As the years passed by, the Iliac League's influence slowly grew. Its membership came to include the Duchy of Frostbreak and the Kingdoms of Farrun and Jehanna to the north as well as the Duchy of Gavaudon, the Kingdom of Wayrest, and the Kingdom of Alcaire to the west. Dorian even managed to break through and secure ties with the King of Shornhelm, giving him a foothold in Rivenspire. The kingdoms and duchies further west, however, were resistant to the Iliac League's influence - in no small part due to the considerable influence of House Blackthorn in Northpoint and their allies in western High Rock.

Despite Dorian's attempts, those western realms would not so easily open their borders to the Iliac League. With his efforts stymied by House Blackthorn and its allies, his attention turned outward again. Trade with Sentinel was approved and facilitated with the help of Dorian's contacts from Hallin's Stand - within the year, Redguard ships were sailing up the Iliac Bay and docking at Evermore's grand riverport. Western kingdoms in High Rock did not approve of the League's warming relationships with Hammerfell, but they envied the new wealth flowing into their eastern neighbors' kingdoms all the same.

Not all was without trouble, however. Improvement of the road going through the Druadach Pass, connecting Mournoth to Markarth Hold in Skyrim, was a joint project between King Dorian and Jarl Igmund meant to facilitate travel between their realms. Unfortunately, the work was frequently interrupted by raids of marauding Reachfolk, including those who called themselves Forsworn - remnants of a rebelling group that had been driven out of Markarth years ago. While the Forsworn had refused all attempts to contact them, King Dorian had promised he could help ameliorate relations with the other local Reach tribes. Jarl Igmund welcomed the aid.

So it was that Dorian found himself at a camp deep in the wilderness of the Reach. Durand household troops remained stationed at the camp as protection detail; men-at-arms stood guard at the periphery of the clearing with keen wolfhounds at their side, while battlemages remained close by their lord's table. Dorian could see the faint glow of magic shining from the battlemages' eyes - Detect Life spells, to ensure that no ill-meaning troublemakers were sneaking up on them. The Durand diplomatic party made for an intimidating sight, and he hoped it would not be taken by the Reach tribes as a move of aggression.

We've come here in good faith, Dorian reminded himself. His attention turned upon the peace banner erected at the camp entrance. It consisted of House Durand's rampant white dragon on a sky blue banner, affixed to a wooden totem decorated with various pelts and animal bones. Most of his men and even the wolfhounds in their company shied away from the gruesome thing, save for one who stood close to King Dorian's side: Cormac, one of the few Reachfolk that served House Durand. The Reachman had agreed to come with the diplomatic envoy to the Reach as an interpreter. He'd also had valuable tips for the upcoming negotiations.

Dorian took a moment to recall what Cormac had told him earlier that day. Remember, remain respectful but wary when dealing with Reachfolk. They don't suffer long speeches - or even short ones. Keep your conversations brief and to the point.

Seeing the unease that hung about the camp, he wondered what he could do to assuage their fears. In the end, it wasn't him who figured it out, but Roland. The young man turned to Cormac and asked, "Cormac. You're certain that we are safe here, yes?"

"Safe as ye can be, young buck." The old Reachman grunted, motioned at the totem. "Ye used rabbit pelts when stitchin' that together, aye? Good. It's as clear a signal as ye can show that ye want tae bargain without violence."

Roland nodded and turned to his fellows in the camp. "I trust Cormac. And I trust my father. House Durand has nothing to fear from the Reachmen - not while we welcome them with honest intentions."

The men in the camp looked at one another. One by one, the troops relaxed, murmuring amongst themselves. Cormac grinned and reached up to ruffle Roland's hair. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, laddie. Been a while since I've spoken tae my fellow wild kin like this, though." He gestured down at himself; he wore the tribal vestments of his old tribe, which he'd kept secure for all these years in his service under House Durand.

Roland grinned affably and gave his old teacher's shoulder a steadying squeeze. "I really do trust you, Cormac. And I trust that you'll scare everyone into behaving. Gods know you scared the living daylights out of me when I was a whelp. I don't think the years have done anything to take that away from you."

Cormac snorted a laugh. "Hah! You're damned right. I'm Bear-Claw tribe, laddie. That means when I get mad, I get mad. And nobody wants to see an angry Bear-Claw." He bared his teeth with a fierce growl. One of the nearby wolfhounds scampered off in a fright, and Cormac broke out into another bout of raucous laughter, one which Roland joined in.

He's grown into a remarkable young man, Dorian thought admiringly, watching his son laugh. While he'd had some doubts during the lad's youth, now he could see clearly that Roland had grown well. A young man of twenty five years now, he was good at speaking with people, open minded and trusting, and sincere. He had also grown skilled in armed combat, making for a fearsome knight that the House men-at-arms enjoyed having with them in the drill square. Anyone who spent enough time with him soon knew that he was not the kind of man who embodied the vices that were often associated with bastard-born status.

I only wish I'd been more present in his life, Dorian thought with a sigh. But perhaps it isn't too late to change. The Iliac League is prospering. House Durand has risen to a place of prominence in High Rock. My reputation is no longer as vulnerable as it once was, and even my dear wife has begun to grow fonder of Roland. Perhaps I can safely open myself up more to my firstborn.

Shouts came up from the sentries, alerting him of an approaching party. The household troops came to attention. Roland scrambled to return to his father's side, Cormac adjusted his tribal vestments, and Dorian straightened in his seat, shifting into King Dorian's persona with ease of practice.

Through the rolling banks of fog that pervaded the western Reach, the glow of a torch became visible in the distance. As the incoming party drew closer, King Dorian could see they were a troop of Reachfolk. Then, through the distant fog, another torch appeared. And another. Each group of people carried poles adorned with stitched-together rabbit pelts as peace banners and wore headdresses that identified which tribe they came from. Dorian recognized them all. Silver-Claws, Wolfhunters, and Shadow-Hearts. The three tribes have all come together.

Nervous murmurs rippled through the camp as the Reachfolk parties arrived. One by one, the tribal warriors and shamans filed into the clearing. Everyone in King Dorian's company studied the newcomers, who in turn eyed the armored cityfolk with wary curiosity. King Dorian looked past the warriors and shamans, training his eyes on the leaders of each group: the Wise Women.

Clad in furs and decorated with bones and colorful beads, the Wise Women all wore intricate headdresses fashioned out of interwoven branches or animal skulls and face paint that marked their status and tribal identity. Cormac had done his best to teach Dorian all the subtleties of dealing with Reachfolk. It boiled down to a few key points: Reachfolk deal in bargains. They respect strength and skill. And they believe in rewarding favors.

Roland leaned in close to whisper in King Dorian's ear. "Cormac told me about the Reachfolk. He said that some of them worshiped Daedra."

King Dorian gave a shallow bob of his head, watching as Cormac greeted the Reachfolk parties and shared a conversation with them in their native tongue. "The Silver-Claws and Wolfhunters respect Hircine. The Shadow-Hearts worship Nocturnal in particular. But for them, the Daedra are guides through the hardships of life, not overlords who command them to commit atrocities. Remember that even the noble Bjoulsae tribes venerate Zurya - better known as Azura."

Cormac seemed to come to an agreement with the individual parties. He stepped aside and gestured, motioning for one of the parties to step through. At once, the Wise Woman of the Silver-Claw tribe began to stride forward. One of the men-at-arms standing guard nearby grunted as she drew close, "Alright, that's close enough."

She didn't stop or slow her stride. The household troops grew tense, reaching for their weapons until Roland threw his hand out. "Stop. Leave her be."

The men-at-arms' swords remained half-drawn in their sheaths as the Wise Woman came to a stop before King Dorian's desk. Her eyes were mismatched; one was blue, the other was a light green. She wore a headdress made from the skull of a hind, and red-white face paint formed intricate designs on her cheeks. "Ye are the lordling from out west who comes to deal with Reachfolk, aye?"

All eyes fell upon King Dorian. He nodded once. "That's correct."

A dagger appeared in the Wise Woman's hand. Before anybody could react, she drew it across her palm. The skin split open, and she squeezed her fist to allow a few droplets of red blood to trickle onto the table. One of the battlemage guards bristled indignantly. "That is mahogany!"

"Wood is wood," answered the Wise Woman dismissively. "Ye wish to deal with us, ye must observe the proper rites first."

Cormac looked like he meant to come to their aid, but a hard stare from the other Silver-Claw tribesmen made him stop. King Dorian cursed silently; he'd forgotten what sort of rite this would involve. It suddenly occurred to him - the blood. He reached for his boot knife, pulled off his glove, and braced himself before drawing the blade across his bare palm. Just as the Wise Woman had done, he squeezed his hand into a fist. Droplets of his blood mingled with hers on the tabletop. Roland did the same out of respect, though he seemed greatly averse to cutting himself in such a painful manner.

This seemed to satisfy the Wise Woman. "Blood has been offered on behalf of the Hunt-Father. We may deal now on these matters of peace."

After that, the dealings went smoothly. King Dorian counted himself fortunate that the few Reachfolk tribes native to the Druadach Pass area were not the ones whose traditions involved brutal raiding and slaughter. Once certain bargains were made and boundaries established, the tribes were more open to the presence of outsiders traveling through their land so long as they did not stray from the agreed routes. The Silver-Claw tribe left the negotiating table with armfuls of pelts, and the Wolfhunters were given a great many high quality arrows for their hunters to use.

The Shadow-Heart tribe was the strangest of the bunch. Their Wise Woman was a startling sight: white chalk covered her face, and charcoal was applied in a long strip across her eyes, making her piercing blue eyes stand out strikingly beneath the fringed veil of deer leather she wore. Colorful beads decorated her long, brown hair, and her headdress featured glossy black feathers. A raven sat on her shoulder, studying King Dorian with lilac-colored eyes.

"Be welcome to my table, esteemed Wise Woman." Dorian bowed his head once in respect as she approached him; a gesture he'd avoided with the Hircine-worshipping tribes - they took it as a sign of weakness and submission - but he knew it was more acceptable with these Nocturnal-worshippers.

The Wise Woman answered in a breathy sigh. "I greet you, Lord of Mournoth. I am Ciara. You look just as I saw you in my dream-visions."

A nearby House Durand sergeant smirked lecherously. Her comrade elbowed her in the ribs swiftly. King Dorian furrowed his eyebrows. "You say that you dreamed of me? Of this meeting?"

"Indeed. Even before your letter reached us, I foresaw this meeting. The Dark Mother has long since blessed me with visions of things to come - that is why I came here at all."

King Dorian arched an eyebrow. "My letter expressly stated that I hoped to negotiate boundaries for the Druadach Pass—"

"I have read your letter." Ciara's blue eyes had an ethereal quality to them. Her gaze roamed over him, and King Dorian felt as if she were staring straight through him and into his soul. "But it interests me less than the vision-dreams. The messages within them were meant for you, I believe. Darkness encroaches, borne upon black wings unfurled, and time grows short before it enshrouds the world."

King Dorian's gaze flickered to the raven on her shoulder. The bird bobbed its head, made an odd warbling croak that sounded like an agreement. He turned his attention back on Ciara. "What message do you bring?"

There was a commotion behind the Wise Woman. One of the men-at-arms was arguing with one of the Shadow-Heart warriors about something. Roland excused himself and hastened over to deal with the issue. Ciara's eyes followed him as he left, and she touched her chin thoughtfully. She turned her attention back upon King Dorian. "The messages my Lady brought me spoke of your eldest son."

King Dorian straightened in his chair, eyeing her. "What about him?"

A sad smile crossed her lips. "Your son is destined for great things. Power and ambition will drive him, as will the virtue that has been instilled in him from his youth. But be warned, King of Evermore - for the Dark Lady has told me that your firstborn son will be the cause of your untimely death."

There was a quiet gasp from the two battlemages flanking King Dorian. The man himself felt his composure falter, and he glowered at Ciara. "What is this? You say that my son will slay me? Do you understand the gravity of what you say?"

Ciara's sad smile remained. "I am but a messenger. The message was mine only to convey. Perhaps I interpreted incorrectly. But the Dark Lady is seldom wrong." Her raven croaked and flapped its wings once.

The Wise Woman turned away without warning. "We demand no tithe after this meeting - our tribe will stay away from the Druadach Pass and cause your folk no trouble. But heed my words, and make peace with your gods."

Dorian heard his men start whispering amongst themselves as Ciara and her folk took their leave. The household troops nearby began to eye Dorian with pity, no doubt wondering if the Wise Woman's prophecy would hold any weight in time. He felt a low, simmering frustration begin to rise from deep within him, and he buried his face into a hand with a sour taste in his mouth. Now the men will get it into their heads that my son is going to try and kill me. Just perfect. As if poor Roland didn't have few enough friends as it was.

But he didn't care for the Wise Woman's prophecy. Not all prophecies came true. He loved Roland and he knew that Roland would never stoop so low as to commit murder. The young man had worked tirelessly to become a role model for his younger siblings, earn Josephine's approval, and make his lord father proud. I trust Roland with my life. Nothing will change that.

Another shout came up from the sentries: a courier was approaching. The rider came up the mountain path a few minutes later. He wore a House Durand jupon. Dust and sweat caked the man from head to foot. The heaving flanks of his horse steamed in the cool Reach air. King Dorian rose from his table as the rider approached. "What has happened?"

The courier reached into the saddlebags at his side and withdrew a scroll. "Best you see for yourself, my Lord. It's urgent!"

King Dorian accepted the scroll. He turned it in his hands and studied the wax seal. The figure imprinted into the red wax formed the image of a writhing briar vine. House Blackthorn's sigil.

He tore the seal open and unfurled the scroll. His blue eyes scanned the page, reading its contents. All around him, his household troops could not help but inch closer, wondering at the message. Roland who stepped forth at last. "What does the scroll say?"

When King Dorian finally pried his eyes away from the scroll, he faced his men with a broad smile. Clenching it in his fist, he raised the scroll. "A miracle has happened. King Ganelon has agreed to meet with us in Durand Stronghold and negotiate membership into the Iliac League!"