A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1536 - 1536: Where Art The Fire - Part 1

All the men belonging to their newly kneeling allies dropped to the floor as well. A great ripple ran across the crowd, as if they were knocked down by the hands of the Gods. Those that might have stayed standing otherwise, knelt, pushed by the pressure. From that mere command, in the first instant of it being spoken, ninety percent of those gathered men had collapsed to their feet, and the rest slowly followed, bit by bit, until only one in twenty men remained standing.

Under Oliver's harsh gaze, and those of the rest of the kneeling men, emphatic in their loyalty, those too started to drop down to their knees, one by one, practically forced to do it. Oliver's eyes shone his approval. He turned his glare personally to any who still stood, willing them to their knees. Her recorded their faces, knowing that their loyalty would likely be weaker than the rest – but there was a weight to kneeling that even the most dishonourable of men would not be quick to undone..

When Oliver saw that his work was finally done, and it was only he, and Queen Asabel still standing – Minister Hod had been quick to kneel as well, when the moment was opportune, along with the rest of Queen Asabel's guard – he turned to her.

"Queen Asabel," Oliver said. "I give you your army."

He said it ceremoniously, and deliberately, so that those that had sworn their loyalty for his sake, would know who it was that he fought for.

Queen Asabel, whether by instinct, or whether by genuine understanding, responded on the same principle. She coiled all those differing loyalties together, in one complex ball of yarn, and saw them tightly bound, in a line that was more symbolic than it was literal. "And to you, General Patrick, I give that army to command."

When Oliver awoke, he noted the oddness of the light filtering into his tent. He ought to have slept inside Solgrim, in his own house, given his close proximity to it, but he had chosen to do as the other tournament goers – and now members of the Asabelian army – and had kept his residence outside for the duration of their stay.

He was accustomed to the yellowed light of the predawn by now. Even when the sky was grey and dismal, the yellowed light seemed to remain the same when it filtered in through the tent canvas, and down onto his face.

That day, however, following all the excitement of the day before, the quality of the light was bleached. The yellowness was gone, and it was replaced by a white of the most usually pure quality.

It was enough to make Oliver arise earlier than he otherwise would have. His retainers still slumbered. He saw Blackthorn's chest gently rising and falling from beneath her covers, across the way from him. And he saw Nila's shoulders heave up and down, as she lay next to the woman, on her side, kicking her legs occasionally, like a cat in a dream of a hunt. Verdant's twitching nostrils were the only evidence that the man was still alive, but at the very least, Oliver could be well certain that they were still all aside.

He arose quietly, and stole across the tent, towards the doorway, still in his bedclothes, though they were thick for such things, given the coldness of the weather. He found his boots by the door, and he slipped them on, before gently parting the flap with a little jab of his hand.

He grinned at the sight. He'd hoped it might be – childishly, given the consequences of its existence – and there it was. A world covered in white, with the snow still gently falling down from the sky, freezing the world over.

The snow had made him suffer over the years, but he had not learned to hate it as he should have. He appreciated continually the purity that it brought. Though he shivered like a man sick in the head, for all the seasons of its existence, he had delighted in it. For it brought the cleanliness that otherwise only coin could have offered. It gave beauty to even the worst of hovels that Oliver dwelled in, and to his forest shelters that he threw together out of nothing but sticks.

It gave the world a feeling of the utmost completeness. And there it was, complete again. For all the fire that they had stoked on the previous day, the Gods mocked them, by freezing the world over in a single night, with a blanket of white. And it wasn't a shallow one either. It had fallen thickly, and the snow already rose up to the point of Oliver's ankles. Without his long boots, his feet would have easily grown wet from it.

The snow flakes attacked his face with their cold little bites, lashing out at him for interrupting their descent. The snow was still falling, but it was gentle now. It would have required quite the flurry to get the snow to lay as thickly as it had, but that battle was done at night, with none but the guardsmen on the edge of their encampments to see it. For the rest of them, it was a thing forgotten, a thing unhappened.

With his grin, Oliver enjoyed the little puzzle that the snow had left him. A set of footprints, leaving his tent. He'd noted them the very moment that he had opened his door as a subject of curiosity, but now, only after drinking in the rest of the world, and enjoying the sight of Solgrim a short distance away, with its walls covered in white, did he allow himself to properly enjoy the little puzzle.

And the more he thought on it, the more puzzling it became. It was only he, Nila, Verdant and Blackthorn who were sharing their tent. There were no other residents to leave, and these footprints indicated no instance of a return. They were outgoing, with no footprints to match them on the way back.

Nila ought not to have even been in their tent, but rightly, as any sane human being might, given the dramas of the day before, she had sought out a place of comfort, and none of Oliver's retainers had been heartless enough to point out the indecency of it. They turned a quiet blind eye, as the two enjoy the late hours in each other's company, with Nila's hands wrapped around Oliver's back, and his hand gently petting her head.