A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

There was a man of sternness. The entire ride there, he'd been stern in his silence. Queen Asabel hadn't minded that. She knew just how thin a line she was balancing on, so that she could ride along with them. It had felt good, simply to be out in the open like that, on horseback, feeling the cold wind batter her face, and feeling the soreness of the saddle begin to mount up. That was far better than sitting around, with naught to do. It was certainly much better than waiting for the results of battles, with anxiety mounting up.

She had a purpose to her riding too – she was certain that, if she could meet face to face with him, she'd be able to talk some sense to the Emerson King. His position, after all, was difficult. Thanks to Oliver, she had all the bargaining chips that she needed. Oliver had treated his captives well, if his letters were to be believed. A return of them, under favourable terms, would benefit both her and the defending men of Ernest who had to watch over them, to the detriment of their own future food supplies.

"Strong steel, and firm hearts," Blackwell concluded, thundering a gauntleted fist into the breast of his armour.

The men erupted in their cheers. Solidness – that was what Blackwell personified now. He was reliable as could be. He was more experienced as a Commanding General than possibly any other living man in the Stormfront. Even Tavar, as old as he was, had not gathered experience to the degree that Blackwell had, after leaving the battlefield so young in favour of teaching. Blackwell was the man who had led his armies to a complete victory of the Verna. He was the same man that had ensured the steady conquering of the Pendragon lands, and the total victory that they had achieved there. Though, on the matter of conquering, Blackwell didn't seem to judge it as too firm an achievement. He had supposed their enemy to be outmatched from the start, and he had proved that with his continual string of victories.

This foe, in Tiberius, however, commanded the fullness of Blackwell's attention. There was none of that dismissiveness that he'd walked east with. He acknowledged that the slightest gap in their armour was likely to lead to catastrophic consequences. And, he made it clear that the fact Asabel had chosen to ride with him made their position all the more dangerous.

"We will take two days to prepare ourselves," Blackwell told them. "To see our spears sharpened, and our swords ready. And then, we will march, and root out Tiberius, so that our Queen Asabel can continue her road west without fear of danger."

There was the point that Blackwell had made, that they couldn't pass too near Ernest without a considerable bodyguard, given the siege that was currently going on there. Naturally, Queen Asabel was aware of that too. But the sort of bodyguard she imagined wasn't simply a few hundred men strong – she imagined bringing the full might of Blackwell's army down onto Tavar's flank, so that they might finally free those noble Ernest defenders from the burden that they'd endured.

It made her regretful to think on it. How long they'd been forced to last, against such a mightily big army. Every day, when they were to receive updates by crow, she half-expected one to contain words of their defeat. That they continued to struggle on for as long as they had, it was a matter of great commendation. And as their Queen, she declared most firmly that she would do all that she could to assist them.

She regretted it not, that she would end up near the frontlines with Blackwell. All the better, she thought. She would do her duty as Queen, and she would see her men inspired, if she could. She would speak to them as she had spoken to the townspeople, in all those cities that had been set to rebel. She knew not why they had all decided to listen to her. She didn't think she had any special sort of charisma. But if there was a magic to it, she wanted to use that magic before it vanished entirely elsewhere.

And besides, there was a gift that she had – a gift that she rarely used, for fear of its consequences. The sort of gift that only one man in the entire world could accept. Well, Oliver had gone a step further than accepting it. He had declared it to be the most beautiful thing in the world. And for such a man, she had always been willing to use it. Now, for the sake of the Generals that swore themselves to her, and demonstrated such loyalty, she would find reason to use it yet again. It was where she ought to be, and when she listened to that murmuring Fragment of Gaia within her, she found that the Old Goddess was very much in agreement.

The army began to disband itself, dispersing back towards their tents. They'd made camp outside of Broadstone's fortress, to the further north, nearest where they thought Tiberius was likely to be, given that he'd kept his own army ready in the Skreen. They supposed that, if they stayed there, no matter where Tiberius was likely to move, they could put him into check. What they feared most – and what Asabel feared most along with them – was that Tiberius would move west ahead of them, and steal and attack on the unprepared Ernest defenders. For that to happen would likely be to lose the war in its entirety.

Everyone moved purposefully, now that Blackwell had given them their task. Soldiers crunched through the snow, glittering from the sunlight. Sergeants barked their orders, ensuring good efficiency, even in these more menial tasks that the soldiers likely could have been trusted to carry out themselves.

When men slipped inside one of the many tents, or back inside the fortress, if they were part of General Broadstone's company, the large majority would reappear again with a pack of their backs, filled with the marching rations that they'd been distributed, and thicker layers, should the cold weather worsen, and a wool blanket on top, should they need to make an emergency camp out in the middle of nowhere.