A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1415 - 1415: Oliver Patrick - Part 2

She didn't think that the Oliver of today was discontented. Indeed, she could see from the straight line of his mouth that he was comfortable. It looked a stern expression to most, when he sank into thought like that, but Nila had come to understand that he only ever sank so deeply into himself when he was most at ease – and it made her heart beat quicker with delight that he felt such a thing with her.

She didn't think that she would have been overreaching to say that things were going well between the two of them lately. The distance that had begun to grow had been shattered like the ice of a winter thaw. The fear was as distant from Nila's heart as it could possibly be, to the point that she could no longer even understand what had afflicted her. She supposed if she dwelled on it, she would no doubt reach the heart of the matter again, but she dared not risk it.

With the fleeting courage that she had gained, she rushed forward, determined to make up for the walls that she'd put up before. She found herself grabbing for Oliver's hand often enough that it might have been called annoying. Even as they sat in front of the fire, not even an arm's width apart, she felt as if something was missing, if she was not holding his hand.

He'd interlaced his fingers in his pondering, and Nila pried them apart with the wilfulness of a fox trying to overturn a box of food, to get at what was inside.

"Mm?" Oliver said, looking at her, rising out of the depths of his thought for just a second. When he saw what she was after, he quickly relented, giving her his right hand, and going back to wherever it was that he'd been.

Nila grinned her victory, and snatched her prize. No matter how many times she held Oliver's hand, it still felt novel. They were always different, always incredibly complicated. She fancied that there were no hands in all the kingdom that were as interesting as his.

She could feel the calluses on his palm, where his efforts with the sword had kept the skin rough, and she could feel the old roads, deep across his palm, and back through the thumb, where he had once wielded a spade, and a pickaxe, all hours of the day. There was a story written in the skin, if one chose to follow it, and the more Nila looked, the more fruit it bore.

A noble woman of ordinary standing would not have known to see the beauty beyond the battered state of Oliver's skin, she didn't think. The flesh without a doubt was marred. On first glance, it might have made them shy away from its roughness. But Nila appreciated the strength that such scars and calluses pointed to, and the struggle of a hard life that Oliver had endured.

Depending on Oliver's mood, she could sometimes feel just a glimpse of his true strength shining through the tips of his fingers. Sometimes he would give her just the lightest squeeze, and it would feel like a boulder was weighing down on his bones. It was an otherworldly amount of strength. She could have played for hours, just feeling the different levels of it, depending on the slightest of twitches that Oliver gave her. But she knew that Oliver was just as aware of it as she. He always took the greatest of cares not to grip her hand too tightly. Her hand was a good size smaller than his, and she always found that she had to fight to keep a hold of it, for Oliver dared not wrap his fingers too strongly around hers in turn – he preferred to let her hand loosely within his palm.

Nila was content to keep the quiet for as long as Oliver wished to. With her hand in his, this was already enough for her. She felt as warm as the fire that crackled gently in front of them. She had only needed to gaze at Oliver's face from the side, once or twice, and that feeling of warmth was renewed in her a thousand fold. She had to fight to keep a stupid smile from rising on her face – but that was the only effort she had to make.

After a time of his pondering, Oliver finally stirred. By then, Nila was leaning her head against his arm, almost ready to drift off to sleep, but not quite. "How goes your preparations, Nila?"

"For the tournament?" She said, refusing to move her head as she gave her reply.

"Mhm," Oliver said. "From the look on Greeves' face, anyone would think that we've won all the gold in the kingdom all of a sudden, but I wonder if there isn't anything that's escaped my notice."

Nila giggled. "He really does look like a fat cat walking around with that smile of his lately. And to think, he was so against it from the start. It must be an awful lot of money, if he's smiling like that. I would almost be worried, if you didn't have Verdant to watch over him."

"Indeed," Oliver said. "For a plan that was meant to be mine, I don't feel as if I'm properly pulling my weight. In fact, beyond pressing my seal onto things, and giving my go ahead on certain decisions, there's really nothing at all for me to do."

"Doesn't that mean you're governing properly, then?" Nila said. "That was one of the first things Greeves taught me – to make the people that I was employing useful."

"…Strange to think that Greeves taught anyone anything. I hope that was where his lessons ended," Oliver said.

"Well, it's Greeves… He added loads of strange things along with it, stuff I reallllly didn't want to hear, but for the most part, I safely ignored him," Nila said. "I don't think the people of Ernest realize just how frightening Greeves is. If he wasn't so… twisted, he'd probably be one of the greatest merchants in the kingdom. There's a lot to learn from him."

"The Gods seem to enjoy dealing out flaws to go along with whatever boons they give us," Oliver agreed. "But you haven't answered me. How do things go for you?"