A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Whenever it was complained about, Oliver would shrug, and say that he needed his sleep. In the Academy, he'd been able to make do with his bed, as small and simple as it was, but with all the lavishness that he was now surrounded with – even if, by a true noble standards, it all seemed rather poor – he found himself in need of a simplicity of the highest sort.

If he'd been able to do it entirely his way, he would have slept in the mountains once more, like he'd been known to.

Now, with his letters attended to, and the affairs of the day organized in his head, Oliver stifled a yawn, and tossed two more logs on the fire.

"Autumn is here well and truly," Oliver muttered, feeling the chill in the air from the open window. "Will any of this be solved, before winter is set in?"

The problems in his mind were plenty. The awards ceremony. The unusual state of his relationship with Nila. The battle that they were beginning with the Guild. The consequences likely to come from Ernest's nobles. How he might contain his rage for the High King.

As plentiful as all the problems were, somehow… he found himself excited by their existence. They gave him something to consider, as he contemplated how to climb over the wall that separated him from other Generals. Or even how to climb over the wall that separated him as a Captain from a good competent Colonel.

Oliver had looked at his blade for over an hour, but he did not move to touch it. He set it against his wall, wondering if he might learn something merely from observing it, and then he had sat there, falling into thought. No – that was quite accurate. It wasn't thought, for there was nothing he could draw upon and present as being a thought. It was a revelry. He felt his head tingle.

He felt no will to do anything else but to watch. The fire was low and it crackled pleasantly. The world around him was quiet. None disturbed the Lord of Patrick at the top of his tower – until, they did.

A gentle knock at the door. That would mean Verdant. Oliver didn't even bother to move his gaze. He clung to the pleasant state of thoughtlessness that he'd fallen into, even as he gave the command. "Come in."

"My Lord," Verdant bowed. Only then did he find the time to look at Oliver oddly. "…Might I inquire as to…? No, I suppose I had best not—"

"Inquire away, damn you," Oliver said. "When you're curious but think it better to say nothing, you make me seem like a mad man."

"I thought I had better leave you to your madness, my Lord. I am in agreement that this does appear to be that – but I have every confidence that you will find a way to pull yourself back from it. If anyone could survive the depths of the God's Eye, it's you."

Oliver sighed, pulling himself to his feet. "Now I don't want to," he said, scowling. "What time is it? There's a few hours until midday, isn't there?"

"Correct," Verdant said. He was accustomed to Oliver's strangeness. He knew no matter how far gone the man might think himself to be, he would have been called well grounded by someone else's standards. He never lost sight of the time or place in its entirety.

"What do you have for me? I had no meetings that I recall until past noon," Oliver said.

"Well, they have arrived early, it seems," Verdant said. "Well, I say they… They've brought a rather troublesome guest with them."

"The Guild?" Oliver guessed. "It's only been a week. Harmon is due to arrive here two days from now… Aren't they a little overeager?"

"Well, I suppose he can't leave without calling a fuss, my Lord. No doubt they saw the sudden closure of his contract and the amount of coin he used to escape it, and they found themselves with a perfectly natural degree of interest. The rest surely was the most basic bit of information gathering. They realize that we are likely at the heart of Harmon's leaving."

"So? Who did they bring with them? If you're bringing me, it's a problem… I can see Greeves wanting to deal with this himself, if he could," Oliver said. "Hm? A noble?"

"Worse, my Lord. It's a Blackwell. Ferdinand, to say his name," Verdant said. "Someone that we don't wish to make an enemy of, but someone that we can't afford to bend to. Given that he is the son of the man who gave you the pin of his House, I expect he naturally supposes you will cede to whatever he has to say. That would be the ordinary way of doing things."

"So, what options do we have? Do I have to argue with the man, or can we use your position as heir to Idris House in order to send him packing?" Oliver asked.

"My position is far inferior to his, I would think, my Lord… The Blackwell House is larger, even if both he and I are the heir to Lordship titles," Verdant said. "Besides, his father has just recently won a great victory. The standing of the Blackwell House could not be higher than iti s currently."

"So… Force won't work," Oliver said. "I suppose I'd better get dressed. We'll see what needs to be done in order to dance around this."

He found in his wardrobe the most rudimentary piece needed to satisfy noble customs, and he slipped into them, with all their frills and their fabrics. Even after playing at being a noble for so long, he found that he disliked such clothes. In his mind's eye, he saw them just as another piece of armour to be donned for a different sort of battle.

Verdant looked him up and doubt when Oliver left his room, searching for imperfections, as he often did.

"Your cravat, my Lord," Verdant said, correcting the same wide green tie for him. "It's crooked… And you could do to put on a few more pieces of jewellery. Your fingers are bare of any rings. It looks almost unnatural."