Lord Hadley Buckler listened as the maester who had served his family for three decades read out the message. It spoke of King Ormund, now deep in the Durrandon crownlands and marching toward Storm's End, where a battle with Baldric Durrandon would soon take place.
"King Ormund's victory is all but assured, my lord. Baldric has been avoiding battle whenever possible, but the king's forces are superior in both quality and numbers. When they finally meet, the outcome is certain."
Hadley nodded, then asked, "Has Lord Wensington returned yet?"
They were holding Bronzegate with mostly Wensington men and some Buckler levies, as most of House Buckler's forces had been taken by King Ormund for the main campaign.
"I believe the lord will be back before noon, my lord," the maester replied.
Hadley's life had changed drastically since his father was treacherously killed by the scum that were Lords Trant and Staedmon. They had ambushed his noble father, cutting him down like a common brigand. Only Lord Wensington had remained loyal, hunting down Lord Trant himself and delivering the traitor's head to Hadley as proof of his vengeance.
Now Hadley held his ancestral home of Bronzegate, waiting for the traitorous Princess Argella to come. Reports showed she was leading an army of five thousand Heartlands men toward his castle. King Ormund had commanded him to hold the north until he took Storm's End. Once the capital fell, Ormund would march north to relieve Bronzegate and crush Argella's forces.
All Hadley had to do was hold.
A commotion erupted outside his solar. Hadley quickly made his way out and into the courtyard, where his master at arms, Ser Hyle, was waiting.
"My lord!" Hyle said urgently. "Scouts have spotted the princess's army."
"Sound the alarm," Hadley commanded immediately. "Bronzegate will not fall!"
Activity exploded across the castle as his orders were relayed. Soldiers ran to their posts, servants rushed to bring up supplies, and the great bell began to toll, calling all defenders to arms.
He saw Helena, his younger sister, who was betrothed to King Ormund's heir and would be the future queen of the Stormlands. She looked at him with fear in her eyes, her face pale.
"Brother, is it true? Is she really here?"
"Everything will be fine, Helena," Hadley said, placing his hands on her shoulders with more confidence than he felt.
He gestured to the household guards to take Helena to the secured wing of the castle.
"Yes, my lord," the captain said, bowing.
As Helena was escorted away, Lord Wensington rode through the gates with his remaining men, travel worn but ready to fight.
"My lord!" Wensington called out, dismounting quickly. "She is near and marching faster than expected."
Together, they oversaw the final preparations. The great gates were closed and barred. The portcullis was lowered, its iron teeth sinking into the stone. The walls were manned with every able bodied man to show the princess that Bronzegate was well defended and to decrease morale among her men.
Hadley received a report from his master at arms. "We have five hundred men on the walls, two hundred in reserve. Food stores for five months. Water from the castle well is secure..."
Hadley nodded as he finished his report.
"Good," Hadley said. "Now we wait."
They did not have to wait long.
From the battlements, Hadley watched as the army appeared on the horizon. The Legion, they were called. Five thousand strong, their purple and gold banners flying alongside the gold and black stag of House Durrandon.
And at their head, mounted on a white destrier, was Argella herself.
Her armor was white and gold, gleaming in the afternoon sun. And that helm, that distinctive stag helm with its crown of golden antlers, made her stand out all the more.
The army came to a halt just outside the range of the castle's archers.
Then a herald rode forward, a man in Durrandon colors carrying a white banner of parley.
"I bear a message from Queen Argella Durrandon for Lord Hadley Buckler!"
Hadley stepped onto the battlements. "Speak your message, herald!"
The herald unrolled a scroll and read, "Queen Argella Durrandon, rightful ruler of the Stormlands, offers mercy to Lord Hadley Buckler and all those in Bronzegate. Surrender now, swear your oaths to the true queen, and you will be pardoned for your support of the usurper Ormund. Your lands, your titles, your lives, all will be preserved. But if you resist, if you raise arms against your rightful sovereign, no mercy will be shown."
Hadley felt rage building in his chest. He leaned over the battlements and shouted back, his voice dripping with contempt.
"I know no queen, only a king, and that king is Ormund Durrandon! Tell your mistress, that heretic king's whore, that Bronzegate stands for the true Storm King!"
His men cheered.
"How many nights did she spread her legs for the sorcerer to buy his army? Did she enjoy being a foreign king's bed warmer?"
The men around him laughed at the crude insult. Lord Wensington, however, remained silent, his expression troubled.
The herald's face reddened with anger, but he maintained his composure. "You will regret those words, Lord Buckler."
He turned his horse and rode back toward the army.
Hadley watched him go, his hands gripping the stone battlements.
Soon he saw the army begin to advance. He expected them to prepare for a siege, but instead they were—
Then he heard a sound, the whistle of an arrow flying past him from behind. It struck the bowman next to him, the man gasping and falling with a shaft through his neck.
What?
Hadley turned and saw Lord Wensington standing there with a small smile on his face. Around him, other bowmen of House Buckler began to be shot down by Wensington's men, who had suddenly turned their weapons on their allies.
No, Hadley thought in pure horror.
"Your sister will be safe," Wensington said quietly, almost gently. "I promise you that much."
Then he struck Hadley with the pommel of his sword, a blow to the temple.
Hadley's vision went black as the castle erupted into chaos around him, screams, the clash of steel, men shouting in confusion and betrayal.
========
When Hadley regained consciousness, he was being dragged into the courtyard. His head throbbed with agony, and he could taste blood in his mouth.
The scene before him made his heart sink.
The heretic king's army had already occupied Bronzegate. Wensington's men stood among them, having opened the gates from within.
Hadley was brought before the queen herself, who stood at the center of the courtyard.
"Lord Hadley," Argella said. "It has been some time."
He was forced to his knees before her, guards holding his arms.
"Argella," he spat, refusing to give her any title.
Then he saw his sister being brought forward as well, Helena struggling in the grip of two soldiers, her face streaked with tears.
"There is no need for her to be here," Argella said, her tone becoming gentler. "She will make a fine wife for Lord Wensington's son. A good match, I think."
"That she will, Your Grace," Lord Wensington agreed, bowing.
"DO NOT TOUCH HER!" Hadley lashed out, trying to rise despite the hands holding him down. "She is to be queen!"
"Oh, that is news to me," Argella said with a slight smile. "Strange, considering I am already Queen of the Stormlands."
She tilted her head, studying him. "I remember you, Hadley. I remember you and your father kneeling before my father, the king, proclaiming me the rightful heir and future queen. You swore oaths to House Durrandon, to the true line of the storm."
"We found a more worthy man to lead the Stormlands!" Hadley shouted. "Not a woman! And we were proven right when you ran to the heretic king and spread your legs for—"
"It is a shame," Argella interrupted, her voice hardening, "that the ancient legacy of House Buckler is to end here. But I have no need for disloyal houses and treacherous men. Bronzegate will be in the safe hands of House Wensington for years to come. They are loyal, Hadley. Loyal."
Hadley's eyes widened as he saw lightning begin to crackle across Argella's fingertips.
"What…"
"This, Hadley," Argella said, raising her hands as lightning built visibly around them, "is the power of the true heir of Elenei. The true heir of the Durrandon bloodline."
Her eyes seemed to glow faintly. "Here. Let me show you."
She thrust her hands forward.
Lightning erupted from her palms in a brilliant blue white arc that struck Hadley directly in the chest.
The pain was beyond anything he had ever experienced. His muscles seized, his skin peeled away as raw lightning coursed through him. He tried to scream, but his jaw was locked tight, his tongue swelling in his mouth. His eyes bulged, blood vessels bursting, turning the whites red. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, his own flesh cooking from the inside out.
The pain ended when darkness came for him, and he knew no more.
Argella lowered her hands.
Hadley's corpse fell forward, smoke rising from the charred wound in his chest. His skin was blackened where the lightning had struck.
Argella stood there, her body still crackling with residual sparks of lightning. Her face was impassive, showing neither pleasure nor regret.
"Lord Wensington," she said, her voice carrying across the suddenly silent courtyard. "Send word to Lords Tarth and Massey. Secure the north in my name."
"It will be done, Your Grace," Wensington said, bowing deeply.
Argella raised her voice so all could hear. "We march for Storm's End. We march for my home. For the Stormlands!"
"FOR QUEEN ARGELLA!" the soldiers roared.
"LONG LIVE THE STORM QUEEN!"
"OURS IS THE FURY!"
.
.
.
"We just passed Starfall, or I think we have," Jace Starling said as he looked to the north, squinting at the coastline.
Harald laughed at Jace's uncertainty.
"Are you sure this magic of yours will not damage my ship?" Jace asked nervously. "I do not think we are even supposed to travel this fast. The timbers are creaking in ways I have never heard before, and we are making speeds that should require a hurricane wind behind us."
"The ship will be fine," Harald assured him. "The enchantments I have placed strengthen the hull as much as they propel it. If anything, your vessel is sturdier now than it was before."
He studied Jace thoughtfully. "You know, you are an excellent captain. You should join my navy. I could use someone with your skills and knowledge of these waters."
"Of course I am excellent," Jace said with a grin. "But I still desire to be free. No offense to you, Your Grace, but I have spent my life avoiding service to kings and lords."
"You can still be free," Harald said. "I am not asking you to become a subject. In the future, I plan to create new vessels that can travel the seas for months without resupply, that can reach great distances beyond what anyone has explored. I want to map the entire world, discover what lies beyond the Sunset Sea, what is north of the Shivering Sea, and what exists in the far south beyond the Summer Isles."
Harald's eyes gleamed. "I want you to be part of this. To explore, to map, to discover. You would have autonomy, resources, and the chance to see things no one else has ever seen."
Jace seemed contemplative, actually considering it rather than dismissing it outright.
"Just think about it," Harald repeated, then made his way down to the captain's quarters where he was staying.
========
For the last two days, Harald had felt Hermaeus Mora's presence trying to reach him in his dreams. Harald could block the Daedric Prince and had continued to do so, but he wanted to know what the Prince of Knowledge wanted with him. Hermaeus Mora was, in Harald's mind, the greatest threat he faced in this world, not Bal, not Dagon, but Hermaeus, with his infinite patience and schemes that spanned years. And Hermaeus had already gotten the better of Harald once.
Harald lay down on the bunk and let his mental defenses lower, allowing Hermaeus to enter his dreams.
Harald found himself standing in a chamber similar to those he had seen in Apocrypha during his time there, endless shelves of books stretching into impossible distances, a sickly green light everywhere.
And there, in all his terrible glory, was Hermaeus Mora himself.
Tentacles writhing, a thousand eyes following Harald's every movement.
"Hermaeus," Harald said calmly.
"Ahhhhhh, Dragonborn," Hermaeus's voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere at once. "It has been some time. Have you come to finally take your place as my champion?"
Harald laughed. "Is that why we are here again, Hermaeus? Still trying to claim me?"
Hermaeus laughed as well. "No, no. Though you already serve my purposes in many ways. Do you not see? Every moment you spent in Apocrypha, you became saturated with my influence. And because of that connection, I am able to exert far more influence on this new world than my other siblings."
Harald glared at the Daedric Prince.
"I have been enjoying my time here immensely. So many new secrets to discover, so much forbidden knowledge to catalogue."
"Like helping the maesters try to kill me?" Harald asked pointedly.
"Oh, those fools," Hermaeus said with something approaching contempt. "They have been untouchable for so long that they think themselves above everything, above kings, above gods. It was almost too easy to bring them into my service. They think themselves above me, rather than my instruments."
"I will end them soon," Harald said.
"I have no doubt," Hermaeus replied. "And I am looking forward to it. In fact, I have left something with them for you."
"What, more artifacts to use against me?" Harald asked. "Here I thought you did not like giving away your treasures."
"Oh, I will get them back," Hermaeus said with certainty. "Everything returns to me eventually. But this final gift was something I planned to use against you in Tamriel, before you so rudely left the realm. I have been wanting to see it work for many millennia."
Harald's expression turned troubled.
"There have been many Dragonborns in the past," Hermaeus continued, his many eyes blinking in sequence. "I once observed one leading armies against the Dwemer during the height of their empire. It was not the Dragonborn that interested me most, but rather the weapon the Dwemer created to fight them, a weapon made with knowledge stolen from me, crafted by a heretical Dwemer who dared reach out to Oblivion for forbidden secrets."
"What did you bring here?" Harald demanded, his voice hardening.
Hermaeus laughed. "Ohhhhh, I believe you will see it soon enough. Very soon."
His laughter grew louder as Harald felt himself being pulled back to consciousness.
Harald woke with a gasp, sitting up in the bunk.
"What the fuck have you done, Mora?" Harald muttered, his mind racing to think of what weapon the Dwemer had created that could threaten a Dragonborn.
.
.
.
Archmaester Eddard had come to Highgarden along with the great weapon they had acquired from the Prince of Knowledge. As one of the senior members of their secret order, he had been selected to accompany it.
He watched from Highgarden's walls as carts drawn by over ten horses each slowly made their way through the outer gates. The procession was immense, twelve massive wagons, each one requiring extraordinary draft animals to pull them, moving at a crawl under the tremendous weight.
On them were pieces of what Eddard could only describe as a metal monster, one that the Prince of Knowledge had told them would, when properly powered, assemble itself into a creature capable of defeating the Anathema.
It had taken them a year and more to find all the pieces that had fallen from the sky after they made their pact with the Prince of Knowledge. The fragments had been scattered across the Hightower lands, but they had found them all.
Now it would be used against King Loren and his army, and after that, against the Anathema himself.
The Prince of Knowledge had mentioned the great price for bringing it to life once more, and that was why it was here. The price would be paid with the Lion King's army.
King Edmund walked up to Eddard. "That is it then? The weapon you promised me? The one that the Citadel has been safekeeping? The one you said belongs to my family?"
"Yes, my king," Eddard said smoothly. He gestured to the approaching wagons. "We thought, considering the extraordinary times we now live in, it was time to reveal its existence. What is being brought before you was once a great enemy of your house, slain by the legendary knight Ser Selwyn the Mirror Knight during the Age of Heroes."
This was the story the order had chosen to explain the monstrosity they were about to unleash.
King Edmund's eyes widened. "It cannot be..."
Eddard saw that the first of the carts had reached the courtyard gates. He called out, "Lift the cloth. Let the king see his inheritance!"
The maesters and acolytes accompanying the wagon pulled away the heavy canvas tarp.
Revealed beneath was a dragon's head made entirely of golden metal. The head was massive, easily the size of a wagon itself.
"Behold, my king," Eddard said with reverence. "What Ser Selwyn slew was no ordinary dragon, but a dragon of metal. The legendary Urrax."
Edmund looked almost angry as the other carts moved into the courtyard and their cloth coverings were lifted to reveal more pieces.
"What can I do with this?" Edmund demanded. "Pieces of a dragon statue? Are you making a fool of me, Archmaester? Am I to melt it down for gold? You claimed to have a weapon, not whatever this is!"
"My king," Eddard said calmly, "this is no statue. Soon you will witness the resurrection of Urrax. It will live again. It will fly. It will burn. It will kill everything in its path."
He stepped closer. "With it by your side, you will not just be king of the Reach. You could be king of all Westeros, if you wished. No army can stand against Urrax. Not the Lannisters. Not the Heartlands. Not even the dragons of the Targaryens across the sea."
Edmund looked at the carts filled with golden metal parts of the mechanical dragon. His eyes fell on what looked like the dragon's chest.
Inside it, visible through gaps in the golden ribs, a crystal hummed ominously. It pulsed with a red light that seemed to beat like a heart.
A crystal hungry for souls.
.
.
Urrax.