Harald looked at the map of the Heartlands spread across the table before him. He had made this map himself, meticulously detailed, showing the road network he planned to build over the coming years.
It was ambitious, perhaps the most ambitious infrastructure project Westeros had ever seen.
The network was centered around Cyrodiil, like spokes radiating from a wheel's hub. Major roads would connect to all the significant ports and castles throughout the kingdom. The King's Road would run north to south, from the Neck down through Cyrodiil, then splitting toward both Maidenpool on the coast and deeper into the Blackwater territories. The River Road would follow the Blackwater Rush eastward, connecting the inland territories to the bay. The Western March would link the Heartlands to the borders of the Westerlands.
Smaller roads would branch off from these main arteries, connecting every major settlement, every castle, and every town of significance. When complete, a merchant could travel from the northern borders to the southern coast on paved roads the entire way, moving goods faster and more safely than ever before in Westerosi history.
Also marked on the map were the rivers he planned to widen and deepen so ships could pass through more easily. The Blackwater Rush was already navigable for much of its length, but he intended to dredge it deeper, build locks where necessary, and create a true river highway. Especially important was the connection between the Blackwater and the Gods Eye. If he could make that passage reliable for larger vessels, it would open the entire central region to water-based trade.
The Heartlands were perfectly suited for a massive transportation network because of their rivers. The Trident and its three forks, the Red Fork, Green Fork, and Blue Fork, crisscrossed the region like veins in a body, naturally connecting nearly every major settlement. The Blackwater Rush provided access to the sea. Smaller tributaries fed into these larger waterways, creating a web of potential trade routes.
The rivers would also support the proto-industrialization Harald envisioned much later in his reign. Water power for mills, forges, and manufactories. Easy transport of raw materials and finished goods. The ability to move heavy machinery that would be impossible to haul by road alone. Coal from potential hill mines could be barged downriver to foundries. Iron ore, timber, and grain, all flowing along the rivers like blood through arteries.
It would take decades to fully realize. A good thing he was a patient man.
Harald walked away from the table and looked out over the Gods Eye through the large window.
His solar in Castle Cyrodiil, where he now stood, was vast and spacious, befitting a king. The castle was nearing completion. Only portions still required work, mostly decorative elements and some interior finishing.
Through the window, he could see artisans on scaffolding, carving intricate designs into the castle's exterior. They would labor for years, perhaps a decade, to complete all the planned decorations. Scenes from the Age of Heroes. Depictions of the Old Gods and the Seven working in harmony. Harald's own heroics, his defeat of evil gods and Alduin himself, and his victory over the Drowned God, now known to most of his subjects. When finished, it would be a masterwork of stonecarving.
Harald had laid many protective enchantments on the stones during construction, weaving spells into the very foundations and walls. Wards against fire. Against structural failure. The castle was nearly indestructible now. It would take powerful magic, or perhaps sustained dragonfire for hours, to even crack it. A battering ram would shatter before the gates yielded. Catapults would exhaust their ammunition without leaving so much as a dent.
This castle would stand for millennia to come.
Recently, his mind had been pulled in many different directions, each thought demanding attention, each problem requiring a solution.
First, there was the issue of his neighbors.
The Stormlands were headed toward civil war or were in civil war; the news from there was not reliable now. The latest reports suggested Queen Argella was struggling to maintain control against rival claimants. Ormund Durrandon was backed by the northern Stormlander houses. Baldric Durrandon had the support of the southern coastal lords. Lyonel Durrandon was supported by many minor lords, as well as House Caron, a powerful house in its own right.
The Vale was already in open war. The Mountain Clans, emboldened by what they believed were signs from the Old Gods, the glowing weirwoods and the return of magic, had united and were burning Andal holdfasts throughout the mountains. House Arryn was struggling to contain them, and Harald suspected the conflict would drag on for at least another year.
The King in the North wanted to meet with him. Torrhen's letter had been respectful, proposing a meeting between kings on neutral ground to discuss matters of mutual concern. But from what his spies in Winterfell reported, the North was deeply divided over both the Covenant and Harald himself. Several games were being played there. Prince Brandon was building a coalition of traditionalist lords, while Prince Barthogan advocated for alliance. The maesters were definitely playing their own games in the North, Harald was sure of it. He had sent King Torrhen a response with a meeting place in mind, one he hoped the king would accept.
The Lannister king sought to befriend him. Loren's letters had been surprisingly frank, proposing mutual recognition and potential cooperation. Honestly, Harald liked Loren from their correspondence. The man was pragmatic, intelligent, and unclouded by religious fervor or superstition. He was also distrustful of maesters. Harald found himself preferring friendship with such a man, someone he could genuinely get along with.
Though he was not certain about helping Loren attack the Reach.
Harald had been considering the request. The Reach was the bastion of the Faith of the Seven, and the Faith was currently very hostile toward him and his kingdom. The High Septon in Oldtown had declared the Covenant a heresy and called for the faithful to resist Harald's "corruption" of true religion. Weakening the Reach would weaken the Faith's power base and make it less able to threaten him.
But that would mean Loren and the West growing more powerful. Harald was not sure the king who followed Loren would be as friendly to the Heartlands. Help them now, and in twenty years their gratitude might turn into entitlement or even hostility.
Harald made a sound of frustration and ran a hand through his hair. "Damn politics."
He looked out into the distance, where he could see a crowd of people gathered in one of the open fields outside the city. Despite his frustration, he smiled.
It was about two moons ago, as winter was ending, when he had introduced a game from Earth to the people here. Football. It had been easy enough to make the balls with magic, leather stitched around inflated bladders, and to teach the basic rules.
And it had taken off like wildfire.
The people loved it. The simplicity. The excitement. The way anyone could play, regardless of birth or station.
He had taught the game to some children he knew while traveling through Cyrodiil, and when he passed through the same way a year or two later, Harald had found a tournament taking place between two villages. And now, here it was again, loved and embraced by people from another world.
He had thought it would be a good way to keep people entertained. There were some issues, though. Games like this could stir very strong passions. There had already been incidents of violence. Brawls breaking out between losing sides. One particularly ugly incident where supporters of a losing team had tried to attack the referee with clubs. That had been bad.
Harald wondered if the game would spread throughout the Heartlands. In the future, would there be a Cyrodiil FC competing against a Riverrun FC? That would be fun, he thought. He could introduce a league system, have teams from across the kingdom compete for a championship.
He chuckled, imagining a future where lords and kings argued passionately about football matches instead of going to war.
Maybe I should go and see a match, Harald thought. Get my mind off things for a few hours.
Harald turned back to the large table and sighed. On it were letters from various correspondents, along with his extensive plans for a proper bureaucracy. Diagrams of organizational structures. Lists of required positions. Estimates of necessary personnel, all laid out in meticulous detail.
His plans for this administrative system were hindered by the knowledge that the maesters were actively gunning for him. The Citadel saw him as an existential threat. They would infiltrate his government if given the chance, using their positions to undermine him from within and sabotage his reforms before they could take root.
He needed to deal with them first. Find maesters who would be genuinely loyal to him and to the kingdom, whether through pragmatic self-interest or simple good character. Through them, he would create an army of learned men and women to fill his administration. A whole class of educated civil servants who owed their positions to merit and loyalty rather than ancient guild politics.
Harald sat down, his mind turning over the problem. His plans for dealing with the order required precision. First, he needed to identify a maester who was definitely an agent of this secret order within the Citadel. He only needed one, and he could begin unraveling the entire network.
Elsa was leading that investigation, focusing on the maester of Riverrun, who had served House Tully for decades. If anyone was an agent, it would be him, positioned at one of the strongest houses.
Harald knew that all major houses would have such an agent, a maester loyal first to the Citadel's hidden agenda rather than to the lord or king they served.
The door opened, and Harald knew without looking that it was Elsa. She and Leobald were the only ones who entered without asking permission, a privilege he had granted them both.
She walked in with several letters in hand, her expression playful.
"Your sweet Lion King has sent you another letter," she said with mock solemnity. Then her voice turned teasing. "Is this the beginning of a whirlwind romance? Will the Heartlands and the Rock unite in passionate matrimony?"
Harald barked out a laugh. "You've caught us. We're desperately in love. Planning to elope any day now."
"Oh, how tragic," Elsa said, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead dramatically.
Then she grinned. "But I must know. Who gives and who takes in this relationship?"
Harald laughed again.
Elsa sat down beside him, still grinning as she handed over the letters. He saw one from King Torrhen, and another sealed with the falcon and moon of House Arryn.
Oh, this is interesting, he thought, as he took the one from Sharra Arryn and broke the seal.
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To His Grace, King Harald of House Stormcrown, Herald of the Gods, Protector of the Heartlands,
I write to you in desperation.
The conflict with the Mountain Clans has devastated our food stores. They have burned granaries, destroyed supply caches, and killed livestock wherever they find it. What the war has not consumed, winter has depleted. We now face famine.
I have sought to purchase grain from the Free Cities, but they have increased their prices threefold, sensing our desperation. Pentos and Braavos both demand terms I cannot accept, hostages, territorial concessions, and trade monopolies that would impoverish the Vale for generations.
I request your assistance. Food for my people. Whatever price you name, I will pay, if it is within my power.
The Vale remembers its friends.
Queen Sharra of House Arryn
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"Well, I expected that," Elsa said, watching his face as he read. "So what will you ask for in return?"
"Perhaps nothing," Harald said quietly.
Elsa's eyebrows rose. "Why? This is a good opportunity to gain leverage over the Vale. You could demand—"
"This is all my fault," Harald interrupted, setting down the letter. "It's my fault that the weirwoods acted the way they did when I shared my magic with the Old Gods. The clans saw that and misinterpreted it as a divine calling to war against the Andals. Thousands are dead because of that misunderstanding."
"It's not your fault," Elsa said softly. "You didn't tell them to go to war. They made that choice themselves."
"But I provided the catalyst," Harald countered. "I changed the world, and people reacted to that change. I have a responsibility to help mitigate the consequences." He looked at the letter again. "I will help them. Perhaps this act of goodwill will warm them to us, show that the 'heretic sorcerer' is not their enemy."
"Maybe the queen will reward you personally as well," Elsa said with a sly smile. "She did seem very interested in her previous letter. She even sent that portrait of herself."
Harald stood up, shaking his head. "That would cause a whole other headache I don't need. The Queen of the Vale, the kingdom that is the truest bastion of Andal culture and the Faith, marrying the heretic who defaces that same faith."
Elsa laughed at the thought.
After a moment of companionable silence, she asked, "Are you busy? For the rest of the day, I mean?"
"No," Harald said. "I was thinking of going to watch the football match happening in the lower city."
Elsa made a sour face. "That awful, loud spectacle? That is one of your worst ideas, Harald. Truly."
"Hey, it's fun," Harald protested.
"It's chaos," Elsa countered. "Sweaty men kicking a ball around while thousands of drunk smallfolk scream themselves hoarse. Very dignified for a king."
"The people love it," Harald said with a grin. "And sometimes a king needs to be among his people, not locked away in towers."
"Well," Elsa said, standing and moving closer to him, "you could do something else instead. Together."
Harald looked at her, noting the shift in her tone and the way she was looking at him.
"On the way here, I noticed they've finally finished setting up the bed in your royal bedchamber," she continued, her voice dropping slightly. "It would be a shame not to test it properly. Make sure it's suitable for a king's needs. I can think of some things we could do to ensure it meets the highest standards."
Harald grinned. "A shame indeed," he said, beginning to walk toward her. "It would be irresponsible of me, as king, not to thoroughly inspect all the furnishings in my castle."
"Very irresponsible," Elsa agreed, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
"The match can wait," Harald said.
"It can," Elsa confirmed, reaching out to take his hand.
The letters on the table could wait too. The building of the bureaucracy could wait. The maesters and their schemes could wait.
For now, there were more pleasant matters to attend to.
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One Moon Later
"And I pronounce you husband and wife," Harald said, standing between Jonnel Blackwood and Gwen Hickory.
They stood beneath the great weirwood of the Isle of Faces, surrounded by their family members and all the lords of the Heartlands. The ancient tree's red leaves rustled in the breeze, its carved face seeming to smile down upon the union. Earthsingers had gathered as well, standing among the trees like extensions of the forest itself, bearing witness to the joining of two souls.
"You may kiss the bride," Harald announced with a warm smile.
Jonnel took Gwen into his arms and kissed her deeply. She melted into his embrace, her hands rising to cup his face.
Cheers erupted from the assembled crowd. Harald saw Hother Blackwood quickly wipe away a tear, trying and failing to maintain the dignity of the lord of his house. Little Robard was openly crying, tears of joy streaming down his young face as he watched his sister marry after all the misery she had endured two years earlier.
The procession left the Isle of Faces, boats carrying them across the Gods Eye toward Cyrodiil. They entered Castle Cyrodiil through the main gates, processing through courtyards where servants and smallfolk had gathered to cheer, and finally into the Great Hall for the feast.
The Great Hall was magnificent, a vast white chamber of marble that gleamed in the light of hundreds of magelights created by Harald, each one designed to last for years. The ceiling soared fifty feet overhead, supported by pillars carved to resemble weirwood trunks. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings, dragons in flight intertwined with symbols of the Covenant.
Along one wall, massive windows of colored glass depicted scenes from the liberation of the Riverlands, the defeat of the Ironborn, the alliance of the Gods, and their choosing of Harald to found the Covenant.
At the far end of the hall stood the high table, raised on a dais so the honored guests could be seen by all. Harald sat at its center, with the families of Blackwood and Hickory to either side.
The hall filled with lords and ladies, knights and wealthy merchants, all dressed in their finest. Servants brought course after course: roasted venison, fish from the Gods Eye, fresh bread still warm from the ovens, and vegetables that should not have been available so early in spring but were, thanks to Harald's agricultural magic.
When the initial rush of the feast had settled and people were drinking and laughing, Harald rose to his feet. The hall gradually quieted, all eyes turning to their king.
"My lords, my ladies, my friends," Harald began, his voice carrying through the hall with a touch of magical enhancement. "I could not think of a better first grand event to be held in my castle than this beautiful union of two good souls."
Cheers erupted, and Harald waited for them to subside before continuing.
"From today until two weeks hence, we celebrate. We celebrate Jonnel and Gwen's new life together."
More cheers and applause.
"We celebrate the defeat of the Ironborn, who plagued these lands for generations."
Louder cheers followed, with some men banging their fists on the tables.
"We celebrate the creation of the Heartlands."
More cheers.
"We celebrate our liberation of the Blackwater."
The loudest cheers yet, especially from the Blackwater lords.
Harald raised his cup high. "Every man, woman, and child in this kingdom will join in the festivities. There will be games, competitions, and feasting in every town and village." He paused for effect. "And in two weeks' time, the grand tourney will begin. Jousting, melee, archery, and more. Knights, lords, and fortune seekers from across the realm will compete for glory and prizes."
The hall erupted in excitement.
"King Loren of the Rock will soon arrive to attend as our honored guest."
This drew an enthusiastic reaction, murmurs of excitement and speculation about what the Lannister king's presence might mean for future alliances.
"And the King in the North will also grace us with his presence."
Even more excitement followed. Two kings visiting the Heartlands was a great surprise indeed.
Harald's voice rose. "Let the world see what we have built here. Let them see a kingdom united by shared faith, shared prosperity, and shared purpose. Let them see the Heartlands stand tall and proud, blessed by the gods themselves. We are the future of Westeros, my friends, a future of peace, plenty, and power."
The hall exploded in patriotic fervor. People stood, cheering and chanting, "KING HARALD! KING HARALD! HEARTLANDS! HEARTLANDS!"
Harald sat down, grinning at the reaction, and immediately Edmyn was at his ear.
"Your Grace," the Lord Chancellor said urgently, his voice barely audible over the continuing cheers. "A matter needs your immediate attention."
Harald's smile faded slightly. "Can it wait? The feast—"
"No, Your Grace. It cannot."
Harald caught the seriousness in his tone and nodded. His eyes met Elsa's for a moment. He rose again, making his way from the high table as casually as possible. Lords Bracken, Frey, Mallister, Piper, and Vance noticed him leaving and followed, eager to learn what was happening. Curious or concerned, they fell into step behind their king.
"What is going on, Edmyn?" Harald asked as they walked through the corridors.
Edmyn led them toward the throne room, which was still being worked on by craftsmen. "You can add a queen to our list of guests for the tournament, Your Grace," he said cryptically.
They reached the throne room doors, where guards stood at attention. At Edmyn's gesture, they pulled the heavy doors open.
Harald and the lords walked inside. The throne room was impressive even half-finished, a vast chamber with a vaulted ceiling and walls of white marble accented by veins of gold. At the far end, Harald's throne was being crafted, grown, actually, from living weirwood shaped by Earthsingers to merge seamlessly with the marble wall behind it. The wood was bone-white with red veining, beautiful and slightly unsettling all at once.
But Harald's eyes were immediately drawn away from his throne to the center of the room.
There stood several women and a number of armed guards. The woman who led them caught his eye at once. She was very beautiful, with long black hair falling in waves past her shoulders, framing a face that looked as though it had been carved by a master sculptor. Her generous bust was barely contained by a deep blue dress that matched her eyes, eyes that sparkled like sapphires and now watched him with a mixture of desperation, pride, and something Harald could not quite place.
"Lord Chancellor," Harald asked, not taking his eyes off the woman, "Who is our unexpected guest?"
"Your Grace," Edmyn said formally, stepping forward, "may I present Queen Argella Durrandon of the Stormlands. She has come—"
Argella spoke, interrupting him. "I have come seeking safe haven, King Harald. Asylum in your kingdom." Her chin lifted proudly despite the plea in her words. "And I come seeking aid in reclaiming my kingdom from the vultures who pick at it."
The lords behind Harald exchanged glances, shocked, calculating, already weighing the political implications.
Well, this was unexpected.
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You can read up to chapter 62
p.a.t.r.eon.com/Illusiveone (check the chapter summary i have it there as well)