A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"What does that even mean, Verdant?" Oliver said, exasperated.

"I mean, objectively, there are things that we look to, and draw meaning from, that when the cold scalpel of logic falls upon them, they are nothing. Yet that does not mean that they are meaningless," Verdant said. "Look to the very world that you seek direction from. When you disappear before the sea, and try and find signs written within it for your answers, is that less true for it? Look at it now, as the sun sets, and every line of it is bordered by gold. Look at those sea birds, that war with the waves, and dive so low, tempting the sea spray to fall them from flight. There is meaning written in that, one that a man can draw from, but would you define it as true? If I were to look upon those birds, and find meaning in it to stir my restless heart?"

"But you wouldn't," Oliver snorted. "You're far too logical a man. At times you're almost as logical and cold as Hod is. You aren't as foolish as me to do such things."

"Ah, but I am," Verdant said, shooting Oliver a look of the utmost seriousness. "Those birds come desperately close to the waves, without succumbing to them. And I'd believe, they get a truer glimpse of the gold than the rest of us. They feel the kiss of the breeze right upon the waves, and they know that which it gives birth to. I'd believe that they know something more than me. For I to have my doubts, but the sea gives me certainty. Would you dismiss that away from truth?"

Oliver shifted uncomfortably. It was rare to see Verdant admit to any sort of emotion, or weakness. He was a man as constant as the very tides that battered the Emerson shoreline. "That's… belief, rather than truth, aren't the two things different?"

"Nay," Verdant said. "It is not belief. For I see it happen before my eyes. I do not wait, and hope, and know. I see it happen, the truth of it. Truth changes. It shifts with time. That does not mean that what came before it was a lie. It contained just enough light to hint at the truth."

"This feels like an excuse, an easy little line to fall down," Oliver said. "A temptation towards corruption. For it feels like you're saying, 'what's a small mistruth here?'. It's a dangerous line of thinking."

"The more dangerous sort is to rob the world of all meaning in search of a cold hearted and empirical truth. The water is cold. The sand is made up of grains. The birds hunt to have their fill. We lose the magic of it."

"...Verdant, it's too vague to rely on. It dismisses honour in the attempt of something else," Oliver said.

"That is because honour is not straightforward. Who do you honour, when you tell a poor truth? When a woman asks you if she is beautiful, and you say that it would be dishonourable to lie, and you tell her that she looks fine instead, for you could not declare that she truly moved your heart with her beauty – is that honourable? To whom, Oliver Patrick, do you honour? When you tell the masses of your birth, and you attempt to set fire to yourself and your cause, to prove something or other, who is it that you are honouring? It is not Queen Asabel."

"The people that fight alongside us," Oliver said. "I honour them with the truth."

"Why that truth, then?" Verdant said. "Why not tell them the truth of your heart, and the lengths that you are willing to go to for them? Is that not the same honour?"

"Because this truth will upset them. It is not a convenient truth to tell. Not the sort of thing that will elicit praise. It is a weakness in my position, and the honourable thing would be to get rid of it."

"Ah," Verdant said, pointing a finger at Oliver from his position still sitting in the sand. He smiled a smile of victory. "There is the truth of the matter. The weakness of your position. You feel that, and that is what you attempt to correct. So the truth you deliver, then, is not a truth for the sake of honouring those beneath you, but out of fear for the instability that you stand upon?"

Oliver practically growled. "It's too murky, Verdant. You can't declare that there are some lies in governance that are fine. It's too much of a winding path."

"And I say too, that a set of constant rules is just as murky, for as I have pointed out, it is the death of nuance, and too the death of life. It turns life merely into empirical existence."

"Don't like it, Verdant," Oliver said, jumping up again, and kicking the sand in front of him like a petulant child. "If this sea in front of us really were to be a painting, then we would have no place in it. This would be reserved purely for the Gods, as they did their dance, and a pair showed that they loved each other."

"A different sort of lie, then, my Lord," Verdant said. "If you will allow me to make one last point."

"You change your titles back to old ones, after I've already warned you not to use titles today," Oliver said

Verdant smiled. "Force of habit, I am afraid."

Oliver sighed. "Fine. You always speak with my best intentions in mind, so my impatience towards you… I know that to be an unfair thing. However, make sure this is the last thing on this topic. I won't be able to hear you out properly any longer."

"Then, I will make this point with all the strength that I can. There's one sort of lie, my Lord, that you indulge in, far more than the High King, far more than any other man in the Stormfront. You, my Lord, might be the biggest liar amongst us," Verdant said.