"The Summerset Isles return to the empire was made easier by the emperor's wedding to the eldest Princess of the Isles. The emperor did not blame the High Elves for the Thalmor, nor did he hold them blameless either. When the High Elven lords knelt at Tiberius feet, the emperor demanded that from that day till the end of the kalpa, all High Elves, from children to the elderly, were to be taught of the atrocities the Thalmor had committed in the name of eugenics, the genocide they did in the First Great War, and their plan of ominicide. In return, he promised to teach all children in the empire the pain Tiber Septim inflicted on the Summerset Isles, the genocide the Numidium caused, and how their suffering was mocked in the third era. He promised to explain that in this war of monsters, Tiber Septim's monster struck first."
– Excerpt of "Philosophies of an Historically Aware Empire"
Calanye Octum
As the wind hit her dark hair, making it dance in the air, Calanye looked at her father. He had a small smile on his face despite the hardness in his eyes. Tiberius Octum, once Torbjorn of Winterhold, was a handsome man, dark of hair and golden of eyes, tall and muscular like most Nords; his arms were as thick as trees. Arms that made Calanye feel safe in her childhood, girlhood, and that very second. Her father looked at the green dragon and then looked back at her.
"Has your mother told you of my plans, Calanye?" Father spoke; his nord accent was thick; it always was after he used his Thu'um.
"Indeed, Father, she told me you want to send me east to Jon's homeland. That you want me to represent you and your wishes in their capital." Calanye spoke; she grabbed her father's hands as she used to as a child; he looked at her and smiled but offered no reprimand.
" Aye. I will be sending Grahkrindrog with you. Once you arrive at Winterfell, Jon's childhood castle, you will shout Grahkrindrog's name, and he shall fly to you. You must spend at least a week in Winterfell, as is proper for a Princess of Tamriel. From Winterfell, you will fly to King's Landing, the capital of Westeros. Once there, your work will start. You are to look after Tamriel's economic interests as well as learn about the so-called Essos, whose economy, according to hearsay, is more mercantile than that of Westeros." Father said as he squeezed her hands tenderly. "I know of your intelligence, and your blood grants you strength; however, your strength should be a complement to your designs in Westeros, not its base. You will meet regularly with Ysolda White-Tusk to oversee the operations of the East Empire Company in Westeros. Due to the semi-autonomous nature of the Seven Kingdoms, I will also be sending other ambassadors, one for each of the kingdoms; they are to report to you so you can use their deals and findings to your own ends." Father finished; he looked at her as if asking if she had any questions.
"Worry not, Father; I know what I have to do, and I know I have the strength to do it. It scares me to be away from home where our name makes all enemies tremble, but it also excites me. The discovery of Westeros has the potential to unite Tamriel more than ever." Calanye spoke; with clear pride in her tone, her voice was not loud, but her father seemed to understand the emotions she tried to convey.
" Indeed." Father replied simply; he then turned to the silent green dragon, "Fly to Morrowind once you have put your personal matters to order. Nahfahlaar's orders are similar to yours, in the sense of your traveling west. Nahfahlaar will be my ambassador in the Westerlands. I advise you to keep your thoughts about his dealing with mortals to yourself; even as afraid of the old dragonhunters as he was, his thu'um is far stronger than yours." Father spoke in a conversational tone, despite the seriousness of his words. The clash of two Dovah was a terrifying thing; the clash of two Dovah in the skies of a populated city was far worse. The green dragon offered no rebuttal; it simply bowed its massive head and took flight.
"You must prepare your things, dear. The Blades I'll send with you will be tasked with building a spy network, so be aware of that; they shall answer to you and you only. You must also be aware of the gods of that land. I recall Jon telling me that even when he believed magic dead, he felt the power in the Godswoods of his people." Father began as he started walking towards Calandor and the other nobles; the Bretton bowed his head once more, and the forebearers saluted her father in their traditional hands-to-the-chest gesture.
"Edwyn of Wayrest… Your presence in my city was a surprise. Especially as my High Chancellor invitee. I find myself curious about your motivations, Ser. I know the Silver Rose Order took upon themselves the mantle of protectors against the… servants of the daedras." Father said, his face was like ice; it showed nothing but what he was saying.
"Your Majesty, I am here to represent my order's interest. I shall not lie. However, I am also here at my family's request." The knight replied as he looked at her father, who merely nodded; he then looked at the two Redguards.
"I must confess I find myself at a loss. I know not your names," Father said leadingly; the two Redguards immediately followed Father's cue.
"These are Majid and Willet, Lord Kematu's retainers." Calandor said, his noble voice budding in seamlessly. Father nodded with a smile on his face.
"Oh, Stros M'kai." Father spoke simply, then turned to Calandor, "Why have you brought these noble men here?" Father said he made a sign for all of them to follow him as he walked towards the round table.
"The Silver Rose Order has asked for the help of a dragon in their current task. They have found Velek Sain and his new hidden kingdom." Calendar said and her father stopped walking
"Velek Sain is dead; Odahviing and twenty other dragons destroyed his little pirate kingdom. I gave his island to Archmage Glinda Galerion and challenged her to build something to rival Eyevea," Father said as he looked at Edwyn of Wayrest. He then looked at Calandor, who shook his head
"Valek Sain is alive and has taken hold of Yneslea... in the Padomaic Ocean." Calendar said; his eyes were going back and forth between Edwyn and Father, and Father laughed heartily for a few seconds. "Huum, how unusual for a Knightly Order to search for trouble on the other side of the continent."
"The Silver Rose Order pursues the filthy Daedra that plague Tamriel, Your Majesty. It matters not where they are. From vampire to unbounded dremora and any under their influence." Father hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with Edwyn's statement. He then looked Majid
"And you? Why are you here?" Father asked.
"Your Majesty, Lord Kematu wishes to charter a small portion of the Imperial Ciy ports so he can participate in trade with the new continent to the east." The Redgaurd spoke, and Calanye couldn't help but think the man was smart; Tiberius Octum was above all else a Nord, pragmatic, and an appreciator of honesty.
"Ah... so Kematu comes at me with honesty and no intricate schemes... how refreshing." Father said, "If I agree, does that imply the repayment of my debt?" Father inquired, to which Majid responded with a shake of his head. "The life of a dragon is worth more than a harbour charter, Your Majesty." At that moment, numerous things occurred simultaneously. Nahfahlaar, which had been listening silently to the events at the summit, let out a powerful roar, which startled the Redguards, Edwyn, and Calandor. Father held Calanye in place as she nearly hurled a lightning bolt at the startled dragon. Morihatha, already seated at the round table, merely grinned when their eyes met.
"Filthy Joor, my life was not yours to bargain. My thuri owes you nothing." Nahfahlaar said, his anger made his thu'um sip into his voice, making the summit tramble with the ancient dragon's power.
"Geh, Nahfahlaar… Ni hin laas nuz hin dinok." Father began, "Not your life but your death." Father translated absentminedly. His tone implied he wanted no more from Nahfahlaar, and the cleverest of all dragons immediately picked up on it. Father then turned to Majid
"I understand, Majid, but at this moment, with the new continent opening new trade routes, the Waterfront District's docks are worth their weight in gold." Father spoke, and Majid nodded in agreement. He then reached inside his vest, removed a parchment, and handed it to Father, who grabbed it and began reading it.
"This is too much; Kematu would be indebted to me if I accepted this." Father said, his voice was low, which meant he was angry. Calanye looked at Morihatha, who suddenly wasn't grinning anymore. "I will give you the charter, and I shall accept Kematu's offer... but I will tax every ship he docks here," Father said calmly, and Majid nodded. "Leave my presence at this moment, and do not return to my city unless you are bringing the child." Father said as he started walking again, Calandor, Edwyn, and Calanye herself followed along.
"Sit," Father said curtly. Calanye was the first to do so, followed by Edwyn and Calandor. The High Chancellor was calm; he seemed surprised by her father's anger, but like a good, loyal man, he said nothing. Edwyn, on the other hand, seemed to be terrified; whichever scheme he had planned was seriously being reconsidered.
"Why would High Rock need a dragon to finish a broken pirate off? You have ships, and your knights are the third-best fighters in the empire. Your father fought for me in Valenwood. He is to this day the best swordsman I've ever seen in a field of battle. He can surely take on a pirate by himself," Father asked as he looked at the Wayrest knight. Edwyn's nervousness disappeared as soon as her father mentioned his; he now looked proud and awed, like a child who found out his father was a hero, which wasn't far from the truth. Edmund of Wayrest was a legendary knight, a master at spellblading.
"Your Majesty. Lord Egbert successfully inserted a spy into Valek's crew. Edwyn began but was interrupted
"Impressive," Father said as he signaled for Edwyn to continue
" Well, that spy claimed Valek managed to lift Arox's curse and bind it to himself." Edwyn said and silence ensued for a few seconds
"Arox the mutilator?" Father asked, and Edwyn nodded. "That is something that requires a dragon indeed." Father said thoughtfully.
"Which dragon will you send, Your Majesty?" Edwyn asked with relief and apprehension; he clearly wanted a dragon of Odahviing's level.
"This one," Father said as he pointed to himself.
Jon
Jon's departure from Oldstones was a quiet affair; both leggionaires and mages were packed and ready to depart before the first light two days after they arrived. The smallfolk of Oldstones were considerably richer than before and seemed to be impressed at the legion's discipline. The locals' reaction to the mages was as negative as one might expect; fortunately, the majority of present mages were skilled in restoration, and by healing the locals, they managed to garner a small measure of acceptance. Jon's thoughts were constantly raging within his mind, imagining how destructive the mages of higher skill and less patience would react to the disrespect the Westerosi would inevitably pay to them. Jon imagined how Master Neloth could destroy entire villages over the smallest of slights and how he could, and most likely would, destroy entire castles if the lords of Westeros treated him as condescendingly as they treated those they considered their inferiors. Then there would be the faiths—both The Faith of the Seven and The Temple of the Nine Divines. Both faiths had their own clergy, and both could be extremely radical with their beliefs.
"Archmage, the scouts reported that the castle known as the Twins is about three hours away." The Centurion said as he broke Jon's from his musings. Jon looked at the tall Imperial-Nord officer and nodded his head. The Legion's marching formation was formidable, swift and concise, and naturally a force of order, so much so that two other trading groups riding north were tagging along. The Westerosi traders were a wealth of information; many of them were part of the traders guild of Kingslanding, a guild that had a surprisingly large number of members as the Master of Coins had created a new tax that applied to all traders but those affiliated with the guild. Jon didn't see the economic values of such a move, but he was humble enough to admit he didn't know anything about economics.
"Lord Snow." A male voice called out to Jon, who turned to find Devin, one of the merchants accompanying him. The man had a jovial tone to his voice; he sounded as amiable as any merchant naturally did.
" Devin of Fairmarket." Jon replied as he nodded, "You wish to speak to me." Jon said, it wasn't a question; the man had left his friends to get close to him.
"Indeed, Lord Snow." Devin said with a smile on his face, "I wish to counsel you... to warn you about Lord Frey and... his inevitable outrageous toll." Devin completed, his face souring at the mention of the old lord of Twins. It wasn't a singularity; many other traders had the same dislike towards Lord Frey; the man was greedy as an old dragon if the stories were to be believed.
"I will hear your words, good man." Jon said simply. He wasn't worried about crossing the Green Fork; he could find several different ways to do such; the most convenient of them was to use Lord Frey's bridge.
"Tis a simple matter, my Lord. Make sure he knows you'll only pay the fair price and nothing else. Do not negotiate; do not give in; simply say you will pay what everyone else does." The merchant said, and Jon nodded. He wasn't planning on giving anything other than gold to pay the toll; he also doubted Lord Frey would charge anything other than it.
"I see." Jon began simply, "Lord Frey has seen past his ninetieth name day; that implies he's either a very lucky man or a smart one. He surely knows it takes twice as long to build bridges once burned." Jon finished enigmatically. Devin looked at Jon with a squeptical look. Jon simply smiled at him but offered no further comment.
"He will haggle, Lord Snow; he will threaten you, mock you, and offer one of his daughters to be your wife if he gets to know the origins of your people." Devin said, the grimace on his face was almost an entity in itself.
"And I shall refuse. Lord Frey could call ten thousand strong men with swords and shields to threaten me, and I would fear them as much as Jamie Lannister would fear a child with a stick." Jon said simply, and Devin looked at him as if he were the mad.
"A child with a stick cannot hurt Jamie Lannister, my lord." Devin said leadinggly and Jon smiled at him
"Nor can ten thousand strong men with swords and shields hurt me." Jon replied calmly. Devin seemed conflicted and ready to let his opinion heard; Jon, however, wanted nothing of it; he raised his hand so the man would drop the topic. He also smiled at the man to show his presence was still welcomed. Devin seemed to understand Jon's intentions, so he stayed, riding side by side with Jon.
"Lord Snow. What kind of goods would interest this Tamriel of yours?" Devin asked, his merchant nature getting the better out of him.
"Any and all kinds of goods." Jon began, his tone contemplative "Potions ingredients mainly; you would need a list for that, however, and since the alchemist just began to experiment with ingredients from Westeros, it will take time... lots of it." Jon continued, his mind trying to remember the needs from each province "Art works for the Cyrodilians, iron for Black Marsh, spices would be welcomed with fervor in Hammerfell... Tamriel is as big as Essos, if not bigger, and the population is most likely four times that of Westeros. You have an unlimitaded market, my friend. If I were you, I would focus on getting Dornish goods. Dornish goods will be extremely popular in Cyrodiil, High Rock... everywhere in Tamriel, if I don't mistake myself." Jon finished; he looked at Devin, and the man seemed almost sad at Jon's words.
"What seems to be the problem, friend?" Jon asked, and the man sighted.
"Dorne doesn't have a good relationship with the rest of the Seven Kingdoms; they trade heavily with Essos and almost nothing with the rest of us." Devin said and Jon nodded in understanding
"I blame them not. What happened with their princess and..." The man began but seemed to collect himself quickly and offered a small apologetic smile. Jon looked at the man, Devin from Fairmarket, a riverlander merchant who was too knowledgeable and an overall good person, and chose not to question him on his thoughts about the Martell princess' fate.
"War is terrible, my good man." Jon began, "It makes monsters out of men." Jon concluded.
"No, Lord Snow... War doesn't make monsters out of men; it unmasks the monsters amongst men." Devin said, and Jon nodded at his wisdom.
Jon's party rode for a few more hours until they arrived at the Twins. The twin castles were an imposing sight, like most constructions in Westeros. It was a nightmare to siege by non-magical means and laughlably simple to destroy using magic. Water manipulation was old magic, old but powerful; using it to sink the Twins would take little more than expert mage. Each castle blocked one end of the large bridge, acting as gates, and as Jon approached, he saw its portcullis were closed, making clear a toll would have to be paid or violence would be sure to occour.
"Halt! Who goes there?" Jon heard a flippant voice say, he looked up at the battlements, and he saw a weasel-faced man. The man wore a funny-looking hat with ear flaps, and together with his weasel face he made for a comical sight.
"Greetings," Jon began. "I am Jon Snow, son of Eddard Stark, and I seek to cross your bridge." Jon finished. The weasel-face man disappeared for a moment but soon returned.
"Why do you seek to cross the bridge?" The Weasel man asked; he seemed hesitant to go about his question.
"Well… I imagine I seek to cross the bridge so I can get to the other side of the river." Jon replied simply, his tone flat. The weasel-face man turned around and disappeared inside again. He didn't return; instead, an older-looking, weasel-faced man appeared. He wore no hat and looked serious.
"Why do you fly dragon banners, Snow.?" The older man asked, "I thought Starks hated the Targaryens, with all that kidnapping your aunt happenstance." The older man finished.
"You spoke as if you see a contradiction... I fly a dragon banner, and my father's House is an enemy of House Targaryen. There's no contradiction." Jon commented, and the older man scowled. It was an extremely deep scowl, as Jon could see it clearly even as the man stood high up the walls.
"Those banners are black and red, bastard. A red dragon in a fiel of black. Looks Targaryen to me." The man said
"Your House flew Targaryen banners for two hundred and eighty years, and you still don't know that their banner has a three-headed dragon in it?" Jon asked with incredulity in his voice "How queer.." Jon commented; the men went clearly flustered at the exchange.
"Which House do you serve bastard? Being coy shall not help you cross this bridge!" The man said, his annoyance flaring, Jon contemplated his answer and shrugged
"I serve House Octum." Jon replied simply; he offered no explanation about House Octum's origins or anything about it.
"I've never heard of House Octum." The man said leadingly and Jon smiled at him
"There are many things you haven't heard about; this is just one more of them." Jon began; his voice held no sarcasm or perceptivable mocking tone; it was a simple, honest statement. "I would appreciate it if you would name your price, my Lord. My journey is long, and the sooner I cross this bridge, the sooner I shall reach my father's castle." Jon demanded, while his mood wasn't fouled by the exchange, he still would like to cross the bridge and proceed north. The Frey man looked at Jon and his party for a few seconds; his eyes would linger on the legionnaires and their exquisite formation from time to time, and after visibly counting the number of wagons and traders in Jon's party, he seemed ready to give his price
"Twenty gold dragons, boy. That's the cost of crossing the bridge with your party. No less." The man said, his voice held no smugness as he named the exorbitant amount, nor did it sound mocking; the man made his voice seem as flat as one could and still sound human. Jon looked at the weasel-faced man and contemplated freezing the waters and moving the river just enough to make the bridge useless, but in the end he chose to pay the gold the man wanted.
"I shall pay then." Jon said.
A day and a half later, Jon and his party were in the Kingsroad.
Jon
Jon's entrance into The North was as unceremonious as the rest of his journey. The Kingsroad, unlike most roads Jon's party had previously rode onto, was full of travelers. From traders to small lords riding north or south. The road itself was subpar compared to even the oldest of Tamriel roads, and when the uper riverlands transformed into the Neck, it got turned into a causeway in the middle of the swamps. Swamps, which brimmed with magic—dark ancient magic but magic nonetheless.
Devin, who had been riding with Jon ever since they left the Twins, seemed to treat the Neck with the respect it needed, never straying from the causeway and keeping his eyes on the ground at all times.
"Are there legends about the Neck?" Jon asked, his memories about the neck were as innexistent as his memories about The Vale. He knew they existed, and that was about it. When the magical anomaly that moved Jon from Westeros and dropped him in Tamriel happened, Jon was no older than eight; he knew very little about the world outside his immediate circle.
"Many, my Lord. Why do you ask?" Devin replied; he sounded confused about Jon's question.
"There's old magic in this place—very old and very dark magic." Jon began; his voice was low, but it carried as far as Jon needed it to. "Not the same kind of magic me and the other mages use; it feels sacrificial in its nature, and it certainly is a form of tonal magic. A very crude form of tonal magic." Jon rambled as he felt the magic and heard the world's "song.".
"Well, some legends say the children of the forrest brought the hammers of waters on the neck thousands of years ago." Devin said uncertainly; he seemed desquieted by the existence of old magic in the neck "It is said they tried to do to The Neck as they did with the arm of Dorne. They failed, and instead of splitting the land, they created these swamps and boggs. Boggs, which bleed all southern amies that attempted to cross North." Devin finished, and he looked around the boggs as if trying to find bones of the invaders of old.
"The magic here has a more subtle effect. Its like a curse. This land itself repels invaders seeking conquest." Jon began, his senses and magic spreading deep into the land, prodding and seeking. "Mayharps, that is the reason the North was never conquered by an outside force. The Neck itself protects The North." Jon theorized, and Devin shrugged, not knowing whether to agree or not.
"Moat Cailin is three days north, my lord. Many Crannogman live near the ruins, and Lord Blackmyre is Moat Cailin's castellan. He certainly knows more about the Neck than I do." Devin replied, and Jon nodded in agreement. The crannogman lord would certainly be more knowledgeable about his people's ancestral land.
Jon looked at the other Tamrielians in his party; the legionnaires followed along with discipline in every step; they gave no sign of tiredness or faltered in their steps. The alchemists were less disciplined but overly enthusiastic, something that's been the whole journey. The Mages seemed bored, and many of them read books while riding, allowing their trained horses to guide them.
Three days later, the black basalt walls of Moat Cailin received Jon and his party. Even partially destroyed Moat Cailin was impressive—far more impressive than the Twins and any other castle Jon had seen in the journey. As he looked at the large blocks of black basalt, some so big it would've taken at least one hundred men to move it, Jon wondered how the first men managed to build it. In the gates of Moat Cailin, a group of men under a banner of a black frog in the field of green stood.
"Greetings, Son of Stark. I am Lord Jorran Blackmyre, Castelan of Moat Cailin. I offer bread and salt and a place in my hearth." Lord Blackmyre said, the man was small, no taller than a bosmer; his sharp and angular features showed some distant ancestor of his interbreed with a non-human species, most likely the Children of the Forrest. He seemed to respect the Stark blood in Jon, and so Jon smiled at him. He turned around and signaled with his hands, calling forth all people not directly under his protection, such as the other merchants.
"Greetings, My Lord." Jon bagan; he made sure his voice was respectful and collected. "I shall accept your guess rights, and I find myself happy to be welcomed into your hearth." Jon said as he grabbed a piece of bread, dipped it into the bowl of salt, and ate it. The merchants followed along and partook in guest rights themselves. Lord Blackmyre smiled at Jon's willingness to accept guest rights; his man at arms visibly stood more relaxed, as opposed to their Lord, who had been relaxed the whole time. He made for Jon to follow him inside the fortress. Jon looked at Centurion Janus and signaled the man to be at ease and prepare to spend the night there.
"Your lord father sent a raven to House Fenn, the only House within the Neck with a functioning ravenry. He was adamant that we would welcome you warmly." Lord Blackmyre began with a wistful smile on his face. "He looked everywhere for you when he realized you were missing. He told Lord Reed to close the neck and told Manderlyn to blockade the Narrow Sea. He asked the Lord Commander to allow no one to go north of the wall. He called his banners and threatened to go to war with Pentos when he heard a northern boy was slaved to a magister. It wasn't you in the end; it was never you. I remembered allowing a merchant to leave with a northern boy around your age... Before I got the orders to close the neck... Lord Reed almost took my head when I confessed." Blackmyre said, his voice was sad, as if the thought of his inability to help a Stark degraded his soul.
"It wasn't me," Jon replied the unasked question, and Blackmyre's shoulders visibly sagged in relief. "Whatever took me from Winterfell was not mortal; one moment I was in the Godswoods, the other I was in the Imperial City. Father could do nothing against whatever took me. My master tried to solve this puzzle many times, but he failed." Jon replied and Blackmyre looked up sharply
"So you were made a slave?" Blackmyre asked. The question caught Jon by surprise, so he didn't reply immediately.
"There are no slaves in Tamriel, my Lord." Jon replied, sounding unintentionally offended by Blackmyre's insinuations. "Master is what we call someone who mastered something, from magic to blacksmithing. To have someone as your master means that person is your teacher, passing along his skills to you." Jon explained, like one would to a child. Lord Blackmyre looked satisfied by Jon's words
"I apologize if I have given offense; it was not my intention." The Castellan of Moat Cailin said, and Jon nodded.
"It is forgiven." Jon replied, his eyes showing the veracity of his words. "And I thank you for telling about my father's worry. I feared my status as a bastard would make him hesitate to look for me." Jon shared, his mind was going through turmoil at the moment. His father's reaction was unexpected, to say the least.
"This is not the South, Son of Stark. Eddard's only mistake was allowing a septa into his household." Blackmyre spoke immediately, "A son is a son, and no true man would let his son be taken from his halls and not seek retribution. Your father is many things; a false man he is not," Blackmyre replied, and Jon nodded.
"Tell me about The Neck, my Lord." Jon began as he created a magic circle in his hand. Lord Blackmyre was startled by the display, looking at the magic as if stuck in time, the circle started changing, showing Jon many insights into the magic once cast from Moat Cailin. "I've felt magic in this place—old magic, powerful magic, sacrificial magic... the intent lingers to this day, and quite strongly. It repels invaders, those who aren't part of an agreement ages old." Jon described, "Any insights, my lord?" Jon asked and Blackmyre finally returned to the conversation
"You are a sorcerer?" Lord Blackmyre asked; his voice held a mix of awe and dread.
"The correct term would be mage. Sorcerers deal in sacrifices of blood and life. A mage's powers are his and his only." Jon replied calmly; he then looked at Lord Blackmyre's eyes and then at the magic circle as to remind the man of his previous question.
"The Children of the Forest came together to Moat Cailin, and with the help of the gods, they called the Hammer of Waters upon the neck in an attempt to stop the invaders who were destroying their forests and burning the Godswoods." Blackmyre spoke as if in a trance "Eventually the Children and the First Men ended their feud by drawing a treaty. The forests were to be the children's, and the men would take the open land. As a show of their sincerity, the First Men cast aside their dark gods and took the Children's gods to worship. The treaty took place in the Isle of Faces and is to this date called The Pact." Lord Blackmyre replied, and Jon nodded as if finally getting the last piece of a puzzle.
"The Children used tonal magic, an extremely crude form of it, very weak in combat but overly effective in placing esoteric cursers and blessings, and apparently blood sacrifices made it stronger and everlasting. It draws energy from the northerners belief in The Neck's unassailability. Tiberius must know about this." Jon spoke absent-mindedly. Lord Blackmyre looked at Jon with awe.
"Who is Tiberius, Son of Stark?" The Crannogman lord asked; his tone was still draped with awe at Jon.
"My master. The Emperor of all Tamriel." Jon replied simply. Blackmyre could do nothing but stare at Jon, his disbelief clear in his mind.