A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1756 - 1756: The Lion's Den - Part 5

"General," Willem hissed, hitting General Blackwell's shoulder, in a rare act of impoliteness.

"You as well, Willem?" General Blackwell said. "Have all forgotten their place?"

"No, my Lord. I'll bear your rage later," Willem said, pointing quite urgently, beyond the building in which Blackwell had fixed his gaze.

In his rage, Blackwell had neglected to notice it. Rising high along the road into the city, there were a good handful of banners.

In an instant, he was calm, and assessing. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that their enemy would find him here. He was eternally on guard these days, when he knew that Tiberius and Tavar had joined the war against him. They were the sorts of men that could sniff out any sort of weakness and take advantage of it. It certainly would not have surprised him greatly if one of them had been able to track his movements to Hurst, and know that he was with a mere a hundred men.

But those banners were of gold, and of silver. As they came closer, they were that which Blackwell recognized. Banners of the Pendragons – and official banners at that, with true gold and silver in their threads. The sorts of things that were exclusively reserved for throne rooms in all their magnificence.

Throne rooms, or the presence of the monarch herself.

Yet, there was no carriage or wagon being drawn to accompany them. Nothing that might indicate the presence of Queen Asabel. Only a good stream of riders, and those banners that continually bobbed in the air, occasionally disappearing around corners, and then revealing themselves once more, over the many mounds of rubbles.

They were close enough by now that they attracted even the attention of the crowd. Their abuse slowed somewhat toward caution, as they saw reinforcements gathering from a distance.

"Who goes there, do you suppose?" Willem asked General Blackwell. "Lord Idris?"

Blackwell did not get his chance to answer. They were close enough now that they could finally make figures out, and as far as Lord Blackwell was aware, Lord Idris did not sport long, flowing hair of gold. Nor was he a man of the kind of beauty that he could make an entire crowd of people go silent from the mere sight of him.

There was only one woman in the Kingdom that looked like that. The silver crown on her head confirmed it. There rode Queen Asabel, flanked by her bodyguard in the valiant Ser Lancelot, and by another man – unarmed, as far as Lord Blackwell could tell – whom he did not recognize. More of the Queen's bodyguard came after them, for a group of fifty men in total.

They burst into the city centre, parting the crowd from their speed. Queen Asabel's white horse nuzzled men out of the way gently but firmly with its head, as if taking personal care of the Queen that rode it.

Queen Asabel's eyes met Lord Blackwell's from across the square, and he was struck by the intensity of them. She'd arrived with a fire that he'd never seen in her. Fierce enough that one could understand the title of Little Lioness that had been given to her as she was growing up – or perhaps, fierce enough, that she might earn that sigil of the dragon that she bore on her magnificent banners.

There was such a purpose about her that Lord Blackwell could do nothing but kneel to it. He dismounted his horse out of respect as she approached, and he got down to one knee. His men hurried to copy him in doing the same.

"Rise, Lord Blackwell," Queen Asabel said, as she and her horse stood over him.

He did as he was asked. The question was written on his face, and Queen Asabel answered for it. "I have heard that my people are distressed, and I have come to greet them."

She said it loudly enough that those nearby could hear. She'd thrown them into a sea of silence, and it was only her words again that seemed to be able to spark them towards murmurs.

Now that she was so near, Blackwell was able to get a better look at the men that she'd brought. He looked twice at the man that he was unfamiliar with. As far as he could tell, he was the only one amongst them – save for Queen Asabel herself – who was not a soldier. And if Blackwell had to guess from the way that he carried himself in his dress, and from his rather slight build, the man was a trader of some sorts. Yet, the golden pin on his chest seemed to indicate a position far higher than that of mere trader – especially with the sigil of House Pendragon in it.

Only when he turned to dismount himself could Blackwell make out of the words inscribed under it. "Trader… by Royal Commission," he murmured to himself, unsure that he'd ever heard such a title before.

"Greetings, Lord Blackwell," the man said, extending a hand when he was on the ground. "I am Davos, a trader of Her Majesty's employ. I have heard many great things about you."

There was a slyness to the way he said that, which seemed to suggest that he'd also heard many unsavoury things about Lord Blackwell as well. The General narrowed his eyes, as he studied the man, but he extended his hand, and shook the trader's hand regardless.

The noise of the crowd increased, and killed the short few moments General and merchant spent studying each other. Blackwell was struck by the youth of the man, whilst Davos was struck by the sheer size and aura that Blackwell carried.

Davos turned on his heel, and with a voice like thunder, he saw them all silenced. "BE SILENT BEFORE YOUR QUEEN!" He demanded.

He strode in front of her, a bodyguard of a different sort. His gaze calculating, but his presence ever so slight. He was a slippery creature.

Where Blackwell's shouts had failed, from the merchant, somehow, they listened. Blackwell could not understand why. It was as the merchant had spoken a different language, the sort that the villagers and populace could understand. Something that wasn't based on mighty alone. It was an authority that was brought up from a well that was not strength. It was more in line with that which Lord Idris wielded.