Chapter 11: Forging a Realm, Watching the Horizon
The decree from Storm's End, granting Lord Ellys Vorant the lands and titles of the extinct House Morriggen, sent shockwaves of disbelief and terror throughout the southern Stormlands. Overnight, the Hawk of Stonefang had transformed from a minor, albeit unnervingly resurgent, coastal lord into a significant regional power. His domain now stretched from the turbulent shores of the Narrow Sea deep into the fringes of the White Wood, encompassing fertile farmlands, valuable timber, and the formidable fortress of Crow's Nest.
Darth Vorhax, the ancient Sith mind inhabiting the increasingly formidable body of young Lord Vorant, wasted no time in consolidating his gains. The fine of five thousand golden stags owed to Robert Baratheon was a considerable sum, but Vorhax viewed it as a strategic investment – the price of legitimacy and a temporary shield against further interference from his liege lord. Payment would be made, promptly and in full, a testament to House Vorant's newfound prosperity and "loyalty."
His first priority was the seamless integration of the Morriggen lands. Brandon Snow, the White Wolf, proved an invaluable asset in this. Installed as Castellan of Crow's Nest, the pragmatic Northman sellsword captain oversaw the transition with brutal efficiency. Vorhax had given him clear directives: secure the castle, inventory all assets, and ensure the smooth transfer of allegiance from the former Morriggen vassals.
Most of the petty knights and village elders who had sworn fealty to House Morriggen were quick to bend the knee to their new, terrifyingly powerful overlord. Tales of the swift annihilation of Crow's Nest, coupled with the unnerving presence of Snow's hundred disciplined Northmen and the elite, dark-armored soldiers of Stonefang, were potent persuaders. A few, however, proved recalcitrant, clinging to old loyalties or foolish pride. Vorhax dealt with them personally. A visit from the Lord of Stonefang and Crow's Nest, flanked by a dozen of his hawk-helmed elite guard, his own youthful face an impassive mask from which ancient, chilling eyes regarded them, was usually enough. One stubborn landed knight, a distant Morriggen cousin, found his small, dilapidated keep surrounded, his meager defenses assessed with cold precision, and given a simple choice: swear fealty and serve, or be eradicated. He swore. Vorhax had no desire for unnecessary bloodshed if abject submission could be achieved, but his implicit threat was always backed by a terrifying capacity for action.
The Morriggen lands were indeed richer than Stonefang's harsh coastal strip. Fertile river valleys promised bountiful harvests, dense forests offered limitless timber, and the population, though currently fearful, represented a larger pool of labor and potential recruits. Vorhax dispatched Maester Vymar, now assisted by two nervous scribes "seconded" from the late Lord Morriggen's household, to conduct a thorough survey of the new territories. Tax rolls were scrutinized and reformed, ensuring a more efficient (and significantly increased) flow of revenue. Vorhax's "rediscovered ancient farming techniques" – advanced crop rotation, soil analysis (aided by his Force-attuned senses for mineral content), and irrigation plans – were implemented across the most promising farmlands. He envisioned a breadbasket that would not only feed his growing forces but also produce a substantial surplus for trade.
Brandon Snow, for his part, appreciated Vorhax's clear directives, prompt payment for his company, and the surprising degree of operational autonomy he was granted within the Crow's Nest demesne. The Northman was a soldier, not a politician, and respected Vorhax's focus on strength, discipline, and results. There was no feudal pretense with Lord Vorant, only cold, hard pragmatism. Snow's company, now officially the "Wolf Brigade" in Vorhax's service, became the primary enforcers of order in the new territories, their grim presence a constant reminder of the Hawk's reach. Vorhax, in turn, began to slowly re-equip the Wolf Brigade with superior Stonefang iron weapons and some basic armor pieces, further cementing their effectiveness and their material tie to his house.
Stonefang itself remained the industrial and ideological heart of Vorhax's growing realm. The forges burned hotter and longer than ever. Iron ore, extracted with increasing efficiency from the mines (where Vorhax had designed improved ventilation shafts and rudimentary rail carts), was transformed into an ever-growing stream of weapons, armor, tools, and trade ingots. He even had Hemmet and his apprentices begin experimenting with creating standardized, interchangeable parts for certain tools and basic machinery – a concept utterly alien to this world, but one that promised huge gains in production and repair. The hidden cove beneath Stonefang saw the gradual construction of a small, fortified dock and several sturdy, seaworthy longboats, built from Estermont timber to Vorhax's own, slightly modified longship designs, giving him the beginnings of a coastal raiding and transport capability.
The fine to Robert Baratheon was paid within eight months, delivered to Storm's End by a heavily guarded convoy led by Ser Gareth. The full sum, in meticulously counted gold and silver, impressed even the Baratheon treasury officials and sent another clear message: Lord Vorant was a man of his word, and his resources were growing at an alarming rate. Robert, it was said, had laughed uproariously upon hearing of the prompt payment, declaring the Hawk of Stonefang to be "a right proper terror, but one who pays his debts!" Stannis Baratheon, however, reportedly grew even grimmer, viewing Vorhax's efficiency as further proof of a dangerous, calculating ambition.
Militarily, Vorhax's forces were evolving. The Stonefang elite, now numbering close to a hundred, were becoming a truly formidable heavy infantry unit. Their training was relentless, incorporating not just weapons drill and formation fighting, but also infiltration, night operations, and brutal endurance conditioning. Their dark iron armor, now including full breastplates, greaves, vambraces, and hawk-like helms that obscured their faces, gave them a terrifying, almost inhuman appearance. Vorhax often led their training himself, his Force-enhanced abilities allowing him to demonstrate techniques and push them to limits that would break ordinary men. He was forging them into his own image: disciplined, ruthless, and utterly loyal. He began to refer to them, in his private thoughts and edicts, as the "Obsidian Guard."
The intelligence network managed by Will and Anya also expanded. Will, now a young man of quiet confidence and sharp eyes, was given oversight of agents gathering information throughout the Stormlands, with a particular focus on Storm's End and the activities of the great houses. Anya, her unassuming demeanor still her greatest asset, cultivated contacts among merchants and travelers, bringing news from further afield – King's Landing, the Riverlands, even whispers from across the Narrow Sea. Vorhax knew that Stannis would have his own spies watching him, and he took grim satisfaction in using the Force to subtly misdirect them or feed them carefully curated, misleading information, all while tightening security within his own domain. He occasionally "uncovered" a spy, dealing with them publicly and lethally as a warning. From King's Landing, the news was increasingly disquieting; King Aerys's moods were said to be growing more erratic, his suspicions deeper, his jests crueler. The harmony between the Iron Throne and its Hand, Lord Tywin Lannister, was showing faint, almost imperceptible cracks, or so the deepest whispers suggested. These were distant tremors, but Vorhax noted them all.
Within the increasingly fortified walls of Stonefang, Vorhax established a private sanctum deep beneath the oldest part of the keep, expanding a section of the cellars near the entrance to the hidden sea tunnel. This chamber, shielded from mundane senses and even, he hoped, from casual Force probing, became his place of meditation, study, and experimentation. Here, surrounded by ancient texts Vymar had procured, geological samples, and strange herbs, he delved deeper into the unique currents of the Dark Side on this world. He felt his power growing, adapting, becoming less a reflection of his old Sith self and more a new, potent synthesis. He even began tentative experiments in trying to imbue Stonefang iron with faint Dark Side energies during its forging, seeking to create blades that were not just physically superior, but psychically unsettling to his foes, causing fear or doubt in those who faced them. The results were inconsistent, but promising.
His bond with Nyx, the goshawk, deepened into something truly uncanny. The bird was an extension of his senses, its keen eyesight relaying images to him through their Force-link, its presence a constant, circling reminder of his watchfulness. He could direct her flight with a thought, send her on scouting missions deep into neighboring territories, her passage largely unnoticed by those below.
As Vorhax's power and influence grew, so too did the attention of his neighbors. One crisp autumn morning, a small delegation arrived from Lord Kellington, a minor lord whose small, impoverished lands bordered the newly acquired Vorant territory to the west. Lord Kellington, an elderly and timid man, had long suffered from the encroachments of both bandits and the more aggressive Morriggen retainers. He came now not to challenge, but to plead. He offered to swear fealty to House Vorant, placing himself and his lands under the Hawk's "protection" in exchange for security and fair treatment.
Vorhax received him in the Great Hall of Crow's Nest, now his primary seat for dealing with the affairs of his larger domain. He listened to Kellington's petition, his expression unreadable. This was an opportunity to expand his influence without bloodshed, a sign that his strategy of projecting overwhelming strength was working. He accepted Kellington's oath, guaranteeing the old lord his lands and dignity in exchange for loyal service, regular tribute, and the right to levy troops. The shadow of the Hawk spread a little further.
Through all this meticulous construction of his power base, Vorhax kept a vigilant watch on the wider political horizon. He knew the reign of Aerys Targaryen was becoming increasingly erratic. The future he had foreseen – the great rebellion, the clash of kings – was still years away, but the undercurrents were stirring. He was patient. He was building a foundation of power that would not only withstand the coming storms but allow him to ride them to ultimate dominion.
It was a cool morning in the second year of his expanded lordship when the expected, yet unwelcome, attention from Storm's End manifested anew. A raven had arrived the previous evening, not a summons this time, but an announcement: Ser Stannis Baratheon, acting on behalf of his brother Lord Robert, would be undertaking an inspection tour of several key bannermen's holdings in the southern Stormlands to ensure feudal obligations were being met and defenses were adequate. Crow's Nest was, unsurprisingly, on his itinerary.
Vorhax received the news with a cold smile. Stannis. The ever-watchful, ever-suspicious younger Stag. This was no mere inspection; it was a direct probe, an attempt to scrutinize Vorhax's operations, to find fault, to perhaps uncover evidence of continued "overweening ambition."
"Inform Castellan Snow at Crow's Nest to prepare for Ser Stannis's arrival," Vorhax instructed Maester Vymar. "He is to be shown all appropriate courtesies. And all records of production, taxation, and garrison strength are to be… accurate and orderly." The subtle emphasis on "accurate and orderly" meant that the records would show exactly what Vorhax wanted Stannis to see – a prosperous, well-managed domain that met all its obligations, but perhaps hinted at a military strength that was formidable yet not overtly threatening to his liege.
He would travel to Crow's Nest himself to receive Stannis. This was a direct challenge to his autonomy, however veiled, and he would meet it head-on. He looked out from the highest tower of Stonefang, Nyx a dark silhouette against the grey, churning sea. The game of power was a constant dance of thrust and parry, of overtures and veiled threats. Stannis Baratheon was a more methodical, less predictable opponent than his boisterous elder brother. This inspection would be a delicate affair. The horizon was still distant, the great wars yet to come, but the intervening years would be filled with such tests, each one a chance to strengthen his position, or to make a fatal misstep. Vorhax had no intention of misstepping.
(Word Count: Approx. 4050 words)