One Last War

By: Dirty Reid

A.N.: Hi everyone. Sorry about the sporadic updates of this and the last chapter. Lately, a new job and a buttload of new games have been occupying my time, and my old laptop was reaching the end of it's lifespan. How did I know this? The bottom row of keys decided to stop working. But you're not concerned about that, are you? No, you just want what I'm writing. Well, here you go.

Chapter 8: The Stag and the Dragon

Lord Tyrell had been correct in his proclamation regarding the Fossoways of Cider Hall. Forewarned of their coming, Lord Jarrod had ridden out to greet Hippolyta and her company with a half-dozen of his own knights. Their positioning forcing her company's back to the confluence between the Cockleswhent and the Mander did not go unnoticed, but again, true to Mace's claim, Lord Jarrod was a polite host, offering them all the sweetest red apples any of them had ever tasted. Fitting, considering their renown as the "Red Apple Fossoways". As they rode through the town of applewood and stone dwellings, Hippolyta handed out small handfuls of Septims to the destitute and whispered her orders in their ears. The apartments afforded to the Tamrielic company overlooked the rivers and their large flood basins, providing a spectacular view to wake up to. Not wanting to impose greatly, Hippolyta gave her cover story at the small feast the eve of their arrival and gave a small demonstration of magickal ability when her hosts expressed disbelief. In this instance, she further displayed her control over Alteration magicka by levitating a bushel of apples and forming a halo around her head. No further claims of disbelief were raised.

Come morning, Hippolyta bid farewell to Lord Jarrod, who sent her off with suggestions to follow the Mander to Longtable and meet Lord Orton Merryweather. Two days of hard riding later she did just that, half-bowing to the orange-haired lord with the bulbous nose and the horn of plenty upon his breast. Orton welcomed her with a small smile and kind words, as Lord Jarrod had said he would. His wife, Taena of Myr, regarded the Empress curiously, her dark eyes and darker hair oddly intense. At supper, Hippolyta found that the Merryweathers' young son Russell was quite taken with her, made evident when he attempted to speak to her in a courtly fashion. Hippolyta laughed at his clumsy advance, accompanied by Fire-Eater, Fortas and Orton. Even Taena smiled at Russell's boldness.

"Women will swoon over your pretty words someday, little lord." Hippolyta said while still smiling. She was intrigued by Orton's history, having been born in Essos, a continent to the east. Merryweather explained this was a result of his grandfather Owen's exile at the hand of Aerys II for failing to quell Robert Baratheon's insurrection. The story of how he met his wife came after, and then that King Robert restored most of House Merryweather's lands and titles following his coronation.

"Quite generous of him." She remarked. "I expect that this act of goodwill did not come without cost."

"Not obviously." Lord Orton conceded. "His Grace's Spymaster Varys has ears and eyes all about Longtable, and not a single event, great or small, fails to reach the Spider's ears." He said with a trace of sourness. Hippolyta needn't have said anything, as Telina had picked up on the opportunity to learn more of the king's court.

"This Spider must have a great many ears to whisper in, if the thought of his wroth irks you so." She stated.

Orton grunted before taking a swig of wine. "Yes, and though loath I am to say it, it is the ears of the Lannisters that worry me most." He said.

"Lannisters," Telina said slowly. "The Wardens of the West and rulers of Casterly Rock, if I recall correctly." Another nod from Orton affirmed her statement.

"And believe you me, their reach is great. Their pockets are among the deepest in the realm, and cunning is taught to them as soon as they can walk. Robert's queen, Cersei, is of Lannister blood, and her brother Jamie serves the Kingsguard. Lord Tywin of Casterly Rock lines the Crown's coffers, and the royal heirs are Lannister in all but name." Lord Orton shook his head.

"The future is lions lounging on heaps of gold." Taena finished. The way they spoke of these Lannisters was beginning to concern Telina and Hippolyta.

"Is their might truly that terrible?" Ri'kari asked. Neither Orton not Taena responded immediately. It was one of the knights who eventually broke the silence.

"And who are you, the proud lord said,

that I must bow so low?

Only a cat of a different coat,

that's all the truth I know.

In a coat of gold or a coat of red,

a lion still has claws,

and mine are long and sharp, my lord,

as long and sharp as yours.

And so he spoke, and so he spoke,

that lord of Castamere.

But now the rains weep o'er his hall,

with no one there to hear.

Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall,

and not a soul to hear."

The hall of Longtable was silent for a moment. Only the crackle of burning logs was to be heard as the Tamrielic entourage digested the particularly unsettling meaning of the song that had just been sung.

"Who was this 'proud lord'?" Asked J'Karro, the first to find his voice.

"Roger Reyne, Lord of Castamere." Said Orton. "T'was he and Lord Walderan Tarbeck who renounced fealty to Tytos Lannister, a man quick to forgive and forget slights. This slight though, was tremendous amounts of gold owed from the previous War of the Ninepenny Kings; a slight that Tytos' son Tywin was unwilling to forgive. When his demands were met with thumbed noses, Ser Tywin gathered a monstrous host and marched upon the upstarts. House Tarbeck was caught unawares, and Walderan's five hundred house knights fell easily. It is said that Tarbeck Hall burned for a night and a day after Tywin ordered it put to the torch. The Reynes fled into the mines below Castamere, hoping to draw Tywin's host into a battlefield where the advantage would be theirs." Orton stopped and took a long drink from his tankard. Hippolyta grew mildly concerned when the Lord Merryweather grimaced. In the short time she had known him, his expression had only dipped into one of neutrality when he was not smiling to his various degrees. The thought of what came next must have left quite a sour taste in his mouth.

"Ser Tywin, after receiving their terms for surrender, had the mines sealed with all of the Reynes trapped within. He then had his men divert water from a nearby stream to the entrance, and drowned the Reynes beneath their home before razing the castle. The ruin stands today as a reminder to all those who would defy Casterly Rock." Orton finished darkly. Hippolyta could not fault him; the mood seemed to have permeated the room like a miasma. Her officers were frowning, J'Karro, Flauvic and Stands were murmuring to each other, Ha'Drak grunted and her advisors were sharing a look.

"I see now that the wariness of the lions is warranted." Hippolyta managed evenly. "Wealth matched only by their brutality." As she looked away and into the burgundy wine she had been drinking, she pondered Tywin Lannister and what she knew of his dynasty so far. She wanted to believe her tongue of silver could dissuade him or his daughter on the throne from any action against her and hers. She prayed the worst outcome would not be, but if so he would taste her true Voice, and then Westeros would see if the lion's claws could match the dragon's breath. She banished the thought and quelled the rumbling of her more draconic side, steering the conversation in another direction. In exchange for Orton's story of his life in exile, Hippolyta gifted him with a tale of some of her tamer exploits over the years. Her first voyage on a ship as she left the Summerset Isles; trekking through Valenwood to behold Falinesti, the city within the branches of a tree a mile high and half as wide; almost dying crossing the searing seas of sand in Elseweyr; beholding the White-Gold Tower for the first time, long before she sat the throne herself. Taena cleared her throat to catch Hippolyta's attention.

"Your Excellency was not born of royal blood?" She asked. It was barely felt, but Hippolyta could sense… something growing in the air following the Myrish woman's question.

"… No." She finally admitted. "But make no mistake Lady Taena, I am not some upjumped warlady who stole the crown from the last Emperor. Titus Mede II chose me to supplant him, because he saw within me all the traits of a worthy successor: A sense of justice, the ability to command armies, a charisma that bound foes together to tackle a common cause and unparalleled martial skills." Hippolyta retorted before returning to her cut of ham smoked over applewood. She had very deliberately left out the fact that her status as Dragonborn had given her a claim to the Ruby Throne by right of blood, simply because her multitude of powers bore an uncanny resemblance to the Targaryen ability to raise and tame dragons. To have a house so closely watched by the king jump to that conclusion would bode ill for her campaign.

"A 'Warlady'. Haven't heard that title before." Said a knight that Hippolyta had heard was called 'Ser Aldys'. He had not said it loudly, but neither was he quiet enough to avoid Orton's attention.

"Do not make the mistake of insulting the Iron-Breaker in my presence, Ser Aldys. If it were not for her, we could have very well been up to our balls in Ironmen now." He reprimanded gently. Aldys bowed his head, either in embarrassment or contriteness.

Hippolyta failed to keep a smile from her face. "You needn't defend my honour Lord Merryweather, I have many other titles uttered with hatred or spite. Derision is something I can easily handle."

Russell tilted his head. "Who could hate someone as pretty as you milady?" He asked. Hippolyta outright laughed at his boldness.

"You'd best be careful with this one Lady Taena, I might have to steal him from you!" She cooed with a smile at Russell. "Yet take this advice, young master: You cannot succeed without stepping on the heads of others. Anyone who tells you otherwise is a liar. This was true for Ysgramor of Atmora millennia ago; this was true for Tiber Septim and Aegon the Conqueror centuries ago; and it was true for me. To this day, my own people call me Hippolyta the Earless." She said with a dour note in her voice.

Taena's dusky eyes hooded. "Obviously an epithet with a deeper meaning."

"Very. In a time mostly forgotten by history, when all mer lived in harmony, when a wrongdoer was found guilty of a particularly heinous crime, his ears were cut from his head. Barbaric and cruel yes, but it was done to make absolutely clear that the mer in question was not to be trusted. The practice has since fallen out of favour, but the insult remains. My own people believe me a betrayer unworthy of trust." From there, Hippolyta went on to explain a brief history of the constant conflict between men and mer, and her supposed 'turning' to the side of men for allowing the worship of Talos to flourish. By the end of her tale the candles were burning low and the inhabitants of the hall were growing full and drunk. Hippolyta laid her head down and smiled a little, confident that she had sent the right message to the Merryweathers.

The following morning, she bid them farewell and set off north to Bitterbridge. As they reached the flatlands and beheld the small fort in the distance, Hippolyta could sense the presence of thousands of men who had died on this particular river. She could almost taste the stench of a corpse-riddled battlefield, see the clouds of red staining the river, hear the screams of dying men. When questioned, she simply said "Death hangs in the air here." And while her company remained silent, Fortas would feel the hairs on his neck stand up, Darioth would shift in unease, and even Stands-in-the-Shade would feel a queer discomfort as he looked over the river. From Bitterbridge they continued northeast along the Roseroad, fifty leagues between them and King's Landing. Fortune seemed to smile upon them, as they remained unmolested by highwaymen and a light drizzle fell only once on their fourth day of riding. On their sixth day of travel, they escaped the dark and leafy canopies of the Kingswood and beheld the sprawling metropolis that was King's Landing. From their position, the mouth of a river called the Blackwater played host to an expansive harbour teeming with boats. Beyond the harbour, walls of stone shot dozens of feet into the air, shielding the people from the elements and attack. Thatched huts and flophouses became farms, farms became stone tenements, tenements became whitewashed apartments and businesses. All of these huddled around three massive structures, each upon its own hill. To the east was obviously Robert's castle, gleaming in the sun. To the west, a white-stoned centre of worship seemed to pierce the sky, like the White-Gold Tower in Cyrodiil. And to the north, some form of ruined coliseum served as the final pinnacle of King's Landing. A muted cacophony of bells, shouts and water sloshing reached their ears, making for a spectacular view.

A view that was ruined when the stench hit them like a warhammer.

"By the Divines!" J'Karro choked out, pressing a paw to his snout. Stands' normally evergreen scales had become a rather toxic verdant and he was hunching over. Even Darioth was wrinkling his nose in disgust. Hippolyta had to agree, the combined fumes of piss and shit and sweat were mighty unpleasant to behold. She could unfortunately do nothing as they trudged through the noxious cloud of scents. A collective sigh of relief went up through the company as they exited the rancid cloud blowing south upon the Kingswood and approached the drawbridge entrance to the city. As was to be expected, gawkers surrounded them, making remarks in particular about the 'giant cat' and the 'lizard man' and the 'grey lady'. As they made their way through the fish market teeming about the gate, Hippolyta's company was stopped by eight men on horseback, armed with sword and shield, clad in polished plate and accented by capes of gold. City guard, the Empress thought as her fists tightened about the reins.

"Halt!" Said the man in the forefront. "State your business in King's Landing, outlanders." Haven't been called that in a while, she mused while suppressing a grin.

"I am Hippolyta Septim, Empress and envoy of Tamriel. His Grace had requested my presence some time ago, and I have seen fit to grant it." She recited in her Empress voice. To her satisfaction, one or two of the younger-looking guards winced at the steel in her tone.

"… Very well. We shall escort you to His Grace's keep, m'lady." Said the leader. The company of riders about-faced and began to trot away. As they were led towards the towering keep, Hippolyta could not suppress a small kernel of nervousness bouncing about in her gut. Only a handful of people could boast a greater amount of experience in politics than her, one of them being Telina, but she was certain that none before her had attempted to forge an alliance with a kingdom half the world away.

None of that now, she thought with a small shake of her head. You have faced down dragon gods, millennia-old vampires, evil dragon priests and the armies of Tamriel to boot. Diplomacy is beyond easy by comparison.

"Damned thing!" Robert Baratheon muttered to himself as one of the many burnt and blackened blades that composed the Iron Throne nicked his arm. "Thirteen years and I still can't sit this damned thing without getting bled!"

"You might avoid such perils were you smaller, husband." Quipped Cersei from her place beside him. She had dressed resplendently for the arrival of this warrior woman, donning a vermillion gown trimmed with gold, traditional Lannister colours. Her intricately wrought golden crown was festooned with rubies and diamonds, as were the rings upon her fingers. Robert had donned a black velvet doublet that stretched taut across his girth, and a sash the colour of warm butter to accent the thorny crown upon his head. Baratheon colors. Alongside them stood Grand Maester Pycelle with his long beard, clinking chains and threadbare brown robe; Jon Arryn, Hand of the King, clad in white with a blue cape and accents, representing House Arryn of the Vale; Robert's eldest son Joffrey, a small crown on his head matching his golden tunic and red cape slashed with black. In the wings Tyrion Lannister, Varys and Petyr Baelish watched intently. Before the throne, the seven gold-and-white Kingsguard stood still as statues.

"Quiet woman," Robert grumbled coldly. "The last thing I need this day is you harping at me while greeting our guests." Cersei barely resisted the urge to scoff in response. Her informants had told her that this foreign woman had indeed received the summons from Robert, and had chosen to ignore it in favour of exploring the Reach. No doubt she had whispered honeyed words into the ears of the flower men as she passed them by, but the exact nature of those words remained yet unknown. No doubt they were sweet poison made to sow discontent among the Crown's subjects, perhaps to ease some plot to overthrow her and her husband. But why bring such a paltry force? She wondered. To storm even a remotely important keep would necessitate at least ten thousand. She brings only six. Cersei cut short her musings when a herald began a swift approach through the throne room, stopping exactly ten paces from the Kingsguard.

"Your Graces, my lords and ladies of the court of King's Landing," He announced, his voice ringing through the hall as he unrolled a sheet of parchment. "It is my honour to bring before you the Lady Hippolyta Septim, the First of Her Name, Empress of Tamriel, Magister of House Telvanni of Morrowind, former General of the Free Army of Tamriel and Breaker of the Iron Fleet." He was barely able to conceal his lack of breath as he stepped to the side and the great doors of the throne room opened, allowing this Empress to enter into the presence of the court.

The room was immediately beset by murmurs, and Cersei could not blame them. The woman that entered was quite possibly one of the most unique sights she had ever seen. What immediately made her stand out was her incredible height. Cersei wondered who would be taller if she stood this Empress next to Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain that Rides. As she slowly descended the stairs into the room, the radical difference between her height and those of the court attendees became that much more obvious. Her face drew the queen's attention secondly. Cersei had seen a number of people with sharp or pointed faces in her life, but none were quite so sharp as this woman's. Unlike the other sharp-faced people she had met, this woman did not suffer the same permanent frown or pinched expression that all the others were afflicted with. She was instead a portrait of classic aristocracy, with a well-sculpted chin, a pretty nose and high cheekbones. Her lips were full and pressed into what could have been a tiny smile, but her eyes… Cersei had never seen such eyes. They were positioned in an unusual slant that matched the angle of her face, and were as green as summer grass. A flowing mane of hair the colour of rich wheat cascaded down to the middle of her back, but did not hide her oddly long and pointed ears. They looked like they would be more at home on the head of a rabbit. Cersei made a mental note to ask about them later once the talks began. Her focus shifted downwards to the elegant dress the Empress wore. Most of the material was pure white, with gold accenting the cuffs of her sleeves, the hem of her dress and her somewhat low neckline. A silver medallion of a dragon in flight hung just above the hint of cleavage visible on display. The dragon motif was repeated on the silver crown resting atop her head. The forward portion morphed into the roaring visage of a drake with rubies for eyes, and above her ears a pair of wings stretched skyward.

And yet what was the most baffling, the most confusing aspect of this foreign Empress was the pair of swords clipped to her belt. That she felt the need to enter into the king's presence armed told Cersei that she would be slower to trust than anticipated. On her left, a large longsword rested in a tan-coloured sheath. The crossguard and ring pommel were ashen black, and the leather grip was a well-faded brown. On her right was the notably shorter Valyrian steel blade Red Rain, taken from Dunstan Drumm as a trophy. Both blades bobbed about as she seemed to glide across the floor, her feet whispering softly against the polished stone. She came to a stop five paces from the Kingsguard, just before Ser Barristan made to raise his arm and halt her advance. For but a moment, silence fell upon the court like a blanket of snow. The Empress' verdant eyes roved over Cersei, Robert and all the others milling about the Iron Throne.

"King Robert." Hippolyta opened with a smooth and smoky voice, giving a half-bow and immediately setting the tone of the meeting. Cersei noted that her accent was uncannily similar to that of a highborn Westerlander. "It is an honour to make your acquaintance."

"So, you finally decided to make the trip here. Why did it take you two bloody months?" Robert asked rather bluntly. Hippolyta's only reaction was to blink.

"You have such a beautiful country and interesting people, good King. I simply had to experience it for myself. I quite enjoyed the hospitality of the Reachmen, and I quite disliked the welcome given by the Ironmen." She answered just as bluntly. Robert chuckled quietly, seemingly unperturbed by her riposte.

"They aren't very polite, are they? I do thank you for putting an end to their raid though. Not many folk I know would risk their lives for people they had never met, less even the ruler of a foreign country." He said with obvious sincerity. Hippolyta's lips twitched.

"You and your subjects are most welcome, but my Legion and Navy deserve just as much if not more gratitude than I." She deflected easily. Cersei's eyes hooded as the Empress' gaze roved across the dais, seemingly giving the impression that she was bored by what she saw.

"So now I know why it took you so long to get here, but I still don't know why you're here." Robert said to steer their conversation back towards the more pressing matters to be addressed.

"If by that you are asking whether or not I came to conquer, the answer is no." Hippolyta stated simply. "To maintain order among my own people is an incredibly time-consuming affair, as I'm sure you can attest." She dipped her head and smiled thinly. Robert grinned in agreement. "What I am here for is to explore. Even now, Westeros is thought to be an old sailor's myth by the majority of my subjects, if the have even heard of it. Evidence given to me by a man I met in years past suggested otherwise." She reached for a tiny satchel on her belt and pulled something small out. With a strong ping she tossed a gleaming object through the air, its trajectory aimed squarely at the king. Proving he was not so old and slow, Robert snatched the object out of the air. Holding it in his pudgy fingers, he looked over the object, which Cersei deduced was a silver stag. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Petyr Baelish quietly loping up the dais to examine the trinket. Robert made no move to acknowledge him.

"… Bloody hell." Robert murmured. "If I'm seeing this right, this stag was made during the days of the Conqueror. Littlefinger?" He asked as he held the coin out to the side. Baelish leaned in closer and stared at the worn-down piece of silver.

"Your Grace is correct. That would make this coin within the region of two-and-a-half centuries old." He confirmed with a queer look at the Empress. "I am surprised that this man was so willing to part with such a venerable heirloom, even if it was to his sovereign ruler." He said with a touch of intrigue.

"I do not believe he was of sound mind at the time." She said. "But I digress. You asked me why I am here, and I continue to sidetrack you. I am here to open a dialogue with Westeros with the end goal of forging an alliance between my country and yours. From the fraction I have seen, I can already tell that there are many treasures Westeros could offer Tamriel, both in the literal and figurative sense. But as per usual, as the party requesting this agreement, I must show that I can give as well. So behold a sliver of the wonders I can make available to you." She announced as she unsheathed an inch of the blade on her left. The members of the Kingsguard visibly tensed, but took no action when the Empress made no move to draw her sword further. Instead she ran her right hand over the edge, drawing away as blood began to flow freely from the laceration on her palm. Holding her right hand up for display to the court, Hippolyta's left lit up with a creamy yellow light. Cersei could not stop her mouth from opening as the bleeding cut in the Empress' hand knitted shut before her eyes. A small ball of fire igniting in her palm to dry the blood, and she clapped her hands theatrically to extinguish it with a puff of smoke. As she looked over the court, Cersei took note of the hardening of Varys' eyes. Filing the incident away for later, she refocused on her fellows. Jon Arryn was blinking rapidly, and Robert had leaned forward with intrigue. Joffrey had abandoned his composure entirely and allowed his mouth to gape open like a stranded fish. Cersei shared her son's surprise at the display of tangible magick, but could not help but feel a tendril of concern. Not only did the tales that had floated up from the Reach appear to be true, but she would bet all the gold in Casterly Rock that there were far greater depths to the small feats shown to her.

"The healing of wounds, both miniscule and grievous, are but a single feat one can learn in the study of the arcane arts." Hippolyta stated almost distantly, as if she was lost in some memory. "While I doubt any currently living Westerosi could learn to both harness and bend magick to their will, alternatives are possible. Were our countries to ally and immigration made feasible, mages, enchanters and alchemists of all walks could be available to you. What little I have heard of the magick in the Seven Kingdoms has piqued my interest, and if it catches my eye, then I know that dozens more scholars will be foaming at the mouth for a chance to study it." She was smiling now. Her little display had hooked Robert like a starving fish. He might not have shown it overtly but she knew how to read him, even behind that voluminous beard. Arryn was similarly intrigued, and she knew that Baelish was just itching to remove himself from the court so he could salivate with greed. Cersei knew that she could never persuade Robert to treat this newcomer with outright hostility, but perhaps caution was still possible.

"Consider me intrigued, Lady Hippolyta. We can discuss the finer details of this alliance at a later time; the hour grows late and you must be weary from riding all day. I will see to it that you and any company you brought are made most welcome here in the Red Keep." He promised with a jovial grin. Hippolyta smiled softly in return.

"I am most grateful, Lord Robert. Though I would request before we adjourn that your queen ask her question." She turned her attention towards Cersei, who could not help but raise an eyebrow at this woman's apparent knowledge of her curiosity. "I can almost smell it rolling off you, dear Queen." She said wryly. Put off by the Empress' tone but refusing to show it, Cersei voiced her query.

"Forgive my bluntness Lady Hippolyta, but… what are you?" She asked. More than a few heads turned to various degrees at her question. Robert had a disapproving frown crawl across his face, and even Varys' smooth brow crinkled at her tact-free question. Hippolyta however, was unperturbed.

"I am an Altmer," the word was strange, but flowed well "or High Elf in the Common Tongue. One of the ten races of Tamriel, the rest of whom you will inevitably meet over the duration of my stay." She answered. While not particularly enthused at the prospect of nine other possibly elf-like beings running around the Red Keep, Cersei bit her tongue and nodded, at least satisfied that she was answered.

While she did not meet them per se, Cersei still bore witness to the frankly bizarre collection of people and creatures Hippolyta brought along at the feast later that eve. The female general, Fire-Eater, Admiral Catranian, Advisor Ri'kari and Specialist Merindene all appeared normal enough, save for the last's pointed ears that betrayed his mixed background. The remaining five could only be described as bizarre. A grey-skinned woman in tawdry robes and half-covered in tattoos; a nearly seven-foot green beast with boar-like tusks; upright snow-cat and giant lizard infantrymen; and lastly, a diminutive tan-skinned elf with a velvet shoulder cape that must have had some significance. As she covertly surveyed the foreign motley, the wheels in Cersei's head turned. The officers seemed like the best choice to become her eyes and ears among the company of Tamriel. Her immediate thought had been the advisors, but the ways they behaved had put her off the thought. Telina, whom Robert had deemed 'The Grey Lady' endearingly, was displaying a level of charm, wit and cunning that the Queen found enviable. She knew just when to smile, just what to say and just when to say it. It would not be long before the men of King's Landing would be able to look past her odd appearance as they frothed at the mouth for her. The other one, Ri'kari, was a mirror to Telina. She sat as still as a sentinel when she was not nibbling on her food, and the gaze from her one remaining eye was nothing short of bone-chilling. It was perhaps a trick of the light and the hood she refused to doff, but Cersei swore by the Seven that the dusky-skinned woman's eye was glowing. The green giant, Ha'Drak Daedrabane, was far less inclined to talk and instead chose to inhale food with the veracity of a sailor rescued from a week adrift. When he did talk, it was with short answers or even grunts. Not particularly inspiring of intelligence. The two infantrymen and Merindene did not possess the rank or clout or nuance Cersei required for an insider, and the last one, Darioth, gave absolutely no clues as to his relation to the Empress. The more and more she thought about her plan, the more frustrated she grew.

Patience was key. She would allow this discussion of an alliance to go along for a while, to lull these Tamrielics into a sense of security. Then she would extend a friendly hand to her target, and with any luck they would play right into her cyvasse game of deception, fraud and double-crossing. There were obviously other parties vying for any crack in the shell these foreigners were putting up in order to get to the more vulnerable inner workings of their political and war machine, but that was a given. Cersei knew that they would make their opening moves shortly, and that she would have to adapt her strategy to ensure they were adequately dissuaded from interference.

A Lannister always pays her debts, after all.

I know, I know, this took far too fucking long. But this chapter just DID. NOT. WANT. TO. COME. OUT. I had to re-write the throne room scene three times to get this, and I'm still not entirely happy with it. Stuff will happen in the next chapter, I promise! Now would you kindly…

1) Tell me whether or not you liked this chapter
2) Tell me what you SPECIFICALLY liked about this chapter

3) Tell me what you DIDN'T like about this chapter
4) Recommend a suitable improvement

Until next time,

DR