One Last War
By: Dirty Reid
Chapter 7: Murmurs
King's Landing...
"This had best be important, Varys." Robert Baratheon groused as he threw himself into a padded wooden chair. Incredibly, the piece of furniture creaked, but did not break under the rotund King's weight. The man to whom Robert spoke was both short and plump, with a head smooth as an egg, donning rich green robes and smelling of perfume. His ungainly appearance was belied by curiously graceful movements as he followed the King to the table and took up a seat of his own.
"A thousand apologies for drawing you from your... engagement Your Grace, but indeed, a matter of paramount importance has arisen that concerns not only you, but everyone on this Council." the man called Varys replied gravely, taking a moment to survey not only the King, but everyone else at the table. Lord Jon Arryn, Hand of the King and Lord of the Eyrie, mouth half-empty of teeth and wise as he was old. Lord Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin, with his immaculate dress, just greying hair and rat-like face. Grand Maester Pycelle, extensive chains clinking, skin wrinkled like old leather and chest-length beard snow white. Lord Renly Baratheon, youngest brother of Robert and Master of Laws, thick ebon locks framing his handsome face and just barely touching his black doublet slashed with yellow. Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, clean shaven and grey-haired, white-gold armour inlaid with the King's crown. And Lord Stannis Baratheon, older brother of Renly and Master of Ships, tall and sinewy, serious and unsmiling.
"Speak, Spymaster." Stannis ordered, direct as always.
Suppressing a frown, Varys complied. "My little birds have warned me of a foreign force landing on the shores of the Reach. I cannot speak for the amount of men comprising this force, but their fleet numbers at forty-five ships."
The mood in the room had been floating quite close to relaxed. With Varys' proclamation of an unknown element crawling onto the shores of Westeros, the mood immediately went into a steep dive until it was tense as a bowstring.
"Have your little birds said anything else?" Renly eventually asked.
"Indeed, and these whispers are most interesting, if I do say so myself." Varys said with a smile. "Not all of these men and women are... well, men and women. Among them are people with ears like knives, skin the colour of ash, green giants with tusks, and lizards and cats who walk on two legs and speak." He said. Stannis and Barristan said nothing, but their eyes betrayed their disbelief. Robert however, had no such restraint and scoffed loudly.
"Your birds must have been in their cups when they sent their warnings Varys! Lizards, cats and men with tusks!" He stopped to laugh, causing his large belly to shake grossly. Renly had a small frown on his face as he looked to the bald Spymaster.
"Whereabouts exactly have they dropped their anchors?" He asked.
"Just south of the Mander's mouth, less a day's ride from Brightwater Keep and Bandallon." Said Varys.
"Have the Lords Florent and Blackbar rallied their troops?" Asked Barristan.
"No."
"Why the hell not?" Demanded the knight.
"These foreigners have as of yet shown no ill intent. They have in fact done the entire Seven Kingdoms a service and crushed a fleet of Ironmen making their way to the Mander." Varys added. Barristan blinked once and while not completely satisfied, calmed down.
"Well good on them! Mayhaps these strangers are not all bad!" Robert declared with a laugh. Though he said nothing, Stannis agreed to a certain extent with his elder brother. He showed it through a slight slackening of his face into a more relaxed position. Jon Arryn was not so convinced.
"Because they laid low the Ironmen does not make them instantly good, Your Grace. They could be playing along as ignorant and peaceful explorers when the Southrons reacted positively to their actions." The Hand reasoned. Robert paid him a look, but said nothing. "What became of the battle Varys? Do you know?" He asked the Spymaster.
Varys gave a sly smile. "Of course, my Lord Hand. Some is believable, some is not. What is believable is that Dunstan Drumm now sits bleeding and broken in one of the Brightwater's cells, his pride, his progeny and his blade stripped away by the leader of these foreigners. A leader who I believe has made her way to Highgarden to charm the Tyrells." He would have continued, had Renly not interjected.
"'Her'? These foreigners take orders from a woman?" He asked.
"A woman, Lord Renly, who led the charge against the Ironmen and- if the dozens of witnesses are to be believed- destroyed half the fleet by breathing fire like the dragons of old." The look on Varys' face was uncertain. He was clearly skeptical of this report as well.
"Dozens, you say." Said Robert quietly as he stroked his beard. Pycelle eyed him queerly.
"You do not believe these... flights of fancy, do you Your Grace?" He asked dubiously.
"If you hear something once, it means nothing. If you hear something twice, it is a rumour. If you hear something three times, you ought to pay it heed." Robert said much to the interest of the Council.
"I did learn a thing or two from having you around, Varys." He added with a sardonic look. "If over a dozen persons can vouch for this woman breathing fire, we ought to assume that this is not just rumour-mongering. Are there any other such whispers?" He asked.
"There are accounts of many of the knights drinking poultices to cure even the most grievous of wounds, and using orbs of light to similar effects. Others say that some wielded magicks akin to the tales of the old warlocks: Throwing balls of fire, conjuring freezing winds, even casting bolts of lightning to lay low their foes." Varys supplied. Such facts rendered the council silent, only broken when Renly addressed the one member who had yet to say a word.
"You are quiet, Lord Baelish." The youngest Baratheon noted. "Have you anything to say?" Baelish blinked and raised his head to the council, an easy smile on his face.
"I was just pondering possible courses of action pertaining to these foreigners, Lord Renly." He answered slowly. "Were they to be charmed properly, they could become powerful allies to the Crown, maybe persuaded to share the secrets of their magick." He said while stroking his straggly beard.
"Yet you feel doubt about this." Stannis stated flatly.
"We do not know how these people and creatures think, or what they value and scorn." Baelish agreed by way of explanation. "Add to that the lack of any discernable motive for their voyage here and... well, I believe you are all able to see why I am concerned." He said.
"You suspect they came to conquer?" Barristan voiced.
"Unlikely. Even with their odd powers, they are far too few to take and hold even one major castle such as Highgarden. To attempt to storm it would be tantamount to suicide." Varys supplied.
"Perhaps they are refugees?" Arryn voiced his thoughts.
"We are wasting our breath with these theories. The only way to know is to ask them. Renly, Stannis, send word to your bannermen to be ready to ride to King's Landing at a moment's notice. I will send a raven to Highgarden and ask this leader of theirs to come to us, find out what she wants." Robert ordered. "Varys, let me know if your birds sing any other interesting songs. Jon, ready the City Watch, I am taking no chances with these people. That is all. This meeting is adjourned."
As one, the members of the Small Council rose and set off to do their duties. As they made off with purpose in their strides, different plans began to sprout and grow, each one with a different approach to how to deal with this new, completely unknown element in their midst.
"Come now sister, there is no way you cannot be at least a little excited about this new development. New and unknown people, working under a woman and coming to meet us."
"I am intrigued little brother, but you will forgive me for my lack of enthusiasm at the notion of such strangers marching straight into our midst."
This was the conversation spoken between the siblings Tyrion and Cersei Lannister. Both had taken note of odd happenings throughout King's Landing in the past few days. The most glaring among them was the Queen's husband exiting a meeting of the Small Council. For the entirety of his tenure, the number of times Robert had attended such meetings could have been counted on one hand with fingers to spare. While that fact remained unchanged as of now, it was still years since the last time he had deigned his presence important enough to sit down and speak with the men who kept the realm from collapsing. The patrols of the City Watch had risen by almost a half, and the men now traveled in fours instead of pairs. Cersei's informants had also stated that Lords Renly and Stannis had set out to return to Storm's End and Dragonstone, and Tyrion had learned that Robert had ordered a raven sent to Highgarden with urgency. Tyrion had beaten Cersei to inquiring as to what was about to happen, having gone to Jon Arryn, figuring that he would be the most candid about the subject. The result of their short chat had led to this moment, with the Queen listening intently to her younger brother's tale. For a moment she had said nothing, but poured the both of them a generous cup of wine and drank quietly.
"I suppose your interest is the best these people can hope for." Tyrion said more to himself. Cersei heard him anyways.
"And what do you mean by that?" She asked with a few drops of acid in her voice.
"I mean you have taken to our dear father's teachings with a little too much aplomb. Anyone is an enemy in your eyes until they are either brought under your thumb or lining their pockets with your money." He observed glibly.
"I mislike unknowns little brother, and these foreigners are a massive one. Slaying of the ironmen aside, how can we know that their intentions truly bode well for the Crown?" She countered. Tyrion had no response on his tongue, so he remained silent.
"Perhaps you are right." He conceded after a moment. "Perhaps their intentions do bode ill for us. But if so, why would they come to destroy with so few swords?" He wondered.
"Mayhaps they hope their leader's parlor tricks will carry them to victory." Cersei scoffed with a little smirk. Her tone prompted a curious look from her brother.
"You do not believe Varys' reports of their magicks?" He asked.
"Men will make all manner of outlandish claims when terror grips their hearts." She said dismissively. It was clear to Tyrion that Cersei would not believe these whispers of magic from Varys' birds. He however, held onto some inkling of belief. Thanks to his state, he rarely participated in the physical rigors expected of one of the sons of Tywin Lannister. Instead, he spent his days and nights in the cavernous library of Casterly Rock, studying every subject he could get his hands on. Alliances between houses, the history of Westeros, the reigns of kings past and present, even the mystic arts of Essos and the Shadow Lands. But what he had read about the magicks of the east painted a picture of something taught only to a few gifted individuals, either of high birth or born with the talent. On the other hand, these people seemed to have such knowledge readily available to anyone who wished to study it. These facts paled though, as Tyrion's thoughts turned to that of the leader of these foreigners. Not just a woman, but a woman who had fought her way to a position of power and earned the respect of her warriors. A woman who chose not to give orders from a throne lodged safely within a castle, but from the van of her army. The longer he considered the Spider's whispers, the more and more he wanted to meet this warrior woman.
He did not have to wait very long.
One week later...
"M'lord? M'lady? Your Excellency?"
Hippolyta flicked her eyes over to the young man who had just entered the salon. He could not have been older than thirteen. Or three-and-ten, as the Westerosi would have said. He was making a valiant effort, but even that could not mask the nervousness he clearly felt in the presence of the Lord of Highgarden, the Queen of Thorns and the Iron-Breaker. Though she needed no new titles, that particular one was starting to grow on her.
"Yes son?" Asked Mace with an expectantly-raised eyebrow.
"A raven has arrived for you m'lord, from King's Landing." Said the boy, holding out a roll of parchment. As Lord Tyrell accepted the letter, Hippolyta caught a quick glimpse of the red wax seal: A stag of some sort.
"It seems your tussle with the ironmen did not go unnoticed, Your Excellency." Mace said after a moment. "King Robert is asking the pleasure of an audience at your earliest convenience." He summarised as he allowed the parchment to roll shut.
Had she any less control, or imbibed any more wine, Hippolyta would have snorted. "Of course he is." She said with the smallest amount of amusement. Olenna must have heard the inflection of the Empress' voice, as a small grin graced her weathered face.
"T'would not be wise to keep the King waiting, Your Excellency." She advised. Hippolyta shook her head.
"Indeed it would not, Lady Olenna." She agreed. "It is a shame though, that it will not be convenient for me to ride to King's Landing until I have toured the Reach."
Mace snapped his head over to her. "You would risk the King's ire just to see more of the country? Forgive my audacity Your Excellency, but are you mad?" He balked.
"Not mad, Lord Tyrell, but bold enough to send a message: The Empire shan't bend to the will of any other so long as there is life in my breast." Hippolyta corrected. "I shall grant him his audience, but only when I see fit." She stood slowly. "Excuse me my Lord and Lady, but I believe it is time for me to continue my tour of the Reach. Your hospitality is much appreciated." She gave a short half-bow to Mace and Olenna.
"Where shall you go next?" Asked Olenna with a tilt of her head. The two of them plus Margaery had already discussed what her next move ought to be, but had neglected to inform Mace, giving him the impression that it was his word she was taking and further gaining his trust.
"I do not know Westeros like you. Lord Tyrell, have you any recommendations as to which house I should next entreat?" She asked with a well-honed look that was part expectant, part interest. Mace cleared his throat and stood with purpose. Ever since Hippolyta had given him the silver ring sitting on his right index finger the Lord of Highgarden had been much more active, and was often seen walking swiftly about the grounds of the castle. Margaery had made an offhand comment to Hippolyta that her father's vigor lasted well into the night, and while the maiden had blushed, the Empress' mouth had merely twitched in amusement.
"If you and your host continue northeast along the Mander, you will eventually reach its fork with the Cockleswent. From there if you cross the river, you will find Cider Hall, the seat of House Fossoway. I do not mean to sound biased, but I believe you would fare better charming Lord Jarrod. Not only shall I send word of your valour at the Mander, but my son Garlan is also married to a Fossoway, the Lady Leonette. He has told me one of your men... Ha'Drak I believe? Did I pronounce that correctly?" At Hippolyta's nod, he continued. "Has been teaching him how you Tamriel folk fight. He has enjoyed this learning immensely, and I am confident that he and Lady Leonette would speak approvingly of you." Mace dithered on. "But to continue, if you insist upon meeting the fellow lords of the Reach, making your way to Cider Hall would be a safe choice. From there, Lord Jarrod Fossoway can point you towards the next lord you wish to charm."
"... See that it is done. I thank you for your company and guidance Lord Tyrell and Lady Olenna, but I feel I have overstayed my welcome and I must venture on. My company and I will ride out your gates within the hour." Hippolyta announced as she rose, and with a short bow she made haste for the exit. True to her word, the party of ten exited the eastern gates of Highgarden within the hour, the Tyrell royalty and the Florent company bidding them farewell.
The leagues between Highgarden and Cider Hall were very unalike the stretch between the seat of the Tyrells and the Brightwater, the Mander's open floodplains permitting a swift ride along as apposed to the rolling hills and forests of the greater Reach. She would have preferred to ride out ahead, but every member of Hippolyta's company had vehemently opposed her. As it was, she was stuck trotting along in the middle of a loose circle of ten people. Stands-In-The-Shade, Flauvic and Ha'Drak led the company. Shade's steel-accented Legion armour shone in the sun, complimented by Merindene's red cloth and leather outfit, and Ha'Drak's ebony plate reminded Hippolyta uncomfortably of the black abyss from which Hermaeus Mora oft emerged. Ri'kari and Telina, both skilled in the magickal arts, flanked Hippolyta, Tonje and Fortas who acted as the nucleus of the company. At the rear were the archers, J'Karro and Darioth. The group of ten rode their well-provisioned horses for hours, stopping only to whet their appetites with hard bread, cheese and salted cuts of beef. As the sun touched the tree line, Hippolyta called for them to halt and make camp for the evening. With magick, they were able to erect three tents, enchanted in such a way that allowed them to be thrice as large on the inside. The four Legionnaires took up the first tent, Darioth, Telina, Ri'kari and the officers claimed the second, and Hippolyta remained alone in her private tent.
Afterwards, Tonje lit a small fire and the group of ten proceeded to quietly roast up cuts of beef, pass around water, mead and ale. It took more than a few minutes, but the Legionnaires began to notice something odd. Firstly, Ri'kari seemed less than interested in both the food and drink present. Shade had noticed her aversion after three quick glances at her, and only then did he observe she had only nibbled at her food, and he would bet his spear that she had barely let a sip of drink past her lips. Secondly, Telina had attacked her food with gusto befitting a wolf that had brought down its first kill in weeks. Thirdly - though Shade and J'Karro would admit that this was the least of the three happenings - Hippolyta continually refused the jug of mead whenever it made its way around to her. She does not enjoy mead, maybe? Shade wondered. He got one answer when the Empress caught him staring.
"Noticed my aversion to mead, did you Stands-in-the-Shade?" She asked with a smirk in her voice. The Argonian coloured and was about to apologize when she pushed on. "An unfortunate affliction of mine: Nordic mead renders me violently ill." She said with a shake of her head.
"Do you suffer the same fate with any other foods Your Excellency?" Shade asked, unable to contain his curiosity. Though they continued to eat and drink, he knew that J'Karro, Ha'Drak and Flauvic were listening.
"I find your question inappropriate, Auxiliary." Fire-Eater said coolly. Hippolyta raised her hand.
"Peace General, curiosity is not, nor has it ever been forbidden among my subjects." She assured. Tonje deflated with a nod at her sovereign. "Yet why do you ask, Stands? Should I worry about an attempt to dethrone me in the future?" She asked in a deadpan tone. Shade's eyes widened in panic.
"N-No Your Excellency! I never meant to imply-" His words died in his throat as Hippolyta laughed musically.
"Children these days, unable to see a joke for what it is!" She said with a shake of her head. To the side, Flauvic Merindene hid a smile behind the wineskin he held. Lighthearted banter flittered about for the rest of their dinner, even the monosyllabic Ha'Drak joining in on the conversation. As the sun dipped below the horizon some time later, Hippolyta rose with purpose and a pointed look at Telina and Ri'kari. The advisors rose as well and made for their tent. The Legionnaires and Darioth watched them go, six with puzzled expressions and one with interest.
"Have you an idea what they are doing Darioth?" Flauvic asked. The Bosmer looked over at him and grinned.
"Indeed, and you should consider yourselves lucky: Few people have seen Her Excellency in combat with such skilled partners, and fewer still live to tell the tale." He said as the three women re-emerged in loose shirts with leather vests and simple pants. Hippolyta carried her dragon bone blade, Ri'kari had her staff resting over her shoulders, and Telina was toting Dawnbreaker, the yellow light from the crossguard making their fire seem dim. The two swords had a faint red glow about them, characteristic of having their enchantments suppressed. The Redguard and Dunmer stood aside each other, facing the Altmer, and readied their weapons. Ri'kari descended into a wide stance and held her glass spear forward, the aqua-green tip pointed at Hippolyta's head. Telina unsheathed Dawnbreaker with a ringing note, turning to the side with her feet at shoulder width, her Daedric blade held in a two-handed mid-guard. Hippolyta rolled her blade into a one-handed low guard as she faced her two partners head on, her left arm tucked behind her back.
"Should they not be using practice blades for this?" Asked J'Karro. From her place, Hippolyta shook her head.
"There is so much more incentive to push oneself if the risk of dismemberment is real." She answered before she began to slowly advance on a diagonal. As soon as she was in range, Ri'kari opened her assault with a thrust of her spear. With a lightning-quick flick of her wrist, Hippolyta parried the attack and fluidly transitioned into a block, stopping Telina's slash. The Legionnaires were intrigued immediately, as the Dunmer had used both hands for her strike, but the Empress had stopped the blade cold with one hand. A dragon bone bastard sword was by no definition light either. It was highly impractical for many races to wield such heavy weapons, as they did not have the necessary musculature required to swing the bone blades, axes or cudgels fast enough to defend themselves or deliver effective blows. For an Altmer - widely considered one of the lowest species in terms of brute strength - to swing a weapon heavier than one of Daedric origin with such ease hinted at an astonishing amount of strength for one of her frame.
With a twisting sidestep, Hippolyta gracefully spun away from Telina and brought Freedom into a rising vertical slash, batting Ri'kari's twirling spear strike away from her. She quickly flicked her wrist and sent a backhanded cut towards Telina, who easily pushed the light blow away, and quickly ducked under a sweep from Ri'kari. Their game of testing each other's defenses went on for another few moments before the Dunmer and the Redguard began to intensify their assault. It was in this intensification of combat where the observers bore witness to Hippolyta's style. Each of her moves was enacted in such a way that required her to move her blade as little as possible, often simply holding it at an angle and causing an incoming attack to slide right off. She followed such manoeuvres with jabs and cuts as fast as a striking sabre cat, which scored a number of small hits on her opponents. She was not stomping around either, as many a swordsman are wont to do. She treaded lightly, her footwork nearly as complicated as a runic array, but with the advantage of allowing her to often completely sidestep an attack. In many instances, she appeared to be dancing.
But for all her fancy footwork and swordplay, the observers quickly noticed that Hippolyta did not ever wind up and swing at Telina or Ri'kari. It made a certain amount of sense; her form seemed to require a great deal of balance, and even a small upset of that equilibrium could spell disaster when facing such skilled opponents. While many of the hits she scored were at debilitating points on Telina and Ri'kari's bodies, such as their joints and muscle bundles which slowed them down and limited their angles of attack, they were few and far between. As the skirmish wore on, Hippolyta began to show signs of fatigue. Her strikes came a little slower, her footwork became sluggish, and more of her blocks and parries proved ineffective against Telina's powerful strokes and Ri'kari's wide slashes.
The match began to end as Hippolyta sent a slash towards Ri'kari. The Redguard parried the blow and twisted Freedom, wresting the blade from Hippolyta's grasp before bringing the butt of her spear forward and swatting the Empress in the temple. While she was knocked off kilter, Hippolyta still caught the thrust from Telina and wrenched the Dunmer's arm up to block the overhead slash from Ri'kari. Hippolyta lashed out with a kick to Ri'kari's stomach, knocking her back, and brought her knee up into Telina's chest. All the air went out of Telina, but she caught Hippolyta's knee as it came up again, and with a shout she drove all of her mass into the Empress, throwing them both to the ground. She attempted to drive her fist into Hippolyta's face, but the Empress jerked her body to the side to avoid the blow, and brought her right arm up to elbow Telina in the side of the head. The force behind the strike made the Dunmer lurch just enough for Hippolyta to roll out from under her and avoid Ri'kari's stab at the ground. The observers were surprised at the agility their Empress continued to display despite the toll her prolonged battle had taken on her. But it was not enough even as she caught the shaft of the spear and yanked, Ri'kari used Hippolyta's move to her advantage by channeling the forward momentum into a shoulder charge. All the air went out of Hippolyta as she was shoved back. Doggedly, she drove her elbows into Ri'kari's back enough to make her stop. Hippolyta grabbed the back of Ri'kari's vest to yank her up and headbutted the Redguard in the face hard enough for the onlookers to hear a crack. Ri'kari stumbled back with a quiet cry of pain, and did not react in time to catch Hippolyta's backfist. She whipped her arm back and smacked Telina on the ear, a highly sensitive point on any mer, stopping her dead as she clutched her traumatized auricle. Hippolyta grunted as she attempted a kick, but Ri'kari had recovered enough to catch the Empress' leg and pull her forward. As Hippolyta was forced into the splits, she hissed quietly and caught a kick to the side of her head by Telina. She went down hard and for the first time, groaned audibly. She swatted the ground twice, tapping out of the match before lighting her hand up with Restoration magick. Seconds ticked by before she slowly got to her feet and swiped her hand along her sweat-stained brow. As she dragged her hand across her ear, it came off red.
"You hit extremely hard for an old crone, Telina." Hippolyta observed as she shook the blood off her hand. Merindene let a small snort pass his perpetual smirk as the snarks and catty comments began.
"And you lost to this old crone, little girl." Ri'kari rebutted quietly, surprising the younger Legionnaires. Her voice was barely louder than a whisper and only slightly warmer than the waters off the coast of Winterhold. The gravity of the situation immediately set back in: Hippolyta, while still in possession of her skills, was rusty enough that she could not win in a fair fight against her advisors. That thought brought a frown to Hippolyta's face as she returned to her spot by the dying embers, which she coaxed to life with a few extra pieces of kindling.
"This one has not seen swordplay quite so beautiful before, Your Excellency." said J'karro candidly. "From whom did you learn it?"
"Myself." Hippolyta answered. "It is a style I have developed and refined over the years. Flauvic, you recognise some of my technique as being borrowed from Breton fencers, yes?" She asked. All eyes were on the Breton.
"Yes, now that I reflect." Flauvic admitted. "Your attacks and methods of deflection were familiar to me, though less... fluid, if I may be so bold to say." The smirk dropped from his face for but a moment as he finished. Hippolyta shrugged.
"I have no doubt of that. A bastard sword is much harder to swing than a gladio." Hippolyta agreed, pointing at the long, thin blade Flauvic had laid beside him. "My style has no official name in the Imperial Canon of Blade Forms, because there are so few people who practice it. I however, call it 'The Dancer's Form'. Fluidity, precision and efficiency of movement are the three core tenets that must be mastered to be proficient at the Dancer's Form. Fluidity, to move about one's foes and transition from defense to offense; precision, to land strikes on critical areas of weakness and deflect attacks; and efficiency, to conserve one's energy and wear down the opposition before landing a killing stroke." She elaborated in a voice that seemed to be from someone losing themselves to thought.
"What necessitated its invention?" Asked Fire-Eater.
Hippolyta did not answer for a moment. "... For many years I was a wanderer, learning whatever ways to swing a sword I could. For a time, that was enough. I simply had to be faster than whoever was swinging back at me. As the years went by though, I began to meet foes who proved time and time again that speed and strength count for little without technique. The Thalmor especially were an example of this. They practiced a form specially designed to weather the ferocity of Nordic and Orcish swordsmen, among others, and dispatch them often with one stroke. To that end, I began to seek out more eccentric sellswords and duelists, beseeching them to teach me. The tips and tricks afforded to me by them became the foundation for the birth of the Dancer's Form. I continued to build on those techniques, and I completed the style some decades after my inauguration." She paused. "It has continued to be an excellent deterrent to those who would see me dethroned, decapitated, or both." She conceded lightly.
"The Dancer's Form seems to take a great deal of concentration to use." Ha'Drak observed.
"You are correct, Ha'Drak. A flaw in the style, unfortunately. I designed it with the assumption that I would only be facing a single opponent at a time, but I made sure to alter certain facets to allow for engaging multiple foes. Doing so is ill-advised however, as one's attention must be split amongst their targets. Face too many and you will become sloppy, disoriented, open for attack. But if you maintain your situational awareness and push your senses and instincts to their limits, you can partially do away with this limitation." She stopped to pour a splash of water on her sweat-stained face. "At the height of my prowess I could weather the assault of a cohort of Legion soldiers with naught but my sword and my magick, and likely slay half of them before falling. Now look at me," she said with a derisive snort. "Rusted to Oblivion and back again."
The statement should have been uttered with bitterness, but the tone of Hippolyta's voice was tinged with amusement. Fortas tilted his head.
"You seem unusually easy with this revelation, Your Excellency." He stated.
"I am quite far from being easy with my limitations, Fortas. I am simply better at hiding it than most people. What you perceive as my 'easiness' with the situation is truly nostalgia. I am looking back to simpler times when I was but a maiden. A time when I was constantly fighting for my life - even before Alduin's reemergence - as my insurgents and I cut strips from the Aldmeri Dominion's war machine and retreating into the shadows. A time when I was fueled solely by my rage and my lust for revenge, and had but one goal. Now I cannot be so direct." She sighed and took another sip of water.
"Those were good days; days I've wished innumerably were those we still live in. Alas, they are naught but warm memories anymore. Reveling in them has kept me from spiraling into darkness over my life, and making new ones has made it easier. I would suggest that all of you do the same." She said as she looked around at her compatriots. "Remember the moments you are most fond of in life. Think on your family, your lovers, your greatest achievements. Let the memories of them bring you comfort and give you strength, so that you might fight to make new memories once we stop the White Death, banish this Daedric Prince back to Oblivion, and return home." Hippolyta finished her speech and looked around at her nine companions. While difficult to see in the low light of the dying fire, there was no mistaking the straightened posture and confident gleam in their eyes. The moment ended when Stands-in-the-Shade spoke again.
"Begging your pardon Your Excellency, but when you say insurgents, you are referring to the Free Army of Tamriel you once commanded, yes?" He asked uncertainly.
"Again, astute of you, young one. But as many a scribe will tell you, history does not depend on who is right or wrong, but on who was alive to tell the story. The Free Army of Tamriel was indeed my creation, but our cause was not always noble. In it's infancy, it was something... malevolent. Something I was, and still am not proud of. But that is a story for another day. For now, we must rest. The road ahead is long and dark, and wrought with terrors that could freeze the blood of even the boldest of dragons. But together, we will carry the fires of victory and end their tyranny." She finished as she rose, her entourage following suit. Their campfire was extinguished, and all ten Tamrielics drifted off to sleep, with thoughts of the days to come dominating their thoughts.
So... yeah. Sorry about the wait. Please,
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
DR