A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1426 - 1426: The Tournament - Part 4

"…I don't like the sound of this," Oliver said.

"Have we not discussed such things before, my Lord?" Verdant said, clearly unwilling to let the matter drop. His enthusiasm quickly blew past even Nila's. "On the battlefield, you have allowed yourself to become a symbol even greater than you suppose yourself to be, in order to allow your men inspiration. Why not do that for the masses that have attended? Why not elevate Solgrim, and use what we have to squeeze as much out of the opportunity as possible?"

"I do not believe it to be necessary," Oliver said. "I am not the attraction. The tournament is."

"There will be some amongst the attendees who have travelled this distance solely for the purpose of finding out what kind of person the up-and-comer Captain Oliver Patrick is like. Why not put on a show for them?" Verdant said.

"You say that," Oliver protested. "But I am already worried about speaking in front of thousands. I don't wish to do it dressed as some sort of clown."

"Naturally, we will not allow that to happen," Verdant said. "As your retainer, I give you my word. We will make a symbol out of you – but it will not be one that you ever need to be embarrassed about."

"I give you my word too, my Lord," Lasha said. Oliver glared at her. For Lasha, it seemed, half the fun was just being able to say 'my Lord'. She seemed well aware of how gratifying it still was for him to hear that from her, and used every opportunity that she could to call him it.

"Should I get my mother and Greeves as well? They're sure to have some ideas," Nila said. "We only have two hours, Oliver! We ought to hurry."

And so it was, by the time the hour came for Oliver to give his speech in welcoming the crowd, he was dressed in a manner that went beyond uncomfortable for him. It was likely the most noble, the most outlandish, he thought himself to have ever been dressed.

He'd caught himself in the mirror, and that brief glance was enough to send shivers down his spine. He would have hoped that there was no one he knew in the crowd, only, he already knew that to be a wasted wish, given that he'd invited practically everyone with a connection to him, in the hopes of seeing the tournament grown to its fullest capacity.

The nervousness that he'd felt in approaching the speech swelled to outright fear. Before, he'd supposed that he'd simply address the masses as if he was on the battlefield addressing his men, but now he wasn't sure how to speak at all.

Lady Blackthorn kept his red cape raised high behind him, so that it would not trail through the mud. He looked back on her with a harsh look, venting just the slightest amount of his irritation. He knew that she'd enjoyed this more than the rest of them did.

"What sort of fool wears a cape merely for the fashion of it…" He muttered to himself, for that was clearly what his cape was. It was far too thin to serve the purpose of a proper cloak, as a knight's cape ought to. He had to wonder where Lady Felder had even managed to find it in such short order.

Greeves, unfortunately, had been the biggest fan of the cape, and had pushed it even harder than the rest. "Oh, aye, that's alright, that is," he said, nodding his head. "Aye, I might start wearing capes myself… There's a charm to them, there is. What do you reckon, Judas."

"Errr… It's alright, I guess," Judas had managed to say, as he did everything he could to keep himself from laughing. Judas' reaction – being the only normal one out of the lot of them – was enough to tell Oliver just how ridiculous he looked. Dark brown leather gloves creaked in his hands, as he clenched his fist around the hilt of his sword – at least, he thought, he'd been allowed to wear that.

The long coat that he'd brought specifically for the purpose had been stripped of him, in the place of a black jacket that was far shorter. It was a mixture of black wool, and black leather, which he thought made for a more menacing appearance than he would have preferred to present to the crowd. Naturally, they'd made him wear a frilled white shirt along with it, with ruffled sleeves, and plenty of rings on his fingers. About the only thing they kept the same was his sensible brown trousers and his boots. He felt half a fool, especially with the thickness of the gold necklace that pounded against his ribs with every stride that he took.

"I look like I've just thrown on every bit of loot to be found from the Verna," Oliver complained, but by that point, there was no one that seemed to be paying his complaints any mind. They were of the unanimous and irritating opinion that his appearance was perfect. Even Ingolsol was nodding along with it, growling his pleasure. "Finally, something suited to us," he said. Claudia, for her part, merely giggled. "Rarely do you find the opportunity to be dressed in such amusement, you might as well play the part well."

Oliver had no idea what that part was. The only thing he thought, seeing himself in that outfit, was that he looked overwhelmingly arrogant, as if he had no care in the world for what anyone might think of him. As if it meant nothing to him at all that thousands had gathered at his pleasure to take part in the tournament. That it was so insignificant, he would dress the way he normally did.

He sighed, just before he gathered himself to nod to the guards at the gate. They were Patrick men, naturally, and this particular pair were of the newer recruits. Oliver had watched their training over the past few weeks, and noted with satisfaction that their coordination with the rest of the men was improving. He certainly didn't like seeing the way their eyes widened in surprise, as round as saucers, seeing the way he was dressed. It was to the point that it took them a good few seconds of delay before they remembered to salute him.