A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor -
Chapter 1904 - 1904: A Timely March - Part 1
"Forgive her, my Lord. She forgets her politeness," came a familiar voice.
"You've been keeping an eye on her," Oliver realized.
"I have endeavoured to do so," Verdant said.
"And what of you, Verdant? Do you carry the same somberness?" Oliver asked.
Verdant glanced up at the sky as he considered his answer. There was a half-moon, twisted all the way around, so that it sat like the eye of a dragon. It disappeared behind a cloud before he spoke. "I wonder. There are times when a man falls to pondering, and he wonders whether it is wise not to reserve that thought for later. A fact is clear, our last battle, it carried a greater significance than any of us realize."
"And you think that is the cause of the current mood about camp?" Oliver asked.
Verdant shook his head. "It ought to be," he said. "And I think that to be the very issue. What is it that could eclipse that, like the cloud up there just curtained that moon? And what is it that does the same in you, my Lord. You carry yourself with an uneasiness that you struggle to hide, and I find the reasons for it difficult to define."
"…You say the same as I've heard before," Oliver said. "It makes me uneasy. Other people seeing through me, better than I see through myself. What is to be done?"
"Tomorrow, we will draw ourselves up for battle," Verdant said. "And what indeed is to be done beyond that? We know our intentions – to end this war. Yet a shadow hangs over the heart of our army, as if twenty-five thousand men collectively walk to an untimely demise."
"You… think it to be that?" Oliver said. "You think our men have a sense that they are to lose? How could that be? The numbers we have, the positioning we've achieved, the sheer timing, Verdant! How could that be overcome?"
Verdant shrugged and gave a sad smile. "I know not, my Lord. I only know, that if the time comes, I will give my life in your protection. For I am certain that, if any are to find a way, it shall be you."
"Gods be good, Verdant. Don't say such ominous things. You are not helping," Oliver said. "If I cannot be certain, then what certainty will there be for our men?"
"You will find your certainty, my Lord, you always do," Verdant said. "No matter the circumstance, I have faith, you will adjust yourself. You eternally seek the storm. You know better than any other how to fly in it."
"I know not how to fly," Oliver said.
"But you are learning. The rest of us do not even have wings," Verdant said.
It was all ominousness and foreboding that Oliver rested with and then continued his march with. When dawn came on the third day of their march, and they neared that Pendragon border, where they knew they would find the fortresses that Broadstone and Karstly inhabited, that ominousness for Oliver found itself to be at its peak. He could deny it no longer. He felt it not only in the reactions of other men, but now from within his own self.
He stood at the doorway to his tent, unwilling to move beyond it. His very body did not want to carry out the deeds of that day. They feared something beyond comprehension, beyond even the army that had come for him in the form of the Emersons.
He wasted time, rechecking the buckles on his armour. He'd done it himself that day. He wanted the monotony of it. The reassurance that came with it. Just something simple to do. He'd gone through a full list of them. Seeing his sword belt tightened. Seeing the blade itself properly checked for sharpness, though he had checked it well the previous night. Seeing his helmet well buckle, and that his chestplate would not be inclined to move. Seeing that his surcoat sat properly, so that he could be a good example to his men.
Then, there was nothing more for it, nothing more to check, and nothing more to do. He proceeded on beyond the doorway of his tent, out into the cold morning air, crunching through a fresh layer of snow. It wasn't as cold here as it was as far west as Ernest, but it was still more than cold enough. His breath fogged in the air, as he marched through the rows of tents to look for his horse. Horse first, and then the organizing of his men afterwards, he told himself.
"Remember, General, we are only here to fight in a defensive capacity, for Queen Asabel," Prince Hendrick found him as he tended to his horse, to deliver him that line, and ask for confirmation. The Prince was far more anxious than he had been even in captivity.
"That is correct, Prince Emerson. I will hold to my word on that," Oliver said.
"Very good… Very good. Yes… Yes… well, that was all I wanted to say. I leave you to your business," Prince Hendrick said.
An anxiousness that was making fools out of all of them. A Patrick soldier's hands shook as he held the reins steady, so that his General might mount that terrifying white beast that had now become his preferred mount.
Oliver pretended not to see it. He instead offered him words of encouragement. "With good order and discipline, soldier, we will see due glory achieved again today," he said.
"Yes, General," the soldier said, giving a salute.
"Good man," Oliver said.
He found his men in formation, on the edge of the encampment. They had neglected to dismantle their tents. There didn't seem to be any need. With allied fortresses right in front of them, at worst, even if their camp was destroyed, they would still have somewhere to stay. Not that anyone really wanted to consider even the small act of dismantling a tent on that morning.
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