Thread: An Empire in 100 Nights (Rosewood x 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 mans 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 shed 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, shed have to remember to wear something lighter, something that wouldnt 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 mans 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 Morgundts 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 wasnt 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 Kins 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 wouldnt 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 days 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 days 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 couldnt 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 wasnt about her, it was about the people that followed her. The evenings festivities werent 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 couldnt 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 Ill 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 fires 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 shouldnt 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. Youre a fool, Askel, Solveig warned, and the mans 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 wasnt entire sure. Dont 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 citys 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 mans 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 wouldnt 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 wouldnt 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.