One Last War
By: Dirty Reid
Chapter 5: Highgarden (edited)
Two weeks later...
Hippolyta inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of the air saturated by the fragrances of roses, lilacs and dozens of other flowers and fruit trees planted around the capital of the Reach, Highgarden. They had just passed through the first and largest gate, made of a rich dark wood and carved with an intricate pattern of vines, flowers and trees. On either side of the cobblestone path, hedges grew twelve feet high. Alester, who accompanied her merry band of ten - featuring one member of every race, including her - informed her that they were labyrinths that extended around the entire outer ring of the keep.
"For the commoners to play and knights to train in, as well as to confuse invaders." He explained. Hippolyta saw the reasoning, but said nothing and kept her head held high. The Lord Paramount of the Reach would be much harder to impress than Alester Florent, but she dared not say that to his face. Not after he had so generously gifted her and the Legion with enough supplies to build a small fort deep in the forests near Brightwater Keep that she had every intention of converting to an embassy once relations were established. At the feast shortly after the incredibly one-sided skirmish, the four lords of the Shield Islands, Guthor Grimm of Greyshield, Moribald Chester of Greenshield, Humfrey Hewett of Oakenshield and Osbert Serry of Southshield had offered her a mix of gratitude and personal favours for putting her men at risk to save the lives of theirs.
"One who puts themself in harm's way for others with no expectations of accolades are rarer than the blade you took from the Old Drumm." Hewett had told her.
"What is so special about this blade that you call it less common than an act of kindness?" She asked, intrigued.
"That blade is Valyrian steel, forged in the Freehold of Old Valyria by the flames of a dragon. Its edge never dulls, it never rusts, and it never breaks. Alas, the secrets to forging it have been lost for hundreds of years, ever since hell rose up and swallowed Valyria whole." He supplied. Immediately, Hippolyta likened the red blade to one brought about through the flames of the Skyforge, tended once by the long-since-passed Eorlund Grey-Mane. His blades could stand against the cutting power of even Daedric metal, where ordinary steel blades would shatter with some effort. While he had passed the secret of tempering the metal in the way he did so, his successors' blades were of far lesser quality. Over time and to the dismay of many, the Skyforge's coals grew cold as it was further neglected, until it became no more than a relic some time ago. The lack of new weapons had elevated the value of Eorlund's crafts beyond measure. Currently, a few hundred Skyforge weapons wandered Tamriel still, as collector's items for the rich, deadly instruments of war for the adventurous, and lucrative prizes for the thieves.
As she pondered Red Rain and the Skyforge, Hippolyta's guide and entourage trotted through the second set of gates, leading to the middle ring of Highgarden. As they passed through, the merchants and peddlers and farmers and serfs parted before the party of twenty-eight. As they passed, whispered exclamations began to fly.
"Look at how tall that woman is!"
"Look at their ears! Like knives, they are!"
"Seven hells, is that a cat?"
"Mama look! A dragon!"
Hippolyta paid little mind to the comment about her ears or Merindene's, but she had to let a small snicker loose as the child exclaimed and pointed at Stands-In-The-Shade, the young and energetic Argonian Legionnaire that accompanied her. It was by virtue of his curled horns that he could not cover his green and red-accented face with a helm, but the remainder of his body lay hidden behind a heavy set of Legion armour. J'karro was simply indifferent to their words and stares, which the bow-toting Suthay-raht ranger received in abundance. Divines know what they would say if they saw Ha'Drak without his helm. She thought in reference to the enormous Orsimeri Legionnaire she had asked to accompany her, clad head to toe in ebony plate. Any thought on what the residents of Highgarden might have said stepped aside as Hippolyta laid eyes upon two small children. They huddled together against a cobblestone house, and looked akin to rodents garbed in rags. Her heartstrings twanged painfully at the downtrodden looks on their dirt-streaked faces and the lack of flesh on their bones. It seemed that no matter where one ventured, the broken, the afflicted and the rejected would always line the streets.
Like a few of her Praetorians, Hippolyta had a weakness for destitute children. She herself had grown up in the care of her grandsires before leaving to wander Tamriel, her immediate family having been taken from her at an early age. Now, seeing these filthy children brought forth memories of her 'first round' of children, those adopted from the streets of Skyrim. With tight lips and a hand rummaging around in her magickally expanded coin purse, Hippolyta quickly dismounted her silver rouncey and elegantly strode towards the two beggars. The commoners parted with unbridled curiosity, but said nothing as she glided towards her targets. The entourage had stopped to watch her, and Alester's guards and squires were murmuring to Hippolyta's company. The two children looked up and craned their heads further to look up at the visage of the impossibly tall woman who crouched down in front of them with a kindly smile.
'What are your names, little ones?" She asked as she crouched down to as close to eye level as she could.
"Devon, son of Devlyn m'lady." The boy said through a mouthful of crooked and dirty teeth.
"Danelle, his sister m'lady." The girl added from behind her mop of crusty hair.
"Does your father know you are here? Or is he... departed?" Hippolyta asked.
"He is departed, m'lady." Danelle said flatly. "What is it to you?"
"Because I understand the emptiness you feel." She answered. "And though I cannot take you in, I can help you in some small way. Here," She presented them with a fat purse of coins. Devon's muddy eyes widened as he reached out for the purse. As he weakly took hold of it, Hippolyta grasped Danelle's hand and placed it over top of the purse as she leaned forward.
"Use this coin wisely, little ones." She dropped her voice to barely a whisper, and the siblings had to lean in to hear her next words. "One of my people will be in touch." She smiled softly as she reared back up and returned to her entourage. The Florent knights and squires watched her with smiling faces at her act of charity. Alester actually gave a small nod. Her entourage said nothing, all fairly certain of what she was truly doing. As she re-mounted her rouncey, Telina Delvanni of Morrowind tilted her blue-grey head just enough to be noticed. Hippolyta responded with the smallest upturn of her lips. As they rode away, a few of the peasants' opinions of these mysterious new people began to change. Hippolyta dismounted her horse to give a satchel of coins to another beggar as they approached the district inhabited by the business owners, farmers and other well off persons, again sharing an unspoken conversation with Delvanni.
Eventually, the drawbridge over the mote surrounding Highgarden's castle lowered, allowing the entourage into the ancestral home of House Tyrell. As she viewed the golden rose that was the standard of the immensely powerful family, Hippolyta reviewed what Alester had told her about them. Formerly stewards of House Gardener elevated to liege lords of the Reach by Aegon Targaryen after ceding Highgarden to the possibly Dragonborn warlord; sided with Aerys 'The Mad King' Targaryen against Robert Baratheon's insurrection, but swore fealty after his victory; largest suppliers of consumables in Westeros and able to field an army one hundred thousand strong. Depending on the impression she made upon Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the Reach, she could either find herself with a veritable horde of troops to battle the White Death, or find her paltry Legion crushed like a bug. Even with magick and her Voice, she, her Praetorians and her dragons couldn't stave off that many swords.
As she entered the throne room, Hippolyta felt disappointment burbling into her chest. When Alester had described Mace Tyrell, the Empress had envisioned one much more... physically imposing. The portly and balding man before the Tamrielic entourage left them wanting greatly. Hippolyta reminded herself that reign was approached differently here in Westeros; a greater emphasis was placed upon a lord's bannermen to defend him than the expectancy of the lord to depend upon his own strength. Indeed, over two dozen well-armed men stood at ready as the ten Tamrielics marched confidently before Lord Tyrell's throne and the family that flanked him. To his immediate right must have been Mace's eldest son. A straggly goatee on an oval face, a rich chocolate doublet and a pine green cape slashed with gold did not draw Hippolyta's keen eyes from the cane resting against his chair. Further right was a second son, this one donning armour embossed with twin roses and a blade at his side. Third from Mace's right was a very young, rather handsome son that even Hippolyta lingered on for a second too long. Light brown, almost rust-coloured eyes matched the shade of the shoulder length curls framing his clean-shaven face, and curiously, a pattern of vines and flowers drew attention to his cuirass.
Such ostentatious armour she remarked silently as she turned her attention to Mace's left. The woman with the sigil of a rose and a stone tower must have been his wife. Her long silver hair fell down her back and sides, and she kept hold of some small amount of a previous beauty. Second from Mace's left was an old crone whose beady little eyes and two immense bodyguards immediately told Hippolyta that she was a force to be danced about with caution. She stared at the Empress intently, the rolls of skin and lack of more than a few teeth doing little to hide the calculating look in her eyes. This one is dangerous she concluded. Furthest to the left was a pretty young maiden who could not have been older than Casiim. Her flowing pink and green dress with large flaring sleeves and delicate silver tiara accented her softly flowing mane of hair and shiny doe eyes. A beauty for certain, but Hippolyta had taken away from Alester's description of House Tyrell more than he likely intended to reveal. The members had made an art of marrying into more prominent houses, slowly increasing their own prestige and wealth through careful tending and patience... not unlike a garden of roses. And when others sought to cut them down, they often ran afoul of the thorns hidden beneath the petals of the lovely flowers. 'Growing Strong' indeed.
"My lord," Alester Florent began as he stepped forward with a bow. He had dressed in his finest raiments in preparation for this meeting, and had bade Hippolyta and her company to do the same. Some had taken heed, some had not. Hippolyta had donned a white gown with golden cuffs and trim, a gold circlet with inlaid diamonds, and a bleached leather belt with Freedom on her left hip, Red Rain on her right.
"It is with great honour that I bring before you Lady Hippolyta Septim, the First of Her Name, Empress of Tamriel, Magister of the Great House Telvanni, former General of the Free Army of Tamriel and Destroyer of the Fleet of Old Wyk." He introduced before stepping aside, allowing Hippolyta to stride forward and become the subject of Mace's undivided attention. And indeed, the fat man's eyes had bulged somewhat as Alester recited the Empress' more militant titles and accolades.
"Your Grace," He finally found his voice. "As Lord Paramount of Highgarden and the Reach, and Warden of the South, I bid you welcome to my city. And on behalf of everyone who calls the banks of the Mander their homes, I thank you for laying low the godless ironmen who dared to try and steal from us." He said with a grateful nod.
Hippolyta smiled demurely and held up a hand. "I cannot take sole credit for the deed Lord Tyrell. Most of it belongs to the valiant men and women of the Third Imperial Legion and the Fourth Fleet, seventy-three of whom were the first to shed their blood in the waters of Westeros." She waved off.
"As well, I am not the only one who requires an introduction. To my right is General Tonje Fire-Eater, commanding officer of the Third Imperial Legion." The older Nord woman, with her battle dress and axe polished to perfection, bowed respectfully. "To my left is Admiral Fortas Catranian, commanding officer of the Fourth Imperial Fleet." The Imperial admiral had kept his gold-buttoned greatcoat on but open, letting his steel cuirass show. He tipped his tricorn hat with a nod, unconsciously covering his left ear, mangled and ripped from a past scuffle.
"Behind me is Telina Delvanni, Archmagister of the Great House Telvanni, the Wrath of Vvardenfell, one of my most trusted advisors and a very old friend." The petite Dunmer, just shy of two feet shorter than the Empress, inclined her head. Her snow white hair danced about and contrasted with both the tribal tattoos on the left half of her body, and her slanted red eyes set in a pointed face just beginning to succumb to the effects of time, despite her already advanced age.
"And finally Ri'kari of Skyrim, born of Hammerfell, also an advisor and a long time battle-sister." The Redguard woman did not make any gesture to acknowledge that she had been addressed. Instead, her one light brown eye roved about the room, taking in everyone staring at them. Like Stands-In-The-Shade, she kept a spear as her weapon, but instead of wood and steel, the leaf-like head was forged from Malachite crystal, and the shaft from Moonstone.
"'Tis an honour to make your acquaintance, good people. As I am certain Lord Florent has already told you, I am Mace Tyrell, Warden of the South and Lord of Highgarden. To my right are my sons Willas," the crippled boy smiled softly "Ser Garlan the Gallant," the older knight nodded in a similar fashion to the Tamrielic entourage "and Ser Loras, the Knight of Flowers." The youngest son gave a sweeping bow. Hippolyta could almost hear Darioth's brow knitting at the actions of the flamboyant 'copycat'.
"To my left is my lovely wife, Alerie of House Hightower," the woman, Alerie, smiled and nodded, "my mother Olenna of the House Redwyne," the old crone made no motion to acknowledge her son's introduction, electing to continue staring at the collection of men, mer and beast-folk. "And finally, my daughter Margaery." The pretty young maiden smiled cutely and inclined her head.
"Lord Florent had said that you and yours were strange in appearance and customs, but his words did no justice to the truth." Mace observed, carefully neutral in his tone. Alester must have mentioned Hippolyta's rather... vehement dislike of being talked down to because of her gender.
"As are yours, my good man. These differences are the purpose for which we have traveled halfway across Nirn, to answer the question I am sure is coming." Hippolyta pressed forwards. "For thousands of years the people of Tamriel have believed Westeros to be but an old sailor's tale. I myself had only the word of a... mentally frail Khajiit and an old coin to-"
"I apologise for interrupting Your Grace, but what exactly is a... Ka-jeet?" Asked Alerie. Hippolyta could not fault her for interjecting, she was sure she would have been confused as well. Instead of saying anything, the Empress turned her head and pointed at J'Karro with her emerald eyes.
"This one has the honour of being Khajiit, my lady." He supplied coolly, amazing the Tyrell family and their court further. A giant cat that not only walked like a man, but talked like one too?!
"Continuing, had I not been shown evidence to the contrary, I would share the disbelief of my subjects. Yet here we are, and it is my desire that Westeros and Tamriel might forge a bond with which to share our cultures." She said. "I am aware that it must ultimately be His Grace Robert Baratheon that makes the decision to ratify relations between our countries, but it never hurts to make friends with those who have the king's ear. To that effect Lord Tyrell, I have brought a small gift for you. May I approach?" Hippolyta asked, prompting Mace to nod after a moment. As she languidly made her way up the dais, only then did the Tyrells realize how tall the Empress actually was. The entire family felt far smaller as the towering mer looked down upon them. From a small satchel at her belt, Hippolyta withdrew a silver ring inlaid with an emerald.
"Place this ring upon your finger and tell me if you feel anything happening." She instructed. Highly skeptical, Mace observed the innocent-looking ring for a moment before reaching tentatively out and grasping it. He placed it on his right index finger with some difficulty, his pudgy digit slightly too large for the ring. For a moment nothing happened, and then Mace's eyes grew wider in surprise. His family watched in interest.
"How do you feel, Lord Tyrell?" Hippolyta could not keep a small grin from tugging at her mouth.
"I feel... vigorous." The Tyrell lord struggled to find the proper word. "I have not felt this exuberant since Storm's End." His breathing quickened as he looked up at Hippolyta. "What has been done to this ring?" He demanded not in consternation, but in excitement.
Hippolyta's grin was growing ever wider. "Such an enchantment is but a sliver of the magicks my people can perform. This ring not only raises the vigor of the wearer, but allows them to recover more quickly as well." She explained. Mace looked down at the little ring in wonder.
"What other magicks are you capable of Your Grace?" Asked Margaery. Even her voice was pretty.
"A plethora, my dear." She answered lightly. "Were I to try and list them, we would be here all day, so a small demonstration will have to suffice." As she finished, Hippolyta cast a Levitation spell and slowly floated backwards off the dais. She landed before her followers as softly as a feather and the purple aura about her feet faded into nothingness. Murmurs arose like weeds throughout the chamber.
"Were relations between our countries established, such magicks could become available to your people in two, or perhaps three generations of intermarriage." Said Hippolyta. "And that is but one of the many things Tamriel can offer. Philosophies, cultural ideals, crafts of many walks and so much more awaits across the sea." She stopped extolling the virtues of her country to sweep her eyes across the faces of the Tyrells, a smile playing at her lips.
"Do I have your interest?" She asked. Mace hunched up and began to whisper to his wife and mother. Hippolyta's ears could hear much better than any mannish race's but even she was too far away to pick up on the fat lord's voice among the murmurs of the court, the shifting of mail on leather and cloth, and the quiet crackle of torches. She chanced a glance at Alester, who gave a tiny nod.
"If I may, Your Grace," Willas Tyrell made his voice heard. "While you said before that you wished to earn the respect of those with King Robert's ear, I cannot help but wonder if there is something else you desire by coming to the Florents and us before entreating His Grace."
The boy was shrewd, Hippolyta would give him that. "Very astute, young master. I mislike disappointing, but what I am looking for is simply knowledge. I want to know about the king before meeting him. What he values and scorns; what his achievements are; what makes him squirm. I want to know the history of Westeros as well. Reading it in a book is well and good, but in my personal experience, every single person has something new to add." Not entirely a lie, owing to the task given to her by Hermaeus Mora, but Hippolyta was not about to share that. Perhaps if fortune favoured her, the Prince of Knowledge's cryptic clue would become clear to her if someone here said just the right thing...
"Well, it would not be gracious were I to refuse the Iron-Breaker knowledge, and a disservice to the realm to sour such a prosperous agreement." Mace conceded. Hippolyta arched a thin eyebrow at the title he used to describe her. "By Lord Florent's word, you single-handedly decimated half the fleet of Old Wyk and took the Old Drumm prisoner. Such deeds beget a new title, wouldn't you agree?"
"... Another title is the last thing I need. But if it will draw attention or interest from the other prominent families of Westeros, then foolish would I be to discard it. Empress Hippolyta Septim, the Iron-Breaker..." She trailed off as she considered the new moniker.
"Whether you choose to accept it or not, at least allow me to show you and your knights the wonders of Highgarden before you continue your journey." Mace proffered. No one missed the shifting of Stands-In-The-Shade, J'Karro and Merindene. Even Fire-Eater and Catranian winced in slight discomfort. "Did I say something offensive?" He asked.
"Not exactly. Excuse us Lord Tyrell, but my Legionnaires and I are not knights, and we would appreciate you refraining from referring to us as such. That term has held... negative connotations to the people of Tamriel for the last fifty years." Fire-Eater said shortly. Sensing a lack of further explanations forthcoming, Mace nodded.
"Of course, and I apologise. I hope that my slip of the tongue will not dissuade you from my offer of a tour, though." Mace insisted.
"Apology accepted Lord Tyrell. Although may I request that your tour be postponed until tomorrow? My fellows and I have been on the road for two weeks, and hearty though we may be, I do not want them operating at anything less than their peak capacity." Hippolyta countered.
If he heard the insinuation that Hippolyta would need to make use of her troops while in Highgarden, Mace gave no indication that he had done so. "Understandable. There are a number of apartments available for you and yours to use, Your Grace. Lord Florent, as always, you are most welcome here. Boys!" He snapped his fingers and two attendants marched dutifully forwards. "Please show Her Grace, Lord Florent and their company to their accommodations." The two boys bowed and silently bade the Tamrielics and the Florent company follow them.
One day later...
"Your Grace?" A familiar voice cooed. Hippolyta looked up from the worn out tome in her hands and blinked as Margaery Tyrell and her grandmother Olenna slowly made their way towards her table. Behind the crone, the two hulking bodyguards thumped along. Though both wore leather and chainmail and carried maces, Hippolyta was confident that neither form of protection could stand up to a slash from Freedom. If her dragon bone blade failed, she always had her magick, and one other nasty little trick that was currently perched atop a bookcase.
"Lady Olenna, Lady Margaery," She replied with a small smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Curiosity." Olenna answered shortly in a cracked and mildly husky voice. "Left, Right, bring us some chairs." She ordered. Hippolyta arched an eyebrow before lifting a hand to stop the two men.
"No need to trouble yourselves boys, I can handle this." She said before her hand began to glow orange. Margaery flinched noticeably, still unsure of the magicks the Empress wielded, but turned in interest as a pair of chairs lazily floated through the air and set down just behind her and her grandmother. The two Tyrells shared a glance at the smirking mer before seating themselves.
"So dears, what about an old woman like me could possibly interest you?" She asked with that same smirk in her voice.
"Were I to try and list everything intriguing about you we would all turn to dust before I reached the end." Olenna riposted dryly. "But I believe starting with your last comment would be a good place to start. You do not look more than forty, Your Grace." She observed.
Hippolyta chuckled, a pleasant sound if one ignored the sinister edge hiding behind it. "Oh but I am m'lady, regardless of how I look. Perhaps you and your granddaughter would hazard a guess as to my actual age?" She challenged. Both the Tyrell women said nothing. "Oh come now, I won't be offended. If anything, I will feel flattered at your guesses." She coaxed, actually having an effect, as Margaery took a stab.
"Three-and-forty?" She asked. Hippolyta shook her head.
"Nine-and-forty." Olenna guessed. Another shake of the head prompted a curious head tilt from the crone.
"... Five-and-fifty?" Margaery ventured. Hippolyta smirked in a fashion that said 'You are wrong' without any words necessary. The maiden actually felt her mouth open in surprise as she again guessed wrong.
"Sixty." Olenna tried. Hippolyta shook her head again, jabbing her thumb upwards as if to say 'Guess higher'. "Perhaps you could tell us to save our morning from being wasted, Your Grace." She said with a mirthless smile.
"A little impatient, hmm? Well m'lady, if you insist on knowing, I do hope you will suspend your incredulity when I give you the answer. It was just last year that I celebrated four-and-a-quarter centuries of life." Hippolyta revealed.
Margaery's wide brown eyes grew even wider. Olenna pursed her wrinkled lips in what Hippolyta deduced to be disbelief. "You doubt my claim, Lady Olenna." She stated.
"Not exactly, after yesterday's demonstration. I just wonder how such a long life is attainable." She answered.
"All of the merish races are descendants of the gods themselves; the blood and longevity of divinity runs through our very veins. It was Phynaster, the hero-god and Great Adventurer who taught the ancient Aldmer to live even longer lives by taking shorter steps. As a result, most mer can live between three to four hundred years." Hippolyta elucidated.
"I notice you said between three and four centuries. You seem to have exceeded that." Olenna observed.
"If one looks in the right places or assists the right people, one can find themselves privy to secret magicks that can stretch their lives even further. The wisest and most successful mages of House Telvanni keep such secret knowledge, as do the Altmer of Clan Direnni, and the Psijic Order of Artaeum. Those are the keepers I know of, at least." She added with a shrug.
"Does Lady Telina know of these secrets?" Margaery asked.
"As Arch-Magister, she controls who is to be made aware of them. And indeed, she has used them to live an extremely protracted life. She is one of the few people who have come here that is older than I am; five-hundred-sixty-eight, to be exact." She added.
"By the Seven," Margaery breathed.
Olenna pressed on. "You have a number of militant titles attached to your name, Your Grace, and women seem to hold many seats of power in Tamriel as well. Is that a common occurrence?" She asked. Hippolyta nodded.
"People are not judged by their family name, race or gender in Tamriel; only by their actions. The most bigoted of individuals or groups may say otherwise, but they are the exceptions to the rule. As Empress, I am expected to be a leader in all walks of life. Politically, I must be an unshakable tower of charisma, cunning and intelligence. Martially, I am the first warrior into battle, and the last to hang up her armour. Socially, I must be the perfect mother for my children, and a paragon of kindness to those who would look to me for guidance." She extolled.
"You have children of your own Your Grace?" Margaery asked.
"Three daughters and a son."
"And I'm sure they are darlings you could go on about for days and days Your Grace, but if it please you, I would prefer that we cut straight to the heart of the matter." Olenna interjected a little sharply. Hippolyta gave a silent nod and fixed her eyes on the crone.
"My son and the old Florent may have bought your explanation for coming here, but the Lord Oaf of Highgarden and he are dim and idealistic. No one is that altruistic without being naive, and lucrative though a trading agreement between our countries may be, the half a world between us makes it an impractical operation." She deduced, steepling her fingers and intensifying her dimming gaze. Margaery spared a quick glance at Olenna before fixing Hippolyta with her own, far less intense gaze. Both felt a small bubble of unease rise in their chests as the elven Empress matched them with her own leer.
"It seems I was correct to be wary of you, Lady Olenna; Lord Tyrell may hold the seat of Highgarden, but you hold his strings." She deduced, seemingly correct if the minute tilt of the younger woman's head was an affirmation. "Before I say anything, I trust you and your guards know better than to repeat anything we speak of?" She asked and shot a slow glare at the two brutes Olenna called Left and Right.
"These two wouldn't know a secret if it bit them, let alone spread it." She waved dismissively.
"Grandmother!" Margaery chided gently. Hippolyta chalked Olenna's attitude up to being curious, grumpy and set in her ways.
"I sincerely hope your lack of faith in them is well-founded; I would hate to get blood on these books." The Tyrell women shifted uncomfortably at the incredibly casual threat of violence and the loving manner in which Hippolyta stroked Freedom's ring pommel. As the two bodyguards shortened the gap between the Empress and themselves, Hippolyta flicked her head and eyes up at something behind them. Four heads turned to view Darioth perched lazily atop a shelf, beady black eyes watching them over a book and one leg swinging, his bronzed bow catching the late afternoon light.
"Now that the stakes are known, the truth can be made plain. There is indeed a deeper reason I have come here with an army at my back. My former mentor, Paarthurnax, warned me of a vision from the Father God Akatosh involving Westeros. A sweeping White Death shall surge from a land always cloaked in snow, burning and butchering anything in its path before freezing it over. And behind it all, standing atop the remains of a giant wall made of ice, a Daedric Prince laughs as we turn on each other for a scant extra moment of safety before succumbing to its hordes of monsters. Eventually, this sweeping death will spread not just across Westeros, but to Tamriel, Akavir and every piece of land in between. I am here to make sure that does not happen." Hippolyta recounted. Silence reigned for a full six seconds.
"A rather fanciful tale." Olenna commented matter-of-factly.
"A response I expected." Hippolyta replied with a nod. "One I hope you might be able to help me become clear on. Did any of what I just described to you sound similar to any children's stories, fables or myths here in Westeros?" She asked.
"... Were I to draw a comparison, I believe what this mentor of yours saw was the story of the coming of the White Walkers. Men of ice and snow from the Land of Always Winter, who are said to have almost succeeded in taking Westeros for their own millennia ago. The First Men of Essos and the native Children of the Forest banded together to drive them back, and later erected the Wall, which still stands today." Olenna told the Empress pensively.
"I have never heard of a Daedric Prince before, Your Grace." Margaery admitted.
"I would not have expected you to, as they seem to prefer to keep to Tamriel. A Daedric Prince is... hmm... in the simplest of terms, it is a force of change and chaos, that acts as the antithesis of the order given by the gods as we know them. They are violently unpredictable beings with twisted senses of morality we cannot even begin to fathom, and more often than not, they take no greater pleasure than exerting their influence on Nirn through using us pitiful mortals as their instruments." Hippolyta found the proper words after a few seconds of pondering, anticipating correctly what was about to be said next.
"You speak as though you have experience in the matter of Daedric Princes, Your Grace." Olenna pointed out.
"I do. I have on more than one occasion been... 'asked' by a Daedric Prince to do their bidding." Hippolyta admitted. Neither Tyrell missed the small catch in her voice.
"How many occasions?" Olenna wondered aloud.
"Eight. Each requiring a pilgrimage, a retrieval or one or more murders of the Prince's previous affiliates." Hippolyta cocked her head and looked skyward, remembering the tasks she had set out upon so long ago.
"Based on the acts to come and the... clues given by one such Prince, there are less than half a handful of suspects whose spheres of influence align with the travesty to come: Mephala, the Prince of Manipulation and Murder; Boethiah, the Prince of Sedition; possibly Azura, the Prince of Transition and Change." Hippolyta pinched the bridge of her sharply-pointed nose and shook her head. "The Dunmer under my command are not going to be happy about this." She sighed.
"Why is that?" Margaery asked.
"Azura, Mephala and Boethiah are the three deities responsible for the Dunmer we know today. Their architecture, philosophy, magickal practices and customs were given by the three Daedra they consider 'good'. A rather dangerous delusion to believe in, as many a worshipper will tell you." Hippolyta explained.
"Because our morality cannot be applied to them." Olenna stated, prompting Hippolyta to nod.
"I could be wrong, though. All I know for certain is that the Prince in question chooses to appear as a female when appearing to we mortals. For all I know, my sources could have lied to me, and the Prince behind the coming of the White Walkers could be one of the few who has attempted to take Nirn before." She shrugged.
"But that is not particularly important right now. What is important is that the powerful and influential peoples of Westeros be made aware that this cataclysm is coming. I realise that I have given you little to no reason to believe me, but proof does not appear all at once. As you said, trade between Tamriel and Westeros is not particularly practical, but if there was no threat posed by a Daedric Prince, I would not have come here." Hippolyta reasoned. Margaery watched her with interest and Olenna nodded with every point the Empress gave.
"Such honesty is rare here in Westeros Your Grace. A word of caution before you ride out to entreat the other lords: Most will not take you seriously unless undeniable evidence is given to them. Others will attempt to wrangle some form of profit from your calls for aide before committing to your crusade against the Walkers and this Prince." Olenna warned. Hippolyta exhaled loudly.
"And you, Lady Olenna? What will I have to give you in order to win Highgarden's support in my endeavour?" She asked pointedly. The crone smirked, showing several empty spaces where teeth should be.
"Smart woman, to be suspicious of me." She said. "But you needn't fret much. Your Grace has treated me with the respect and caution most other nobles have deigned an old hen like me unworthy of." She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "And looking at your reasoning practically, I see little in the way of evidence that contradicts your claims. I give you my word that Highgarden will at the very least listen to your call to war when the time comes, if at the appropriate time you give us credit where it is due." She claimed. Hippolyta blinked slowly a few times as she mulled Olenna's words over as one might savour a fine wine.
"... You want me to use my clout and hard-earned respect to elevate you and Margaery to a similar disposition when the smoke clears." She said slowly after moment. Olenna's expression did not change. Silence reigned for a moment.
"I had to take up arms against a fleet of men I had no qualms with and sacrifice seventy-three soldiers to lift the suspicion and earn the trust of Brightwater Keep. And even then, I do not know how far that trust will stretch once I begin my campaign." She said aloud. "Placing the credit where it truly belongs in Highgarden seems a relatively small and easily accepted price for assistance against the next Oblivion Crisis."
"Then we have an accord?" Olenna asked. Hippolyta smiled genuinely.
"We do indeed. And though I have little to prove my claim, I thank you for at least placing some faith in me, despite your rather... insidious intentions." She fished for the right words, prompting a cock of Olenna's eyebrow.
"And what insidious intentions are these?" She asked far too innocently.
"Come Lady Olenna, we are only women here, so there's no need to dance around the truth. I have been in Westeros less than a month and already I know how the political machine's gears turn: The men are the ultimate decision-makers, and the few women who have clawed their way to power are looked down upon for their place outside the traditional hierarchy. As a result, their words are oft disregarded, and it does not take a savant to see that you m'lady are quite tired of having to constantly bend to the will of those like your 'Lord Oaf' of a son." Hippolyta deduced.
"To you and Lady Margaery, I am a means to an end whom you will help in exchange for my hoisting the two of you onto a pedestal which you will use to knock down Lord Tyrell and upset the status quo that has thrust its roots deep into the earth of Westeros for thousands of years. If that is what is required for me to garner support from the Tyrell family, I will gladly be a means to an end." She finished.
"... That was quite possibly the most succinctly accurate summary of our plot I believe could have ever been orated." Margaery stated flatly. Hippolyta's smirk lit up her face again.
"I have been dancing the dance of backroom politics since before Aegon Targaryen named your family the Wardens of the South, Lady Margaery. And shaking the foundations of a traditionalist society is a routine I am no novice at. I did so with the Nords of Skyrim, and the Aldmeri Dominion of the Summerset Isles. Proving to a bounty of scheming old men complacent in their seats of power who the real minds behind their success truly are should be a smooth and amusing affair."
Unsaid though it may have went, the seed of friendship between Highgarden and the Empire of Tamriel would be sown that day. That seed would eventually grow into a tree with bark as hard as ebony, and stand firm against the deluge of snow and blood that would eventually pour down upon it.
Finally, chapter 5 is done. I'm sorry about the wait everyone, but this one was the literary equivalent of constipation; it just did not want to come out. Also, I'm not great at dialogue in general, and Olenna is notoriously hard to write. I just can't seem to get the right blend of her dry humour, bluntness and scheming wordplay. If you have any tips on how to write her better, let me know after you:
1) Tell me whether or not you liked this chapter
2) Tell me what you SPECIFICALLY liked about this chapter
3) Tell me what you DIDN'T like about this chapter
4) Recommend a suitable improvement
See you sooner than the period between chapter 4 and 5,
DR
Update: 2:30 PM, 5 June 2015: At the suggestions of both hornet07 and kyren, I have cut out the introductions of a number of characters during the meeting with Mace Tyrell, as well as trimmed a few unnecessary descriptors. They will get their own descriptions in the following chapter.