Rome AARisen - a Byzantine AAR

AlexanderPrimus - I just hope I can keep you there!

Estonianzulu - The empire is certainly shuddering and shaking, and a rough succession certainly isn't going to help that. Say what you want about Manuel, but he did what the Megas, Nikolaios, and so far Basil have no been able to do - secure a smooth succession. A lot will depend on just what happens east... its only 1189, so no one will be shouting Khan for probably another twenty years...

...Twenty years is alot of time for rot to set in though.

Well, on the bright side, at this point in 1189 there isn't a power that can actually take on Romanion toe to toe and win... no where close. Drogo's France has a chance if it can sow sufficient internal dissent, but even the likely rump states equal his power.

Delex - Good to know. Is this a subtle hint I need to include more illustrations?

The_Guiscard - I'm glad you like it - that's high praise indeed coming from someone that writes as well as you! The biggest thing I like about CK is how its character based, and its so easy to turn memorable characters in game into excellent narrative characters as well. Keep on posting as you catch up, its always nice to hear what a fresh reader has to say about what has gone on (both what went well, and what about my writing could use improvement too)!

Servius Magnus - Wouldn't it be ironic, if instead of beginning with an Alexios Komnenos, the Komnenid Empire ended with one? If all those people die, and if Alexios lives through childhood, yes, he could easily create that enormous realm. But that's alot of ifs to come around...

EDIT - There's nothing that says the Empire can't die, then reform somehow before dying again.

Ksim3000 - Everyone's heard about it, I thought it was time to hear something from Heraklios' point of view. And in many ways, no matter who becomes Emperor, a split with the Exarchates is likely down the road. Their very creation is an admission by Konstantinopolis that it can't control Hispania like it would like, and it hopes to 'rule by division.' Though Heraklios' lack of martial stats aren't as bad as it seems - even at 10 he has excellent diplomacy and intrigue stats, and under Basil, Romanion has had plenty of opportunities to train formidable military leaders. After Basil dies, chances are Kosaca will still be around - and the Megos Domestikos is no military slouch himself (martial of 20).

Sulieman is still alive at this point, though he's old (entering into his 60s). Thins have remained extremely quiet on the Turkish frontier - Sulieman's dream has been staying his hand. The big question is, when he dies, will his successors follow his policy of peace, or try to hit Romanion yet again? As for Manuel, hmm... in a few updates, everyone will get to hear from him. (bolded so Manuel fans might see this better)




So, about the next update. I have nada written yet. Zippo. Nothing. I'm hoping to start it later today, and maybe have it up Tuesday or Wednesday, but we'll have to see. A lot will depend on how my pesky proposal goes. Meh. I have it all written up in my head though!

I'll have proper replies up later today... right now I have a boyfriend glaring at me angrily because I spent all morning finishing the update instead of getting ready to go get lunch! So, I'll answer questions a little later this afternoon... without further ado, the next update!



June 6th, 1189 – Konstantinopolis

Clemente Kosaca impatiently rapped his knuckles onto the fine oak finish of his banqueting table. The doors to the hall had long been shut by his servants, but the four men before him still continued their endless chatter. Kosaca picked up quiet murmurs, questions, but not complete conversations in the noise. When his interruption did not disturb those gathered around, the Megos Domestikos rapped even harder, and cleared his throat. Finally, the gathered group of the most senior strategoi in the Empire looked at him, as their surprisingly nervous and quiet conversations ground to a halt.

For Clemente Kosaca, that alone was an alarming sign. He’d worked extensively with all four of them extensively – He and Gregor Lainez had served together in the Anatolikon Stratos during the Third Seljuk War, both Georgios Komnenos (son of Theodoros) and Ioannis Vataczes had served as junior officers in the Toledo campaign, and Petros Diogenes had long been a senior commander and assistant to Kosaca when he’d become Megos Domestikos. They all knew each other, and normally there was bawdy laughter and ease in their relationship. Yet there was tenseness, even strain in some of their eyes.

Something was going on.

“Vataczes?” Kosaca asked, looking towards the youngest and normally loudest of the senior officers. If any of them would leak out what was troubling them, it’d be the son of the famous (or infamous) Ioannis Vataczes…

Isaakios Vataczes looked nothing like his father. Whereas old Ioannis had been rough-hewn at best, and downright surly and base at worst, Isaakios had been raised in the lap of Konstantinopolis luxury while his father campaigned. Whereas Ioannis had been a huge brute, Isaakios was more refined, with a hardly blemished face and the proper accent that came from spending time in the Roman court.


However, a simple glance at his calloused hands would tell any doubter that there was a reason that Vataczes wore the same red cape as his father. Isaakios had always lived in his father’s shadow, and despite his more… acceptable personality, he’d kept many of his father’s traits on the battlefield – notably a devious tactical mind, and an utterly ruthless disposition towards the enemy. It was for that reason that despite having seen only 36 winters, Vataczes was the commander of the Levantikon Stratos, the garrisons and field armies that covered imperial provinces from Egypt into Syria.

“Yes?” the young man asked, clearing his throat. Kosaca watched his eyes – on one hand they looked fearless, like he had something to say. On the other, they constantly looked over to his compatriot Georgios Komnenos. Clemente raised an eyebrow – so all the concerns had one origin point.

The Prince of Antiocheia and son of Theodoros was, like his father, a tall man carrying a full dark mane of beard. Not only was he a prince and wore the red cape, but he also commanded the Anatolikon Stratos, covering all the Imperial armies from Imeretia and Georgia down to Cilicia and Chaldea. That Georgios would have ‘concerns’ on anything didn’t surprise Kosaca – he was a distant member of the now vast Imperial family, and while he was loyal through and through, he loved to ‘flaunt’ what little authority he had. It was an annoying habit, but not a fatal one. Kosaca glanced over to the Komnenos.

“Clemente,” Komnenos rumbled to life, as if on cue. “I have some – concerns – about the Emperor’s succession proposal.”

“Concerns?” Kosaca’s blood went cold. The meeting with his senior commanders was supposed to be a mere formality. Emperor Basil did not need their permission to change his succession law in the wake of the death of his eldest son, but he sought their merely their assent and support for the new heirs – assent that was normally automatic for most of the Komnenid Emperors. Yet, it seemed, Georgios Komnenos had a problem with Alexios Komnenos, son of the late Prince, being added as a co-Emperor to Heraklios. Kosaca for a second wondered if it was some familial dynastic complaint. Perhaps he thought he should take the purple?

“We have some concerns,” Petros Diogenes piped up. The commander of the Makedonikon Stratos was positively ancient, his gray hair shot with white. Yet by his erect bearing in his chair, everyone could see the man was still a proud soldier.

“Which are?” Kosaca pressed. So this was more than just Georgios – that made Kosaca relieved. If just Georgios had concerns, it could have been a dangerous dynastic push that Clemente would have to squelch. If Diogenes had concerns, that meant likely the entire council had concerns as well… and it was something beyond dynastic strife…

“My lord,” Diogenes bowed his head hastily. Kosaca watched the aged man’s hands open and close reflexively – he always did that before he was about to say something he considered radical. “I seriously do not think that the Empire can stand being ruled by two child Emperors. Not with Prince Thomas in Hispania…”

“And Gregor’s son at his side,” Vataczes spoke up. The old Spaniard, Kosaca’s longtime friend, shot the young Greek a sharp stare, before looking at Kosaca and slowly nodding his head.

“Clemente, I will be blunt,” Georgios said. “My tagmata will not stand for two boy emperors, not when there is a proven commander out there with just as eligible a claim. Thomas is rash, Thomas is aggressive, but he knows battle, he knows what it means to send men off to war!” The young Komnenos looked around the table, his voice growing louder as he grew bolder. “We’ve had emperors who were not soldiers in the past! Look what happened under Constantine Dukas!”

“Or Nikolaios Komnenos,” Diogenes added quickly.

“Fratricidal war,” Vataczes jumped onto the thoughts of the others.

“But these are the wishes of His Majesty!” Kosaca said in vain. Secretly, the Megos Domestikos kicked himself. He’d expected a little grumbling, but for the military leadership to fall behind him, and more importantly Basil, like they blithely had before. Apparently more bad news had come about the Emperors health – and ambitious men were already testing the air. Clemente should have tried to gauge their reaction more carefully. He’d assumed they’d fall in line as always, and now that disagreement was out in the open…

“Clemente,” Diogenes spoke up, “I know His Majesty is a personal friend, and I know the Emperor is trying to do the best by the Empire, but listen to us. We are your commanders, your allies, your friends! If Heraklios and Alexios were young men that had shown they can command an army, I have no doubt that the generals would fully back placing them on the throne. But a boy of ten and a boy of two? One of whom cannot swing a sword, the other too young to wield a blade?”

“It’s an invitation for the Turk, the Cumans, the Hungarians, and who knows what other two-bit tribe to come sweeping into our lands and pillage our towns!” Lainez complained.

“You’re forgetting the Germans,” Georgios added.

“And how would Heraklios or Alexios avenge our defeat twenty years ago?” Vataczes said, and immediately Kosaca winced. The others were old salts, veterans of the wars in Spain, Vataczes was young and brash. He held no such compunction, or tact.

Ever since the end of the Third Seljuk War in 1167, the army had chafed at the fact victory had been snatched from its hands. While the loss of the themes of Azeribijian and Mosul had economically meant little to the Empire, but psychologically, for the army it marked an end to a century of unceasing military triumphs.


The sting of the defeat still hung with Clemente, just as it stung all the other old senior strategoi. They all remembered the dark days of 1163, when it looked as if the entire East would be overrun, and Basil Komnenos’ devastating Syrian campaign that cut the heart out of the Turkish advance. Kosaca remembered eagerly awaiting the news of the final climactic battle, where Basil would destroy the Sultan’s armies and Romanion could commence her invasion – only to hear how Romanion had made peace, ceding land to an enemy on its last legs.

It was the secret desire, the secret wish of the whole Roman military, to march East and punish the Turk for that humiliation long ago. As vicious the Moors were, as rapacious as the Cumans raided, as devious as the Franks were, in the eyes of the Roman military, their principal enemy sat with his capital in Baghdad, nestled right against the eastern themes.

The army understood the east needed rebuilding, that the army needed new recruits and officers, both processes that would take time. So, for twenty years they’d waited patiently while their beloved captain had campaigned in Spain, waiting for the time when Basil would finally turn that strategic eye east, and avenge Romanion’s humiliation. Yet now, it was apparent that Basil’s successor would take the throne sooner, rather than later, and the army’s dreams of a vengeance campaign in the East hung on that person’s shoulders. Clemente had imagined that there would be a great deal of resentment if the two children were chosen – it would mean the army’s dream would be deferred at best, ignored at worst…

Sentiments and frustrations that, with a single sentence, Vataczes brought to the fore.

“They wouldn’t,” Lainez murmured. The old strategos had been one of the principal subcommanders that faced Sulieman directly in Anatolia, and thus had seen everything the Sultan had laid waste. “Heraklios sounds more like a scholar than a soldier, and scholars do not like using blades!”

“And who knows how a two year old will grow up?” Diogenes added with frustration. “He’s half-Frankish! He’s part barbarian!”

“A scholar and a barbarian on the throne,” Vataczes nodded. “No true Romanoi, either of them!”


“We need to make things apparent to His Majesty,” Georgios Komnenos blurted out. “My cousin Basil has been a longtime supporter and friend of the army, he will listen!”

“And what do you propose telling him, Georgios?” Clemente sighed. The meeting had slipped beyond his control, and he knew it. Calling on the wishes of the army’s beloved Basil had not swayed these men, they had a course set, and were going to follow it.

“Clemente,” Georgios said coolly, “for too long, the army has remained silent and out of affairs of state. This is perfectly acceptable when we had a soldier Emperor, a Megas or Basil. But now, I see the darkness of anarchy staring us in the face. We need to approach the Emperor, as a group, and explain that the army will not accept this! We will bend to his will while he lives, but once he is gone, Clemente, I will have a hard time persuading my tagmata to not openly side with Prince Thomas!”

“Treason then?” Kosaca said darkly.

“Is it treason when we are acting in the best interests of the state, of the Komnenid dynasty?” Vataczes asked. “We want Thomas added as a senior Emperor. Make Thomas and Heraklios senior co-Emperors, make him senior above the other two, but the Empire will need an soldier Emperor!”

“As will your coffers,” Kosaca whispered under his breath. There was no doubt Thomas would lavish funds and care on the military, where a more peaceable Emperor might not. A Heraklios-Alexios Regency would likely be headed by the Empress, who rumors had it had murmured that the military took up far too much of the state’s budget.

“It is not treason to tell the Emperor we think he is making a mistake,” Georgios Komnenos added. “Indeed, as advisor to him, it is your duty to tell him such. Tell us, Clemente, do you really think placing two young boys on the throne while leaving out the Emperor’s own son is a wise decision?”

Kosaca bit his lip. He himself had long held private reservations about Basil’s plans, but he’d never felt it his place to comment on them. Now, he was faced with a polite, if firm, revolt amongst his generals… and should they be ignored, Clemente was not foolish enough to assume they’d stay polite.

“So you wish Thomas to at least share the title Autokrator?” Clemente gave in. The heads around the table nodded in unison, and Kosaca sighed. He pushed his chair back from the table, and it made an annoying screech on the fine wood floor, the same screech his heart was making at what he was about to do.

“I’ll take your concerns to the Emperor,” he said as he rose. For almost a hundred years, the great powers of the Empire had stayed quiet. Now, they were stirring once more…



September 3rd, 1189 – Barcelona

Mehtar Lainez artfully dodged the wayward cup just seconds before the missile would’ve struck the wall beside him. He looked up, and Thomas was staring at him, breathing heavily. Mehtar knew the cup wasn’t meant for him – it was that he just happened to be in the way when Thomas read the news from Konstantinopolis and took his fury towards the nearest goblet. Already, the Exarch’s hands were grabbing the damnable parchment yet again, his eyes scurrying over the words in rage and haste.

“He named that… boy a co-Emperor!?” Thomas snarled, flinging the parchment aside. Three Emperors!? This should be the time when I rise to the fore, not the time to crown some half-Frankish bastard of David’s!” Another goblet was in his hands. Thomas hastily downed the contents before hurling it at the wall as well. “I am merely a joint Autokrator with Heraklios?!”

“Your father plays a delicate game,” Mehtar said, deftly moving completely out of the line of fire.

Of course, that was a gross simplification and understatement. The old pillars of the state, long suppressed by a string of powerful Komnenid Emperors, were stirring to life yet again. The dynatoi, ruthlessly butchered by the droves by Manuel, now had a generation to recover, with a grudge against the monarchy. The Church, long an ally of the Imperial family, was rumbling that it wanted repayment for its steadfast service. Finally, the army was rumbling, making it plain it preferred that a child alone not take the imperial reins. Add to that the interests of the Spanish exarchates, especially with Enguerrand’s loud complaints that he wanted his interests heard, and there was a true recipe for trouble.

Ever since David’s death, Mehtar had been in seclusion, hidden within the Barcelona Palace, away from prying eyes and ears. Not only was this to avoid the heat of the undoubted imperial search for a culprit, but also time to think – and much news had reached the Spaniards ears in the past few months. David’s death had opened a gaping hole in the succession, and the apparent revolt of the army against the Emperor’s first proposal had resulted in the current tri-headed monstrosity.

Of course, Mehtar had nudged things a bit. Lainez had guessed where the Emperor was moving, and used some contacts, as well as coin, to persuade several prominent generals to “air their misgivings.” Isaakios Vataczes, and Georgios Komnenos were easily won with a promise that Thomas would, of course, take the war to the Turk within two years of taking the throne. Another of the strategoi, Petros Diogenes, was won over with some coin. Gregor Lainez was the easiest of all – Mehtar merely explained to his father that Thomas coming to the throne would mean the Lainez family rising high on Mehtar’s young coat-tails…

To Mehtar’s eyes, the three-headed monarchy was a simple stopgap solution. For a tired and likely dying Emperor, it’d postpone problems till after he’d gone to the grave. The army would be pleased that Thomas, a battle-seasoned warrior with a reputation for bravery, would take the throne. Placing both Alexios and Heraklios would hopefully leave little room for the dynatoi to exploit family rivalries, and Alexios would quiet Enguerrand down, as well as assuage the hyperexarch. Rodrigo Jimenez, like the foolish Latin he was, had insisted that by birth the throne belonged to Alexios Komnenos, as son of the eldest heir – ignoring longstanding Romanoi tradition that the most capable received the crown. Many ascribed this to Western foolishness, but Mehtar saw it as a power-grab by the hyperexarch about to lose his closest companion and avenue to influence…


Yet despite all the circus surrounding Alexios, Mehtar knew the center of the Emperor’s plans still laid with Heraklios, not Thomas.

Why else would the new succession include the convoluted arrangement that Heraklios was to be a senior Emperor alongside Thomas? Mehtar’s mind had worked on this. In an ideal world, that meant Heraklios would be the coin-counter, state manager, and diplomat, while Thomas would be the sword, the fury of the state enraged. But, as was obvious to Mehtar, this arrangement would simply be impossible. Thomas wanted sole imperial powers…

“Yes, he does play a game! A game of how he can insult his most deserving son!” Thomas snapped. In his fury, the Exarch flung the goblet across the room – it clattered against the far wall. His face twisted into a look of fury that the goblet did not shatter like the previous one.

“That just means we must play a game of our own too,” Mehtar said coolly. “Thomas, follow my advice, and I guarantee you in two years, you will be sole Emperor in power, if not name.”

“Power, but not name?” Thomas was already grasping another goblet. “So you mean those puissant boys will stay around?”

Mehtar immediately wanted to correct Thomas’ use of ‘puissant,’ but stopped himself. His friend’s mangling of Greek was an issue for another time. “They will, at least at the start. We need to make sure you come to the forefront, Thomas, and they’re shoved into shadow. Once they’ve been in shadow long enough, you can do what you will to them. You need to just do as I say, Thomas!”

“So what do I do, Mehtar?” Thomas looked up, all the energy slowly draining away from what would have been another fit of goblet flinging.

“Sail for Konstantinopolis,” Lainez said, without hesitation.

Thomas’ eyes lit up. “Excellent idea. I’ll inform the doux that…”

“No, not with warships,” Mehtar cautioned. “Your father…”

Thomas stopped in mid-sentence, and Mehtar could see fear and hope fighting in his friends eyes – the hope, always eternal in Thomas, that his father would love him, and the fear of what Basil Komnenos would do should Thomas be caught raising an army against him…

“Instead, we will go on grounds of wishing to see your father before his passing,” Mehtar cautioned. While all the letters from Konstantinopolis were claiming the Emperor was fine, Mehtar was skilled enough to read between the lines. Basil had taken to holding audiences behind the purple veil, and his walk had slowed, his cough had deepened and he now had a rattle when he breathed. Spies could do more than steal information – simple observations were often worth thousands of documents and plans – and they all said that the Emperor’s health was failing fast. “Enter the city as an upset, but understanding son,” Mehtar advised.

“Upset but understanding? What do you mean?” Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t we want father to think I completely accepted the idea?”

“No, because, Thomas, that would give the ruse away!” Mehtar countered. “Act upset you don’t have the sole Emperor-ship, but act cowed, that you’ll grudgingly accept what your father commands. Can you do that?”

Thomas looked down. “Yes, I can.”

“Good,” Mehtar said, his mind whizzing in thought. Things were almost within Thomas’ grasp. If he played his part. “Next, you will meet with the heads of the military, officially to discuss dispositions, as, if war should break out soon after Basil’s death, you would command the army.”

“I will use the army to depose my brother and nephew?” Thomas said, leaping five steps ahead of Mehtar.

“Yes…eventually,” Mehtar said. There were many delicate steps in between. “However, they will want something in return – a campaign against the Turk, prosecuted to the hilt.”

As Mehtar expected, Thomas’ eyes lit up. He wouldn’t take much convincing at all…

“Your mother has long had evidence that the Sultan's son Murad has been prosecuting a long and bloody war to the east, in Gerosia and Arachosia. The Turks have left their border undefended almost for over a decade, and yet, something kept your father from moving against them. The army wants to know that you won’t be held back…”

“So the Turk is laying bare, their naked neck exposed?” Thomas asked, excitement growing in his eyes.

“Lands from Mosul to Tabriz are open for the taking, should your father or someone of martial caliber decide to take them…” Mehtar smiled.

Thomas’ face went from one of glee to one of thought. Mehtar smiled – he was reasoning things out, weighing things. Mehtar saw it as proof that Thomas wasn’t as bullish as people thought – even if his plans were a step slower than Mehtar’s. Suddenly, the Prince looked up.

“Why hasn’t father taken advantage of this situation?” Thomas wondered. “We’re more powerful than the Turk, we’ve recovered wholly from the last war! What has held his hand back?”

“That question puzzles every one of the strategoi,” Mehtar shrugged. Truth be told, no one, to Mehtar’s knowledge, except perhaps the Empress, knew why the Emperor had stayed his hand against the Turk. For a decade and the half the Romanoi had the resources to strike with devastating results, yet the Emperor had stayed his hand. It was a puzzle that was irrelevant now.

“And what about the dynatoi?” Thomas asked. Mehtar’s smile grew. Thomas might be bullish, even brutish, but he wanted his crown completely secure. The military might give him the brawn, but if the dynatoi backed him as well…

“I have thought about that as well. After you become one of the Emperors, you won’t have a need for the title Exarch, will you?” Mehtar offered. “Hand it to your cousin Malhaz, Prince of Bosnia.”

“Hand Exarch to that bastard?” Thomas looked confused.


“Malhaz is a bastard, yes,” Mehtar granted, “but he is also now a senior member of the neodynatoi, and as a Komnenos in name at least, he has the respect of the old families as well. In return for the Exarchate falling to his family, I have no doubt he’ll use his considerable influence with the Paleologids, Agyrids and Kantakouzenids to pull a sizeable chunk of the dynatoi your way…”

As Mehtar explained, he couldn’t help but congratulate himself. This was only the first in a series of plots he’d been perfecting in his seclusion since the death of David. If Thomas listened to Mehtar’s advice, within a year of Basil’s death he would be sole Emperor in power, if not name. Another three, and Alexios, just by being alive, would deliver the city of Rome into Thomas’ eager hands.

Of course there was Heraklios as well. Mehtar’s agents had sniffed out a rumor in Cordoba, and were tracking it down. If it turned out to be the truth, Heraklios would contribute the loyalty of the Church to Thomas’ reign… and end the influence of the annoying hyperexarch…


So plots unravel, and Thomas has been named one of the three co-Emperors that will succeed Basil. But what are Mehtar’s plans that actually use the other emperors… and how will others, including Sophie and Rodrigo, react to this? And is Basil really on his last legs.?

The little proclamation I posted here is a homage to Snugglie’s wonderful narrative AAR Lothrangia – a tale of resurrection! If you haven’t taken a look at this gem, he skillfully weaves wonderful characters together with beautiful graphics (my attempt has done his work little justice). He has definitely earned his latest win as best Narrative in the CK category… I would definitely recommend it!

Deamon - :rofl: That is a lovely mental image of Manuel. However, I don't think he'll be appearing like that... it'll be something more subtle...

The_Archduke - He has a part to play... whether it is a part large or small, he will make an appearance in a few updates!

Delex - Haha! Okay

4th Dimension - Manuel's not averse to blood... its just he finds poison far more entertaining...

kalenderee - Well as for the African provinces, remember Kosaca's personal domain anchors the area around Carthage... if he's loyal to Heraklios when push comes to shove, the young man could go there. Ideally, he'd make the perfect left hand emperor to a more forceful militaristic right. Even Mehtar sees this... what remains to be seen is if Thomas' urge to have sole power will overwhelm the potential of something like that...

As for Manuel, I love that little phrase - "The spider versus the sodomite! A rumble in the jungle!" I can see Don King promoting it already... :rofl: As for who'd win such a showdown... Mehtar has sheer natural skill, but Manuel has years of experience and a ruthlessness Mehtar can't match... it'd be an interesting showdown, should it happen...

Enewald - Yeah, this was one of the updates that was far longer than I wanted once it was all put together - hence it taking so long to write... I'm going to try to consciously start cutting them down a bit, make it more digestable. And Basil likely dictated the proclamation... he is an Emperor, after all. The Turks are busy fighting in present day Afghanistan off-map... its yet another explanation for bad AI, which you all will soon see...

Lord Valentine - The army had long been cowed and pleased by the fact there had been a long, steady line of strong soldier emperors. They were obviously pleased with the Megas, Manuel turned into a formidable commander, and Basil of course lead them to new heights of glory. The only emperor the army didn't really back so far was Nikolaios. Its high time they come back, and start attempting to 'anoint' the sucessor they think will best carry them to success...

TC Pilot - Well, keep in mind its 1189, and Thomas is 18. In the real timeline, the Mongols don't arrive until the 1220s, and in force in the 1230s, when Thomas would be in his 70s. With his disposition, he likely won't be alive then. The only caveat to this is I've seen the Mongols arrive as early as 1205, when Thomas could very conceivably still be alive and kicking...

Fulcrumvale - It's almost a byproduct of Basil's even handed, open handed way of ruling, and his frequent rule by absentia. Manuel, for all his sociopathic tendencies, broke the back of the dynatoi, curbed the Church, and led the army to victory. Basil has done only the latter, not caring for the former two, and disloyalty, like any infection, will spread if its not treated at its source. Fratricide isn't inevitable, but a clash of some kind looks to be coming - between the hyperexarch and Mehtar (and hence, Thomas), between Rodrigo and Sophie over Heraklios, between everyone threatened by Alexios and the two year old to half of Europe...

Dimmimar - So there's one theory on how Mehtar's plan calls for using Alexios! That is definitely an interesting scenario - Thomas would be Alexios' closest heir, and should the tyke inherit Drogo's Empire, knocking him off would give Thomas almost the borders of the old Roman Empire... in an age where an Empire that large would be simply untenable for any length of time...