When I was a boy, I was taught to revere legends.
Not legends like immortal, supernatural beings. Legends of flesh and blood. Legends of mankind.
Look at any culture around the world, and you will find legends revered as far back as history will take you.
For Klironomea it is a simple affair. The most recent 'legend' is that of Harald the Second and his forefathers, the Barracks-Kings of Klironomea. When the Barracks-Kings were nought but children swaddled in the crib, they revered the baseborn Prince Loukas Stagmore, who desperately tried to do right by the people who had been crushed under the tyranny of his family. Prince Loukas would have revered the Black Prince, Magnarius Ælfwyne, the first and last ruler of all five lost kingdoms of the north who was forced to lead his people into Klironomea to protect them when the horse-lords first spilled south. When Magnarius was alive the Klironomeans hadn't even returned to Klironomea yet, but still the trail of legends stretches back further, and so he looked to the great monarchs of the Skraeling house Doregern as his group of reverence. I believe you get the gist of what I'm trying to say.
My point is this; every generation has its great heroes and villains, and to a man they all look back upon the greats from the century before their own for inspiration. They all look to the past for guidance, to look for what they should emulate. They crave the approval of men long since dead when they should have been looking forwards at what they could achieve with their own ideas, their own drive.
That is the fundamental flaw with most rulers. They want so desperately to be revered in history just as they revered others, and as a result they are utterly incapable of seeing their plans to fruition because they're too preoccupied with wondering whether or not the generations to come will disdain their name for the actions they took in enacting their plans. If one worries about what the future will think of one then the dream is as good as dead as soon as one attempts to start. You can't worry about that sort of menial thing.
In a stroke of irony you are almost certain to be remembered for a thousand years if you care not for being remembered as 'kind' or 'good'. What matter is it whether you are loved or despised once you are buried? Be you remembered as an Angel or a daemon, you will still be remembered. Those who wished to enact their goals without dirtying their hands are consigned to be forgotten, remembered only in extreme circumstances. Men like Magnarius Ælfwyne and Prince Loukas are merely the exceptions that prove the rule.
So, is it better to be remembered for completing your actions no matter the cost or forgotten for failing to see them through whilst maintaining your conscience? The former of course, but there is a third option that is better still.
To enact all of your goals, to see every plan through to fruition and every monument built to completion, and yet still ensure you are forgotten? That's true success. Not the vanity of those who wish to be remembered for doing good, not the callousness of those who care not how they act, but the middle ground that ensures your name will be buried in history. I learned that at a very young age from the spymaster of our now-departed King Aered. Aered was a weak man, and I used that to my advantage. People will not remember me for the humiliations I thrust upon him, however. They will only remember that he was humiliated. Our house has grown far, far stronger under my leadership, and so long as you and your sister continue to follow my lead it will continue to do so when I'm gone.
No, I do not wish for fame. In fact when I die I would rather no-one remember me at all.
Are you listening to me, Aerna? I need you to stop playing with your sword at tourneys, to stop spending more time thinking up snide comments you think are clever, and to start learning what it means to lead. Your distant cousin, Lord Tyros, will be leading our armies. I'm sending you to act as his second-in-command.
Do you understand what that means, boy? That Teleytaian exile will be at your side, but you're to be my representative on the fields of this war. I need you to stop playing at being a lord and start acting like one. The new ruler of Teleytaios is young, but he's smart. He'll know where to strike and how to keep you from battle until it suits him. Listen to me: keep your forces close to those of your distant cousin. If and when the new monarch meets Lord Tyros in battle then you are to join our kinsman and follow his command.
Yes, his command.
I don't care that you think yourself a 'higher' member of the family since he's from a cadet branch and you're from the main. He has experience that you lack since you only ever partake in jousts and duels when you should have been learning. That's besides the point now. You're to follow the command of-
A messenger? Yes, yes, what tidings?
Oh. That's certainly unfortunate.
It seems there is to be some change in your plans, my son. Lord Tyros was killed on the road. You'll take your half of the forces, as originally discussed, and Lieutenant Isen will take the other half. The rest of my words remain the same; stay close to him. This 'Lykourgos' is no fool. He'll know his best chance at victory is to take you on separately. Deny him such an easy victory. Bleed him dry as much as you can, seize as much wealth as you wish from the countryside, meet him in skirmish after skirmish if that's what your ego demands, but for all of our sakes remain close to the other half of the army. If you go gallivanting off in search of 'honour' and 'glory' then our forces will be cut down in those foreign lands. Do not disappoint me. Do not bring shame to our family.
Listen here, boy, I have spent my entire life waiting for this moment. Decades of planning on a scale your prideful mind couldn't even comprehend, a generation of wealth spent and hundreds killed in minor wars that have expanded our family's holdings at the expense of our fellow vassals. I will not have it all wasted if you decide you want to throw it all away in a fit of arrogant self-indulgence! You understand me? Good.
Men are men, my son. Men are fallible, flexible, guidable. No man through history has ever achieved greatness without the backing of those around him. Take the example of Magnarius Ælfwyne for this point. He did not seize power, he was given it by the consent of those around him. He had the right blood, if the stories are to be believed anyhow, but that wouldn't have mattered at all if he hadn't been supported by those around him. He wasn't superhuman, he didn't have any special powers or fanciful mystic arts at his disposal, for such things do not exist. What he had was steel and good council. That, and an army of tens of thousands of men. Not that it saved him, of course. He was reliant upon the kings of the south, the Skraeling monarchs of what would one day be called Klironomea, and in return for guarding their northern flank against the nomadic invaders upon their horses the Skraelings gave them land to live on and their support in battle whenever a great horde fell upon them.
Until that support never came. Until the support stopped. Without support his people were butchered. Magnarius Ælfwyne and his Black Order put up a good fight, a valiant fight, and he was killed all the same. If he'd have been smarter he'd have offered his sister as a concubine to the last of the invading horse-lords and ordered her to slit his throat when she'd bedded him. That way the horde at his walls would have turned on each other and melted back into the north. But of course, Magnarius Ælfwyne would never do that. No.
The Black Prince was noble. The Black Prince was kind. And soon enough, the Black Prince was dead.
Yes, the skills of all the 'legendary' rulers came to nothing when they couldn't apply them properly. I know you've always been fascinated with the Barracks-Kings, and the original point of this conversation was to try and dissuade you of that notion, to prove to you that there are no legends. I was taught to revere them when I was a child, but I saw through the words of my tutors. Where they saw examples, I saw weakness. Where they saw purity, I only saw excuses for sins. There are no legends, son. If you're to succeed me when the time comes then you'd best get ideas of legend out of your head. If you really need more convincing then let me tell you of the Barracks-Kings. Not the drivel your wetnurse used to tell you, but the truth.
House Whitefield, or the Barracks-Kings as history has labelled them, are often looked back upon with fondness by lowborn and nobles alike. Folly. They were baseborn tyrants in a period where strength was needed the most to ensure stability. The nobles and bureaucracy of the realm had been all too happy to stand by and allow the rampant excesses of the Manic King for years, but the military had finally had enough. The professional soldiery of the then-unified Klironomea put one of their own on the throne, a Skraeling by the name of Harald.
This is not the Harald around which the Ichorian Cult is centred; this Harald was actually a good leader. A strong leader. Harald the First was a warlord, and knew himself well. He knew where his strengths and weaknesses lay, and so he endeavoured to embark on a show of strength to solidify his rule.
He formed a noble house, house Whitefield, and gave himself a dynastic insignia; the banner that flew at the head of his armies bore a solid black flame on a white field, hence his house name. Now that he had integrated himself with the nobility at least a little, he set out to reverse the fortunes of his ailing kingdom.
There had been two Kliro-Terranean wars before the reign of Harald the First, and both had seen economic and territorial concessions forced upon the kingdom by the southerners. Terranea was at its zenith at this point, but their golden age came crashing down in a storm of iron. King Harald the First shattered their armies of slaves and professionals both, tearing down their castles and undoing every concession that had been forced upon Klironomea. In two years of war Klironomea regained all she had lost in the last three decades as well as the entire Ibaenean peninsula, which the king granted to his bastard brother in return for his vassalage. Klironomea was strong again, and ruled over much of the civilised northern world with a rod of iron.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Harald the First reigned for twenty-six years, far longer than the madman he deposed. His son and heir, Godwyn the Forth, reigned nearly as long at twenty-two years. Godwyn was a mediocre king at best. Oh, he was an excellent warlord and a match for his father, but that was the problem. Klironomea didn't need more conquests, she needed stability. If wars needed to be waged then at least they should have been aimed back at the Terraneans, perhaps seizing the rich hills of Dathan, but I digress. A hundred years before his reign a great bridge of marble had been built across the river Aenir, and in such a bridge Godwyn saw opportunity. He marched his armies north into Scelopyrea and bested any force the barbarians sent against him, forcing them to become tributary states to his kingdom. He repeated such actions again just to the east, besting many of the local leaders of the Skonisnomas and forcing them into a similar position.
At the very least Klironomea's northern borders were now nominally secure, but Godwyn had spent so long on campaign in northern tundras and plains that his men were tired and wished to go home. He was despondent at the news, for he had already planned an invasion of the northernmost tribes of Scelopyrea when the worst of winter had passed, but now he knew such a plan would never come to pass. He ventured north alone one night, not a single man seeing him leave, and left word for his son to succeed him.
Personally I think it's far more likely his men murdered him and never told anyone, but whatever the circumstances may have been his abdication from the throne was much needed. Klironomea did not need a warrior at its head. It needed a statesman.
Where Godwyn was a warlord his son was a true king. Many people believe Harald the Second to have been the greatest of the Barracks-Kings, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. The last king's father, the son of king Godwyn the Forth, was a far greater ruler. Wulfstan the First understood what Klironomea needed; she didn't need vanity projects and grand fleets, she didn't need reckless expansion into the north, and she didn't need the pointless wars of his father and, to an extent, his grandfather.
There was only one war during the reign of Wulfstan, the Forth Kliro-Terranean war, and it saw the complete seizing of around a third of both Tildan and Dathan. Terranea was left as an impotent rump state, the majority of her most profitable lands now in the hands of her continental rival, and Klironomea was ascendent.
Wulfstan recognised that his father's northern acquisitions were worse than useless to Klironomea, but he also recognised that with a bit of work he might be able to lay the groundwork for something greater. He wanted to begin integrating his father's Scelopyrene tributaries into Klironomea properly, to lay the foundation for a new jewel to be added to his kingdom's crown. But if he were to do this then he would first need a solid centre north of the Aenir from which to begin projecting power. The answer? To build a brand new city.
On the northern banks of the Aenir by the great bridge there is a ruined city called 'Murkmere'. It's true name has been forgotten, but we know that it is the same city that began with Wulfstan's ambitious pragmatism. He saw Scelopyrea not just as a potential new land to be exploited economically, but also as a way to remove the barbaroi as a threat once and for all. To do this he would need a power base north of the river, and so he founded a city on its northern banks. It was quickly populated by the Low-Klironomoi and Skraelings, who saw it as an opportunity for a better life for the Barracks-Kings had always been supporters of their ilk, but when the Barracks-Kings fell and Klironomea was shattered the lords and petty-kings of what would soon become Teleytaios all agreed that the bridge could not remain standing and facilitate a barbarian invasion of their lands, and so under the leadership of the Kings of house Sperakos the city was stripped of valuables and strategic items, its people were escorted south, and the bridge was torn down behind them. That ended Wulfstan's dream, though the king had been dead for a decade by that point.
Wulfstan the First was a good king, but after thirty-six years on the throne, making him the third-longest reigning Klironomean monarch, he finally passed away and left the throne to his only son. Harald, second of his name, was now the king.
Harald the Second has become a figure of legend in the centuries since his death. People look at his one-year-long reign as being filled with hope and a tragic end, but anyone with sense will see that the boy was a fool. He was too unwilling to compromise on his hopes and ideas, too unwilling to wait and make the right preparations for his ill-fated war, and far too ambitious for his own good.
If he'd had any sense he would have allowed his reign to be peaceful. He could have continued his father's plans and seen to the integration of southern Scelopyrea, he might have been able to get away with ferrying a legion or two to Anatolikoi with the admittedly diminished royal fleet, he might even have been able to find allies amongst the barbaroi of Brythonia.
But he didn't do any of that. Instead he decided to attempt to finish off the Terranean rump state once and for all.
That by itself wasn't a bad idea; the problem was that the Sotenari were getting worried about Klironomean dominance of the northern continent and were poised to intervene. It would have been far better for Harald the Second to wait a decade or two before striking, but he was impatient. He wanted to united the civilised north, and he wanted to do it now. The brat was hardly even sixteen if the memories I have of my education are right. He was far too unaware of the influence that outsiders could have on his wars, and he paid the price for it.
You can call the battle by whatever name you like: the Battle of the Broken King, the Battle of the Aauta Pass, the Battle under Fallen King Mountain, it matters not. What does matter is that in one day almost the entire Klironomean and Terranean militaries were wiped out and the complete dissolution of the two civilised realms of the north was all but assured. Within five years Klironomea was gone, and to this day no-one has come close to restoring it.
That's the man you revere. A boy who had barely hit manhood, who lost the only battle he fought in during his reign, and allowed the greatest nation the northern world had ever seen to completely collapse. No, not collapse, his actions led to the single greatest disintegration of a polity in known history. That's who you want to emulate?
No. I thought not.
There were four Barracks-Kings, and their reign lasted a combined eighty-five years. Of their number only two members of that house were good men, men who understood what Klironomea needed to thrive or at the very least keep moving forwards. The rest were either bloodthirsty warlords or childish idealists who believed that they could mould the world in their image. We are well rid of their kind; I only wish the price we had to pay for their downfall was not so steep.
Of course there were still scions of that dynasty who fought on. Most famous amongst these usually illegitimate claimants was that of Ser Wulfgard, who campaigned in lands that were rapidly coalescing into what is now Licotemos in the name of his cousin, the fallen King Harald the Second. Ser Wulfgard has become somewhat of a folk hero amongst the lowborns of Licotemos, for the bastard grandson of King Godwyn IV swore loyalty to his cousin Harald even after the latter's death, leading outlaw bands and waging a campaign of Guerrilla warfare against house Perytlos who had seized control of central Licotemos in the years following his cousin's death. His campaign was only ended after two decades of ceaseless banditry and fighting, though his men tried to carry on his fight. According to popular myth he used a longbow once gifted to him by his royal cousin, though if this story has any basis in fact I would be highly surprised. Stories and tales of grandeur designed to keep the men and women of the lower rungs of society hopeful and docile. A foolish tale, and a fitting end to an even more foolish dynasty.
Now? Klironomea lies rotten and dead, a corpse of a nation consigned to the annals of history. There can be no 'new' Klironomea. This, the Heptarchy, this is what Klironomea is now. What else could there be? Great conquerors and mighty kings from the pages of legends are nothing when compared to the pragmatism and ruthlessness of modern lords and kings. The people see the Barracks-Kings as the greatest leaders Klironomea has ever had, wilfully forgetting that there was a reason they were the last rulers Klironomea ever had; ambition and avarice rotted their conquests, and they were never content to enjoy the fruits of their victory, allowing them to putrefy as they chased the next 'grand triumph'. What useless, self-destructive fools they were. Even the greatest of their number were only seen as grand due to the very specific circumstances in which they came to power, and the political climate surrounding Klironomea. If they lived as kings today they would be seen as tyrants and fools, more fit to run a Dathanian statelet than the venerable lands of the Klironomoi.
Time changes many things however, and the opinions of the masses are certainly one of them. They are hailed as heroes and underdogs, as valiant warriors and great leaders, when in reality they were as cruel and fallible as any other king. Kings are not gods. Kings are not all-knowing.
Kings are puppets, and they dance as their lords wish them to. Any who don't are swiftly replaced, and a new king takes their place. All that ever chances are the colours of the strings that bind them, and the hands that manipulate their movements.
If ever a king were to break out from his puppet masters and try and rule for himself... well, the continent would consume itself in war once more. A tragic fate, one that we must desperately try to avoid, unless of course it is we who wear the crowns.
That is what is at stake here, my son. What we do now in these next few months will decide our family's fortune. The boy you are to face in battle, this young man still uncrowned, will never accept peace with us as soon as the first blow is struck. He hates the nobility, arrogant young fool that he is, and if we do not strike him now we risk allowing him to gather his strength once more and invade us on his own terms. We need to enact our plan now as best we can. Circumstances may not exactly be conspiring against us, but the longer we wait the more real such an eventuality becomes. Strike fast, and strike hard. Keep him guessing at where exactly your next move will fall, but never be out of reach of the other section of our forces. This war will make a man of you, my son. A real man. When you get back you'll marry and begin learning to rule properly.
Did you think I was so stupid that I didn't notice that you never attended your lessons as a child? Your mother allowed you to run wild, but she is gone now. Yes, you will be attending studies. Yes, you will get married to a woman of my choosing. You had your time to pick; for the son of a lord to still be unmarried at thirty is humiliating.
I am not a cruel man. If you find a woman of high standing over the course of the campaign then by all means, wed her and bed her if you like. Indeed, if you can find a noblewoman in Teleytaios then marriage to her would go a great way to solidifying our hold on our new lands, once they've been conquered.
That is, if you can find any Teleytaian nobles still in the kingdom. The prince you're to fight may have been lain low for a while but he certainly does not lack teeth.
I've said all I need to say to you. This is your moment to prove yourself to me. To our family. Do not let me down.
And keep the notion of 'legends' out of your head from now on. Go.