Chapter 1965: Chapter 1965
"You find your purpose again, Your Majesty," Verdant acknowledged, with a hint of approval.
"To a degree, I do," Oliver said. "I dislike it, but I will do what needs to be done, at least until the moment we can dispense with it all, and declare that this war is over. Then, I promise I shall disappear, and the world can safely forget my name."
"That is a future that I shall not enjoy bearing witness to, but I do suppose that it is a compromise that I am going to be forced to accept," Verdant said. "Where would you have us go next? You look almost impatient."
"King Emerson has found himself to be an ally. We have stability there. Lord Blackthorn rages by himself in Ernest, and his anger surely will spill over soon enough, but I doubt we have time to deal with him. There is somewhere else that we ought to get to, and quickly."
"Would that be the Pendragon lands, Your Majesty?" Verdant asked.
Oliver nodded. "For the crown that I wear belongs to them. If I am to have any value as a King, I must win their support, and secure some thread of legitimacy. I will speak to Asabel’s father, and endure his judgement."
"And if he judges you harshly?" Verdant said.
"Then that is the judgement that I deserve. The crown will be his. Even with a purpose in mind, and now we have the necessity of needing it, he will be the arbiter of our futures. It is his right, as Asabel’s father. He surely grieves, even if their relationship was strained. And, as a Pendragon royal, it is his pride that I wound by wearing what should rightfully have stayed within his family."
"So you will lower your head, and make sacrifice once more?" Verdant said. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. There ought to be more that we can do to assist you, and yet, I fail to find it."
"It’s something that needs to be done," Oliver said. "I like it not, and I fear to meet the man for the pronouncement that he is certain to give, but we must see it done anyway. And surely, Hod, and King Emerson will be in agreement."
Chapter 3 – The Old Dragon
It was the worst of positions. To be the bearer of the grimmest of news, even knowing that the man himself surely already knew it, but to do so wearing the crown of the deceased. What could be more insulting than that? What could bring about any more ire than that? If ever there was a just reason for anger, then it was to be found in front of them.
They’d mobilized swiftly enough, to see Oliver’s purpose set about. They didn’t need a large escort, not when all the known sizable armies in the Stormfront had presently been defeated. Hod still warned that Blake likely kept some men in reserve, just as insurance against the likes of Tiberius, but he did not think that they would be yet dispatched close to Pendragon lands. They’d be kept near the Capital, for the eventual invasion that they were sure would take place.
Oliver imagined the Pendragon King’s anger as he rode, and it made him twitch with guilt. His own body, he found to his irritation, was betraying him more and more often. The pain, even when his mind was stable, was evident enough from it the instant that he tried to relax. The moment the iron grip that Oliver kept on himself was loosened, around the likes of Nila, he found his hands trembling, and his legs twitching.
She looked upon him with worry. She declared that she’d come with them, though not stating to anyone else her purpose, it was Oliver to obvious why she had chosen to come. Simply to take care of him, and see him looked after.
"You find yourself another burden, you idiot," she scolded him on the first night as they made camp, and withdrew together within his tent.
"It needed doing," Oliver said.
"Not in the manner that you choose to do it," Nila said. "You’re walking in, as if begging for him to cut your head off. You don’t need to lower yourself so much, Oliver, you haven’t done anything wrong."
"He won’t see it that way," Oliver said.
"I don’t like it. You can’t invite other people to hurt you all the time, simply out of the sense for your own honour. Look at your hands, Oliver. They can bear it no longer. You don’t need to keep doing it," Nila said.
She grasped his hands with her own to still them, as she spoke with a desperateness. Oliver leaned his head against hers. "Your care is enough, Nila," Oliver said. "You keep giving me a courage that I did not know that I required."
"If that courage means you keep doing stuff then..." Nila said, cutting off before she said something even more hurtful.
Oliver kissed her forehead. "Worry not. There will be time to rest soon enough. We had our week away from it, did we not? It’s time that I work. The others are trying hard. I should do my best too."
"You’ve done your best all the way through. There ought to be nothing more that anyone can ask of you," Nila said. "You’ve done the impossible time and time again. What about you, Tempest? What about your heart, and its rebuilding? I care not for the kingdom if you ruin yourself in the process."
"All will be well," Oliver assured her.
"All is not well," Nila said. "You’ve lost a dear friend, and so many men that you trusted and relied upon. All is not well, you’re forcing yourself."
"...It still needs to be done," Oliver said.
"You’re terrified," Nila pointed out.
"And I’ll do it anyway."
It was not the Pendragon capital that they made for, upon crossing the border, but the northern edge of the Pendragon lands, closer to the mountains. That was where the old Pendragon King had been placed, as a prisoner in title, though it was hard to call him one in actuality, when one saw the state of the lands that he resided over.