A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Blackthorn paused as he stepped forward, hearing those words from Tavar. He'd been about to perform the grim task of beheading, so that he might show those defeated troops the result of what had happened to their General, and see the battle entirely over, but he paused.

Hod had managed to slip his way amongst the crowd. He came by horse, like Oliver had, taking the great risk of rushing through all those battling men, so that he might see off the mentor that had looked after him and believed in him when many others would have spoken strongly otherwise.

"Hod…" Tavar said, seeing him. "A grand victory… well done."

"Enough," Blackthorn said. "Save your words for the next life, Tavar. We will not speak so peaceably to our enemy."

Oliver jumped down from his horse between the two of them, and with a sword, he warned Blackthorn away. "Perhaps a show of respect for a great man, Blackthorn. We have our victory. We do not need to shame him in the process."

The Minister of Logic looked up, hearing that defence of his master, the relief evident on his face. It was something no doubt he had wanted to say, but he had feared allowing those personal emotions to cloud his judgement.

"Stand aside, Patrick," Blackthorn said. "Would you risk more lives because of your soft-heartedness?"

"What risk?" Oliver said. "You are a General. Bellow the result at the enemy, and they will know of it."

"Will they believe in it?" Blackthorn said. "Would you take that risk?"

"They will believe in it when their General does not respond to say otherwise," Oliver said. "The battle is done."

Blackthorn tutted, but his resistance wasn't as strong as it otherwise would have been, evidenced by the fact that he gave in so easily. If it was something General Blackthorn had truly wanted to do, no matter who stood in his way, he would not have stopped to listen.

"Thank you… for the dignity," Tavar said mildly, his voice growing softer now, as his red blood continued to run out of his body, thawing the icy ground around it. "Once more… I tell you… of my pride… You are… you all are… beyond my expectations…"

He looked as if he wanted to say more than, but a spasm wracked his body, the pain of which was evident on his face. He shuddered, and Oliver winced to see it. The great General that had kept them all in check for so long, who had made them work so hard for such a victory, now seemed like the old man he truly was, as he lay there dying on the floor.

But willful is what Tavar was, if nothing else at all. He clenched his fist, and gritted his bloodied teeth, and spoke his words further.

"I place it… in your hands… the Stormfront… Follow your cause… to the end – let none stand in… your way… Honour, gentlemen, I beseech you… do not grow fat… on newly gained power… Do not make the same mistakes… that have been made before you… Find the justice… the justice… that once… once was lost…"

His words were practically a whisper in the end, indistinguishable from that violent howling wind. Oliver had to lean in close to hear them, and he had to grit his teeth, to fight back the tears, when he realized for a certainty, that if he did look down once again, he would see nothing but the lifeless eyes of a dead man.

There was a weight to Tavar's disappearing presence, that one felt, more than they saw. It was as if a great fire, in a large hall, had suddenly flickered out, and now there was less light cast upon those that sat upon that ancient table. Now, they were doomed to make their own choices, without the warmth of its guidance.

There wasn't the swell that usually came with a grand victory. For Oliver, it was a victory tainted by immense sadness. He had held great respect for General Tavar, and the General had helped him a good many times during his stay at the Academy.

Yet, there was no regret either, from both sides. They knew what had to be done. They had both chosen honour to fight for, in different ways. Tavar had his oath to the High King that he died for, and Hod and his faction had their justice that they believed in, and wished to see enacted. Neither side slighted the other for what they had chosen. It was as if either side could have won, and the reactions would have been much the same.

"Farewell, Tavar…" Hod said softly, his voice far more vulnerable than Oliver had ever heard it. He sounded a boy, lost in the world. The Minister held a side smile as he looked at his parted mentor, and then he tilted his head up towards the sky, as if declaring that he could stand to look no more. Then, he seemed to find immense interest in those grey clouds that were beginning to gather, as if he could see a world beyond it.

Blackthorn departed with a snort – a forced snort, that all could see through. His own daughter flinched to hear the weakness in his voice, that Blackthorn would normally have never allowed to be there. "If you fools wish to stand around, then be my guest. I'll see this battle finished, and I'll have those soldiers throw down their weapons."

"It will only take a word…" Hod murmured by way of response. "I leave it in your hands."

Blackthorn sniffed, and wiped his nose. "Gods, even the cold's getting to my nose now," he said, once more making his excuses.

"There lies a man that the world could have used the wisdom of for a good while longer…" Verdant said, from by Oliver's side. "Though, perhaps in battling with us, he taught us far more than we would otherwise have been willing to listen to."