The Stronghammer - CH - 17 (Patreon)

The Blackstone Legion began its journey across the Seven Kingdoms, their first destination set for the Riverlands. Word had reached Ser Holden Cross and the other knights that the Ironborn, with their lust for plunder, had been raiding the coasts and fishing villages near the outskirts of the Riverlands. While Seagard stood as a formidable fortress against any major assaults, the smaller, unprotected villages remained easy targets. The Legion's mission was clear: ensure that the Ironborn would no longer threaten the smallfolk of the Riverlands, and bring lasting peace to the region.

As they rode, Robert found himself in deep thought. The lessons he had learned from the Blackstone Legion about fighting for the common people weighed heavily on his mind. He had grown up hearing stories of the Ironborn—reavers and raiders who lived for the thrill of battle and the spoils of conquest. The thought of the Ironborn plundering defenseless villages stirred something in him. This was different from the battles he’d fought before. Now, he was a part of something that had real consequences for real people.

After days of travel, the Legion reached the Riverlands, where the verdant fields and meandering rivers gave way to small, humble villages. The people they encountered looked weary, their faces etched with fear. Many had lost family members or possessions to the Ironborn raids, and the sight of the heavily armed knights brought a glimmer of hope to their eyes.

The village elders recounted their harrowing tales to Ser Holden and the other knights. The Ironborn would come in swift longships, attacking under the cover of night or at dawn, when the villagers were least prepared. They’d take livestock, gold, and sometimes even people, before disappearing back to the sea before any help could arrive.

"They come from the sea like demons," one old man said. "We hear the horns, and by the time we gather what we can, they’re already upon us. We send word to Seagard, but by the time the men there respond, the Ironborn are long gone."

Robert clenched his fists as he listened to the stories. These were not warriors attacking other warriors on a battlefield. This was cruelty—men using their power to prey on the helpless. His blood boiled at the thought, and he swore to himself that they would put an end to these raids.

Holden Cross, ever the strategist, ordered the knights to spread out and patrol the coastlines and vulnerable villages. The Blackstone Legion moved with the precision and discipline of a well-oiled machine. They set up watchtowers, organized villagers into defensive units, and taught them how to better fortify their homes. More importantly, they waited—waiting for the Ironborn to strike again.

And the Ironborn did not disappoint. One morning, the horns sounded, and a longship appeared on the horizon, its sails black as night. The reavers expected to find easy pickings, but this time, they were met with the full might of the Blackstone Legion. Robert, still burning with a need to prove himself after his defeats during training, led the charge alongside Ser Holden.

The Ironborn were vicious fighters, their axes and swords flashing as they leapt from their ships onto the shore. But the knights of the Blackstone Legion were prepared. Robert swung his warhammer with brutal efficiency, each blow sending Ironborn warriors crashing into the ground. His fury was a storm, and the Ironborn found themselves struggling against a warrior more ferocious than any they had ever encountered.

Holden Cross, alongside the other knights, cut down the reavers with precision. There was no hesitation in their movements, no waste in their strikes. The battle was short but fierce, and by the end, the beach was littered with the bodies of Ironborn who had thought themselves untouchable.

As the last of the Ironborn fell or retreated back to their longship, Robert stood panting, his warhammer slick with blood. The villagers who had been watching from a distance began to cheer, their relief palpable. For the first time in what felt like ages, they had fought back and won.

Holden approached Robert, clapping him on the shoulder. "You fought well today, Robert," he said, his voice filled with quiet approval. "But this is only the beginning. The Ironborn will come again, but now they know that this land will not be taken easily."

Robert nodded, his eyes scanning the horizon where the Ironborn ship disappeared. "Let them come," he muttered. "We'll be ready."

Over the next few weeks, the Blackstone Legion continued their patrols, driving off any remaining Ironborn and fortifying the coastal villages. They left behind a legacy of strength and resilience, teaching the villagers to defend themselves and giving them the tools they needed to stand up against future raids.

By the time the Legion left the Riverlands, the Ironborn had learned a harsh lesson: the days of easy plunder were over. The smallfolk had protectors now—knights who fought not for banners or crowns, but for the people themselves. And as Robert rode away from the coast, he felt a sense of fulfillment he hadn’t known before. This was the life he had been searching for—one of purpose, of fighting for something greater than himself.

The Blackstone Legion arrived in King's Landing under the veil of anonymity, appearing no different from a band of traveling merchants. Their arrival in the bustling capital city was met with little fanfare, just as they preferred. Unlike other knightly orders or mercenary companies, the Legion never sought glory or riches. They prided themselves on being protectors of the smallfolk, a mission that often required them to operate in the shadows. King's Landing, with its labyrinthine streets and a sharp divide between the rich and poor, was the perfect place for them to blend in.

Dressed in plain clothing, they entered the city through the crowded southern gates, slipping into the flow of traders, beggars, and laborers making their way to market. Robert, who had become accustomed to wearing armor and carrying his warhammer, found the simplicity of his new clothes oddly comforting. The weight of his warhammer was replaced by the feel of a common sword hidden beneath his cloak, and though his identity as a knight remained secret, the fire to protect the common folk burned as brightly as ever.

The Blackstone Legion avoided the wealthier districts of the city, bypassing the Red Keep and the opulent homes of the nobility. Instead, they made their way to Flea Bottom, the poorest and most densely populated area of King's Landing. Here, the cobblestone streets gave way to mud, and the buildings leaned precariously against one another, creating a maze of dark alleys and hidden corners. It was a place where many lived, but few thrived—a haven for thieves, cutthroats, and those who had nowhere else to go.

Holden Cross led the group through the winding streets with the ease of someone who had navigated this path many times before. Their destination was a small, general store nestled between two taverns. To the casual observer, it looked like any other store in Flea Bottom, but to the Blackstone Legion, it was their base of operations in the city.

As Robert followed the Blackstone Legion into the general store, he was greeted by the storekeeper, a middle-aged man with a friendly smile and the look of someone who had seen far more than he let on. To any passerby, it would seem like an ordinary business—shelves lined with wares, foodstuffs, tools, and other items common to King's Landing. But Robert knew there was more to this place than met the eye.

Holden Cross led the group through the back of the store, past shelves filled with goods, until they reached a narrow staircase that descended into the basement. Once below, the atmosphere changed completely. The dimly lit cellar gave way to a hidden door, cleverly concealed behind a stack of barrels. With a quick pull on a hidden lever, the barrels slid aside, revealing a tunnel lined with flickering torches.

As they made their way through the tunnel, Robert couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation building. The air grew cooler as they descended further into the underground passage, the flickering light casting long shadows on the stone walls. He had never seen anything like this before—a secret network beneath the capital city, invisible to the ruling lords and unnoticed by the common folk above.

At last, the tunnel opened into a large underground room, and Robert's breath caught in his throat. The chamber was massive, far larger than he had expected. The walls were lined with racks of weapons—swords, spears, and shields—and suits of armor hung from pegs, polished and ready for use. In the corner, several chests filled with gold and silver coins gleamed under the light of the torches. The wealth was staggering, but what shocked Robert even more was the strategic brilliance behind the room itself.

Seven tunnels branched out from the chamber, each one heading in a different direction beneath King's Landing.

Ser Samuel Storm, one of the senior knights of the Legion, stepped forward. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a calm demeanor that belied the strength and skill he carried. "Welcome to the heart of our operations," he said, his voice steady and low. "From here, we can reach almost any part of the city quickly and quietly. These tunnels are our lifelines. If things ever go south, this is how we escape unnoticed."

Robert's gaze shifted from the wealth of arms and treasure to the tunnels themselves. "How long has this been here?" he asked, still in awe of the setup.

Ser Samuel smiled faintly. "Longer than you'd think. These tunnels have been part of King's Landing for centuries, originally dug by smugglers and thieves. The Legion simply... repurposed them. Every tunnel leads to a different part of the city. One reaches the docks, another opens near the Sept of Baelor. There's even one that leads near the Red Keep, though we rarely use that one unless absolutely necessary."

Robert took a step forward, running his hand along the stone wall of one of the tunnels. "So, this is how you’ve been operating all these years—moving unseen, striking where you're needed, and vanishing before anyone can track you."

"Exactly," Ser Samuel replied. "We don’t fight for glory or recognition, so we don’t need to be seen. What matters is getting the job done. The smallfolk don’t care if a knight wears shiny armor and waves banners—they care if their families are safe, if they can sleep without fear of bandits or worse."

Holden turned to the group and spoke quietly, "Remember, we're merchants here. No one knows who we are, and that's the way we want it. Keep your heads down, avoid attention, and do what needs to be done."

Holden turned to Robert with a knowing look. "You seem uncomfortable with all of this, Robert."

Robert shook his head. "No, it’s not that. I’ve just never fought in the shadows before. I’m used to open battlefields, fighting under banners. This... this is different."

Holden smiled. "It is different, but the cause is the same. You’ll get used to it."

Robert nodded, though a part of him still longed for the open battles he was familiar with. But as he glanced out the window at the crowded streets of Flea Bottom, he reminded himself that not all battles were fought on open fields. Some were fought in the shadows, where no one else could see.

Holden Cross, who had been standing silently, observing Robert’s reaction, spoke up. "This is why the Blackstone Legion is different. We're not part of the power games the lords play. We’re not here to enrich anyone but ourselves, and we’re not beholden to any lord. We're here to protect the people—and that’s it."

"So, if things go wrong in King's Landing," Robert said, glancing at the tunnels, "we use these?"

Ser Samuel nodded. "That's right. Each tunnel is manned by one of our own, and they're kept in working order. If we ever need to retreat, or if we need to strike quickly, these tunnels are our best option. They're the reason we've been able to stay under the radar for so long."

"How many know of these tunnels?" Robert asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Only those who need to," Holden replied. "And now, you."

Robert gave a low whistle. "This is impressive. But if you have all this—if you're this organized—why haven't more people heard of the Blackstone Legion?"

"Because," Ser Samuel said with a grim smile, "we don't want them to. Fame and glory attract attention, and attention gets you killed. We're here to make a difference, not to make a name for ourselves."

Robert was silent for a moment, absorbing the weight of those words. He had always been a man who thrived on recognition, who loved the roar of the crowd and the glory that came with victory. But here, in the depths of King's Landing, among these men who lived in the shadows, he realized that there was another way to fight. A way that was just as noble—if not more so—than the way he had known before.

As the group prepared to settle in for the night, Robert found himself staring at the map on the wall. It detailed the layout of King's Landing, with each tunnel and exit carefully marked. He traced the routes with his finger, understanding now the importance of these hidden paths. They were the lifeblood of the Blackstone Legion, the key to their survival in a city teeming with corruption and danger.

Tomorrow, they would begin their mission. But tonight, Robert lay down in the sparse living quarters of the underground base, his mind racing with thoughts of the days to come. The challenges ahead were daunting, but for the first time in a long while, Robert felt like he was part of something that truly mattered.

In the shadows of King's Landing, beneath the feet of lords and kings, the Blackstone Legion prepared to do what they did best—protect the people, quietly and without recognition.

As Robert continued to settle into the rhythm of life with the Blackstone Legion, he began to understand the true nature of their work. The ideals they upheld were far removed from the games of thrones and crowns that had dominated his past life. For the Legion, justice was absolute, and their loyalty lay not with lords or kings but with the people—the smallfolk who were often overlooked and oppressed in the world of nobles.

Holden Cross and Ser Samuel Storm frequently spoke of the Legion's code, a creed Robert found both harsh and strangely noble. "We are warriors of justice," Holden had said one evening as they gathered in their hidden quarters beneath King's Landing. "Justice doesn't bend for rank or title. If a lord thinks himself above the people, if he abuses his power, we don't hesitate to punish him. To us, there's no difference between a lord with a crown and a bandit with a blade if they harm the innocent."

It was a principle that resonated deeply with Robert, but it also carried a danger that made sense of the Legion's need for secrecy. In a world where power determined fate, the Blackstone Legion made themselves enemies of those who ruled unjustly. They couldn’t operate in the open without being crushed by the combined might of the noble houses. This was why they remained hidden in plain sight, never seeking glory or recognition for their deeds.

"That's the reason we're not out there, waving banners and marching in the open," Ser Samuel added one night. "The moment a lord or king knows who we are, we become targets. We're not trying to topple thrones, but we don't bow to them either. And that makes us dangerous to the wrong people."

Robert had always thought himself above the politics of nobility, more at home on the battlefield than in council chambers. But even he had never imagined an organization like this—knights who didn't fight for a lord or a cause beyond the simple goal of righting wrongs. And the way they operated was as ingenious as it was effective.

The Blackstone Legion relied on a network of spies, but these weren't trained assassins or noble informants. Their eyes and ears were the merchants, tradesmen, and travelers who moved through Westeros daily, selling their wares and hearing the whispers of the land. These humble people knew where bandits prowled, which villages were unsafe, and where the real suffering lay. Through their information, the Legion knew exactly where to strike and when to remain in the shadows.

"Merchants travel everywhere," Holden explained to Robert. "They visit castles, cities, and villages alike. They hear things—where bandits have been raiding, where some lord's been taxing the people into starvation. We don't need to waste time spying in courts or worrying about who holds the power in King's Landing. We let the lords play their games while we protect the ones who need us."

The simplicity of it struck Robert. The Blackstone Legion didn’t care about the political maneuverings of the highborn. They weren’t interested in who sat the Iron Throne or what alliances were being formed. To them, the noble squabbles were distractions from the real injustices happening in the shadows. When a farmer lost his harvest to a greedy lord or a village was burned by bandits, that was where they made their stand.

It was an ideal that intrigued Robert, a man who had once fought for personal glory and the thrill of battle. But here, in this life, among these knights, he saw a different kind of valor—one that required sacrifice and humility. For the Blackstone Legion, there was no reward beyond the knowledge that they had made a difference, that they had fought for what was right instead of what was easy.

"The moment we become involved in courtly politics," Ser Samuel had said, "is the moment we lose our way. We don’t care about who sits on which throne or what deals are made in dark rooms. We only care that the people under those thrones are safe."

And it was true. The Legion had no need to involve themselves in the intricate webs of deceit and betrayal that defined the courts of Westeros. They stayed out of the power struggles of the nobility because those games were meaningless to them. Their focus was on protecting the smallfolk—those who had no voice in the halls of power but who bore the brunt of every war, every tax, and every act of violence.

This was why the Legion's existence was so secret, why they operated out of hidden bases like the one in Flea Bottom. If the wrong people discovered their mission, they would be hunted down by those who saw them as a threat to the established order.

Robert found himself drawn deeper into the life of the Blackstone Legion, embracing the creed they lived by. Here, there were no lords to flatter, no crowns to covet. There was only the fight for justice—justice for the people who had been forgotten, for the lives ruined by the careless hands of power.