Chapter 35: The Hawk's Dominion, The Storm Forged Anew
The chaos that erupted in King Renly Baratheon's camp following his assassination was a symphony of fear, confusion, and outrage – music to Darth Vorhax's ancient, predatory soul. While knights and lords reeled in disbelief, their self-proclaimed king slain by an unseen hand in the sanctity of his own pavilion, Vorhax moved with the swift, decisive precision of a seasoned warlord seizing a critical, unforeseen breach in enemy lines. His Obsidian Guard and Brandon Snow's Wolf Brigade, already on high alert, formed an unshakable core of black iron and grim Northman resolve amidst the unraveling host.
"Stannis is a kinslayer! A shadow-binder!" Vorhax's voice, amplified by a subtle Force projection that lent it an almost preternatural authority, thundered across the panicked assembly of Stormlords who had gathered around Renly's violated tent. His "witnesses" – Obsidian Guard officers and a grim-faced Brandon Snow – provided chilling, carefully orchestrated accounts of unnatural shadows, a deathly cold, and whispers of dark sorcery, all pointing an accusing finger at the Red Woman and her grim master on Dragonstone. "Our beloved King Renly, the hope of the Stormlands, struck down by foul witchcraft! Will you bend the knee to such a monstrous tyrant? Or will you stand with House Vorant, avenge your fallen king, and protect our homes from this unholy darkness?"
His words, delivered with a potent mixture of feigned grief, righteous fury, and an undeniable aura of command, found fertile ground in the hearts of the shocked and leaderless Stormlords. Most had adored Renly; all feared Stannis's grim reputation, now tainted by whispers of kinslaying and black magic. While many of the Reach lords, under the pragmatic if initially enraged Tyrells, would eventually withdraw to reconsider their options (and later ally with the Lannisters), the Stormlords found themselves adrift.
Vorhax did not give them time to dither. He acted. Lord Bryce Caron, initially hesitant and muttering about Stannis's rightful claim, found his pavilion surrounded by a silent cordon of Obsidian Guard. A brief, private "conversation" with Lord Vorant, where the glint of Red Rain and the weight of Vorhax's chilling gaze were more persuasive than any argument, saw Lord Caron swiftly pledge his swords to the "Protector of the Stormlands." Ser Jon Fossoway, a renowned knight who had been close to Renly, readily joined Vorhax, burning for vengeance against Stannis. Others, seeing the tide turn, quickly fell in line. Any who still wavered were met with overwhelming intimidation or, in one swift, brutal instance involving a minor lord who openly declared for Stannis, a public and terrifying example made by Vorhax's executioners. Within days, the vast majority of Renly's Stormlord bannermen, their forces battered by grief and uncertainty, had bent the knee, not to a new king, but to Lord Ellys Vorant, the self-proclaimed guardian of their land and avenger of their murdered sovereign.
With Renly's peacock banners lowered and the black hawk of Vorant now the undisputed symbol of Stormland might, Vorhax began the great consolidation. He did not immediately march on King's Landing, nor did he seek out Stannis. His gaze was fixed on his own, newly acquired dominion. The Stormlands, with its proud martial tradition and considerable resources, would be forged into his personal, unshakeable power base.
"The Storm Army," he decreed, "will be reborn. No longer a disparate collection of household knights and peasant levies, but a single, unified force, armed with Stonefang steel, trained in Vorant discipline, loyal to the Stormlands, and answering only to my command."
What followed was a period of brutal, transformative reorganization. Vorhax dissolved the traditional command structures of the individual Stormlord hosts, integrating their men into new legions, each commanded by his most trusted Obsidian Guard officers or seasoned veterans from the Wolf Brigade. Brandon Snow was named High Marshal of the Storm Army, his grim Northman efficiency perfectly suited to the task. Proud lords found their knights and levies subjected to a training regimen that made even the harshest drilling of Robert's Rebellion seem like a summer fête. They were drilled from dawn till dusk in Vorhax's unique tactical doctrines – formations that emphasized flexibility, overwhelming firepower (from his growing corps of crossbowmen and archers), and brutal close-quarters combat. Standardized Stonefang iron weapons and armor, produced in unprecedented quantities by the ceaselessly laboring forges of his domain, gradually replaced the mismatched equipment of the Stormlords. Discipline was absolute; insubordination or incompetence was met with swift, unyielding punishment.
There was resistance. Some ancient houses, steeped in pride and tradition, chafed under this new, iron-hard authority. Lord Estermont, once a trading partner, now a reluctant vassal, attempted a token protest. Vorhax responded by quartering a full legion of the Obsidian Guard on Estermont lands for a month, their silent, menacing presence and voracious consumption of local resources quickly bringing the old lord to heel. A few lesser knights who openly defied his orders were stripped of their lands and titles, their forces absorbed, their keeps garrisoned by Vorant loyalists. The message was clear: the Hawk's dominion was absolute.
Storm's End, the ancient seat of the Baratheons, was a key prize. Ser Cortnay Penrose, its brave castellan who had defied Stannis for Renly, found himself in an untenable position. Vorhax, arriving with a formidable force, did not besiege the castle. Instead, he offered Penrose a choice: swear fealty to him as Protector of the Stormlands and continue to hold Storm's End in that capacity, or be declared an enemy, an obstacle to Stormland unity in the face of Stannis's "unholy threat." Penrose, a man of honor but also a pragmatist, seeing the overwhelming force arrayed against him and swayed by Vorhax's (carefully crafted) narrative of avenging Renly and protecting the land from a kinslaying sorcerer, eventually, reluctantly, yielded. The black hawk banner now flew beside the crowned stag over the mighty fortress.
While the Stormlands were being forged anew in his image, Vorhax's intelligence network kept him appraised of the chaotic dance of kings playing out across Westeros. He watched with cold satisfaction as Stannis Baratheon, having absorbed some of Renly's leaderless troops (mostly Reachmen with nowhere else to go), launched his ill-fated naval assault on King's Landing. Vorhax received detailed reports of the Battle of the Blackwater: Tyrion Lannister's brilliant wildfire defense, the arrival of the Tyrell-Lannister forces that smashed Stannis's army, and Stannis's own bitter, humiliating retreat to Dragonstone.
"The kinslayer is broken," Vorhax announced to his war council, now composed of his most loyal Stormlords alongside Gareth and Snow. "His shadow magic availed him little against true steel and fire. The Stormlands are secure from his immediate threat." He made no move to aid Stannis, nor did he offer support to the victorious Lannisters. His focus remained inward, on consolidating his own power.
In the west and north, Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, was winning battles against the Lannisters but, as Vorhax's spies reported, losing the political war. His ill-advised marriage to Jeyne Wester, breaking his solemn oath to House Frey, was a catastrophic blunder Vorhax knew would have dire consequences. The King in the North, for all his tactical skill, lacked the ruthlessness and foresight necessary for ultimate victory.
Vorhax's own domains – Stonefang, Crow's Nest, Old Wyk, and now effectively the entirety of the Stormlands – became a militarized, highly productive enclave. The forges of Stonefang glowed day and night, churning out not only weapons and armor for his ever-expanding Storm Army (now numbering close to thirty thousand disciplined soldiers), but also siege engines of his own advanced design, and even more of his experimental "firelances" and explosive charges. His agricultural lands, managed with chilling efficiency, produced vast surpluses of food, ensuring his armies would march on full bellies while other kingdoms starved. His treasury overflowed with gold from trade and the "contributions" of his new vassals.
His family life remained a carefully managed facade. Edric Vorant, now a stern youth of seventeen, was given command of the garrison at Storm's End under the watchful eye of a veteran Obsidian Guard general. Vorhax continued to drill him relentlessly in strategy, command, and the harsh realities of power. Edric was competent, disciplined, and utterly terrified of his father, but the spark of true Sith ambition, the innate cruelty and lust for absolute power, remained absent. He was a useful instrument, perhaps even a capable future regent for the Vorant public face, but nothing more. Lyra, his daughter, now fifteen, was proving to be surprisingly astute, her quiet observations and sharp intellect often impressing Vorhax in unexpected ways, though he gave no outward sign. Lady Anya, his wife, lived a life of quiet desperation, her duties confined to managing the household of Crow's Nest and providing a veneer of domestic normalcy for their feared lord.
Years passed in this state of watchful, armed neutrality. The War of the Five Kings raged across Westeros, a symphony of bloodshed and betrayal that Vorhax observed with the dispassionate eye of a god. He saw Robb Stark's tragic end at the Red Wedding, a consequence of honor and broken oaths that Vorhax had foreseen and done nothing to prevent. He saw Stannis Baratheon, broken but unbowed, sail north to the Wall, seeking a new path to power. He saw the Lannisters, triumphant but deeply unpopular, struggle to hold their ill-gotten gains, their alliance with the Tyrells a fragile thing of convenience. He saw the Ironborn, under Euron Greyjoy after Balon's convenient death, once again becoming a thorn in the side of the realm.
Through it all, Vorhax built his strength. The Storm Army became a legend – a force of unparalleled discipline and firepower, loyal only to the Hawk Lord. His fleet controlled the southern Narrow Sea. His storehouses bulged with grain and iron. His treasury was a dragon's hoard.
Then, as the War of the Five Kings began to enter its grinding, bloody endgame, with the Lannister-Tyrell alliance fraying and new threats emerging from the east (rumors of dragons, brought by Anya's Essosi network) and the north (whispers of White Walkers, dismissed by most southern lords but noted with cold interest by Vorhax, whose Force visions had always hinted at a greater, existential threat), a delegation arrived at Stonefang.
It was not from any Westerosi king. It was a lavishly attired envoy from the Free City of Volantis, accompanied by representatives of several other Essosi merchant powers. They came with a proposal: an alliance, a trade pact of unprecedented scale, offering immense wealth and access to Essosi resources in exchange for the Hawk Lord's military protection against Dothraki incursions and the growing instability in Slaver's Bay. They had heard tales of his iron, his discipline, his ruthlessness. They saw in him not a feudal lord, but an emperor in the making.
Vorhax received them in his throne room at Stonefang – a vast, echoing chamber of black obsidian and polished iron, Red Rain displayed on a stand behind his stark, unadorned throne. He listened to their offer, his face an unreadable mask.
This was an unexpected development, but one ripe with opportunity. Essos. A new continent to exploit, to dominate. A new front in his long game.
His gaze swept over the nervous Essosi envoys. The War of the Five Kings was far from over. But perhaps it was time for the Hawk to spread its wings beyond the shores of Westeros. The seeds of a true, intercontinental empire were being sown.
(Word Count: Approx. 4450 words)