A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

The Yellow Castle was their destination, the historical seat of any Pendragon children who attended the Academy.

It made for a rather long walk, made to feel shorter by Oliver's mounting dread. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt dread like that. It made his heart pound and his legs feel weak. Not at all the poise of a man who had just cheated death the night before. He made the greatest of efforts to keep his face straight, as Jorah and Verdant walked behind him, making idle conversation.

His efforts in that regard must have been a success, for neither of them seemed to sense that anything was off. Jorah lightly commented on his own nervousness, and Verdant gave tips for dealing with it, and feigning confidence. Oliver gave more than an ear as he listened in on them.

"Even if I try to keep a straight face, I think a quivering lip of the like will give me away…" Jorah murmured. "It isn't so easy to fake."

"There are various techniques that one can use to project authority. Your body responds instinctively to what your mind perceives to be a being that is above you. I imagine it's the same sort of fear that a man gets when he's unarmed, and he faces off against a man with a knife – a fear of a lacking advantage.
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If that is the case, then you had merely need to convince your mind that you have the advantage, even if it is a mere product of the imagination," Verdant said firmly.

"I don't think I have the sort of imagination to pull something like that off," Jorah said, though even as he said it, it wasn't obvious that he was as nervous as he claimed he was.

"Nonsense. You had merely need to think that you are armed in a suit of armour – an easy sensation to remember. Or perhaps imagine yourself as someone greater than who you currently are – someone for whom the current situation would not be a problem," Verdant said.

As they neared the stairway towards the main entrance of the Yellow Castle, Oliver took frantic notes on that bit of advice. Armour as a figment of his imagination wouldn't work for him. He was not at all used to wearing armour, and even if he was, in his imagination it felt restrictive rather than protective.

Imagine himself as someone greater than himself? That was worthy advice… But who? Dominus? Dominus might work. Dominus called himself a scorned knight, and others seemed to agree that he was. He was a man that the whole kingdom – seemingly – had turned their backs towards.

That was the sort of confidence that Oliver needed. The ability to endure the contempt of an entire kingdom without hardly batting an eye.

Who more appropriate to model, now that he was the son of Dominus? How would Dominus react to being found weakened? Dominus had spent many years in a weakened state, thanks to the Pandora Goblin, and though he wasn't exactly proud of that fact, he did not attempt to hide it, nor was he overly ashamed by it. Dominus wouldn't have cringed as Oliver did at the very idea of his weakness being exposed.

He'd have stood firm in it, and hardly reacted when it was mentioned. He would have shrugged, as though such a thing was natural. Even imagining that, Oliver couldn't put himself in that state of mind completely. It helped, but they were ascending the stairs of the Yellow Castle far too soon.

They were in the hallway, so different to that of his own castle. But it was not the doors of any of the lower rooms towards which they directed themselves. They went towards the stairs, and pointed upwards. The third floor was apparently their destination. Oliver had never been that high in his own castle, there'd never been reason to.

Their boots rang out against the stone steps, muffled by the occasional bit of carpet, cushioning the stone. The second floor saw richer decoration, and fewer doors. Verdant said that the higher nobility typically were housed there – Lords and the like. The rooms were quite a bit larger.

There were potted plants, and wooden floorboards in places, much like what he'd seen on the second floor of the Central Castle, when he'd gone for his Command lesson.

The stairs towards the third floor marked a starker transition, though. These weren't bare stone, and nor were they plain carpet. They were a carpet of gold, richly and intricately embroidered, with thousands and thousands of tiny black dragons on every inch of them. Oliver imagined it must have taken years to stitch it all.

The windows higher up were more richly decorated too. Elsewhere, glass itself was the highest of luxuries, but here, apparently, it was sufficient for royalty. The glass was stained, and arranged to form intricate shapes. The window on the landing was the grandest, by Oliver's estimation – a beautiful mandala of a red rose, marketed by green vines extending off it.

It allowed such an amount of light into the room – or it would have, had it not been so dark – that they could see the flickering torches of the grounds down below.

The next set of stairs – the final set – brought Oliver's heart into his mouth. He stopped as he faced off against them, put off by the single wooden door that lay at the top. Of course they'd have a door – the Pendragon's owned this entire floor. It was the sort of door that they could defend in a melee.

Thick and sturdy like the other doors around campus, only stained by a red varnish, as if to warn a visitor to think twice before slamming that golden knocker sculpted like a dragon that lay in the centre of the door.

Oliver's hands sweat as he clenched them. He ground his teeth on one side as he worked up the courage. He didn't manage to keep emotion off his face entirely, but at the very least he managed to keep the fear that he felt away.