A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"Our wounds will not heal, we will not forget," Oliver said. "The realm did not forget either, when Dominus Patrick was cast away unjustly, and Arthur Pendragon was moved unjustly towards his own death. Too many good men we have lost, without reason. We have forgotten what peace looks like. Our purpose, do not doubt that we will achieve it. For we have lost everything else. We have no resting ground. We are a flood, and we will crash, and leave nothing left. The crown atop my head will fall away in the chaos. We have no permanacy, just a single charge, to bring crashing down the throne of the High King."

"...Then why fight at all, when you will leave nothing but destruction in your wake?" King Emerson asked. "Why make your way to my door, when you declare the deed will be done already?"

"We need you not for war, King Emerson, but for peace," Oliver Patrick said. "I am not the sort of man that can see the land thrive. The sword seems to be the only thing I have a capacity for. Where does the heart of the Stormfront lie, King Emerson? In times of war, I know it. The heart of the Stormfront lies in the death of corruption. But what of the nation that is to be built from the ashes? I know it not. No one alone knows it. The heart of the Stormfront is the joining of all that is just that remains. It is the joining of the ideals of righteous Kings. That is the function of the Silver Kings – to endure the just rule of the High King. To pressure him, just as the Silver King is pressured by his own advisors, and his advisors are pressured by his noblemen, and those noblemen are pressured by the Serving Class, and the Serving Class are pressured by the peasantry. So does the heart of the Stormfront make itself known. Not in one man, but many. And the many are angry, King Emerson – I can tell that well enough. But I have not the arrogance to believe that alone, I can see a righteous Stormfront birthed. With Asabel, I could see it – but as we are now, we are far too wounded. We require the old Kings, the old nobility. We require you, King Emerson, so that we war dogs can benefit from your wisdom. We require a leash."

"...You come to me, and you ask me to restrict you?" King Emerson said, finally wearing an honest look on his face, for his confusion.

"What is to stop us from becoming the same as the High King?" Oliver said. "We find ourselves free, for the power that we wield. Power yearns for more power. I would cut that off in advance. I would yield myself to you, for the necessity of restriction."

"By the tenets of Claudia? Is that how you suppose yourself to come to this conclusion?" King Emerson said.

"By that which Dominus Patrick believed in. By the honour that we who aim to be knights are taught. I would see us entered into a contract, King Emerson. By law, we will see this newfound power that we find ourselves with, on account of the military might we acquire, and the victories we have won, limited," Oliver Patrick said. "You are a stable ruler. You have proved yourself to hold your people highest. You plunged yourself not into reckless war, and your attempt was to protect them. I scorn you not for it. Queen Asabel's cause has lost too many wise and honourable men. We require your counsel, and we give you the power necessary to enforce it."

King Emerson studied the young man in front of him. Of all the things that he thought would be asked of him, he did not expect that. A man that had been King for barely a week, and already, he was looking to contain the newfound power that he had acquired. That was not the act of an ordinary sane individual. The passion that Oliver Patrick spoke with too, it seemed to hint at just a degree of madness. Or perhaps it was simply pain.

"Not military might, but counsel…" King Emerson said, considering it.

"Indeed," Oliver said. "Ernest, in your Emerson borders, has been the heart of this war. It would only make sense then, that is here, in Emerson lands, where the most blood has been shed, that the Stormfront might use the newly fertilized soil in which to rediscover itself. Humbly, do I request your assistance, King Emerson."

Then Oliver did bow, casting away the arrogance that he had arrived with. He bowed deeply, lowering his head entirely past his waist. He stood there, waiting for King Emerson's pronouncement.

There was an eternal problem, both for Oliver, and for all men in all things of highness. The problem of, when one arrived in a certain position, of what they might do next.

Oliver had the privilege of being surrounded by as many advisors as he was – though they were still less than he was used to having. The wisdom of the perished, those that had all died together, in such a short span of time, weighed not just heavily on Oliver, but upon the entire country, as it creaked and groaned, trying to find its path into the future.

He, once more upon the shores of an Emerson beach, fiddling with his crown, was an instrument just as they, in deciding the future that would come about. Only, unlike they, he found it difficult to stir his heart towards the same sort of passion.

Naturally, he had but one goal, and that was to see the High King dismissed from his throne. Then, as far as he was concerned, the deed was done. Hod, however, counselled them all towards greater wisdom. He anticipated their victory, and made them look beyond it, towards how they might see the Stormfront stabilized, once they did indeed throw that High King down from his throne.