A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1689 - 1689: Like a Bird - Part 6

The Idris man had dipped his head, eternal in his understanding. "But of course, my Lord," he said. "Such is my role, and you find use for me. I will endeavour to do what I can in that regard."

"You need not go too far. Merely make yourself known to the officers, and the Colonels, and to Lord Blackthorn himself if it is ever required, and I am not present. I can trust you to be far more diplomatic than the rest of us," Oliver said. "And bring Jorah if necessary."

Verdant inclined his head. If he had supposed that his General was almost given himself too much freedom – as if he were anticipating that the whole of his Patrick forces be made to run independently of him – then he said nothing about those suspicions.

For Lady Blackthorn, he hesitated in giving her a task, long enough that his look hovered on her, and she grew suspicious. She'd almost seemed proud, as she waited for what she was quite sure would be the most noble, most dangerous and most glorious of all their tasks. Though such a task didn't come forth quite as quickly as she might have expected it to.

"What?" She said, her expression falling into a glare. "Why isn't he saying anything?" She looked to Nila, as if to recruit more aggression from her.

"…Why indeed isn't he?" Nila said, only too happy to share the burden of glaring at Oliver with her Blackthorn friend.

"…I suppose you had better stay with me, Blackthorn," he said at last, scratching his head.

"What?" She said. Her voice was as cold as normal. Any ordinary man would not have been able to tell the difference in its freezing depth – but those that had spent so much time around her most definitely could.

Oliver shifted himself uncomfortably, and scratched the back of his head. He could almost see the options rising up before his eyes. Different little paths that he could wander down, to try and avoid the most desperate fate of an execution by her icy aura. In the end, he decided on the most direct and honest of them – for honesty, with the likes of Blackthorn, always seemed to work best.

"Your skill is with the sword," he said with a sigh. "If we aren't fighting, then I don't know quite what to do with you."

"Oliver!" Nila said, raising her voice on Lasha's behalf. "There's far more to her than that. She's a reliable woman!"

"…Reliable in what?" Oliver asked, prodding Nila, almost cruelly.

Nila wavered ever so slightly, and glanced timidly at the Blackthorn Lady that was waiting so expectantly for her compliment. "…Reliable in battle," Nila finally relented, trying to recall any instant in which Lasha had exerted herself if it wasn't for the intents of combat. Combat, and strange mindless tasks that only seemed to make sense to her. Though she did declare that those tasks themselves were parts of her training, so perhaps one could argue that even they were linked to combat.

Lasha left them in silence for a long, harsh few seconds, trying to decide whether she should be offended or not, but then she shrugged her shoulders. "I suppose I shall take it," she declared. "As long as you are sure that I am reliable in battle."

"Quite sure," Oliver said. "Terrifyingly sure. So it is, you shall be best served alongside me."

"Which is to say that you mean to venture into combat?" Nila asked, voicing the question that a few of the other sharper minds that had no doubt picked up on, but had not dared to ask.

Oliver inclined his head, neither agreeing nor entirely disagreeing, but the look of mischief still sat most strongly on his face, making all that remained thoroughly suspicious.

…

…

Nila found him exactly where she knew she would. Even after Lord Blackthorn had moved into Oliver's old rooms in the Blackwell estate, Oliver had not failed to visit the new graves that lay in the garden at every opportunity that he could.

It was hard to tell what he thought when he knelt before them. Sometimes there would be a gentle smile on his face. Other times, he would have such a torn look that it was difficult for Nila not to run to him there and then, in an attempt to comfort him, even if she knew that it was likely the last thing he wanted.

She came to him to say her goodbyes. Half a day had passed since their meeting, and already, the various plans that Oliver had put together were being set in motion. She felt the same degree of freedom that he described in being given by Blackthorn. As if she were allowed to do whatever she wanted, for the purpose of the goal that she had been set. As if there were a million different paths that she could take. She was thoroughly the Captain of her own ship.

It made her proud, still, after all this time. And it made her proud just the same again. The two of them were incomparably close to how they had been years ago. Though it was a closeness that did not seem to meet the checkpoints of a conventional relationship. They didn't speed in any direction, or rush towards intimacy. They danced a peculiar dance, and Nila found she loved the game of it. She could never have supposed that a relationship could be such a complicated, such a rich thing. Even now she didn't know how to define it.

It was only the strength of feelings that came to her at times that indicated the importance. Like the feeling of pride that came, when, even as she felt his hand on her shoulder, ever present, ever ready to dive in front of her, to protect from any and all harm – he would still give her a mission like this. He would still trust her enough, and rely on her enough, that he would send her unflinching into enemy territory. Not just for the principle of it, but for the truest expectation that she would succeed in her task, and that she'd do better at it than any other.