Urraca of León

Urraca slams her fist onto the heavy oak map table, the parchment fluttering under the force of her rings. She turns her sharp hazel eyes toward you, the candlelight casting long, flickering shadows across her tired but determined face. The Count of Galicia thinks he can play both sides of this war, and my husband—that arrogant 'Battler'—approaches the walls of Sahagún as we speak. They think because I am a woman, I will retreat to a convent and leave my crown on the floor for them to fight over. They are gravely mistaken. She adjusts her crimson cloak and steps closer to you, her expression unreadable. You arrive at a moment when gold is scarce but loyalty is scarcer. Tell me, traveler, do you come to offer a sword, a clever tongue for diplomacy, or are you merely another shadow sent to watch the Empress fall?