A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"They do," Idris affirmed.

"Then what's the catch..? Am I going to get in trouble—er… would my wife approve of this? If I did as you do?" Blackwell asked awkwardly, feeling himself blush. He had to look away. Gods, he wished he could just crush all their heads with a mace. It would be so much easier.

This was why he left the politicking to the women!

A small smile broke out of Idris' face, as he recognized that Blackwell was being sincere. "You need not fear, Gordry. With this, you will be eclipsing in one move years of politicking from your wife. We will be allies in this, as fellow Pillars. I look forward to working with you once more."

Blackwell seemed to perk up immediately at that. He nodded to himself once. "Yes. Yes… Yes! Alright. I'll do it.

You've always been a straight shooter, Farley. Gods be thankful for that."

"Go," Idris encouraged him. "It is the messiest turn of events one could imagine, but it is an opportunity nonetheless."

Blackthorn did as he was bid. His doubts cleared away, he turned to Princess Asabel, standing in front of the Minister's Thrones as she was. "Princess! I accept your offer," he said, in a much louder voice than he'd intended to, but he didn't blush this time. It was the General's hat that he wore now. Decades of experience in command.

He marched down the hallway, his commanding aura streaming off him.

"You wish to be my Pillar of War, Lord Blackthorn?" Asabel confirmed, once the man was standing in front of her.

"I do," Blackthorn replied. He could see General Tavar on his throne just past the girl. He saluted the man – a comrade in years past. It seemed the appropriate thing to do. He ignored the amused smile that Tavar shot him, suggesting that such a thing was inappropriate. "I do, and I swear to serve your House.

The Blackthorns swear themselves to you, Princess Asabel, and the Asabel Branch of the Pendragon House. When the time comes for wars to be fought in your name, the Blackthorns will win them, as we always have."

He kneeled before her, as he gave his vow of fealty. A different sort to what Idris had done, far less composed, far less refined, yet somehow equally as powerful in its own right. Those were two entirely different men, but none could say that they were not both dangerous men.

"Please rise, Lord Blackwell, Pillar of War," Asabel said, her voice stately and commanding. Blackthorn rose, and instead of returning to his seat, he rejoined Lancelot on the other side of Asabel, calmly standing guard, as though he had done such a thing thousand times before, and knowing Lord Blackthorn, Oliver reasoned that he likely had.

From the scars on his face, the man had likely seen even more combat than Lombard.

Lancelot looked somewhat miffed that his position as exclusive guardsman had been stolen from him, but he did his best to hide it. No doubt he was hiding another storm of emotion underneath as well.

"That concludes my business here," Asabel declared. "I have only chosen two of my Pillars here today. I hope that today's events might be revealing in regards to who else might be part of our common cause."

She left them with those parting words. Words that even Hod himself could not have improved upon. He watched her go, intrigued. He knew that she had the most value out of everyone as a witness, and that was why he'd saved her for last, when the other two Ministers had no more cards to pull. But for her to go as far as she had… It was beyond anticipation.

To throw away the last semblances of stability she had within her house, and instigate a Quarter Inheritance… It defied reason.

She hadn't lost her head doing it, though it must have caused chaos in her heart. She was still able to move cleverly, even whilst being open about what she was doing. She'd already secured two certain votes in her selection of her Pillars, and with her final words, she implied that those last three seats could be filled by Lords that were part of her common cause. Cleverly and skilfully manoeuvred.

Hod was able to sit down on his throne feeling almost calm, despite the fury that dwelled in him.

As far as the vote… now they at least had a chance of winning it. Save Oliver Patrick – aye, that was the obvious cause. Save the strong, empower them for what was coming. It frustrated him to no end that so many still insisted on their childish games, when the very destruction of their country was at play. When that came, it would all be for nothing.

There'd be no more coins to grasp for, no more little power grabs to play. It would only be death and loss.

It felt far longer than three hours, but according to the hour glass that Tavar had set at the start of the trial, they still had thirty minutes of their allotted time to use, should they have wanted to use it – no one did, for no one could. Both sides had taken their allotted turns.

Had they wished to run for longer – had they known that they needed to run for longer – they could only have done so earlier.

The Lords had stood up and left the room. It was only the murmuring nobility left, people, surprisingly, who seemed insignificant here and now. There was a time when to Oliver, even the Serving Class folk seemed a world apart from him, and now he was sat in a place where he could see that even the nobility themselves had a trace of insignificance in the large scheme of things.

Of course, he was declaring insignificance whilst he himself had his hands chained behind his back – not exactly the strongest position to be in.