Harald was walking to his chambers, his mind focused on his upcoming meeting with Loren. The corridor was dimly lit by the magical lights he had installed throughout the castle, though they were set lower for the evening hours.
Two Spectres accompanied him as always, Pate and another named Davos, their purple-tinted armor gleaming faintly in the soft light.
He had been feeling a strange magical energy for the past hour, ever since he had left his chambers while waiting for Loren to investigate. It was faint and elusive, like trying to catch smoke with bare hands. He had been walking around the castle, trying to pinpoint its source, following the sensation as it ebbed and flowed.
"Your Grace, look," he heard Pate say.
Ahead of him, Princess Serena Stark stood in a dark corner near a window overlooking the courtyard, swaying as if she might faint at any moment. One hand was pressed against the wall for support, her head hanging low.
"She seems drunk, Your Grace," Pate observed quietly.
"At this hour?" Harald muttered.
"Mayhaps the princess likes her drink," Davos commented.
"Come," Harald said to the Spectres, moving toward the princess with concern.
As he approached, he could see her more clearly. She was holding her head with one hand, the other still braced against the wall, trying to steady herself. Her breathing was labored, her posture unsteady.
"Princess Serena?" Harald called out gently as he drew near. "Are you all right?"
Serena's head snapped up, her eyes wide with surprise. She quickly schooled her features into something more composed, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way she swayed slightly.
"I am fine," she said, her words only slightly slurred. "Just a bit light-headed. Could be the climate. The South is… warmer than Winterfell."
"Let me escort you to your chambers," Harald offered, extending a hand to steady her.
As he looked at her more closely, his eyes fell on hers, and he could have sworn he saw them shift to yellow for a brief moment. Not the Stark grey she should have had, but a bright, unnatural yellow that gleamed in the dim light.
Then it was gone, so quickly he almost thought he had imagined it.
Serena tried to walk away, pulling back from his offered hand. "I can manage—"
Harald reached out to stop her, concerned she might actually collapse. "Princess, you're clearly unwell. At least let my—"
"SORCERER!"
The shout came from behind him, echoing down the corridor with fury and accusation.
Harald turned to see Brandon Stark, Crown Prince of the North, striding toward him with anger written across his face. Several Northern men accompanied him, their hands moving toward their sword hilts.
"Step away from my sister!" Brandon demanded, his grey eyes blazing with righteous anger.
The Spectres immediately moved to defensive positions, Pate and Davos drawing their swords with smooth, practiced motions. The Northern men did the same, steel ringing in the quiet corridor.
"What do you plan to do with my sister, sorcerer?" Brandon spat, the last word like a curse.
"I found her like this," Harald said calmly, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "She was unsteady on her feet. I came to help."
"Lies!" Brandon's hand went to his own sword. "More of your tricks and deceptions!"
The confrontation was drawing attention now. Servants peered from doorways. Some lords from both the North and the West emerged, drawn by the commotion and the ring of steel.
"Brandon," Serena spoke up, her voice still weak but clearer than before. "I was feeling unwell. The King was only trying to help."
"Help?" Brandon's laugh was bitter. "The way he 'helped' Father? The way he 'helped' that weakling Barthogan?"
He took a step closer to Harald, his hand still on his sword hilt. "I am on to you, sorcerer. You may have addled my father's mind with your gifts and your honeyed words. You may have corrupted Bart with your false faith and your magic tricks. But I know what you are. I see through your deceptions."
His eyes were wild now, fevered with certainty and hatred. "You will not have my sister."
He grabbed Serena's arm, pulling her away from Harald. "Come, sister."
Serena stumbled but allowed herself to be led away, casting one last look back at Harald. Her expression was unreadable.
Harald watched them go, the Northern lords and guards forming a protective circle around the crown prince and princess as they retreated down the corridor. The Spectres remained on guard, swords still drawn, until the Northerners were well away.
Only then did Pate speak. "Your Grace, should we—"
"No," Harald said quietly. "Let them go."
He was only glad that Torrhen was king and not his eldest son. The Northern alliance was fragile enough without Brandon having real power. If that man ever sat the throne in Winterfell…
Harald turned and walked back toward his chambers, his Spectres falling into step behind him.
His mind was on the strange magic he had been sensing, the energy that had led him to find Serena in that corridor. And now that he thought about it, really focused on the sensation, it was similar to something he had felt before.
Very similar.
=========
It was already late evening now, the sun setting over the Gods Eye in brilliant shades of orange and gold. Harald knew it was time for his meeting with Loren.
The King of the Rock arrived, escorted by two of Harald's Spectres and two of Loren's best knights.
"Loren!" Harald greeted him warmly as the door opened.
"Harald!" Loren responded with equal enthusiasm.
They embraced, not the formal gesture of kings meeting in public, but the genuine hug of friends. They clapped each other on the back, both grinning.
"I have been shown around the castle," Loren said as they separated. "Very impressed, my friend. Very impressed indeed." He paused, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I noticed how you took inspiration from Casterly Rock for the armory. The layout, the organization, even some of the architectural details."
Harald laughed. "Well, you did mention it was the finest armory in Westeros during one of our letters. I thought, why not learn from the best?"
Loren laughed heartily at that, clearly pleased by the acknowledgment.
They moved to comfortable chairs arranged near the window, a small table between them already set with wine and refreshments.
Harald truly liked Loren, even before they had met in person. But now, having spent the last two days together, they had become basically best friends. They were on the same wavelength, you could say. Their personalities meshed well, and their future plans intersected perfectly, which made their alliance feel natural rather than forced.
"How rude of the King in the North to leave as soon as he arrived," Loren remarked with mock offense as he settled into his chair. "Here barely a day, and off he goes to his sacred island."
"I was the one who suggested he visit the Isle," Harald said with a laugh. "The man came all this way, and the Isle of Faces is right there. It would have been poor hospitality not to offer."
"Should I expect you to send me to Andalos to commune with the Seven?" Loren asked with a wry smile.
Both men burst into laughter at the absurdity of the suggestion.
"I am saddened that you have not shown me any magic," Loren said after their laughter subsided, taking a sip of the wine that had just been poured for them by a servant. Harald had motioned for her to leave quickly after serving them, wanting privacy. "I mean, I saw those magic lights at the feast, but after that…" He gestured vaguely. "All this time, and you never even bothered to give me a proper demonstration."
Harald smiled. "I didn't want to scare your lords. They're nervous enough as it is."
"Too true, too true," Loren agreed with a chuckle. "Half of them think you're going to turn them into toads or steal their souls. Lord Lefford actually asked me if it was safe to eat the food here, worried it might be enchanted."
Harald laughed, then raised his palm upward, fingers slightly curved.
A ball of flame appeared above his hand. It crackled and danced, orange and red and yellow, casting flickering shadows across the room.
He watched as Loren's face transformed into an expression of true awe, the King of the Rock leaning forward in his chair, his eyes wide and reflecting the firelight.
Then Harald changed it.
The flames shifted, the colors bleeding away, crackling and transforming until lightning danced between Harald's fingers. Blue-white arcs of electricity snapped and hissed, jumping from finger to finger, creating a web of power that lit up the room with strobing flashes. The smell of ozone filled the air.
The lightning became ice. Frost spread across Harald's palm and fingers, forming intricate crystalline patterns that glittered in the fading evening light. The temperature in the room dropped noticeably, their breath becoming visible in small puffs of vapor.
Finally, the ice melted away and his hand glowed golden, a warm light that seemed to pulse with life and vitality, gentle and soothing where the previous displays had been violent and dangerous.
"Healing magic," Harald explained, his voice quiet in the sudden stillness.
Loren clapped his hands together, genuine delight and awe written across his face. "Bravo! Bravo! Truly amazing!" He laughed, shaking his head in wonder. "And yes, that would indeed scare my vassals half to death. Some of them might actually faint if you did that in their presence."
"But not you?" Harald asked with a slight smile.
"No," Loren said firmly, his expression becoming more serious even as humor still danced in his eyes. "You wound me, Harald. You know I am not a man easily frightened. Impressed, certainly. Awed, perhaps. Envious, definitely." He grinned. "But never frightened. I've seen enough in this world to know that power itself is neither good nor evil. It's what you do with it that matters."
"Quite the festivities you have planned, my friend," Loren said, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smile. "And I plan to enjoy them thoroughly." He paused, then his expression grew more serious. "But I confess, I cannot truly let myself enjoy them if we do not speak on matters of state first. Only after that is settled, after we have reached an understanding, can I truly relax and partake in the celebrations without reservation."
Harald smiled, appreciating Loren's directness. "Then what kind of host would I be to keep you in suspense? Let us speak, then, King Loren. Let us discuss the future of our kingdoms."
"I talked to Queen Argella," Loren said, swirling the wine in his cup. "Had lunch with her today, actually."
Harald's smile widened slightly. "She is quite a predicament."
"That's an understatement," Loren said with a laugh. "But I like her. She's got spirit, intelligence, and more importantly, she's the rightful queen. I plan to recognize her as the true Queen of the Stormlands. Fuck those usurper cousins of hers."
He then grinned, his eyes glinting with knowing amusement. "But I am sure you have your own plans for the young queen, Harald. However, as one of the seven kings who rule this continent, one worries when it seems that number might soon fall one kingdom shorter."
Harald raised an eyebrow.
"Come now," Loren continued, gesturing with his wine cup. "You have no queen, she has no king. By the looks of things, my friend, the Heartlands will swallow up the Stormlands very soon. And that would make the rest of us very nervous indeed."
"I'm sure you have something in mind to make you less nervous," Harald said with a knowing smile.
"Indeed I have," Loren replied, setting down his cup.
His face changed then, becoming more serious, more intense. This was the King of the Rock speaking now, not just his friend.
"You know, Harald, my family has achieved much. We are the richest house in Westeros. The gold from our mines is endless. We lions sit upon a literal mountain of gold." He leaned forward slightly. "If you ask some peasant from Yi Ti who rules the strange lands in the west, they will tell you it is a golden lion who lives in a golden mountain."
Loren's expression grew even more serious, a hint of old bitterness creeping into his voice.
"Even the Valyrians feared us, you know. There was a prophecy, something about gold and fire and the death of dragons. They sent expeditions to explore Westeros, mapped our coasts, but they never came for conquest. Not because they couldn't, but because we held Casterly Rock. Because something in their visions warned them against it."
His hands gripped the edge of the table, knuckles whitening slightly.
"But even with all that, even with our wealth and our ancient power, my family has been living in the shadow of the Gardeners. Living under the weight of defeats that go back centuries."
He stood and moved to the map of Westeros that hung on the wall.
"Do you know of Lacel Lannister?" Loren asked, his voice growing more passionate. "He lived during the reign of Gyles Gardener the Third, perhaps twelve hundred years ago. Lacel was ambitious, brilliant even. He amassed a great army to conquer the Reach while Gyles was campaigning in the Stormlands. The Durrandon king was only months away from falling. Gyles had conquered most of the Storm Kingdom already."
His finger traced a path on the map from the Westerlands south into the Reach.
"Lacel thought he could easily take the Reach while the Gardener forces were distracted in the east. He marched south with thirty thousand men, the largest army the Rock had ever fielded. But Gyles was a tactical genius, perhaps the greatest military mind the Reach ever produced. He somehow got word of the invasion, force-marched his army back across hundreds of miles in less than a fortnight, and crushed Lacel utterly at the Battle of the Golden Grove."
Harald's eyebrows rose. "In a fortnight? Across that distance? That's… impressive."
"Gyles was a genius," Loren nodded grimly. "The Reach truly reached its peak during his reign. He expanded their borders to their greatest extent, defeated every neighboring kingdom that challenged him, and died peacefully in his bed at the age of seventy-two."
He turned back to face Harald, his expression dark with old anger.
"Twenty thousand men loyal to the Rock died in a single day at Golden Grove. Twenty thousand. Lacel himself was captured and kept in a cage for three years, paraded through the Reach like an animal, before Gyles finally allowed him to take the black. The Lannisters still remember the sting of that defeat, the humiliation of it. Our greatest king in living memory, reduced to a caged beast for the Gardeners' amusement."
Loren's hands clenched into fists. "There were other attempts later. King Loreon the Lithe tried to take the northern Reach two hundred years ago and was driven back at Golden Grove again, as if the place were cursed for us. King Gerold the Great made it as far as Highgarden's walls before the Gardener king Garth the Tenth forced him to retreat."
He looked directly into Harald's eyes.
"For generations, we have been planning this invasion, preparing for the moment when we could finally avenge Lacel and take what should have been ours. The Reach is fertile, wealthy, and populous. It should belong to the Rock, not to those flower-picking Gardeners."
"All I want is your help so that I can take all of the Reach north of the Mander." His finger traced the river that divided the kingdom. "I plan to stop at Highgarden itself. Take the Gardener capital, seize all their possessions, and break their power completely. But I'll leave a rump kingdom, just Oldtown and Horn Hill and the lands around them, with House Hightower and House Tarly holding what remains. Enough to maintain some stability, not enough to threaten either of us."
Loren's grin returned.
"You can have the Stormlands through your marriage to Argella. Either way, I would even give you Tumbleton and Grassy Vale from the Reach. Rich lands, productive farmland, strategic positions on your border. And in return, I want your help. The magical variety."
He spread his hands, his eyes gleaming with ambition.
"In the coming years, our kingdoms will be the most powerful in all of Westeros. The West and the Heartlands, allied and supreme. The other kingdoms will have no choice but to accept the new order we create."
Loren did not stop, leaning forward with intensity. "I would also be upset if you have not noticed how this would solve your issue with the Faith."
He tapped the map emphatically. "King Mern is old. His sons are pious zealots who hate everything you represent. If Mern dies and his pious sons inherit, they will turn their full attention to you. The High Septon will call for a holy war against the Covenant, against your 'heresy.' And that, my friend, is not a good thing. Many kings have lost control of their vassals during such times. Religious fervor can override oaths of fealty. Lords who might otherwise stay neutral will feel compelled to act when the Faith demands it."
"But," Loren continued, his finger moving across the map, "if I invade the Reach, if I break the Gardeners' power, the Faith loses its strongest military supporter. The High Septon can call for holy war all he wants, but without the Reach's armies to back it up, his words are just that. Words."
Loren walked back and sat down again.
Silence followed between them, and after a comfortable amount of time, Harald smiled and stood up, walking over to retrieve the potions he had made earlier. He returned and placed them carefully on the table between them.
Loren looked at them with intense interest, leaning forward to examine the vials more closely. Each one glowed faintly with its own distinctive color: red, green, white, pale blue, and deep amber.
"This is a potion of health," Harald said, picking up the red vial and holding it up to the light. "It accelerates the body's natural healing dramatically. A wound that would take weeks to heal closes in hours. Broken bones mend in days instead of months. Blood loss is restored, infections are prevented. A knight who takes a sword thrust to the shoulder could be back in the fight by the next day."
He set down the red vial and picked up the green one.
"This is a potion of stamina," Harald continued. "It removes fatigue, restores energy, allows a man to fight or march or work for hours beyond his normal limits. Your soldiers could fight all day, rest for a few hours, drink this, and fight all day again."
He picked up the white vial next. "This is a cure disease potion. It purges illness from the body, everything from simple fevers to more serious afflictions. An army that drinks these doesn't suffer from camp diseases."
Harald set that down and picked up the pale blue vial. "This is a fortify archery potion. It enhances hand-eye coordination, steadies the aim, makes every archer who drinks it shoot like a master. Your bowmen could hit targets at distances they never thought possible, with accuracy that would seem supernatural."
Finally, he picked up the amber vial. "And this is a fortify one-handed potion. It enhances sword skill, makes the blade feel lighter, the movements faster, the strikes more precise. A decent swordsman becomes excellent. An excellent swordsman becomes legendary. For the duration of the potion's effects, your knights would be unstoppable in close combat."
Loren's eyes widened as the implications crashed into him like a wave.
An army that could not tire. Soldiers who healed from wounds overnight. Troops immune to disease. Archers who never missed. Knights who fought like heroes from legend.
Loren began laughing, a sound that started quietly and grew louder, filling the room with genuine, almost disbelieving mirth.
"Oh, my friend," he said between laughs, "if this is what you have, I might just conquer all of the Reach."
"As long as the Faith and the Citadel's power lessen, you can do what you want," Harald said.
Loren barely seemed to hear him, still caught up in the possibilities racing through his mind. Harald wanted to tell him about the secret order within the Citadel, about the conspiracy he had uncovered, but he chose not to. Not yet. He needed more solid evidence, more concrete proof before making such serious accusations. One captured maester was not enough.
"How much can you give me?" Loren asked, finally controlling his laughter and trying to keep his voice steady. He failed slightly, excitement still evident in his tone. "How many of these potions can you provide for my army?"
Harald grinned. "How much gold do you have?"
Loren grinned back, his eyes taking on an almost maddening gleam, the look of a man who suddenly saw victory not just as possible, but inevitable.
"A mountain, my friend. An entire mountain."
.
.
Loren and Harald's Plans
Purple: Heartlands
Light Purple: Stormlands under union with the Heartlands
Red: Westerlands
Light Red: Hightower Kingdom (Lannister puppet)