Chapter 22: Act 4- Before the Storm; The Conqueror's Demands
The training grounds of Ylisstol Castle echoed with the controlled bursts of dragon energy as Roy guided Nah through her exercises. Their practice session was interrupted by an urgent messenger rushing across the courtyard, bearing the distinctive seal of Valm.
"Your form is improving," Roy noted, helping Nah dispel the remaining traces of dual dragon energy around her. "You're finding the balance point faster each time."
Their attention turned to the great hall, where Chrom stood reading the message, his expression darkening with each line. Saibyrh moved to his side, her orange eyes narrowing as she read over his shoulder. Her dark elven instincts, honed by centuries of political intrigue, immediately recognized the underlying threat in the diplomatic language.
"Walhart demands our surrender," Chrom announced to the assembled Shepherds, his voice tight with controlled anger. "He 'graciously offers' to accept Ylisse's peaceful integration into his empire."
Saibyrh's lips curved into a knowing smile that held no warmth. "The Conqueror lives up to his name. These aren't terms – they're ultimatums wrapped in courtesy." Her silver and gold-highlighted black hair caught the light as she turned to address the others. "We've seen his kind before, haven't we, brother?" She glanced at Odyn, who nodded grimly.
"The elven kingdoms learned long ago that men like Walhart only understand one language," Odyn replied, standing protectively near Lucina. "Their offers of peace are always preludes to war."
The Shepherds began preparing for what they knew would be a tense diplomatic mission. Roy and Nah joined the others, their training session transformed into battle preparation. The young half-Manakete's dual heritage might prove crucial if negotiations turned sour, as the elves suspected they would.
"We'll go," Chrom decided, his hand resting on Falchion's hilt. "We'll hear his terms directly. But we'll be ready." He looked to his wife, knowing her centuries of experience with political maneuvering would be invaluable.
Saibyrh began outlining defensive formations with the tactical precision that came naturally to dark elves. "Nowi, you and Nah should remain in human form initially – your dragon powers will be our surprise advantage if needed. Roy, keep your dragon crest ready but contained. Walhart must not sense our full strength unless we need to reveal it."
As the group prepared to depart, the various members of their unusual family drew closer together. The future children exchanged knowing looks – they'd seen firsthand what Walhart's ambitions could lead to in their timeline. The elves' natural caution and experience with would-be conquerors added another layer of tactical awareness to their approach.
"Remember," Saibyrh murmured to Chrom as they mounted their horses, "men like Walhart see diplomacy as a weakness. We go prepared to talk..." Her orange eyes flashed with ancient wisdom, "but ready to fight."
The war council chamber in Ylisstol Castle hummed with tension as the Shepherds gathered to discuss their approach to the upcoming diplomatic mission. Saibyrh, standing beside Chrom, deliberately held back her own counsel, her orange eyes carefully studying each companion as they shared their thoughts.
"Everyone," Chrom addressed the group, his voice steady. "Before my wife and our elven allies share their experience with such... diplomatic situations, I want to hear all perspectives. How do you think we should approach this meeting?"
Frederick stepped forward first, his armor gleaming in the torchlight. "We maintain proper diplomatic protocol, but I suggest a defensive formation during the approach. Three rings of protection around you and Lady Sybyrh, milord."
"The future we came from," Lucina added, standing close to Odyn, "Walhart's idea of diplomacy was... limited. We should appear receptive while keeping our forces ready."
Nah, still catching her breath from training with Roy, spoke up. "In my timeline, we learned that Walhart respects strength above all else. Perhaps we should demonstrate our military capability while maintaining diplomatic courtesy?"
"Yeah, but not too much showing off," Severa interjected, arms crossed. "If he sees everything we can do, we lose any advantage of surprise."
Saibyrh exchanged knowing glances with Roy and Odyn as the others continued sharing their preparations. Their centuries of experience with would-be conquerors had taught them much, but they waited, respecting their companions' insights.
"I could keep a healing formation ready," Lissa suggested, "disguised as a ceremonial honor guard. That way, if things go wrong..."
"And I'll keep my tome hidden but ready," Miriel adjusted her glasses. "The appearance of scholarly interest rather than magical preparation."
As the suggestions continued, Saibyrh felt that familiar sinking in her stomach, the same sensation she'd experienced centuries ago in similar situations. Her hand unconsciously touched the silver and gold highlights in her black hair – streaks earned through centuries of diplomatic victories and devastating wars.
Nowi bounced on her feet, unusually serious. "Nah and I can stay in human form, like Frederick said, but keep our dragonstones close. Just in case!"
After everyone had spoken, all eyes turned to the dark elves. Saibyrh stepped forward, her expression grave but approving of her companions' insights.
"You all understand more than you know," she began, her voice carrying the weight of centuries. "But I must be honest – I've seen this pattern before. Walhart will demand nothing less than complete surrender. Men like him..." She paused, looking to her brother Odyn and to Roy, who nodded in understanding. "They don't send messages like this unless they've already decided on conquest."
The room fell silent as the implications of her words sank in. The preparations they'd suggested weren't just precautions – they were necessities.
"Still," Chrom placed his hand over his wife's, "we go. We try. That's what makes us different from him."
Saibyrh allowed herself a small smile, proud of her husband's determination to maintain honor even in the face of likely betrayal. "Yes, we go. And we go prepared – thanks to everyone's suggestions here. Because if Walhart is what I fear..." Her orange eyes swept the room, meeting each gaze. "We'll need every strategy we've discussed today."
The mountain path leading to the diplomatic rendezvous widened as two familiar figures came into view. Flavia's golden armor caught the sunlight while Basilio's imposing frame cast a long shadow across the road. The Feroxi Khans' presence added another layer of complexity to the already tense diplomatic mission.
"Well, if it isn't Chrom and his legendary bride," Flavia called out, her voice carrying both warmth and respect as she approached. Her keen warrior's eyes took in Sybyrh's presence – the way she carried herself, the ancient wisdom in those orange eyes, the subtle readiness in her posture that spoke of countless battles.
"So this is the dark elven queen who captured our young Exalt's heart," Flavia continued, stepping closer with an appreciative grin. "The tales reaching Ferox speak of your prowess with both blade and magic, though they failed to mention the commanding presence."
Saibyrh inclined her head, her silver and gold-streaked black hair catching the light. "Khan Flavia," she responded, a warrior's respect evident in her tone. "Your reputation precedes you as well. Ferox's strength has long been known to the elven kingdoms."
Basilio hung back slightly, his single eye narrowing as he assessed the dark elven queen. The sheer power radiating from Saibyrh – centuries of battle experience and magical mastery held in careful check – made even the mighty West Khan pause.
"Careful, Flavia," Basilio rumbled, though there was a hint of admiration in his cautious words. "I've seen that look in your eye before. Looking for a sparring partner among the elves might be biting off more than even you can chew."
Flavia laughed heartily. "Ha! All the more reason! Finally, someone who might actually give me a real challenge." She turned back to Saibyrh with undisguised interest. "After this business with Walhart is concluded, of course."
"Assuming Walhart is interested in actual diplomacy," Sybyrh replied, her expression growing serious. "Though I suspect you both know better than that."
"Aye," Basilio nodded, his caution giving way to grudging respect. "The Conqueror doesn't send polite invitations unless he's already planned how to mount your head on his wall." He studied the assembled Shepherds, noting the careful formation that blended ceremony with combat readiness. "Though I see you're well prepared for either outcome."
Chrom watched the interaction with pride, seeing how naturally his wife commanded respect from the warrior kings of Ferox. Even Lucina and Odyn exchanged knowing glances – in their future, the alliance between Ylisse and Ferox had been strengthened significantly by Sybyrh's understanding of warrior cultures.
"Mother always said the Feroxi were among the few humans who truly understood the meaning of eternal vigilance," Lucina murmured to Odyn, remembering lessons from their timeline.
"Well then," Flavia declared, falling into step beside Saibyrh as they resumed their journey, "tell me about elven battle tactics. I'm particularly interested in how you combine swordplay with magic. We Feroxi tend to prefer the direct approach, but I've learned there's usually something worth learning in other fighting styles."
Basilio took up position on the other flank, his earlier caution transformed into tactical interest. "Especially if we're about to face Walhart's forces. The man's built an empire on overwhelming force – might be time to learn some of that elven subtlety."
As they continued toward their destination, Sybyrh found herself warming to the Khans' straightforward nature. Here were leaders who understood power, who respected strength but weren't enslaved to it like Walhart. In them, she recognized potential allies who could appreciate both the sword and the olive branch – even if they, like her, suspected which one they'd ultimately need to use.
The great hall of the diplomatic venue echoed with tension as the two parties faced each other. Walhart, the Conqueror, cut an imposing figure in his crimson armor, yet his attention kept drawing back to Saibyrh. The dark elven queen stood beside Chrom, her presence radiating an authority that came not from conquest, but from centuries of experience.
Walhart's calculating gaze lingered on Saibyrh longer than diplomatic courtesy would suggest, measuring her with the eye of one who collected powerful allies. "Interesting," he rumbled, his voice carrying across the hall. "That Ylisse's Exalt would take such a... formidable bride. Perhaps, my lady, you might find a more... ambitious alliance—"
"Choose your next words carefully, Conqueror," Sybyrh cut him off, her orange eyes flashing dangerously. The silver and gold highlights in her black hair seemed to shimmer with barely contained power. "I did not survive centuries to entertain the fantasies of yet another would-be emperor."
Chrom stood firm beside his wife, Falchion at his hip, while Flavia and Basilio exchanged knowing looks. The Khans had positioned themselves strategically around the room, recognizing the shift from diplomacy to inevitable confrontation.
"Then you understand power," Walhart pressed, seeming both irritated and intrigued by her dismissal. "Surely you see that resistance is—"
"What I see," Saibyrh interrupted again, taking a step forward that made even Walhart's guards tense, "is a man who mistakes conquest for strength." The pressure in the room began to build as she released just a fraction of her centuries-old power. "I have watched empires rise and fall, Walhart. I have seen conquerors come and go, each believing they were different from the last."
The atmosphere grew heavy, and for the first time, those present saw something they'd never expected – Walhart, the Conqueror, taking an unconscious step back as Sybyrh's power filled the room. Her orange eyes seemed to pierce through his carefully constructed facade of invincibility.
"Surrender," Walhart demanded, but his voice carried less certainty than before. "Yield to the inevitable."
A cold smile crossed Saibyrh's face as she delivered her response: "If you want our surrender so badly, you'll have to beat it out of us." Her voice carried the weight of centuries of battles, victories, and hard-won wisdom. "And I promise you, Conqueror, that will be far harder than any challenge you've faced before."
Walhart's hand tightened on his weapon, his massive frame actually trembling – not from fear, but from the sheer pressure of Saibyrh's presence and the challenge in her words. For the first time in years, he faced someone who not only didn't fear him but seemed to look through him, seeing all his carefully constructed myths of invincibility and finding them wanting.
"Then you choose war," he declared, trying to regain his composure.
"No," Chrom stepped forward, matching his wife's stance. "You chose war the moment you decided conquest was the only path. We're simply informing you of the consequences of that choice."
Flavia's appreciative chuckle and Basilio's grunt of approval punctuated the moment. The Feroxi Khans had seen what they needed to see – Ylisse would not bow, not with leaders like Chrom and Saibyrh at its helm.
As the formal declaration of war hung in the air, Saibyrh's final words echoed through the hall: "Prepare yourself, Walhart. You wished to test your strength against ours?" Her power rippled through the room one final time. "You're about to learn the difference between a conqueror and a queen who has earned her crown through centuries of protecting her people."
The diplomatic meeting ended with both sides understanding the truth – this would not be the simple conquest Walhart had planned. In Ylisse's dark elven queen, he had found an opponent who carried not just power, but the wisdom of ages. And for the first time, the Conqueror left a diplomatic meeting wondering if perhaps he had underestimated his opponents.
The tension in the air crystallized into immediate action as the group departed from the failed diplomatic mission. Saibyrh's demeanor shifted seamlessly from diplomatic queen to battle-hardened commander, her orange eyes sharp with centuries of tactical experience.
"Frederick," her voice cut through the air with practiced authority. "Gather our forces. All of them. We need every soldier ready and assembled within the hour." She turned to Roy, recognizing the dragon crest bearer's tactical mind would be crucial. "We'll need to coordinate our magical defenses with our conventional forces. Valm won't wait long to make their first move."
Chrom looked at his assembled Shepherds, his expression touched with regret. "Everyone, I—"
"Don't you dare apologize, Father," Lucina interrupted, stepping forward with Odyn at her side. "We all knew what Walhart was. This was inevitable." Her eyes held the weight of future knowledge as she continued, "But we have advantages he doesn't know about. Allies he can't predict."
"More of your companions from the future?" Saibyrh asked, her tactical mind already working through the possibilities.
"Yes," Lucina nodded, beginning to count off on her fingers. "Morgan, Robin and Cordelia's son – he inherited both his father's tactical genius and his mother's skill in the air." She smiled slightly. "Having another tactician of Robin's caliber would be invaluable."
"And Noire," Tharja interjected, her dark eyes showing unusual interest. "My future daughter. Her... unique talents could prove useful."
"Gerome," Lucina continued, "son of a Valmese noblewoman who rides a wyvern. He actually knows their territory, their fortifications. And Yarne, the taguel heir – his transformation abilities would give us an edge they won't expect."
"Laurent," she added, "the son of one of our most brilliant mages. His magical research could help counter Valm's war machines."
Saibyrh's expression changed subtly at Lucina's final revelation. "And the twins? You mentioned a princess and..." She paused, her orange eyes widening slightly. "Baron? My brother?"
"Yes," Lucina confirmed. "Say'ri and Baron. In our future, their alliance was crucial. Say'ri knows the resistance movements within Valm, and Baron..." She looked meaningfully at her aunt. "Well, you know what having another dark elven captain of his caliber could mean."
The Shepherds exchanged determined looks. Flavia barked out a laugh, her hand on her sword. "Well, isn't this perfect? Walhart thinks he's facing one kingdom, and instead he's about to face an army strengthened by warriors from the future itself."
"Not to mention," Basilio added with a grim smile, "he just managed to personally offend one of the most powerful dark elves in existence. Not your smartest move, Conqueror."
"Then our path is clear," Saibyrh declared, her power rippling through the air. "We find these future allies first. Quickly. Every day we spend gathering strength is a day Walhart spends building his invasion force." She turned to her daughter-in-law. "Lucina, you'll need to guide us. Where do we start?"
"Morgan should be our first priority," Lucina suggested. "With both Robin and Morgan coordinating our strategy..."
"Two master tacticians," Chrom nodded. "That would give us a significant advantage."
"And my brother..." Saibyrh mused, a mix of emotions crossing her face. "To think he's out there somewhere, fighting alongside a Valmese princess. The threads of fate weave strange patterns indeed."
The Shepherds began breaking into groups, preparing for what they knew would be a race against time. They needed to gather their future allies before Walhart's forces could mobilize fully. As they organized, Sybyrh's earlier words to Walhart rang in their ears - if he wanted their surrender, he'd have to beat it out of them. And with every passing moment, that task was becoming increasingly impossible.
To be continued in Chapter 23: Act 4- Gathering Forces; The Tactician's Son