The flap of the command tent was suddenly thrown open as Demavend stormed in, his face full of fury.
He too was clad in battlefield attire, though unlike Queen Meve, he wasn't wearing heavy armor. Instead, he wore a full set of chainmail underlay, including a hood, covered by a cotton coat and cloak in alternating red and purple. Fastened around his shoulders and chest were clasps fashioned in the shape of Aedirn's national crest, made of polished metal.
The look struck a balance between martial valor and royal elegance—perfect for rallying morale on the front lines. Still, Lann figured that slapdash armor like that probably wouldn't stop a stray arrow.
Following Demavend in were around twenty soldiers, each radiating elite status at a glance. Their armor wasn't standard-issue but had been modified to suit individual combat styles. The one thing they all had in common was the tricolor rose shield emblem of Aedirn pinned to their chests.
This was the Aedirn Special Forces—and among them stood Rayla. She had already been handed over to Aedirn the moment Lann returned. Now free once more, her gaze held no real hatred toward Lann. On the contrary, she understood—and still respected—the bravery of both Lann and Geralt. However, her monarch had made his intentions clear, and she had to follow.
Lann scanned the troops behind Demavend and noticed that several clearly had the distinct features of elf-blooded half-elves. It was said that Demavend had deliberately chosen such individuals to ensure his Special Forces retained a deep-seated hatred of elves—and by all accounts, it had worked.
"Lannister!" Demavend's shout snapped Lann out of his thoughts. "How dare you bind my captain like a common prisoner?! This is an insult!"
"Your Majesty Demavend." Lann calmly nodded toward the King of Aedirn. "It's been a while."
"I gave you my lead ring and sent my finest soldier to guide you—and this is how you repay me?!" Demavend completely ignored the greeting. "Now I have to ask myself—what exactly is Cintra trying to pull, Lannister?!"
Queen Meve's head was starting to ache too. She forcefully stepped between Demavend and Lann, raising a hand to stop the enraged king. "Demavend, calm yourself. We're facing a powerful enemy right now. And I trust Lann had a valid reason for what he did…"
Seeing Meve insert herself between them, Demavend's expression softened slightly—but his tone grew even colder. "Precisely because we face a powerful enemy, we must eliminate every unstable element. I'm beginning to wonder whether allying with Cintra was a mistake."
The King of Aedirn stared past Meve, once again pressing Lann: "What's your justification, Lannister?"
Lann still wore the faint smile from his earlier bow, but his eyes had turned cold.
After a moment's thought, he spoke slowly, in as measured a tone as possible. "Demavend, had you asked your soldier beforehand, you'd know that her loss of control nearly put me in danger—and could have pushed Aedirn's own allies into the enemy's arms. From that perspective, you could even say you owe me a favor."
"With the judgment and insight you usually show, I can't believe you wouldn't see that. Which makes me suspect that this outburst of yours isn't just about righteous anger."
Still wearing that courteous smile and speaking with even calmness, Lann added, "So perhaps I should be the one asking you—what's your justification, Demavend? What are you trying to do?"
The tension inside the tent, just moments ago stoked to a boil by the king's fury, instantly dropped to a chilling low.
Demavend froze, staring at Lann in disbelief, momentarily unable to respond.
"You just called me by name?"
That was what the King of Aedirn fixated on.
While the king stood stunned, the Special Forces behind him reacted instantly. For them, their monarch's dignity was something to be defended with their lives.
With a sharp metallic rasp, swords, daggers, curved blades, and war hammers were drawn—an array of strange weapons gleaming in the torchlight.
Cintra's side responded immediately as well, all drawing their standard-issue lion-head longswords in unison.
In an instant, the tent filled with flashing steel and drawn weapons. The gleam of oil lamps reflected off the metal, dazzling everyone's eyes. Blades and shadows danced across the room.
"Enough!"
At the critical moment, Queen Meve's roar overpowered everything. She suddenly drew her sword and struck the crude wooden table in front of her with a loud crack—splitting it in two.
The Cintran soldiers wavered again. The lioness within Meve now loomed stronger than ever.
"Demavend, do you truly understand the dire situation we're facing right now? Our swords should be pointed at Nilfgaard—not at our own allies!" Queen Meve roared at the King of Aedirn. "And Lann is a duke—a Duke of Cintra! Right now, we are allies in mutual defense. Keep your petty schemes to yourself!"
Her scolding made the weapons of Aedirn's Special Forces tilt slightly in her direction. But Demavend swiftly waved his hand, and his soldiers reluctantly sheathed their weapons.
With a stiff expression, he sat down and, as was customary, gestured for the wine steward to pour him a glass of red wine. Then he fixed his gaze firmly on Lann.
"And you, Lann." Meve turned to the Lion of Cintra, ready to deliver a stern lecture of her own.
"You also… calm down!"
Lann let out a quiet chuckle, softened his voice, and shook his head. "Your Majesty Meve, what would the North do without you?"
With that, he too gestured for his guards to stand down and sat back down at the table.
Calling Meve 'Your Majesty' was both out of respect and courtly etiquette. But given Lann's rank, he was no longer bound by such formalities.
In the past, he had occasionally humbled himself to preserve a fragile alliance and build strength for the half-crippled Cintra. That was his duty. Otherwise, with his personal strength, there would have been no need to endure such humiliation. But now that Nilfgaard had invaded and crushed Demavend's Aedirnian army, the man was no longer the dignified ally that needed cautious appeasement. He had already shifted from 'benefactor' to 'partner'—and it wouldn't be long before he became a 'seeker of aid'.
Aedirn was now in the thick of it. After seeing his forces routed by Nilfgaard and personally witnessing the sheer size and determination of their legions, Demavend had no choice but to go all-in on this war—treaty or no treaty.
And yet, here he was, stiff-faced, putting on airs, trying to posture and pressure Lann into submission?
Lann had no intention of indulging him.
The Lion of Cintra and the King of Aedirn locked eyes in a fierce stare.
Queen Meve glanced with dismay at the table she had just cleaved in two and sighed. "Demavend, what exactly are you trying to achieve here?"
The King of Aedirn didn't look at her. His gaze remained locked on Lann's lion-like eyes, inwardly cursing the man's cunning.
"Mahakam's reinforcements, Lannister—how many did you secure?" he asked coldly.
So that's what this is about, Lann thought with a faint smile.
The question caught Queen Meve's attention too—it was something she was concerned about as well.
"Three thousand fully armored heavy infantry. All of them seasoned dwarven veterans, each a century old—Mahakam's elite." This was the kind of strength that could be openly discussed. Allies needed this level of information sharing. "If expansion is needed, younger dwarves with less experience can be added in. Enough to form an entire legion."
"Very good, Lannister," Demavend nodded. "We need that unit to enter battle immediately."
This force was one of the trump cards Lann had planned to bring back to Cintra—to use in the final showdown against Nilfgaard's heavy cavalry. But now, Demavend wanted to seize it right away, throw it into the front lines, stabilize the situation, and reduce human casualties.
So that was the real reason he had come storming in earlier, all bluster and outrage—to gain the upper hand from the outset.
Under the expectant gazes of both a king and a queen, Lann slowly shook his head.
"If you're willing to commit fully, Demavend, then Aedirn's soldiers are enough to fill the gaps on the front lines. The heavy infantry from Mahakam still have a major role to play. We haven't reached the point of absolute desperation just yet."
"From a military perspective, deploying the Mahakam heavy infantry now would be premature—and wasteful. You're being too hasty, Demavend."
"You want me to throw in all of my soldiers?" Demavend growled. "Those are Aedirn's men. And yours? Yours are just dwarves!"
The King of Aedirn was clearly furious at Lann's refusal, while Meve lowered her head in thought. She was the one under the most immediate pressure here, but with her extensive battlefield experience, she knew Lann wasn't wrong.
"But all of Lyria is nearly overrun, and Rivia has already begun to fall," Queen Meve raised her head again—at this point, she had to stand with Demavend. "We can't wait for some future 'final battle.' And without the support of my united kingdom, Cintra might not even survive long enough to see that battle."
She could see the long game—but what good was it if they couldn't survive the present? If a trump card is held too long, it dies in your hand, and the whole game is lost.
Lann lowered his head slightly, his fingers tapping lightly on the table. War was far more perilous than any game of strategy. His foundation was Cintra, and every trump card he held had to serve that coming final confrontation. But he also couldn't let Nilfgaard push the conflict into an early resolution where recovery was impossible. That meant revealing a few second-tier cards now just to hold the line.
Second-tier cards, huh?
Lann gestured for a glass of red wine and took a few slow sips. As much as he disliked the metaphor—it was time for the North to see the true Lion of Cintra.
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