The general turns to go. "Wait."
He whirls, and it's possible I imagine his flitting look of impatience.
God, what do I say to this man? How can I convey that I am the sovereign and he is not? That even though I come from a foreign land, these are my people?
The Godstone leaps in response to my prayer, and an answer floats to me gently on the afternoon breeze.
Sorrow comes easily to my voice when I say, "I lost so may people I loved in the war with Invierne. We all did. But the only reason we survive to mourn is because our army fought bravely and selflessly. And no one fought harder than my own Royal Guard, who held off the invaders at tremendous cost so I could have time to work the Godstone's magic." I hope he hears what I'm not saying: Yes, General, we won the day because of me, remember? "I'll not see them doubted or disrespected. In fact, I'll defend each on of them with my dying breath if I must, as they defended me. Am I clear?"