A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

In that small camp of their remaining men, however, a man couldn't spend too long in peaceful quiet. After a while, trouble was certain to find him, and that trouble for Oliver and Verdant came in the form of three young women.

"Captain Patrick," came a voice's cold call.

Oliver turned. There stood a creature that so well blended with the colour of the night. The shape of her was like the most perfect of shadows come to life. The angular nature of her face was as perfectly sculpted as the points on a twinkling star, and even the cold expression that always sat on seemed like some sort of comfort – like a blanket of snow, set to cloud out the sounds of the world.

He didn't recognize the woman that he looked at, not at first. That lack of recognition brought only one word to his mind: beautiful. Out of her armour, and with her bandages hidden under a long blue blouse and purple velvet coat, she seemed the very model of a creature of high society.

For her hair, lack of armour, and even lack of sword, there was presented Oliver's problem. He had grown so used to the length of Lady Blackthorn's hair that it was almost synonymous with her. He'd harboured an appreciation for it, like the magnificent mane of a horse, and now that object of appreciation had been cut away, all the way down to her shoulders.

"I mislike that look, Captain Patrick," Lady Blackthorn said. She met his gaze, well aware that he was studying her hair in puzzlement. "Do I really look that much worse?"

"…You look older, I suppose," Oliver said. It was the wrong thing to say. Blackthorn's glacial expression became even more frozen, and Amelia – who'd already looked prepared to kill him – seemed to be deciding that a quick death would be far too good for the likes of him.

Even Pauline – who'd he'd always considered to be the sweetest and most reasonable of the two returns – looked quite prepared to strangle him.

"I don't think that was the appropriate line, my Lord…" Verdant said. The amusement leaked from his voice. He was enjoying it too much to play any sort of supporting role.

"Old, is it?" Blackthorn said.

"Older, is what I said," Oliver replied. "Isn't that a good thing? Don't girls always want to look more mature?"

"Are you saying I was immature before?"

"At times, I think I prefer it when you speak fewer words…" Oliver said. "This doesn't seem to be an argument that I'm capable of winning."

"No, it is not," Blackthorn said. "Since you think so little of my hair, I can only confirm that it was a blessing in disguise. General Zilan did me a favour in giving me an excuse to cut it. Prettiness has no place on the battlefield, and it was far too long to be sensible."

"I wouldn't say that," Oliver said. "You can be greedy, Blackthorn. Isn't that what you decided on in the first place? To become a warrior, instead of following the path of a woman? Why would you need to give up more things? You can remain what you are, both beautiful, and strong."

Given the silence that followed, Oliver supposed that he'd stepped on a different sort of landmine. The words had come quite readily to him, and so as he looked around, wondering why both Amelia and Blackthorn were avoiding his gaze, and why Pauline's mouth was hung open in shock, he didn't find many answers as to why.

Even Verdant wore the wryest of smiles, and he'd turned his shoulder away to make it quite clear that he wasn't involved.

"Beautiful… you said," Blackthorn said, after a time, in the smallest of voices. It was even harder to hear her from the way that she was looking at the ground. "You mean to say that my hair is better like this?"

"It is different," Oliver said. "But the changing of your hair wouldn't do much to stop you from being beautiful, would it? When it was longer it seemed to have a more… What? Why are the three of you looking at me like that? I'm well aware that I'm to blame for the loss of—"

"My Lord, I think you should merely leave it there," Verdant said, cutting him off. "Don't spoil what you've already created."

Blackthorn must have been of the same opinion, for she chose then to give the slightest of bows. "Well… If that is what you think… I shall be taking my leave. Good day, Ser Patrick."

It was a sudden escape, and brusque, but Oliver didn't have the feeling that she was altogether displeased, and at least now the looks that Amelia and Pauline were shooting him were of a different quality. Amelia was doing so with a redness on her cheeks, and Pauline had the slightest twinkle in her eye, though those eyes remained narrowed.

"So it seems that I see it in action once more," Verdant said. "Not only on the battlefield, but in this very life that we wander through, your strangeness presents the oddest of solutions to problems that ought to have been more complicated."

"You're strange enough yourself, Verdant," Oliver retorted. "…I ought to have apologized before they left."

"If you had, you would have ruined everything that you'd accidentally built up, and Blackthorn would have hated you for it," Verdant said.

"Why?" Oliver said. "It is my fault, in the end. The two of you could have died with the position that I put you in, and then I demanded more of you…"

"Enough, my Lord," Verdant said. "We are your soldiers. I can tolerate your apologies, if only barely. But you must understand, for Blackthorn, she hears them differently. She thinks that your apology, in part, is based on the fact that she is a woman."

"And of course it is," Oliver said. "It's cruel enough to risk a man, and crueller still to risk a woman like Blackthorn. She'll make a beautiful wife, one day, if she ever finds a man that she deems worthy of her respect. It would be a sin to allow her to be ruined before then."