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Hawkeye1489 - Thank you for the vote of confidence! I'm hoping to definitely have the ride over by the time CK2 comes out--because if I don't I don't know if I'll ever get it done! lol

von Sachsen - Minus the supposed womanizing...

Vesimir - Well, the other blonde guy was originally going to be Andronikos, but then I changed my mind at the last minute. He's getting used for someone else though. I won't say who...

vadermath - In short, he's not a fun sociopath like Manuel was? :D Manuel seemed capable of completely detaching himself from consideration when making his plots--though he had a penchant for plotting just to be plotting. Andronikos has reasons to plot, but you're right, he's headstrong and is led by his heart sometimes, not his head. And yeah, the narrative here will end around 1380 or so, this will finish up with history book posts that I'll post cocurrently as a prologue in the EU3 section...

FlyingDutchie - Konstantinos' death certainly ends the Sebastokratorate. Though the city states infighting is what Andronikos wants--so long as they all turn to Konstantinopolis for arbitration and abide by what he says...

RGB - *shakes head* Surely you know, my friend, that fantasy arms and armor have far more to do with what looks cool than what is practical? :rofl: Case example--bikini-mail? Really now?

Zzzzz... - Well, if you create a professional core of assassins, you'd better keept a tight reign on them for sure...

asd21593 - Depends on how big the Oikoi become. For right now, they're quite small...

TC Pilot - Outwardly smug is the key. Inwardly... well, we're about to see some of his inner workings in a bit... FYI, Bataczes is commanding one wing of the imperial army. If he's gonna strike...

Saithis - Probably pee his pants more...

Qorten - Long hours at work where I have nothing to keep my mind busy--so it wanders. :)

Nikolai - Well, he's gotten an offer he can't refuse--only in Greek and without the raspy voice...

Tommy4ever - A frenzy of espionage that has a little more to go before the climactic clash...

Enewald -There's another dose below. :)

SplendidTuesday - Well, reading is one part of learning how to write (which in and of itself is neverending... I have MUCH to learn still), but writing is the other part, even if its little snippets here and there. I'd suggest trying to write something short in moments you do have. Have others look at it, or set it aside and look at it yourself later. Every little bit of practice helps. :)


And now I get to do something I haven't done in a while--post an update immediately after the replies!

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“Κι ο άγιος φοβέρα θέλει."
- "Even a saint needs to be 'threatened'." – Roman proverb​


October 6th, 1263

Andronikos Komnenos wanted to sigh at the cool breeze of the Marmara that flowed over the rooftops of the Great Palace. Below, he could hear the music and singing of the guests at his own wedding. Up here, his only company was his friend Ioannis Angelos, fresh from Italy…

....and thousands of campfires across the Marmara, twinkling in the growing dusk.

Gabriel’s army.

The Old Emperor, as some were calling him, had made a lightning fast march with his force across Anatolia, covering Kaiseria to Chrysopolis and the gates of the capital in a little over a month. Now, his huge force glowered at Andronikos from only a few miles away. Rumor was he was felling every tree he could find, and that shipwrights from Sinope to Trebizond were being dragged to the Marmara shores.

The thought made Andronikos swallow hard, even though his own armies were safely across the Bosphorus for now. Quietly, he reached down to his lute, and plucked a string—his habit, when he was…

“Nervous?” Ioannis laughed, slapping Andronikos on the shoulder.

“I know the mechanics of the bedchamber, Ioannis,” Andronikos snapped without thinking. He plucked another string—it whined, far out of tune. “Dammit,” Andronikos cursed at nothing, and everything. Cecilia would want him to play at the wedding feast, and if his lute was out of tune…

“Then what is under your skin?” Angelos replied, cool and calm as always. Andronikos was grateful—he hadn’t meant to snap at his friend. “Lutes get out of tune. You know that. So what is it?”

“I’m just…” he started to say, but the word ‘nervous’ just wouldn’t come out of his mouth. “Thinking,” was what he finally settled on—and he winced at the awkwardness of it.

“Thinking about what?” Angelos said, looking over across the Bosphorus. He nodded his head towards the distant haze of campfires—Andronikos nodded as well. Ioannis’ face went sour. “Andronikos! On your wedding night?”

The sixteen year old Emperor nodded glumly. He knew it was supposed to be a happy occasion, but those campfires…

weddingcopy.jpg

“You’ll be tangling with that soon enough,” Angelos said, before casually pulling an apple from one of the multitude of pockets in his tunic. Andronikos looked, but said nothing—Ioannis was constantly pilfering small things. He said it kept his reflexes superb.

“I know…”

“You’re the one that said you needed to stay cool and calm in public with that staring at the city. And you have!” Ioannis waved his hands wide, “and the city is calm! Nervous,” he looked across the rooftops of the capital, “but calm. They’re stuck across the Bosphorus for now. What’s to worry about?” Ioannis raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got more soldiers, you’ve got the Church behind you now that Konstantinos…you know,” Angelos chuckled, “it was hilarious how they pinned the priest for the whole thing! It was…”

“Lucky?” Andronikos whispered more to himself than aloud.

“…and you’ve got me. And the Athloutakoi,” Ioannis went on, either not hearing or ignoring Andronikos’ comment. “What is there to worry about? Romanos himself came up with the land. First land north of Smyrna, then…”

“…march on Angora to threaten Gabriel’s supply line and yes, I know, I was there,” Andronikos sighed. “But it’s Gabriel we are fighting! The Conqueror of Mecca! The Lion of Persia! At my age, he’d already destroyed a Frankish army!”

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“But it was an army led by Franks…” Ioannis laughed. “That’s like bragging because you stole a candy from a child!”

“I… still…” Andronikos shook his head, “he’s good on the battlefield. He’ll have some tricks up his sleeve, and he has years of experience on any of us, even the Megos Domestikos. I... well, I wish…” He knew Gabriel held all the advantages of command. He could only hope that between them, Romanos and Bataczes could match the wily old lecher. If not… “Well, it all hinges on your father,” Andronikos leaned on the battlement and changed the subject. There were far more campfires than he ever thought he could possibly see, and a chill went down his spine. “Can I trust him, Ioannis? To do what we think he’ll do?”

“Pah!” Ioannis waved his hand dismissively. “The old man’s a waffler, Andronikos! He’ll waver till the last minute, and probably wet his trousers daily thinking about that choice!”

Andronikos bit his lip, and nodded. It would’ve been so easy if he could trust the word of Simon Angelos that he would backstab the invading Gabrielines. But…

…once a traitor, always a traitor? Andronikos thought dimly.

“Do you think he’ll waffle in our direction?” he asked again.

“Oh, in the end he will, unless Gabriel has another trick up his sleeve,” Ioannis casually wiped off the apple in his hand and bit out of a chunk. “With I don’th tink he doeth,” he added with a grin.

“And what if he does?” Andronikos said emptily. The old man had surprised Andronikos once before. Who was to say he wouldn’t do it again? He felt his back slouch a bit, before he snapped it straight again. The performance. An Emperor must look in command, look in control, even when he was unsure of himself…

“Then he does,” Ioannis spat out the seeds, “and between our clever minds, we’ll come up with a way around it.” Another bite of apple. “Juth like we dith with your stepfathah.”

“I hope so,” Andronikos murmured, trying to shake the uneasy malaise that hung over his mind. He looked out over the Marmara again—the thousands of campfires looked like so many eyes—thousands of little demons glaring at him.

campfiresacrossmarmara.jpg

Or one giant, many-eyed beast, Andronikos glumly added.

“Everything’s all prepared then?” he swallowed, trying to make his voice sound calm, in charge.

“It’s all ready!” Ioannis leaned over and slapped Andronikos’ back. He clearly saw through Andronikos’ charade. “I talked to Demeterzis and Byzantion like you asked, and the fleet’s standing provisioned and ready. Vetted them too—thought you’d like that, being cautious and all,” Angelos’ grin grew wider. “Demertzis murmured some comments about you being ‘awfully young’ at a banquet three months ago, but lately he’s privately been impressed you’ve done so much in so little time.”

Andronikos smiled thinly—that was a relief at least. “And what of Theophilos?” Theophilos of Byzantion, son of the famous Mahmud of the same name—and commander of one half of the Thrake Stolos that’d be ferrying the army across the Bosphorus shortly…

“Well,” Ioannis sighed and laughed, “there’s an interesting tale. See, he’s also muttered some things about you being too young. But,” Ioannis leaned closer, like he was sharing some juicy secret, “he’s also an avowed enemy of your stepfather! He crowed like a king when the old man got arrested, and he thinks the Megos Domestikos has you under his thumb!”

Andronikos’ eyes narrowed. There was danger in those words, even if they were in support. If others thought Andronikos was merely a patsy… “Um… we should remind him somehow he needs to be quieter with words like that.” Andronikos’ eyes snapped over to Ioannis. “Can you do that, either before we sail or when we’re at sea?” Andronikos looked back at the campfires. “Something gentler than the Italian work—he’s a good man, a good commander, even if his mouth flaps too much.”

“Of course,” Ioannis bowed slightly. Andronikos knew his friend was almost shaking with excitement—Ioannis loved the job Andronikos had handed him. The thought of someone liking killing, liking death—it made Andronikos stomach churn.

And it made him curious.

“What is it like to kill?” Andronikos asked uneasily turning and looking at Ioannis. “To kill another man, I mean.” Andronikos was a keen hunter—his chambers were adorned with the stuffed heads of no less than twelve deer. The thought of the deed fascinated him—and frightened him.

Ioannis looked at him for a second, smiled, sighed, then looked away, out over the Marmara. For an agonizing minute, Andronikos only heard the calls of gulls and the bustle of his capital as his friend stared almost lazily at the campfires across the Bosphorus. Andronikos licked his lips nervously. Had he asked something to personal? Something too direct?

“It’s…” Ioannis suddenly started just as the Emperor was about to tell him to not bother. Another pause, before Angelos turned to his friend, “It’s indescribable. It’s…” He looked off again, tapping a finger on the wall. “It’s a rush of power, of control, that frightens you the first time. You will have nightmares about it. But then,” he shook his head slightly, “it gets intoxicating. A rush of…something… it surges through you,” he gestured grandly, “something far bigger than yourself. For that moment, you have the power of life and death.” His eyes were wide, voice excited, “You are God!”

“I am God,” Andronikos echoed quietly, staring across the water. He sure didn’t feel that emotion now, with the weight of empire he’d so eagerly wanted now fully on his shoulders. Not here, staring across the Marmara at the campfires of Gabriel’s army. That thought sent a wave of new worries tumbling through Andronikos’ mind. He’d never marched with an army before. He’d never swung his sword in anger before. Never killed before. How could he be on a battlefield, leading an army at war, if he’d never…

Andronikosface.jpg

“Be gentle with Theophilos,” Andronikos said, seeking refuge in the business at hand. “This one is politics only, not politics and…” Andronikos let his words drift in the air, but a subtle nod from Ioannis told him his friend knew the rest of the sentence.

“Something that makes him think it’s me, I know,” Ioannis nodded. “Simple enough. Not as much fun as the kill,” he cracked a dangerous grin, before stretching and cracking his shoulders in the process, “but we can’t always have what we want, no? Unless,” he bowed with a flourish, “you’re the Emperor.”

“If only,” Andronikos sighed. Those campfires were a twinkling reminder how hollow Ioannis’ words really were. Gabriel. His army. Simon Angelos. A swirl of problems flashed around Andronikos’ head. He frowned.

“Could you kill your own father?” Andronikos asked, voice even quieter.

“Depends on what he did,” Angelos responded, far faster than Andronikos expected. “Looked at your robes funny, eh,” he shrugged, “if he backstabbed you on the battlefield, then…” Ioannis nodded his head all to eagerly. Andronikos smiled thinly—part of him was reassured, but a tiny part of him shuddered. It was a good thing Ioannis was so loyal…

“Shouldn’t matter anyway,” Angelos started to finish his apple. “Even ith you geth smackth around,” he swallowed the last bit before casually tossing the core into the Marmara, “you’ve got the Italikon and part of the Hispanikon moving into the Balkans, old Theodoros with the Aegyptikon will be joining the Levantikon… that’s what? Four more armies against Gabriel’s one?”

If Gabriel wins, I doubt I’ll have those four armies any more...

“I know,” Andronikos kept his fears to himself. From down below, a drunken roar echoed between the buildings of the ancient Great Palace. Andronikos sighed and glanced over at Ioannis. “I suppose I should stop worrying and go back to the banquet?”

“If you didn’t, I’d drag you,” Angelos said as the two started back to the festivities. “Finishing tuning your lute though—if I know Cecilia, she’s going to ask you to play something…”

==========*==========​

A few hours later…

Andronikos sighed once more—but for a completely different reason.

Next to him, in the quiet of the dark, he could hear Cecilia’s breathing, and for the moment, all the worries and concerns of the day had disappeared. Behind the doors of the bedchamber, it was now just him and her, alone, free from the world.

It’d hadn’t been that way all night. Their first foray into the joys of marriage had been awkward—expectant courtiers whispering, chuckling, separated from the couple by nothing more than a damsk curtain. It was over far too quickly, leaving both to wonder if that was all there was. Yet after the chatty courtiers left, satisfied the marriage had been consummated, the two had laid in the dark, alone at least. They tried again—awkwardly at first. Free from the pressures of the crowd, there was more laughter than ecstasy, more fumbling than prowess, but in the end they both found it pleasurable enough they gave it another go. Then another.

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Andronikos sighed as the cool Marmara breeze wrapped itself around his sweaty body. He smiled in the dark, and turned towards where his wife lay awake as well—a year of plotting, cutthroat politics, and damn near getting himself killed, all for this. Cecilia did not have the devastating curves of a Safiya, but now as he laid next to her, he felt like he belonged here. He was not a cub in the eyes of a panther, but a man whose fingers were still entangled with those of his loving wife. The curtain of night lay between them, but he still could feel her form, and know it was all worth it.

“Well that was certainly fun!” he heard Cecilia giggle. “I didn’t know…” He voice dropped off into something akin to a purr.

“Ioannis is good for some things,” Andronikos chuckled, “such as giving his best friend a list of things to try when he’s feeling adventurous.” He didn’t add that there were some things he’d heard Safiya whisper into his ear as well…

“How far down this list have you gone?” he swore he could hear her smirk, even if he couldn’t see her face.

“A couple things,” Andronikos laughed.

“Out of…?”

“Half a scroll!” Andronikos laughed again. The bed shifted—she was sitting up on her elbow, likely staring at him.

“Why is it,” she asked, finger lazily tracing around his face, “that you are so cautious here, when you are so reckless out there?” The tone started quiet, soothing, but ended with something sharp, like a dagger wrapped in velvet.

“I…”

“I know what you’re doing, husband of mine,” Cecilia said, “I’ve gotten you to wed and to bed, and soon you’ll be off to lead an army even though you’ve never seen a battle…” He thought he heard a slight crack in her voice, but disappeared as quickly as it’d come.

“It has to be done,” Andronikos sighed, his moment of contentment soured by politics.

“Why does it have to be done?” she scooted closer to him. “You are the Megas Komnenos, are you not? You have generals, commanders, why don’t they do the fighting, and you do the ruling?”

“I am a Komnenos,” Andronikos whispered, a lump in his throat as visions of swords and soldiers danced in his mind. He blinked, trying to banish it away. It retreated to the darkest corner of his mind, but it never left. “I…I must. The army expects it. The people expect it. To not go into the field…”

“Then tell me, Andronikos,” Cecilia’s voice grew a little sharper, “please, that you are going to be a spectator, not some damn fool running up and down the lines waving your sword…”

“The Megos Domestikos will have command,” Andronikos swallowed again. “And good people under him. Godwinson and Bataczes—the very best,” Andronikos traced a finger up and down her arm. “I will stay away from the fighting. You shouldn’t worry so. Not tonight,” Andronikos added gently—for his own sake, as much as for hers.

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“So I should be callous then, and not care if my new husband carelessly leaps into the lion’s maw?” Andronikos couldn’t see her face in the dark, but he knew her eyebrow was raised, a look that could melt the lead tiles on the roof of the palace directed right at him.

“No,” Andronikos said awkwardly. “It’s just…”

“Then let me worry as I see fit,” Cecilia cut him off with a slight harrumph—this time, there was clearly a crack in her voice. “Someone needs to double check after you—you almost got yourself killed once by one of your clever ideas!”

“That won’t…”

“No, it won’t happen again!” Cecilia’s voice echoed sternly off the rafters of the imperial bedchambers. He felt hands fumbling in the dark, before she pulled him into an embrace. Warmth engulfed him in the darkness—he hugged back, as tightly as he could.

“I…” Andronikos started to speak, before he realized silence was far better than anything he could say at that point. He could feel her shaking, his shoulder growing wet as she cried softly in the night. In a way, he was glad—her shaking hid his own trembling. Andronikos Komnenos was not ready to admit it, but he had never been more scared in his life.

==========*==========​

Gabriel Komnenos too stared across the Marmara.

In the distance, he could see the twinkles of torches—the City of Emperors, Queen of the World.

His home, where he belonged.

When they’d rode to that small hillock outside Chrysopolis, Gabriel had merely nodded, and sighed. He wanted to climb from his horse, kneel and kiss the ground. It’d been over twenty years since he’d seen the bulk of the Hagia Sophia, the Hippodrome, the Great Palace, the Golden Horn. Even in the scant light of the sliver of a moon, they looked beautiful to him.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Gabriel frowned—he wanted to take the scenery in himself, without commentary. But the rightful Roman Emperor plastered a warm smile on his sour face, and turned to his wretched companion. Simon Angelos, Despotes of Anatolia, was grinning stupidly as usual.

“It is,” Gabriel said simply, deciding more words would insult the situation and give the miserable man too much credit. “But,” he added, “it is a little chilly.” He gestured towards his tent, pitched on that very hillock, the campfires of 70,000 men all around, as far as the eye could see. Some said almost a hundred years ago Sultan Sulieman made his camp in this very spot, and glared and stamped his feet at the last barrier between him and conquering the Romans. Gabriel intended to take in the view again later that night—he didn’t feel like sharing something so personal, so strong, with one like Simon Angelos.

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“Please,” Gabriel walked into his command tent behind the treacherous lord, then motioned to his bodyman, Koustos. The servant nodded, and shortly a jug of grappa and two goblets sat between the two men.

“Lord Laskaris’ finest! I think it’s Corsican,” Gabriel offered, pouring Angelos a cup before pouring his own. He raised his own in a toast—he resisted the urge to smile as Angelos trembled slightly, not sipping his own until Gabriel had downed a goblet and poured himself another.

“Um… how is Theodoros?” Angelos asked uneasily.

“Oh, as well as can be, for a dead man,” Gabriel said, fighting the urge to smile brightly when Angelos spat up some of his wine. Yes—the rascal had been strung up two days before, after singing all sorts of truths to Gabriel. All sorts of truths about the Anatolian nobility—especially one Simon Angelos. So when Angelos had offered two days before to visit Gabriel’s camp to ‘finalize plans,’ the Emperor had eagerly agreed to the meeting…

“D…dead?” Angelos asked, teeth chattering.

“Of course,” Gabriel shrugged, “how else would one treat a traitor planning to backstab you?”

Simon’s face paled even more.

“My son Alexandros tells me,” Gabriel sniffed the grappa—yes, it was Corsican—“that he hasn’t received any letters from you in over three weeks.” He gazed over the rim of his cup at Angelos. “That is distressing, my lord.”

“I, uh, assure Your Majesty that I was about to write him with a progress report…” Angelos folded his hands uneasily.

“I’m sure,” Gabriel smiled thinly. “I also understand that you were visited three days ago by Eleutherios Skleros, weren’t you?”

Simon Angelos’ knuckles went white.

“I have my own eyes and ears in your camp, Lord Angelos,” Gabriel took a sip from the cup, before swirling the grappa around some more. “I thought it wise to keep an eye open… to help advise you, of course,” the Persian Emperor added. He let his little smile grow deadly. “I wouldn’t want a friend wandering into danger, would I?”

“No, of course not!” Angelos swallowed hard.

“Well, then…as a friend…” Gabriel set his cup down and folded his own hands, “I have taken it upon myself to help you by securing some valuables that were dangerously prone to being taken by the usurper.”

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“…valuables?” Angelos asked uneasily. Gabriel smiled dryly, then snapped his fingers. His majordomo disappeared for a moment, before reappearing with a frightened young man in his 20s, a long shock of black hair hanging to his shoulders, dressed in only a nightshift. Behind him in Koutsos’ other hand was a similarly clad woman, also frightened. Gabriel’s smile turned to a chuckle when he saw Angelos’ eyes go wide.

“Alexandros secured Ikonion two weeks ago, and found your son Konstantinos and his wife in the palace, with several agents of Eleutherios Skleros nearby,” Gabriel said, keeping his voice level somehow, “I thought it prudent, as a good friend, that I should remove them from the danger. In fact, I think,” Gabriel leaned back, sipping his wine, “that Konstantinos and his wife should stay in my camp, as my guests.” He smacked his lips, then glanced over at Angelos. The Despotes’ eyes were wide. “It’d certainly keep them safe from any roving bands from that brat, wouldn’t it?”

“It…it, um, certainly would, Majesty,” Angelos choked out.

“Good,” Gabriel smiled. Nikephoros was clearly the plotter amongst his sons, but for not the first time, Gabriel thanked fate that Alexandros was as resourceful as he was. Also not for the first time, Gabriel was pleased Simon Angelos proved as ruthless but inept as Gabriel could ever hope. “After all,” Gabriel added, “we wouldn’t want the brat to get in between our friendship, would we?”

“Of course not, Majesty,” Simon Angelos seemed to sink even further into his campstool. Gabriel hoped the man would sink the hopes of Andronikos just as easily—the Basilikon with that wretch Bataczes’ troops might be larger, but Gabriel had faced odds before—and this time, he had a traitor ready to slide a dagger into the heart of the imperial army at the critical moment…

==========*==========​

So Andronikos might have a public air of calm, and coolness, but inwardly he has his own doubts. Gabriel meanwhile has pulled a surprise of his own on the hapless Simon Angelos. Two armies are on the move, and a clash is imminent? Who will win? Which side will Angelos fall on? What happens next? The Battle of Nikaea, and the fate of the Roman Empire, are next on Rome AARisen!
 
I will not be able to wait until the next update. :)
 
Do you know whose fault it is that everyone - reader and character alike - trembles any time ANYONE takes a drink?

Manuel's.

----

Go Gabriel! Two can play the offer-that-can't-be-refused game!

----

I like how the suspense between the scenes works, passing the tension from one conversation to the next. Very good final version.
 
A Komnenid Emperor - scared to lead an army into battle?!

I hope Gabriel and his sons make quick work of dethroning this coward, and restore the Thomasine dynasty onto the throne!

Do you know whose fault it is that everyone - reader and character alike - trembles any time ANYONE takes a drink?

Manuel's.

:rofl:
 
I believe its time for an update on demographics, specifically; just how big a percent of the population of any given town are, in fact, spies and assassins? :eek:
 
What is sure, is that the soldiers and locals will suffer.
How would it be that Gabriel rules that much of Anatolia?
No forts putting up a fight?
Or none left, since the border is far more east?
 
Guess its time for an Epic Battle once more. Gabriel has the advantage of experience and his reputation is a nice psychological advantage, yet are his Persian levies up to the task? Wonder who Angelos will choose to support, but I somehow forsee his death at the hand of his second son...
 
How would it be that Gabriel rules that much of Anatolia?

You're looking at the big picture. You're not supposed to! The epicness and pure awesomeness are more important than how realistic this is.

I too would like an update on how the religious picture looks. An overwiev of how my favourite town in the empire, Alexandria, looks like would be nice too. That town deserves to be more important that it is!


Go Gabriel! Go, go, go! I'm 100% with Gabriel now and nothing will change my mind. Andronikos is a wimp, trying to act big and be feared but he's just a scared little kiddo without parents. And that's no material for an emperor. Someone important, yes, but not the emperor.
 
The proper Thomasine branch? You mean the one who gained the purple by assassinating David? The one that has produced insane emperor after insane emperor? Remember that Gabriel hears voices too (at least he did in his youth).

Andronikos may be young and inexperienced, but at least he isn't guaranteed to suffer from hereditary insanity.
 
Well, I like Andronikos. He's not afraid to admit that he's scared.
But I also like Gabriel, how he rebounded from total addict to man in control...

Argh, die qual der wahl.....
 
Well, the thing is BT, I don't know what I want to write. I know I want to write, there's no question about that; I constantly have the urge to write something. I just don't know what I want to be the (unpublished, of course, I'm not nearly that good yet, unlike this story) author of.

Thus, because I don't know what I want to write, only that I want to do so, I get frustrated when I can't think of anything to write about.

And if I have a structure (i.e., a style of story to build on), I quickly get tired of it. See my problem?

In any case, I'll still follow your advice, and give myself a bunch of ideas to just write a few hundred words about every day.

And always, great story! I can see why Andronikos choose Cecilia in the end over Sayifa! I certainly would; I don't have the strange attraction to Lindsay Lohan that the rest of the forum has, give me the Norman girl any day! :D
 
The proper Thomasine branch? You mean the one who gained the purple by assassinating David? The one that has produced insane emperor after insane emperor? Remember that Gabriel hears voices too (at least he did in his youth).

Andronikos may be young and inexperienced, but at least he isn't guaranteed to suffer from hereditary insanity.

Yep, I believe we're talking about the same Thomasines; Crazed and ridiculous. Also, does anyone remember the scene where Thomas (the first one, I believe) burned Rome, and killed the Pope? I think The Pope's guard cursed him "Let every one of your descendants named Thomas be crazy and mad" or something along those lines. Turns out the man had quite a gift for curses, eh?
 
Let every one of your descendants named Thomas be crazy and may their genitals fall off to be exact. ;)

But then how will there be more Thomases? :(
 
After checking, I see the exact words are "May their penises wither and crack*. Oh well, even if the prophecy didn't come true fully, it's interesting that every Thomas after him was utterly mad. Even the Persian self-proclaimed "Thomas IV" was seen standing in a fountain (or something similar, can't exactly recall) in a display of his lunity.
 
Andronikos grew up in a relatively peaceful time for the City, and he wasn't supposed to have such responsibility at such an early age (If Nikky wasn't assassinated by a horse, Andronikos might not have had the throne at all, or at least it would have been another 20 years or so). Also, I think a lot of Albrecht's pragmatism and dislike of needless confrontation rubbed off on him, even if he doesn't want to admit that. It's no real wonder he isn't a warmonger, considering.

The fact that he fears battle is actually a nice change, it's RATIONAL. Just because he is afraid of dying, and admits it, doesn't mean he's a coward, really. I think just about everyone would have some fear/apprehension before going into battle.

Thomas I, and Thomas II were batshit crazy, but I am pretty sure even Manuel or Demetrios would have been a little nervous, and they were raised in much more violent times. (Yeah, there's still wars going on, but they've been nowhere near Konstantinopolis until now.)

Also, remember that Andronikos is only like 17 years old. He's still a kid, and he's gone through the loss of his father, the loss of his imperial uncle, being thrust on the throne as a child, the exile of his first love, a near-death experience, a loveless arranged marriage to a harlot, a sorta-crazy mom, and all kinds of other bad stuff, and now his empire is being invaded by his 40 year old cousin and his kids. Seriously, this kid is doing pretty well to not be addicted to crack at this point.