Posted 24 May 2015 - 06:42 PM
Marco Mercatore was a young man. A very young man, in fact.
And here, surrounded by grizzled veterans twice or three times his age, many of them knights who he admired, the Duke'son was accutely reminded how little he had, as of yet, achieved.
Still, their presence was just that. The players in this particular game were him, and the lady opposite him. A lady in armor, with luxorious long black hair, warrior's calluses on her hands and dressed in boiled leather under a loose drape of silk, from under which bloody bandages peeped out. Her sun tanned skin had faded to ghostly white, sweat beading on her forehead.
"Lord Mercatore," she greeted him, in a much deeper voice than he had expected. Honed by shouting commands over a battlefield, he supposed.
"Milady paladin," he said, bowing in his third most elaborate way.
"You bring forces to my doorstep," she said.
"Mere reconnaissance, milady."
"Nevertheless, we are not allied."
"Alas, Milady. I wish we were, and I am very sure the Pape is most eager to correct this oversight, especially once I inform him of your desire to bridge our differences."
"Will he now?" She frowned.
"Most probably not, milady. Especially not when he learns of your physical discomfort. He will see it as weakness."
"And how is his physical... condition?"
"That depends on who you ask, milady. Myself, I am worried about his age and physique, but many insist that the Pape growing a fourth chin is only fitting for the Prosperous Father. Speaking of health, what happened to you?"
"Assassins. If not for my field surgeon, I would be even worse for wear."
Marco nodded. "I am sad to hear that, milady."
"Why, milord?"
"I would have offered you single combat with swords for the safe exit of my men, milady. But you are in no condition to face me, so I will not challenge you. Unless you are willing to duel me with pistols?"
"Oh, Marco." She laughed, and he smiled, a little hint of sadness seeping through. "What would your father do, if he were in my chair?"
"Decline, because you have three times the men I do."
"What would the Pape do?"
"Crush my men while I am talking to you."
"What would you do?"
He bowed, and smiled. "I would prolongue the conversation, since it is perhaps the only time I can enjoy the dazzling company of the The Rose of the South without her paramour getting in my way."
"What would you do?" She smiled. "I am extending our conversation, Lord Marco."
"I would publicly demand surrender, milady. Knowing full well the other side cannot accept. I would then maneuver and envelop, and only then engage."
"You are a cold man, Milord."
"Milady, you are someone I admire. Your courage, skill and leadership I can only aspire to. But I am a student of war, and I seek a victory as complete as I can."
"Then you are lucky that I am not you."
"I am not lucky, Milady. You are who you are, and you wouldn't change it for anyone. I knew the moment I entered your tent. I didn't count on you being wounded, and I feared it would change your answer, or have others answer for you. I apologize for doubting you, Milady.
Will you give me fifteen minutes to return to my unit, to prepare my men?"
"I am who I am, Milord Mercatore. Fifteen minutes, and then, open battle."
He bowed.
Only someone with this much power could make this many frittatas without breaking any eggs.