A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1813 - 1813: The Freedom to Move - Part 1

Germanicus was forced to turn, as if it was his duty to. He had to keep his eyes on Oliver, even if it meant exposing his neck. Yet he exposed it regardless, and his reward was the sharpened steel of the blade that he had managed to trap. It cut in, deeply, and perfectly. Mercifully, some might say. So it was that Oliver Patrick took the head of King Germanicus, two weeks into the siege of Ernest.

Blackwell found himself to be a man of activity as of late. There always seemed to be something that needed his attention, and he was rewarded with the satisfied feeling of a man that was doing good work, for he was certain of what it was that he was working toward.

There was a man he intended to leave behind in the form of Rainheart, to see the Pendragon lands that they'd captured held. He had to see the troops organized for that purpose – to have their borders secure, and to make sure that there weren't any more rebellions that would crop up as soon as he took his leave.

In that regard, Lord Idris and Queen Asabel had worked their wonders. They'd dashed across the lands with a franticness, and wherever Queen Asabel was needed, she seemed to be. She'd hardly spent a day in her Capital in the longest time. Her efforts were not lost on the townspeople. They that had been so primed against her, given the forceful way that she had won her throne, soon seemed to be the most loyal subjects that one could ask for. Hers was a dignified royalty that simply demanded that those beneath her obey. Not out of words, but out of nature. The people could resist for a time, but it soon became clear to them that they coveted a monarch like her, and that indeed, in bending the knee, they were proud to be called subjects.

How could they not be, when Blackwell himself was afflicted by the same spell? To have a cause worth fighting for, and a ruler worth dying for. Those Pendragon lands were afflicted by magic for it. For all the warring that had been done, there was now a strange smell in the air – and it wasn't just smoke. It was a hopeful scent. The people looked, and they began to think, after all, wouldn't it be for the best to see a Pendragon on the High King's throne? It had been their destiny, in the cycle of succession, up until Arthur had died, were they not simply correcting the natural order of things?

Especially if that High King – or Queen – was a woman like Queen Asabel. They saw in her that fiery quality that Arthur had. Different to Arthur, but inspiring regardless. She was a magical entity, not of this realm. A faerie was the word that kept being tossed around about her. Could a faerie be held to the same laws of men? And had she, after all, not enacted a sort of justice in their conquering?

It was interesting to hear the same people that had called her a tyrant for all that she had done now outdoing themselves in order to mount her defence. To hold up the banner of justice, and declare that was what she fought under, and to point to the quieter, known truths of her campaign. That she had her father abdicate his throne, rather than snatching the crown from his hands – that in the end, the old King had given his crown to his daughter. He'd seen something in her that had compelled him to see her succeed him. Who were they to fight against the decrees of royalty, if that's what they were.

But more than that, Blackwell felt, what really inspired them, was the sense that they might after all win this war of theirs. They had been timid in plunging in against the High King, but now there was the prospect of victory, those old poisons that they'd all felt but never dared to give a voice to came bubbling to the surface. The people of the Pendragon lands had been robbed of a ruler, because of the High King's decree, and it didn't require much imagination to suppose why he had delivered such a decree.

It became a bastion of their cause. Queen Asabel convinced them all around to it. There became a certainty in what they were doing now. They had a whole Silver Kingdom, along with its people, on their side, willing to fight and stand against the corrupt tyranny that had afflicted their realm for too long. They had begun as a mere rebel force, but now they had the concrete post and officialness of a true Queen as their figurehead. For before, it could have been debated that she was not that entirety, given that she had quarter inherited. Now there could be no debate.

With the Emerson armies defeated so mightily to the west, and the Pendragon lands entirely on the side of their cause, did they not have every reason to be optimistic? Blackwell himself felt that same optimism.

From the messages he had received, Ernest was holding, and now that Hod was there, he felt certain that it would hold even longer. For who could defeat that cunning Minister in strategy? He tried to tell himself that, even in knowing what Tavar was… If anyone could defeat Hod, it would be the very man that had raised him. But Blackwell had to believe those men down there, in Blackthorn, Hod and Patrick to be capable of it, for they needed to be, if they were to have any chance at winning.

Now it was time for Lord Blackwell to play his own part in the war. He'd been forced into a role that was more logistical and one of governance for a time, but he worked himself tirelessly now to see his army gathered, and to see them set marching down towards the west.