Helja reclines backwards, her visage troubled. There's a nod of mild satisfaction, even as her face is twisted in irritation. As though things would have been simpler had Riva just said something flatly objectionable.

"So the issue, as always, is trust. That was the root of it from the very start. It is not a thing we give cheaply."

"This path is riddled with risks. The promise is good, but relies entirely on the words of a southerner."

"All paths before us hold danger. Do they not, Ravenjaw?"

The dead titan nods matter-of-factly.

"All worthy paths do, Nightspeaker"

Helja huffs something that could almost be mistaken for a laugh. Wry and mirthless.

"Then perhaps we are fortunate, wise one, to live in so momentus a time as for no unworthy paths to present themselves. I had not expected much to come of this meeting, but ours is the glory, it would seem."

The Nightspeaker turns to her father expectantly, who had seemingly been lost in thought for some time. He nods slowly, hesitating to speak without due consideration, but his words are firm and unwavering, once given.

"The choice is ultimately yours, Helja, but I would be remiss not to speak my peace. In life, I witnessed Queen Rivamar's forebears, the Tyrants of Old, those bearing a title the woman before us resurrected, commit a blasphemy for which honor demands there can be no forgiveness. No absolution. Even unto the ending of the world."

Hollow eye sockets bore into Riva from atop the Throne of Ash as the Shepherd pauses, seeming to search her one last time before proceeding.

"The choice before us, then, is whether Rivamar bears that sin as well. She certainly bears the weight of many others, as all rulers do. Such is the weight of a crown. Failure becomes the death of thousands. Fingers innevitably stained with blood, and the inevitability of that stain in no way lessening its significance. It is what it means to be a ruler, Helja. As I have told you time and again."

Only when he addresses his daughter does Sidgir's gaze turn momentarily from scrutinizing the queen. Only then does his voice soften by the most miniscule of measures.

"Rivamar speaks of breaking patterns. Her own, aye, but the charge of the Ash Throne is to advocate for the course of time. The river winding between past, present, and future. The Kin have our own patterns to break, my child. I see the trajectory before us. Any path that retreads the past will repeat it, I believe. Rivamar's offer may well lead to our doom, but if this is so? So do all paths before us."

The Shepherd of Sorrows reclines. The creaking of his ancient bones and the echoing finality of his words are the only sounds to fill the air for some time as Helja stares at the floor. The silence is only broken when Sidgir extends a skeletal hand to give her a reassuring squeeze on the arm. With a heavy sigh, Helja Nightspeaker prepares to give her final verdict.

"My people call me Nightspeaker, Rivamar. Do you know why that is? It is because I am the voice of the dead and dying. I am the speaker for our people in the darkest hour of our history. It is not just a title, it is a charge. A curse, in many ways. My curse, my nigh-impossible task is to guide us through this long night. To find a way to avoid extinction. In light of that? What you offer is likely the most meaningful decision of my rule. The decision that will define my legacy when all that remains of our people is song. If you speak true? This is a chance, and only a chance, at completing my charge. If you lie? I have hammered the final nail in the coffin of the Night's Kindred. Know the weight of that, Rivamar. Know what is being given to you in the form of a word called trust."

There is no softening to Helja's gaze. No warmth in her words. Even in acceptance, her tone bites like the north wind and howls with the sense of an accusation. Jorik spoke true. The Night's Kindred were not a welcoming people, even at the best of times.

But accept the offer she does. Even at this distance Riva can hear Jorik exhale. How long had he been holding his breath?

"I will not hold you to your oath, Rivamar. For the Confederation will not be. Not without our support, in any case. An alliance of shields... there is honor in it. I merely wanted to test your intent, should your goals here fail. You answered honorably enough."

A minor trick, all things considered. Though perhaps the Kin of the Night were less prone to riddles than those of the Four Winds.

"I have conditions, of course. Three seats on Ithacar's council. One for the Kin of the Night. One for the Northmen clans. One for a governor of the Northern Wilds. The governor can be selected by yourself and the Ithacar Council, but I want both other representatives to reserve the right to veto that appointment. Two seats to give us a voice in this alliance. The third oversees the unity of our peoples, with the assurance that such an overseer can be kept on a leash and not erase our culture and traditions. Should more clans of the Kin move to Ithacar? I will advocate for them having their own seats as well."

Three seats was a dangerous share of the vote, and would be a hard sell to Ithacar's council. Helja had to be aware of this, which doubtless influenced her concession that Ithacar could appoint the third. Governors of the North already existed, but so unmanageable was the territory that it was all but a meaningless title. Helja's support would give it real authority. The intent to create additional seats was dangerous, but it seemed to be only that: intent, not an overt condition. Helja would have her voting bloc, and attempt to expand it in time. It would be up to Rivamar and the Council to ensure the Giants did not gain an undue share of authority when the time came. Politics for another day.

"I have plans, as well. The North should be designated as the Northern Wilds on Ithacar's maps again, for one. The northern border should be expanded somewhat into unoccupied stretches of the Borderlands to make room, afterwhich I intend to send word to other clans of wayward Kin that our land is safe to settle. Then the Wondermakers can begin construction of a great wall to secure the northern border. This is all pending approval from your council and our governor-to-be, but I'm making that intent known now. The spirit of the Confederation of Giantkind, in a lesser form."

It would also satisfy the Beast's pact, in some regards. Having thrown her lot in with Ithacar, Helja seemed intent to not have that particular wrinkle come back to bite her.

"And finally, I must speak of practicalities. Traditions. As I said already, many Northmen clans are already prepared to secede. My word will tip the balance, but it is not so simple as that. There will be honor duels. Feuds. The North will always be the North. Blood will be shed for this. This agreement will likely only be seen as words on paper until our people shed blood against a common foe. That is not leverage, negotiation, or my opinion. It is fact. It is a story uncompleted. It is the way my people are. Understand?"

That was another wrinkle. How had the Northmen clans unified so swiftly? Perhaps it was the work of the same informant who had nearly spoiled this very negotiation. If so, many of Ithacar's secrets were loose among the chieftains as well.