A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1574 - 1574: Where The Dragon Lies - Part 5

It had given Torfus chills to hear it, for it seemed to explain, in part, that look that Oliver Patrick gave them all, and that warmth that he exuded. But it wasn't the progress that Torfus knew. He'd always wanted more, like any man, but when he had grasped for it, he had found the world harsh with condescension, as if telling him to know his place. Now progress came as if as an extra. His joy was simply in the doing, and when his joy reached such a profound point, that the warmth glowed within him, he'd feel that spark manifest, and he'd see magic, and know that its name was progress.

A great tree that sprung out of the ground, with leaves golder than the ones that fell in autumn, and fruits to be plucked, blood red, deeper than even cherries. Such was the tree of progress, such was the image that Torfus felt growing in his head. It was something greater than he had ever dreamed to be a part of it. It was a bounty nourished by a sun brighter than he'd ever borne witness to.

And all of this, in the deepest snows that the late-autumn Solgrim had seen in some time, with their feet frozen, and their fingers near frostbitten, if they did not take the utmost care with them.

All of it done, with the cold wind of a coming battle blowing their way. A terrifying, terrifying thing, and Torfus could not have met it with a more profound sense of destiny.

…

…

It had been long since the Emerson Kings had gathered themselves for war. They left such matters to their Generals beneath them, if they needed to show face in any of the campaigns that had happened in the past, or send troops on behalf of their High King.

This most recent rebellion, however, had changed all that. It was something that, in its scale, had not been seen throughout the entirety of Stormfront history. Ever since the First King had sat the throne, his cycle of succession that he had laid in place had gone uninterrupted, without true usurpers. No Silver King at the very least had ever dared to interrupt it, even if Lords had, at times, in the past, gotten ahead of themselves, and tried to lay claim to royal blood.

The High King's fury had been palpable even in just the letters that he had written. He hadn't wasted time in calling together the Silver Kings for a meeting, but he had sent men of the highest rank in order to convey such sentiments, in between each of the orders that he had penned.

It was a fury that bordered on madness. Hendrick Emerson, Prince of the Emerson House, thought as much, with a certain degree of condescension. It was an uncouthness that seemed to go beyond the royal prerogative. Even if this were a stirring of the likes which the realm had never seen, he did not see much reason for the High King to grow so disturbed from it.

As all said, and as Hendrick's own father, Silver King Emerson said, this would be a quashing of a mere swarm of insects. Though, indeed, there were several great men involved amongst the rebels, and though Hendrick himself had a particular fondness for Queen Asabel, given that she had always been cordial, and at times even warm with him, he could see, as every strategist with two wits could, that their rebellion was doomed towards failure.

"It has been stated that their rebellion has just cause… Some talk of the assassination of Lord Blackwell's son, Lord Ferdinand," Hendrick had mentioned to his father, as he kneeled before the throne, in a room absent of guards.

"Even in my presence, you will not speak those words," King Emerson admonished him. The great King Emerson was now old enough that his hair and beard had both gone grey. Rightfully, he ought to have been leading the Emerson armies himself, but these days, he could barely stand to climb the stone stairs towards his dark-red copper throne, without the aid of a heavily jewelled walking stick.

He was calm, even in his admonishment. He had taken the news of the rebellion calmly as well, in the steady way that King Emerson was famed for. Hendrick thought it regretful that the man would never see the throne of High King. He thought, for all his wisdom, he was wasted as a mere Silver King. He knew what it took to maintain the peace, and he too knew when there needed to be demonstrated a firm hand.

"You will lead our armies, Hendrick," King Emerson said. "And you will lead them well. Your experience is sufficient, and the strategic importance of our placement too sufficient, that the Emerson forces can make a significant contribution to the war effort."

Hendrick, naturally, knew exactly what he met by that. The plan as it was remained simple enough. It was drawn up by the High King's strategists, and kept simple for the very purpose that it had to employ leadership over so many different moving parts at once. They had given each Silver King an objective, rather than a true plan, and the objective for the Emerson House was simple enough. Capture Ernest, and burn everything that belonged to the traitors.

Given that the rebellion had started within the Emerson Kingdom, there was no shortage of disdain being thrown their way by the High King. He'd buried more than one comment, as harshly as a dagger, through the mouths of his dignities, and the sprawled script of his letters, about their lack of governance, and their inadequacies as leaders. There had even been hints towards the fact that they themselves might have been traitors.

It carried the easily verifiable scent of madness, and even if it was not that, it was insecurity. King Emerson's concern that they make themselves especially useful stemmed from that fact, Hendrick knew.

He shrugged his shoulders, receiving his royal command. "As you wish, my King. I shall take no qualms in doing what must be done. It be only Ser Patrick, and a thousand peasants that stand before me. My sword shall not hesitate in trimming such fat."