A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"The High King has shown me a place where I have worth," Oliver said, still keeping his eyes low. "I am not a man that will do well in the noble courts. All present can see that for themselves. Passing Scroll or not, what I am and what I shall become will not change. The campaign to the East is an opportunity for a man like me. I must seize it."

It was half-lie and half-truth. It was very much a nobleman's way of dancing around a problem, though Oliver did not acknowledge that himself.

"You've fought and won many victories, Ser Patrick," Asabel said, through Lancelot's voice, as he wore a twisted look on his face. "Forty-four, I believe is your current count. I can see why Lord Blackwell would be excited, for a youth of your talent to enter his ranks. No doubt you too are eager to be of use to him, after many long years."

"I am, Your Grace," Oliver said honestly. "I made a promise with him many years ago. Lord Blackwell is a good man. It shall be my honour to fight under him."

"However, it saddens me," the Pendragon Queen said. Oliver dared not look up. He could feel the sadness, without even hearing her voice, or seeing her face. "I would not wish a life of instability – that the lack of a Passing Scroll will certainly purvey – to follow a young man with such close connections with my House… But I see that your hands are tied."

Silence fell again. For a Queen to speak to the likes of a mere student like Oliver directly was cause for surprise, but to do it for as long as she had was stranger still.

"I have heard the opinions of my Pillars of War and my Pillar of Coin. What does my Pillar of Politics and my Pillar of Logic have to say?" Queen Asabel asked.

The Pillar of Politics – an aged woman, with silver in her once blonde hair – stepped forward. "There can be none that would fault your efforts on the borders, my Queen. Assistance with these matters would take the pressure off the High King to procure reinforcements, a fact that he will no doubt be grateful for. Victory, or defeat, we shall gain a small measure of stability from it.

I am in favour, as I was last year."

The Pillar of Logic, a grey-faced man old enough to have been the Pillar of Politics' husband, spoke just after her. "Stormfront was founded on war, my Queen. Our lands are unstable, but history shows that we ought not to fear that fact. Our ancestors learned to secure stability through war. With Lord Blackthorn as our Pillar of War, our military strength is something that we ought to lean on."

"But I shall not be able to command my men," Blackthorn grumbled. "I will not be invited to that battlefield. You relying on my strength is misguided."

"The strength of the Blackthorn forces are famous enough," the Minister of Logic replied. "Even without their master, they will not embarrass us."

Phrased as such, the words put a glint in the General's eye. "No, they will not," he growled.

"Very well," Queen Asabel spoke again, through Lancelot. "I have heard from my Pillars, Captain Lombard. You may tell your Lord Blackwell that when the time comes, he will receive our support."

"Thank you very much, Your Majesty," Lombard said, and Oliver could tell he meant every word. His shoulders practically sagged with relief. No doubt the many years of campaign he and Blackwell had spent fighting outnumbered had weighed on him.

"Though, I would go a step further," Asabel said. She stood up as she said it, though she continued to speak through Lancelot. "If my people are to go to war, we shall do so with victory in mind. I choose to believe in Blackwell's predictions – but so too do I choose to believe in the young, that have kept our lands safe, despite their age. Who have secured victories aplenty for us already?

Oliver Patrick, if you are to campaign and cast away your future, I shall ask that you do so with victory in mind."

There it was. The strength of spirit that could set a man's height ablaze. Oliver finally had the strength to glance up. He found the Princess – no, she was a Queen now – looking down at him, a sad look in her eyes, but her fist was clenched with a firmness. This was the sword that she wielded. It was a command.

Win.

"I shall grant your request of visiting the capital," Queen Asabel said, speaking through her own voice this time, much to the dismay of her retainers. "But I will only take responsibility for you, if you can declare to me, Ser Patrick, that you will bring victory."

"My Queen," Lord Idris counselled, stepping close to her, so that his voice would not reach far, but Oliver heard it anyway. "You mustn't allow your emotions to escape you. I am aware that you were once close to the boy, but you must not allow that closeness to influence the decisions that you are to make. He is but a fledgling.

He does not have the influence needed to make such irresponsible promises to you."

As Lord Farley Idris went to his Lord to give counsel, so too did Verdant go to his. He knelt beside Oliver, and feigned a whisper to the man that he followed.

"My Lord. The Queen has made a request of you. If we were being proper, you ought not to promise that which is beyond your means to deliver," Verdant said.

Oliver inclined his head in agreement. Verdant was ever the rational side of their partnership. Oliver was a bundle of passionate strength. His mind was sharp when it needed to be, but he still did not walk the tightrope of diplomacy like these master players around him. He kept his silence.

"Saying such – I encourage you to speak your mind regardless," Verdant said. "Without a Passing Scroll, you can not move through the ranks like an ordinary man. The time to behave like an ordinary man has passed. You are an ordinary man no longer. Your victories speak for themselves. The trust in you is not misplaced."