His face brightened instantly, a wide, gleeful smile spreading across his bruised features.
"I thank you, m'lord! I thank you most graciously! I did not think that I, a street urchin, would one day be worthy of serving a Prince. This is the most joyous day of my life!" Oro went into a breathless tirade of his own.
"I do have some questions to ask still," I stated, raising a hand to stall his excitement.
"Certainly, m'lord. I shall answer them all. Please."
"How did you find me, for one?"
"Vice-Commander Marc told me to keep a steady eye on you, m'lord, once you joined the rank and file of the infantry. I was in the column next to you, but once the line broke, we were all separated into pockets, isolated from each other. The lads I was with grew afraid and made a hasty retreat, so I followed along with them, not wanting to stay alone and fight. While doing so, I kept searching for you and spotted you from a distance fighting in a skirmish. As I drew closer, I saw how that cunt betrayed you. So, I used my trusty bow to nail his bastard neck, m'lord," he prattled on.
"A most fortuitous outcome, then," I said.
Marc was a crafty bastard indeed—never showing his hand openly but constantly manoeuvring in the shadows to keep me alive.
"Indeed, m'lord," came the chirpy voice of Oro.
"Where are you from, Oro?" I asked.
"Braavos, m'lord. Joined the Falling Stars six moons ago. Before that, I worked as a hunter, and before that, I was a beggar on the streets." He supplied far more than I had asked for.
"Well, once we return to Westeros, we shall make a knight out of you yet," I said plainly.
Tears suddenly welled in his eyes. "M'lord, I—I have no words."
"You need not. Just be leal and true."
"I shall, m'lord," he said with absolute, unwavering confidence.
"Now, help me stand. I must wash myself and eat something hearty," I commanded, and he immediately leapt to the task.
…
Third Person POV
The Council Hall of Qohor felt stark and hollow, its sputtering torches casting long, shifting shadows across the dark stone. While all seven elders remained perched upon their elevated thrones, the long oak table below—which had once bustled with unruly sellsword captains, their aides, and military brass—was now stripped of its former clamour.
Seated at the vast table were only six individuals: the three generals of the Free Cities, the newly united sellsword Commander, her giant companion, and a young man wearing fine silken garbs similar to Taroh Eranis, bearing a striking familial resemblance to the councilman.
"News has arrived from Ctesiphon. The Imperial Senate has voted against peace. This war shall continue. Our backdoor attempts at a peace treaty were also thwarted by the Princeps," Taroh announced, his voice heavy with defeat as he stood at the forefront of the dais. "We must therefore make haste. The additional Imperial Legion is still four days from reaching the battlefield. We must strike the Roman legions stationed outside our walls before they outnumber us once more. Another assault needs to be conducted by the day after at the latest. What say you, General Mor?"
General Mor stood up and bowed. "It can be attempted, my lord, but we will be fighting without our injured troops. Granted, the Romans will be as well, but we do not know if our injured outnumber theirs, or vice versa."
"It is a risk that must be taken, General. We cannot prolong this. The arrival of a fresh legion will bolster the Romans irreparably, but if we were to decimate or heavily bleed their current forces now, they would at the very least be forced into an armistice. We have sent agents to Volantis and Slaver's Bay to procure more manpower. It may yet be that Qohor survives this crisis, but for that, we must remain standing until aid arrives," Taroh stated, his eyes darker and his complexion bleaker than it had been in past days.
"I will not be devoting my forces to a vanguard attack this early, Elder Eranis," came the spine-chillingly calm declaration of Ana.
Taroh immediately levelled a furious gaze at her. "Why is that, Lady Ana?"
"For one, my injured men form a significant portion of my cavalry—which, as you know, was utterly decimated by your foolish tactics, General Mor," she stated curtly.
"You dare!" Mor raged, his face flushing dark.
"Yes, I dare. We had an agreement, Elder Eranis, and I have kept up my side of the bargain. But that does not mean I will plunge my men into the abyss to achieve your desperate desires. There will be no sacrificial plays on the battlefield tomorrow," Ana stated with absolute finality.
"Abandoning your contract now will also count as you forsaking the other terms, Lady Ana," the cold, smooth voice of High Priest Trahar flowed from beneath his dark hood on the central throne.
Ana stared fearlessly back at him. "I am not forsaking anything, High Priest Trahar. I only demand that my men not be used as sacrificial pawns."
"That can certainly be acquiesced to. Is that not so, brother?" Trahar said, turning his hooded visage toward Taroh Eranis. Sapphire met sapphire, yet it was painfully apparent that the High Priest's gaze carried far more commanding lustre than the politician's.
Taroh immediately wilted, nodding stiffly. "Yes. We can plan the assault such that you will not be forced to sacrifice more blood than our own regulars."
"Is there anything else you would ask of this council, Flame-Kissed?" the High Priest asked eerily.
Ana remained undaunted. "I would ask that I be allowed to carry the Valyrian steel sword on the eve of battle."
"Preposterous! That is a family treasure, promised to you only because you agreed to be wed to my nephew, Drahas! To reach for it so blatantly—have you no shame? Is there no end to your greed?" Taroh shouted.