A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"Do whatever you wish to do," Oliver said. "As big a pain as Skullic is, the man does seem to be trying to help, even if he has strange notions as how to do so. He would be well served to be more informed."

"I have strange notions, do I?" Skullic growled. "I'm the far more normal man between the two of you. You would do well to remember that I am your elder. That I might have wisdom that goes beyond your years."

"I know well enough that you have all that – it is written in the wrinkles on your forehead," Oliver said.

"Wrinkles on my..?" Skullic ran a hand over his forehead, brushing aside the locks of his dark blonde hair as he did so. "I have no wrinkles," he protested. "I'm barely at thirty…"

Mary took his hand in her own, relieving him of his plight. "He's only teasing you, my dear," Mary told him gently. "He wouldn't do it half so much if you didn't give such an amusing reaction."

"…I travel all this way, for this…" Skullic grumbled. "When I have gathered what information I can from the rest of your men, I will speak with you again, Patrick, and perhaps we might be able to find some common cause, before you drift even further away from a sensible path than you already have."

…

…

They'd given Skullic the rooms on the second floor of Oliver's house to take up residence in. Oliver was more than happy to see them gifted away, given that he refused to spend any nights in them himself.

He was quite content with the modest furnishments of the highest floor – but even those he stole away from, to make his bed in the empty storage room, that even his servants had to pretend didn't exist.

Verdant had gone to see the General first. He carried out his duty with all the seriousness of a man performing an execution. He was just as solemn when he returned, and when Oliver had asked what they had spoken of, Verdant had replied quite simply, "I answered all that he asked – did I go too far in that?"

"That would depend on what he asked…" Oliver had said, but he hadn't pressed the point any further.

Then Greeves had gone, as nervous as a mouse entering the lair of a cat. Whatever he'd spoken of, the man refused to say – but he had sweated so profusely that it had reached through three layers, to stain the outer fabrics of his fine brown autumn jacket.

Then Nila had gone, clenching her fists for courage, and she had come back looking exhausted. She hadn't necessarily refused to say when Oliver asked what they'd spoken on, but at the very least she seemed too tired to say.

"I'm going to lie down," she told him, before disappearing.

"I can see you've single-handedly domesticated all my men," Oliver said, when it was finally his turn to see Skullic. "Did you have to pretend to be so intimidating?"

"I didn't pretend to be anything," Skullic said dryly. "Did it seem as if I was putting on airs to you, Mary."

"Unfortunately, this is how he usually is, Ser Patrick…" Mary said sympathetically.

"If anything, you're the strange one," Skullic said. "You ought to be showing me a fraction of the respect that they were. Just a fraction. That wouldn't be asking for much. But you can't even manage that. Your respect is so lacking that it borders on disdain.

Now wonder how that might make a man in my position think? One might wonder if that was true disdain, given how you interacted with Blackwell's son earlier. That calls your honour into question."

"You know it was nothing so dishonourable as that. It was a merchant matter," Oliver said. "They would call it backstabbing, but it only became that when they decided to involve themselves. It was a matter between us and the Guild – the Guild just pushed Ferdinand in front as a meat shield."

"You could have been more diplomatic," Skullic said. "You have precious few allies as it is. Why would you move so aggressively as to build up another enemy?"

Oliver shrugged. "It seemed the only way to talk to Ferdinand. He wouldn't have made even the smallest of concessions, no matter how much we asked. He's the sort to take any amount of negotiation as disobedience. When Solgrim is on the line, I have to stand my ground. Our position is a precarious one, as I'm sure you'll understand.

We're weak, and made weaker by the strength that the Guild has started to see in us. It's an attacking move."

"So you read the board, and you decided that an attack was justified, did you?" Skullic said thoughtfully. "This was strategized – it was not impulsive?"

"It was strategized," Oliver insisted.

"I fail to see the version of the future that you seem to be aiming towards," Skullic said. "All I see is your relationship with Ferdinand deteriorating. I see the return of General Blackwell, and I see you being ordered to finish all the contracts that you managed to pluck from them in his absence."

"Ferdinand threatened the same. I told him that would be tyranny. To use his position as Lord to quash any economic competition," Oliver said. "What is that but grounds for dispute?"

"…You make it an issue of rebellion?" Skullic said, twisting his face. "Lord Blackwell will like that even less. I suppose that tells me as much as I need to know about how the campaign went between the two of you. It certainly does not seem as if you've been endeared to the man."

In his room on the second floor, Skullic had already made it exclusively his. The desk was a small thing, to be set against the wall, and hidden away in the corner. But Skullic had moved it right to the centre of the room, with the fire behind it. With just a single piece of furniture moved, the large bedroom became his office alone.