CHAPTER 1957: WHITE HEART - PART 6

"I remembered the corruption that brought this violence about. I remembered too, how it was, when there was an obvious justice to be fought, it was your Emerson men that fought beside us. It was your son who took to the front lines, and your General Fitzer who saw him guided. Then, I remembered too, how glorious that victory looked when it was we were united."

"That is odd," King Emerson said. "For I have found myself seeing such visions of the past as well. I recalled a time when a crow had flown to me, informing me that my son and his army had been taken prisoner by a man who had then been called General Patrick."

"Do you have complaint in that?" Oliver said, tiring of the metaphor, and asking the man directly. "Do you hold grievances against me, for the battle that we fought?"

There was an aggressive edge to him, as if a threat. Oliver could not help what he was. Ingolsol stirred, and felt a moment to press a man, and as always, did he seize upon it.

"I have complaint," King Emerson said, rising to his own anger now, though Oliver could tell it was performative. A tool for political gain, for the benefit of the crowd. A way of pushing Oliver back before he could rush too far forward. "I have a complaint on behalf of the ten thousand men that you saw slain. I have complaint for the purpose that they fought for, and that which was rudely snatched from them. I have complaint for the many men that you took prisoner."

"Then complain no longer, for they retained their lives, and they were instrumental in a mighty victory," Oliver said. "They lived for a purpose, and they acted upon that purpose."

"You could be accused of threatening prisoners into fighting on your behalf. Tales have been told, King Patrick. One might come to doubt your honour," King Emerson said.

"And who tells those tales? Not a man with sword in hand," Oliver said. "For those with sword in hand have been far too busy as of late. The Stormfront is being shaped by swords now, not words. The truth falls into a picture out there, on the battlefields that we have fought, not in these tales told by men observing from a distance, jumping at shadows. Ask your son. Doubt not his honour, for I do not doubt it. A good Prince you have seen raised."

"I doubt the youth entirely," King Emerson said firmly, with a motion of dismissal. "Naturally you do praise that which benefits you. My foolhardy son saw himself defeated at your hands, and now he becomes a tool for you to declare authority with your new title. Naturally, once more, do you see him praised."

"Speak these doubts then," Oliver said. "Dishonour the son that fought for your realm, whilst these noblemen here did naught. Speak for a man who had not our training in war, yet for the sake of his father and his kingdom, he took to the front lines anyway."

"Nay, not for his father, nor his kingdom. For the sake of you," King Emerson said. "And the poisonous words that you whispered in his ear."

Oliver’s smile widened. His anger, unlike King Emerson’s, was the actual sort. He took a step forward, as it burned in him, brighter than any cracks in his heart. Purposeful. His entire being reuniting temporarily towards a single sharp point. "A poison?" Oliver said. "Do not talk to me of poison, King Emerson, when it was out of fear that you kept your knee bent to the High King."

A bold accusation, in a room full of enemies. One that would normally have made his allies grimace. This time, however, they kept themselves poised. Their lack of reaction lent weight to his opinion. As the Emerson noblemen around them stirred and jeered, King Patrick and the small faction that he had brought with him remained stern.

"Fear," King Emerson said, toying with the word, the true extent of his terrifying calm now revealed in his lack of reaction. "There is a thin line between fear and the care for one’s realm. Your cause ought not be victorious."

"You bet then, on the winning horse, and you found yourself to have fallen short," Oliver said. "You supposed that our cause would die."

"And look, it has been slain," King Emerson said. "It ended the moment you allowed Queen Asabel to die. If General Blackwell still lived, perhaps it might be salvageable – but as it is now, what are you? For what purpose do you rally? Out of simple anger? Are you the beating heat of it, King Patrick, as poisonous as you are? I stand by my definition of you. You corrode that which is around you."

"I corrode the corrupt," Oliver said. "My sword cuts it out. Fear not, King Emerson. My call upon you was not out of necessity. You have seen the extent of our motivation. Queen Asabel’s death does not end our cause, it necessitates its victory. We have not lost our purpose – we only have our purpose left. We will go all the way."

"And implicit in that is a threat, is it?" King Emerson said. "When you seize power, you will come for us?"

Oliver snorted. "Nay. We have no interest in such things. We need inflict no punishment, for it is punishment enough to have not been part of it. To be content as a mere bystander, when there was presented to you an opportunity to rid yourself of the very thing which you fear. The High King will see you punished for your failure, but we are not the High King."

"You speak of ’we’. Who is we, King Patrick?" King Emerson said. "Before this war, what were you? A Captain? A Colonel? This war has seen you turned into a King. You have snatched power for yourself with a greed. Would I see myself allied with such a man? There is no we – there is merely you."