A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"It sounds complicated," the High King said, "frightfully so. I wonder if even my chief strategists would be able to untangle the mess that you've made Lord Blackwell. Perhaps this is simply your fighting style? You enjoy making messes, and taking advantage from them?"

Even as far away as Oliver was, and even though the High King's insults were not directed at him, he could feel his anger boiling. Even knowing it was an act, it was difficult to restrain it. Bare-faced insults, hidden behind a mask of stupidity, it was a difficult thing to do anything against.

"…I suppose you could describe my style as something of that sort, Your Majesty," Lord Blackwell said, his voice no more than a whisper as he ground his teeth, keeping his fist clenched.

"I see…" the High King said. "Oh, there must be something we can do for you, my Lord. Weakened though you are, you still fought hard and well for our Kingdom. To let you go home disgraced would be an insult to your years of service… Oh! Why do we not simply let you finish what you have started – if you're confident that you can get it to work? Is that a possibility, Justus, or am I blathering?

I knew I ought to have brought along my Pillar of War at least… What an oversight from this foolish King."

"It is possible," Justus said, his face not betraying a trace of his true emotions. The man was like a mask. "Wise, even. I do not think the Pillar of War would disagree."

"Oh?" The High King said, leaning forward, as if intrigued. He let his face light up in a false glow. "Oh! Lord Blackwell, there is indeed hope, it seems! You've secured some sort of advantage with these castles of yours, haven't you? You might have wasted three years, but I doubt you would need much longer to see true results, would you?"

"…The problem is the number of men," Lord Blackwell said. "The Verna numbers are likely to go up in these next years."

"Your current number isn't enough?" The High King said, tilting his head. "My, how time has weakened even the strong, Lord Blackwell. You and I are similar enough ages – it seems that time has been as cruel to you as it has been to me… More numbers… For an old servant of the Crown, perhaps it's possible…? Justus?"

"You have already given the cause to the East much, Your Majesty," Justus replied. "There is not much more that we can do. Not here in the Capital."

"Indeed… Perhaps… once more, we might be forced to beg?" The High King said, scrunching up his hand.

Looking around, Oliver was infuriated to see that most, if not all of the gathered nobles seemed to be well on the High King's side. When the High King lamented, theirs were faces of sympathy. A few thousand nobles, all pining for their King's troubles of the heart. And then when Blackthorn spoke, admitting that he was lacking, that would be looks of scorn and derision.

It was as though they were looking at a senile old man, and not one of the Great Generals of the Stormfront.

"How blind…?" Oliver hissed to himself. Blackthorn had been outnumbered nearly three to one for the entirety of his campaign, and yet not only had he defended the border, he'd won castles. To Oliver, that was evidence of genius. These were feats that even Professor Volguard praised, as he analysed reports from the East in his classroom. Blackthorn had done what few others could have.

Volguard had said, more than once, that if it had been a lesser man guarding the border, they would have lost the Pendragon Kingdoms years ago.

"Oh! Is that perhaps Princess Asabel?" The High King said, standing up out of his chair. "I thought it was you! I knew there was something beautiful at the very corner of my vision, but I'd only dimly acknowledged it."

"It is I, my King," Queen Asabel said, standing, and curtsying. She was a Queen now, but it seemed to be with pointed insistence that the High King continued to address her as 'Princess'.

"Now there's a rare bit of opportunity," the High King said, nodding to himself. "I think the priests would be in agreement if I said this must have been preordained."

It was an artfully simplistic way of looking at something that was quite obviously the result of Queen Asabel's own planning, rather than any sort of convenient preordination by the Gods on the High King's behalf.

"There you have it, Lord Blackwell," the High King said. "The pieces ought to be coming together. Why, even without my Pillar of War, I can see a path that we might take. Our Princess Asabel has inherited the borders with Verna and the Yarmdon. Your cause ought to be her cause, am I mistaken?"

"I do not believe you are," Justus replied before Lord Blackwell could.

"Then, beseech the good Princess," the High King ordered. "Kneel before her, and beg her for the right to continue – to be absolved of this sin of failure that you have committed."

Just for an instant, with those words, his maliciousness shone through his act of foolishness. Lord Blackwell visibly twitched. Had he not already spoken to Queen Asabel in advance – through Captain Lombard – then the humiliating order might have made him even angrier than he was. Angry enough to do something foolish.

As it happened, after a single breath, he was able to contain himself. He dared to rise.

"Is that quite alright, Princess Asabel?" The High King asked. "I am putting you on the spot, when you are so new to all this. Ah, I imagine you must have been interested to see a heroic General return, just like the rest of us. How disappointing it must be."

"Please do not worry, my King," Queen Asabel told him. "Lord Blackwell and his men are all very gallant. It is immensely reassuring to see them."

"Oh?" The High King said. "Oh, indeed. I see." He almost seemed put out by that.