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The secluded serenity of the courtyard at dusk had invited Oliver to rest upon a stone bench for a smoke break. Holding a reed pipe to his lips, a milky cloud of sage and dried lemon balm soon escaped him as he blew into the clear sky — evanescent smoke drifting into the gentle breeze. Accompanied by the quiet chirps of the crickets who had made their abode amidst the grass, the neighboring fireflies began to flutter around and about the flowerbeds illuminating the courtyard in a dim golden brilliance.
It was very much a well-deserved comfort after almost dying at a disagreeable quest.
Puffing out a second smoke, Oliver twirled his pipe in a languid manner as he began to ruminate the events of the mission (not without sweating a bit, of course). The Sovereign had assigned him to hunt down a dragon wreaking havoc at Clovermont alongside Gwendan, Dulahan, and Silgur; the rest of his associates had reportedly been too unqualified for the job. Even within the courtyard's tranquility, his stomach still churned from the sight of the towering monster before him — its fiery eyes glowering down at the party as it clicked its tongue before expulsing its first of many infernal torpedoes against them.
The battle, in short, would have ended in the knights' untimely death had Oliver never tripped himself backwards against a pebble while attempting to cast a (rudimentary) spell against the dragon. He supposed that he should be thankful his lethargic blunder acted as some sort of distraction for the beast, for Silgur finally managed to land a killing blow against the underside of its neck with a single arrow just as the former was about to be stomped to death.
Needless to say, the party's quest had ultimately been a success. Along with the monetary reward of 200 gold, they had also retrieved a fresh Dragon's Heart masterfully carved straight out of its source. Despite his colleagues' plan to gift the heart to the Sovereign for their personal usage, Oliver had caught a glint in Silgur's eyes upon stealing a glance at it before being stored inside a scrip. Such glimmer would have been indistinguishable to that of the vipers back at the Empire if not for its subtle hint of insatiable curiosity rather than petty opportunism.
Right before he could take another puff, however, a soft footstep against lush grass — almost resounding amidst the natural silence — jolted Oliver out of his contemplation. Peeking behind a particularly umbrageous tree near the corridor entrance was Silgur, who soon approached him as though careful not to frighten off a defenseless raccoon until he stood directly right in front of him.
"Sir Oliver… You are here."
"Ah…! Sir Silgur." Oliver's perspiration worsened. "Have you been…spying on me this whole time?"
A slight chuckle. "I apologize if I have disturbed you. I was hoping to admire the gardens alone. That is, until I happen to smell a cloud of smoke wafting in the air…"
"Um, my apologies. Do you want me to leave or…?"
Silgur shook his head. "And interrupt your recess? No. It would be a shame to drive away enjoyable company, as pitiful as they are. The other knights… Let's just say I don't care much for their jabber."
"…Thank you, I think?" Oliver's cheeks flushed a bit as he glanced at his pipe. Whether it was from the embarrassment of being complimented so casually or the humiliation of being considered pathetic by a renowned hunter was uncertain; perhaps it was both. "Ah, right. Do you smoke?"
"Formerly. But it couldn't hurt to start again." Silgur grinned before sitting down next to him.
Oliver took a long puff from his pipe before handing the reed stem over to Silgur, who nodded in gratitude before he too puffed out a cloud of smoke in a quick exhale. Now accompanying the fragrance of sage in the air was a faint mixture of blood and oak trees exuding from the latter. It didn't strike as anything strange to Oliver; the other vastly preferred to spend his free time in the local forests hunting beasts, perhaps even skinning them for their hide to take as trophies. He supposed that's one way to optimize one's lunch break, even by unconventional standards.
A second curt puff soon escaped Silgur before he returned the instrument to Oliver. "…I have been thinking of my next meal since our last hunt together recently. By any chance, do you know the true nature of the Dragon's Heart?"
Oliver blew out his final cloud before the herbs in the pipe burned out — its last embers fading into the heart of the stem as the smoke began to dissipate into the atmosphere. "I can't really say that I do, but I've read somewhere that it harbors…certain mystical properties that enhance its user's abilities when consumed." He began to stammer. "O-Of course, it's all just from a rumor found in ancient grimoires, you see? I doubt there are any health benefits to eating one. Too much cholesterol…" He muttered the last statement to himself.
"You are well informed. Some say that it is dangerous, yet the greatest warriors are said to have feasted upon them to gain their legendary strength." Silgur paused, his gaze lingering towards Oliver. "I have also been thinking about you. Truth be told, my steps have led me here to thank you for accompanying me to Clovermont. Even when you were not exactly thrilled about it."
Oliver coughed a bit, blushing once more as he set aside his instrument. "Ahh… I did have a sick leave scheduled that week. But, I wouldn't say that I hate being in your company."
"Sir Gwendan and Sir Dulahan fought well against that dragon, I must admit. Yet, if it weren't for that misfire of yours, I would have surely missed my shot. The consequences then would have been catastrophic without your fumbling presence."
"R-Right..." Oliver frowned, adjusting his tie a bit. "Do you plan to capitalize on it? The heart, I mean."
Silgur huffed. "Naturally. Slaying a dragon has always been a modest ambition for any hunter worth their bow. Yet, to feed on its heart is unprecedented to those who lack the courage to go above and beyond. Of course, I intend to do just that. Assuming our Grace permits me, that is."
"Ah, yes, professional upskilling… That is quite a commendable goal. I'm glad you were able to achieve your dreams."
Oliver struggled to prevent his envy from poisoning his words as his frown slightly deepened. He knew he shouldn't feel this way towards a colleague's vocational success — it wouldn't be different from the childish power struggles endured between his former associates — yet his feelings of inadequacy, as foolish as he wished them to be, couldn't help but effervesce within his heart. Silgur's backhanded compliments certainly didn't help his growing frustrations.
Determined to not let such trivialities simmer, however, Oliver decided to change the subject for the time being. "Anyways, how exactly would you…prepare your meal? I don't suppose you'll eat it raw, right? Please tell me you won't."
Silgur grimaced. "Dear Gods, no. But, to answer your question, sautéing it in butter or oil should suffice. I would also need to gather some herbs and spices from the kitchen to enhance its flavor. Nothing too gastronomic, of course." He paused. "Are you also curious as to how it will taste?"
"W-What? Of course not! I don't want to risk a heart attack—"
"Good. If you were to consume its flesh now, I have a feeling that its effects would be nothing short of devastating. Your powers would develop, yes, but at the cost of your wellbeing." As if without thinking, Silgur began to reach out towards Oliver's hand with his (slightly trembling) own before quickly retracting it away, opting to instead lay it upon stone. "You have proven yourself to be a, how would you say…? A valuable asset to the team. It would be regrettable if I… the Tower were to lose you."
Although his facial features were somewhat shadowed beneath his helmet, a slight blush warmed up Silgur's cheeks as he began to stare at the confused Oliver, who was quick to discern his slip of the tongue. Were the latter's eyes and ears playing tricks on him? They had to be; there was no way the hunter harbored genuine feelings for him. Surely, it wouldn't be unreasonable to believe that Silgur could be toying with his emotions, especially given his slights toward him. Yet, was a man like him truly capable of committing such psychological cruelty against anyone?
Hopefully not.
Oliver soon averted his gaze away from Silgur, his eyes now preferring a nearby flowerbed over the other's expectant scrutiny. "I-Is that…how you truly feel? Did you mean every word you've said?"
Even your needless affronts? he almost felt compelled to add.
"Well…yes, maybe." Silgur's voice grew quiet, more so than usual. "Forgive me, I am not used to expressing myself like this. I have spent so much time lurking alone in the forests that companionship seemed unattainable to me. Unnecessary, even. That is, until our Grace allowed me to their round table of knights."
A beat.
"My words… Do they seem strange to you?"
Oliver faltered a bit. "S-Somewhat… Well, to be a bit more transparent, I've always believed in your disdain towards me. That my…'pitiful company', as per your words, was nothing more than a liability. Besides, I've always envied you for your…work performance. Your composure and resilience are most admirable, especially in this profession… Qualities that I clearly lack." He scoffed. "I-It's stupid, isn't it—?"
Before Oliver could react, a leathery glove soon held onto his hand, squeezing it with the utmost tenderness. He blushed upon realizing how close in proximity he now was with Silgur as he finally turned to face him; the latter's scent — metallic yet earthy — further enveloped between the two the longer they both lingered in place. If felt inclined, Silgur could ask for permission to lean in for a kiss, and maybe, if he felt brave enough, Oliver would permit him to do so.
Yet, he didn't.
"…I apologize for making you feel that way. That was never my intention," muttered Silgur as he leaned back — perhaps out of bashfulness of the situation at hand. "I… We should return to our quarters. Our Grace would not be pleased if we arrive at the round table wearied. Good night, Sir Oliver."
Oliver watched as Silgur stood up from his seat, soon exiting the courtyard without another word. For a still moment afterwards, he gazed into the sky — now an obsidian canvas dotted with twinkling stars. The crickets continued to chirp into the night yet he paid no mind to them, for his heartbeat resounded louder than anything else in the world.