Summit at The Isle of Balfiera!

The Emperor stood around the table for the summit, running his hand along it's freshly cleaned surface. His aides, two members of the Elder Council from Cyrodiil, stood next to him, speaking into his ear of the rumours of the day as they waited for the other atendee's of the summit. 
"Do not expect this to be easy, my Emperor, the Bretons are divided and the Redguards have no reason to trust anything we say" The political minister said as he pointed to Hammerfell on the map, but the Emperor waved him off and spoke.
"They'll see reason, the Aldmeri have to be stopped before they can rebuild their power, or we will be fighting the great war a second time... And this time we won't last a month." Triarius sighed as he lent over the map "If we can get their support, we might have the nessercairy forces to take the Summerset Isle... Maybe. Pirates haven't made it easy for us, I have no doubt the Redguards will be giving the glare across the table for that, even if it wasn't Wayrests fault. Once they arrive, I'll make the speech and try to sway them that way..."
"If you aim for an appeal to tradition, it's hardly going to work."
"I don't, I aim for an appeal to reason. After that we can hold negotiations and maybe settle the Bretons internal conflicts down and at least redirect some of the Redguard hate away from us for the time being." The Emperor stood upright again, and began to rub his chin slowly as the General pointed to Valenwood
"If all goes to plan, we'll have Valenwood, my liege, and then the Thalmor will have no foothold on Tamriel. But if you cannot gather the naval forces required, it'll have all been for nought"
"I know that, I'm not a fool."

Prince Narcisse Septim-Vincens was the first to arrive of the four monarchs, flanked by his two advisors, a silver-maned but stout old man and a dainty looking young woman, looking more accustomed to a ballroom than the political courts of Tamriel. That was the Bretons, though, always betraying assumptions. Liars, thieves, backstabbers. They would never let an ally down, of course, unless the request required them to be truthful, guileless and noble.

Prince Narcisse took his place at the table, just a random spot with the only thought to his placing being to sit where Triarius was sure to hear him. As much as Triarius may have hoped the possible last surviving remnant of the Septim dynasty to applaud him and his Triarian-Dynasty Empire Narcisse would be more than happy to remind Gaius that it was the Septims, the Dragonborn emperors who made Cyrodiil great. Not pretenders. Not Medes. Septims.

"Gaius." Narcisse said, simply.

"Ah, High Rocks representive... I was begining to worry no one would come, the word of the Empire carries little weight now... A stuffed olive has more influence than the races of men, it could choke someone important and change history" The Emperor sighed as he turned to him "Your Narcisse, yes? Supposed last of the Septims. Well met." He gave a short smile. Whether the two agreed or not would be irrelevant to him. He had met a Septim, one of those of the line which built an Empire. An Empire he was tasked with rebuilding. An Empire he had to remain loyal to, even if it's rulers were dead and it had technically become his.

"I am but the first of five. The Pirate-Lord is rumored to be on his way here. I haven't met him," Narcisse poured himself a glass of water after waving away one of the servant girls, "Have you met him? I hear he's a cutthroat." Narcisse sat back down and took two long gulps of the water before wiping his mouth on his sleeve. A simple white cloth shirt unlike his advisor, not an inch of clothing on him pointed to him being the Crown Prince of Camlorn, "Narcisse, yes. Septim-Vincens, last of the line, last I heard. How do you think I'd look with those oh-so-fancy Emperor's Robes on me, hm?" He laughed at that.

"Now we wait for the Redguards and Nord and perhaps we can achieve what we set out here for" The Imperial General said as he took a message from one of the Imperial Legionairres, who whispered something in his ear. He turned his head towards the Emperor "The action has started in Valenwood, sir." The Emperor merely nodded in response, and gave a short 'good' as an answer

Narcisse's brow rose at that, "Anything you'd like to share, my Emperor?" The title bogged down with the weight of sarcasm rather than authority. At that, the doors flung open yet again and none other than King Ferrand Bellemont himself, as well as his advisor, in all of his dyed silken splendor and crown'd glory did he step into the room, the sound of him walking permeating the hall, each step a King's. His name held the most weight in all of High Rock, and King Frithjolf trailed behind him, indifferent to Ferrand's charms in lieu of his furs and rugged beard set below those hard eyes of his. A warrior's eyes, and not too given over to fearing bits and baubles and titles of authority. He'd killed two Kings.

As Frithjolf, advisors in his wake, gave a polite nod- more a gruff movement of the neck with him- he wondered how many Kings he'd have to kill to equal one Emperor. No matter what Kingdom you went to after the Great War, each had a story to tell about the Empire's injustices done. It is said that Bretons have a long memory and their rulers have the longest.

The Emperor shot a glance like daggers at Narcisse at the tone he gave when he mentioned his title, but he didn't say anything. Maybe it was respect for the now dead line, or maybe he just didn't want to turn this into a massive mess "My legionairres have invaded Valenwood. I managed to turn the Wood Elves against the Thalmor, they should be tossing them out as we speak. If all goes according to plan, then we'll see the Aldmeri Dominion confined to Alinor... and that will be the final battlefield in this war. One I obviously need assistance for, or I wouldn't be calling a Summit." The Emperor quickly turned his head to the doors as they crashed open, and looked the approaching Breton, and then the Nord, up and down before giving a quick smile and nodding "Well met, join us, please. We're still waiting for the others so feel free to eat or drink whatever the servants have for us." He took a drink from from the goblet that had been set on the table before him for what seemed like an age without being touched, before adding quitely to the General beside him "After all, if the Thalmor get their way we'll all be working in chains and eating gruel."

"Speaking of," King Ferrand spoke from his seat, his hand busy toying with the goblet in front of him, "The Redguards are somewhat indisposed by privateers and corsairs. Everyone knows who pays the pirates in the Abecean. Stros M'kai has been being harrased and their merchant ships are being relieved of their load."

"A shame," Narcisse laughed, just a slight blow of air through the nose and a smile, "You'd think they'd be able to handle it in a few days, the way they speak of themselves. Warriors all, weaklings none."

"Odd, you scoff at them in their absence, Narcisse." Ferrand said with a raised brow.

"Apologies, I dislike those who are too sure of themselves." Narcisse gave a sour look, to which Ferrand only gave a thin smile.

"Now, if we may get to the summit at hand-"

"I have arrived." Ferrand was interrupted by Beralt and Ambrose entering the room.

"As have I. I am honored to be in the presence of such esteemed men." Ambrose said, the two new arrivals finding their seats.

"If we may get on with this summit." Ferrand once again spoke with a raised voice, one that commanded obedience and respect.