A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"Far be it for me to question the mind of such a mighty strategist, General Blackthorn… But if I had to suppose, I would guess that he holds faith in Khan's promises, and saw no reason to push his men any further than they needed to be pushed," Verdant said.

"…What the hell happened out there?" Blackthorn muttered. Whatever explanation came his way, he seemed likely to have been dissatisfied with it. The frown that he wore showed no signs of vanishing. "Daughter – do you have an explanation that can further that of the Idris pup?"

Lasha shrugged. "The enemy were crushed. There's no more fighting to be done. We have three years of peace now… To build up our defences before we launch the next invasion."

"Three years of peace? Along with those cities that Blackwell annexed?" Blackthorn said, he didn't sound happy about the news. "Just what did that bastard do to get them to concede so much..?"

"I am sure we will learn more in time, General," Asabel said, placating him. "The campaign, at the very least, did not seem to go according to the script that we expected it to. I imagine there are far more surprises to be had in store for us, once our soldiers return home, and we learn the fullest truth of it. I am simply glad to see that you and your men appear to be in good health, Ser Patrick."

Oliver wordlessly dipped his head in response.

"Well? What achievements has the boy secured that Blackwell would allow him to leave his post early?" General Blackthorn said, an undertone of maliciousness in his voice, as he switched his target of attack to Oliver, having been indirectly denied more questions directly about the campaign itself.

He didn't exactly put it into words, but there was an implication in what he said that Nila was certain of. 'Are you quite sure he was sent home because of achievement, and not because he was useless?'

More than Oliver, it seemed to be his men that stirred at the implications of those words. Greeves who had remained placid for so long bristled. Judas looked like he was about to say something. Nila clenched her fist behind her back. Lasha glared at her father. And Verdant simply gave an amused smile, and played at politeness, as he made to answer the General's questions.

"Well, he did secure the heads of seven Rogue Commandants," Verdant said.

"Rogue Commandants?" Nila felt herself murmur.

"They are the Verna equivalent of a Colonel, Lady Felder," Verdant said, translating it for her.

"Seven?" It was not Nila that gave voice to that shocked question, but Queen Asabel. "Is that not unusual, General Blackthorn?"

"That might be one term for it," General Blackthorn said begrudgingly. "But for as much of a problem as he is, he ought to be doing that much… I suppose he's just barely earned passing marks for himself. But I wouldn't get cocky, boy—"

"And, also the head of General Zilan," Verdant went on. "During the critical stages of the battle of the right wing, allowing General Rainwater to crush the entirety of their right army, and freeing up our troops the freedom they needed to surround General Khan, with the assistance of General Karstly and Blackwell, in order to secure overall victory, and the surrender of the Verna."

Nila supposed that everyone there knew what Verdant was doing, in attempting to throw Oliver's grand achievement into the face of Blackthorn with as much theatre as possible. But not a single one of them cared. Not even Blackthorn himself. They were all stunned to silence.

The silence was so severe that Nila was sure the clenching of her fist in a fierce pride could have been heard – but even if it was, the strength of that pride deemed that in that moment she would hardly have cared.

Only Oliver moved. He stood from where he had kneeled before Asabel, and he heaved a great sigh, as if tales of his own triumphs were too great a weight for him to bear.

"The head of a General…" Queen Asabel said, awed. "You made a promise, Ser Patrick… And you delivered."

Her face blossomed into the prettiest smile that Nila had ever seen. The gold of her hair seemed to fill her entire face. Nila thought, somewhat resentfully, that the gold of such a hair suited the gold that occasionally graced Oliver's eyes far better than her own appearance did. Then she hated herself for such a thought. Queen Asabel had been nothing but gracious since her arrival.

She was royalty – a completely different species from the peasant that was Nila Felder, and yet she had treated her more humanly than even a lowly Serving Class man might have.

"That one is, my Queen," Oliver said. His tone was not one of excitement. Asabel seemed to pick up on that.

"A short campaign it might have seemed to us, when we look at the months… But I imagine you have picked up many tales, and you have collected a weariness that is unimaginable to the rest of us. Before I depart back for my homelands, I would speak to you properly, if you would allow for it, Ser Patrick. For now, however, I shall leave you. I imagine you want to greet your people.

They fought hard for you, Ser. Be sure to treasure them."

"I certainly shall," Oliver said. There was far more certainty in his tone when he said that.

'She's even merciful…' Nila thought in wonder. Asabel had pulled away, though it was written all over the woman that she wished to stay with Oliver, and hear all that he had to say, and hear tell of all that he had endured. But she fought against her own wants. 'That's a true Queen… Could she be a more perfect woman?'

Nila reminded herself, as Asabel gracefully slid away, collecting her long flowing dark-green skirts under her, that she ought to thank the Queen properly. She'd said her thanks more than once, but the gratitude she felt for the woman far extended beyond just simple words. She wanted to kneel before her, as Oliver had, so that she might attempt to express herself as honestly as she could.