A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Though they had their baggage train, and all those wagons, a soldier still had to carry his lot, along with the armour that he was made to permanently wear. It was a heavy burden indeed, and not something that Asabel thought she envied. If these had been times of peace, a sensible man would have complained after being made to shoulder such a thing for so long. But in these times of war, when a burden was put on a man's shoulders, he seemed far more willing to bear it in grim silence, once he knew what it was that was at stake.

"We should retire to the fortress, your majesty, the wind is beginning to pick up," Lancelot said, as the cold tossed up Asabel's thick wool cape, and she fought with all her might to suppress a shiver. She was wearing a good few layers beneath her riding dress, and still she found it almost impossible to maintain a good and constant level of warmth.

"No, I shall continue watching," Asabel said. She knew there was meaning in it, even if her retainers protested. Her other Pillars had certainly not been too happy with the decision that she, Blackwell and Lord Idris had made seemingly by themselves. They had been upset enough to question what their authority even was, if such dangerous plans were to be made with them still in the dark. But the meaning was what was right in front of her, Queen Asabel though. Those small glances that the soldiers stole over their shoulders, and the Queen that they saw sitting there.

She was beginning to believe in the actions of quietness. She didn't think that, after all, she had to do anything quite so dramatic all the time. There were moments when it was sufficient to simply be there, in the capacity as Queen, for as long as her patience would allow it. They'd all given to the royalty this level of majesty that Queen Asabel herself thought to be silly, and to be far beyond herself. Yet she saw too how much it meant to them, when she was there with them, in the cold, on the frontlines, or in the city, marching alongside the charred buildings, seeing with her own eyes the damage that she had inflicted with her efforts at war.

Her purpose, it seemed, was simply to see, and to watch. To let those easily overlooked men know that the Queen did not dismiss their efforts. That glory wasn't only to those of higher rank. That there was a struggle to be acknowledged among the common soldiery. And she could see that struggle now, as clear as day, in the way they shivered from the wind, and the way they grunted against the burdens that they carried. The way they held their stomachs, when they fought back the pangs of hunger that their rations didn't quite manage to quell.

The soldiers suffered, just as the Generals suffered. She could feel the tension from all of them when they had met. The seriousness with which they confronted the next battle. Karstly wore not the signs of fatigue, but his eyes were sharp, without his usual laughter. Broadstone looked exhausted, with bags under his eyes. And Skullic seemed as withdrawn as if they had already lost. When she had asked about it, he had been meek with a smile, and he had paused, apparently wondering whether he should lie.

"My wife, your majesty," he said in the end. "It is she I think of, more than my conquered home."

Asabel had felt her heart soften, hearing those words. It had been enough to melt through the tension that had started to infect even her. She'd put her hand to the General's cheek, and smiled at him, a smile full of honesty. "You will see her again soon, General, I am sure of it. Your love for her warms us all."

She meant those words too. The love that Skullic had for his wife was a thing she wished all the couples in the Stormfront could enjoy. The two seemed far lesser without each other. Even in the Academy, when she had needed to work by herself – even before the two of them had been married – there were times when Asabel would catch sight of Mary as she walked through the corridor, looking morose and distant. Only when the two had finally married did she know the cause of it. Such a love, that they could hardly bear to be apart from each other for a few moments at a time, much less days.

All of those Generals, despite their different feelings, seemed to look at the battlefield in front of them with the hungry eyes of hawks. They seemed quite ready to put all that they had on the line for the sake of victory. They were all strong and terrifying naturally – but that unique motivation, that willingness to go all the way that exuded out of them. That was a reliable, and rather frightening thing indeed. Frightening for the fact that it pointed to the strength of the foe that they risked confronting. Their seriousness was a better explanation of it than anything else for Queen Asabel. For all the things that she had heard said about Tiberius, she had to say, she was a rather frightening man indeed.

"But I do not think we shall lose," she said to herself, making her certainty into iron, feeling the will of a Pendragon spread through her. That which almost bordered on arrogance, but never quite reached it. For a dragon did not need to be arrogant. A dragon was absolute.

"No. I do not think we shall," Lancelot agreed, though he shot her a strange look at the sudden comment. "...Does the tension of men preparing for war get to you, your Majesty?"

"A little," Asabel admitted.

"You will not enjoy the sight of battle," Lancelot warned. "It will be hard on your heart."

"I am not a meek rabbit to be defended in a golden cage," Asabel said, in a sudden fit of anger. "I too have trained in field medicine at the Academy. I am not entirely useless."