290 Two Reasons

Irvhir? That wasn't correct, at all... Irvhir was the proper name for bipedal scalekin creatures that populated various caves throughout the nation, and eternal enemies of the dog-like Iredar.

...The humans, in their lack of knowledge, assigned the term to all scaled sentients: the Medusa, Troglodytes, Yuan-Ti, and even Dovahkiin, at times. Tycondrius figured that Natalya Crucis was uninformed... but with how she was treating him, even if she knew, she would likely use the term anyroad.

"I know you are not of our faith." The Archbishop shook her head, "Address me as Lady Crucis, as befitting of your own station..."

She groaned, "--or Natalya, if you must."

The eatery waitstaff approached the table, "May I take your orders, Your Grace? Young master?"

Tycon hid his frown and tried to continue the pleasantries, "Lady Crucis, would you like me to order you some wine?"

The taller woman narrowed her eyes, "No, this is my country. I will be paying for this meal."

Oh. That was nice of her. Tycon forced a smile and looked to the male waiter, "I would like an ale, please."

"My companion and I will be having the wine," Natalya ordered-- also specifying a brand.

...Oh. Well, that was fine. He did enjoy Tyrion wine.

"I'll have an order of the garlic lamb-- the lunch portion, please," She continued.

That sounded... absolutely wonderful. Tycon wished to order that, as well.

The Archbishop twirled her finger towards Tycon dismissively, "And that one will have the salad."

No... Oh, no...

"Wait..." Tycon caught the waiter's attention as he was leaving, "Is there... any meat you can add to the salad? Poultry will do.

The waiter looked back to the Archbishop, asking for confirmation with his eyes.

"Please." Tycon said with a strained voice, "I'm begging you."

He hoped at least one of the two would hear his plea.

Though Natalya Crucis was unhappy about it, the waiter noted Tycon's change in order to add grilled chicken. If Tycon ate too many leafy vegetables in a sitting, he'd get a vicious stomachache. At least this way, he'd at least be able to somewhat enjoy his meal-- politely picking at the greenery.

When the waiter was out of earshot, the Archbishop furrowed her brow, carefully scrutinizing Tycon's face. He waited patiently for her to speak, betraying no more expressions. She wanted command of the conversation, and so she would have it. He was at her mercy.

The Archbishop spoke slowly, her voice dripping with malice, "Have the dragons finally returned?"

Tycon took a deep breath, anger welling in his heart at the mention of the nonexistent creatures, "They have not."

Archbishop Natalya Crucis crossed her arms, her eyes narrowed to thin slits, "That... Tycondrius... I had incorrectly assumed would be the only reason you'd *dare* step foot in my country."

Tycon raised two fingers, "My reasons are twofold."

"What's the first?"

...He was getting to that. The Archbishop was not a patient woman.

"The Queen of Stone wishes to mend her relationship with you."

Natalya scoffed, snorting in an unladylike gesture, "You're serious?"

Tycon pursed his lips. What a stupid question, "Yes, Lady Crucis. I am."

"Ridiculous," She waved. "I merely dislike Queen Rylania for her personality and demeanor. While her actions during the Snake Cult Wars were inconvenient for our forces..."

Natalya paused in thought before shaking her head, "No... any offenses incurred were impersonal."

"Nonetheless, I offer myself and Sol Invictus' services to your cause and to your Holy Country towards gaining your favor." Tycon lightly bowed, "This is our sincerity."

The Archbishop placed a hand on her chin in thought, quietly analyzing... "I must say that I expected more arrogance from you, Ivory Prince."

"I'm a different man from the one you've met prior," Tycon stated.

...It was not a figurative statement. He had transmigrated with zero memory of the previous Tycondrius' relationships, personality, and motives.

"I can see that," Natalya mused. "As a person, I trust you very little. But since you come to me as a tool, it would be folly for me not to utilize you."

A thin smile crossed the Archbishop's face... It reminded Tycon of a torturer's grin. He hoped she wouldn't ask for something incredibly demeaning... or lewd. He doubted it due to her station, but if she was particularly cruel, Tycon was uncertain he'd be able to complete his mother's quest.

The meal came.

Natalya remarked that the grilled chicken on Tycon's salad looked delicious. She helped herself to over half of it.

...Tycon watched her do so in silence. Why did she get the lunch portion if she could eat so much? The dinner portion only cost two silver more!

It was one of the most depressing meals Tycon had, to memory. The chicken was marinated and juicy, the herbs were fresh and flavorful, and the meat itself was tender and grilled with lovely cross-hatched char-marks.

...But he had so little of it.

"I'm having some trouble deliberating on what I'll have you do," Natalya mused. "I *am* having issues with... traitors amongst my ranks, as of late."

Tycon tried to focus on the conversation, not on the fact that delicious food was unjustly taken away from him, "Perhaps I can assist you in rooting out those traitors."

"I was referring to how I don't wish to have you, Prince, amongst my people," Natalya teased.

Tycon returned to staring dreamily at his plate. He did not like this woman. He just wanted to finish this quest and go home.

"No, that wouldn't do, anyroad. It is an issue I will have to assign to someone of higher status-- and within our rank structure," She mused to herself. "For mere personal reparations, I shall task you with something of appropriate importance..."

Natalya finished her meal, dabbing a cloth napkin at the corners of her painted red lips, "Ah... I have just the thing."

Tycon glanced up, his hopes not high. Was she going to taunt him, again?

"But before that..." She wore a sleazy smile, fully aware that she was playing with his feelings, "What was the second reason you mentioned?"

The second reason... brought Tycon no joy. He grimaced, gathering his thoughts... "Maximus of Ezyria, Sanctum Parmularius of Tyrion, is dead. He was killed in honorable combat by a creature hailing from the Plane of Fire."

The woman's eyes grew wide and her jaw dropped. The napkin she daintily held in her hands fell to the ground. She stared into Tycon's unrelenting gaze... and she did not ask for clarification.

She took a deep breath, holding a hand in front of her collarbone, "Tell me what you know."