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Zorzimril followed him and brooded over his words. This was quite different than she had planned. "I am surprised, I was under the impression you had given your fealty to the Iron Crown and now you speak of fighting them." She looked at him, meeting his eyes, "I've heard you Creoth are fanatic but completely insane..."
She put her hands on her hips, pacing back and forth, her boots scuffing the stone. "I do not fault you for wishing to battle for your people's old lands back...for better lands. To unite the tribes this way is quite ambitious"
She paused, mulling over his words, "I was told to treat with you, in order to secure better lands from the plunder of our victory. You are now proposing we fight a two front war?" She looked hard at him, "I do not particularly enjoy being under the iron boot but making enemies with them before we can use their power to strike against the Dunedain and those that would object to losing their stolen land...I'm not sure if it is brave or foolhardy."
Her words came to a halt when she saw a woman in leather armor enter the room, climbing the stairs toward the throne without a sound.
Gorlakon looked to Yisabelle a long moment, offering her a slight smile, before his eyes went back to Zorzimril. He cracked his neck, and cleared his throat, "The Creoth think of Rhudaur and it's people first." he said, eyeing her for a long moment, "And there is the raisin in your pudding. I do not intend to blatantly assault the Iron Crown. I intend to use this ruse of friendship long enough for use folk of Rhudaur to unite, in common cause. While they still think us friend, we will put forth the plan I had to cause great harm to Carn-Dum itself." he leaned back, seeming quite proud, "We will be dealing with both the Dunedain, and those that rattle the invisible chains on the wrist and ankles of Duvardain."
Yisabelle stood with either wrist rested atop the pommels of her push-tang daggers. Her malachite gaze training upon the armored woman with the great sword slung across her back. She offered Gorlakon a slight nod as his eyes fell onto her briefly. The woman stood silently near the throne, observing.
Zorzimril narrowed her gaze, mulling over his words, "And yet you tell me your plans? How do you know I am not a loyal servant of the Iron Crown and would spill your blood for your betrayal. You trust that because I am Trev Duvardain, I am hill folk that I will be at your side."
She rolled her shoulders back, her dark grey eyes on him, "A chance at glorious victory is a gamble, this one be a very risky one..." She licked her lips, a slight upward tilt of her mouth giving away her thoughts. "I am not a chief as you are, but he did send me to secure our tribe's future."
Gorlakon rose up slowly at that, tilting his head as he eyed her for a long moment. "If I know my own people, we want our names to be spoken for throughout the ages. We want glory, and victory." he said, stepping forward, "You say that I may misplace my trust in one that has the blood of Rhudaur, the same blood that ought to rule this kingdom." he said, shaking his head, "Your chieftan brought you here to secure his tribe's future. How else to secure something, but with the hand of a woman to a man?"
Zorzimril widened her eyes at him, "Brave, and gloriously bold...that is what they said of you and it was accurate." She looked him straight in the eye, "You wish an alliance between our two tribes...by marriage?"
For once she looked at a loss for words, the entire mission she had planned on and went over in her head was thrown into the wind. "Again, I don't know if you are brave or foolhardy to make such a proposal."
Yisabelle retrieved tree sap from a leather pouch at her waist, stowing it into her maw to begin chewing quietly, before returning to her idle standing, glancing over the terrain here and there. She seemed all but disinterested in the conversation going on at this point. Her gaze lowered as she lifted up her hand, clenching it into a fist, where she stared at the bloodied knuckles of her left hand. Gradually, she began to twist her wrist, and draw the side of her hand near her maw, to place a lace betwixt her teeth, which she tugged in order to tighten.
Zorzimril shifted her gaze over to the young woman and then back at Gorlakon. He seemed to trust her enough to speak of the intimate plans. It was a shock, his proposal but as the surprise wore off she saw the reason. An alliance by marriage was a tried and true method of uniting tribes, binding in blood and honor and perhaps children that would belong to both the Creoth and Duvardain.
Gorlakon offered the woman his arm, smirking, "I am a man risen from death. I am a man who sees worth." He paused, his tongue trailing along his teeth, "We will have victory, that I promise you. Send a rider to Domangart, a man you trust with blood and body, to tell him of our alliance. Soon enough I will travel to Angmar to speak with him myself, but, for now, we are united."
Zorzimril reached to put her hand on his arm but held off, her head raised up as her eyes flared, "If he disagrees, my life is forfeit among my people. I would be stripped of my name, my titles..." She took a deep breath, "My uncle is a hill man though. Through and through. He only wants victory and plunder for his people." Her worries were more about her father.
The Black Sword was a warrior of renown and a man of stiff necked pride. He was a man of deep loyalty to those he was sworn to, his brother and the Iron Crown and long had their people been servants of the rulers of Angmar. The man had even changed his name to the Adunaic version and named her in language as well. Dolguzagar had bestowed his nephew with the name Abrazir, once he was named guardian after the death of his older sister. He claimed their family had blood ties to the Angmarim and it was a source of his pride, pointing to their dark grey eyes as proof of the Black Numenorean connection. What would be think of their treachery, no matter how well intentioned it was? She dreaded the thought but Gorlakon needed an answer.
The burly Creoth chief said, “And he will receive a fortress, much greater than he will by the Iron Crown. He will have land to hunt game in. Deer, rabbit, boar. Trees for walls, homes. Rebuild the old castles that have gone to ruin. He is a hill man, through and through, and he will see that blood, is thicker than the lies from Carn-Dum. He wants glory, and Angmar offers his petty renown. I offer a chance to be remembered for eternity. Why fight alongside damned Orcs, when you can fight beside brothers?'
It was a brief moment but charged with a sudden understanding and the black haired woman looked up at the sky. No dark gloom lit only by static charges but the sun shining through the pink tinted clouds. He offered her people a chance at freedom, something that had always been an illusion in Angmar. They were slaves of the sick land and it was not something the proud hill men liked to admit. The desire to be free of the iron yoke was a kernel buried inside the heart of every man and woman among the ashen hills and it only needed the rain to see it burst forth. Gorlakon would bring a storm.
Zorzimril looked at him, a slow smile appearing on her face, "Indeed. You have convinced me and likely you would convince Domongart." She held her tongue about her father and what he would think about the subterfuge. "Then we unite our armies. I came with just a guard but we have many more. And we might unite our own tribe once more, though there are many wounds on either side that will take time to heal. Victory will hurry that."
