A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

With his leaving, it was as if someone had taken away the wheels capable of driving their conversation. Both Oliver and Nila descended into silence. Oliver hadn't really thought on the fact that they were alone, but now his body seemed to have an instinctive understanding of it, and sensed the danger itself.

He didn't want to say anything, and risk shattering the temporary illusion that things between he and Nila were normal.

"A-a keep… T-that will be good, right?" Nila stammered. She herself could recognize how stupid she sounded, and she turned away, knowing her face to be red.

Oliver stared. He hadn't expected her to break the silence. And especially not with casual speech.

Carefully, he chose his next response, as if to keep alive a single weak spark, in the hopes that it might blossom in a fire.

"It will be," Oliver said. "Even if the work takes a while, it'll bring a safety that we didn't have before. You won't need to endure the same worry that you were forced to endure before."

"That's—" Nila tried her response, but found herself coming up short. Her shoulders sank. "I hope there shall not be a next time, Ser Patrick," she said, falling into her old ways.

Olive tried not to let the bitter disappointment show on his face, but his expression fell regardless. 'What am I doing wrong?' He wondered. He wondered what he might have said instead. He knew it not to be the most inspiring line, but for it to stomp out the spark of effort that Nila had tried in an instant.

It almost confirmed for a certainty that the problem was not merely that they were alone – the problem was him saying the wrong thing.

"Do you… uhm… Do you suppose… Oliver… That… That we might once more raise a tax with our merchants… so… So your campaign reward money isn't being eaten through so quickly?" Nila said.

Just when Oliver had thought it to be over, Nila made another stammering attempt. He didn't understand it. He looked at her as if to study her. For some reason, her face was strained by an unknown effort, as if the mere act of talking to him was placing a great deal of effort on her shoulders. Needless to say, it wasn't the sight that he particularly wished to see.

'Something is wrong here,' Oliver knew. It was the first time since their courting had began that she seemed to be making an effort to return to how they usually spoke. But that effort was far weightier than it ought to have been. It was as if there was something she wanted to say, that she couldn't get out. As if Oliver had done something that she was attempting to overlook, but was unable to.

"…Nila, have I done something?" Oliver asked.

The silence that greeted him was far from the response that he had hoped for. Nila could not even offer up a reply.

"We need not do this, if you do not wish to," Oliver said. "I was overzealous when I suggested it. I likely should have asked you when we were in quieter company. You would not have felt pressured to make any sort of reply then… Or at least not as much. Perhaps it would be better after all if we forgot about it, and returned to how things were."

"No," Nila replied emphatically, but she didn't even look at him to give that response, and she elaborated no more than it.

Oliver felt the flames of irritation beginning to stir. He put a hand on her shoulder, and spun her around. "Will you not look at me, Nila? I don't understand you the slightest bit anymore."

He could feel the golden flecks beginning to rise up into his eyes, as Ingolsol egged on the excitement. It was those eyes that looked down at Nila – and it was pure terror that she stared back with.

He knew fear better than any other, for the power he had learned to wield from Ingolsol depended upon it. And so he knew, that those wide brown eyes, and the dampness in the corners of them, they were no illusion. The trembling of her shoulders, and the sweat on her brow, they were no illusion either.

The gold in Oliver's eyes was gone just as quickly as it had come. That look, on Nila's face of all people, was more ruthless than any sword blow. She was frightened of him, terrified of him. He couldn't bear to look at it any longer than he had to.

All of a sudden, it all made sense. When one saw terror as the driving force behind Nila's actions, then it made sense, right from the start. Her terror had only allowed her to resist Oliver's proposal to the slightest degree. She had talked it down, so as not to raise what she thought might be his ire, and secured an outcome that she had thought to be tolerable. But even that she could not manage.

In the company of others, as many fearful creatures did, she found a degree of safety. Alone, however, it was a different story altogether.

As much as that fear wounded Oliver, could he find no fault in it. For to give him that look, that meant she understood him, better than any other. How could she not look at him with those eyes, if she knew what he was?

Only Dominus, of all people, had known the burden of Ingolsol that Oliver carried with him, and he had been quite ready to kill Oliver for the abomination, if he showed even the slightest sign of leaving the beaten path.

He turned on his heel, and he left her then. He could bear that look no longer. Ingolsol's wrath could offer him no comfort there, nor could Claudia's gentle chiding. Even gripping his sword brought him nothing. To grip the hilt of Dominus' sword was to remind himself of his strength – but it was not strength that he needed a reminder of. It was the opposite.

He could feel Nila's revulsion at what he had become. Perhaps she realized what he'd let loose, and allowed the slightest return of.

"Oliver!" Nila croaked. She held up a hand to stop him, but her words weren't strong enough to reach him. He had moved away quickly enough that he might have run. She could tell that it took everything that he had not to sprint then.