*Jon*

        Elizabeth stood in an open archway, a sea breeze billowing through her hair. She was turned away from her councillors and companion, trying to hide her distress from them all. 

        Seated in a low-backed chair, a goblet of wine in hand, Jon saw that distress in the slumping line of her back, in the slight tremor in her long white fingers. He sighed, and took a gulp of wine. 

        The new was not good. 

        Reynish troops had attacked a series of fishing villages and coastal holdings between Raider's Landing and Griffin's Coast, before laying seige to Port Abbaster itself. The courier ship had reported that the attack had come only days after the queen and her party had left the kingdom. 

        Jon was fairly sure that the Reynish had purposefully struck when they'd known that Valoria's leader would be away, but he wasn't hesitant to point out.

        Finally, Elizabeth turned around. Her face was calm, her mouth set in a grim line, yet her hands, fisted in her amethyst skirt, still shook. 

        "Well," she said, her voice flat, emotionless. "Archer, have you got anymore word on this matter?" 

        Archer stepped smoothly out of the shadows, leafing through a stack of papers. "Little more than the messengers have already reported, Lady Queen." Jon frowned. Something was off there. Archer always had some juicy tidbit, some important report, and his lack thereof either meant that the situation was graver than they'd originally believed, or Archer was keeping something back.

        Jon opened his mouth to speak, but closed it as someone knocked on the door to the room they'd met in. Elizabeth flinched, but Archer didn't twitch. For his part, Jon set down his goblet and stood.

        The knock came again, and then the door swung open.

        Jon and Archer sank into deep bows as the Warlord strode into the room, followed by two guards. He jerked his head at his men and they scurried off. 

        "Radiance," Elizabeth said hesitantly. "May I ask what you are doing here? It would seem to me that this is a matter of importance to Valorians only."

        "Ah, yes, it would, wouldn't it?" the Warlord replied. "If I, too, wasn't at war with the Reynes." He folded his arms and waited.

        Elizabeth blinked and straightened, her posture correcting itself as a diplomatic habit. "Please, correct me if I'm wrong," she said doubtfully. "You're offering to help us destroy the Reynish fleet that has besieged our coast? Forgive me for saying so, but I can't see why you would involve yourself. Our kingdoms haven't exactly had the best relations, in a military sense of the word, for these past few years."

        The Warlord laughed. "Strangers' Queen, this, more than anything, betrays your youth. I will lend you my support to decimate part of the Reynish navy, the same navy that raids my coasts each year, the same navy that costs me heavy repair costs, the same navy that sinks tens of my ships each time it strikes." The Warlord's voice was ice. "I will help you to spare myself costs further down the road. This is how politics work, little queen."

        Elizabeth hardly even batted an eyelash. Jon was impressed. Had someone ever condescended to in in the way the Warlord did to the queen, he likely would have castrated them. 

        "I'll command the fleet," Jon said, standing. "That is my right, Lady Queen, as your Naval Commander." He stood firm. He was not about to let one of the Warlord's minions command his fleet. 

        "Yes," Elizabeth agreed, her eyes dark. "You will." And Jon knew she'd already thought of the risk, even before him. She was smarter than she seemed, this girl-queen.

        The Warlord watched them, a slight half-smile scowled across his face. Archer, too, watched, ice-blue eyes fixed on the two rulers. In turn, Jon watched him, remembering the spymaster's strange behavior earlier.

        "There is one condition," the Warlord said, and Jon tore his attention away from Archer. The Warlord was still smiling, but his smile had grown cold.

        "What is it?" Elizabeth asked, twining her hands together. But Jon already knew what the Warlord would say before Elizabeth asked, before he saw the man's smile fade into a polite mask.

        "My ward, the Princess Grace," he said, and Elizabeth's face drained of color. "You will drop all charges against her, and let her live, as my ward, here in Theoria." 

        Jon almost groaned. Either way, it was a risk they could not afford. They could not afford to turn down the Warlord's proposal, yet they could not afford to let Grace live. But, if they killed a sickly little girl, what would that make them?

       Archer spoke up. "Lady Queen, I advise you to accept his Radiance's offer. We desperately need the ships." 

        Elizabeth turned to Jon. "Is this what you reccomend as well, sir?" Jon thought about it. If they refused, the Warlord would just smuggle Grace away, and they would look incompetent. 

        "It is, Lady Queen."

        Elizabeth sighed and turned back to the window. Jon felt like pacing, but decided it would attract too much attention. He knew what he would choose, but what would the queen do? Her word was law, after all.

        Finally, the queen turned to face the others. She was pale, but otherwise composed. Jon hoped she'd understood what Archer was implying. Without the Warlord's ships, they had no chance of driving the Reynish off. 

        "I accept your terms," the queen said, squaring her shoulders. "On one condition of my own. I will be permitted to speak with the girl before I return to Valoria." The Warlord raised an eyebrow. Elizabeth stood her ground. "And she is to never set foot in Valoria again."

        "Done," the Warlord said, and clasped the queen's hand. Turning to Jon, he went on. "I will leave fifty of my ships under your command. I trust you will put them to good use." 

        As Jon and Archer bowed, he strode from the room, and Elizabeth collapsed against the wall. Slowly, her face regained its color. "Well," she said, and, "Well." 

        "That went surprisingly well," Jon remarked, and a small laugh jerked from the queen's throat. "Don't worry," Jon went on. "You did the right thing." 

        Elizabeth's face twisted in disgust. "I know, but I'll never lie leaving an unwon battle behind me, as it were." 

        Such are the challenges of life," Archer said smoothly. "Excuse me, Lady Queen? I've something that needs to be done." He bowed and left the room.

        "Is it just me," Elizabeth asked, coming over to stand beside Jon. "Or has he been acting strangely since we've gotten here?" Jon look up, up into her face, and grimaced.

        He agreed with her wholeheartedly. He sighed. He had ships to prepare, but, honestly, he didn't want to leave the queen. It went against all his instincts. He'd sworn to protect her; how would it look if he didn't at least see her to Valoria before sailing off to battle.

        But that was war, wasn't it, all messy and complicated, leaving people with no choice but to attack or defend, and he was made for attack, not defense. 

        "I need to go inspect those ships," he said quietly, and bowed. Elizabeth smiled ruefully and waved him off. 

        Jon made the half-day's ride back to Sambad with four guards and one of the Warlord's admirals, bearing a sealed message for the captains of those fifty ships. He rode the little mare the Warlord had given him, sitting as tall and proud as any man on her back.

        The admiral spoke not a word of the Common Tongue, and Jon spoke only a bit of New Reynish, so the ride was made mostly in silence. It could have been lonely, had Jon not been so preoccupied. 

        His thoughts, though, were not on his queen, back at the Warlord's palazzo, but had flown ahead to the battle to come. If only he had more information, he would have been so much better prepared, although no one could truly be prepared for death and carnage. 

        The Warlord's flagship, Saba Elenia, was given over to Jon, with a crew of Valorians, or sailors who at least spoke the Common Tongue, as a commander of the fleet deserved. 

        Standing in her prow, feeling the salty air on his face, Jon smiled to himself. He was home.

A/N: Before you all go carping at me for not uploading last week, I'm going to shock you all and say that I did. In my writer's journal (Fragments) I posted a companion, like I've been saying I would for a while. If you guys like it, I might eventually post an entire story around it. I'll link the companion in the comments. 

The companion takes place 432 years before the start of Opening. It's just over a thousand words long, and it explains, kind of, how Aelin's Conquest began. Warning: It does contain various graphic images and bloody violence, along the lines of the prologue to this story. 

Anyway, I've just started Tech Week for Spamalot, so, maybe, don't expect any updates next week, although I will try my best. 

So, yeah. That's about it. Don't forget to VOTE/COMMENT, and go check out the companion. I think it's pretty great, personally, but that's just me.