"...to our future queen, and may the gods bless her and curse her enemies!" said Lord Frey as he finished his toast to Argella, who sat next to Harald at the high table.
She smiled graciously and raised her goblet to the assembled lords as they all cheered and drank deeply, their voices echoing through the Great Hall.
The feast that night was in honor of the announcement of his and Argella's betrothal, which was to take place as soon as Argella regained her kingdom and her ancestral seat of Storm's End.
She would become his queen.
Their son would rule both the Heartlands and the Stormlands, combining the two realms under one crown and creating a kingdom that would stretch from the Neck to the Dornish Marches.
Harald still remembered the conversation between them last week, when they had decided on the terms of this union.
===========
"So that's it? I give my kingdom to you?"
"That is not what I meant—"
"That is exactly what you mean!" Argella interrupted, her voice rising. "I marry you, our firstborn becomes your heir, and the secondborn becomes the Lord of Storm's End. Not King of the Stormlands, just the Lord of Storm's End, a vassal to your crown."
"Our crown," Harald said calmly. "Our firstborn and heir will unify the kingdoms together. One realm, stronger than either, could be alone."
"My family has ruled the Stormlands for thousands of years," Argella said, and there was pain in her voice. "Kings and queens stretching back to the Age of Heroes. You mean to end it to make the Storm Kings nothing more than... than…."
"The world is changing, Argella. And I am at the center of that change."
She was silent for a long moment, and Harald waited, watching her face.
"I accept."
"What?" Harald actually looked surprised. "I thought you would be more resistant."
"Yes, I thought I would be too," Argella admitted with a slight, bitter smile. "But as you said, Harald, you are the Herald of Change, the Herald of the Gods. Many of my lords who have come to support me have been slowly swayed by the Covenant, standing on the very edge of converting. They have been convinced that it is the truth, even if they're afraid to admit it openly… that High Keeper of yours is very convincing."
She stepped closer to him. "And these dark gods that have set their sights on the world, as you've explained to me in our lessons I cannot protect my kingdom from them. Only you can. The Stormlands alone would be swept aside by forces like the one that killed King Torrhen."
"I could say no," she continued, her voice growing stronger. "I could cling to my pride, to my family's ancient crown, to the dream of ruling independently. But I would rather marry you and become queen of the great kingdom. You will build a kingdom I know will one day, perhaps, encompass the entire continent."
"Not all of it."
She laughed at that. "Still resisting the inevitable? You may say that now, but I see where this leads. You want me to be a monarch of equal standing to you, as you've promised. And what better way for the Stormlands to have great influence than to be at the very beginning, at the very foundation, of this great kingdom you will one day forge? My son… our son will rule not just the Stormlands, but everything you conquer. My bloodline won't end; it will rise higher than the Storm Kings ever dreamed."
"So yes, my king. I shall be your queen."
========
"Harald," he heard Argella call his name, bringing him out of the memory.
He looked at her, and she leaned closer, speaking quietly beneath the noise of the feast. "Lord Wensington has sent word."
"Good news, I hope?" Harald asked.
Argella held up a sealed parchment in her slender fingers. "I have not opened it yet. I thought we might read it together, away from prying eyes."
Harald looked at the feast, which was well underway. The lords were deep in their cups, servants moving between tables with platters of food, musicians playing in the corner. They would not be missed for some time if he and Argella were absent briefly.
"Come," Harald said, standing from his seat.
He walked toward the side entrance, and Argella gracefully followed, her purple and black gown flowing behind her.
As he left the large chamber, his mind went to the events of the past six months and how much they had changed his plans.
In the six months since the Meeting of Kings and its disastrous aftermath, he had begun a large-scale militarization of the Heartlands. The Legion now numbered a full five thousand trained soldiers, professional warriors equipped with the best armor and weapons his forges could produce, drilled daily in formation fighting and combined arms tactics.
A second Legion was now being created, with another thousand men currently in training at camps outside Cyrodiil.
Argella had done remarkably well in planning for her return to her kingdom.
With the resources he had provided, she had been able to orchestrate Tarth's invasion of Massey's Hook. The operation had been brilliantly executed. Tarth had struck swiftly, and House Massey, seeing which way the wind was blowing and remembering their old oaths to Argella, had switched sides and bent the knee to the "rightful Storm Queen."
Many minor lords, masterly houses, and knightly families had come to her side as well, most in secret. These houses together held significant power in the lands that Baldric, Lyonel, and Ormund now claimed to rule.
They were being used as a Trojan horse by Argella, undermining her enemies from within while appearing to submit to their authority.
When the Legion arrived in the Stormlands in force, the three would-be kings, along with that snake Swann, would be blindsided by the Argellans already in their lands, sabotaging their supplies, opening the gates to castles, and turning on their supposed allies at the critical moment.
With this militarization, Harald had been forced to stop many of his carefully planned reforms: the bureaucracy he wanted to establish, the educational programs, the legal codifications, and the infrastructure projects. All of it had been put on hold to focus entirely on military preparation and the coming conquest.
He had found that his early desire for peaceful coexistence would never work in this world.
The other kingdoms saw the Covenant as heresy and saw his power as something to be feared and destroyed. The Daedric Princes moved in the shadows, corrupting and manipulating.
Only he and the Covenant could keep the people of Westeros safe from these threats.
And he planned to do just that, even if it meant conquering them first for their own protection.
Argella, who was reading the parchment, looked up with a large smile spreading across her face. "Lord Wensington was successful! Buckler is dead. He will open the gates of Bronzegate for us when we arrive."
"Congratulations," Harald said. "Your plan worked perfectly."
"I had your help as well," Argella said graciously, folding the parchment carefully.
Harald nodded, studying her. He and Argella had grown much closer over the past six months, not romantically, though he felt that after their marriage they could try to build that connection. Through giving her lessons in magic, planning the campaign, and long conversations about strategy and governance, they had become genuine friends.
Argella herself had changed dramatically as she gained knowledge of magic. There was a self-confidence in her now that had not been there before, a hunger for power and knowledge that reminded him of his own dragon nature. Those qualities were very attractive to the dragon side of him, the part that recognized and appreciated ambition, strength, and the will to seize power and wield it effectively.
"Since we are away from the feast," Harald said, "perhaps this is the best time to show you something."
"Show me what?" Argella asked, curiosity lighting her blue eyes.
"Come," Harald said simply.
He led her through the corridors, past guards and servants who bowed, to one of the many chambers near the armory.
"I have received some very concerning news from the Vale this evening," Harald said as they walked.
"What has happened in the Vale?" Argella asked, alarm crossing her face.
"It seems one of King Ronnel's cousins, Artys Arryn, has received enough support from the lords to take power from Queen Sharra and become the new regent," Harald explained. "The Vale plans to invade the Heartlands."
"This does not bode well for our plans," Argella said, her mind already working through the implications. "If you must defend the east while supporting me in the south..."
"I would not worry about it," Harald interrupted gently. "I plan to have Lords Blackwood and Tully come with us to the Stormlands. The other great lords will raise their levies and defend the Heartlands in my absence. The Vale will find the Heartlands more than capable of holding them at the passes."
"So five thousand men of the Legion and five thousand men from Lords Blackwood and Tully," Argella calculated aloud. "Ten thousand total."
"Yes," Harald confirmed. "Enough men for you to lead into battle."
Argella blinked. "You mean us, my lord."
"No," Harald said with a slight smile. "For you, my lady."
Argella faltered, her confidence wavering for the first time in the conversation. "I... I do not understand."
"I do not plan to come with you to the Stormlands," Harald said directly. "Not immediately."
He raised a hand to forestall her protest. "The Ironfleet will soon arrive at Asgard, and we will meet them there. From there, you, Argella, will lead my Legion, along with Lords Tully and Blackwood and their men, into the Stormlands, with a portion of the Ironfleet under your command as well."
"I will leave with the rest of the Ironfleet for Oldtown," Harald continued, "where I will end the threat of the secret order once and for all. The maesters must be dealt with before they can cause more harm."
Argella scowled at the mention of the secret order, her expression darkening with barely controlled fury.
"Do you plan to help Loren with his invasion of the Reach?" she asked carefully.
"No," Harald said firmly. "I will join you in the Stormlands as soon as I have dealt with the maesters, but I am sure you will have Storm's End under your command by then."
Harald could see the look of doubt on Argella's face now, the self-doubt creeping in despite her newfound confidence. Her hands trembled slightly, and she looked away from him.
"Tomorrow evening," Harald said quietly, "we will travel to the Isle of Faces."
That got her attention immediately. Her head snapped back toward him, eyes wide.
"It's time?" she whispered.
"Yes," Harald confirmed. "You will lead my Legion with the full force of magic by your side. With what you have learned from me in the last six moons, with awakening the magic in your blood, they will all kneel to the true queen."
He stepped closer, his voice growing more intense. "The Queen of the Storm."
Harald walked to one of the doors at the side of the chamber and opened it.
Argella gasped as she saw what was inside.
There, displayed on a stand in the center of the small room, was armor. Armor that looked like it had been made specifically for her.
It was white and gold, gleaming even in the candlelight. The breastplate was sculpted to fit a woman's form but still looked entirely functional. Golden filigree traced the edges in patterns that resembled lightning bolts. The pauldrons were shaped like stylized lightning. The gauntlets and greaves matched perfectly, white steel with gold accents.
But the best part of the armor was the helm.
It sat atop the armor stand like a crown in itself. The base was white steel, and rising from it were golden antlers. They swept back and up in a crown-like formation that made the wearer look both regal and terrifying.
It looked beautiful. It looked deadly.
It looked like it had been made for a queen who would rule through both majesty and power.
"So," Harald asked quietly, "what do you think?"
Argella stared at the armor, then turned to look at Harald. For a moment, Harald thought she might pull him down to kiss him, the way she was looking at him with such intensity, such emotion, and something else he could not quite name.
She smiled.
"I think," she said slowly, her eyes returning to the armor, "that my enemies are going to learn why my house words are 'Ours is the Fury.'"
.
.
.
Loren sat inside his war camp's command tent, studying the map spread across the large oak table before him.
He had brought sixty thousand men to the Reach's border, the largest army the Westerlands had mustered in generations.
Ser Swyft entered the tent and bowed. "Your Grace, I have the latest reports from the camp physicians."
"Speak," Loren said without looking up from the map.
"There have been no diseases reported in the main camps, Your Grace," Swyft said with evident relief. "The potions King Harald provided, the ones that cure disease and fortify health, they work. Truly work. In all my years, I have never seen men so healthy on campaign. No flux, no camp fever, no..."
"And yet," Loren interrupted, finally looking up, his green eyes sharp, "Lord Brax's camp is reporting outbreaks of illness. Care to explain that, Ser Swyft?"
Swyft shifted uncomfortably. "There have been some... complications, Your Grace. Lord Brax has been..."
"Refusing to distribute the potions to his men," Loren finished coldly. "Because he does not trust 'sorcerer's brews,' as I have been told he is calling them."
"Some of the lords have been... reluctant to..." Swyft did not finish.
"Summon them all," Loren commanded. "Now. I do not care if they are eating, sleeping, or taking a shit. All of them. Here. Immediately."
"Your Grace," Swyft bowed quickly and hurried out.
After some time, they were all assembled. The tent was crowded with the great lords of the Westerlands, Lord Brax, Lord Crakehall, Lord Lefford, Lord Serrett, Lord Banefort, Lord Marbrand, and a dozen others. They stood in a semicircle around Loren's table, some looking confused, others wary.
Loren stood, his hands planted on the table, and let the silence stretch for a long moment.
"I stand here," he said finally, "on the precipice of House Lannister's greatest moment. We are about to break the Reach and expand our realm like never before."
He straightened, his eyes moving from lord to lord. "From this moment forward, you will obey. You will obey."
Several lords shifted uncomfortably, but none spoke.
"I have negotiated with King Harald Stormcrown to secure tools that make us the most powerful army in the world," Loren continued, his voice growing harder. "Potions that cure disease, that grant stamina beyond mortal limits, that heal wounds in hours. Magic that gives us advantages no army in Westeros has ever possessed."
He leaned forward, his knuckles white against the table. "And yet some of you resist. Some of you undermine my hard work, the very advantages I secured at great cost and effort."
His voice rose now, filling the tent. "I will not have it. Do you understand me? I will not have it!"
The lords flinched.
"So, my lords," Loren said, "you will obey. You will distribute the potions I have provided. You will ensure your men drink them. You will follow my orders to the letter, without hesitation, without question, without complaint."
He straightened to his full height, and though Loren was not a large man, in that moment he seemed to tower over them all.
"Do not test me," he said, glaring at each lord in turn.
All the men in the room understood that the Loren Lannister they knew, their king who had diplomatically placated their worries, was gone. In his place stood a side of the king they had only seen sparingly.
The lords were fully cowed, their earlier resistance crumbling in the face of their king's fury.
"We move at dawn," Loren commanded. "Every man in this army will receive stamina potions before we march. Every single one. We will cover twice the distance in half the time, and we will catch the Reach forces completely unprepared."
"Yes, Your Grace," the lords responded, their voices overlapping.
"Now leave," Loren said.
The lords bowed deeply and filed out of the tent, leaving Loren alone with the map once more.
He looked down at it, at the markers showing his army's position at the Reach's border, at Highgarden sitting deep in enemy territory.
He reached for one of the carved lion pieces used to represent his forces and placed it over Highgarden on the map.
Soon, he thought. Very soon.
The Golden Lion would roar over the Reach's heart.
.
.
.
King Edmund Gardener watched as the army assembled outside the walls of Highgarden, the entire force of the Reach had come to face the Lion's threat.
One hundred fifty thousand banners flew in the wind. House Hightower, House Tarly, House Fossoway, House Peake, House Florent. Every great house and hundreds of smaller ones, all gathered to defend the Reach from Lannister aggression.
It should have been a moment of pride. Of certainty.
But Edmund had been hearing rumors that troubled him deeply.
Whispers said that Loren was being helped by the sorcerer king. That the heretic Harald Stormcrown had given Loren powerful magic to use against them.
Edmund's father would have dismissed such talk as peasant superstition, as exaggeration meant to demoralize.
But Edmund was not his father.
Edmund took this very seriously.
He had immediately asked the Citadel for help. If anyone would know how to counter sorcery, it would be the maesters. They were among the most knowledgeable people in the world.
A servant entered the chamber where Edmund stood watching the army through the window.
"Your Grace," the servant said with a bow, "the Archmaesters have arrived. They wish to speak to you immediately."
Edmund smiled with relief. "Bring them to my solar," he commanded.
"Yes, Your Grace," the servant said, bowing again before hurrying away.
Edmund began walking to his solar, his mind racing with questions he needed answered.
How could they counter the Lannister advantages if the rumors were true? What weaknesses did sorcery have? What preparations could be made?
He hoped the Archmaesters would have the wisdom he needed to face this threat.
The fate of the Reach might depend on it.