A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1427 - 1427: The Tournament - Part 5

""SER!"" They both said, with enough enthusiasm that even Jorah would have approved of it, had he not been with the other Patrick men that were posted outside of Solgrim's walls, seeing to it that the masses did not grow too rowdy in their watching and in their waiting.

When he was past the gate, and Oliver could see for himself, for the first time, in the light of day, just how many people had gathered at his request, his breath caught in his throat. He looked back on Verdant, asking silently for confirmation for what he saw. Verdant's eyes were always better than his, after all. They always seemed to see through the truth of the matter.

"There's likely over ten thousand, all told, my Lord," Verdant said, replying to the unspoken question. He had the distinct air of a satisfied man as he beheld it, as if he would expect nothing less from his Lord. "All of them are gathered and waiting for you to give the starting signal."

Beyond the gathered men, as they stood in their different lines, with various gaps between the different retinues of noble parties, with their flags flying in the wind, indicating the loyalty of their entourages. It was almost like they were gathered for battle.

Beyond them, there were rows and rows of tents, all of them of different styles, and different qualities. Queen Asabel's tents stood out amongst all of them, in both their size, and the richness of the gold and silver that the canvas was dyed with. They made quite a change from the tents of the peasantry, such a distance away, that were held up with a few sticks that they had brought from home, and what looked to be sacks, in many cases, thrown over the frame.

Though the distinction between class was as clear there as it had been elsewhere, with the hundreds of gathered armoured soldiers who wished to take part in the tournament forming a human barrier between the peasants and the nobility, they were united there in their purpose – they all wanted desperately to see the tournament begin. That want was palpable in the way they stared at the young Captain Patrick as he left the gates of his village to behold them.

Oliver paused for half a step beneath the intensity of all their gazes.

'Well, that isn't good,' he thought to himself, looking down to see his lead leg shaking. 'Dressed like this, how am I meant to face down over ten thousand men?'

"They come for Captain Patrick, the General Slayer, my Lord," Verdant reminded him.

Oliver sucked in a deep breath, and nodded his head. Indeed, it wasn't him that they came for. It wasn't even necessarily him that they judged. They came for this idea of Oliver Patrick that had begun to spread. What they saw was a caricature of Solgrim's creation. He wasn't even dressed as he ordinarily would be. He functioned merely as a spectacle.

If he was to be a spectacle, then their mocking would never reach much further than the act that he put on. If he was to play a part, then, there was a shielding quality to it. It was a way of moving, lulling the enemy into a certain style, only to unleash one's true way of fighting once he lost himself. Oliver could begin to feel the careful strategy of it all, when he saw, as he often did, the difficulty in front of him as a battlefield to be conquered.

He adjusted himself, straightening his shoulders, lengthening his stride, and adding the slightest swaggered to his movements. He allowed his arm that grasped his sword to swing more freely at the elbow, giving him an unfathomable level of looseness.

He was not to know it, but that slight change, as he resumed his stepping, his feet crunching down on the damp dew-covered grass, was impressive enough. To observe the masses, and to resume forward with confidence – it was human instinct to meet that with admiration.

As he walked, he passed the many stalls that the merchants had set up in their designated area. A whole square had been roped off just for them, so that they might be more easily defended, and allowed order, by the protection of the Patrick and Blackwell men that were on patrol.

They were only one square of many. Three other squares, even larger than them, had been set up, for the purposes of the melee. There was enough space between each square for hundreds to march between them, and with the ropes that cordoned each section off – with there being three lines, strewn between many poles around the perimeter – they hoped it would also keep the crowd from interfering too often with what was going on inside.

Oliver's destination was a raised square that had been set up, just in front of the central battlefield that they'd made. He approached it with as much dignity as he could afford, giving the crowd many long looks as he went, as he supposed the character that he was playing might, making it well clear that their number did not phase him in the least.

His most senior soldiers and advisors came with him, in the form of Verdant, Blackthorn, Greeves, Yorick and Firyr. They'd brought Karesh and Kaya along with them as well, leaving Jorah with the task of leading the soldiers that they had in the crowd, until the opening ceremony was over. Nila had quickly made an excuse so that she would not need to be part of it – at least at the beginning. Oliver found it to be a shame. Even if they were only courting, he would have liked to show her off to the world, though he had managed to control that desire, with the knowledge that it would only make her more of a target.

His booted feet resounded off the wood as he climbed the stairs, towards the centre of the platform. He could hear the murmurs of the crowd well enough now, and he could begin to make out individual faces, with Queen Asabel and General Blackthorn catching his eye first amongst them, but later he saw General Karstly stood wearing an amused smile next to a sterner General Blackthorn, and he even saw Professor Yoreholder with her husband Lord Yoreholder.