A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"I… I am unsure how to respond, Lord Idris," Jorah said, picking his words with the utmost care. "When it comes to leadership and making use of his men, hasn't Ser Oliver shown that he is almost unnaturally good at it?"

"Indeed, he has, which is why I serve him, and continue to do so, with the belief that one day the entire realm will know his name, and even the high Lords might kneel in his direction. But on a tactical level, my Lord will not have the time to manage me. He needs squadrons that can consistently perform.

I recognize in my own weakness, that by myself, I will not be able to do so in certain situations," Verdant said. "However, in your group of four, I believe we would make for a far more adaptable force, would we not?"

"Lord Idris, you're far stronger than the three of us," Jorah said. "I feel as if your placement would be… shortsighted."

"I'm only stronger in certain situations. I do believe that you, Jorah, would be able to find those situations… That is, if my Lord Patrick would permit it," Verdant said, casting a hopeful look in Oliver's direction.

"This is a mess, you know," Oliver said, sighing heavily, watching his breath condense into a cloud in front of his eyes. He glanced at the pretty Lasha Blackthorn, wondering if there was some fragment of sense that he could cling to there, that might set him in the right direction.

Apart from a pair of round eyes liable enough to make a man's heart stop, there didn't seem to be much in the way of advice, or reason. "It goes without saying how strange it would be for a noble – a Lord at that – to be taking orders from a Serving Class man.

I know how ironic it is for me to be saying that, and I'm almost irritated to see that it has come full circle now, so that the joke is on me, but… I have to say it anyway, don't I?"

"I would not be taking orders, merely advice," Verdant said. "That works well enough, does it not?"

"They were initially meant to be a squadron of three, and their numbers would be inflated by some of Skullic's men, but now with you joining, I wouldn't know what to do," Oliver said.

"I could join them too," Blackthorn offered helpfully. "Then there would be more people – it could be an elite squadron."

"No," Oliver said. "I want you with me."

He didn't seem to realize the unusualness of what he'd said himself, for he drifted off into thought once more, leaving Lasha trying to figure out what he meant.

"I don't suppose there's another option, is there…" Oliver mused. "Strategically, Verdant would be in charge, as some sort of Wing-Commander, but Jorah will keep them aligned when battle is being done. Ah, why am I of all people overthinking this? It would work in combat. I'll simply ignore the matter of title, and you can leave that as obscure as you wish.

I suppose we could say Verdant is the leader in name, with Jorah acting as vice."
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After getting what he wanted, the priest gave a sage nod, as if he'd heard something truly profound. "Very wise, my Lord. As one would expect."

"Yeah, yeah. You've got what you wanted, you don't have to shower me in praise alongside it. Sorry, Jorah, but it looks like you've gotten saddled with something troublesome," Oliver said.

"Not at all, my Lord," Jorah said, keeping his composure as best as he could, though he couldn't do much to hide the added stress that now appeared behind his eyes.

A roar sounded off in the distance, as another Hobgoblin caught the scent of blood and came rushing to investigate. It looked as though Jorah had been about to speak up to suggest something, but as the Hobgoblin gave off another round of roaring, interrupting him once more, he apparently gave up.

"Finally," Oliver said, turning to Blackthorn. "I suppose it's your turn. Why don't you show me what you can really do, Lasha?"

"This is… the test?" She said, for once stunned by the enemy that he'd selected, rather than elated.

"You're not serious?" Amelia echoed. "My Lady is strong, but you can't expect her to fight one of those… not yet! It's far too dangerous."

"Ah, where's your trust, Amelia? I would have thought by now we'd established some sort of camaraderie. Or do you put your Lady in my care each week, despite not trusting me to take care of her?" Oliver asked.

"No, but…" Amelia mumbled. "If something goes wrong, it would be hard to stop it, wouldn't it..?" She looked to Pauline for approval, who was twisting her lips in worry.

"Amelia, I'm worried too," Pauline said. Amelia mistakenly took that for support, and was about to continue her defiance with even more energy, but Pauline wasn't finished yet. "I'm worried, but I think maybe… it isn't our place to say. After all, our Lady wants to be on the battlefield, doesn't she? If we worry about her too much to the point it gets in her way, then aren't we holding her back?"

"But that isn't what I'm…" Amelia trailed off.

"I know," Pauline said gently, patting her on the head. "I realized just the other day, Amelia. The best thing to keep our Lady safe is for her to get as strong as possible. In that case, isn't Ser Patrick her best route? Isn't pushing here where it's safer the best route?"

Amelia's eyes widened at her friend's insight. "I suppose… I suppose you might be right," Amelia relented.

"Thank you both," Lasha told them, smiling at them. "I'll get even stronger, so you don't have to worry about me. Ser Patrick thinks that I can defeat a Hobgoblin, so I'm going to."

She dashed off to meet her enemy with that grand statement, her thick black skirt collecting snow on the back of it, as her boots kicked up clouds with each step that she took. She was the very model of focus and elegance. Merely from watching her run with such grace, one could tell that she was an incredible athlete.

It stood out all the more after seeing Verdant do the same in such a clumsy manner earlier.