A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"You belong there as well now, Mary," Skullic growled.

"Hush, you take issue with my wording and see something that isn't there," Mary admonished him. "You're the Lord of House Skullic, you shouldn't be seen down here outside."

"No, I will remain here," Skullic said firmly. "Perhaps if they see a Lord standing down, the others won't feel the need to fight quite so aggressively."

"It does make me blend in a little more," Oliver noted. "They'll assume it's only you standing here from a distance."

"Then hoist your banners, you fool," Skullic said. "If you wish to see the presence of your House grown, then you must make that presence known."

"I thought the very fact that I was here meant that I'd already made my presence known?" Oliver said. "I was keen to avoid this, you know. It was your relentlessness that brought me here."

"You're a troublesome one," Skullic said impatiently. "If you're going to complain for the entirety of the day, I'll stand somewhere else."

"I quite like this larger circle you've allowed me, so I'd prefer it if you stayed," Oliver said.

"Quite the demanding little thing, aren't you, for all the complaints that you have," Skullic said.

Oliver shrugged. "It's been a long journey, and I think I've been pretty good. I can play the petulant lordling for a bit, can't I?"

"I don't like this new way of acting out that you're discovering…" Skullic said.

By the time the last of the Silver Kings came, in the form of the strange Treeants, the people were beginning to grow restless, seeming to believe quite firmly now that the ceremony would be well on its way to beginning. Oliver would have thought, given just how bizarre the Treeants were, there would have been more attention focused their way. They seemed more like a group of druids than royals.

The crown their Silver King wore was not made of silver, but of wood. His clothes too – and the clothes of his wife, and children around him – were of a different more… savage sort. It was almost Yarmdon in the way they presented themselves.

They preferred furs to refined fabrics. Leaves were woven into the stitching in places. They looked like moving pieces of the forest – but not just the trees, the entirety of the forest ecosystem, from the grass that decorated the ground, to the squirrels, wolves and bears that ran atop it.

"…That is… I can't find the word for it," Oliver said, frowning. He wasn't sure if he liked their strange way of presenting themselves, or whether he found himself disconcerted by it. It was certainly closer to the way he would have preferred to dress, outside of the noble fabrics… But he wasn't sure if he'd ever go quite as far as they.

"Strange covers it well enough," Skullic grunted. "I suppose this is your first time seeing the Treeants? Those that worship the Old Gods keep to the old ways, is what I'd like to say… But it is never so simple as that.

If they worshipped another of the Old Gods, in the form of Kronos, or – heavens forbid – Pandora, I think they would have found it in themselves to dress themselves normally… But their reverence of Gaia brings about this strange procession that you see."

"Are they… an honourable people?" Oliver asked.

"Oh, quite. Do not let their savage appearance fool you. They are strict with themselves, and more noble in their carriage than most. They simply keep to different ways," Skullic said.

"It surprises me that no one else seems to be commenting on it," Oliver said.

"They are used to it by now. The Treeants bring with them strangeness, as always, and it is quite well accepted. They are the furtherest away in the cycle of succession, so I suppose that's another reason they're being taken more lightly… I imagine if we were threatened by a Treeant ruler within the next decade or so, their customs would be looked at with an eye to more scrutiny."

The fever that the Treeants brought with them, in the completion of the arrival of the Silver Kings, did not die even after fifteen long minutes. Apparently, the Silver Kings were each given times closer to the actual start of the ceremony – but not quite exactly on. It was just another means for the High King to demonstrate his power.

He was not only the very pinnacle of the country's rulers, he was also the holder of the clearest eyes, with the farthest vision, so he might determine the beginning more accurately than they, if one was to ignore the fact that he was the one that had set it himself.

The crowd's excitement was rewarded by the arrival of the first of the Generals of the campaign, in the form of the old General Rainheart. Oliver recognized the man in an instant. He would not have failed to miss him, given how much attention he had been made to put on the man as he fought. He'd been almost as aware of Rainheart as he had been of his enemy in Zilan.

The more looked proud in his silvery white cloak, of the same colour as his beard. Despite his age, he was a tall man, a head above the average line of the crowd, and well filled out too. His own guardsmen trailed behind him, looking small by comparison.

It was not long after that they saw the stoic General Broadstone, dressed as drably as ever. Even without his armour, it appeared as if a dark grey was his colour. He seemed to mislike highly polished equipment – he liked equipment that was well maintained for the sake of function, rather than appearance.

The two Generals nodded to each other, as they met on the stairs, before they proceeded further into the throne room itself. None in the crowd dared to stand and bar their way. How could they, when they were the men of the hour?

When Karstly came, they did not know it. Not until he was already at the top of the stairs. Only then, with a flourish of his hand, did he toss back the cloak that had covered the top of his head, revealing a rather gaudy and well jewelled outfit. The sort of thing that you had to be as youthful and handsome as Karstly to pull off.