Calling for Balance

A Demacian flag on Mount Targon was not a familiar sight. And to its inhabitants, in whose minds the memory of facing Demacia on the fields of war almost seemed to be from yesterday, not an entirely welcome one, either. No matter what path the caravan might take, they would not escape notice of the Rakkor. It was only a little further up the path that several came into view. Two ranks of Rakkor hoplites, arranged in a perfect line formation. Each one carried in one arm a large bronze shield with a lambda painted on it's face, and in the other a nine foot long spear. Their bodies were guarded by a bronze chestplate, greaves, armguards, and a helmet from under which their faces were indistinguishable, save for their two eyes glaring out from underneath. They barred the way further up the mountain.

One of them, the commander of the group, judging by the more ornate plume on his helmet, took three strides forward, away from the formation and toward the Demacian caravan. He took a brief glance along its length, no doubt assessing the combat capabilities of the group.
"Halt!" his voice broke through the silence of the mountain, echoing slightly into the distance. He gave a moment for the caravan to comply before speaking again.
"What business does Demacia have on Mount Targon?" he continued, looking toward Fiora as he spoke, who he judged to be the leader of the group. Distaste was apparent in his voice. It would be wise of the Demacians to be careful with their choice of words, lest they offend the Rakkor and incite bloodshed.

The man's eyes darted around for a few moments, looking at the caravan, Fiora, and anyone who looked like a soldier.
"Very well. You may continue." He seemed almost...disappointed, as if fighting the Demacians who had come by his homeland would have been the highlight of his day, and certainly seemed as if that was what he was expecting. One could almost swear he was frowning under his helmet. He turned on his heel to face the formation of Rakkor and barked out a brief order to them in a language foreign to the Demacian visitors. At once, they turned their formation to the side, and marched off in two perfect single file lines. The silence of the mountain took over, and the road was now empty. The Demacians were free to continue as they wished.

Across the front of the temple were several figures, stationed at regular intervals. At first glance, they could have almost been mistaken for statues, they stood so still. Each of them wore brilliantly colored golden armor that gleamed in the sun and had a crimson red cape that trailed in the wind. Their attire was very similar to that of the Rakkor hoplites from earlier, only grander, and their armor was full plate rather than a curiass. Each of them carried a spear of nine feet in length in one hand and a golden kite shield in the other. One of these figures, standing by a pair of large bronze doors, addressed Fiora.
"What business do you have here, at the Temple of the Solari at the peak of Mount Targon?" The delivery was completely toneless. If the figure had any ill will toward the Demacians, he at the least did not make it easily discernible.

The man nodded, acknowledging what had been said. He shifted the spear he held to his shield hand, and with his now free arm, struck the door three times, the sound of the metal crashing against metal reverberating across the mountainside. The door opened slightly, and the figure spoke in low tones to whoever was on the other side, the words spoken indistinguishable due to both volume and language. When he was finished, the door closed. Silence followed.

It took time before anything happened at all. The door finally opened once more, and a brief few words were uttered from the inside to the guard standing outside. The guard turned his attention to Fiora once more, and then delivered the verdict.
"You may enter." He and the man on the other side of the set of doors pushed them open in unison, admitting the visitors entry. On the other side of the doors, a slight distance into the temple, stood Leona, wearing her usual, familiar armor, flanked by two figures wearing armor even more ornate than the guards on the outside of the temple, ready to receive their guests.

Truth be told, although her visitor was a fellow champion from the Institute of War, Leona knew little of Fiora. She was obviously someone of importance, but exactly what position she held, she did not know. She gave a polite nod of the head to her in reply to her greeting.
"Welcome, Fiora Laurent of Demacia. These two men are not the leaders of the Solari, but if you would follow me, I will take you to them."
Leona would then gesture for Fiora to follow her as she started off down one of the many hallways of the temple. The two men flanking her also followed, keeping a slight distance behind the group. The visitors would bear firsthand witness to craftsmanship of those who built the temple, evident in the intricacy of the numerous carvings in the marble walls and the magnificence that even the most simple of elements possessed. Leona and the two men in armor seemed unfazed, but then again, this was their home. Everything was familiar to them.

It took a little over a minute for the group to reach their destination. Another pair of bronze doors, these smaller than the ones at the entrance, flanked by two soldiers identical to the ones outside. Leona spoke a brief sentence in the same foreign language which had been heard several times before, and the guard addressed nodded and moved her hand to push open the door, in tandem with the man across from her. Only Leona and Fiora would be admitted entry into the room beyond the two doors. As they passed through, they would be shut behind them.

The room they had entered was circular, with twenty marble seats lining the walls, and a table stretching across in front of them. The center of the room was empty, and would be the perfect place for an orator to stand and address the room from. Of the twenty seats present, only ten were occupied. Their occupants were rather advanced in age, both men and women, all dressed in a form of cloth clothing that would be seen in no location other than Mount Targon. One of them stood, a man, quite advanced in age, as could be seen from the many wrinkles on his face and the whiteness of his beard and hair, and addressed Fiora.
"Fiora Laurent of Demacia, we were told that you bear a message from the king of Demacia addressed to us. If you might read it to the council, that would be appreciated."

The room remained in perfect silence as Fiora read and several moments after she had finished reading. An alliance was what they sought. It was surprising to think that they would come to Mount Targon, of all places, seeking allies among people related to those who had spent their entire lives fighting Demacians on the fields of battle. Perhaps they were desperate? The elders glanced among themselves for a few moments. The man who had spoken before addressed Fiora again.
"I ask that you leave the room for a time while we discuss if we will entertain your proposition." Nothing more would occur until Fiora vacated the room.