Chapter III. Dead Men Tell No Tales

Author note:

Hi. First of all, thanks for your support. I have corrected a few mistakes in the previous chapters and also decided to use the imperial system instead of the metric system, as that is what appears in Martin's books. Enjoy your reading.

Dorne, Redcape Town

Neferion

The tiny jail cell housed only one prisoner. The faint light coming through a small barred window illuminated a face that was filled with dread at the sight of him. 'Poor' Harland pressed himself against the wall with a groan, wanting to get as far away from him as possible.

"Ah. My favourite Ironborn," Neferion said with a cruel smile. Seeing the other man wince at the sound of his voice ringing through the cell, he continued, and with each word he spoke, the atmosphere in the cell became extremely dense. "Dear Harland, I do not believe you mean to tell me that you fear me. A big, scary pirate, and you're trembling like a kid... Hmm, how many times have you stood on the opposite side?... "

"When a child, trembling in front of you, asked for mercy? How often have you heard the desperate cries of dread from the women you raped? The cries of women and children as their husbands and fathers are butchered like animals. What did you feel when you heard the screams of people who had been burnt alive in their own homes by fires started by your men? Hi Lir (You worm)"

Neferion could hear the anxious shuffling and heavy breathing of Alerik and the guards outside the cell. He was not surprised by them at all. He had let himself get carried away by his emotions. So much so that the words in Dovah-Zul crept into his speech.

He looked closely at the prisoner cowering in front of him with disgust. He fortunately was still alive. He wouldn't want this scum's heart to have stopped from the horror he felt.

"Do you fear death or perhaps torture?... Oh, you shouldn't. I'm not going to give you that grace, nor do I entertain torture. But I have something much better prepared for you and your people." He assured the man, and his cold gaze pierced that one like ice blades.

You see. I intend to take away your soul and your will, or, more precisely, I'm going to bend them to my Will. You will become nothing more than puppets fulfilling my every whim, and when your bodies die, I will enchain your souls with your bones to serve me further. For eternity… This is your punishment.'

These words transformed the fear in the pirate's eyes into something much deeper. With one last desperate move, he tried to bite his tongue, but Neferion was faster. An armoured hand grabbed the face of that one and, squeezing, forcibly opened his mouth. Then he spoke.

"GOL HAH DOV" (Earth, Mind, Dragon).

His voice rang out powerfully and echoed throughout the dungeons. Dovahkiin's will fell on the man with the weight of the sky, extinguishing his free will like a candle. Fear instantly vanished from the pirate's eyes and was replaced by unwavering loyalty and absolute obedience. Rising, he quickly got down on one knee and asked with a reverent voice, "My Lord, what are your commands? How can this unworthy servant serve you?"

Dovahkiin gave his new servant a contented glance. From behind him, however, came Alerik's voice, full of wonder but also ill-concealed trepidation: "Neferion, what was that? Did you really enslave his mind?"

Turning, he looked at the knight and looked at him intently. "I told you that the Thu'um is not only used to cause spectacular natural phenomena, but in the right hands, namely mine, it can be extremely versatile. And as for Harland, I have found a means of redemption for him. He will kill his former comrades in my name. Do you not like my methods?"

The man took a deep breath and shook his head in denial, "Not a bit. That bastard deserved no better, but the fact that you can bend someone's will to your own in a few words is unsettling."

He nodded his head at these words, understanding where his companion's nervousness was coming from. To see with your own eyes how some powerful entity is able to effortlessly enslave the mind of a mortal, not dissimilar to you, must fill you with terror. Surely it occurred to him whether the same thing would happen to him or whether I hadn't already manipulated his mind in some way myself. Especially since, even though we are on friendly terms now, there is no telling what the future will bring.

But did he regret revealing this particular Shout. Not a bit. That's what he allowed the guards to stay at the cell for. Let the news of his power spread far and wide; the further away, the better. Maybe his potential opponents would think twice before stepping on his toes. It is one thing to risk one's life against a sorcerer wielding elemental power but quite another to risk one's own soul and mind.

"I understand your anxiety. I can assure you that as long as you are on my side, you need not fear me. If I wanted everyone around me to bend to my will, the world would soon become a boring place, and whatever, I am an adventurer at heart. And interacting with the people you meet is part of the adventure, isn't it?"

"Eh, I suppose," replied the knight in an uncertain voice, scratching his head. "If you understand being an adventurer as being a sword for hire, then you will need someone willing to hire you."

"You're making it too bland." He interjected, "Being an adventurer is more than that. In my homeland, it also meant scouring ruins, cursed places, hunting monsters, solving ancient puzzles, and uncovering mysteries. I got stopping the end of the world as a bonus, but that doesn't matter at the moment. Anyway, I think we have a few more destinations to visit. What do you think?"

*************************

Dorne, South coast of Dorne

Few days later.

Qhorin Hoare, King of Iron Islands

Qhorin stood on the sandy beach, gazing proudly at the view before him. Wherever his eye could not reach, the entire bay was filled with longships. Nearly three hundred and another hundred and half were hidden all along the southern coast of Dorne. In the bay alone, there were nearly 15,000 ironborn, hiding from the sun in tents set up along the shore.

It may not have been an army capable of facing any kingdom, but he had no plans to fight battles. His aim was to plunder all the ports and coastal villages of Dorne, burn what they could not take, and sail back to the Iron Islands as quickly as possible.

The time was near. He was only waiting for the reports of the last few captains he had sent regularly along the coast. Finally, he would not only erase the memory of his defeat with the Redwyne fleet, but he would also claim victory and booty the likes of which the Ironborn had not heard of for millennia. In addition, without the risk of getting into a devastating war. Dorne, even with a fully operational fleet, could not risk an invasion of the Iron Islands without also exposing itself to attack from the Lords of the Stormlands and Reach.

The plan was perfect; now all he had to do was carry it out successfully, and his name would be remembered in the islands for millennia to come alongside at least his famous ancestor, Qhored I Hoare. This was his last chance. For he was long past his prime and his 60th name day was soon approaching.

Turning on his heel and casting one last glance at the blue waters of the bay, he set off towards his tent, where he was expected by the lords of the islands who were present here with him. The oval tent was more than 20 feet in diameter and was looted from a ship belonging to one of the magisters of Pentos.

Stepping inside, the gazes of the men present inside turned on him. Each was a seasoned veteran of many battles and expeditions. Nineteen lords of the Iron Islands, ready at his command, to fall like a plague on unsuspecting Dorne.

The atmosphere in the tent, however, was far from satisfactory, as the scorching sun and the arduous wait took their toll on everyone.

One of the men, tall and stocky, with a face scarred with the marks of smallpox, walked around the table with the folded map of Dorne and, stepping in front of it, angrily asked, "Qhorin, you motherfucker. How much longer do we have to wait? Everything is ready; people are impatient and supplies will soon run out, but you seem in no hurry at all."

Qhorin looked angrily at him. Of course, fucking Victorion Greyjoy must have had some sort of complaint. The Lord of Pyke had always been a thorn in his side, waiting for the slightest stumble. Ever since the failed attack on the Arbor, he had been insufferable.

"The last thing we need right now is to be in too much of a hurry," he replied with a hint of irritation in his voice. Oh, how he wished he could rip the skull off that annoying bastard. But keeping his nerves in check, he continued, "We'll wait three more days, and if the rest of the scout ships haven't returned by then, we'll proceed as planned."

Looking around, in a firm tone he asked, "Do any of you still have anything to say?" With these words he tied a rope around his neck for himself. The next half hour was one big shouting match. Another moment and blood would probably have been shed. At that moment, however, one of his men rushed into the tent, catching his breath, "My King. Drumm has entered the bay but has returned with only one ship."

Qhorin furrowed his brow in thought. Where were the other two ships? Had they been left behind? Probably Harland had sent them to one of the smaller assembly points. With haste, he moved to exit the tent. The Lord of Old Wyk was the one he was waiting for the most. If they were going to get Starfall, reconnaissance of the bay and estuary was crucial.

The lords present in the tent followed him, probably as hungry for news as he was. Before they reached the waters of the bay, Harland, with his crew, was just pulling the longship ashore. To his surprise, it showed signs of serious damage, hastily repaired. But the biggest surprise was the giant figure, shrouded in dark armour of extraordinary craftsmanship, at least a head taller than the ironborns around it.

Qhorin stopped a dozen feet from the boat, and just before it, a large group of lords and other captains had gathered. Everyone's attention was focused on the strange newcomer. Especially as his face, despite the similarities, did not belong to a human being. Apart from his unusual height and even his golden complexion, his ears were longer and pointed, but it was his eyes that were unnatural, glowing with a golden radiance from afar.

Harland, spotting him, moved towards him, and the stranger followed. Stopping in front of him, Drumm said, pointing with his hand to the man behind him, "Qhorin, allow me to introduce you to Lord Neferion, who has come from distant lands and has extremely weighty words to impart to you as well as the other captains."

The King of the Iron Islands glanced at the armoured newcomer and, meeting his gaze, quickly turned his gaze back to Harland. There was something in the man's strange eyes that made him feel extremely small and insignificant, and it made him furious.

"I don't know where you got this weirdo from, but let him know my understanding." Then turning to the golden-skinned warrior, avoiding his gaze one by one, he added, "Speak."

The man took a step forward and approached him, his huge figure making him even more impressive up close. But it was the surrounding presence that appeared suddenly, as if from nowhere, that pierced Qhorin with an icy shudder.

The man smiled in a deeply unsettling manner and then spoke in a low and intense voice that elicited immediate obedience. "Tell your god if you meet him, that I am coming for him and I also have only three words for you..."

"FUS RO DAH" (Force, Balance, Push)

Suddenly the whole world of Qhorin Hoare shook to its foundations, then there was only pain and darkness.

*************************

Neferion

Standing on the deck of the Pride of Old Wyk, the flagship of the House of Drumm, he looked curiously at the bay filled to the brim with longships of all sizes. Earlier, he had been troubled by the thought of how such a gathering of Ironborn could have escaped the attention of the Lords of Dorne. However, seeing the bay cut deep into the land and the desert stretching onwards, he understood how well hidden the location was. In addition, any ships that came upon it would be eliminated by the Ironborn patrolling these waters.

Seeing thousands of tents stretched out on the shore or on boats, under which pirates attempted to protect themselves from the hot sun, he could have sympathised with them if they hadn't been a walking blight.

Their deaths would also help him get closer to his personal aim. During the voyage, he got the opportunity to thoroughly examine Harland about their beliefs, and he was now certain that the Drowned God existed and could shake hands with those fuckers from Oblivion if they ever met.

His next actions were also to confirm one of his theories about the deities of this world. According to him, they were fundamentally different from the Aedras or Daedras. Above all, they seemed inextricably linked to this world, its history and culture. And now the question arose? Did they arise entirely as a culmination of the beliefs of certain groups of people or beings? Or the second option was that they were ancient beings who had attained transcendence as a result of the worship they received. Both options, however, indicated that their power depended on the faith of their followers.

In the case of the Drowned God, the whole culture of the Ironborn and their lives was one big worship of their god. Despite appearances to the contrary, Harland was well-read and had a great knowledge of his people's history, and although their origins were more like a collection of legends, they tended to agree that they were not his first followers.

The Deep Ones, an ancient race of fishermen living in their underwater cities that now existed only in myth, were the first worshippers of the Drowned God. And what's more, some of the Iron Islands' inhabitants believed that they were descended from this race and that the first ones were simply hybrids of fishfolk and kidnapped human women. Later, their descendants adopted their culture and customs. At the mere thought of this, disgust filled him and anger boiled within him.

Keeping his emotions in check, he turned to Harland, "Remember. You will introduce me and tell me that I have something important to convey to Qhorin and the other lords. It would be best for them to gather in one place, but if that doesn't work out, you say tough. Then, you and your men will hide on the Pride of Old Wyk, and you will still be useful to me. Understood?"

Harland nodded eagerly, "Of course, my lord. It will be as you wish."

Dovahkiin smiled in satisfaction. Bend Will Shout was an incredible instrument for control. He needed to give it to Miraak. The victim's mind and knowledge remained intact, but their will to survive and to protect their interests was replaced by unbounded loyalty to the person who used that thu'um. Terrible power in the wrong hands.

Furthermore, it did not apply only to weak beings. Even Dovah and powerful Daedra could not defend themselves against it if the user was strong enough. Hmh. Actually, subjugating the huge lizards known here as dragons would not be a bad idea.

"Audacity." He muttered with irritation.

They soon reached the shore, and a moment later he was able to get a closer look at the king who would not rule much longer. Qhorin was well-built and tall for a man, despite his old age by local standards. His windswept face bore the marks of many expeditions and battles, and his eyes, though they tried to avoid his gaze at all costs, had a cunning glint.

When the last king of the Iron Islands told him to tell him what he came with, Neferion could not help but smile with excitement, and then he spoke.

"Tell your god if you meet him, that I am coming for him and I also have only three words for you..."

"FUS RO DAH" (Force, Balance, Push)

The earth trembled, and the echo of his Thu'um carried for tens of miles. The space in front of him exploded, and a powerful shock wave flew for several hundred feet, taking with it people, tents and thousands of tonnes of sand. Qhorin, the lords of the Iron Islands and the pirates all died on the spot, and those whom Shout did not reach lay buried under the mass of sand thrown into the air. The Unrelenting Force probably neutralised two or three thousand of them in total.

Screams of surprise and fear rang out from all around. "Sorcerer! Demon! Kill him! Run!" causing even more chaos. Some of the pirates, blinded by anger, thoughtlessly threw themselves at him. Most, however, rushed to their longships, seeking salvation in the territory of their god.

Seeing the thousands of warriors rushing towards him, he took a deep breath, and the Thu'um resounded once more, one after another.

MUL QAH DIIV (Strength, Armor, Wyrm)

SU GRAH DUN (Air, Battle, Grace)

KRII LUN AUS (Kill, Leech, Suffer)

Armour of blue-gold light surrounded his figure, doubling his physical capabilities. His arms were imbued with the power of the wind, and his enemies were weakened.

Taking his time, he slowly stretched his muscles and put on the helmet attached to his belt. In his right and left hands, Wuuthrad and Volendrug appeared one after another. At that very moment, one of the ironborn came within his reach, taking the last step of his life. Faster than the pirate's brain could register, his body was split from head to crotch by the legendary battle axe of Ysgramor himself.

Some of the attackers, seeing this, wanted to stop, but the momentum of the run and their companions behind them pushed them further into the clutches of death. Dovahkiin swung his other hand, holding the Ancient Dwemer Warhammer, also known as the 'Hammer of Might', striking two ironborn at once and sending their crushed bodies far into the waters of the bay, while on the sandy shore, the slaughter began.

Neferion was a blur, moving faster than his opponents could respond. Wuuthrad slashed the bodies into bits, while Volendrug smashed and flung them everywhere. True horror filled the hearts of the surviving men. It took him less than a few minutes to eliminate more than thousend of them. He must have appeared to them to be a god who had descended to earth. And that was only the beginning.

He glanced at Harland, checking to see if he had hidden away on the ship as he had instructed. He had secured it with one of his novelty shouts earlier, so while they remained on it, they were safe. Because all hell was about to break loose. The earth and skies trembled once more, but this time with greater force as the Thu'um of his greatest enemy burst from his lips.

LOK YOL AL (Sky, Fire, Destruction)

The skies over the bay, within a radius of many miles, were covered by a mass of dense, dark clouds, against which numerous bright points began to flicker, growing larger by the second. The surviving Ironborn, whether they were further out on the shore or those on the ships, looked up with a mixture of awe and fear, sensing that something terrifying was coming.

After a while, the sky brightened as thousands of bright dots came close enough to turn into flaming spheres, falling at tremendous speed to the ground.

The first meteor hit one of the larger longships, which could accommodate about 80 crew members. Following the collision, blazing pieces of wood and human bodies were spread across the water. Then more and more of them fell.

To shield himself from the rain of destruction, Neferion used a shout of his own invention, the effectiveness of which he had already tested in his fight with Alduin.

SU SPAAN QAH (Air, Shield, Protection)

A transparent dome of compressed air surrounded him, providing an almost impenetrable barrier, even to the meteors falling with tremendous momentum, which ricocheted off the pirates fleeing in panic. It all took perhaps a few minutes, but when the rain of fire stopped, not a single living ironborn remained around, apart from Harland's men. The bay was on fire, with mostly unrecognisable bodies and shipwreckage floating on the water, and the shore was mostly covered by glazed craters.

He looked around with a deep sigh. "Too easy. What a disappointment. I could have let go of Alduin's showpiece act. But what a show it was. They must have been seen for hundreds of miles."

Anyway, he's done his bit; now it's the Dayne brothers' turn to sort out the mess. Given the distance from Redcape to Starfall, they should make it here in three days, in which time he would move further east along the coast, eliminating the remaining pirates. He turned his eyes to the sea, trying to penetrate the dark depths. He could feel the malevolence coming from that direction and the fury before it. This Drowned asshole wasn't happy. Had the loss of so many devout worshippers hurt? Who would have thought?

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Dorne, Sunspear

Princess Nymeria Nymeros Martell

The spacious white marble chamber, adorned with numerous tapestries and paintings depicting battle scenes or panoramas of Dorne, was occupied by five people besides her, seated around a large oak table filled with maps and documents of various kinds.

To her right, her uncle Morgan, whose figure embodied the fullness of their rhoynar blood, listened in silence to the ongoing discussion. Just beside him sat her mother, Arianne, whose beautiful face was imprinted with the loss of her husband and two sons during a humiliating defeat in a naval battle against the Redwyne fleet.

The rest of the seats were occupied by those responsible for the current quarrel, her advisers. Maester Garland, a short and bald middle-aged man with a fiery temper but great knowledge, symbolised by the 14 different links on his chain.

He was disputed by Anders Yronwood and Gulian Qorgyle, who were in her privy council on the advice of her uncle, in the name of the principle 'keep your friends close, but your enemies even closer.' After all, both of these families were among the most frequently opposed to Martell's rule and were a constant thorn in the side of the monarchs who preceded her.

Of course, the issue of dispute was the frequent appearance of Ironborn longships along the coast of Dorne, as well as numerous ships, mainly merchant ships, which were lost at sea, most likely to be pirates' prey, even with escorts. The already difficult situation of their fleet was getting worse by the day. At the moment, they really had maybe 40 ships capable of fighting.

Nymeria was aware that the situation was complicated. Everyone was aware that Qhorin Hoare was up to something, but what and on what scale?

She knew that she had to act decisively, hence her decision to send ravens to the lords the day before with orders to partially mobilise the troops and secure the coastal cities and towns.

Of course, Anders and Gulian, both the same age as her deceased father, did not agree with this, considering her decision too hasty and unnecessary. Of course, that was their opinion, as their castles were not located directly on the coast or by the rivers.

"But Lord Anders. These Ironborn moves are an obvious attempt to test our reactions and, on the other hand, to lull our vigilance. The sight of their longships along the coast of Dorne for the last two moons has become almost familiar to us." The maester tried to explain, clearly on the verge of an outburst. He must have seen in the words of the two lords what their true goals were. They were looking for a chance to weaken the Martells' position in this situation, no matter the cost, even the lives of thousands of ordinary Dornishmen.

"Maester Garland. May I remind you that you are here only to serve and advise? Where did you get the idea that you can argue with our opinion?!" Lord Yronwood replied, with clear anger.

At that moment, however, her uncle butted in. "And Anders, have you forgotten that all decisions to be made belong to my niece, your Princess? Have you forgotten your place?"

A huge blush appeared on the proud lord's face, and the veins on his forehead bulged with anger. But he bit his tongue, knowing that one wrong word and he might not leave Sunspear at all.

However, before the situation could escalate, there was a knock on the chamber door, which opened a moment later, and Tremond, Maester Garland's assistant, appeared, visibly out of breath, as if he had rushed here. In his hand he held a small, sealed letter.

"My Princess, my lords. A letter from Starfall from Lord Dayne," he said quickly, passing it into her hands.

She took it cautiously in her hand, fearing what might be inside. She knew that the serious and responsible Ulrik would not write with just a trifle. The news must have been extremely important.

Taking a deep breath, she carefully unsealed the letter and began to read. It was surprisingly long. Most messages from Lord Starfall were contained in a few sentences. This one, however, was 10 times longer.

With each word she read, her brows furrowed more and more, and the disbelief she was currently feeling must have been written on her face, because Morgan asked with concern. "Nymeria. What's in this letter? You look surprised."

However, she raised her hand in a gesture that cut off all discussion and continued reading. Then she read it again and again.

She wanted to laugh at what she had read, but she knew that Ulrik, if anyone, would not make jokes about such serious matters. He was one of her father's and uncle's best friends and probably her most loyal vassal.

Trying to gather her thoughts, she handed the letter to Morgan, who took it and quickly began reading it aloud. When he finished, however, his face was completely serious, like everyone else's. Even Lords Anders and Gulian were silent; despite their differences in views, both respected Lord Starfall and knew that he was probably the most honourable man in Dorne and maybe on the entire continent.

Finally, her mother, who had been silent until now, spoke up, "We all know Ulrik. If he wrote it, it must be so. So on the one hand, we are facing the greatest crisis in centuries, and on the other hand, there is still hope that this sorcerer from a distant land may be what we need to tip the scales in our favour, my dear."

Her uncle nodded, adding, "In addition, the letter contains details of the plans they obtained from Harland Drumm. So we know where the Ironborn are gathering." Standing, he leaned over the map on the table and pointed to a point east of Tor. "Somewhere around here, according to Harland, is one of the places where the Ironborn are hiding. Between 10 and 20 longships. We currently have 30 of our ships moored at Sunspear. I will take them and attack them in advance."

"No, Uncle. We will attack them together," she replied, also rising, her face a look of pure determination. "It's time for Nymeria to sail out to sea again."