A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"I ought to have had it already, Claudia," Oliver said. "I could feel the strength of the idea… Strategy, and swordsmanship, hand in hand. That should have been enough. Even the strength that I have now, with the powers that you both lend me, they both should be enough. Yet I am filled with doubts. My body seems to know it better than I do.

Logic tells me I am fine, but my body says its doubts. It shouts it. I am not where I ought to be, and if I keep pushing it, I am likely to find only disappointment."

"You need not solve it in a night," Claudia told him. "A fresh day brings a fresh mind, and a different angle through which to tackle the problem of progress."

Oliver thought himself to be alone. With these problems in mind, he'd chosen a quiet spot. He'd intended to train three things. His left hand, his right hand, and his mind, with a hope of discovering the ideas he needed for a better tomorrow.

In the end, the work of his mind had proven to be far more overwhelming than the work that he'd demanded of his two limbs, and it had taken the entirety of his attention.

He did not hear Lady Blackthorn's approach.

She had searched for him, with her own sword in hand, after hearing that he had disappeared to train. Already, she had finished with her cleaning, after the meticulous efforts of Amelia and Pauline, and when the two of them had heard that she intended to train once again, they couldn't help but sigh. "…Very well, my Lady.

We shall ready some water to clean once more when you return," Pauline had managed to say, keeping the emotions of her face, and she listened to her Lady's announcement.

She hadn't intended to sneak up on him. She was naturally light on her feet as it went, but even she had to admit that the way she had stepped forward with those final steps, she'd done so with the intent of hiding her presence.

There was nothing to hide behind. Everything was open, where the tents did not reach. She had only been able to rely on the fact that Oliver's back was turned towards her. Still, ordinarily, that would have been far from enough to allow her to creep up on him. Even when he'd drifted off into a nap, at times, he had managed to hear her approach.

That day, he did not. She saw his sword fall from his hand, and she saw the troubled look on his face, and his lips that moved, speaking on to the air. She froze, despite herself. When had she last seen such an expression from him? She didn't think she had – not in years. Not since they'd lost so many men in the battle with General Talon.

He hadn't even shown that level of emotion when he'd lost the use of his sword hand. A sickening curiosity wound with her worry. She wanted to listen to what he was saying. Who was it that he was talking to? What could they have been speaking of, to wind him up so much?

The closer she came, the best she could hear from him were muted whispers. She was barely ten strides away when he finally noticed her.

"…Blackthorn?" He said, his expression shifting in an instant. His sorrowful eyebrows straightened, and his face hardened. One would never have thought that a mere instant before, he had looked so troubled.

"Yes, Ser Patrick?" Lady Blackthorn said, innocently enough. She hated that she wasn't able to say anything more profound than that. Immediately, she'd felt guilty. She'd thrust her hands behind her back, and made a show of innocence, pretending that she hadn't been trying to sneak up on him. It was an act, just as his was.

"You've your sword," Oliver noted. Already, Blackthorn could tell that he'd seen through the initial purpose of her visit. "You wished to train?"

"…I thought that I would at least train alongside you," Lady Blackthorn said. "I know that I could not trouble you to spar, given the state of your hand."

"Nonsense," Oliver said, stooping to pick up his sword with an elegance that seemed to deny that the sword – a sword most precious to him – had ever been out of place, lying on the ground unsheathed as it was. "I need the practice with my left hand, if you would indulge me."

"Very well," Blackthorn said, not denying it, for in truth, that had been her wish, even though she knew not to push it. "I shall lighten my blows, however. It would not do for your left hand to be injured over something as mundane as this."

"Ha, is that confidence talking, Lasha?" Oliver said. "Do you believe yourself to be so above me now that I have injured my hand?" He was already in his sword stance, inviting her in. Lasha unsheathed her own blade, reciprocating.

"We shall see," she said simply, pouncing forward in a lunge. The strike went straight towards Oliver's chest. For anyone else watching, they might have seen it as a killing blow, but in reality, that sort of straightforwardness from Blackthorn was a mercy. She knew that Oliver could block the blow, even with his weaker hand.

He did not disappoint. He brushed the strike aside as if it was nothing more than a stray fly looking to obscure his vision. There was always such a distance to him, whenever they sparred, Lasha thought. The look in his eye was never quite always there. Never did he have to give her his fullest attention. That had angered her for the longest time.

Now, however, she found comfort in the familiarity.

She fell into her usual rhythm. She drew back off his parry, loading her back foot, and readying the first of the counterattacks that he had taught her. When it came, there was no surprise written on his face. Rarely did Lasha Blackthorn have any surprises for him anymore. He allowed the blow past him with a twist of his body, and he set to circling her.