So, what now?

"There, all better," Harald said softly as he finished healing the little girl's leg. A faint glow faded from his hand as the magic did its work.

"It's a miracle!" the girl's mother cried, pulling her daughter into her arms.

"Mama! It... it don't hurt no more!" the little girl exclaimed. Her small face beamed with joy, her big eyes filled with wonder at the sudden disappearance of her pain.

Harald stood up, dusting off his hands as he looked around the village. It was a modest place, sitting at the very edge of Blanetree lands. The houses were simple, made of weathered wood with thatched roofs. A few small farms dotted the outskirts, their crops struggling in the rocky soil, but the villagers seemed to make do with what they had. Chickens wandered freely between the homes, and the distant sounds of farm animals mingled with the gentle murmur of villagers going about their day.

The little girl's father approached Harald, gratitude pouring from his expression. "Thank you, Ser Stormcrown. I don't know how to repay you. I heard the stories from the lord's men. I believe them now. You truly are the Champion of the Seven."

Harald gave the man a nod, accepting the thanks with quiet humility. He had heard them call him many things in recent days, 'Champion' and 'Herald' being among the more common titles.

Since taking Blanetree Keep from Rodrick Greyjoy, Harald and Robard's men had been hard at work securing the lands. There were Ironborn scattered throughout these lands, using villages as their personal fiefs, lording over the villagers with Rodrick's blessing. Harald had made it his mission to root them out, killing any who dared remain. The villagers were grateful for the deaths of their tormentors, but Harald knew that these small victories were just the beginning.

They had been careful, ensuring that word of Rodrick's death hadn't yet spread. They needed more time to prepare, and Harald had calculated that they had two, maybe three weeks before word reached Haldon Greyjoy. Once that happened, retribution would come swiftly. Haldon would want vengeance for his son, and Harald had no doubt that a larger conflict was inevitable.

First, it would be Haldon. Then, after that, he would have to face King Harren himself.

As he walked, he noticed a commotion at the center of the village.

As Harald approached, he noticed a small group gathered around three of Robard's men—Chet, Willem, and Lame Rogar—along with several villagers. As he neared, he began to overhear a conversation, picking up the voice of a man speaking loudly.

"How can you believe he is this… Champion of the Seven?" the man said, his voice rising in agitation. "Perhaps he's deceiving you!"

Chet, ever blunt, responded with a snort. "If killing the Ironborn scum and saving us from their cruelty is deception, then I'm more than willing to be deceived."

The man's voice softened slightly, but there was a clear tremor of fear in it. "It's… it's not just that. He's a sorcerer. A user of dark arts." The last words were practically spat out, as though even saying them left a foul taste in the man's mouth. "The Faith teaches us to be wary of such men and women—witches, warlocks, sorcerers. It's against the teachings."

There was a murmur of agreement from some of the villagers, their eyes shifting uncomfortably as doubt began to creep in.

Harald frowned as he stepped closer. Sensing that the situation was growing out of hand, he decided to intervene.

"Is there a problem here?" Harald asked, his deep voice cutting through the muttering crowd as he stepped forward. The villagers turned toward him, their uneasy gazes locking onto him as he approached.

The man who had spoken was now fully visible to Harald. He was a young man, short and slight, dressed in the robes of what Harald believed to be a cleric of some sort.

"Ah, Harald!" Chet called out, motioning toward the man. "This is Septon Leobald, one of only two septons in these lands."

Harald stepped closer and inclined his head respectfully. "Septon," he greeted, his tone measured and calm.

Harald began to introduce himself but was cut off by the septon.

"I know who you are, sorcerer," the septon spat. "You may have deceived these poor souls, but you will not deceive me."

Harald closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling a slow sigh. When he opened them again, he met Leobald's gaze. "I never claimed to be sent by your gods," he said simply.

"Aha!" Septon Leobald exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger. "He admits it!"

Harald shook his head, unfazed. "But I was sent by the gods. That much is true. I just never claimed they were your gods."

Leobald's mouth opened and closed in quick succession, clearly caught off guard by the answer. Harald continued, his voice steady. "I came here to help the people of these lands. Nothing more, nothing less. Or would you have preferred Rodrick Greyjoy?"

At the mention of Rodrick's name, Septon Leobald faltered, his face showing a brief flicker of shame. "No," he said, his voice lower now, quieter. "Rodrick was evil. He caused so much pain to my flock. I thank you for bringing an end to him."

There was a pause, and Leobald looked down at the ground as if weighing his words. When he spoke again, his tone was more measured but still filled with the righteousness of his faith. "But understand, Ser Stormcrown, the holy books make it clear. 'Beware the touch of unnatural magic, for it is the seed from which shadows grow, and the hand that wields it often drifts from the light.'"

Harald nodded. "I understand your faith…."

Before Harald could continue, Leobald interrupted, his voice sharp with concern. "You may have rid us of Rodrick, but with his heir dead, Lord Haldon will bring his wrath down upon these people." He paused, glancing at the villagers gathered around, their faces now pale with fear. "Will you protect them from Haldon's vengeance as well?"

A murmur of anxiety spread through the crowd, and the villagers exchanged uneasy looks.

Harald took a step forward. He raised his hand and spoke in a voice that cut through the murmurings. "I swear an oath," he began, his tone solemn, "on the gods of my land and on your gods, both old and new—that I will protect you. From Haldon Greyjoy, from his men, and from any other danger that comes for these lands."

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the rustling of leaves in the wind. The villagers looked at each other, their fear slowly dissipating as they saw the conviction in Harald's eyes. Septon Leobald's expression softened, his earlier fire subdued. He studied Harald for a long moment before speaking again.

"I see your resolve, Ser Stormcrown," Leobald said, his tone more gentle now. "I will be coming with you to meet with young Robard," he added.

Harald gave him a firm nod. "Your guidance will be of great help to him."

======

Harald, Septon Leobald, and all but one of Robard's men began their journey back to Blanetree Keep. One soldier stayed behind to act as a lookout for any Ironborn, especially those who might come looking for Rodrick.

As they traveled, Harald found himself in a surprisingly enlightening conversation with Septon Leobald. Initially, Harald had pegged the young septon as a zealot, but as they spoke, he realized Leobald's distrust of him stemmed from fear, not blind fanaticism. The septon was willing to overlook Harald's use of magic once he got to know him better, though the wariness in Leobald's eyes hadn't completely faded.

Still, the exchange left Harald thinking. Leobald had reacted better than most, but Harald knew there would be others—true zealots—who wouldn't be swayed by reason or gratitude. They would see his powers as an affront to their gods and call for his death as a heretic. Such was the nature of religion, driven by fear of the unknown.

Harald knew this all too well. Back in Skyrim, the civil war started by Ulfric had divided the land and its people, with one of its primary causes being a religious conflict over the worship of Talos. He had helped end that war, but it had taught him that religious strife was not something easily quashed.

After a few hours of riding, the silhouette of Blanetree Keep finally appeared on the horizon. The closer they drew, the more life seemed to surround the keep. Servants moved about, attending to their duties, while guards patrolled the walls and entrances. As Harald and the others approached the gates, a few of the servants and guards called out in greeting, waving at them.

"Welcome back, Ser Stormcrown!" one of the guards shouted, his voice filled with genuine respect.

"Good to see you safe, Septon Leobald!" another servant added, bowing slightly as the group passed by.

Harald noted the new energy surrounding the keep. In the training yard, a group of men were being drilled by one of Robard's captains. These were not seasoned soldiers, but volunteers from the villages he and Robard's men had visited over the past week. They were unpolished, their movements stiff and awkward as they swung their swords, but there was determination in their eyes.

His gaze then shifted to a section of the keep's walls that had been damaged during the fight with Rodrick. Repairs were underway, but it would take time to rebuild using traditional methods. Stonemasons worked slowly, patching the wall piece by piece.

Harald thought for a moment. He wasn't a master of alteration magic, but he knew enough to bend the elements of stone and mortar to his will—at least to speed up the process. It wasn't a skill he'd used often, but in these circumstances, it might prove useful.

As they arrived in the courtyard, they were greeted by the sight of Gwen Blanetree. She looked much different from the woman he had first encountered a week ago—stronger, more vibrant, as though new life had been breathed into her. The bruises that once marred her face were nearly gone, and there was a lightness in her step that hadn't been there before.

"Septon Leobald!" Gwen called out, recognizing the young septon immediately.

Leobald was the first to dismount, moving quickly toward her. "Ah, my lady, you remembered me," he said with a smile, his voice tinged with relief as he approached.

"How could I forget?" Gwen responded with a soft smile of her own.

Harald dismounted next, handing the reins of his horse to a stable boy who quickly led the animal away. He walked over to join Gwen and Leobald, observing the warmth between them. It was clear Gwen had already begun to reclaim her sense of self, her spirit no longer crushed by the horrors she had endured.

"I am glad to see you alive and well, my lady," Leobald said earnestly. "When I heard of what had happened, I feared the worst."

"I am fine now, Septon," Gwen reassured him, glancing at Harald with gratitude in her eyes. "My brother and Harald saved us from that monster."

"I'm glad," Leobald said, his voice softening as his gaze shifted from Gwen to Harald, his previous wariness seemingly beginning to fade.

The septon's expression then grew more serious, and he asked, "My lady, what of the sept? Did the Ironborn deface it?"

Gwen nodded sadly. "Yes, Septon. It was damaged—defiled."

Leobald's face darkened with righteous anger. "This cannot stand," he declared, his resolve firm. "I will see to it immediately." Without waiting for further discussion, he turned on his heel and made his way toward the sept.

Gwen watched him go, then turned back to Harald, a light chuckle escaping her lips. "Welcome back, Harald. Robard is waiting for you in the great hall."

"Thank you," Harald replied with a nod, then gave her a small smile. "I think you should help the poor septon. He looks like he could use it."

Gwen laughed again, this time more freely, the sound clear and bright. "Yes, yes, I should."

======

Harald made his way inside the keep, heading toward the great hall. The transformation of the space since the fall of Rodrick Greyjoy was remarkable. What had once been a scene of violence and ruin had been cleaned up and restored to a sense of dignity. The broken furniture had been replaced or repaired, the walls scrubbed clean of grime, and the tattered banners of the Greyjoys had been removed, replaced by the sigils of House Blanetree. The stone floor gleamed in the torchlight, and the air felt lighter, as if the keep itself had been cleansed of its past horrors.

As Harald entered the hall, he saw Robard standing in front of a large wooden table with a map spread out across it. Chet stood nearby, giving Robard a report on their latest expedition.

"It's good you were able to track him down," Robard said relieved.

"Aye, the bastard escaping could have alerted Haldon to Rodrick's death quickly… but, my lord, I don't believe we have much time. Haldon will come."

"Yes, it's only a matter of time," Harald said, walking over to the table. His eyes scanned the map briefly before continuing. "Rodrick's father will know soon enough. He'll either send men or ask the nearest Lord to investigate. The news can't be kept quiet forever."

Robard sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. The weight of what was to come was clearly pressing on him. "And when that happens, we'll be in trouble."

Harald looked at him carefully. "Who will support us against the Greyjoys?"

Robard hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Every lord in the Riverlands will rally behind you if they know what you're capable of. Especially if you promise to use your power against Harren."

Harald crossed his arms and gave a short nod of understanding. "Tell me more about the lands Harren has given the Greyjoys to govern."

Robard leaned over the map, pointing at several key locations in the northern Riverlands. The map itself was finely detailed, showing the rivers that crisscrossed the land, the hills rising in the north, and the various strongholds and villages scattered throughout.

"These are the lands that Harren has given over to the Greyjoys," Robard explained, his finger tracing the regions on the map. "Blackwood, Mallister, Frey… all of them fall under Greyjoy rule, at least in part."

Robard's face darkened as he continued. "Harren's father was not like this. His rule, for an Ironborn, wasn't kind, but the Riverlords were left in relative peace. He even ruled from Fairmarket, and for a time, we were content enough."

He paused, his voice growing harder. "But Harren is vain and cruel. His endless building of that wretched castle has drained the land dry. He taxes us heavily to fuel his vanity, and now he's begun this system of governance, giving power to those he trusts most—his Ironborn vassals."

Robard pointed to a location on the map—Fairmarket, sitting along the banks of the Blue Fork. "Haldon Greyjoy sits there now, ruling in Harren's name."

Harald chuckled as he looked more closely at the map, tracing the borders with his finger. "Elric, the village elder from Riverwood, told me these lands were right on the border with Bracken lands. Seems like they're not even close," he said, his lips curling into an amused smile.

Robard let out a small laugh of his own. "Ah, yes. Before the Hoares invaded, before even the Stormking's time, there was a period of chaos in the Riverlands after the Justman kings died off. King Bracken and King Blackwood fought over these lands constantly, as this was the site of Oldstones."

Harald raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the history.

"At one point," Robard continued, "Bracken conquered all the way to Fairmarket. These lands were Bracken territory, and the Blackwoods were nearly wiped out. But then came King Eddard Blackwood, who fought King Jonos Bracken in what's now known as the Battle of Two Hills."

Robard's tone became more animated, the pride evident in his voice. "The Blackwoods won that battle, thanks to my ancestor, Ser Gwayne Blanetree. He was a knight who saved King Eddard on the battlefield and personally slew King Jonos Bracken. For that deed, the first Blanetree was granted these lands."

Harald shook his head with a grin. "Elric made it sound like it happened just a few years ago."

Robard laughed heartily at that. "Smallfolk have a way of doing that. To them, everything is part of some recent history—old battles become tales from yesterday."

The mood sobered as Harald's mind drifted back to the damaged section of the keep's wall, destroyed by his Thu'um. "We should fortify the keep. I can help speed up the repairs with some alteration magic, maybe even strengthen it beyond its original state," Harald said.

Robard nodded, his expression serious as he followed Harald's gaze. "Fortifying the keep is a start, but it won't be enough. We need more men... we need an army," Robard muttered, his frustration barely hidden.

Chet, standing nearby, snorted and waved a dismissive hand. "Why do we need an army? Harald's a one-man army. We don't need more men when we have him."

Robard shot him a stern look. "Harald can't be everywhere, Chet. He may help us defend the keep, but what about the innocent people in the villages? The Ironborn won't just stop at our walls. They'll raid, burn, and pillage the lands long before they even think of taking this keep. Harald can't protect all of them at once."

Harald nodded in agreement. "Robard's right," he said, his voice steady. "I can hold off the Ironborn here, but I can't be in every village, every hamlet." He paused, considering their next move. "Perhaps we could approach Lord Blackwood for support. If we stand together, we might stand a better chance."

Robard shook his head, his face hard with resignation. "It's futile. Haldon Greyjoy has taken hostages from Blackwood, Frey, and Mallister—noble sons and daughters. He's using them to keep those lords loyal. Blackwood won't risk open rebellion as long as Haldon has his kin under lock and key."

"So, we're alone," Chet said, his usual cocky tone replaced with a tinge of bitterness. "Great."

"No," Harald said firmly. "We're not defeated yet. There's only one way forward now. We need to be on the offensive. Haldon cannot be allowed to lead his armies here."

Robard blinked, his interest piqued. "What do you have in mind?" he asked as Harald began to explain his plan.