An Empire in 100 Nights (Rosewood x LeatrixSage)

[LeatrixSage]

By the Gods, but the rushes stank of rat shit and cat piss so strongly that the smells of rotten food, festering wounds, and death in the bailey far below barely reached her where she stood looking over what remained of her armies. Solveig (SOHL-veye) av Nordanvind was wrapped in fur and watching the towering bonfire that was being constructed bellow. Within it’s bowls were the many hundreds of dead men, women, and children that had fallen either fighting, or desperately trying to reach the walls of Ravenswrath under the seemingly endless horde that had set upon them. She’d used every ploy, every tactic, every method known to man to slow them, to cut their supplies, to turn the tide that swept across their lands and burned everything to the ground. Hers was a small Queensland, but it had been bountiful before the plague had swept North and over the mounts and burned their valley to cinders. In the last weeks, she had watched the smoke moving ever closer, powerless to stop them.

Now, just beyond her walls they sat and waited under a sea of many-colored tents with flags from half a world away. Her last effort had been to send an assassin to murder the bastard they called a God-King. He had not returned, not in one piece, anyway. Instead, a missive had arrived, along with one of his oddly-colored, golden eyes. There was a chance the man was still alive, but Solveig doubted it. More important was the distinctly masculine handwriting that demanded she open the walls of the city and ride out to surrender herself. It was wise to know when one was conquered, but the knowing did nothing to ease the fury or disgrace that plagued her every step.

Dusk was fast approaching, and with it came the thick grey snow clouds they had long been praying for. The winter snows were late. Had the come sooner, they might have slowed the southern army, perhaps frozen some of their men and their tiny horses. Instead, it seems the Gods had decided her rule was not to last. Despite how easy they had made it for her to acquire her throne, they were not going to allow her to keep it. Not the soldier’s daughter that should have never stepped foot inside the hollowed walls of Ravenswrath.

The crisp Northern wind snatched back her hood of fox fur and set her fiery copper hair flying on the breeze. The streaks of red, orange, and gold caught the last flecks of amber light from the sun in a stark contrast from the grey wooden beams and stone that was the walls and walks of what had been her home. Solveig reminded herself that she did not belong in Ravenswrath, she never had, and even after she had supplanted her useless husband on the throne, ended his idiotic wars, and made them all fat and wealthy, they had never really accepted her.

But, they were her people, and Solveig would not watch them suffer unduly. She had done everything she could to send their enemy away, and she had failed. Now she could watch them all burn, or she could burn for them. So it was that the Lady of Ravenswrath, Queen of the Valley of the Gods, av Nordanvind (the North Wind) daughter of Gunnvor the Skall, and what was left of her Barons and Knights rode out the Western Gate of Ravenswrath under white banners.

Surrender.

It chafed in a way that nothing else could. The wound in her pride burned angrily just beneath her skin while her heart hammered away in her chest. For all the world, Solveig assumed it was death that waited her as the many soldiers under so many banners closed in around their party to lead them. The thin legged horses they rode looked pitiful next to their heavy drafts, much like their short, and thin men looked frail beside the thick, broad Northmen that were her kin. And yet, these people had bested them.

What was left of her Barons closed in around her. Those loyal few knew the lengths she had taken to try to win this war that had found them. Some had fought beside her father, others had fought beside her, but none were ready to allow her to do this. Most would rather see Ravenswrath burned to the ground first, but she could not stomach the loss of life. Instead, she meant to barter for the lives of her people, and she only hoped the men that followed her would trust her judgement. The Valley of the Gods was a dangerous and unforgiving place, despite its fertile lands, and its people were harsh and untrusting of foreigners. They would not follow easily, but for their people, she hoped they would at least follow.

If that failed, well, then her father’s sword was lashed to her hips and her mother’s dirk was hidden under her skirt. Up her left sleeve was a small pouch, a delicate poison that was elegant in its cruelty. His end would be slow. His strength would leave him, and then his voice, and when he was crippled and mute, the pain would begin as his blood was pushed out of his pores as bone and muscle were turned to little more than jam. It was dishonorable to use such a weak and loathsome tactic, but if he could not be swayed, she would find a way to kill him, not matter the cost.

The host came to a stop in what she assumed was the center of the sea of tents just as the first flakes of snow began to fall. Strange peoples and languages surrounded them. So many shouted at her, but she understood nothing they said. Hidden beneath the safety of a heavy hood and thick furs, Solveig alighted from the heavy draft she rode to find that she towered over many of the men wrapped in steel and leather around them. It emboldened her, and the Warrior Queen pushed back her cloak of black fur and pulled down her hood to look down at the small Southorn peoples around her.

“Where is your God-King?” she hissed at them. They quieted, but she doubted they understood her any better than she understood them. Their leader, however, their Emperor, he had written her in Runes, he could understand her, and she hoped he could hear her. “Why is the bastard not here to meet with me? After all of this, does he hide from a woman's scorn?” The bold among her barons chuckled, warmed by her vigor, and calmed by her show of strength. No matter the simmering panic in her blood, she had to remain battle-hard and cold as the deepest winter while they were there to see her. It would be all that kept them from foolishly seeking glory in a battle they could never win. "Come out, you fecker, and lets see an end to this!"

 

[Rosewood]

"After the bitch has surrendered, as she no doubt will, we should have her send letters to the remaining enemy troops to compel the-" The Emperor said to his generals, only to be interrupted by the unexpected shouting of a woman who could only be the famous Solveig Nordanvind. He ignored the shouting and opened his mouth to continue, only to be interrupted by more of her shouting before he could say a word. He looked at his generals for a moment with a smirk on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes.

And then they all interrupted into raucous laughter, several of them slapping their knees as they bellowed and howled with laughter. How typical was it for a female queen who had been forced into surrender to try and make herself seem tough by screeching like a bitch! It was hardly the first time they had broken a kingdom, let alone the first time a queen had tried to use her screeching to seem tougher than she really was. As the saying went in the south, 'the cornered mouse bites the hardest'.

"I'd..I'd better go see what she wants huh?" the Emperor said between chortles as he rose to his feet.

For all the humor and mirth in the tent, the generals still rose to their feets immediately and saluted him as a sign of respect, they were officers down to their very bone and they would die before disrespecting their Emperor. But they felt at ease enough to stand there with tears in the corners of their eyes and barely restrained grins on their faces. One general had the boldness to go a step further.

"We will pray for your survival, my Emperor!" he said, in an exaggeratedly serious way. Which immediately set them all laughing again. With a smirk on his lips he gave them a wave of his hand as a farewell and stepped out of the tent. The dirt crisped and crackled under his heavy warboots, which drew a few eyes towards him. The rest were drawn when he spoke up.

"Solveig av Nordanvind, I presume," he boomed. His voice was a crisp baritone but it was firm and clear and many years of yelling orders on the battlefield had given it a great deal of strength. All who heard it turned and saluted at once, a common courtesy that was considered a sign of respect and deference to the Emperor. When the queen turned to face him, along with her stooges, he saw just how attractive she was. She had that fiery hair that could like a blazing fire, a soft sunset or molten gold depending on what light caught it. Her face was built in a sharp way but her eyes, nose and lips were feminine enough to give her the appearance of a lady who could be both beautiful and fierce, at the same time.

She wasn't what he had expected, after having seen all the tough, squat women of the north this tall beauty was like a breath of fresh air. The furs muffled it but her figure also didn't seem to have been tarnished by the luxury of her station. Interesting...he'd need some time alone with this woman, to see how far she might go to protect her lands from his armies. No doubt a deal could be hammered out that would give both parties what they truly desired....

She, in turn, saw a man taller than men from either the north or the south who was neither lanky nor bear-like with a muscular build. He had hair that was either very dark brown or black, it was a matter of perspective. It was combed back and fell down to about his ears. His eyes were a pale blue and set on a face perpetually covered with stubbles that no amount of shaving could get rid of for long. His clothes consisted of leather armor with chainmail for the immobile parts of his body such as his chest. The armor was designed to serve on both the battlefield and court. Heavy warboots went up to just above his ankles with metal plates built on the front with several sets of straps holding it in place. A fur cloak had been wrapped around his shoulders but seemed to be an afterthought for dealing with the colder weather of the north.

He stepped forward and approached Solveig, his two personal guards quickly falling in line behind him. They were more heavily armored than their Emperor and were armed with poll axes, a traditional weapon among the personal guard of the Emperor. While it made them somewhat predictable to those familiar with the Empire, the mastery of a single weapon that was useful in almost all situations made them foes to be reckoned with. Once there were only two steps between them, he held out his hand for her to take.

"I am Emperor Adas Morgrundt, also called the Fist of the Empire, the God-King and a variety of other less important titles. And I assure you milady, I fear no woman's scorn," he said, his eyes boring into hers as he gave her a smirk.

 

[LeatrixSage]

Laughter.

Solveig’s sharp chin lifted a notch higher as she listened to the sound swell, and then scatter around them as those nearest them were emboldened by the mirth of their leaders. Had she been a lesser woman, she might have blushed. The roar of howling guffaws eased, and then redoubled, something that started an unsettled murmuring among her Barons. Uncomfortable as it may have been to be laughed at, what mattered more was that it seemed the lord of these hosts of men was not alone in speaking her native tongue. It was a deep disadvantage, not knowing their language, and it was one she would be forced to remedy quickly if she meant to survive her enemy.

To hammer that point home for her, a voice made for the sounds of clashing swords and blood-letting rang out over the many men and horses. It brought Solveig around, and as her Barons parted to make way for her, she was shocked to find a man barely a day older than herself was the source of it. He stood head and shoulders above everyone, so unlike many of the wasted dead of his armies that had littered every battlefield. So many of his own had fallen to win this day that she was convinced his numbers had won out his victory, not his wit or will. And yet, he walked through the throng of men that seemed to respect him dearly. More than that, she and her small company were utterly outnumbered, and yet he came to her dressed in mail and leather and ready for combat. He spoke and warred like a man twice his age, and yet he moved like a young buck full of cocky swagger, but his manner of dress spoke of a man burdened with a wisdom and a distrust that ran deeper than his vanity.

Whatever she had expected to find waiting for her, this was not it.

Never in her life had she lifted her chin to look up to anyone, and yet Solveig found herself doing exactly that as the southern Emperor stopped far too close to her for comfort. Pale blue eyes the color of an ice cave wall bore down on her with an intensity that demanded her acceptance of his will, but he’d find naught but proud resistance in her steely grey gaze.

“That’s a relief,” she rejoined with her own amusement, “I was beginning to think I’d been bested by a weakling, and that I could not survive.” There was a muttering at her elbow, and Solveig felt a fresh chill race down her spine, a warning that the men that stood behind her were not all to be trusted. “You summoned me, and I’ve come to treat with you if you are ready. Do you have a private tent for us to speak in, or must we do this here?”

Solveig was not accustomed to waiting for the will of others, and it irked her to tread so lightly. She was forced to remind herself that there were many lives beyond her own that hung in the balance, and it was with that knowledge that she allowed Adas Morgundt to decide the tempo of their negotiations. Let him have the lead, there he would be comfortable, and hopefully, malleable and thoughtless.

 

[Rosewood]

She didn't seem as intimidated as he had expected. Instead she gave him a proud, powerful gaze that sought to actively contend with him. With every passing moment this woman intrigued him more and more and became more and more appealing. And that wasn't even belying her bold words, more than a few of his soldiers glared at her and stared in shock as she spoke boldly and freely to his face. But they were even more surprised when the Emperor simply gave a hearty laugh at her words.

"Well said lady Nordanvind! Well said indeed," he said with a boyish grin on his face, a strange sight for the Emperor of an enormous hegemony that had swallowed up nation after nation. "I have a private tent, let's talk there," he said and then without further warning he left towards his tent with his two bodyguards in tow. Any attempt for her to lag behind or try to stall things would merely result in the soldiers approaching her and not-so-subtly 'encouraging' her to go with the Emperor. They arrived at a tent that was close by the command tent and was about as large.

It had been designed to emulate a structure as much as a tent could do that, with a lot of pins holding it down and making it quite stable even during particularly hard, frigid winds. The inside was decorated with furs for comfortable sitting and featured a sort of living room area in the middle which had a hearth that could be assembled and disassembled as needed. Chairs stood sideways from the hearth so that one person had the hearth on their right and the other had it on their left. It was already burning by the time the Emperor entered and held open the flap to let her in.

"From here on it'll just be the two of us, I'd like you to leave your companions behind, I'll do the same with my personal guards," he said, before giving said guards a nod. In response they formed up outside the entrance and barred the nobles (if they were still with her) entry. Once this was done the Emperor went inside after the queen had joined him and he led her to the living area. He was quick to put an extra log on the fire and took off his cloak, laying it on a nearby table.

"We've been here quite a while now but I can't get used to this frigid weather. Your people are quite remarkable for thriving here the way they have," the Emperor said casually as he set down two goblets and poured both of them half a cup worth of wine. "If you'd like some fruit or confectionaries, they're on the adjacent table," he said, gesturing to the small tables next to each chair, which each featured a bowl filled to the brim with a variety of fruit and sweet treats from a variety of cultures and nations. After setting the carafe of wine aside he sat down in his chair and crossed one leg over the other and rested his arms on the arms of his chair.

"So, shall we discuss the future of both you and your nation?" he said casually, as if they were merely discussing the weather.

 

[LeatrixSage]

His grin was almost playful in nature and utterly disarming for a man of his stature and presence. The God-King exuded a kind of quiet command that didn’t require trumpeting or displays of masculine power, something men twice his age and experience in combat and leadership often suffered. One such man grabbed Solveig’s arm as she moved to follow the Emperor to his tent.

“You will not go alone,” Bjorn hissed at her. He was a good man, a stalwart friend, and he had a tactical mind that often surprised her, but he was given to emotional outbursts where she was concerned.

“I have less to fear from him than I do them,” she whispered to him as she pulled her arm free. Like it or not, the throne of Ravenswrath was not hers by blood, and men with legitimate claims were already plotting her death now that she had fallen to the Southorn hordes. The reminder sobered the man, but he was still a close shadow as they followed in Morgundt’s wake.

“Of course,” she acknowledges the man’s wishes as he directed his men to wait outside, and then turned her head to look over her shoulder. Bjorn glowered at her but nodded his assent. His sons looked no less happy behind him, but beyond then was a grinning face that she tried to ignore. “They’ll wait here. They could use a bite to eat if you have anything to spare.” It was a small acknowledgement to his successful barricading of Ravenswrath. While she knew very little of this man that had conquered her home, she knew at least that he was a brilliant strategist that had out maneuvered her at every turn. That merited praise, even if it wounded her pride a touch to give it.

Within the tent was a heat that took her breath. On did become used the cold climes, but she suspected these armies had used more lumber to warm themselves than to build siege engines. The hearth took center place, something that surprised her. It was fitting in war council or a mead hall, but it seemed unusual that she should find it thus in the tent of an enemy. Solveig frowned at the sigh as she unhooked the clasps of her fur cloak to rest the heavy garment over the back of one of the chairs. In the months that he had marched across the plains and forests of her valley, he had learned the common tongue of the God’s Valley and, it seemed, something of their culture.

Just what manner of man is he, she wondered while he offered her wine, and food, and sought her comfort. The charity was, uncomfortable. She expected to be humiliated, shamed, belittled and degraded, all things that seemed fitting for a conqueror to do. Solveig had been prepared for all of that, ready to suffer at his hands, not this winsome charm and soft nature. Nor how utterly unnervingly intimidating his kindness was.

“The people beyond those walls are starving because of me,” she spoke slowly, carefully, not for fear of him misunderstanding, but for her own need to have time to think and reorganize her mental defenses. “I will not be enjoying wine and treats until they are, but thank you for the courtesy.”

Even in the long sheath dress of dark green wool, Solveig was far too warm by the fire. The cotton slip beneath it clung to her skin as a fine sheen of sweat made her glisten. Under any other circumstance, she would have simply gotten rid of the woolen top layer, but it seemed a little too intimate for the discussion of surrender. Instead, she took a seat on the edge of one of the chairs, the slender sword resting against her right hip just barely scraping the floor as she did.

“My future?” she asked pointedly, despite the casualness with which he spoke. His ease made her tense, and she felt like a hare with it’s neck in a trap that was ready to be tripped. “The future of my nation is what I’m here to discuss, not my own. That isn’t up to you, it will be up to those men standing outside.”

Not that she relished that fact, because her likelihood of survival wasn’t particularly good. At best, she’d be plied into a marriage and forced to use her influence with the people to gain support for the new King. Whether or not she lived long after that would depend on how many wee bobbies she could produce to be heirs.

“What I would like to discuss with you is our surrender in return for keeping your army out of the city,” she held up her hand to stay him, a smirk playing about her lips. “No matter your promises, we all know enlisted men are prone to rape and theft. I would spare my people that. If you would like a tour of Ravenswrath, and to see your new subjects and their small lives, I would be happy to escort you personally. But, your army stays outside the gates.”

She didn’t include that the women of the city were just as likely to murder his men on sight whether they were well behaved or not, but she supposed he didn’t need to know that part.

 

[Rosewood]

He listened to her refusal to eat or drink and found himself further intrigued. No doubt it was compassion for her people but he wondered if there was an ulterior motive. An attempt to gain sympathy for her people and get them fed? Unlikely, she saw him as a mindless conqueror and it was unlikely she'd think him capable of mercy or sympathy. Most likely it was a sincere response that also served to build up a foundation for future arguments, she'd likely use her starving people again in a future argument, now that she had introduced their existence here.

Fine by him, it wouldn't matter any more later.

"Fair enough," he said amicably, with a small gesture of both hands. He listened to her response to his proposed subject in silence, already knowing where she was headed and using the time her turn in the conversation gave him to think his responses through. She seemed to not understand the position that she and her nation found themselves in and that would have to be corrected first.

"With all due respect, lady Nordanvind, but I think you are under a bit of a misunderstanding here," he began as he sat up straight and treated her seriously for the first time. His brow furrowed slightly, dark eyebrows pulling together a little as he held her eyes. "We did not come here with our vast armies and our powerful siege engines and cavalry and the like to devastate your nation. We came here to conquer your nation," he said, sharply emphasizing the word 'conquer' to help it sink in. "In other words, we are here to add your nation to our Empire. That will also mean a reorganization of your nation as it exists today. We will leave your culture and your way of life alone but you will have to pay taxes, enter into trade agreements with the other nations that make up the Empire and you will have to abide by imperial law. So both your future and the future of your nation are not only up for debate but will be debated, here and now. If you don't want to enter into that negotiation yourself I understand but then you should pick a suitable representative who can do so," the Emperor explained. The earlier levity and amicability were gone, as though they had come from a completely different person.

"Rest assured that this doesn't have to be something hard, scary, difficult or cruel. You mentioned your people starving in the capital before. But once we've worked out how your nation will fit into the Empire they won't just be your people. They'll be our people. And I will be just as responsible for their starvation as you and I will do whatever I can to relieve them of this famine," the Emperor said, the hardness and cold seriousness slowly slipping from his voice as he seemed to return to his usual state.

"I had you summoned here because, as my spies told me, you were leading your country during this difficult time and you led well. Both on the battlefield and off the battlefield you did quite well. You did your best to keep your people safe and healthy through this difficult time and fought back as hard as you could, harder than one might expect. So I don't care what those men outside think. As far as I'm concerned you are the worthiest representative of your nation and thus I would like to handle this matter with you. But...if you insist I will allow you to leave here and treat with the men outside so that you can work out with them who the representative of your nation should be," he explained and now his voice went back and forth between sympathy and respect.

For the most part he meant it, the woman had fought like a lion and everywhere they went people had readily risen up against them. Even when they offered food and water for their hunger and thirst and blankets and wood against the frigid cold the northuns had simply taken these gifts and then promptly killed the troops who had handed them out only moments ago. Clearly these people were committed to their queen and commitment was something one could only earn, not receive or buy. Whoever those other pigs were outside, they didn't deserve to sit here with him.

She did.

The Empire from whence he hailed didn't believe in what they called 'old-fashioned nobility'. Instead they believed the worthy led and the less worthy followed. The incident of one's birth was irrelevant, all that mattered was one's merit as a member of society. If you wanted a position you either had to take it or prove worthy of it and then you needed to stay worthy of it or you'd be replaced by someone worthier. Military officers were only promoted if they won battles using their wits and their character. Nobles earned their position by being capable administrators and leaders. Soldiers were only promoted if they could prove they were competent enough for the position they strove for.

And this queen was clearly worthy of being a member of the imperial aristocracy. Beautiful, strong-willed, capable, noble of spirit and intelligent. It made perfect sense to him she was the absolute leader of her nation yet some regressive law or rule about who should rule was seemingly holding her back, if her words of 'That isn’t up to you, it will be up to those men standing outside' were anything to go by. Ridiculous, why should blood or rules determine who led? Leadership, more so than anything else, belonged to the worthiest and that was clearly her, her prowess showed itself in every word and every action.

Which would make taming her all the sweeter....

 

[LeatrixSage]

Lady - That phrase was tickling her last nerve, but there was little she could say about it. What should he call her? She wasn’t a ruler anymore, something that was still very hard for Solveig to swallow with any sort of grace or dignity. His insistence on reminding her that she was well and thoroughly conquered, didn’t help. He had come to add the Valley of the Gods to his vast Empire. She had expected that was the case, of course. It seemed silly that his aims had been anything less. It may not have been when first they had met his armies a few years before. Her husband had lost battle after battle through nothing but his own idiotic nature. After Solveig had unseated him, she’d sent his armies back over the mountains licking their wounds. Perhaps, then, this was her fault in truth. Had she not sent them scurrying, maybe Morgundt never would have come to her lands himself.

“My people don’t even pay taxes to me,” Solveig pointed out briefly during his diatribe, but he continued as if she had not spoken. His demeaner had completely changed. His new seriousness was familiar and comfortable. What humor had been in him had vanished, and yet nothing about the woman relaxed. She remained tense, and poised, on the edge of her seat. He took her aback yet again as he praised her for how she had led her armies and her people against him, and she frowned at him while she listened.

“You treat with me,” the answer came to her lips too quickly, and her cheeks warmed slightly with color. One thing she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt was that she didn’t trust anyone else to do this. “But, you need to understand that there are those that no longer feel I have the right to speak on their behalf. They will fight against any agreement we reach, and they will fight you. Beyond that, accepting your rule here… you’re asking a lot of a people that follow blood they believe to be tied to their Gods, to set hundreds of years of tradition aside in the name of your rule.”

Solveig paused, made herself take a breath, and set her own outrage aside. It didn’t serve her needs. “You are either a great fool, which I already know you are not, or you must have something damn good to offer, other than taxes and trade deals, to win the hearts and minds of those you mean to rule.”

She couldn’t stay sitting. There was too much nervous energy in her and sweat was trickling down between her breasts. She needed to move before she went mad, but she didn’t want him to see anxiety or fear in her fidgeting. That meant she had to stay where she was. Resigned, she made herself take a slow breath, “I appreciate the seriousness of my situation, so much so that I know any deal I work out with you is going to be met with opposition, and I do not want to watch my people suffer. You’ll have to forgive me if I do not believe the man that burned his way across my home cares about the people that live here. The plague you proclaim to wish to help them with was made by your hands. You and your army.”

Her voice was rising, and Solveig paused to reign herself in again. Her hands were gripping the arms of the chair so tightly that her knuckles were white. Her fingers ached when she made herself let go, and then she clasped her hands in her lap. “We don’t need you, we do not want you, and before you came here, we were thriving. Knowing these things, what can you possibly offer us? And, what do you want from us, other than our sons, fathers, and husbands for your armies and our wealth? Before we discuss what will be happening to me or my nation, I want to know what you expect to receive as your spoils.”

And there her tongue went, running away with her, again. Solveig had never been so furious with any human being before, and yet – despite their situation – he had been noting but courteous. He even seemed to respect her on some level. Which was even more infuriating. Gods be damned, she wanted to hit him. It was foolish and childish, but her fingers twitched for the wanting. The emotional wreck that she was quickly becoming simply would not do, and she finally gave in to her need to stand and pace the length of then tent while she yanked at the front of her woolen gown to open it. The thin brown shift beneath clung to the damp skin of her chest, but at least she could breathe.

“You tell me what you want,” she sighed, calming a little are the nervous energy bled out of her, “and I will tell you what it costs.”

 

[Rosewood]

He watched as she fussed and fidgeted in her chair before finally rising and he listened to her grievances patiently without interrupting. At certain points he even nodded in understanding, many of the points she were making were perfectly understandable. She no doubt felt trapped between the incompetent nobles of her nation and him, the conqueror of a nation she would soon no longer rule. Or so she felt. This was to his advantage, he felt like he could make himself seem like the better of two evils. She seemed to think so poorly of the nobles of her land that she left no illusions regarding who would negotiate this deal with him.

When she opened the dress and revealed the thin shift beneath his eyes enjoyed the feast presented to them as subtly as they could. As he had thought her body was as endowed as her spirit. She truly was quite the treat.

"Before I tell you what I want, let's make a few things clear. As I mentioned before your culture and your way of life do not need to change. Even your political situation doesn't need to change, save for one thing. The Empire expects you to serve as a Steward. A Steward is essentially the person who the Empire chooses to rule it's member-nations on their behalf. The Steward is almost always the person who was in charge in the first place. Once a Steward is chosen they rule until they prove they can no longer do so or until they voluntarily abdicate. Once you are made into the imperial Steward, the aristocracy of your nation won't be able to do anything against you as you will be protected by imperial law. I also doubt the people will have a problem with this," he said calmly and reassuringly.

"As for what we expect, we simply expect you to your fair share in return for all the benefits that come with being a member-nation. This means paying modest taxes. We don't conscript people against their will, we simply offer people the opportunity to rise in station by way of joining imperial forces. In return your country will join the larger world. This means access to numerous luxuries you've never seen before as well as an assortment of technological advances, entire cultures worth of art and literature. Not to mention the full protection of the imperial military against both external threats like foreign nations and internal threats like bandits, raiders and the like. If your nation falls on hard times we will be there to aid you. It's a mutually beneficial partnership," he explained, taking his time to highlight each individual aspect.

"The Steward of this nation, aka you, would be given the rank of imperial nobility, something like a countess or a duchess. Within your own lands you'd retain your title as queen of course. You'd also retain virtually all of your sovereignity. You'd make all of the decisions so long as your nation functions well, pays it's fair share and cooperates with the Empire. Once again, I understand it's a difficult tradition but I think you'll find it's not as bad it may seem," he said sympathetically as his eyes followed her pacing back and forth.

He'd continue to draw her in and once she was committed, that's when he would bring forth the final requirement....

 

[LeatrixSage]

“I could not help but notice,” Solveig growled at the man from where she stood, quietly looking down at him through narrowed eyes that shone a bright silver when the fire light caught them just right, “that you have not answered my question. I said, tell me what you want.”

The woman had stilled as he had begun to explain hos expectations of his Empire on her and her nation. From Queen to Steward with the stroke of a quill, at least in spirit if not in name. For the rest, he offered her things she neither wanted nor needed – luxuries neither she, nor her people had any knowledge of, protection of the imperial army of which they had no need, and aid for hard times. She would remain Queen and rule her people as his leashed dog and squeeze from them the fruits of their labor to keep the plague from returning to burn them all again.

In some ways, the offer was too good to be believed. In others, it was sour as mead turned to vinegar. She supposed her people would be paying in silver, furs, gems, and wool, of that they had far more than they could ever need. But, in return for what? Her eyes moved to the wine and the candied treats and her lip curled in distaste. These things didn’t matter as much as perhaps they should have, they were the expectations of his Empire.

“I don’t want to hear what your Empire wants of me,” Solveig pressed as she took a step toward him. He sat calm and relaxed, watching her with that cool patience that was so utterly unnerving. Those pale blue eyes followed her movements the way the clouded leopards watched their prey move slowly closer to their waiting claws. The realization made her skin crawl. “I want to know what you want with me.”

What manner of man are you? she thought again as she watched him for some sign of his thoughts. She did not believe he had summoned her out here like this just to talk. The terms could have been negotiated by missive long before they met one another. In some ways, it was wiser to conduct such a difficult and trying thing as surrender and terms from a distance. She had first assumed that he meant to humiliate her, and while they had certainly had a good laugh at her expense, things could have been much worse. Now he sat offering her terms that were utterly preposterous. It amounted to little more than, pays us to go away and we will, oh, and if she needed some brigands handled they would do that, too.

“And, I want to know what you want with my nation,” she hissed as outrage raised up to bolster her new-found focus. What doubts had plagued her were slowly bleeding away. She could die by his hand, or by one of those nobles that waited for her, or by a stray arrow while hunting, what did it matter? Death was death, if it came, then it came, there was no escaping it. Solveig resigned herself to that knowledge, and her strength seemed to return to her at the same time. “The God King came here personally with his Legion of men from a host of nations for our spit of a valley within the Caucus Mountains. I want you to tell me, why?”

 

[Rosewood]

He listened to her with a growing sense of irritation and confusion. The deal he was offering wasn't bad, given the alternatives. Naturally no one would appreciate being ruled and being forced to pay taxes to someone they didn't know existed until a year ago. But she should be glad he wasn't simply eradicating her people entirely so they could take their possessions and their land.

It certainly wouldn't be the first time.

Her boldness in speaking to him was commendable and it only made her more appealing in his eyes. Many men preferred obedient, submissive women who blindly did as their men commanded but he wasn't one of them. To him, the most appealing women were those who dared to speak back against you, argue with you and disagree with you. They had spirit and passion and they enriched your life with their opinions and their contributions and their ability to be genuine allies as worthy as any man.

And when they did obey you, it was worth so much more....

"You seem to be under a bit of a misunderstanding, milady," he said, his voice eerily calm as he locked eyes with her. "I have already told you what I want with your nation. You'll no doubt disagree and say I have merely said what the Empire wants with your nation. But I am the Empire," he said, finishing with words spoken sharper than any blade. "The will of the Empire is my will. The strength of the Empire is my strength! So when I say what the Empire wants, you don't need to consider any opinion other than mine!" he said, his voice rising in volume but remaining calm as he got to his feet and approached her, once again just a step away. His eyes locked hard with hers and he felt almost like he was trying to pierce her with his gaze, letting her feel the strength of his will.

"As for what I want with you," he said with his voice still sharp. And here his eyes lowered to go over her body briefly. "I must confess I want a number of things. I want you to lead this country as well as you have until now as an imperial steward, so that both the Empire and your nation can mutually benefit. And I want..." he said, his eyes roving over her body once more without restraint or shame. She was a fine woman, it was beyond any doubt.

"I want you," he said bluntly.

"I am willing to give your nation a better deal," he said, his mind working at a frantic pace. "We can turn your nation into such a loose vassal that they are barely a part of the Empire at all. No imperial strongholds, no military presence, we wouldn't even formally turn your nation into a vassal or you into an imperial steward. You'd simply be a distant ally with whom we don't associate much if at all. All I demand in return is a 100 nights where you share my bed with me. I wouldn't force myself upon you but a night wouldn't count unless we consummate the agreement," he explained.

Some might think he was giving up the nation just for a 100 nights of sex. But they were wrong. He would simply lose the nation for a short while, not too long at all. He'd simply not have it for whatever time it took him to break her will and ensure her devotion to him.

 

[LeatrixSage]

Solveig’s stillness became something more akin to a tense readiness in response to the change in the man’s tone. As he rose from his chair, instinct made the woman’s right hand slide up the sheath to her father’s sword to grip it tightly. Her left hand twitched, but she resisted the urge to reach for the handle. Instead, as his voice raised in what she surmised was a change in tactic, Solveig squared her shoulders and tipped her chin a notch higher to meet his gaze. There was a new intensity about the man, yet another side of him revealing itself in his apparent frustration getting the best of him. She wondered if his temper was longer or shorter with men, or if he adjusted his tactics on the fly to suit what thought he needed most in the moment?

Whatever the case, she was learning more about him, and that provided her some ground to stand on. The Empire, it appeared, was his. It was not shared among its many kings and stewards. The will of the Empire was his will and his will alone. That could be good for her, or very bad, depending on what she decided to do next. The politics were much more simple, of a fashion, because she would not need to barter and scheme with other rulers for better position for herself or her people. However, it meant that all things were given and taken by the hand of this man, and this man only. His favor was paramount, and through him all blessings would flow. It was no wonder they called him the God-King.

The Emperor giveth, and the Emperor taketh away.

“That’s how it is then,” she murmured as he emphatically asserted that the only opinion she needed to care about was his. Those inhuman eyes of his seemed to glow with the impetus of his words. Solveig wondered if they pierced the very souls of the common men and women that came beneath his scrutiny. Even she felt a strange need to cover herself, as if he somehow could see things that she didn’t want him to. A sensation that increased as those eyes slid down her body and up again, not once, but twice. Far from shy, it was an unfamiliar sensation to feel her cheeks warm with color as her eyes narrowed.

“What kind of better deal.” She asked sharply, keen to see just where exactly this led. His boldness didn’t bother her, she was accustomed to brutes and cads, that was every Northman that had ever lived. What set her teeth on edge was the explicit nature of the contract. 100 nights of sex wasn’t exactly a tall order. It was less than a year, and it wouldn’t be the first time she had bartered her body for power. As she considered her options, her eyes traveled down his form. The armor masked most of his form, but he seemed as strong and capable as he was shrewd and tactful. The more she thought about it, the more questions she had. Releasing her death grip on the sheath, Solveig stepped around the man to get space between them again. She needed room to breath, and to think, and time to allow her heart to slow its frantic rhythm.

“I thought I just about had you figured out for a moment there,” she admitted as she picked up the wine he had been drinking and gave it a sniff. It smelled sweet, and she wrinkled her nose before she set it back down. “But, it won’t be so easy to learn your mind, will it?” Admittedly, she should have known better, but she had been banking on the idea that his generals were the reason for his military success. It appeared he indeed was the true architect of his empire.

“You’ve given me much more to think about than I expected, not the least of which is whoring myself to you to keep my nation,” she chuckled lightly at the term, “something I would imagine highly agreeable to those waiting outside, actually. They would enjoy seeing me humiliated,” Solveig paused to offer him an apologetic smile, “not that it is or intent, to do so correct?”

All the pieces were on the board now, and a shrewd coldness settled over her as she turned over the many options. She was working out the angles, looking for a weakness, trying to find a way to walk out of this tent the victory. Despite herself, however, she was beginning to think surrender was the only option after all. And, all her goals were met… her people would be left in peace, according to his promises. But, she had no reason to believe those promises.

Yet…

“100 nights,” she murmured, uncertain of his motivations in making such an absurd deal. He was an Emperor, women surely were not in short supply, and Solveig was no great beauty. “Will you be staying in Ravenswrath or touring the valley?” the question was one of curiosity. She needed to know more of his mind before she agreed to anything. “Obviously, I don’t expect you to live in this tent for next several months. Or even for the rest of the day,” she sighed as she folded her arms across her chest, her ample breasts pressed higher from the small movement. “One of the things I meant to broach with you was welcoming you into the keep. Our food stores are low, but as I hear it, you have gathered up much of the supplies that had tried to make its way past your camps. The people should see you, and you should feed them if you mean for them to accept you – as ruler or ally – whatever it may be.”

Well into the negotiations and passed her moment of panic, Solveig had calmed into the task at hand, despite her obvious discomfort in the warm tent. “And, you need to taste mead. That swill you drink is little more than rotten fruit.”

 

[Rosewood]

Her respone wasn't quite what he had expected. He had expected outrage, anger, disgust and resentment. Even fear or panic would have been understandable, if somewhat out of character. But this was closer to quiet acceptance than anything else. She didn't seem appalled at the notion but obviously she didn't exactly embrace it either. Her sudden change of topic told him enough, she was processing all this and wanted to talk about something else.

Fair enough.

"Obviously I don't intend to humiliate you in front of them. They don't even need to know, no one needs to know," he said casually, it wasn't a concern for him whether others knew or not so this was something he could easily grant her. "You can also take some time to think about my proposal, I understand it's a decision not to be taken lightly. But do not take longer than a week, I have other matters to attend to and what decisions I take may depend on yours," he said.

"I'll stay in Ravenswrath until it has been sorted out and the lives of it's people are back to normal. Afterwards, I intend to tour the valley and see it for myself to gain a better understanding of the place. One can never know too much, after all," he said, as he turned to face her again, letting her keep the distance between them. His earlier outburst had been brought under control and he was capable of thinking clearly again, no longer possessed by his lust and passion for her.

"I want to let my cartographer chart the place out, to add to my collection of maps. And I am legitimately curious to see what the valley is like, the world has many beautiful views to offer and I intend to see as many as I can before my end. Perhaps you'll able to see some of what the Empire has to offer. I think it will surprise you to see how beautiful the world outside your valley is," he said and for a moment he gave her a charming smile.

"As for the keep, it's up to you whether I go there or stay here," he said, the moment of charm passing as quickly as it had come. "Either way though, the foodstores we have are going into the capital and I'll be there to help hand them out among the populace. Though I strongly doubt they will think any better of me even if I do," he said with mild mirth in his tone. It was true, these people were quite loyal to their own and wouldn't be so quick to accept him even if he improved their lives. Debts of blood were hard to forget, after all and he owed them a considerable one.

"So I intend to head out tomorrow to distribute the vote. I want you and your men there to lend it a degree of legitimacy and help them accept the reality of the situation," he said with a tone of authority from which it was clear that this wasn't a request. It was an imperial decree. He would not accept no for an answer on this one and if she opposed him on this he'd force the issue and make it happen by himself.

When she criticized his wine and suggested he drink mead he gave a booming laughter born of genuine happiness. What other woman, or man for that matter, would dare to call his wine 'rotten fruit'? Most people cowered before him as though he would eat them alive if they said the wrong thing in the wrong tone. While that kind of fear could occasionally be fun it was something one quickly grew tired of. It made you feel like you were a giant in a pottery story, like your every step was a devastating calamity. There was never any room to be yourself. But not with her, she was willing to speak out against him despite just having her nation conquered.

What a prize she was, so bold and so full of life! How he would enjoy having her share his bed with him, seeing what rich moments they could share between the sheets together.

"And you'd have me drink rotten honey instead?" he teased, with a broad, boyish smile on his face. "I'll be more than happy to try yours if you try mine. Does that sound like a deal?" he asked, still smiling.

 

[LeatrixSage]

Obviously?

Solveig smirked, but she kept her head down. It seemed anything but obvious to her. What else could his motive be? An expression of his power, a way of stroking his own ego? It sparked her curiosity in a way that was decidedly dangerous to her own wellbeing. Part of her was sorely tempted to agree simply to find out the answers to her questions.

No one needs to know, now that made more sense. After all, what if she turned up swollen with the Emperor’s child? That would be problematic, if not for a wife or a family, then for all the damage that multiple heirs can bring to any throne – not the least being wars and the fracturing of all he’d built. Yes, it was far better for him if no one ever knew.

He offered her time to think about it, and again she was taken by surprise. It left her wondering again if he was manipulating or maneuvering her. He didn’t act like any man she had ever known, and it made it so damn difficult to predict him that she was reaching her wit’s end. He made it worse by asserting that he would be staying at Ravenswrath until her people were back to their normal lives, and then by giving her the choice to decide where he would sleep even after she had invited him within the walls of her home. He also wanted to tour the valley, see it all, and map it all to add to his collection. The notion was amusing, that as he conquered the world he reduced it down to ink on a page. It was somehow profound and yet, empty? Solveig wasn’t certain.

She frowned as he settled what certainly felt like a royal demand around her neck, ordering her to appear to hand out food to her people. It wasn’t that she felt the task was beneath her, Solveig had grown up the daughter of a knight, she’d healed and fed many a peasant with her own blood, sweat, and tears, as much as she had raised her sword when it was demanded of her. What bothered her was that he assumed it of her by ordering her to be there.

When his laughter filled the tent, the woman whirled to face him, surprise written plain as day across her face. His wit further stunned her for a moment, and then a small smile twisted up the left corner of her lips.

“Honey doesn’t spoil,” she teased in mock outrage, before she found herself laughing and nodding. “I think that it is a fair beginning.” Picking up the tatters of her pride, the fallen Queen stole a maneuver from Adas’ playbook and walked back across the small distance between them to stop a hand’s breadth away from him.

“I don’t trust you,” she told him plainly. If he was a man of his words, then honesty would be the best place to begin. “Instead of a week’s time, I have a suggestion,” she began carefully. She was, in a way, maneuvering him, but her goal was to learn how well she could expect he stuck to his word, and how well he truly cared what she had to say about any decrees he made.

“Tomorrow, I and my nobles will be organizing aid as well as helping you in your efforts. I’ll spend most of my day with treasury reimbursing farmers, villagers, tradesmen, and Barons for their losses. You would find a good deal of respect from the nobles, and gratitude from the common, if you took part.” Food that wasn’t his to begin with was one thing, she wanted to see how generous he was with all this wealth he promised was theirs for being part of his empire.

“After that, at day’s end, I will meet you here, with the mead. No Barons or Knights, just me,” taking a deep breath, she readied herself to take the plunge, unsure of what may come of what she was going to say next. “Consider it a… trial. It will not count as one of the 100 nights you demand, but rather than a week to think, I would prefer a night and a day to decide if I can trust you, and to learn the… details, regarding this deal of yours.”

 

[Rosewood]

He chuckled a little at her retort, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I still think it's a weird drink," he said absently as she approached him. He tilted his head down a bit to look her in the eye but otherwise held still as she seemed to share her honest opinion of him. He could clearly tell this had been an ordeal for her, which was understandable.

He had just conquered her nation and demanded sexual servitude from her, it would have been strange if she hadn't been at least a little shook up. But she seemed to be handling all this remarkably well, everything considered, and he was impressed by how reasonable and mature her proposal was. He was accustomed to rulers who begged and pleaded and yelled in his face and things like that.

"I think that's an eminently fair plan and I will be there tomorrow, to join you in this meeting. Naturally I will have to bring my personal guard along to make sure that I'm not killed," he said with a slight chuckle clear in his voice. "I'm bringing this up so you don't think I'm trying to intimidate anyone and so you know what to expect tomorrow. I can imagine my appearance itself will already cause an uproar but me appearing with four elite guards, well... That might be a bit much to handle without warning."

"But other then that, I like your plan. And I want to thank you for being so reasonable about all this. I understand I am asking a lot but I am glad that you aren't being unreasonable about this. I must say it's a pleasant change of pace. Most conquered nations react rather violently even when you offer them reasonable terms, so it's very refreshing when a lady like you puts forth such a fair plan of her own accord. So thank you," he said, granting her a sincerely warm smile.

"That brings me to the two other topics I wanted to bring up. The first is where do we go from here? I think I've brought up everything I wanted to and we've reached a good agreement. Is there anything else you want to discuss and if not, do you want to just go home or...?" he said, giving her a smirk that was as playfully teasing as it was suggestive. Clearly he was just joking but with an undertone of 'I sure wouldn't mind if you stayed'. It was as much a spontaneous joke as it was a little experiment to see how she'd respond to this.

"And the other question is about your fellow...rulers. And I use that term as lightly as I can. They will obviously have issues with what we've agreed upon and they may not see reason the way you have. How do we want to handle that? Do you want my help in any way?" he asked, his expression going serious again.

There were still concerns, both among him and his top officers, that the Barons would simply dethrone the queen and go for a do-or-die resistance, rallying the population to fight to the last man. Given the patriotism the population had displayed so far, it wasn't too hard to imagine they'd rally to their leaders. Especially if they were willing to have the queen killed and held up as a martyr by blaming her death on the Empire.

 

[LeatrixSage]

Either the gods loved her more than she had imagined, or they were conspiring to drive her to madness.

He had agreed. Not just assented to her or thrown her a bone to pacify her… and she was at a loss. He was her enemy. How did he seem more reasonable and willing to compromise than her own subjects? Solveig wondered again if he was toying with her, but only time would allow her to learn the answer. She would simply need to be prepared for the game to change.

“There will be tension, but that can’t be avoided,” she agreed after he told her that he would be bringing his guard along. “Being the victor in this, I don’t expect you to walk into the leopard’s den without protection.” That was putting it mildly. Some secs in this valley lived by their own law, not hers, and they would split his head like a log given half the chance. It was something she would have to be careful to mediate, but his willingness to ease the burden he had placed on the Barons would go a long way to easing hostility. If he could earn their respect – something that aught to be easy given the offer he’d made her – then there would be so much less to worry about.

He thanked her for being so reasonable and offered her a smile that was decidedly unnerving. It was warm and inviting, the kind of smile that could make a woman forget to keep her guard up, and Solveig’s mind strayed to thoughts of sweat sickened bodies entangled on the ground before the hearth that crackled and spit with fire just a few feet away. To cover her stray thoughts, the woman laughed, and then reached into her sleeve to produce a small vile that she handed him.

“If you weren’t agreeable, I was just going to do what my assassin failed to,” she admitted with a devilish grin. “Even if I didn’t make it out of here alive, you were never going to rule my people if you could not empathize with their plight, so don’t thank me for being reasonable just yet. I am still the heathen Queen of legions of barbarian Northmen. For now,” she allowed the last with a smirk, a certain lightness of spirit finding its way back to her. It was a flash of another woman, a part of her she kept tightly tucked away in most cases, and she was unsure why her playful nature had made itself known in such an inappropriate moment.

To make the entire situation even more surreal, he made a half-hearted pass at her that made her laugh again. The whole situation was… wrong, and it colored the exchange with a strangely menacing note despite the levity they seemed to share. The battle she had come here for was not the one she had found, and the battle that still existed was one that she wasn’t even sure was real or imagined. If she was honest, it that moment, she wouldn’t have minded staying longer. It would even look better, in the long run, if she appeared to barter with him longer.

She frowned up at him, however, when she asked about the men outside. He asked if she wanted help with them, and his choice of words dug under her skin in a way that made her take a step back from him. There was a line somewhere, it had been crossed, and his offer to help her made it so abundantly clear that she was forced to put back on that mask that was the woman that ruled the God’s Valley with an iron will.

“No, thank you,” she asserted firmly, but worked to maintain the civil tone that had existed only a moment before. “If you help to pay them for the damage done to their people and their land, they will quiet. They in turn will pay their peasants for loss of life, and with your promises of food from other lands, we won’t have to worry about starving this winter with the last crops burned away in your wake.” Despite herself, her voice had sharpened, and Solveig stepped away from him again. He was too close, her blood was too warm, and by all the gods, she was going to suffocate from the heat or else drown in her own sweat.

“I think we’re done for the day,” she remarked as she lifted her furs from the seat he had offered her before. “You are still invited to dine in the Hall tonight. It is expected that you take my place in the Hall. They will all growl and grumble, but it is a custom we keep. Kings and presents alike.” Solveig hesitated at the flap of the tent. She could feel the man’s eyes on her, and they were still trying to burn holes into her soul. “Sup with us tonight, bring a show of force with you. They do appreciate loud, bawdy, and aggressive natures. They will find great amusement in your notion of how to bargain with a Queen.”

 

[Rosewood]

Their exchange seemed to become more heated for a moment and he felt like he was basking in the heat of this queen's inner fire. Something she seemed to keep tamed inside of her, like coals burning in stone furnace. Perhaps as they would spend time together, he would see more of it. For now he would just have to enjoy these moments.

Her reaction to his little flirtation was interesting as well, there was no total rejection, she wasn't appalled or disgusted by it and he didn't get the impression she was being polite or civil to avoid upsetting him, she wasn't the type for that. His eyes widened slightly when she showed him the vial, so she had been planning to kill him if he had proved uncooperative hmm? It made sense, he had no doubt seemed a brutal conqueror intent on destroying their way of life and she had reacted the way any strong sovereign should.

The way he would have had he been in her place.

"I see you are no stranger to getting your hands dirty," he said with an approving grin as he examined the vial. It was a fairly potent poison if he was identifying it correctly, but not quite as potent as the ones used in the capital. Which made sense, poisoning wasn't the typical style of these people. They tended to solve their disputes more....forcefully or so was his impression in any case.

"Then I am honored to join you for dinner in the Hall. I'll need to handle a few matters first, give some orders to my generals. But once that's done I will see you at the hall. Thank you for a...productive meeting," he said, giving her a meaningful grin as he walked to the opening of the tent and held open the flap for the fiery queen. He watched her walk out and head back towards her escort, who were no doubt curious and impatient to hear the news.

He was left alone in his personal tent, staring at a vial of potent poison with a smile on his face. After a few moments he pocketed the vial and left his tent, calling a quick strategic meeting. He summarized the meeting with the queen, leaving out their flirtation and her admission of a poisoning attempt. Those were private. The generals consented, albeit begrudgingly, to let him go into the lion's den with nothing but four of his personal guards. He also gave out orders to cease any and all hostilities and take on a defensive posture. If anyone did attack, they should be restrained and imprisoned rather than killed.

"These are our allies now, tentatively at least. Naturally many of them will struggle with this new reality and some may decide to attempt to reignite the war against the wishes of their monarch. I do not expect such issues on our side but keep an eye out for them regardless. If any soldiers seem to struggle with their new orders, talk them through it. Finally, I'd like you all to ask your quartermasters to do an inventory of the amount of food and water they have and how much of it we actually need to supply the troops," the Emperor said as he stood at the head of the meeting table.

"I take it you intend to share it with these savages?" one of his more astute generals was quick to ask in a sardonic tone. "Naturally, we need to prove our good intentions and the worth of their new alliance with us," the Emperor was quick to reply. "They are not allies they are your subjects!" the same general bit back. He gave the general a harsh gaze and for a moment a charged silence came over the room. "They are what I say they are, do you understand?" the Emperor in a calm yet icy cold voice. "Yes Emperor," the general answered, turning away from the Emperor's piercing gaze.

"Besides, there is no rule that says your allies cannot be your subjects. One who rules with a gentle hand still rules and subjects who are on your side are more valuable than those that aren't," he said, dropping the icy tone and smiling brightly once more. Smiles and grins quickly returned to the gathered generals, this was a logic they could understand.

The meeting was adjourned shortly after that and the Emperor went back to his tent to quickly bathe himself and dress in more formal attire, after which he made his way towards the Hall, flanked on his sides by his personal guard.

 

[LeatrixSage]

His grin was positively lecherous.

The unspoken insinuation hidden behind those unnerving eyes sparked a fresh wave of adrenaline. It warmed her skin and threatened to overwhelm her good sense, and then Morgrundt opened the tent for her and thanked her for a productive meeting. He was cordial, polite, and shockingly restrained. Why did she feel as if the battle had only just begun? It was something she had to ignore as she walked past him to step out into the cold air. A thousand pairs of eyes were waiting for her and they all measured her for some sign of what had transpired, eager to glean some knowledge of her and whether or not she had been bested. They gave Solveig no time to evaluate the effect the man’s nearness had on her. She gave them nothing, no sign either way, but returned to her Barons to hand off her thick fur cloak to Bjorn.

The falling snow had grown thicker and more persistent while she’d been in the tent, but the sharp bite on the frozen air was bracing. The sweat that clung to her skin turned cold even beneath the thick wool of her green outer gown, but she welcomed the break from the heat. Tomorrow night, she’d have to remember to wear something lighter, something that wouldn’t leave her suffocating next to his hearth. A spark of amusement pulled through her at the thought. The only garment she could imagine being light enough to endure the heat of that man’s tent comfortably was naked skin.

“Solveig,” Bjorn began to speak, but when she raised her hand, he quieted and let her pass. In the distance, the mass funeral in the heart of Ravenswrath was well underway, the pyre nearly complete. What ruler was a stranger to death? The obvious answer was none, but Morgundt’s reaction to her murderous admission made her wonder if such a creature actually existed. The notion seemed foul on the surface. What kind of coward would distance themselves so completely from their people? If a regent wasn’t familiar with the horror of death, it became far too easy to wield it as an easy tool for power. It made her wonder about the man she had left behind her in that tent. Did he suffer the weight of the lives lost to build his Empire, or was bloodlust a part of him, like some mad-man that had been touched by the Gods?

They were questions she had no answers to and she released them before leaping onto the back of the strawberry roan that awaited her. He was by far her favorite of all the war horses she had ever known, and there was a certain comfort in his steady strength beneath her. As she turned him about to head back to Ravenswrath, her men scrambled to follow. The horde that was the living embodiment of the God Kin’s empire split before her like water, and yet she felt their resistance to her as surely as if she were swimming upstream. However foolish it seemed and understanding that there was no harm that would come to her from them made it easier to look at them. And yet, she disliked that she saw men looking back at her instead of beasts.

Back within the walls of her home, a new host of concerns waited to greet her. She made arrangements for the supplies coming from the Empire to be received and set Bjorn to the task. He balked against the menial task and forced Solveig to make an order of her request. He was a true man, and he wanted to stand between her and her enemies. What he did not understand was that he was the only man she could trust to keep his axe on his back and make sure their angry and vengeful people did the same. From there she pushed a verity of tasks upon the rest, from organizing the overflowing barracks to settling civil disputes in her stead and aiding in the rebuilding and policing of the lower ford where crime was already out of control. Order wouldn’t be fully established overnight, but it would keep the most of them busy long enough for her to think. None of them appreciated her answers to their questions – particularly in her hedging that negotiations were far from finished - but they seemed to warm to the promises of imperial monies and the knowledge that their traditions would be kept. Messengers were dispatched carrying orders to bring an end to any fighting that was still taking place, but it was the Ravenswrath pyre itself that would be the primary symbol for the lower valley that the war had ended.

The weight of responsibility was eased, but not entirely removed from her shoulders when she stole away to cleanse the day’s slat and dirt from her skin. Cold water waited for her to bathe. The melted snow was refreshing, but she longed for the embrace of hot springs to sooth her tired muscles. They were a day’s ride to the north, up the mountain that stood tall and proud to the back of the keep. She had conceived of building a channel to bring the hot waters down into the city, but many had thought the notion disrespectful. The springs were an oasis of warmth and life in a mountain that never thawed, where endless snows fell, and for that it was a sacred place where most still believed the Gods walked among men. As Solveig scrubbed her skin clean with water that still contained flecks of ice, she couldn’t help but feel petulant in the face of the stupid superstitions that kept her hands tied.

From the cold water, to the black wool that marked her defeat, every step she took was an appeasement of ancient tradition and old gods. It annoyed her, but it wasn’t about her, it was about the people that followed her. The evening’s festivities weren’t able to begin until the God King had arrived – an event marked by the breaking of the Ivy crown her father had commissioned on her wedding day when Morgundt and his guard crossed through the Westergate. While the God King was led by Bjorn through the city proper, Solveig was led down the Castlemaine. But, in both cases, men, women, and children of every caste and creed gathered to watch them. The two roads met in the heart of Ravenswrath, where the funeral pyre had been built, and where Solveig laid her crown to rest just as the sun sank beneath the horizon and darkness settled over Ravenswrath.

Solveig couldn’t have planned things any better.

Her people were defeated, and demoralized, and broken people clung to symbols and traditions in ways that made them act utterly stupid. Abandoning it all would only deepen the sense of loss that was eating at them, and that would make them irrational and unpredictable. Observing the ritual, it gave them something safe, something familiar, that they could cling to, something to make the world feel right again. It was the only reason she was wasting time on ceremony when they could be sending relief and aid to outlying villages. Aksel Eadricson was the Baron that brought her a torch, something that surprised the Queen enough to make her hesitate. Whispers insisted that he and Eban Udayson were the most eager to take her place. it was only natural, they each had large armies and legitimate blood-ties to the throne, but it was unsettling that he would take up the task of helping her hand off power to their conqueror.

“Afraid I’ll bite,” he taunted as he held out the torch for her to take. The movement opened his cloak enough that her eyes caught a glimpse of steal and leather in the fire’s light. The baby hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and Askel smirked down at her when she met his gaze with a blank stare. Solveig reached out her right hand to clasp the torch, which he held in his left, to find his dominate hand resting heavily on the hilt of sword he shouldn’t have been wearing. Somewhere beyond them was the smooth sound of steel against leather and movement among the many bodies that filled the heart of Ravenswrath. The dawning came without reaction, but Solveig could already see the blood bath that would follow. Civil war inside the walls of Ravenswrath, the death of the God King, the valley would burn until everything and everyone that had ever called it home was ashes when the retribution of the empire swept over the mountains to seek their justice.

“You’re a fool, Askel,” Solveig warned, and the man’s grin melted into an expression of disgust.

“You led us here,” he spat back at her, still not relinquishing his grip on the torch. “You are why the Gods abandoned us. A half-blood bitch should have never been allowed to marry Havthor.” His voice broke – but whether in rage or pain, Solveig wasn’t entire sure.

“Don’t do this,” she tried again, her grip tightening on the stout piece of wood that connected them.

“You had your chance to step down,” he sneered, gloating now as the sounds of clanking armor could be heard beneath the cover of furs meant to silence the movement of armed men. Casting her eyes about showed the situation to be worse than she had realized. The soldiers that served as the city’s guard through the siege were closing off the plaza, and she had no way of knowing if they were there for Askel or for Bjorn. “Now you can burn.”

He jerked the torch, trying to tear it from her grasp, but Solveig came with it. Askel tried to draw his sword, and she smacked the hilt with her left hand to push the blade back down into its scabbard. The furious man yanked at the torch again and one of her fingernails was torn loose as he raised it over her head. He meant to bring it down over her shoulder, so the woman curled in close. Her left hand clung to the hilt of his sword to keep him from pulling it while her injured right hand slid between them. Askel was wearing a dirk as well, and when she found it, Solveig pulled it free, and then buried the long, pointed blade into the man’s side. Askel howled, and she pulled it free to tab him again, and then again and again in quick succession.

A stillness settled over the plaza. Shock from those that had known nothing of the attempt to the horror of those that helped plan it, pushed down on Solveig as Askel fell. The torch rolled away from him when he hit the ground, and the Iron Queen stepped over him to fetch it. I warned you, she anguished silently, why wouldn’t you listen to me? It was just another question to which the woman had no answers, and even if his spirit could tell her why, it would bring her no relief. It wouldn’t take the steaming blood from her hands, or the spattering of gore from her face or her clothes anymore than it would clean away her guilt. Resolute to her fate, Solveig carried the torch to where Morgundt stood and held it out to him.

“Honor our dead,” she told him, “you bought this death, not me, it should be you that ends it.”

 

[Rosewood]

The snow crunched under the heavy boots of both him and his personal guard as they headed towards the hall. The guards were alert, as always, they had been trained for years on end for the specific purpose of protecting the Emperor from harm and they were devoted to that task, expecting attacks and threats at all times. He wrapped his furred cloak tighter around him and shuddered, this weather did not agree with him. Though he wouldn't be quick to say it, he would be glad when they could leave this frigid place and move on to somewhere warmer and more hospitable.

Luckily the walk to the hall wasn't far and soon he found himself greeted by a crowd that he had not expected. He had expected angry glares and hateful looks from peasants working in the field, yet what he found was a crowd staring at him with a mixture of fearful curiousity and restrained resentment. As he walked past them, he made sure to nod to as many of them as possible, with a polite smile on his lips. Even to those who glared with the utmost contempt he nodded politely and respectfully. They were his subjects now and they were under his protection now. Even those who didn't want it and wouldn't be grateful to him for it.

Ravenswrath was a fine place and he genuinely admired it's construction, which was simple but practical and with a certain stout beauty to it. The road he followed led to the heart of the city and to the enormous pyre that had been built there. This was clearly a ritual or ceremony of some sort, judging by the solemn looks and organized positions everyone had. He approached respectfully and stood off to the side, head slightly bowed out of respect. But his eyes followed everything that happened and soon caught the exchange between the nobleman and the queen. He wasn't close enough to catch the full exchange but he could at least hear the tones in their voice. The queen was firm and defiant and the man difficult and mocking. He watched closely and noticed when it turned into a scuffle.

His guards became alert, hands tightening on their weapons and their muscles almost visibly tensing as they readied themselves for the possibility of conflict. As the queen and the baron struggled with one another, the Emperor weighed his options. Stepping in could resolve the situation in the queen's favor, but it would no doubt weaken her position and for now they would need her. Yet not stepping in could result in the queen losing to this man, who was certainly no weakling. And he really didn't want to lose this queen. Yet ultimately he chose merely to wait and watch and have faith in the queen, who had certainly proven to him she was worthy of that trust.

And she did not disappoint him.

First she showed skill in denying him his weapon and then cunning in stealing his and finally, brutality. He felt a warmth stirring in his loans as she brutally stabbed the man, again and again, and the blood splattering on her clothes, hands and face sent his own blood rushing through his veins.

So she can kill and has killed before....he thought to himself.

The first kill wasn't usually so...resolved. It was messy, frantic and sloppy, which this most certainly wasn't. She seemed distraught yet not surprised or shocked or horrified, this had been expected. So there was internal strife to capitalize on then, her position wasn't quite as stable as she made it look, though it certainly didn't seem to be in much danger if this was how they were attempting to get rid of her. His musings were dashed aside as she approached him and held out the torch for him.

He nodded in response to her words and reached out with one hand to grasp the torch, resting the other on her hand briefly. "Thank you," he said respectfully before taking the torch from her hands and approaching the pyre. He thought of saying a few words, either before or after lighting the pyre but he felt that would be inappropriate and disrespectful. Thus, without further adue, he approached the pyre and held the torch to it. For a few seconds nothing happened and he grew concerned he was making a mistake until he saw it had simply taken the fire a while to get started and grow separate from the torch.

The fire gradually spread as he turned to Solveig and held out the torch for her to take as they watched the flames consume the pyre together.

He said nothing as they stood there together, letting her decide if words were appropriate and neccesary. Here he was much on her playing field and at her mercy and he waited patiently for the next move in this intricate dance of theirs.

 

[LeatrixSage]

Thank you, he said, and her skin crawled. The last thing she wanted was thanks for all the lives she had allowed him to steal from them. The night air was so cold that the warm blood on her hands was steaming. It was just the latest to be spilt, but the sight of it made her stomach roll. She had to swallow bile while she stood there with her chin raised and her face placid. Guilt or horror at her own brutality? Solveig wasn’t entirely certain yet. He was not the first living thing she had killed, but he was the first man she had ruthlessly murdered while she had looked him in the eye and watched him die. The light had gone out of him, some flicker of life that had vanished with his last, gurgling breath before he had fallen. That sound would haunt her dreams.

Blessedly, he didn’t make a grand show of things, but lit the pyre and let it burn. The mood of the mob was already shifting, and she felt her shoulder relax wearily. Askel had been a fool, but his death had been inevitable. They – the mob, her people – had needed a reminder of who she was and what she was capable of. Only the hard could lead, only the strong. After such a thorough defeat she had needed a moment of strength. Askel had given it to her through his betrayal.

Why, then, did she feel so guilty?

Morgundt offered the torch back to her, and Solveig reached to take it without thinking. There was a flash of pain from her hand, and she was startled to see the loose fingernail on her right hand. She hadn’t noticed it until just then and she frowned at the sight of it. In the snow around her feet were drops of blood, little red gems that she now realized belonged to her. If she was unlucky, the nail would have to be removed. Just one more thing to look forward to.

Slow was melting snow, the solemn mood of mourning began to change. It was quiet at first, the shifting of bodies as some left the prepare, and then in the distance one instrument began playing, and then another. One some other side street a voice lifted in song. The Pyre was lit, the dead were off to serve the Gods, and it was time for the living to celebrate being alive in honor of them. She waited until she heard laughter. The sound was like a tolling bell that released her vigil and brought it to an end. She was allowed to breath, and to smile, and to bend down and use the snow to clean the blood from her hands.

“I hope that mess didn’t put you off your appetite?” she asked as Morgundt as she straightened. She was holding a handful of snow around her wounded finger while she took a good look around. Whatever threat had been was long gone. They wouldn’t try anything again, not tonight anyway. Even they would want to be with their families, drinking, feasting, and fucking to rejoice in being one of those that had survived this latest bought of suffering and bloodshed. “Thanks to you returning our food, it looks like we’ll have a proper feast.”

Solveig simply began walking toward the Keep and expected the man to follow. He didn’t seem like one that needed instructions on how to act, so she didn’t bother giving them. As they walked, people would call out, wave, even toss trinkets at them as they passed. Solveig caught a necklace thrown by a little girl but allowed most of the gifts to fall to the snow to be picked up by the little train that was following them. Anything she or Morgundt didn’t catch or pick up was left for the needy that followed them. It was a sort of charity. Those that tossed the gifts could spare them, and it paid tribute and respect to the pair. Those that followed where those with a need of finding something useful to them, and Solveig showed care for them by leaving the best gifts behind. She measured the God-King’s reaction to the practice, but found it amusing to not explain it.

“It seems they have decided to give you a chance,” she remarked as they passed by a group of men that were wrestling beside a fire. A woman stood by them, laughing and drinking from two horns. The sight made Solveig grin. “Or, they are just distracted at the moment. I’m not yet certain. Being who they are, they could decide to hate you again by morning.” She was talking about them as much as herself. After all, she was as fickle and harsh as they.

“I suggest you eat heartily, laugh loudly, and drink deeply,” she went on as they joined the lines of people flowing into the great double doors leading into the keep, “It’s the best chance you have of seeing them for who they really are.”

The Keep at Ravenswrath was a Meadhall, or it had been centuries before. The wooden structure that was the original hall was still standing, and it was the heart of the Castlemaine that had been built up around it in stone. After passing through the Laird Gate and crossing the Yard, a short set of steps led up to the massive double doors. Each door was constructed out of the trunks of ancient oaks that had been carved to depict the gods at feast. Beyond them where a dozen tables the length of longboats where hundreds could gather. Beyond them was a raised dais that stood empty. The throne had been removed, and it would stay that way for some time given the arrangement she was considering with the man that followed her along. In the center of it all was an open fire pit, over which sat a pot large enough for fifty stout men to bathe in, filled with mead.

Everything about the hall seemed too large for normal men, something she often thought gave some credence to the wives’ tails about giants being the forefathers of the Northmen. But then, as she glanced up at the veritable giant that stood by her side, towering head and shoulders over all of them, what did that mean about the southern emperor that had come conquering on her doorstep?

“Get to know your people,” Solveig invited airily to hide the malice she felt. She was looking for an excuse to abandon him, to escape his oppressive presence that seemed to sit heavily on her shoulders so that she could find rest and steal a few hours to herself before this all started again the next day. “Any among them will offer you interesting conversation and endless stories. Some about the gods, and others about war. And you’ll find none of them wearing more than spit for armor.”

 

[Rosewood]

The silence of the seemingly solemn ceremony continued until suddenly an instrument began playing, like an intruder had invaded the ceremony. Fear and confusion took hold for a moment as he looked around as subtly as he could and identified the one who had begun as northmen. It seemed normal and he noted the lack of reaction from the queen. Was this normal then, he wondered as he stood there waiting in uncertainty. That uncertainty gradually faded as others began picking up the music as well and the entire mood of the event seemed to change.

When someone's voice began carrying a song his uncertainty faded and he understood this was a part of her custom. Could have warned me, lady, he thought to himself in a dry tone.

As the queen cleaned her hands and straightened herself again, he chuckled at her question and smiled. "I have been on many battlefields, milady, battle doesn't spoil my appetite," he said politely, restraining himself from showing that battle actually stirred a completely different kind of appetite. He followed her as naturally as he could and noted the people showering them with gifts. Instinctively he smiled warmly, nodding and raising his hand as was appropriate, he had done this before and this was no different. He caught one of the gifts and was about to pocket it until the sound of crunching snow gave away that they were being followed by those picking up the gifts.

Noting the wear and tear of their clothes and the genuine happiness on their faces as they picked up the trinkets he understood the nature of this custom and paused to let someone in the train catch up to him, before handing them the gift he had caught: a simple necklace consisting of a cord with a bead. The older woman who took the gift from smiled nervously and said nothing but gave him a nod, nodding back he strode off to rejoin the queen.

The event had happened in clear of the crowd and word of it would spread. Those who hated him would simply claim it was a trick, but those neutral or favorable to him would see it as a good sign and would cling to the hope it provided. What mattered was fostering the loyalty of those who were willing to support him. They'd help strengthen the imperial presence here as long as he lived up to their expectations.

"Well then I suppose I'll try to win their hearts again, won't I?" he said calmly before nodding to her explanation. "I've done so before with my troops, it'll be nice to do this with your people," he said, not readily accepting her label 'his people' as he wasn't their ruler yet, officially or unofficially. Turning to his personal guard he instructed them to remain on guard by the walls of the mead hall and to keep him in sight. If they were needed, he would let them know. They hesitated but ultimately complied, leaving their Emperor's side was hard for them to accept but in the end orders were orders.

"What about you, milady? It doesn't sound like you'll be joining me," he asked, his tone not betraying his thoughts on the matter.

On the inside however he was beginning to pick up on the fact that the diplomatic relationship between him and the queen had cooled considerably. No doubt having him present at such a northern event and the effects his invasion were having on her nation were wearing on her. It was understandable she wouldn't be particularly warm to him right now, he'd simply have to hope this attitude didn't last. No doubt it would shift as they both adapted to the new way of life and given enough time she'd start thinking of his presence in her life as something normal.

 

[LeatrixSage]

He was watchful, observant, careful, and it annoyed her that these things were true. The same eyes that seemed to see past her flesh and into her very soul didn’t miss the earthly things around them either. Giving him just enough rope to hang himself didn’t seem to be working as well as she’d like it to be. He’d made no grand speeches at the pyre, something she had hoped he’d be dense enough to indulge in just by being a man in power. Then neither he, nor his men, had held onto a single gift. As word got around, not everyone would appreciate a conqueror that didn’t take his spoils, but that notion was already largely conflicted with their first and only Queen being part of those spoils. She tried to decide how she would see it all, from the outside looking, but she was far too biased in her own favor.

He was even restraining himself now. He had not missed her intent to flee from him, not by a long shot. It was something he could have easily taken offence to and used to his favor, but he didn’t. Yet again, she was dumbfounded by his existence. How did someone like him maintain the careful blend of fear, awe, power, and control that one needed to rule? He did not demand, or insist, he even turned her words over and referred to her people as still her own. It left her frowning up at him while she tried to work out the answers to her questions. Would he be an entirely different man if she accepted his little deal? If she was his property, and not a prize he was trying to win, would he then be the demanding and deadly God-King she had heard so much about before she’d laid eyes on his face? Or, did a simple man truly exist beneath all of that the way a simple woman was hidden somewhere behind the Iron and the Ice?

There were too many questions and not enough answers to come by.

“I’m exhausted,” she confided quietly. The confession was uncomfortable, and she began to stroll along the outside edge of the great hall to ease her discomfort. There were always eyes on her, but now more than ever before they made her feel utterly inadequate. Their collective judgement was ever present. It made it difficult to carry her head high. She had been defeated, after all, and by no narrow margin. “I want nothing more in this moment than sleep. I’ve fulfilled the duties and demands made on my personage for the day. Feasting and drinking,” was something she simply didn’t have the stomach for, not when there was so much else that needed doing, “will have to wait.”

“Bjorn,” Solveig stopped at the head of a table and called out to one of the very few men she trusted. “He is a landed man, but he prefers to be a military man,” she explained to the emperor as Bjorn rose from his place at the table. He extracted himself from the woman that had been sitting on his lap and brought a horn with him that he handed to Solveig. She accepted it but did not drink.

“What is your will, my Queen?” the man asked with a broad grin born of warm mead and good company, but the expression didn’t quite make it to his eyes. He wasn’t quite ready to accept the man, something that Solveig didn’t miss, and she doubted the God-King missed it either.

“My will is for you to show this southern how to feast and how to drink,” she stated plainly. “He’s tall as a giant,” she went on before either of them could walk out of the arrangement she was creating. “Obviously his ancestors have to be related to ours. Maybe that is why the Gods lent him victory. Perhaps they were just brining a lost giant back home.”

There was an obvious, albeit silent change that came over Bjorn. He considered her words carefully, and despite the man’s argumentative nature, he accepted them well enough for the time being. “Come then,” he said as he clapped Morgundt on the back to lead him toward the tables, the food, and the people. Solveig was left with little need to excuse herself, but she still saluted the pair as they left.

“I have not forgotten our agreement,” she remined the God-King as he was led away to find his pleasure with the common mass of boisterous mortals. For the evening, she was comfortable in the knowledge that he would find little resistance with Bjorn at his side. It should have meant that there was nothing to disturb her sleep. And yet, Solveig was still wide awake when the pyre had burned down to embers and the city had grown dark late into the night. She knew when the Emperor and his mean road back through the city, she watched them from her window when they crossed the bailey and then vanished into the streets below. They had surely returned to their tents long before she had sat down in bed to stare at the wall and wonder what answers she could force from the stones if only she could look close enough.

Of course, there was nothing to be found on the surface of those ancient stones that could answer any of her questions. Sleep took her when exhaustion became a greater weight to bare than her worries could ward off. And yet, her dreams betrayed her in much the same way as her body had betrayed her each time she had found herself too near to the man they called a god. Her dreams made her face those things she had chosen to ignore.

The sound of his voice was there first, the dark timber of his laughter floating in the darkness. The oppressive heat of that damned hearth fire followed the sound, and then it’s flickering light revealed bright eyes that saw far too much and a predatory grin that threatened to devour her soul. Rough fingers touched the sweat slickened skin of her back and slid slowly down her spine. The simple touch wrenched a sound from her lips that was pure, wanton lust, and then that same hand slid over her ribs as his arm wrapped around her middle and drew her body back against his. His other hand slipped between her thighs. When she tried to press them together he resolutely forced them apart, and then his warm palm scaled the core of her as he cupped her mound so that the proof of her arousal coated his palm. The heel of his hand rested over her clit and that taunt little button became the center of every sensation. His teeth found the side of her neck and Solveig writhed in his arms. As she wriggled and squirmed, she ground herself into the hand that held her so intimately.

Solveig sat up with a start.

She was sweating, and shaking, and a hand fluttered to her neck where she swore she still felt teeth gently holding onto her to keep her still. The sun was just cresting the horizon, her fire had long gone out, and snow was drifting past the windows. Her room was dark, and cold, and He was not there. With a groan, she fell back into her bed and forced herself to breath. The insistent and pulsing need that raced through her blood slowly faded, and when she felt herself again, Solveig crawled from beneath the layers of fur to reignite her small fire. A few quick yanks on a rope by the door brought a sleepy woman to her room. She was one of many women that worked in the castle, and she watched her Queen with bleary-eyed wonder before trotting off to wake the rest of the castle.

Food to break her fast was brought up in short order, followed by a tub for a cold bath that made her feel more human. It wasn’t long before the rest of Ravenswrath began to stir. Many were recovering from the past night’s activities, but that did little to slow the tide. The war was over. Every man, Jack, and Harry was going to be seeking his payment for whatever part he played. First and foremost where the efforts to rebuild at Ravenswrath and distributing what was left of the reserves to keep the peasants fed. Winter was late and harvests had been good. There should be enough grain and meal to keep the majority of the valley fed. It wasn’t as bleak as she had made out when she had spoken with Morgundt, but things were not going to be pleasant this year.

Solveig set her Barons to various tasks – organizing the efforts of rebuilding, making sure the sick and the injured received care, discovering the families of dead soldiers to make sure they were cared for, distributing food – but, there was more to do than she had men to devote to. Many would be returning to their homes soon to begin the same work on a smaller scale. She would have to depend on the city watch after that. And then, there was the question of who would sit the throne in her place while she toured the valley with their southern conquer. Until his 100 nights were over, she would find herself beholden to traveling wherever his whims led her.

Solveig frowned at the thought, was she then softening to this outrageous scheme of his? To be his mistress for 100 nights. It felt too much like being his property, something she had already escaped by getting rid of her late husband. The thought of the Emperor finding a similar and sudden end to his life crossed her mind, but assassination had already failed, and he was not the witless dolt her husband had been. It was a concept that came and went while she listened to one claim after another and dolled out various forms of payment for the losses of the peasant-farmer, Merchant, and Baron alike.

 

[Rosewood]

He listened to the queen's heartfelt confession and thought it a good thing. She trusted him with this intimate information and shared it freely. "I understand," he said when she was finished. "Please, feel free to retire. I understand that you are tired," he said as Bjorn approached. Sizing the man up he saw him to be a loyal asset to the queen and made a mental note to keep an eye on him. The man's look spoke volumes of his feelings towards the Emperor and made an extra note to remain wary of this man. Loyal officers had a tendency to go far for their loyalty, sometimes much too far.

He would rather not have gone anywhere with this man, let alone a feast where he would be surrounded by northerners who he had just conquered! But ultimately he had little choice in the matter. The queen's words as she left formed some small solace at least, something to look forward to when this dangerous feast was over. He went with Bjorn as the queen departed and had to strain himself not to follow her departure with his eyes, no doubt that would not have been appreciated.

Following Bjorn they made their way back to the table. When they approached and when he was recognized, the mood at the entire table changed. It didn't become hostile, these people seemed to know better than that. But the mirth went out of the air and a tense and uncomfortable silence arose. Even though the hall itself was filled with feasting and merriment the silence at the table was a real and tangible thing. The Emperor sprung into action at once, taking the time to introduce himself and learn everyone's names.

Bjorn, seemingly with a heavy heart, set about teaching their guest about the traditions and customs here. Gradually they went back to doing what they had been doing before but with much of the passion and spirit having gone out of it. Gradually, the Emperor began to stir them by engaging them on things they were interested about it, making jokes and in general being friendly and cordial. It took a while but eventually they began to warm up to him and nearing the end of the evening most of the joy of the celebration had come back to them. When the Emperor finally decided to leave he swayed slightly from the alcohol and one of the men even hurried to catch him and steady him.

After thanking Bjorn and the fellow guests he headed for his encampment again, escorted and to a degree supported by his guards. When he arrived within the confines of his encampment he immediately to his own tent and fell into a deep sleep. His last thoughts were of the queen and in his inebriated state he allowed himself to fantasize freely of the depraved delights they would soon begin sharing. One particular fantasy played itself through his mind in a number of variations. The queen, on top of him, leaning forward so that he could hold her by her slender neck as he whispered of obscenities and lewd intentions to her as his manhood sank deep within her, filling both her body and mind. He could almost feel her writhing and shuddering as both his member and his hand worked her mound with wild abandon.

He snapped awake in his bed the next day, the alluring fantasy still powerful in his mind. Sitting up he shook the sleep from his mind and found that his hangover was minor, which was no surprise. Hangovers had never had much effect on him and what little effect they had he had learned to tolerate a long time ago. After getting dressed and enjoying a light breakfast he collected his personal guard and headed towards the keep so he could provide Solveig the aid he had promised.

 

[LeatrixSage]

“You say you lost how many goats?” there was a spot somewhere behind Solveig’s eyes that ached persistently. It fogged her mind as it worsened, but she had not the time to excuse herself and rest for a while. The Queen sat at a low table, grown grey from age and covered in various stacks of fragile sheets of pressed leather that served as paper. To her left and right where pairs that worked together to sift through those papers for any information their Queen needed, tally sums, and keep accounting of each decision and its cost. The duel notation kept everyone honest and acted as the single good thing she could remember her husband ever suggestion. Three good men – two merchants and one a farmer – and the most sharp and agile-minded woman Solveig had ever known – Leah, the Mistress of the three of the five whorehouses in Ravenswrath. Before the rickety table were several benches, and each one groaned under the weight of their collective burden. The first several rows were angled to form the space that acted as a stage for those that had come to make a claim, and those rows hosted the representatives of Barons and Lairds that were ready to take responsibility for their part in any repayments that needed to be made. Beyond them were many more benches that sat tightly packed with unwashed bodies, and beyond those were ever more bodies standing shoulder to shoulder, all waiting for their turn to speak.

“It were six that they took,” the tattered and haggard looking man was looking somewhere at the wall behind her head rather than directly at her while his dried and brittle hands twisted around and equally dry and brittle cap. He couldn’t have been more than thirty, but his life of toil aged him, along with the loss of two sons and a wife during their flight from their farm to the capital. She couldn’t restore his loss of life, not truly, but she had been able to account for to young orphans that could work his land as well as his sons would have. Settling the damages to his home were easy enough, but now this account of a Baron taking the man’s goats from him at the gates had slowed everything to a crawl.

“What Baron did the men say they were working for?” Leah asked from Solveig’s left elbow. It wasn’t the first time the woman had spoken the Queen’s thoughts, and she dearly hoped it was a trend that would never see an end. Next to Bjorn, the woman was one of the very few in Solveig’s life that weren’t afraid to speak.

“Eadricson, milady,” the man’s cheeks colored as he spoke, and the Queen felt the woman next to her simper more than she saw it.

“I’m not a lady, Uric, I’m the woman ye’ve been beddin’ over the last fortnight.” There was a spatter of nervous laughter, and it eased the tension that had followed the reminder of the man that had tried and failed to supplant their Queen by force the night before. It was bold to mention his name at all, which would suggest the man had no reason to lie. However, Solveig was grateful again to the shrewd woman at her elbow as she went on, “and you know such a claim is damn difficult to dispute. Eadricson is dead.”

“Do you know any of the solders’ names,” one of the Merchants spoke up, but the man’s cheeks only darkened as he shook his head. Of course, he didn’t. There was no reason for him to question soldiers that came on the command of their lord to collect meat and bread to feed the ranks, not when that laird would be held accountable for everything he took.

“Selmy Wolfsbane,” Solveig spoke up, her eyes searching the faces around her until the man in question stood from one of the nearest benches. He was a young man, barely twenty, but had been a favorite of Aksel’s. He’d been the man’s warden more than once, and while she was rather surprised to see him there, she was glad of the honor that made him represent the very young daughter that Eadricson had left without a father, and who was the only heir to his lands and holdings. “You speak for the young Lady Berin, yes?”

“I do,” he answered, his voice strained with a fury that could have been directed against Solveig as easily as it could be directed against the foolishness of his dead friend. The Iron Queen was not of the habit of trying to read the hearts and minds of men, so she ignored it.

“Six goats are what we require,” she ordered carefully, “discover whether or not your past Laird order their taking. If he did, and they are whole, return them. If he did, and they have been butchered, pay for the loss at a premium, buying new goats will be costlier now. If he did not, send word with whatever your findings.” The young man nodded but said nothing else as he sat down.

“His Laird was a traitor,” the haggard man spat in Selmy’s direction, making men lean out of the way to avoid the tarred spittle that flew at them. “He won’t be honest, you cannert let him-“

“I cannot what?” Solveig’s voice took on an edge that froze the very air as she leveled her cold, grey gaze on the man. “No, please, go on. What can I not do? Trust the word of a good man that had no knowledge of his master’s dealings? Take a man at his word that he is owed a thing when he can produce me no proof of his leavings? What, Sir, do you imagine it is that I cannot do at your leaving?” There was no answer that would great her. Not from the farmer, or anyone else, which was exactly as she had expected. At least, until a movement of color caught her attention and drew her gaze to giant among men that was the God King. He stood out from the rest, not just in height or demeaner, but the very color of his clothing and amour marked him as not one of those around him. They were all grey, and brown, drab in green and white, colors of stone, earth, metal and ice. He was like some fanciful bird among a murder of crows, there was no chance he would go unnoticed.

“If good Selmy finds nothing to support your claim,” she went on as if she had never laid eyes on Morgundt, “We will endeavor to discover who took your goats, and why. When we do, you will have them returned to you, or you will be well paid for the loss. If we can find no evidence that there were any goats to be taken by anyone, then you cannot expect the crown, or anyone else, to pay you for them. I would advise you to aid good Selmy in any and every way that you are able.” Cowed, the man nodded weakly, and then shuffled back into the sea of bodies still waiting to be heard.

“Leah,” Solveig leaned to the side to whisper to the woman, “take over for the moment. I trust your judgment. I must see to our triumphant conquer.” The whore sniggered, but the sound was one of merry amusement. The concept of keeping a crown in exchange for sex had absolutely undone the woman that morning. Solveig didn’t fancy her suggestion of trading in the title of Iron Queen for the Queen of Whores, but she favored the woman’s businesslike approach to the situation. It was, in the grand scheme of things, a very small price to pay for hew crown and her freedom. The man couldn’t be all that different from any other man she’d known. What difference would riding his prick make? And, if she ended up with a child, what better reason was there for a peace between them? She’d marry some childless Baron, legitimize her son, and broker some future protection for a child of the emperor.

Where Solveig had been conflicted, Leah had been outstandingly pragmatic. It had eased many of the Queen’s misgivings and better prepared her for the evening that had loomed so ominously before. The whore had struck on one thing, however, that Solveig wasn’t quite brave enough to ask herself, or answer honestly.

What if she enjoyed it?

The sea of bodies shifted as best they could to make way for Solveig, but not near so much as they moved to give Adas a wide birth as they collectively seemed to notice he stood quietly among them. Fear and awe, they were a potent combination, and the man seemed to inspire both in spades by simply existing.

“You look none the worse for wear,” she greeted him as she reached out to clasp the fore of his right arm. The familiarity did not go unmissed by the avidly attentive eyes that surrounded them. How the waggling tongues would be wriggling when they were comfortably out of ear shot. “It seems Bjorn was gentle with you. I’ll have to chastise him and do a damn sight better job at getting your drunk than he did.” Whether she was honestly happy to see him, or it was part of the act, not even she was entirely sure. Her emotions was guarded, so much so that she was hardly able to name them herself. Perhaps that was the greatest flaw of all Queens, they were still women.

“We’ve been at this some hours and we’ve barely made a dent,” she motioned to those around them, who all quickly looked anywhere else than at the pair of monarchs. “There is a place at the table if you mean to sit in.” Every ear was suddenly piqued and trained on their conversation apart from all else. Of course, from their conversations the day before, he was there to do exactly that. She had invited him for that purpose, but she had just set him up to make it look like it had been his idea. The people would follow their leaders, their leaders followed a mixture of coin, power, and lofty ideals, and they would follow him if she propped him up just right.

 

[Rosewood]

As he walked into the great hall he could hear a mix of distant voices with the occasional moment of laughter, which meant that things couldn't be going too poorly. He watched the queen handle someone seeking her audience, how different it was from how things went in the Empire! In the Empire there was a bureaucracy of sorts, peasants reached out to a council led by whatever local official was in charge. In town and villages this council could and would give audiences but in cities and even in some of the larger towns peasants simply went to a local office where an official helped them fill out the paperwork and send it in to the appropriate officials who would then handle the matter. It took a longer time but results were ultimately similar to what the queen was accomplishing here.

No doubt in other parts of her land other lords handled this in a similar matter, he found it hard to believe any of them would be able to avoid it. Though perhaps some were able to delegate it to a steward or the like, a stand-in for when they were 'too busy' or 'otherwise occupied'. His sinful mind immediately wondered whether a nobleman had ever delegated that duty to a steward while they were 'otherwise occupied' in the bedchamber with their lovers or with a whore. The thought curled his lips into a small, cheeky smile.

He was intrigued to find a woman sitting by the side of the queen, this country had seemed to him to have an old-fashioned attitude towards women so seeing one in any position of power seemed to constitute some kind of exception. And exceptions were interesting, to say the least. She was attractive and seemed aware of this fact judging by how she dressed. Regardless he wasn't here for her, he was here for Solveig. She seemed very regal, sitting at the table, exerting her authority without being forceful. That took a certain degree of talent, to rule without being hamfisted or heavy-handed with your either your subjects or your officials and advisers.

Judging by her attitude she seemed to be in a better mood than the day before. Or at least willing to act like it. A good sign, it meant they were getting back on track. And right in time too, for this evening would be an important moment and he needed every advantage possible for it. A fire grew in his loins at the thought of it and it took a deep breath drive it back. He would save that fire for tonight....

He chuckled at her remark about Bjorn and his night of drinking. "He did his best but I am made of stern stuff that has been tried and tested by alcohol many times. So do not be too hard on him," he said before hearing her out about the crowd of supplicants. He nodded as he gazed over the large crowd who were clearly waiting for their turn to be heard. "I'll leave that up to you, I'd be happy to sit in if you will have me. But I will say right away that if I get to sit in that I also want to weigh in and offer my assistance where I can offer it. I don't intend to be a figurehead at that table, I want to contribute," he said, loud enough for those watching them to hear. Let them think their keen ears had caught the 'true nature' of their conqueror. Word might spread from those who thought they now truly knew the Emperor.

"Is that acceptable to you or would you prefer I remain a spectator?" he finally asked.