A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Slowly but surely, his aim of surviving the High King's political suffocation was becoming a reality. Despite the pressure that was being put on him, he was building the sort of base that he needed.

Then, it was time for the other letter. He was surprised to feel a small feeling of dread as he looked down on it. Was he really as worried about the situation as Asabel? It wouldn't have been strange for him to be – it wasn't the first time he'd worried about meeting her. But now their positions were reversed. It was he that knew Asabel's weakness – though he didn't see it as a weakness.

And her, that dreaded him spreading word of it, but still insisted that he did, as though it was the honourable thing to do.

He tore it open before he could overthink it any more heavily. Inside, there was a single bit of stiff paper, with a simple line written in it.

"Her Majesty, Queen Asabel Pendragon has agreed to hold a meeting with you, Ser Oliver Patrick. The meeting date will be the last day of the school week, and the time shall be 8:30 in the morning, during the period of the first lessons. Sincerely, Lancelot Swiftrider," the letter read.

"Are you… Shit, what time is it?" Oliver whirled around to look at the clock in the corner of his room. It was already 8:15. It couldn't have gotten more inconvenient than that. It certainly didn't help that he'd be missing his alchemy lesson – something that he'd barely had a handful of lessons so far regardless.

It was made worse still by the fact that the rest of his day would have been free, if she'd wanted to do it any later.

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He narrowed his eyes. Was it really a coincidence? Or was it purposely arranged to be as inconvenient as possible? After all, even the delivery of the letter was late. It didn't seem to be the sort of thing that Asabel would do, but it was certainly the sort of thing that Lancelot would think of, as a way of getting back at someone he perceived to have wronged his Lady.

"Gods damn him. You petty bastard," Oliver said under his breath.

"My Lord, is everything well with you?" A voice came from the door. Oliver looked sharply – Verdant.

"Ahhh, never have I been so glad to see someone in all my life," Oliver said. "Your timing, Verdant, as always, is impeccable. Read this, and understand my troubles."

He flicked the invitation card towards Verdant, he caught it with a clumsy slap between both hands. Whilst his retainer swiftly glanced over it, Oliver searched through his chest for his fine coat that Blackthorn had bought him, and he pulled on a pair of gloves. He gave his boots a swift brush as well, and otherwise improved his appearance to a level that would be acceptable to present to royalty.

He too put his sword on at his waist. He wondered whether now – that they seemed to be at odds – whether this gesture would be interpreted as a threat. But he'd attended all their meetings until now wearing a sword, he couldn't allow himself to seem changed or even flustered by their circumstances.

"Ghastly," Verdant murmured, looking at his own state of dress. "I shall be too late to accompany you, my Lord… Was this their intention? Is this what the Asabel faction does when they perceive a slight? No, this is undoubtedly the work of Swiftrider."

"You understand, then?" Oliver said. "I'm going to have to rush. I was meant to have an alchemy lesson, but it seems to me like this will be our only chance in a while. If we were to miss this, it would be us that was slighting them – or so it would seem."

Verdant pulled a face, but he had to nod his agreement. "You're quite right my Lord… Though to have you go there alone seems a little… uncouth. Are they trying to make you seem weak? This is thoroughly thuggish behaviour. How uncouth. Karesh and Kaya are busy eating breakfast.

Jorah is on his way to class. None of them are going to be able to make it by your side in time. That's disregarding the fact that you need to make it all the way to the Yellow Castle from here…" He glanced at his watch, horrified by what he saw.

"Can you even make it, my Lord?" By now, it was 8:20. The Yellow Castle was a good twenty minutes away at a swift walk and longer if they idled. Most students would allocate a good thirty minutes to walking across the campus if they needed to, given how vast the grounds were.

The very size of the grounds was one of many factors that influenced what lessons the students could take – after all, they couldn't expect to travel from the Yellow Castle to the Red if they only had fifteen minutes in between lessons.

"I'll make it," Oliver declared, grinning. He loved a challenge, even a challenge as mundane as this. It served as something to test himself, and that was something altogether worthwhile for a youth that was in the height of his life's progression.

"May Behomothia grant you swiftness," Verdant declared, as Oliver passed him to head out the door. "I shall see to it that your matters with the alchemy professor are settled."

"Please do! The man already has something of a distaste for me – I'm sure this'll only be making matters worse!" Oliver shouted back over his shoulder as he rushed down the corridors. The other students on the way to their lessons were looking at him with distaste for his loudness. He simply stared unerringly back, willing them to say something.

Once more, that weekend, Oliver Patrick had been reminded of what he was and where he'd come from. He wasn't a noble. He was a peasant that lived in a noble world, and a slave at that. It should have been a heritage that he hid from, but he was damn well proud of it. Those struggles that he'd endured back in Solgrim and even before it, they gave him the advantage over every other youth on that campus.

That was without even addressing his strength.