A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"Seriously?" Amelia murmured. She'd been sitting on the cabin's porch with Pauline. None were more exhausted than those two, but the heralding of the Pendragon name could not escape even their sleepy attention. "What would they want with him?"

"Arthur Pendragon was close friends with Dominus Patrick. Is it not only natural?" Verdant asked. Apparently, he'd connected some dots of his own, in a vein that he hadn't that morning.

"I suppose…" Amelia admitted reluctantly. "But I thought it was only Her Highness Asabel that was in the Academy? Isn't she Arthur's niece? I don't see why the niece would have any interest in her Uncle's friend's son. And like, it's Asabel, you know? A SA BEL.

She's way too well regarded to be caught with him."

"Are you not biting at your own Lady with your words, retainer?" Verdant pointed out.

"Ah," Amelia quickly realized that fact, and blushed, shooting an apologetic look towards Lasha. Lasha for her part didn't catch it. She seemed even more stunned by the fact of the invitation than the rest of them.

"Why?" She asked, echoing their sentiments, despite the explanation that had already taken place. She directed the question towards Oliver, who'd done nothing to confirm or deny anything of the sort yet.

He wondered if he should tell them, at least something, from the night before. No doubt they'd find out within the hour, when they arrived at the tea party. But to his shame, he couldn't bring himself to. There Oliver found in himself a particular type of weakness – the unwillingness to display his own weakness. It was simply too shameful.

He turned his head away, not meeting her eyes, and just shrugged.

"More trouble, no doubt," he murmured.

"What are your arrangements for this evening, Ser?" Jorah asked. "Will you be taking all three of us as guards?"

"No, I'll take as few people as possible," Oliver said. He left unspoken the fact that he would have rather have gone alone.

"Wise," Verdant said. "A different display of strength. Another noble might have arrived with twenty of his retainers, merely to demonstrate that he has the sort of power that even that many men is nothing to him. It displays a different kind of authority if you arrive only with the bare necessities, despite having access to more."

"He is the strongest student on campus, after all," Jorah said. "It wouldn't make sense for him to follow the same guarding restrictions as the rest of them. Who will you bring, Ser?"

"You, and Verdant," Oliver replied absentmindedly. Gods, he hated the idea of going even more with each passing second. It was so embarrassing. So, so embarrassing. And it was going to get even worse. Gods be damned, he thought.

Give him an army of Hobgoblins to deal with. Give him two Boulder Crabs at once – anything. Just not this.

"It will be my honour," Verdant said humbly, though he should have had every reason to expect that he'd be brought along.

"And mine," Jorah said, with a slight bow. "I have always wondered what the quarters of royalty are like, within the Coloured Castles."

"Mm," Oliver agreed absentmindedly, though in truth, he couldn't think of anything that he cared less about at that moment. He wanted to bury his head in the sand and hide. This sucked. Your journey continues on empire

With the coming of evening, Oliver had hesitantly dressed himself in his room, wearing his finest clothing – though, in truth, that was merely his everyday uniformed attire. He didn't have that many levels to his clothing at the moment. There was hunting garb, and then there was lecture garb.

He wore his lecture garb then, with the blue jacket of threaded golden hexagons that had been made for him at Lombard's place, and he put the pin of Lord Blackwell up there upon it.

His boots were well polished. Verdant had ensured that they were. He even went so far as to see it tended to himself, since Oliver didn't have any retainers that were to serve the role of proper attendant. Jorah had watched aghast, saying that he would gladly do it, but Verdant had ignored him.

Apparently, on such formal occasions, it was appropriate to wear a ceremonial sword. Oliver had had one of those – until he broke the end of it, fighting the Boulder Crab. His replacement blade wasn't quite as good, but it still felt better to have a sword at the hip, rather than none at all.

Both Jorah and Verdant were similarly dressed in their best attire. Verdant was not dressed that day as a priest, but as a noble. He wore clothes similar to Oliver's own, with boots, and a sword at his hip, and a long grey trench coat, that covered a shirt with ruffled sleeves, and a wide cravat. He was like a different man.

There was an incredible intensity to him when dressed as such, paired with that bald head of his, and his still obvious youth.

There were even jewelled rings on his fingers, and a pair of necklaces around his neck, of silver and gold chains. He'd also managed to put an earring in one of his ears. It was easy to forget just how wealthy Verdant's family was, when he was always dressed in his modest priest's robes.

Jorah was considerably more limited in what he could choose from. He wore yellow on one sleeve, to indicate his rank, but that yellow soon ran into a fine black jacket, with buttons running up both sides. It looked like a soldier's jacket and the sword at his hip served to accentuate that, as did his booted feet.

Verdant looked the three of them up and down in approval. "Indeed, this is the look that seems appropriate to present. We reveal our faction to be a military one, in line with the history of the Patrick family. Does that suit your tastes, my Lord?"

"It does," Oliver said, fighting hard to keep the tension out of his voice. He hadn't removed the hand from the hilt of the sword at his hip, even as they strode out into the courtyard. It worked to relieve some of the tension that he'd built up, if only slightly.

"Then let us be away," he said. "Punctuality is another military trait.

He pointedly walked a step behind Oliver, allowing him to lead, as the head of their party. Jorah walked alongside him. The youth seemed uncomfortable about that fact. He seemed almost to be feeling some of the pressure that Oliver was – given that he was the only yellow-shirt amongst a group of nobles, and soon to be amongst a gathering of royalty. Any sane man would be shaken by that fact.