A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1675 - 1675: A Captured Capital - Part 10

But there was a battle still to be fought. A castle still to be captured. He had one of his foot soldiers take the head of Pedidarius, and he proceeded back down towards the Pendragon Capital.

…

…

With the loss of their General, the morale of the Pendragon soldiers had fallen to a monstrously low level. With the first gate already breached, it had only been a matter of time before the fortress was to fall.

With Blackwell no longer needing to worry about the stratagems of a General to get in his way, he bulled ahead mercilessly, brutishly. That latter part of the siege was certainly not an elegant affair. From the way that Blackwell put himself at the very head of every charge, there was a clear and evident impatience.

Now, as many troops as he could cram into that inner circle of the third wall, stood surrounding the magnificent Pendragon keep, with its carved statues of dragons, standing as guardians and protectors of the royal family that dwelled within. Though against the likes of Blackwell and his army, even they stood powerless, now that they no longer had the men to strengthen them.

Blackwell called up to the top of the keep, ordering those final few men to surrender. But they did not even entertain his words with a shout of their own. They simply ignored him, and continued to pepper his men with arrow fire.

So it was, Blackwell saw the doors of the keep too bulled open, and he spilled into its carpeted halls, wearing the bloodied armour and a conqueror, with all the noise and fire and rage that was likely to go along with it.

With how quiet those inner rooms were, his own barbarism seemed all the more on display. He was right at the head of the battering ram that saw the doors spilled open, and when they finally did, it was as if the cushion of silence that awaited them suffocated them of all their energy and will.

The battle in those halls, with those flickering torches, with all those ancient bricks, those statues, those paintings of the walls and mosaics of the floor. It was not a battle to be fought simply with the sword. Not unless one wished to transcend beyond conqueror, and come again as tyrant.

When she was needed, it had to be said, Queen Asabel's timing was impeccable. The momentum of the Blackwell army was firmly halted by the lack of ferocity that met them – but Queen Asabel was there, within a matter of moments, to take the reins.

Even Blackwell had to flinch in the smallest degree of surprise, when the woman – so graceful she was, in her gowns of silver and of gold – swept past him, without him even sending word to her. That impossibly handsome knight in Lancelot was at her side as well.

The change in Queen Asabel's expression, from that of the crumbling woman that he had seen before the battle was profound. When she met his eyes then, there was no sign of weakness, not the slightest trace even of the smallest of cracks. She radiated fierceness, and firmness. One would have not thought that it was her family that she was meeting.

Rather than Blackwell feeling as if he needed to reassure her, as he had expected to, from the very start of this battle, when this moment had come, with a gentle hand on his shoulder, it was her that reassured him.

"Commanding General Blackwell," she said. "You have fought valiantly, and you have brought our armies to victory. I thank you for your service."

General Blackwell dipped his head despite himself. He was so much larger than her, but from the way he melted, one would not have thought it.

"I-indeed," he said, finding that his voice was stammering, despite his earlier harshness. He had confronted every man on that battlefield earlier, and even dove headfirst into what ought to have been a trap with not the slightest shred of fear – indeed he had been overwhelmingly certain of himself. He could trust the Black lineage in himself, even if his mind were to fail.

Against whatever it was that Queen Asabel had, however, that Black lineage was entirely useless. The warmth and grace that she carried herself with was otherworldly. She had always been a beautiful woman, but when she had such a look in her green eyes, it went beyond simple beauty. It was terrifying to look at.

"If my two Generals would accompany Lancelot and I, we shall be paying the residents of this castle a visit," she said. "Do tell your soldiers to wait outside, General Blackwell."

"Very well," Blackwell said. "Willem. See them retreated and organized."

"As you wish, General," Willem said, with a crisp salute.

Down the corridors Blackwell and Broadstone went, both of them with a similar sort of meekness. Queen Asabel knew the way. She found it easily, without a single pause. She'd spent her life in such walls, and she found her father and her family exactly where she knew she would.

She pushed open the doors of the Pendragon throne room, and there he was. Her father, and Arthur's younger brother, with a sword laid out across his knees, and a crown of dancing dragons on his head. He had his wife at his side, and then two bodyguards – but that was all. For the number of people inside, the halls felt awfully empty.

The soldiers that had fired at them from the roofs had been dealt with, but Blackwell had still expected there to be a few more inside, doing their service in protection of their King. He had a feeling that this was the kind of emptiness that had to be ordered by someone – though he couldn't understand their intentions in doing so.

"King Pendragon," Queen Asabel said, courtesying formally to him as she entered, and dipping her head.

The King said nothing. He only continued to look down at her. Queen Asabel was undeterred. With no guilt in his voice, she gave her order. "We have come to demand your surrender."