far from the truth he knew, but it seemed to bring the septon—and perhaps these men—some measure of comfort.
Jonnel's eyes narrowed as he looked Harald over, taking in his imposing figure, the dark armor, and the massive battleaxe at his side. He hesitated, then asked, "Is what the septon says true?"
Harald nodded, his tone serious. "It’s true.."
Leobald quickly added, "We were on our way to Fairmarket, to save the noble hostages and to kill Haldon. Your brother, Brynden, is there as well, Jonnel. You should join us."
Jonnel turned away, taking a few steps from the group, his hand rubbing his brow in visible distress. Harald could see that the man was overwhelmed by the sudden rush of revelations—the survival of the Blanetrees, the truth about Rodrick’s death, and now the prospect of facing the Greyjoys.
The Blackwood soldiers, too, looked uneasy, exchanging uncertain glances with each other.
Leobald turned to Harald. "I will speak with Jonnel, give him time to digest this," he said quietly.
Harald nodded. "Do what you must," he replied. With a glance to the Blanetree men, he gestured for them to follow. Together, they stepped back, giving Jonnel and Leobald the space they needed to talk.
.
.
.
Harald stood alone, gazing out over the lush lands before him. The irrigation channels wound like serpents through the fertile farmlands, and the thick woods stretched out into the horizon. The scene reminded him of the Nibenay Valley in Cyrodiil—the wild beauty, the vibrant green fields, and the winding waterways. His mind drifted back to the first few years of his life after waking up in Nirn. It was strange to remember being in the body of a child again—alone, scared, and utterly lost. It had been a miracle that he survived those early years, learning to fend for himself in a world so different from the one he had known.
Movement behind him caught his attention. He turned to see five children—two girls and three boys—standing a short distance away, watching him with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. Their ages seemed to range from six to ten, the youngest girl no more than six summers old.
When Harald turned to face them, they froze, eyes wide, as if deciding whether to flee. Sensing their hesitation, Harald put on a warm smile.
"Don't be afraid," he said gently. "What are your names?"
The children exchanged glances before the eldest, a boy of around ten, stepped forward. "I'm Berrin," he said, pointing to the others. "This is Lysa, Orwyn, Janna, and little Hobb."
Harald nodded, committing the names to memory. "Berrin, Lysa, Orwyn, Janna, and Hobb, huh? Would you like to see a magic trick?"
At the mention of magic, their eyes lit up, especially the youngest, Hobb, who grinned excitedly. "Yes!" they all said in unison.
Harald chuckled softly and raised a hand. He spoke a few quiet words of illusion spells. Before the children’s wide-eyed gazes, shimmering forms of cats and dogs appeared out of thin air. The animals were not real, only illusions—their ghostly shapes translucent but full of life—as they began to chase each other around the group.
The children gasped in awe. " cat!" Janna exclaimed, clapping her hands.
"They’ll disappear after a while," Harald said with a smile, "but you can play with them until then."
The children erupted in cheers and immediately began chasing after the illusions, their laughter echoing in the air as they darted between the playful, shimmering animals. Harald watched them, a content smile tugging at his lips. He glanced over at the nearby villagers—the parents of the children—who had been watching him with guarded expressions. Now, as they saw their children playing and realized that Harald meant no harm, their worries began to fade.
In the distance, Harald noticed Leobald and Jonnel Blackwood walking toward him. Jonnel looked troubled, his face etched with concern, and Harald understood why. Rodrick Greyjoy was dead—killed on Blackwood lands. It was only a matter of time before the Ironborn would bring their wrath upon these lands.
Harald took a deep breath, turning his attention fully to the approaching men, his smile fading into a more serious expression.
"Lord Jonnel," Harald greeted as the two men approached.
"Lord Stormcrown," Jonnel replied, his tone more measured than before.
Leobald stepped forward, his voice carrying a note of reassurance. "I’ve told Lord Jonnel about you, Harald—about your prowess and how the gods themselves sent you to us."
Jonnel's gaze fixed on Harald, his brow furrowed. "Is it true? That you’ve vowed to free us from Harren’s rule?"
Harald nodded. "Yes, I have."
Jonnel let out a heavy breath. "The danger you’ve brought to these lands—my father’s lands—is grave," he said, his voice quiet but heavy with emotion. "Killing Rodrick Greyjoy… I have no words."
A silence hung between them, thick with tension. Leobald made to speak, but Jonnel held up a hand, silencing him.
After a moment, Jonnel spoke again, his tone more resolute. "I will join you in your quest. I wish to free my brother Brynden from Fairmarket. I am also indebted to you, Lord Stormcrown, for helping Robard… and saving… Gwen."
Harald nodded, accepting the words. "Welcome aboard," he said.
With that, Harald turned and began walking toward Chett and the others, Jonnel and Leobald following close behind. As they approached, Chett looked up. "Is everything settled?"
Harald nodded. "It is."
Jonnel took a step forward, his face sincere as he addressed the men he had so recently accused. "I owe you all an apology for calling you traitors."
Harald couldn’t help but be impressed by Jonnel's attitude. As a lord, he had no obligation to lower himself and apologize to those of a lower class, yet he did so without hesitation. It spoke of his character.
Chett waved the apology away with a dismissive hand. "No need for that, my lord. I understand why you thought as you did."
Harald cut in, his tone taking on a more serious edge. "There’s a change of plans. Chett, you’ll take the longship to Fairmarket and wait for us there."
Chett frowned slightly. "Why?"
"Jonnel and I will head to Ironholt to deal with Vikon," Harald explained. "In the meantime, I need you to follow Septon Leobald and blend into Fairmarket. Gather all the information you can—about the defenses, where Haldon will be, and where the hostages are kept. Be discreet."
Chett nodded, accepting the task without further question. "Aye, we’ll do that."
=====
After a while, Harald stood on the riverbank, watching as Chett, Leobald, and the others pushed off in the longship, heading toward Fairmarket. The rhythmic splash of oars faded as the ship disappeared down the river. Harald walked towards Jonnel and his men, who were preparing their horses for the journey to Ironholt.
Jonnel approached, glancing at Harald with a raised brow. "It seems you’re without a horse," he said, tightening his saddle. "You’ll have to ride with one of us."
One of Jonnel’s men, a burly soldier with a grin on his face, joked, "He’s too big to ride with us, my lord. Might crush the poor horse!"
Harald chuckled at the jest, shaking his head. "No need to worry. I already have a horse."
Another man piped up, smirking. "What, you keep it hidden in your pants, Lord Stormcrown?"
Harald smiled, amused by their banter. He extended his hand, and with a surge of mystical energy, a Spectral Steed materialized before him in a shimmering wave of violet light. The horse stood tall and majestic, its form translucent and bathed in an eerie purple glow.
The men stared in awe and shock, their mouths agape as they watched the spectral horse stand perfectly still, its glowing eyes surveying them with an ethereal calm.
Harald saw the stunned faces and, with a slight twist of his fingers, cast a simple illusion over the horse, making it appear more like a regular steed to the untrained eye. "Just so it doesn’t scare anyone on the road," he said with a grin.
Mounting the steed with ease, Harald looked down at the men. "Let’s ride," he said.
Jonnel nodded, still wide-eyed but quickly regaining his composure. "Mount up!" he called to his men, and they followed suit as they set off.
