A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1770 - 1770: The Head of House Patrick - Part 1

"I don't want the complicated though, Nila," Oliver said. "I would have been happy in a little hut in the forest, like Dominus. If I could have lived with you like that, that would have been enough for me."

"You know it would have been enough for me as well," Nila said. "I like the quietness more than anything too. But that is not what the world wishes for from us. We both have people that rely on us, and we must do our best for them."

"…I suppose that's right," Oliver said. "Do you think it's fair, Nila? That I can be where I am, when others struggle?"

She shook her head at him. "Dummy. What do you mean by others struggling? You're in so much pain at times, and you keep it all to yourself. It is not as though you snatch up power for yourself out of ambition, is it?"

"…Once, maybe it was," Oliver said. "I wanted to do what I could. But now I'm scared of it. I don't want any more."

"Do you see what I mean?" Nila said. "Who else can say that? Others search for it, you are given it, and you suffer for it. Do all you can, Oliver, and soon enough, we shall have our peace."

"Peace…" Oliver said, taking comfort from the word. "I would like that. In a few years' time, we could have a real peace. When all is settled from the war, we could just disappear, couldn't we? No one would need us. We could have a family."

"That does sound nice," Nila said.

"I suppose that's something worth aiming for," Oliver said, clenching is fist again, with real intention. The wind terrified him still. He wanted not its flight. But there was something about sharing the burden with Nila that just made it slightly more possible to exist in it. No longer did he at least feel the urge to self-destruct.

"Mhmm," Nila said, stifling a yawn. "It's incredibly late, Oliver. We shouldn't be chatting for so long when there's a battle again tomorrow. Nor should you be harming your hands in the place of the enemy. Everyone has need of you."

"I know… I'll do my best," Oliver said.

"I'm going to stay here tonight, okay?" Nila said. "To keep an eye on you. I think I'll stay here from now on as well, providing you don't get sick of me."

Oliver nodded. He truly couldn't have imagined anything more pleasant than that. If only one day at a time, he could go to war, well and truly, if it meant that once again he could see Nila in the evening. "I love you," he said, resting his hand on her cheek.

"And I love you as well, stupid," Nila said gently. "So go to sleep, and I can love you even more tomorrow."

Though Oliver had struggled with the mere prospect of flight the day before, it wasn't as if he was suddenly in charge of it. He had to reflect on the stupidity of his own inner turmoil that he could be burdened to such a degree without truly having control of something.

But that sense of certainty still hadn't disappeared. It was sure that all would be well. That there would come the danger that it had prophesied, from Oliver's own hands. Now, along with it, however, they were another more comforting certainly – that despite that danger, he would not self-destruct. Indeed, it was terrifying to fly into a realm that he knew not – or to fly at all – but there was real comfort in knowing the love of his comrade. In waking up next to Nila, and in feeling the strength of Verdant's loyalty as he helped Oliver with his armour, and in knowing the real care that lay behind Lasha's glare.

They'd seen the wound to his hand, and Verdant's question had merely come from his eyes. He said nothing, but some part of him understood.

"…You will have trouble gripping your sword today, my Lord," Verdant said. "That's your right hand as well. Minister Hod ought be informed, lest he make strategies around you that you are incapable of carrying out."

Oliver shook his head. "I will be fine, Verdant," he said, needing not to say it firmly. The gentleness with which he said it bore a different kind of conviction.

"A very silly Lord," Blackthorn said accusingly.

"Yes, yes, I know," Oliver said.

The day could not proceed as it had previously. Tavar was as good as his word in his deployment. He made a conscious effort to ensure that Germanicus did not face Oliver again in combat. When Oliver lined up his men on the south wall, Germanicus was sent towards the east – though he did not hurry to climb any sort of ladder. He simply stayed there as a threat.

"So, even Tavar acknowledges it," Hod said, nodding, pleased for the confirmation, that even Tavar had trusted his judgement in supposing that Oliver would be instrumental in the battle to come. "But he refuses to do anything exciting as a result of it… Typical of that old man."

Where the young might throw out daring tactics, in an attempt to reclaim dominance of the battlefield, Tavar was entirely unmoved by it all. He was slow, and careful, and for it he seemed impossible to trip up completely.

Now Tavar was closer to the walls than he had been on the days before. He sat his horse, as if he had the intention of seeing it ridden. When he sent his first wave of men to assaulting the walls, he made use of all the instruments that he had for himself as a General, and he imbued them with Command.

"FOR THE HONOUR OF THE HIGH KING!" He told them, lending justice to their cause.

Few of them had ever met the High King, and so they knew not the disdain that the higher-ranking nobility felt hearing that cry. They fought as loyal subjects of the High King, and none could knock them for that. They were sure that the Gods were on their side, as they charged down the rebels that foolishly took up arms against them.

Tavar's catapults pounded at the walls with more vigour than they had days previously. They loosen up bricks of stone, slowly wearing down the defences. He sent battering rams towards the gates as well, and then archers to fire shots upon the wall from a distance.