Elshon sat in the Patron's throne, he sword unsheathed and in her lap. Her middle finger, the nail black atop a blood blister, traced the inlaid runes on the flat of the blade. She could hear the blade whispering to her, reminding her that compliance to duty and honor was what mattered, that as Patron her own desires were subsumed by her duties to the House.

She was dressed up. Not in the armor or work clothes she was accustomed to, but rather in silk and lace, both of which felt unnatural to her. Her underclothing felt binding, the dress felt like she was being smothered in comforters, and the shoes hurt the arches of her feet. The jewelry, rather than being chosen for the magical attributes, had been chosen for looks and appearance, and to Elshon's mind was completely worthless. The tiara would not warn her of anyone coming at her from behind with a drawn weapon or readied spell, the rings on her finger would not allow her to communicate with her soldiers or help give her additional, emergency strength when she needed it. The necklace was just ornamentation, it wouldn't make her immune to poison gases or arcane energy.

Useless frippery. she fumed, tracing one of the orcish runes. It stood for honor, demanding that any who held the blade use it in honor regardless of pride or personal desire. The next one made her growl low in her throat. Duty to Clan, to Honor, to the State.

The doors opened slowly to reveal young boys, standing with their mothers and older sisters, standing nervously, dressed in finery like hers. She could identify every house color represented. She could see houses that were coming as beggars hoping to gain the wealth and property that marriage into the house would bring them, the ones who had sent members like vultures to see if they could feast on what their houses viewed as a dying house by marrying into it and then dismantling it.

She kept her lip from curling in disdain through the discipline she had built from the moment she ran screaming out the gate of the manor.

Only a handful were not escorted by their mothers or sisters. Out of nearly thirty who had shown up, only four had brothers or uncles escorting them. Elshon could tell that none of them had father's escorting them, and knew that it was the toll of the war that had taken their fathers from them.

She noted that only three of the Great Houses had shown up, and made a mental note of each of the ones who had snubbed House duRalvden.

The boys lined up in front of her, their older relatives who were presenting them standing behind them. Jewels glimmered in the oil lamps that hung from the ceiling. While most houses used magical lighting, when the war came to House duRalvden, Elshon had ordered all magical lights destroyed and oil lamps replacing them. She was aware that there was ritual magic that would be grounded through the lights, mystical energy exploding into the room to rend flesh and melt bone.

She could tell that more than a few of the gathered supplicants thought it an indication of poverty and suppressed the urge to smash a mailed fist into their faces to see how smug they could look afterwards.

The Eternal Matron called out each name, and each young boy stepped forward and bowed, which made Elshon's irritation flare into anger. Supplicant after supplicant referred to her as "Matron Elshon" or "Lady Elshon", and ritual and custom forbid her or anyone else from speaking until each possible match had finished being introduced.

How dare they bow at me, as if I am beneath them. Elshon's thoughts burned inside of her like acid. Do they forget that I am Warlord Bloody Elshon? That I defeated the Lord High Marshall Vrendious and his pet spell-worm in single combat. How dare they call me Lady or Matron, I am the Patron of this family.

One young man, escorted only by a single teenage boy, stumbled slightly as his relative whispered in his ear before releasing his arm. The boy took two steps forward and curtsied, his hands held out at his side. The curtsy was used to show that the one curtsying was not a threat. It put a person's center of balance off, spread their arms to the side with open hands to show they were unarmed and not casting or holding a spell, while showing deference to the person being curtsied to.

Elshon felt the acid lapping at her soul ease up as someone finally acknowledged who they were in the presence of.

"Patron Elshon, I am Vidrak Sembrant, a virgin of marriagable age, of House duSembrant. House duSembrant has been loyal to the Red Queen, the Arch-Duchy of Alben, and the Red City itself since the time of the Unified Council." The boy began. Elshon felt satisfaction at the use of her proper title, and relaxed slightly.

While the boy spoke, his voice prepubescent, Elshon stared at the young man who had grabbed the boy who was speaking. He was tall, and Elshon guessed his age at roughly thirteen or fourteen. He had narrow shoulders, was skinny and his wrists stuck out of his slightly out of fashion sleeves. He face looked thin, as if he had missed some meals. Elshon knew, from experience gained during her war, that his body was growing, consuming all the fat on his frame to fuel his growth. He wasn't much to look at, with a plain face.

But his advice to his younger relative intrigued her.

The boy stopped speaking, stepping back. Like the others who came forth, his makeup was smeared by sweat from nervousness and the humidity in the room.

Each of the last six boys being presented referred to her as Matron, Matron-to-Be, Lady, or Liassus, which meant girl-child. Her rage was building, the fiery red rage that had filled her for five years. Tiny arcane lightning arcs crackled across the blade around her fingertip. Beside her the peeper's fan-like ears were spread wide and kept flicking back and forth, his grip shifting on his knitting-needle-like spear.

Finally, it was over. Each of the young boys presented to her having had a turn to speak, to laud their families and their bloodlines.

Grandfather had stood silently, stoically, without moving, the flames in his eyes dimmed to the point that many of the visitors to the duRalvden Court had begun to wonder if the Ralvdens had resorted to placing an empty suit of armor in the Court Champions position.

He could feel Elshon's rage pulsing off of her. Could see the powerful young woman sitting on the throne struggle to hold her temper as each of the presented children but one insulted Warlord Bloody Elshon with words, stance, and those being presented. Elshon's rage was a fire, and Grandfather could feel the heat of that rage like a furnace.

The ancient dead who sat in the throne beside the empty Matron's throne made the grinding noise of clearing her throat. She had weighed each of the children as they had spoken, examined how firm their alliances were to House Ralvden, and listened carefully to each of their speeches.

All that remained was a ritual question before she would be carried to her office to grant audiences to each of the hopefuls, where she would carefully choose which family to mix with the Blood of House Ralvden. The long dead woman felt a sense of completion, of duty, and satisfaction as she looked forward to carrying out the duties of her office. She had chosen carefully among those who had answered the invitations to be matched with young Elshon, who needed gentled by the duties of marriage so she would set aside that unseemly blade.

All of those gathered turned to face the ancient dead, awaiting the question that would signal the end of what many of them viewed as a humiliating presentation before a small child.

"Does the Patron agree with the choices made by the Keeper of House Honor and House Blood?" The ancient dead asked. The question was formality only. The undead woman began to raise one skeletal hand to signal her litter-bearer servants when Elshon suddenly stood up.

Grandfather's hand went to the hilt of his sword and the gathered nobility gasped. What they had thought was a suit of empty armor put in place to make the house look more populated than it was had moved. The fire in Grandfather's eyes flared as he saw the young woman come to her feet and the muscular adult kobold raise back his head and snarl.

"No!" Elshon's voice rang out. "No, they are not!" Elshon swung her naked blade into the tile on the floor, shattering multiple tiles as the blade sink a good foot into the floor. The magic crackled up her arms, but she did not flinch or cry out as the blade was rudely and suddenly awoken and lashed out.

Everyone stared in shock at the fifteen year old girl rose to full height, yanking the blade free so that it came up and slammed into the implanted pauldon. The cloth over her shoulder burst into the flame for a second, crisping and turning to ash to reveal the rune graven plate.

"How dare these... these... unblooded children be presented to me?" Elshon's voice was not that of a young woman, but the raspy roar of a warrior more used to bellowing out commands on the battlefield than speaking in a throne room. "Do they not know who they seek to wed their men to?" Elshon snatched off her tiara and threw it to the floor, the gems popping free of their settings and bouncing across the floor.

"How dare they send unblood virgins before me? Children who have never held the power of life and death over others! Children who have never waded through the blood and the dying of the battlefield." Elshon glared at all of the assembled in fury. "I am the Warlord Bloody Elshon, Patron of House duRalvden! Yet they send me, me, unblooded children who are soft and milk-fed, clad in silk and satin, as if I am picking concubines for my field tent!"

Elshon stalked down the dais, her sword rasping as she rubbed the edge back and forth against the rune inlaid metal embedded in her flesh. Her voice rang out, smothering the outraged words of those assembled like the tide upon the beach sand.

"This is an insult!" She proclaimed. "Do they think me the type to go meekly to the altar? Do they think that I will be impressed with worthless titles granted to families who shirked their duty when the Lich Kings invaded fair Alben? Who left the defense of our fair nation to me rather than raising their armies when the Red Queen called for all to defend the red fields of Alben?" She stopped in front of a young boy, who had been proclaimed as twelve years old.

"This is a child! The eighth son of a low-baron, and he is presented to me as my equal?" She touched callused and rough fingertips to the boy's cheek. "Tell me, boy, if you were freed from your family's obligations, what would you be in this life?"

The young boy blushed deeply and tried to look away, but Elshon's strong and gentle fingers kept him facing her. Her one good eye was soft and gentle, her bad eye looking like a pearl set into the socket. The boy's reluctance drained away, realizing that for the first time someone actually cared what he desired.

"Tell me, child." Elshon said softly. "What would you be?"

"A servant of the Great Library of Novak." The boy said, blushing.

Elshon nodded, her face grave. "What, in those tomes, would hold your interest?"

The boy went to look at the heavy-set woman beside him, who's face was reddening at the breach of custom as well as her nephew speaking about his ridiculous notions of becoming a scribe in some dusty library instead of being wedded off to increase the wealth and power of his house.

"Do not look at her, boy." Elshon said. When the boy looked back, she locked eyes with him. "Tell me, what would you study in that vast library?"

"Political science, agricultural science, and economics." The boy said, blushing again.

Elshon nodded. "Important subjects, especially in these uncertain times. You seek to advise rulers, do you not?" The boy nodded, blushing ever redder. "A wise ruler appoints experts to important positions, rather than tries to struggle through the mire of ignorance."

Elshon appeared calmer as she walked down the row of children, until she stopped in front of a young boy who had been staring at the two gems at his feet. He was reaching out with one pointed toed shoe to bump them, staring as they glittered and sparkled as they rolled.

The boy paid no attention to Elshon for a long moment, then the gem rolled near the small peeper beside Elshon's left shoe.

"Peeper!" The boy exclaimed, pointing. He then giggled. "Peep peep peep!"

Elshon looked at the boy's face. His family had positioned themselves so the boy had been in shadow while presenting himself, as well as when he was with his family members. She could see the soft face, even more childish than it should have been.

"Yes, sweetie, peeper." Elshon said gently. The boy looked at her and flinched. "Easy, sweetling, I will not harm you."

The boy looked doubtful, then spied the peeper again. "Peeper! Peep peep peep!"

Elshon nodded again. "Yes, it is, little flower." The boy beamed at her, his face innocent. "There are many peepers in my sister's garden." The boy clapped his hands. "Do you like peepers?"

"Peepers!" The boy said, clapping his hands again.

Elshon smiled at him, gesturing at Bashette. The pale woman glided forward, her heels making a clicking sound as she approached.

"What is your name, little flower?" Elshon asked the boy.

The boy frowned for a moment, then smiled. "My name is Yarvin Creatlin, of House du... du... duCreatlin!"

Beshette stepped up next to her sister, staring down at the child. The child looked at her, flinched for a moment, but smiled shyly back when Beshette smiled at him.

"Would you like to see the peepers?" Beshette asked.

"Peepers!" The boy said, clapping his hands and laughing.

The peeper beside Elshon gave a sad peep.

"Come along, Yarvin, let's go watch the peepers play and be silly." Beshette said, holding her hand out. The boy took it shyly, still smiling.

The matron beside her opened her mouth, about to protest, when the grinding of the edge of the razor sword against metal stopped her.

Elshon waited until the little boy, who was laughing while holding Beshette's hand, had left the throne room before she spoke or moved. Once the door shut she stepped forward, staring up at the woman's face.

"How dare you?" She hissed. The matron stepped back at the venom in the tone of what she thought of as a little girl. "That child should be at home, where he feels safe and comfortable, surrounded by loving nannies and his favorite toys." The rasp of metal on metal was the only sound beside Elshon's words. "He should not be paraded in front of me to increase your house's power." Elshon suddenly turned to face the portable throne where the Eternal Matron watched with burning eyes. The matron who had escorted the boy had to jump back to avoid being cut by the naked blade.

"Did you know of his infirmity, Eternal One?" Elshon asked, her voice quiet and terrible.

"No, Patron. I could not sense it until Lady Beshette took his hand." Came the dry whisper.

"Then magic was used to shield his infirmity." Elshon growled, the animalistic sound making many of the nearby children, and some of the adult, draw back. She turned back to the matron, and narrowed her eyes. "House Creatlin." Her hand clenched on her sword's hilt with the crunching of long damaged knuckles. "Vassal of House Ralvden, a northern High Barony."

The matron stepped back, trying to draw the majesty of her office about her, but Elshon followed her, still speaking.

"During the Lich King invasion, while my forces made do with whatever we could take by force from the Lich King Armies, I sent a request for iron or steel, for men and supplies, to my vassal."

The sword came off the pauldron, swinging forward, and Elshon grabbed the middle of the blade with her bare hand. Her fingers went into the groove carved through the blade, the dull smooth space between the sharpened backside and the serrated edge against her palm. Her other hand gripped the hilt tighly. Arcane lightning crackled up her arms, across her shoulders, and made her hair rise up. Beside her the peeper snarled with a sound too loud for such a small creature to make.

Grandfather began to take a step forward as Elshon brought her sword into a combat stance, then stopped. He could tell by the blazing aura surrounding the woman that she wasn't ready to attack, but was merely bleeding off her anger.

"Men and women died because you refused to honor your obligations." Elshon said, her forearms bunching as she tightened her grip on her blade. "Died and worse. You sent nothing to aid us." She stepped forward again, forcing the matron back.

"If it was not for the pardon that the Red City Council proclaimed as part of the peace, even as I was pushing the Lich King Armies out of Alben step by bloody step, your family would have been crucified or burned alive at the stake when I returned." Elshon's voice was a death knell.

She pointed at the door. "Now you send a child, who will never be anything but a child, to me for marriage?" She shook her head. "You would seek to wed such a beautiful flower, a young boy who is sunny, to one such as I?"

Elshon turned away, facing the Eternal Matron. "Inscribe his name into the Book of Blood as a foundling who has found succor within our house. We shall find him a bride willing to care for a sunny one, and failing that, we shall ensure that he is comfortable and feels safe for all his days."

"You can't..." the Matron stammered.

Elshon did not turn around. "You forget yourself. You have mistreated a beautiful flower, risking that he would wilt, ignoring his sunny nature. It is my duty to protect those who are sunny, a command passed down to all rulers since the time of the Unified Council, over fifteen eons ago."

She moved past, ignoring the older woman's protests. What she had done was legal, she knew it was by ancient laws, ancient pacts, and the rules that governed Warlord through history.

She stopped in front of the young boy who had referred to her as Patron. The boy shuffled, then moved aside, sighing in relief, when Elshon made a slight motion.

"You are?" Elshon asked the young man who had whispered in his younger relative's ear.

"Harnell duSembrant, first son of Karteer duSembrant, the Patron of House Sembrant, Patron Ralvden." The boy said.

"You. You will follow me." Elshon said.

Harnell watched the fearsome young girl walk across the throne room, heading toward the same door that the sunny young boy had left through. She motioned and called a name, and a young girl, thin to a frightening degree, scampered after her.

"Come, Harnell duSembrant, my sister Nadrak will accompany us to ensure propriety. I must see how my little brother is doing in my sister Beshette's care." Elshon said, her voice carrying over the outraged murmuring.

Harnell buried any fears or doubts he had and hurried to follow Warlord Elshon.