A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 2083: King Patrick - Part 1

"If Your Majesty is without doubts, then I shall follow you to the very end," Lord Idris said, kneeling before him. "If you are so full of certainty, then I do not believe there to be any foe in the Kingdom capable of overcoming you."

"I’ll kneel as well, out of respect for what you have just done," General Blackthorn said, hefting himself down beside him. "You’ll need a strong ally, King Patrick – and I can guarantee you that I am that. The First King took the Stormfront by conquest, and he did it with House Black to support him. There’s the echoes of him in you."

Lady Blackthorn wordlessly kneeled down next to her father. She gave King Patrick a simple nod – filled with determination, and fire. It was a gesture that said far more than any words ever could. Colonel Jorah kneeled down after her, then Captain Firyr, then Kaya, right next to Edward, followed by Edward himself. Before long, the whole room was kneeling before a King Patrick that ought to have just made a terrible mistake.

Only Lord Hendrick, and the Emerson King’s fallen two retainers remained.

"My loyalty, King Patrick," Lord Hendrick said. "It would make your claim that much easier, would it not?"

"It would," King Patrick said.

"Then I kneel, without hesitation, knowing that I shall be useful to you," Lord Hendrick said.

King Patrick’s gaze lingered on him for a second, studying him, seeming to wonder how much faith he could put in the man, given that he had just killed his father. But Edward got the same sense from Lord Hendrick that he felt from the rest of those men in the room. It was the feeling that they were looking upon some grand white light that could pierce the infinite darkness. That they were taking a risk on something that all ought to have doubted in, and yet they believed in without question – the most reckless of gambles, in the name of future glories. And they did it without question, feeling far more alive in the process.

Within the span of a single battle, a single day, and a single stroke of his sword, King Patrick had gained a Kingdom.

Chapter 19 – King Patrick 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

A single blossom petal drifted down, gently, ever so gently, until it landed atop the surface of the crystal clear pond water, leaving only the slightest ripple. Here, in the gardens of the High King, the trees blossomed a little earlier than the rest of the Stormfront. But not so much that it did not remind one of the passing time.

"Winter is over," Lord Blake announced to himself. A long winter it had been, a harsh winter. A civil war of the likes that he did not expect to see in his lifetime. The rebelling of Lord Blackwell and Queen Asabel, and then the death of both of them. A winter that the histories were likely to remember, if nothing else. But now it was all over. The war. The season. Peace would remain.

The sort of tainted peace that this garden offered. Where nature’s course was ever so slightly averted. Where, inside its glass domes, flowers bloomed red and purple and pink, and insects buzzed around happily, taking shelter in its warmth. Here, one could escape from the fact that the outside world was still chilly. That spring had not yet truly arrived.

The High King had been extreme in his jubilations.

"Lord Blake! Lord Blake!" He had cried, with his face stretched by that smile of his, teeth stained yellow and brown from partaking in too many treats. His stomach wobbling from dismissing vegetables as the food of peasants, and favouring only the finest of meats.

"I knew it to be true – you were a man to be relied upon. Name it. And reward, and you shall have it. The Emerson Kingdom – choose your provinces, and you will rule over them, Lord Blake. Coin shall flow in your pocket aplenty. Your estates shall flourish for decades to come!"

Even Julius had given his praise, in the form of a stern nod. "I had not expected it to come to a halt so suddenly. A masterful trap."

So they said. They did not chide him for using the Emerson King as a sacrificial piece. Whatever deceit was necessary to bring peace to their kingdom, they were pleased to have it done. Just a week ago, the threat of a combined Emerson and Patrick assault on the Capital seemed all too real – and there was very little that they could do to defend it, apart from calling upon all the troops stationed in the central regions of the Stormfront.

Even that, Blake had feared, would not be enough to deter a force that was headed by Oliver Patrick and General Blackthorn. Oliver Patrick’s might was illustrated most clearly when one simply defined him as being Tiberius’ superior. That anyone could be Tiberius’ superior seemed an impossibility – yet here they were.

The only weakness he had was in overreaching.

It was an irony. That the son of a man as devoted to progress as Dominus Patrick was, would reach into a realm that was beyond him. That he would pluck progress prematurely. Lord Blake had been able to seize upon that weakness with all the suddenness that was allowed of a man of his strategic skill.

He spotted it, like a General might spot a misplaced unit of cavalry. It was Oliver Patrick himself who had allowed for it. In strategy, Lord Blake found it was his enemy who gave him his route to victory. He never crafted it himself – he only used the pieces that his enemy offered to him.

This was Oliver Patrick’s offering, fool that he was. Youngster that he was. Fuelled by adrenaline, and rage, and an abundance of sincerity. He looked down upon the stratagems that Lord Blake had employed on behalf of the High King. He called it corruption, not knowing the strategic mind that had been potent enough to weave all those corruptions together.