This post was originally going to be a part of the original "Thrown to the Wolves" post I had but I decided the story may have been a little too long. I am now deciding I may have been incorrect. The story is actually pretty short, which i wanted to keep it anyway so it all worked out. Hopefully this gives a bit more of an understanding as to the personalities of the two, explains what's going on in the picture as well and also... well I'm a writer. I gotta get stories out some time lol. I love commissioning folks but my wallet is still recovering currently. So enjoy this instead!
(Also Furaffinity kinda has some weird submission templates so ima just put the story in the description here okay? Great.)
Thumbnail art is by  Nikkimoryart
Story is by  Blustar34

*****

"You came! I was starting to think you'd gotten lost," the wolf woman said with a sly smile on her face. The man walked into the longhouse, two young children following behind him. He had been escorted here by his men and they were left outside so he could speak with these wolves about his surrender. As he took a step inside, he was accosted by one of the wolves, a large black and white man who said nothing as he gripped the man's arm tightly. The man tried to fight his grip but the wolf was far stronger, simply reaching to the man's side and pulling the broadsword from his hip.

"No weapons," he said simply, ushering him forward. The man huffed in indignation before walking forward, meeting with the female wolf who currently sat down behind her table. She was white furred wolfess, bright blue eyes that pierced into the darkness of the longhouse. Her black and green cloak matching that of her companions and the smile on her face impossible to ignore. The Chief's children clung to his coat, his daughter petrified by the strange human looking wolves but his son glaring at them with disdain.

"We haven't properly met. My name is Alfia and this is my brother Tiber. We are the laurel governors for the northern territories and right now, we have a problem." She spoke so matter-of-factually, as if this was just another day for her. Her accent was strong, clearly not native. It was as if she had trouble speaking the language. Her words slurred together, but were still clear. Every word was understood. The smile on her face, though, was so… infuriating. But he knew why she was smiling.

"I know who you are. Your people burned down my village."

"Straight to it I see," she sighed, her ear twitching as she drummed her fingers on the table. "Shall we discuss the reasoning then, King Rolof?"

"What reasons do wolves need to kill innocents?"

"The same amount that Humans do, I'd wager.” Her blue eyes pierced into his, a cold chill crawling in through the windows of the longhouse. Rolof held his children closer to him, the both of them scurrying underneath his cloak for warmth.

“Let's not rewrite history here. Your people cast the first stone. Many settlements of my people were raided and pillaged before this war even began." The man groaned. The animosity between the Humans and Wolves had been shaky for a while now. Once conquerors in their own right, claiming vast swathes of the northern territory, they were now beaten down and tamed like dogs, forced to be vassals for Kaius of Silver and his empire. An arrangement that the Northerners did not like…

"To imagine..." she continued on. "The look on your men's face when they realized you were not the great man you always said you were. The one who would protect them. Get them their independence again. Your glory!" She grinned. Rolof did his best to hold his tongue.

“My men worship me. Even in loss, they see me as a King worthy of the cause! A man worth fighting with and fighting for.” Alfia looked him over.

"What a load of horseshit.”

"I didn't come here to be insulted!" The man clenched his fist, leaning forward on the table. Tiber growled, grabbing the sword at his side and warning the man to take a step back, which he did, recomposing himself. Alfia’s smug smile remained.

"No. You came to surrender. Didn't you?" The man took another breath to calm himself, finally taking a seat in his chair.

"Name your terms." Alfia grinned.

"After some thinking, I decided... you're still a skilled leader of your little clan of warriors. Effective administrator, you know the land and the people. To mount an uprising like this is impressive in its own right. Even if unsuccessful. So, after some pushback from my brother, I've decided that you will stay in your position. You will keep your crown, your lands, and your titles. Your men will help repair the damaged villages and towns from the war, and mine shall do the same, and you will hand over half of the weapons you have in your possession. We don't want you completely defenseless after all." The man heard all of this and said nothing, feeling as though there was more.

He was right.

"In exchange... your children will stay with us as wards." His eyes widened. The children flinched at the words, clutching their fathers cloak.

"No..." he protested.

"They will be fed, clothed, trained in war and politics but also taught our language-"

"No!" He protested again.

"...Our culture and our faith. They will stay with us until they reach the legal age of maturity in your culture... 15?" She looked to her brother.

"16. But Kaius orders 18."

"18 works," she capitulates. The man was fuming, refusing to let go of his children.

"I will not let you take my kin away from me! Do you understand me, dog?! I don't care what your King says!"

"This is not a debate. This is going to happen. And if we have to knock you out to do it, it will be done.” She looked to her brother who walked forward, both children hoping their father would protect them. Rolof held them close to him, more than willing to fight the Wolf who came to take his children from him.

‘If only I still had my sword!’ he thought to himself.

“You can’t do this! I won’t let you!” Tiber growled in response. He stood a whole head taller than the middle aged King who was already a tall man. It was intimidating, the wolf didn’t even bother gripping his sword, knowing full well that no matter what, he could take this man down even with both hands tied behind his back. He leaned down and growled in the man’s face, his face hard to look at.

His muzzle was heavily scarred, almost as if his mouth had been torn open. But the most eye-catching thing was his teeth. Rather than a strong row of white or even yellow teeth, a whole row of metal teeth occupied his maw, made from iron and steel like any sword. It shined in the dimly lit fires of the longhouse, nearly blinding the man as he stared the wolf down. The longer the two held eye contact, the less sure he was in this fight.

“Move. Or BE moved,” Tiber said sternly. Rolof’s children refused to leave their father’s side, holding him tightly as Tiber got closer. Feeling the weight of the situation, the King acquiesced.

“Fine. Just… Give me a minute. Please.” Tiber was silent a moment before nodding. Rolof turned to his children, already having trouble thinking about what to say. After precious seconds of silence, he simply hugged his son and daughter, tighter than ever before. He never wanted to let them go. The thoughts raging through his mind were both of sorrow and fury. Would his children truly be safe here? Would they be cared for? Would they even remember who they were when 18 years came and went?

“<This won’t be forever, do you hear me?>” He spoke softly in his native northern tongue. “<These wolves will not command you. I am your father. And the Mountains will always be our home!>” The children nodded in response, tears streaming down their cheeks.

“<Will we ever see you again?>” Asked the little girl, unable to stop herself from squeezing her fathers hand. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead before doing the same to his son.

“<You will. I will be waiting for you. Your rooms will be left just as they are, waiting for you. Untouched.>” He took a breath, his hands shaking. “<Stay strong. You have the breath of the Storms coursing through your veins! Let no one silence you! Especially them.>” He spat out his words, invigorating his kin. They shared one last hug and he stood tall, turning to face the wolves. Alfia still kept her smile on her face, hands folded in her lap as she waited for the tears to end. Tiber was equally unenthused.

“Take care of them. Protect them with your life!” Rolof said sternly, slowly releasing them into Tiber’s custody. Alfia stood from her chair and fixed her hair.

“<As if they were my own.>” She responded in the Northern tongue. There was a brief moment Rolof flinched, surprised she could speak his language to flawlessly. even down to the accent of his home village. “<Go. Tell your men the war is over. Tell them our conditions of surrender and tell them that if any one of them decides to act on behalf of their brave King…>”

She lightly touched the little girl's cheek, running a cold claw against her face, making her scream. The feeling was colder than any ice, peeling away at her face in a long, cursedly painful scar. It left a white trail along her cheek, quickly fading almost as soon as it appeared, though that didn’t stop the pain.

“Do remind them why that would be a bad idea.”