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You return to your army and deliver the good news. All of the little over two thousand men and the twelve hundred prisoners are lined up in a big square to hear you speak. All you told everyone was that you have good news and it seems like a lot of them are cautiously optimistic that you meant there will be no siege. You look forward to confirming that.
"Men of Alfida! My beloved countrymen! The elfbloods have seen the futility of continued struggle. Our enemy has surrendered and we have won a resounding victory. They will not oppose us and the city of Saraqusta has agreed to submit to my sovereignty!"
A deafening cheer erupts from the crowd, the noise almost deafening. These men were prepared to dig in for months. To potentially not see their families or know any joy for up to a year. Now you've told them that it's all over. Your campaign has succeeded in the most drastic possible terms— full annexation of Saraqusta without even damaging the territory.
Uncle Ansur steps forward and raises his voice. "We have not won a simple victory, we have won a glorious and historic one! The first step of many toward reconquering this land in the name of the Son!"
Another deafening roar of cheering.
Your uncle steps aside and gives the crowd a proud nod, the corners of his mouth rising into a thin smirk. You step forward once again, the cheers subsiding so you can continue, "When the gates are opened, we shall march into the city. Not as conquerors but as liberators! Just as we have done everywhere we have stepped thus far! I ask you all, men of Alfida, to conduct yourselves honorably as I know you are honorable men! We have the opportunity to set an example here for all of our new subjects to behold!"
"Hail the Son!"
"HAIL THE SON!"
"HAIL THE SON!"
The men are so relieved and jubilant that it's hard not to share their infectious enthusiasm. You are filled with an overwhelming sense of triumph. Your chest is filled with a warm bubbling, and a broad grin splits your face. Your blood is alive, rushing through your veins and thrumming through your heart.
"Hail the Son!" you join along with their chant. Just this once.
The men roar and cheer and dance merrily. It's a burdensome task to keep them from storming the alcohol tent and getting belligerently drunk. The last thing you need is for your drunken army to cause an incident when you enter the city.
"How in the five layers of Sheol did you convince them to give up already?" Alfonso asks as you depart the makeshift stage from delivering your speech. Your other commanders and knights crowd around you as well also wanting to know the truth. Lord Jaime, Lord Esteban, Lord Alfonso, Uncle Ansur, even Sir Joao is here along with several others.
You take a step back to gain back your personal space and hold your head up proudly. "It was rather simple," you reply. "I threatened to torture the prisoners to death one by one in front of the walls for every hour she didn't surrender and I promised that once the walls fell I would sack the city. Oh, of course, I had to threaten her uncle. The two seemed close. All these threats worked together to shattered her resolve. Queen Aiza surrendered the city rather see her people come to ruin. A wise decision that I commend her for," you calmly explain as if you're talking about the weather.
"You... threatened all of that?" Alfonso asks, his mouth hanging agape. All the men present seem taken aback by your blunt admission. Even Uncle Ansur who you thought would be the most supportive of your brutal tactics is slightly disquieted by hearing of them.
Lord Jaime clears his throat and speaks first, "That is, ahem... unexpectedly ruthless of you, my king. I did not believe you possessed such... a side to you."
"Executing captives given quarter is not the way men of the Son conduct war," Uncle Ansur scolds you.
"Kill prisoner. Not sport. Give duel. That good. Demarmalize enemy big hard more than kill," even Grum disagrees with your methods. Although you concede he has a good point.
"Believe me, my friends. I am pleased not to have to make good on my threats. It would've been an unpleasant and bloody endeavor. Yet, it worked, did it not? We have won the siege bloodlessly," you counter.
"It worked. Well done," Alfonso congratulates you.
"We have won, yes. This was the easy part, nephew. The hard part begins now. Pacifying this land and rooting out the heretics," Uncle Ansur explains, "They have dug their claws deep into this land. I will lead an inquisition to tear them out."
"We shall see about that, uncle. Ah, look. The gate is lowering. To your posts, men. Form your divisions into marching order. We enter Saraqusta," you declare. In the distance, you see the drawbridge being lowered down across the moat and the heavy portcullis opened. The archers which lined the battlements have vacated them.
It is time to claim your city.
The men of your army form up into a neat and orderly column. They're ready. As they should be. It's all they've been waiting for.
You lead the march. It is only proper.
"To the royal palace," you command.
And with a thundering of boots and hooves and creaking wagon wheels, your army begins its march. The drawbridge creaks under the weight of dozens of men at a time marching across it. The defenders stare solemnly as you approach. The women cover their mouths and look away. Some children cry and their mothers shush them. Others look hopeful. Saraqusta is a city largely made up of humans who follow the Orthodox Tritheos faith. To them, you aren't a foreign invader. You speak their tongue, worship their Gods, and look like them. They must feel as if the Gods are smiling upon them.
Especially since this invading army makes no moves to sack the city. An urban dweller's worst fear is a sack and they have been spared of that.
Your army marches down the main boulevard leading through the heart of the city. You behold the marvelous urban planning that went into the city's construction and maintenance. It is a far sight better than Alfida. Paved side streets, clean ditches, and a well maintained water system. At least they don't have actual sewers like Emporia. You'd feel outrageously outdone if they did.
There is a stark contrast between the wealth displayed in the homes of the elfblood nobiles and the modest dwellings of the commoners. The former are lavish and spacious and often with a garden in the back. The latter are small and cramped and built with the intent of fitting the largest number possible within them.
The citizens of the city begin to gather and watch you march. The more brave and daring come closer to examine you and the soldiers who are with you. They whisper amongst each other, but they do not obstruct your path or attempt to block your advance.
The closer you get to the royal palace, the larger and grander the buildings become. There are numerous churches along the way which are decorated with mosaics and murals depicting scenes from the creation of the world. The elfbloods have paved over the scenes depicting the Son's revelation and his holy journey and the saints and martyrs who came after him, defiling the sacred temples that have existed for centuries before their arrival.
Rechristening them in the name of the Son should win you much favor with the clergy and the common people.
When the palace comes into view, it's impossible to ignore the grandeur of the structure. These bricks were laid during the time of the Son himself by his command. Some of the enchantments may have even been weaved by the prophet. A thousand years later, the edifice stands proud and defiant against the passage of time. A dozen marble columns hold up a large porch over a grand stone stairwell leading into the main hall. The walls are made of white stone and the roof is tiled with glazed ceramics.
At the foot of the stairs, Queen Aiza awaits you, dressed in the same outfit as when you met her in the field. Her royal knights are knelt at her flanks with their scabbards and spears placed on the ground in front of them. Aiza waits for you to approach and then she too kneels before you. The sovereign's knee sinks to the ground and at the moment it makes contact with the cobblestone, she is a sovereign no longer.
Your men halt. They stare. It's a magnificent scene.
"The palace is yours, my king," the former queen Aiza declares in heavily accented Tartessian. Her pronunciation is such that you had trouble even understanding her at first.
You dismount from your horse and hand the reins off to a nearby squire. You walk over to where the queen kneels and offer her a hand. "Aiza, rise," you say simply, this time in Tartessian like you should.
She does as you command, rising to her feet and meeting your eyes. Her purple orbs are no less lovely now that they are inches from your own. She stands a head shorter than you, which is not unusual. Half-elves tend to have a few inches taken out of their height by their elven heritage.
"Show me to the royal treasury," you order.
She glances to her side as if looking for some king of signal and then replies in more broken Tartessian, "Right away, my king," the defeated elfblood nods. She turns around and motions for you to follow her.
You walk behind her as she ascends the grand stairwell and passes the kneeling knights. You motion for your household knights and a few other trusted men to follow you. About twenty heavily armed men in full kit form up at your flanks and march behind you as you walk.
Aiza leads you into the palace. She walks quickly, her long platinum blonde hair waving behind her. Her heels click along the polished marble flooring and the noise echoes loudly in the vast hall. The place is so quiet, it can be heard reverberating off the walls several times.
The interior is as grand as exterior. It is opulent and richly decorated. Paintings hang from the walls. Intricate and delicate sculptures dot the hallways. Expertly weaved sheer curtains drape from the windows. Your feet plod upon a long foreign carpet of Mezweshi make with dazzling geometric patterns. The difference between this and your own palace in Alfida is stark. You knew your father preferred spartan decor what with his intense fixation of hoarding coin, but you didn't realize how poor Alfida's interior architecture was. You seem like a pauper in comparison.
You pass through several hallways and a dozen chambers. There are no signs of life. Every single elfblood nobiles and retainer has either fled to their homes in the city or is awaiting imprisonment in the dungeons. The palace is a graveyard. Finally, you reach the treasury vault after a circuitous path through the interior. It is a large square room with a vault door that must be nearly a foot thick.
Aiza kneels on the floor and holds up her hands like a beggar asking for alms. Upon her palms, the key to the royal treasury rests. "The key, my king," she says with a bow. This time she speaks in Mezweshi. You think you prefer it that way. Much easier to communicate with her.
"Thank you," you accept the key from her and place it into the vault. The enchantments sealing the door shut are disarmed allowing you to crank the locking mechanism and pull open the door.
And inside... well, you weren't expecting to see anything else. You find a sizable stack of silver and gold. You imagine it was a much more impressive collection before the Amir marched off to war and lost most of it.
"It is seven thousand silver, all told. The rest was with my uncle. I presume you have it?" Aiza asks.
"I do," you reply as you step into the room and look around, scanning for anything interesting. There is an armor stand near the far end of the vault with a suit of brilliant mail resting on it. The metal has a silvery sheen to it that makes the links between the rings glitter when they catch the light. There are no runes or magical enchantments etched into the surface. Just a fine suit of mail. Ceremonial, probably. There is a crested helmet with it that features a dazzling collection of jewels embedded along the rim.
Next, you come across a lyre made from an exotic foreign wood. Its sound box is beautifully carved with a depiction of a hunt scene, the elves and their dogs and hounds chasing down a stag through the forests. It certainly looks impressive but you are sad to say that you do not count music among your talents. "What sort of wood is this?" you ask as you drag your finger along the sound box.
"Rosewood," Aiza answers monotonically.
You set the instrument back down and move on. There are several other trinkets about, but the only other true item of interest is a crown hidden among the stacks of coins. You lift it up and hold it before your eyes. It's a beautiful circlet of gold encrusted with a ring of garnets, each with an almost imperceptibly tiny enchantment carved into it all expertly weaved together to work in perfect harmony with the others. You can't even begin to ascertain their ultimate purpose. You would need weeks with such an item to tease out all its secrets piece by piece and discern what it ultimately does when working in concert.
Fortunately, you have a font of information right here.
"What is this?"
"The Crown of Majesty. It possesses a mental focus enchantment to... make the wearer more glib. I fear I would not have survived court without it," Aiza explains.
A mental focus enchantment, huh? Sounds like a spell to improve persuasiveness. Simple sounding in theory, unimaginably complex in practice. A mental focus enchantment is just as likely to scramble the wearer's brain rather than improve its functioning. Whoever crafted this item was a true master. If it weren't for a lack of divine markings, you'd assume the Gods made it. Seeing as though they did not, your next guess would be some centuries old elf.
"I see," you place the crown upon your head. It fits snugly. Not enough to be uncomfortable, but you know it's there. There is a slight tingle on the edge of your mind. Almost like the beginning of a sneeze. The feeling quickly fades and all is normal again. You look at Aiza once again and it feels as though doing so with fresh eyes. You catch things you were callously ignoring before in your haste to conclude this business. The girl is scared, exhausted, and desperate.
Her future is uncertain. Will she be a prisoner for life? Executed? Sold off to some other human?
You would like to level with her. Reassure her. And the best place to do that would be some place she is comfortable.
"Show me to your chambers, Aiza," you demand.
"Of course, my king," the defeated half-elf bows and turns around, leading you back through the labyrinthine palace. She guides you past the many empty chambers and rooms. You've set your knights to scouting the place from the basement to the spire in case anyone is hiding out here who means to do you harm.
As the two of you walk, Aiza keeps her gaze pointed forward. She's tense, nervous. She must be wondering why you want to see her chambers.
Her personal quarters are located on the top most floor which is the fourth. It is quite the grueling walk up the many stairs. You wish you had just thrown away face, grabbed Aiza, and flew up there. At least the view from the balcony must be splendid.
Her chambers are exactly as you witnessed them before. The bed is made of soft linen stuffed with fine down and topped with silken sheets. The pillows are likewise stuffed with down. A desk is pushed against the wall with several books piled up. A mahogany wardrobe is pressed against the wall with the door open and her clothes hung on display. Lastly, there is a small round table with a chair on either side and a bottle of fine apricot wine still sealed with wax.
Aiza stands awkwardly and waits for you to take the lead.
"Please, sit," you gesture at the table.
The elfblood's shoulders slump and she exhales a breath. It's clear she has been holding it since you demanded to be taken to her quarters. You have frightened her deeply. This is her home and she is powerless within it and there are few reasons a man demands to be taken to a lady's chamber. Almost none of them are good.
She takes a seat and you sit across from her. There is only one goblet on the table so you crack open the wax seal and pour the wine into the goblet for her, opting to drink out of the bottle for your share.
You are not here to harm her. You're here to comfort her.
"Why am I here?" the elfblood asks, her eyes narrowed with suspicion, "If I am to be defiled... I would prefer it not be in my mother's bed."