Author's Notes: Hello there! Some matters need addressing;

Firstly, my health was degrading somewhat for the past months –as some of you already know-, which left me too drained to write anything. I meant to get the introductory chapters out of the way as soon as possible and then settle on regular chapters of 10k words every two weeks or monthly updates of some 20k, but my sickness caught up with me before I could. Now my treatment is done and I'm slowly getting back up, so I'll try to resume my writing, along with my planned schedule. This might not be the final result, but I'll try to have a modicum of regularity, so hopefully we won't have another massive hiatus like this one. By the way, sorry for that, heh. Or quoting Michael Jackson, heeh heeh.

Secondly, a few of you have raised questions and/or concerns as on the lore behind the background of the Tamriel band, as for canon divergences and the such; I've answered all questions on this regard so far (or I think so) to the people who raised them in pms or reviews, but I will nonetheless make a short clarification before we go any further. You see, I meant to reveal the tidbits of Tamriel's happenings as the story progressed, be it from thoughts of the tamrielic POV's, from direct speech of the said characters or through information delivered to the westerosi as their lives coexist. I think it's more organic to deliver it that way than making a separate summary with the timeline of events and happenings, but when enough info is delivered I will indeed make a separated 'story' detailing the timing and repercussions of the events that led to the quest of the Dragonborn and company, mainly for your reference.

Thirdly, I don't remember if I did it at the prologue, but I meant to establish this story as an AU, both for ASOIAF and for TES. Mainly to accommodate the coexistence of both universes, partly to help move the plot forwards. Besides, the world building of ASOIAF is more consistent –and scarce- than that of TES, which holds several contradictions from earlier sources to later ones, between contemporary sources, from sources both in game and out of it… that is bound to happen when a world is developed by a team of people bound to replacement rather than by a single mind like George. And quoting a certain someone, Nirn is "a world where cognitive dissonance is a law of the universe." Events overlap, replace each other, happen all at once and at the same time never happen. Then you have the CHIM, the Dragon Breaks, the Shezzarines… it's marvelously confusing and frustratingly beautiful. Beings transcend all laws and rules, be them moral, physical or metaphysical, in a semi regular basis; and in doing so, they usually drag reality along with them. What do I mean with all this? Some events –might- make you frown in confusion as to how could they be possible. In all those instances I've tried to forge a suitable and fitting explanation, but I am ultimately human. What I may deem an acceptable variable might be seen as a massive lore break by someone else, and if such an instance arises I apologize in advance, but I am not going to change them. This story is my ongoing ramble and divagations of how a party of tamrielics could alter Westeros with cheesy badassery and steamrolly overpowering the mere mortals that struggle with the shitstorms of the Sunset Kingdoms in my unending quest for fun, and I invite you all for the ride. You may like more or less the scenary around us, but you are the masters of your own fates (although Azura might disagree). If you find a too unforgiving change in the story that might make you quit the story, well, it will be saddening, but ultimately I'll keep pushing the story forward to what I want to build for as long as I am able, not to what others could want it to be. That said, I'll make a personal effort to explain every and all plot points that might arise in due time, and that if I am forced to alter lore in, let's say, hardcore ways (as in having Alduin temporarily ally the Dovahkiin, but nothing so extreme and silly, or so I hope. He's already dead in my story) I will do my best to make the changes acceptable as long as logic is concerned and to keep them to a minimum.

Lastly, you might have noticed that my writing is somewhat odd, in the sense of wording things in a way that no one would normally, abusing some expression by overuse, or simply setting scenes, dialogues or descriptions in a cruder way that anyone usually would in my stead. I haven't received any complain so far on the matter, but I prefer to clarify it should the need arise. English is not my mother tongue; I got two, and neither is English. As such, I am working with a language that I have to make a conscious effort to conform before typing it, which may cause the resulting text in being far less refined or elegant than it would in either of my languages. Bear that in mind when you read it and I will appreciate it immensely.

Oh, you should also expect some editing and changes to the story here and there. I noticed that the starting tamrielic year didn't fit some of the events and changes I wanted to make, so I'm going to move it to a later date. Also some editing on the last chapter, I wrote it during my first chemo session and it might be sloppier than I wanted it to be (not that I want them to be any at all, but still).

Well, thanks and sorry for having to bear with this massive author's note, I'm almost 1k words into the chapter without any actual chapter, heh. I hope I've eased the overall reading process of this tale and that you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Take care, y'all!

The Dark Chronist

Disclaimer: I do not own The Elder Scrolls franchise nor A Song of Ice and Fire, each belonging to Bethesda Softworks and George R. R. Martin respectively. All characters, places and events other than those of my own invention are their intellectual property.

Kareena I

"I still can't get used to it."

"Hmmm?" Hasser looked up from the massive cauldron he was stirring with an equally massive wooden spoon.

"This night sky" Kareena mentioned, gaze never leaving the moon. "Just a single moon, silver and so small. And," her hand gestured around the moon, to the stars littering the blackness "of course, the foreing constellations. I feel weaker without the Mage above us."

"That's what the stew is for", he said with a wide grin. "Once we've dined you'll feel better."

The Breton rolled her eyes and chuckled lightly.

"Hasser, trying to fix problems stuffing people with food. Oh my, stop the presses."

The nord shook his head, smile never faltering, and took a sip from the spoon.

"You're just jealous that your cooking can't compare to my extraordinary culinary skills." Another sip. "Hmm, needs more clove. Mind passing me the jar?"

The woman stood from the small bench she was sitting on and wordlessly went for the spices chest of her commander and friend, a meter behind them. Apart from a mighty warrior and a decent mage, the nord was one of the best cooks she had ever met, and so he never travelled without a fairly large supply of spices. After some rummaging through the contents, she found the cushioned pouch of clove jars and picked a half empty one. He accepted it with a smile and poured a few cloves into the stew, sniffed appreciatively and tapped his finger twice on the jar again, dropping as many cloves. Nodding with satisfaction, he handed her back the jar and resumed his stirring.

Kareena, standing beside him, watched him work in silence for a few moments, a small smile on her lips. This brought her memories from her college years in Wayrest, of the four years she spent with the kind giant working a few inches away from her and how often she would be mesmerized with him while he cooked. Those were simpler times. Happier times.

She sighed at the pang that nabbed at her insides and patted her friend on the back.

"I'm gonna keep working on the translation necklaces. I should have the last ones finished in a couple days, if I can keep up my current pace."

He bobbed his big, black haired head in acknowledgement, eyes fixated on the boiling bubbles on the surface of the dense liquid.

"Alright, but have an ear open for when I call for you. This won't take much longer, I just have to pulp the last chunks of fish."

"Well," she pecked his bearded cheek and smiled, "considering how sloooowly" she drawled playfully the last word "you do just about everything, I should be able to finish half a dozen more before then."

She left laughing heartily, dodging the playful punch that Hasser threw her way and jogged away from the grumbling behemoth, making her way to her tent.

The first night after leaving Deepwood, the camp of the westerosi host occupied the whole clearing around an abandoned holdfast of the Wolfswood where they would be spending the night. Seeing this, the tamrielics had proceeded to clear a small chunk of the forest next to their patron's camp -with permission from the king- in less than half an hour, which earned some impressed and wary glances from the natives. The party of three hundred, including the crews of their ships -which had been begrudgingly left behind under oaths from the Glovers to keep them safe and well guarded-, had cleared and leveled a decent chunk of terrain –a little under an acre- and set up a perfectly orderly camp before the other army had even finished digging their latrines. Granted, they had smaller numbers, but even if they had the greater host they would have been just as fast, and the westerosi knew this. They had travelled for two weeks now, with just a few days ahead before reaching Torrhen's Square, but the westerosi hadn't lost their wariness at the many times their group made open use of magic, be it for leveling terrain, starting campfires or putting magical lights on the perimeter of their area for the patrols. At least the northerners were mostly awed by their actions, due to their conviction of their godly nature.

Their northerner guides assured them that they were close to the edge of the forest, and if the ever thinning tree line was any indicator they were correct. The burly man that led Stannis' scouts had told them that very morning after breaking camp that they would be exiting the forest the next day a bit past noon, and after that it would be two days of rolling fields before coming in sight of the hills that dotted the south western regions of this part of the continent. At the feet of the easternmost hills stood their objective, Torrhen's Square, by the shore of Lake Torrhen –although one of the guides commented with a bark of laughter that the Dustins of Barrowtown and their Ryswell lapdogs insisted on calling it Barrowlake-, some four days or so away.

In the four weeks since they had joined the army of the Baratheon King, their numbers had increased with more than two thousand troops. The news of their victory –and their pledge of loyalty to the King meant that it was also his- had caused hundreds upon hundreds of locals to join the King's army. Fishermen, miners, farmers, lumbermen, ragged men at arms –survivors of previous battles who had taken refuge in the forests, apparently-, freeriders, the odd hedge knight every now and then… a constant flow of volunteers, all joining under the Baratheon banner.

For what she had seen of Stannis, he wasn't one to earn loyalty from his kindness or eloquence, but he had an odd kind of charisma that made the people who were under his direct command impressively loyal to him. Yet, the volunteers coming every day weren't joining him specifically, but rather were joining him to have a chance to fight their current overlord, who had slaughtered the family of the former liege of the lands. Now –that- man, that Eddard Stark, they almost worshipped him, like he was some sort of extraordinary saint. It was a pity that they hadn't a chance to meet him. This Bolton they were trying to overthrow was as feared by his people as Stark had been loved, which could be very useful and very problematic for them. They had been joined by three nobles of importance, unlike most of the ones making up Stannis' host. The first had been a warrior woman, apparently something uncommon in the North and almost impossible in the South, who had led a fleet of fishing boats against the unaware ironborn anchored east of Sea Dragon Point and had inflicted them a crushiang defeat, capturing many ships and prisoners. When she arrived at the Motte and found out that Sybelle had pledged to Stannis, who was questing to save the North and then aid the Wall, she had readily pledged herself and some hundreds of warriors to the King's army, which now numbered close to five thousand.

Then, after the first week of their march through the forest, they were joined by some four hundred lads, all armed with spears, under command of a mountain of a man by the name of Mors Umber. Apparently they had been scouting Winterfell under orders of Stannis, but had been recalled to rejoin his host the day after they signed their contract with the King.

The last decent sized force to join their army had been some Arnolf Karstark, a gnarled hunchback who brought another four hundred spearmen, two scores of archers and over a dozen lancers. He joined them the evening before this one, a few hours before they set up camp.

On the weeks it took Hasser to ride to the village where they landed with that girl –Shyra, she reminded herself- and then get back with the rest of their force, she had managed to grasp enough of an understanding of the common language of Westeros to create the opposite version of the amulet they had given to Shyra; where her necklace made the wearer capable of understanding and speaking tamrielic, the new ones were made to understand and speak westerosi. Well, it had been thanks to the understanding of westerosi that she had grasped and to the wisps of soul that she managed to capture and analyze from the dying breaths from one of their ironborn prisoners, who had succumbed to the wounds of the battle for the Motte a week after it.

Speaking of said prisoners, she glanced as she passed by to the large tent where they were being kept, near the tent of Hasser himself. He had insisted on bringing the prisoners along under their custody, claiming that they deserved it due to them being the ones to capture the reavers. Since the contract that they had signed with Stannis granted them the right to keep and ransom the war prisoners they made, the King didn't complain, and while lady Glover was terrified of what could happen to her children should the ironborn woman suffer any harm –apparently the daughter of their dead king and nephew to both the new king and to the captor of her children-, but Hasser had assured her that he would do nothing that could endanger her babies, and that he would do everything in his power to save them as soon as he was able, and she had relented. The ironborn were still fairly shocked from seeing the inner circle of the Dovahkiin along with their master doing their grisly work, and so far they were too terrified whenever one of them got to their cell wagon to even attempt an unpleasant comment.

As she neared her tent, nodding back at the soldiers that acknowledged or saluted her, the thudding of wood hitting wood reached her ears. Off to the side of the camp, beyond the trench and the small palisade surrounding the camp, some warriors clashed against each other in practice bouts, either to further hone their skills or to get some rust off. Most of them, however, simply stood in a circle watching the greenest of their recruits –barring the argonians and orcs- facing off against Vilkas. The seasoned Companion seemed barely breaking a sweat, but his sparring partner was wheezing raggedly, leaning on her wooden greatsword to catch her breath. Kareena smiled warmly at the sight; Shyra had fulfilled her usefulness after she returned with the rest of their force and Hasser to the Motte, since by then she had already developed a few reversed amulets of translation. Yet, Hasser had apparently taken upon himself to have her join their company as a warrior, but only if she trained in arms to not hinder the rest of his forces and agreed to stay out of the fighting until her trainers considered her sufficiently capable. She had rapidly accepted, apparently.

She sighed at the sight of the girl shouting to the top of her tired lungs and launching herself at Vilkas, who smirked and deflected with ease the quick succession of blows from the heavy weapon that the girl was throwing. She noticed that the attacks where far faster than two weeks ago, more controlled, and with more force behind them; the girl was definitely improving, but Kareena worried that she could be pushing herself too hard. Hasser had laughed it off, assuring that if anyone had went through the same hell that Shyra had endured, they would also push themselves hard for revenge and retribution. She thought there was probably something else to it, but otherwise didn't comment.

Leaving the fighters to their training, she walked the few meters to her tent. Smiling at the familiar mix of smells once she got inside coming of her dozens of alchemic ingredients and the ozone permeating her enchanting table -well, not exactly a table; more like the usual horned troll skull, the orb of souls and the symbols of the schools of magic drawn on whatever flat surface she had available- hitting her nose, Kareena opened her bag of soul gems and, grabbing the next necklace from the three hundred that Hasser had the smiths of the warband craft every time they set camp, she got to work.

"Archmage?" a voice called out from behind her tent.

"A moment", she didn't broke her focus, hands crisped on either sides of the table, channeling the energy of a soul gem into the fourth amulet since she began. When the last effluviums of the spell settled into the item, she released a small sigh as the energies within the orb stopped swirling and the symbols on the surface stopped glowing. She rolled her shoulders until she heard a satisfying pop. Well, only seventeen more and we all will be outfitted with these. She turned her attention back to the tent flap. "Yes?"

"The Jarl has called for you." she could hear the smile on the voice of the dunmer on the other side. "He says that dinner's ready, and that your presence would be highly appreciated for the sake of the rest of us."

She smiled in turn. Ever since the first time he cooked for her, she had to get the first bite of anything he ever cooked before anyone else, and she did the same for him whenever she was doing the cooking. Although that was a far less common occurrence.

"I'll be on my way."

After picking up the newer necklaces, she grabbed her own bowl and silverware and got off her tent. Most of the troops –sans the ones patrolling the perimeter- were already on their way, eager smiles on their faces and joyful comments and comparisons between the usual meals their commander served them. She smiled warmly, knowing just how much Hasser enjoyed cooking, and how elated he felt when people enjoyed themselves with his food. Few things could dampen his mood when around food, and fewer still could stop him from eating with his men. To strengthen the bonds, he said. Well, it was undeniable that it got results; any of the men and women serving under his flag would give their lives for him and follow him to Oblivion and beyond. An example being how well the men had taken the news of being in a different world; granted, many had started suspecting so after that thick mist swallowed their ships –even the less magically gifted of the crew noticed the invisible shimmer of magic woven in the fog- only to spit them on a completely alien shore, even more when they saw a single moon in the sky –although some of the khajiits had nearly fainted when they noticed it, their loyalty to the Dovahkiin being the only thing keeping them in line- and finally everyone else when they got verbal confirmation from their leaders. Some had expressed worry upon not being able to return the way they came upon fulfilling their quest, but Kareena was confident that whatever phenomenon took them here would be able to send them back; the chance of such a gateway being opened just as they happened to be sailing on the area was unlikely enough to quell most of her worries, but even if that had been the case they would find their way home. With a Dovahkiin and an Archmage on the warband they better did, otherwise it would be quite embarrassing.

A series of thuds and distant heavy panting broke her train of thought. Making her way towards it, she found that while most of the trainees had left for the cooking bonfires on the middle of the camp, Shyra and Vilkas were still clashing. But while before the girl was seemingly drained and the nord was smirking as he kept her wasting energy against his defense, now he was sweating profusely and cursing occasionally as the girl swatted his shield away with heavy blows to use the momentum of the swing to try to connect with his exposed side, forcing him to back away or counter with his wooden practice sword. She did seem on the brink of exhaustion, though, and only kept pressing her attack by sheer stubbornness. She might as well stop them.

"Hey!" her shout threw Shyra out of her concentration and made her lose the grip on her sword just a fraction, which slipped away from her sweaty hands after her latest strike on the shield. She fell to her knees, panting; Vilkas only relaxed his stance, but he too was taking heavy breaths and hung his head tiredly.

"You guys should drop it for tonight" she smiled warmly at them. "Dinner's ready, so wash up some and let's go."

Shyra sighed with a ragged breath and stood in wobbling legs, picking up her sword as she did for support.

"Of course, Archmage." She offered Kareena a small, tired smile when she finally stood to her full –not very impressive- height and made her way to the weapon rack holding the practice weapons to leave hers and then to a water barrel nearby to wash out the sweat from her skin. As she went, Kareena made her way to Vilkas.

"So… how is our newest recruit doing?" she asked with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

Vilkas took a last calming breath through his nose and exhaled as he nodded a few times. "Better. Much, much better. She's small, but she has build up an impressive strength. Well, for this world's standards."

She nodded in agreement. "She was so skinny when we met her, you could have thought she was going to break if you blew hard enough. You guys have done a good work with her."

The Companion chuckled lightly. "The wonders of teamwork. Hasser puts meat on her bones, Farkas turns it into muscle and I put that muscle to good use. Tomorrow I will start getting serious with her; she has learnt how to deal blows and break through defenses, now she needs to learn to do so with an enemy that doesn't just defend."

"Do you think she will be able to join us when we arrive at the Square?" she asked. Shyra had finished scrubbing water to her face, arms and neck and now was patting herself dry with the hem of her shirt, showing off below the rim of her leather cuirass.

"Hell no. I'm sorry for her, I know she needs her catharsis and all, but Hasser made quite clear that he wants her to survive to be able to get payback, and even if we stuff her in heavy armor and give her skyforge steel and she manages to cut down the first few surprised ironborn, as soon as she finds a warrior with a modicum of experience she'll be dead."

Sigh. "Well, we will let Hasser tell her that. There is no way she's getting mad at him for it." She smirked.

"Ah, so you have noticed too?"

She snorted. "If there is still land afloat at Yokuda and there are people on it, they would have noticed. Now hush." She ended the conversation just as Shyra rejoined them.

"Shall we go?" the girl, despite her obvious exhaustion, beamed at them. Whether it was for the prospect of food, of meeting Hasser for the first time since breakfast –Stannis had them lunch on the march, with field rations of bread from the previous night and rashers of cold smoked beacon- or both, she didn't knew. She returned a warm smile anyway.

"Of course, dear. Let's get going."

Vilkas put his hands behind his head and took point, with the women walking on behind him. He looked over his shoulder. "So, what are we having?"

"Fish stew. Derkeeto and his foragers got some dozens of them on the creek to the west. It was oily and flaky, but when it was in the stew it smelled like heaven."

Shyra's smile grew even wider –she had been raised with fish and seafood-, but Vilkas pouted somewhat. "No meat?"

Kareena rolled her eyes. "Aela and her hunters got four boars, lots of rabbits and a couple deers. Last I saw they were turning on a spit, getting roasted."

A hungry grin split the nord's face, and he looked forward again, humming a merry tune. The Breton shook her head, while the westerosi just giggled.

Most of the camp was glaring at them when they arrived, hungrily clutching wooden bowls and spoons with evident annoyance. The meat wasn't ready yet, but the pungent scent of game meat battled with the marvelous smell of a delicious fish stew, and it was enough to make everyone's mouth water with expectation. It was hard to tell in the orange light of the bonfires, but she thought she saw a furious blush take over Shyra's features. She smiled to herself with another eye roll. Figures. Hasser was naked from the waist upwards, and the thick muscles of his back tightened and twitched as he stirred the pot with his back turned to them.

"So!" the booming voice of the massive nord startled the native girl. He turned with his usual placid smile taking over his features. "You're finally here. Miss Alemone, your bowl, please."

She sighed through her nose shaking her head with amusement and handed her friend the bowl. With a massive copper spoon, he took a helping of the boiling stew and it almost filled the silver bowl to the brim. She smiled and dug her spoon into the mix.

"Hold on", said Hasser holding up a finger. Reaching into a pouch of his belt, he sprinkled a few dried herbs into her bowl and then the rest of the pouch into the pot. He resumed his stirring, but he kept an eye on her as she sniffled her bowl to appreciate the change made by the herb. Ah, coriander. She took a spoonful of the stew and brought it to her mouth, the whole camp leaning forward in anticipation.

"I don't know how you manage it," she said after swallowing, a smile brightening her face, "but your cooking keeps getting better every day. It's absolutely delicious!"

A huge cheer rose from every throat, but she wasn't sure if it was for her favorable judgment or because Hasser was finally accepting the bowls of the men swarming around him and serving helpings of his stew.

"So!" the massive behemoth that was their leader said as he finally sat down by his inner circle, the last of the first round of dishes served. He dipped his spoon on the meal, took a mouthful, closed his eyes in momentary bliss and looked at Vilkas and Shyra, sitting on a bench across from the log in which he, Teldryn, Kareena and Golldir sat. "How is the training going?"

Shyra smiled shyly and looked at her own bowl. "Vilkas says I'm improving, but I'm yet far from any of you."

Said nord let out a bark of laughter. "She did put me in a tight spot today. Had we been using naked steel, I would have more than a few cuts."

"And I would probably be dead", mumbled the girl fumbling her food. The present warriors laughed lightly, but Hasser just smiled after another mouthful of stew.

"Ah, don't worry, you are making good progress. Not all recruits would manage to make Vilkas compliment them so, and most of them already had combat experience and training before joining."

The girl beamed at the praise, a slight blush coloring her cheeks.

"Thank you, commander." She cocked her head then, a thought occurring to her. "What about you?"

Hasser blinked, his cheeks puffed out with the food filling them. After downing all down with one mighty gulp, he questioned. "What about me?"

"Vilkas told me about your Order, the Companions-"

"I don't recall calling it being an 'Order'…" murmured the aforementioned nord.

"-and how you joined when he, Farkas and Aela were already on the inner circle of their leader, the Harbinger. He told me that they had their reserves about you-"

"I didn't." said Aela, joining them from the roasting spits, a smoking plate on her hands with a roasted piece of boar with a knife stuck on it.

"-but that this Kodlak vouched for you. He also told me that all initiates must prove their mettle against someone from the Inner Circle before being admitted, and if they show any promise they are welcomed among the Companions. How did you do on your trial?"

Hasser grinned from ear to ear and looked at Vilkas, who shifted uncomfortably on his seat.

"Good question. So, Vilkas, how did I fare?"

The lean nord looked obviously embarrassed. "Adequately."

"Hah" barked Aela, stuffing a piece of greasy meat between her shinny lips. "More like he swept the floor with you in a single blow."

"That's bullshit", retorted the cocky warrior indignantly, "and you know it. He was good alright, but I stood my ground without problems."

The more muscled, broader form of his twin brother approached from the fires, a smoking deer leg in his hands.

"Hey guys. What are you talking about?"

"Farkas! Did you finish your patrol turn?" chimed Kareena warmly. "We were talking about the practice bout between your brother and Hasser when he joined the Companions."

"Oh." He sat down next to Vilkas and put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, brother. Despite that thrashing, we still think you a good warrior."

The thinner twin groaned and covered his face with his hands; Farkas just chewed on his venison absentmindedly.

"It wasn't that much, alright?"

"He sent you skidding across the courtyard." Added the dunmer helpfully, grinning wide behind his goggles.

"You weren't even there!"

Teldryn shrugged. "Your brother told me. And he's too honest to make such things up."

"Urgh. Have siblings for this…" he shook his head in defeat. "Alright, alright, I thought that he would be as strong as he looked, not trice as much. It was like blocking a bloody giant. I was overconfident, and my pride got a decent humility lesson that day. Please, let's not bring it up again, yes?"

"Of course" said Hasser, already finishing his bowl. Then he drew an impish smile. "For tonight, that is."

Kareena smiled at the laughs and the banter that followed that moment, while Hasser stood to get more stew and to sit for a while with some other group. He made an effort to at least spend a bit of time with every and all of his three hundred followers; the Dragonborn seemed to have the power to rise the spirits of his troops by his mere presence, and he liked his company to be in as high morale as he could keep them. It had been far more necessary while exploring Akavir, interestingly enough. Even being in another world, now they were met with a far less threatening environment and natives than in their eastern neighbor. Plus the men seemed to enjoy being an unstoppable powerhouse in this world; it gave them a sense of confidence and invincibility rarely felt at home, other than when fighting near the Dovahkiin when he truly cut loose. Then again, the most they had faced so far had been a few hundreds of ironborn raiders in close quarters, not a full army on an open field. This land seemed to favor heavy cavalry far more than Tamriel did; other than the High Elves, the Bretons and the Imperials, no race seemed to find usefulness in a large deploying of cavalry. Some redguard lords and princes would field the occasional pack of cataphracts, or the dunmer would send lines of guar lancers if they had enough open space to deploy them, but most races simply lacked the space on their homelands or that of their usual enemies to find usefulness in cavalry units. She wondered how well would they adapt to fighting against it.

She gazed again at the native girl, Shyra. While the twins argued about the impressiveness or lack of some of Hasser's feats –one hotly, the other nonchalantly- at her left and Aela munched pensively on her meal to her right, she was looking with an awed expression at something behind Kareena. She didn't need to turn to know just who was she looking at.

Sigh.

"The girl is still smitten with the boss, huh?" whispered the dunmer sitting at her right.

"It would seem so." She answered on an equally quiet tone, the crackling flames further quieting their exchange. "I hope she doesn't act on it, I don't know how would she handle reject from her savior after what she's been through."

Teldryn smirked, but it was quickly covered when he put his red scarf back in place, his dinner finished. "You seem certain he will reject her. Is that ex lover's jealousy I detect?"

"Oh please." She rolled with her eyes. "We got over it in our twenties. No, you know how Hasser loves Mjoll, and how protective he is of the girl. And he is still the kindest soul of Tamriel. He would never do anything to hurt either of them, it would affect him more than any wound."

"I don't know, the lass is pretty enough, even for a human. And surely you have noticed just how tightly pressed against her is that leather cuirass. And if you did, our dear leader is bound to have done as well."

"Tsk." She slapped him across the back of his head. "Don't be a jerk."

The mer stood chuckling and donning back his chitin helmet and walked away from the group, leaving Kareena with her thoughts. She doubted that Hasser would do anything improper with anyone, let alone a girl who had been through the hell she had. But for all his virtues, her friend still had several glaring defects; paramount among them, his lack of ability to read people. He was too trusting, too innocent and too straightforward, and the people with traits opposing those utterly confused him. That was probably why he liked being around Farkas so much, they were two of a kind; but that made him specially oblivious to certain things, like sarcasm or flirting. Gods, how she had had to evidently come onto him to make him realize she was interested on him when they first met. How he had collected such a large number of lovers through his life of wandering and adventuring was beyond her. She should speak to him about the evident feelings of the girl, but that could wait after the oncoming battle. Hasser was almost invincible on a fight, but he deeply cared about almost everyone he met, and it would do him no good to have his mind clouded by worry over hurting the feelings of Shyra during the battle.

She sighed and looked at the night sky. Instead of Masser and Secunda, she was meet with the dull glow if the single, small silver satellite of this world, boringly dubbed 'moon'. Duh.

Yeah. Not getting used to it anytime soon.

Torrhen's Square wasn't an especially impressive castle, but it seemed strong enough. Unlike Deepwood (so far, the only inhabited castle they had for reference on this world) it was built on stone, with solid nine meters tall walls surrounding squarely the also square central keep, with four square towers at each corner of the square curtain wall. Huh, apt name. Only the arch of the only gatehouse provided some roundness to the angular fortress. While the Motte was surrounded by fields of oat and barley tended by peasants living on the fort itself, no such crops could be seen planted around the stone stronghold. Then again, they couldn't see anything other than snow.

It had begun falling on the last hours of the day they exited the Wolfswood, and it hadn't stopped ever since. Some of the southerners accompanying Stannis had expressed worry over the snow delaying them when they marched up the Kingsroad to Winterfell, but the northerners had laughed it off as the current blizzard being barely comparable to a summer snowing. The hindrance was evident, though, as the expected two days march had doubled by the difficulty for the southern men and horses to keep up pace with the northerners and the tamrielics, who either by magic or by nature were barely affected by the white mantle surrounding them. Hasser had assured that if the snow got close to being dangerous he would fix the problem, which was met with the incredulous glare of the King and his retinue. Heh, when they finally stormed the place they were in for a good dose of believingness.

Speaking of which, Kareena was walking alongside Hasser and his commanders –herself for his mages, Derkeetus for his scouts, Golldir for his shieldwall and Benor for his barbarians- towards the tent of the King. Stannis' squire, a young lad named Bryen, had come to the tent of the Jarl when they had just finished setting up their camp after coming in sight of the castle; the king required the immediate presence of the captains of the company and of Lord Stormblade, Jarl of Solstheim, rightful heir of the blah blah blah. Oh, how she wished that he hadn't thrown to the natives his full list of titles. He never did at home –for he never cared about them-, but Hasser had told her how the maester of Deepwood had insisted on the importance of titles for the westerosi nobility; the more and fancier, the better. Well, at least it provided his friends with banter to tease him with, to his groaning annoyance.

They were already outside the large tent of the king, the massive banner of the flaming stag flapping lazily on the frosty air just outside of it. One of the guards barring the entrance entered the tent upon spotting the advancing party, and within moments he was out, holding the flap of the tent open for them.

"Lord Stormblade, the King will see you now."

Her friend thanked the soldier and led the way into the tent. She was wearing her Archmage robes –whose enchantments she had complemented with repulsion to heat, cold and electricity-, so she didn't felt much of a difference when they found themselves within the warm and spacious tent. The same went for the three nords, but Derkeethus seemed delighted by the warmness of the place, judging by how the cold-blooded creature shuddered his scales with pleasure, throwing snow around him. Stannis stood behind a desk on his usual austere, practical and dark garments, leaning on the table and examining a seemingly freshly drawn plane of the castle, with the outline of the lake being the only noticeable thing on it beyond the walls and the central keep. He was surrounded by his knights, vassals and sworn swords, Peasebury, Fell, Horpe, Farring, Suggs, Penny, Massey, Wylde, Cobb, Wull, Burley, Flint, Harclay, Liddle, Norrey, other lordlings and leaders from the land and Alysane Mormont, Mors Umber and Arnolf Karstark. The latter was speaking hotly as they entered with his coarse and dusty voice.

"I must insist, my king, a siege to the Square would delay us too long! We should turn around and up the Kingsroad to attack Winterfell before the real winter begins. Bolton will not expect it!"

Stannis didn't even lift his gaze from the map as he traced with a finger the outline of the castle, deep in thought.

"The Ryswells and Dustins still support Bolton. I will not leave the mightiest fortress between them and our exposed backs in ironborn hands as we march for Winterfell. Besides, we could use further reinforcements. And, if the claims about Stormblade are to be believed, there won't be much of a siege." His dark blue eyes rose to meet the grey ones from the bone-clad behemoth. "Isn't that right, Jarl Hasser?"

Her friend flashed his easy smile through the mouth opening of his helmet.

"Indeed, your Grace. It will be our pleasure. Have you called for us?"

"Yes, I have." The stormlander got his hands off the table and straightened his back, waving openly at the map. "This is your responsibility now, commander. You and your mercenaries have your only chance to prove your usefulness here and now. Get that gate open for my forces before the day is out and your payment shall be fulfilled after we win the war, and you will have our full support in your quest as long as you require it. Fail, and you will be on your own, but still required to obey the laws of these lands, unless you want to be hunted down as outlaws."

Hasser shrugged nonchalantly.

"Fair enough."

The King pursed his lips, but didn't comment. He turned the map around so it was facing the entrance of his tent.

"How do you plan to approach the castle?"

"Oh, I won't need that." Said the nord waving his hand dismissively. "Nor any kind of intervention by your part. If you give us leave, we can get the attack going before the hour is out, and the castle taken before another passes."

Stannis blinked a couple times, his generals murmuring among themselves. His teeth started grinding after the bark of laugh of Umber and Wull took him out of his stupor.

"Leave then. Back your words with facts."

The tall warrior bowed deeply, a fist to his chest and a smile on his face. The gesture was mimicked by his retinue.

"As you command, your Grace."

As the tamrielics left the tent, Kareena still caught Hugo's bark of laughter, and his roar to the rest of the assembled westerosi.

"I'm sure as hell not missing this!"

Less than half an hour later the whole tamrielic camp had disappeared, and several scores of westerosi –Shyra among them, a scowl on her face for being left behind- watched from the palisades of their own camp as the warriors of the Dovahkiin marched in orderly rows towards the ironborn-held castle. Outside the perimeter Stannis watched astride his horse, flanked by most of his knights and lords and the entirety of the northerner mob watching with evident excitement, rolling off them in waves. Kareena spared them all a last glance before hurrying to join her mages in the last row of the tamrielic formation. Even from her position, she could make out the outline of Hasser's form at the vanguard of their force of three hundred, the ebony horns of his helmet gleaming in the pale morning light. The sound of six hundred feet marching in unison silenced most conversation, but the men and women still chatted animatedly among themselves, excited by the prospect of battle after several weeks of almost inactivity. After a few minutes of march, the tall walls of the fortress looming ever closer, Hasser raised his fist and the horn-blowers at each rank blew the two quick blows to signify a stop. The whole unit halted at the same time, only the frigid air making a sound in the quiet morning. Kareena squinted her eyes at the distant walls.

"They're firing a volley." Provided J'zargo helpfully, his sharp khajiit eyes making out the arrows despite the distance.

"Shall we raise wards, Archmage?" asked Illia, a spell already forming in her hands.

"No, the Jarl hasn't issued the command. We're probably out of arrow range, he wants to measure the reach of their bows." She answered.

True to J'zargo's words, the arrows soon became visible for everyone, the whine of their flight cutting over the murmurs of the crowd. And, as she had predicted, the arrows fell short by a dozen paces, dotting the white soil with their feathered shafts. A few moments after the last arrow embedded itself in the crusty snow, the booming voice of the Dovahkiin rang out.

Author's note: this is a good time to play Skyrim's main theme.

"Shields up! We march in ten."

As one, all the shields of the first, second and third rows rose and covered the warriors underneath them. Kareena issued her orders and her mages also spread out among the formation, casting solid wards -her best contribution to the School of Restoration- above the heads of the warriors standing in the patches left open in the mantle of shields. As the ten seconds tickled by, every men, mer and beastfolk in their company could feel the air stilling around their leader, the wind itself holding its breath. She couldn't see them, but she was certain that their westerosi allies in the camp were feeling the same. Finally, as the last second passed by, she heard a deep intake of breath from the powerful lungs of her oldest friend.

"MEYZ STRUN DU'UL!"

The familiar thunder that accompanied the unleash of a thu'um roared along the shout of their lord, rattling bones and teeth as it went. Within moments, deep storm clouds gathered just above the Dovahkiin, swirling and crackling with lightning contained within. As the Storm Crown finished gathering, Hasser broke into a light jog towards the castle walls, all his host following suit. As they closed rapidly on the fortress, more and more arrow volleys rained on them, but the arrows were sucked into the swirling mass of clouds and spat outwards deprived of their impulse, bouncing harmlessly on the snowy floor. The ones that avoided the Crown fell uselessly on enchanted shields and magic wards, allowing the troop of three hundred to get close enough to the walls that they could make out the terrified faces of the defenders without a problem. At this point, the tamrielic archers started picking off enemy bowmen, firing through the openings that the wards provided.

After the last few meters were closed, Hasser raised his fist again, and the army stopped like one.

"TONGUES!" He roared.

Ghorbash and Derkeethus, clad in their dragonscale armors; Golldir, Kharjo and Frea with their dragonplate armors and shields and Benor, Erik, Ahtar and the twins with their two-handed axes and greatswords all stepped forward from their positions in the army. Forming a wedge with five warriors at each side of the tip that was Hasser, they all stopped a dozen paces short of the gatehouse of the castle. Again, the whole world seemed to hold its breath, anticipation building up within the guts of all and every creature within earshot of the area. Despite herself, Kareena felt a smile creeping into her face, wolfish and predatory. This was it, the power of the man they all followed, about to be unleashed. Every woman and man in their host had witnessed the devastating power of the Dovahkiin, but they felt just as awed now as every other single time.

The sharp sound of eleven lungs being filled at the same time made all the tamrielics brace.

Here it comes…

"FUS RO DAH!"

The collective shout of all ten tongues and the Dovahkiin was absolutely deafening. The shockwave that followed it sent a cloud of pulverized snow in every direction, completely enveloping the tamrielic army. She was sure that the King and his men would have a far better view of the result than they had, at least until the cloud settled; but she didn't need to see it to know that the gate was open.

Nor did Hasser need it to rush into the breach.

"Forward, Children of Skyrim! For Ulfric and Talos!"

A roar of zealous devotion rose from every throat in their host, Kareena's included. She summoned Icy Spears in both of her palms and rushed forward with the rest of the warband, crying in defiance and wrath against the rapist, raiding scum hidden behind the stone curtains. When she finally got out of the cloud of snowy air she could get a proper view of the damage. While the gatehouse was far sturdier than the one of the Motte, the iron portcullis had been blown open, the metal bent inwards like a god had punched through it; the whole center of the grille was missing, and the jagged ends of the fracture points glowed in a dull purple-white. The greater part of the barrier had been effectively melted by the sheer power of the shout, while the double oak doors reinforced with iron bands were just smithereens scattered on the courtyard beyond the gate.

She couldn't help but feel awed at how frighteningly powerful had Hasser's voice grown; she had been there when he learnt his first shout, Fus, and when he perfected it into the signature attack of the Tongues, the Unrelenting Force. While at first he could only push away whatever was hit by the disk-like shockwave carried by his shout, now the unfortunate creatures that stood too close to the beam of almost divine power would be disintegrated in a heartbeat, white hot ashes being the only testament to their previous existence. His Become Ethereal now allowed him to cross through solid objects, his Elemental Fury turned him into a whirlwind of death that could barely be seen as he wreaked havoc among the enemy ranks, his Whirlwind Sprint now carried him to incredible lengths; whereas before the shout would take him to a decent length in a few seconds, now his Voice could carry him to wherever it could be heard. In clear days, he could get from the Throat of the World to Markarth in a heartbeat.

She was sure that the dozens of dragons that he had defeated and devoured had only unlocked the knowledge to use the words, with his iron will and constant practice being what turned each shout into a monstrously powerful mean of destruction. That was your typical Hasser: if you gave him the means to improve, he would become a master of anything if he put his mind to it.

She shook her head clear of her ramblings and continued forward. From her position in the rear she had a clear shot at some of the archers in the battlements, so she nailed two with as many ice spears and kept rushing into the Square. As she passed under the gatehouse, she spotted several ironborn hacked to pieces around the courtyard; many of their own forces were rushing up the stairs of the walls to deal with the defenders, while Hasser and his Tongues readied themselves to shout down the doors of the central keep. She looked around her, at the gathering of battlemages and spellswords waiting for her orders. She looked around her to get a quick assessment of the situation; most of the shieldbearers had formed ranks and were steadily battling the ironborn in the courtyard, while the two handers were the ones clearing the walls, with the rangers and archers picking off enemies where they could. The halls of the keep would be too narrow to make an effective use of most destruction spells, so they should keep most of their wizards outside.

"Marcurio! You have command of the mages; take the walls and rain death on the courtyard!" the imperial nodded and rushed up the stairs, shouting commands to the score of mages closest to him. She turned to the two mages assigned to be her escort that day. "Illia, Aranea, with me!"

"FUS!" Hasser's shout, followed by thunder and the sound of the wooden door shattering, stirred her into action once again. Turning to the keep, she got a glimpse of the bone-white armors of the Tongues as they rushed inside behind the Dovahkiin.

Alright, let's get going before they leave us with no foes to slay.

It was easier said than done.

After five minutes of jogging through the halls of the keep, they had only found terrified servants cowering in corners, closets and larders and a trail of hacked down ironborns, hearing the eventual thunder of a thu'um being unleashed on the path before them. Every so often they would find heavily wounded enemies, and depending on their state the three mages tried to stabilize and then paralyze them for later arrest or to give them quick deaths.

Finally they reached the top of a double stairwell and were faced with a set of twin doors at the fifth story of the keep, blown open. At the other side stood the panting forms of the eleven bone-clad Voice wielders, facing down a score of ironborn. As they neared their allies, they noticed the ironborn holding a bunch of teenagers and a middle aged woman at knife point.

"Ah, shit. Hostages?"

As she stepped to the side of Hasser, she saw the annoyed grimace twisting his mouth. He was resting his bloodied Zahkriizin on his shoulder, his left hand on his hip.

"Yeah. The stubborn fucks refuse to surrender; they want us to allow them to get out and give them fresh horses to reach the coast."

"Huh… I can't help but notice that they're still breathing." The ironborn looked absolutely terrified, cowering behind their shields and a great table turned a makeshift barricade separating them from the vengeful warriors. The one in the center seemed the leader, a white haired man with a hideous scar splitting his mouth vertically, taking deep, heavy breaths. He was laden with rings in his strong fingers, which now clutched a dagger pressed to the neck of the older woman so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"Tsk. I didn't want to risk it with our lack of ranged options. Do you girls think that you can take the ones closer to the hostages as we rush the rest? That way I can get them to safety while you and the Tongues deal with them."

"Sure thing." She readied Incineration on her open palms. "On your mark."

He nodded, his posture not changing in the slightest as he sheathed the Zahkriizin.

"Tongues," he called on a far softer voice than his usual battlefield roars, "Disarm on my mark." All the warriors readied themselves and waited for the command. The ironborn grew restless with each passing second of the current impasse and by the quiet talk of their enemies and started shouting profanities at them, urging them to hurry with their choice. Hasser raised his left hand, with three fingers outstretched. "Three… two… one… Mark!"

As one, the ten tongues unleashed their common cry, while Hasser shouted a different one.

"ZUN HAAL VIIK!"

"TIID KLO UL!"

Time slowed to a crawl as the power of the Thu'um made itself palpable. This shout was always unnerving for Kareena; it was like trying to make sudden movements under water and finding your every effort hindered by the invisible pressure around you, only one hundred times worse. Hasser wasn't affected by it, though; as the waves of power from the ten Tongues advanced to meet the ironborn at a relatively slow speed, Hasser sprinted forward along with it. When it reached the islanders, their weapons slipped from their hands and flew away, only that they did at a snail's pace. By then, Hasser had already reached the captives and was throwing the raiders holding the captives away from them. Despite the discomfort, Kareena forced herself to cast her spells as quickly as she was able, sending the slow-going ball of fire to meet the ironborn she had targeted. For what felt like several agonizing minutes, the tamrielics managed to get six spells in total sailing thought the air towards their enemies, while the tongues rushed at the speed of a drunken horker to meet them with steel; in the same amount of time, Hasser had brought to safety on the other side of the table the hostages and thrown away with raw strength most of the captors, that seemed to float peacefully in the air, inching slowly in the direction the Dragonborn had decided to throw them.

Then the effect of the shout passed and the room exploded in a blur of motion, with fire, lightning and ice streaking through the air and into the terrified reavers, ten warriors jumping over the table with cries of wrath and vengeance and the Dovahkiin turning on his heels and unsheathing his greatsword, turning his attention to the foe. Within seconds, in stark contrast to the agonizing slowness of their previous moments, all of the ironborn laid hacked to pieces on the ground, charred like coals or frozen to icicles. Hasser gazed around, weapon resting against his shoulder again, and shrugged.

"Mission complete, I guess."

Kareena chuckled and turned to the frightened ex-hostages that eyed their saviors with a mix of awe and terror. She kneeled in front of them and extended her open palms.

"Don't be afraid, please. You are safe now. We are soldiers of the army of King Stannis Baratheon. We are here to return the fortress to its rightful owners."

The older woman blinked owlishly, arms still wrapped around the teenagers, and straightened a bit.

"Stannis? We got news a fortnight ago that he had retaken Deepwood Motte and restored it to the Glovers. Is it true? Is he here?"

"He is, my lady." She tried flashing a reassuring smile. The four seemed to relax a notch, so she assumed that it had worked. "He will want to see you at once, I'm sure of it. As soon as we make sure that we have rooted out the last pockets of ironborn resistance, we will bring him to you. Are you lady Berena by any chance?"

The woman nodded.

"Aye, I am."

Kareena nodded in turn. She looked at the teenager girl, pale faced and still trembling slightly.

"Then, you must be Eddara."

The girl gulped and muttered a very soft 'yes'. Kareena took the hands of the girl on hers with a slow movement and tried her best motherly smile.

"Alright. We will have to wait until the King makes it official, but I think safe to greet you as new master of the Torrhen's Square. Congratulations."

Author's notes: aaaand there we go. Again, I'm sorry for the lateness of this. I hope you found something to enjoy on it, and that you will stick around for the next one, which hopefully will come out sooner! Hugs to all!