Northstar Vale Sleep off the destruction

Subservience;
kowtowing only remembered in the bleary vestiges when once she had been an uncharted heiress. The stricken had never felt the need to present herself preeminently; not when she felt such instances must be a last resort. Neither would she begin now, and most certainly when she believed there to be a reason to. If there was another encompassing ambition to provide to her Courtiers other than guidance — then let it be the encouragement of independence. She would not consort with blindness when there was so much  (formal)  bickering to be had.

And so, perhaps she might encourage such by the gracious, slantwise cant of rubied crown:  “You may rise.”  The words laden upon her tongue, forgotten.  “These are ze Sunspire Mountains, and you have awoken in ze realm of our Court,”  unwieldy with the lilt of one who is not only foreign but has since become unfamiliar with her position of power. Halfsight resting upon the anxious embers, now,  “As for your plight ... what say you, that I would allow you to find respite within our Vale? Or, perchance, a purpose?”  What else might she offer, but this? To offer the shielding of that which her wolves sought to birth: sages, striders; seekers, soldiers?

“We are not many, yet we flourish steadily. Should you choose to recover from your travails, in time, then, I would call upon my striders to aid you in looking for those you have lost.”