A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"What do you mean?" Nila said.

"Just this," Oliver said, gesturing towards the fire. "It seems far better than the alternative."

"…You mean the alternative that I set?" Nila said, almost as quietly as before. "If I were braver, I could… I should… I should just…"

"Perhaps time will fix it," Oliver tried. "You might grow sick of me. Perhaps then, the lack of me will strike you as a positive thing."

Nila reddened. "I didn't think you heard that. Even if you did hear it, you had to pretend that you didn't… Stupid. Now what am I meant to say? How am I even meant to look at you?"

She covered her face with her hands, and sunk back behind her knees.

"…It's not like I'd grow sick of you," she grumbled. "You're far too strange for me to ever grow tired of… You're different every day it seems."

"Most people would call that a bad thing," Oliver said. "They'd call that inconsistency."

"…You're just asking me to say nice things about you. I won't say anymore. It's too embarrassing," Nila said.

"I wonder if you're too close to the fire?" Oliver teased. "Your face is red."

She kicked him then. A vicious boot, right into Oliver's shin. He would be lying if he said it didn't hurt, but it was amusement that overpowered him more than the pain. He was pleased that they could play again like this. It was the slightest, most piddling of steps, but it felt like the most glorious victory, to be able to finally speak to each other as they normally might.

"…Is there something wrong with you?" Those words were the first words that Skullic said, when he arrived in Solgrim. He'd taken a look around the village, as he walked to Oliver's residence, and there was no hint of a positive reaction. He shared a quiet word with his wife, Mary, and she gave him a scolding look, but that was about it.

Somehow, Oliver knew that he knew. It wasn't the situation with Nila, it was what they'd stirred up with Ferdinand. Skullic frown was deep enough to run water through. Of course, even if Oliver knew that Skullic knew, he couldn't let it on. The only path forward was to feign ignorance.

"I have no idea what you mean, General," Oliver said. "I thought you had come here to congratulate me on my victory, but does my victory instead upset you?"

"I might have time to congratulate you on your victory if you weren't creating a steady list of problems that I had to work through first," Skullic said, shaking his head. "The country is rearranging itself as we speak, and this is what I have to deal with?"

He gestured with a loose finger at Oliver, and looked around for agreement. Mary gave him a cold look, but the members of the Patrick forces that had gathered were sympathetic. Verdant hid a wry smile of amusement, and Greeves looked like he was ready to raise his fist to start a chant with how strongly his agreement came.

Even Nila had her head inclined ever so slightly, as if she could understand where Skullic was coming from. Jorah and Firyr – who'd been brought along in the capacity of ceremonial guards – looked more awkward than anything. Firyr seemed as if he didn't know whether to enthusiastically defend his Lord, or just keep quiet.

"I suppose, I should get the congratulations over first. At least those will be quick. General Zilan's head, that's what you secured. Congratulations, Ser Patrick. Zilan was noteworthy enough for me to look into his habits. In strategy, it seems, you lost to him, but in single combat, you bested him.

I have questions in regards to that, but my curiosity is the lowest of my emotions currently. So I congratulate you, and I move on," Skullic said.

"You don't seem surprised," Oliver said, fighting to remain on a topic that he could at least point to his worth in.

"I am surprised," Skullic said. "I didn't expect you to slay a General on your first campaign, nor did I expect you to break through to the Fourth Boundary. But I am beginning to understand, Ser Patrick, that achievement is not the issue for you, as it is for normal men. The avoidance of problems is your issue.

The Gods are said to make men with equal parts faults as boons, and your faults are certainly strong enough to match your talents."

"I wouldn't say matters were that bad," Oliver said. "Have I really stepped out of line so far?"

"…Do you not even understand it yourself? Has no one here the courage to question their Lord?" Skullic said, looking around. "You're the merchant, aren't you? I heard you had a foul mouth? Ought you not to be using that foul mouth on him? Or are you afraid of him?"

"I think only a fool wouldn't be afraid of Ser Patrick, Lord Skullic," Greeves said carefully. He was already sweating, despite the cold temperatures of the day.

"Is that right? So, who's grand idea was it to bite at your liege Lord, eh?" Skullic said, looking around. Naturally, his eyes landed on Oliver, and they stayed there. "It seems like the sort of thing that you would do, Patrick. So, what was your reasoning? What bit of madness could possibly possess you into thinking that was a good idea?"

"There's a little merchant group called the Guild, Skullic…" Oliver said. "They've been something of a pain."

Skullic waved his hand impatiently. "And to attack the guild, you attacked nobility? Is that what I'm hearing?"

"Not directly. We snatched one of the Guild's contractors, and they brought nobility into it, supposing that we might be threatened," Oliver said.

Skullic snorted at that. "How foolish they were to think that. I can suppose how it happened next. You threatened their Lord in turn – and your own Lord, by that measure?"

"…Something along those lines. But it isn't nearly as grim a situation as you seem to think. It's more a friendly bit of competition than anything else," Oliver said.