A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1818 - 1818: The Stirring of Great Winds - Part 3

Violence was increasing, along with crime. Everyone knew how hard pressed the crown was to keep soldiers in the field. The city guard everywhere was diminished. It was the prime time for a thief to ensure a good score. Robberies, arson, murder – everything was on the rise. There was more danger than just on the battlefield. The danger was everywhere. The danger was in the growing absence of order

When Blake walked the city streets of the Capital, wearing the disguise of a ragged old man, so that he might not be recognized, he saw it all with a certainty, and knew very well that it was beyond the control of strategy. What was growing, bubbling and boiling, was a problem of a magnitude that now exceeded men entirely. It had a will of its own. The land beneath them was twisting and changing, and though they might fight against it, there was almost a feeling that the course had already been decided, that the Gods had already intervened, as if to tell the mortals off, and set history to rights.

Blake wasn't sure what side he was on, by their eyes. The winning, or the lost. He tried to look at the battle reports, and generate a deal of reassurance for himself. But a victory one day was easily vanquished in the next. Everything shifted to an alarming degree, with such a quickness that he hardly had time to act upon anything from as far away from it all in the Capital as he was.

He had to put on a show for his subordinates, who looked to him as the grand puppeteer, capable of spinning all threads in his favour. But there was much beyond man. It was more probability, by Blakes eyes, that made a good strategist, than anything else. No one ever had entire control, not unless the enemy had already fallen into his trap. Good strategy, he thought, was simply taking the routes that had the highest probability of success – but that was always still the chance, no matter how small, of matters going wrong.

Such was the case when Blake was informed that Germanicus had been beaten back continually, in single combat, by the hands of Oliver Patrick.

Every time he saw that name in battle reports, and especially alongside talk of enemy victories, he felt a hint of regret. He saw the Patrick, and thought it to be Dominus. It would require a squint of his eyes to convince him otherwise. Logically, he knew that the two were separate creatures, but when he heard of victories over Germanicus of all people, it was hard to convince himself that they were.

It felt like vengeance, like the ghost of the man that they had tormented in times past had come back to exact his own sort of justice. It was hard to be surprised, for Blake, even though he knew that he ought to be. His mind twisted the facts in front of him, and supposed the man that he was fighting to be Dominus after all – a man that, for the sake of his King, Blake had so wronged.

It was such a twist of his brain that he had to force himself to walk far more often than he usually might. He needed to be in the streets, outside, with the cold air blowing at him, and forcing him back into the trueness of reality, so that he could not escape to this delusional fantasy of a man that had been dead for the longest time.

The greatest swordsman that the Stormfront had ever seen – for that to be Dominus Patrick of all people, it made not an ounce of sense. It was something that Blake dwelled on. For it was greatness, no one could deny that, even those that were his enemies. And Blake had never hated the man personally. He'd respected him. He was a man that ought to have been easy to overlook, and he was, but it was Arthur that continually dragged him into the light – Arthur that delighted in him. A prince that had everything, and it was rugged Dominus Patrick, so stern and serious, that he had chosen as his friend. A man who any would have professed to be average.

Blake had looked into him, out of curiosity. Dominus had, after all, spent time at the Academy. Blake had looked at his results, and wondered upon what sort of man it was that Arthur had pulling around after him. And he found a creature of the most exacting averageness. He never seemed to place too highly, nor too lowly. He had the slightest edge in swordsmanship, but it was average nonetheless. The only comment that stood out, and pointed to anything from his professors, was his hard working nature. They all had an approval for his work ethic, for his discipline, and even at times there was a praise for his rigid morality.

Arthur ought to have been the greatest knight in the kingdom, but he was fond of pointing to Dominus, and saying that it was he – that he was the knight that all should aspire to be. Rigid in his code of honour, to the point that he upset a King. That was who Dominus Patrick was. A man that collected no friends, only Arthur, who had found him and intrigued himself, and forced friendship upon him. He was a man that was content with his own company. He asked for nothing, no wealth. And still, he was there to carry out his responsibilities to the very end.

Blake had a feeling that, after all, Arthur might have been right. The perfect knight, if one truly looked at the principles, was someone like Dominus Patrick. Motivated not by greed. All excessive emotions, in hatred, and anger, and want, Dominus Patrick put into his sword. He made himself a pure creature through it, even purer than the supposedly unblemished Arthur. There was nothing for Dominus but the pursuit of the blade.

"Nothing, except, for a time, the smallest hint of love…" Blake supposed.

He wondered whether it added to Dominus' tragedy that he had met that woman, and he had found his temporary peace. That he had been allowed a relationship, some warm fingers to touch at his heart, even if it could not be.