A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"I know very well that you are not useless, your majesty, but you are far too important for us to risk in letting you tend to the common man. You are aware that you shall have to remain a distance from the battlefield? You will be subject to its horrors by sight, but there will be naught that you can be allowed to do to intervene. It's a cruel position," Lancelot said. "Any would find it to be so."

"Yet, I must stay and see it through regardless. It is the duty of a Queen," Asabel said.

"You already go beyond the duties of a Queen, Your Majesty…" Lancelot said, before finishing the rest under his breath. "And, I admit, I feel some degree of pride in seeing that."

Asabel gave a small smile, and turned her head away, pretending that she could not see it. She looked over to Blackwell and Broadstone, as the two walked towards the gates of the fortress, sharing quiet conversation together.

Broadstone must have said something strange, for Blackwell gave a sudden pause in the snow, stopping his movement entirely, so that he might glare at the man. It made Asabel everso curious as to what had been said, but she was far enough away that she could not even attempt to read their lips, much less catch whispers of the conversation.

It didn't even look like Blackwell was making to reply to it. He just stood there, and stared, to the point that Broadstone frantically seemed to try to explain himself, gesticulating rather wildly, in a rare act of unsettledness. But then Blackwell turned away from him entirely, to look in the opposite direction, not even bothering to hear Broadstone out.

"...Now that is rather rude," Asabel did find herself thinking. Even if Broadstone had said something quite foolish indeed, one didn't need to pull a toddler's level of defiance to make him feel bad about it. Broadstone himself seemed to feel quite the same way, for he gave up his attempts at explanation, and merely stood there, stunned by the fact that he had been treated in such a way.

And then that stunned expression transformed into bemusement. He seemed to have caught wind of another thought, for instead, he moved to join Blackwell by his shoulder, looking in the same direction that he was.

All of a sudden, a feeling of the most acute nervousness spread across Queen Asabel. It was as if a cat that she'd been sharing a room with had hissed at a shadow that Queen Asabel herself could not see. But these were not cats. They were Generals with decades of experience, and instincts sharper than any sword. If they were off staring into the distance, filled with alertness, it was not without reason.

"...By the Gods, he's here already," Queen Asabel realized, much to Lancelot's alarm, and that of the guard around her.

Blackwell gave the order too, and a horn was blown, readying the scrambling soldiers, who had been in the midst of their preparations to march, for battle. Chaos reigned, along with a good deal of noise, and all before anything had yet to come into view.

Broadstone went rushing off, leaving Blackwell to stand and stare by his lonesome. Men went pouring, this way and that, and the other Generals frantically tried to gather up their troops, with the help of their commanding offices. Every man with empty hands looked to find a weapon of some sort. Those that had been marching around with bundles on their shoulders quickly saw them thrown down, with some hint of relief. And those that had thoughts of food quickly saw those thoughts forgotten, as adrenaline replaced any and every other thing.

Then, in short order, by the light of the midday son, the enemy revealed themselves, glittering silver and gold, there was that dreadful, terrifying banner. It was difficult to tell exactly what the beast was, only that it was not of this world. There were hints of dragon to it, and hints of something else. It seemed more an abomination, than any true and distinct thing. And that abomination wore jewels as if they were clothes, as did the men that bore those banners. Every man of note was dressed in armour tainted by richness of some sort. It seemed far less the marching of an army, and more like the procession of some terrifying and demonic God.

If one had wondered which one amongst them Tiberius was, then that man would have confessed himself to have been long since blind. For Tiberius stood more prominently than a mountain surrounded by plains. A golden crown towered on his head, more majestic even than that crown of the High King. Long white hair ran down his armour, and that too bore the sigil of his invented house, painted out by jewels of rubies, sapphire and emeralds. There was the question as to where he had managed to acquire such a degree of wealth, but it was a question hidden amongst a haystack of others questions when it came to Tiberius. The man was an engima.

He was far enough away that they had all the time they needed to assume battle formations. Nor was the man exactly rushing. He went up and down the undulating hillside, towards the flatter section of plains where Blackwell waited, and he did so at the slowest of marches, not tiring his men out at all in the process. He was a man of supreme and terrifying confidence. He was arrogance personified and made deadly. It fell upon the waiting men like a whip, and coiled them all into place.

Queen Asabel found herself suffocated, swimming in that sea of chaos. The men had managed to form their ranks, but there was still that pounding of surprise. They'd all moved up, to the top of the hill, where the plains just began. The superior position for battle – they owned the high ground. But what did it matter, when all their hearts were wracked with fear? Or was it merely Queen Asabel that felt like that?