"I should go too," Nila said, popping up when she heard the front door closed. "Mother will be excited to hear of you. I wonder if you'll be able to make time for her tomorrow? Stephanie and David too. They talk of you. David says he wants to grow up to be like you."
"I would be glad to," Oliver assured her. "Your mother did a great deal for me. I'm glad to hear that she's well."
"She is. Everyone is," Nila said. "It's only you've we've got to worry about B-, no, Oliver. I already pointed it out before, but you've got yourself into a situation, huh?"
"Well, I guess so," Oliver said, a tiny little grin.
She smiled back. "Of course, I'm only teasing. I know it isn't your fault… I hope you'll give us all a chance. The villagers too. If you're in trouble, we all want the opportunity to help you in some way."
"I know," Oliver said, and he meant it, for he could feel the emotions radiating off them. "It's overwhelming, to be honest. To be somewhere so welcome. It has been a long time since I could properly use the word home."
"Oh, Oliver," Nila said, her smile saddening. "You've fought for this home, like no one ever could. It's a truer home than it ever could be. It'll be yours no matter what happens. For you to be its protector now, nothing could be righter than that. Everyone here is yours, and they will be, until the day that they die."
There was no reply that Oliver could give to that. It was a weight and a blanket that he could never truly process. A foundation that he was lacking. A resting place for the soul. In front of that fire, staring into those flames, he felt a truer peace than he had in years.
"I'll be off then," Nila said, interrupting him. She leaned in to give him a quick hug, and kissed the top of his head. "It's still so good to see you again," she murmured. "See you tomorrow, Oliver!"
"Tomorrow, Nila," Oliver responded, returning her smile.
Oliver spent the night in luxury. It was the sort of luxury that he'd experienced at Lombard's mansion, with those silk sheets, and that wide bed – at least three times as wide as his one at the Academy – and that large room, reserved entirely for him.
The room had been painted a modest white, whilst the furnishings were almost as nice as what he'd seen on Verdant's floor of the Academy. They were reserved, for the most part, as to appear inoffensive, but they were clearly newly done, clean and artistically patterned, with lines of tiny swirling dots, making it appear as if an arm of ants with their feet covered in ink had done the work.
The curtain was open, allowing the morning sun to stream in. He'd forgotten to close it before he went to bed. He'd even forgotten to close the window, and the room was chilly from it, despite the fire that had been burning in the hearth the night before.
Seeing the sunlight, Oliver realized that he'd overslept. The days were getting longer now, but they were still the short days of winter. To get up when it was already light outside was to have already slept in.
He hurried to get out of bed, finding his boots next to the rug where he'd left them. He saw that he'd forgotten to get properly undressed before falling asleep. He was still dressed in his shirt and trousers from the day before, and they were now a crumpled mess. Even seeing that, he couldn't summon up the emotion needed to be angry about it.
Yesterday had been far too pleasant for that. He'd fallen asleep, staring into the fire from the end of his bed, enjoying the thickness of the well-stuffed mattress, admiring every part of the room that he could.
He'd been just as excited to have a room that was entirely his when he'd received his accommodation at the Academy. That, by contrast, was like a prison cell when compared to how large Ferdinand's old accommodation had been. There were at least five bedrooms on the top floor – Oliver hadn't stopped to count. He'd tentatively pushed open the first door that he'd seen and settled down in there.
He hadn't even properly explored the house in its entirety yet.
A mirror was hanging over the fireplace, and he caught a glance of his reflection in it. A small peaceful smile had settled onto his lips, and his eyes were still bleary from sleep. His hair too was something of a mess and that was without looking at his clothes.
As he looked in the mirror, he heard a thundering knock from downstairs, as someone hammered on his door. Well, it was more the window that he heard the noise from. Had it not been open, he almost certainly would have dismissed it.
His eyebrows wrinkled into a curious frown. It was an awfully impolite knock, liable to put a dent in the door if they were hammering that hard. Noble that he was now, it troubled him that someone might be impudent enough to knock that loud.
Pushing the curtains down, he glanced down outside – his window afforded a perfect view of the marketplace, and the villagers that were already busy trading – and spied a conspicuously sized man by the door.
"No answer, Boss!" He heard Judas shout.
"Gods be good, I could hear you knocking from here, you fool!" Greeves cursed him. "Are you trying to put a fuckin' hole in the door? Calm it down a bit. The boy's likely tired. Leave him to it. He'll get up when he gets up."
"But Ferdinand will be here any second…" Judas said, sounding nervous.
"Will he?" Oliver called down.
Judas' flinched from the voice, stiffening like someone had struck him with a whip. Nervously, he looked over his shoulder. "Ohh… Morning la—er, Ser Patrick! Sorry about the door. I got a bit excited."
"Ferdinand?" Oliver said, having to speak up for his voice to carry all the way down to him. "What time is he due to arrive?"