A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1829 - 1829: A Man of Significance - Part 1

The time that he spent in tutelage was worth every moment of that suffering. The Gods had entrusted him with a role that was exclusively his. And when that role had arrived, that too granted him the path to the Sixth Boundary, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. It was as if the Sixth Boundary was another reward for him, for his years of restraint, and his years of endurance. It was as if they were telling him that he was right.

He was not allowed his satisfaction against the High King, but he was allowed one last fight, against a man equally as corrupt. He was allowed to yield the fullest of his strength once more, not as the arbitrator of revenge that he had thought himself to be, but as a hero. And such was the position that Dominus Patrick had died in, that of a hero.

One had to hope, that when he did exhaust that strength of his, and his body began to turn to dust, from the poison that had finally won out over him, that he was finally able to see her. That woman that he loved so much, more than anything in the world. The woman that he had endured so much in order to honour.

"Persephone," he would have said, when he was finally able to lay eyes on her, after so long spent alone. And she would have turned to him, in the same lighthearted way that she always did, as she finally gave him her attention, above that of the tree that she had been tending to.

"My dear Dominus," she would say, smiling to see him, with so many sparkles in her eyes, so endlessly full of mischief. She would come over to him, delicate creature that she was, and she'd poke him roughly in the stomach, and tease him for not catching her. And the two would play together, in their little game of play fighting, before the playfulness finally allowed them to arrive at what it was that they wanted to say.

Having fallen to the grass, in that place drenched in golden light, tangled in each other's arms, a mess of limbs, she would have looked up at him, from her place on the ground.

"Whatever is wrong, my dear Dominus?" She'd say. "Your eyes look as if they've seen a whole lifetime's worth of suffering."

"Only fifteen years," Dominus would reply, making light of it.

She'd smile sadly at him, and show that different part of her heart, that infinite kindness, and she'd pull him in close, for the first time in a long time. She would stroke his hair, and thread an arm across his back, as he laid on her lap. And quietly, the two would spend their first night together, watching the stars. The first night for all eternity.

Tiberius could feel that the war was beginning to shift, against his expectations. He heard the battle reports that his subordinates had collected, after watching Tavar's battlings, and he had heard of how Germanicus had been continually pressed back by the likes of Oliver Patrick, and he realized, with a certain start, that there was a murkiness to the chances of Tavar's victory that he had not supposed before.

Such a thing brought a smile to his face. Such a thing brought about opportunity. Had Tavar simply run through their foe, as Tiberius had half expected him to, then the realm was likely to stay in the same position that it had always been in. There wouldn't be much opportunity for deviousness, even if Tiberius pushed himself to his fullest limits.

He knew what Karstly and the others were up to in the border fortresses. They were sitting ready and waiting to intercept Tiberius should he decide to interfere down south. "Fools," Tiberius said. "Why would I wish to prevent Tavar's defeat?"

His smile and his gaze looked in other directions. His aim was only to cull down as many soldiers as he possibly could, whilst the war was still going on, and whilst stability was still a foreign concept. He wanted to move with that swiftness and slyness that was exclusively his.

He'd been waiting for a time as well, knowing that was simply his best prospect of achieving anything exciting. And now finally, he had news of Blackwell's departure. A worthy foe to be considered, but with a creature amongst his order that he ought not have been bringing. Riding openly on horseback, there could be no doubt as to the information of Tiberius' spies. Queen Asabel intended to march through Tiberius' territory. Her destination, likely, was the palace of the Emerson King. But what obligation did Tiberius have to allow them through?

"None in the least," Tiberius answered for him, as a plan started to take form inside his head. If they had wanted to bait him onto the battlefield, none could have been a better bait than she. The opportunity to kill a Queen. Very little excited Tiberius more than that.

…

…

Karstly kept himself to his forests, away from his men, looking towards discovery. He could feel the pressure for it on his heart, and he wondered if that was what lesser men felt, when they found themselves tormented by their own weakness, and had to hurry their progress along.

It was never a problem that Karstly had felt, not until he had been pitted against a foe as grand as Tiberius. A creature that was entirely beyond comprehension. Now that he was there, Karstly's style of battle felt incredibly insufficient. But for how strange it was, Karstly knew not how to improve it. Sitting over a Battle board would certainly not do it, for Karstly thought in a far more abstract way. The battlefield was a canvas, and his soldiers were the brush. All he sought to do was paint the most beautiful picture that he could.