When Endymion had been a young cadet still rising through the ranks the Corseilan navy had been little more than an ill-mannered band of brigands and boors.  The behavior displayed by his officer had once been commonplace, as had the rampant destruction of property following each victory.  In his youth Endymion had even participated in such pointless destruction.  But over the decades he had seen how poisonous the resentment of subjugated people could be to the ruling class.  As he began to advance in his military career he rooted such behavior out – first in his crew, then his fleet, then eventually the whole navy.  What had followed was an unprecedented decrease in civil unrest including but not limited to assassination attempts, uprisings, and the impressively foolish stunt pulled by the apparent leader of Valtegaard.  As it turned out he hadn't needed to reprimand his officer, not that he had planned to.  Experience, after all, was the greatest teacher of all, and she had reprimanded him right in the windpipe.<br/><br/>Unexpected though the guards actions had been Endymion remained stock still, making no move to either help his officer or retaliate against the woman.  His officers had the fiery upstart detained and the officer gasping on the ground did not deserve to have the lesson he was learning cheapened by the addition of aid.  Instead he locked eyes with the injured officer and pointed to the medical tent.  Then he turned his attention to the guard on her knees before him.  Simple though her regalia was, it was clear by the way she had been able to calm the crowd that the people respected her.  He was tempted to smile at her mad little outburst; she really was committed to playing the hero.  But with the whole town waiting to see how their new leader handled dissent e opted to keep his face cold and stony.  He approached her until the toes of his boots were nearly touching her knees.  She was small despite her apparent abilities, the top of her silver-capped head barely reaching his hips.  Still she stared up at him defiantly.  He sighed inwardly – this would take some work.<br/><br/>He looked down his nose at her, one hand on the pommel of his sword.  His officers tightened their grip on their prisoner as he locked eyes with her.  Finally he spoke, a demand more than a question and spoken with the flat intonation of a simple statement.<br/><br/>“Who are you.”