A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"Minister Hod does," Oliver said. "Though it's… a small one," he added awkwardly. The Princess brightened, ever so slightly, at that small ray of hope. "There's light, then?" She said, seizing on it. "Yes, if there's light, then miracles can happen. If there's anyone that can deliver miracles, it's you, Ser Patrick." "I hope that is the case," Oliver said, clenching his fist. "There are many that do not deserve to die, caught up in this." "You are amongst them," Asabel said, quickly enough that she made herself blush – but then a trace of her old ferocity showed, that lion-like nature that so resembled her appearance. "You had better not die, Oliver Patrick. I shall not allow it." He smiled wryly at that. "Do you order me, as a Queen?" "I do!" She declared, her voice commanding. "And as… Asabel. What you said to me the last we met, did you mean it?" "Every word," Oliver said, recalling the discussion perfectly. Important things like that he was not want to forget. "I cannot forgive you – or anyone else, for that matter – if they were to reject that part of you." She nodded, ever so slowly, appearing weaker for it, but then suddenly again, she was strong. It was like seeing the embers of a fire, slowly trying to start it back to life. "I don't understand why you say those things, but I wish to," the Princess said, looking him in the eye. "Will you promise to live, and explain them to me?" "That's a weighty ask, Princess," Oliver said grimly. Thinking of death, as one might expect, wasn't exactly the most enticing prospect. For Oliver, there was a detachment towards it worse than what other people might feel – a numbness, forged from the multiple battles, and the many years of struggle that he'd been in. He preferred not to think of death, but of defeat, for they were one and the same, and defeat could be handled rationally a little better – efforts could be taken to avoid defeat. But death, to run from it seemed almost to voluntarily take upon a disease of fear, inviting a wariness into other parts of his life that he could well do without. There were many stories of wise kings, and great Generals, losing themselves once they began to pursue immortality – or at least, longer life. "I know," Asabel said. She knew better than many what death held, given the number of patients she'd nursed in her short life. "Yet I ask it all the same. I do not think I could handle your loss, Ser Patrick." "I do not intend to die, at the very least," Oliver said, his voice hard with certainty in that regard. "I shall fight hard enough to make the air itself burn – I can promise you that. There is much I wish to accomplish, and more so many that I ought to protect." "Then, I suppose, that answer I might accept…" Asabel said quietly, though she certainly didn't seem satisfied. She looked up, studying his face in the dim dawn light. "You do not look well, Ser Patrick – is this the state that you must confront such a battle in?" "I am fine," Oliver assured her. There'd been a gathering of the same instability as before, after so much progress, but he took that to be a good sign. After all, he'd managed to get far more done this time around, and it still had yet to overtake him fully. To him, that meant that despite its inconvenience, he was slowly but surely healing. "Is it the same thing as before..?" Asabel asked, apparently seeing through his words. She didn't meet his eyes as she asked it. "…It is," this time Oliver gave her the straight answer. "Though, I do not think it will get in the way of this battle." "Once, you claimed that it was I that healed you of it," Asabel said, still looking into a corner of the room, immensely uncomfortable. "It was, I do believe. Twice. I can think of no other explanation. The only commonality in both occasions was your presence," Oliver said. "Yet, I can be certain, my power does not work on you," Asabel said, dropping her voice even quieter, so that anyone listening outside the door would be sure not to hear. It was the first time he'd heard her mention her power directly, since that argument all those weeks ago. "Or, perhaps, there are elements to your power you do not understand," Oliver said. "There was a time I dismissed a power of my own out of hand, for fear of it. You wouldn't exactly wish to consciously grow that which you already feared." "Perhaps…" Asabel said, before catching onto something that he'd said. "You as well?" She was finally looking up at his face. He gave her his most roguish smile, hoping to despair any thoughts of heroism she might have still held to him. "Indeed, though I would rather not speak it aloud, just the same as you." The girl's eyes widened. "Surely not you as well..?" "There are many things in this world that I do not understand – I take that as evidence that many more things exist, beyond my expectations," Oliver said, giving her an indirect answer to the question. "We cannot be the same… I am sullied," Asabel protested. "Princess," Oliver said, a hint of Command in his voice. "My rank does not permit me to tell you anything – but in my presence, I would not have you talk down that which has saved my life. Or at least, that which I believe might have done so." The Princess gulped, recognizing the seriousness of his tone. "…You're sick again," she noted. "To a degree." "I cannot let you leave without trying something," the Princess said. It seemed like it was taking all of her courage to say that. "Then I would ask that you do what you usually do," Oliver said. "If you do not understand it, then do not overthink it. Whatever efforts you can expend for me will surely be better than the condition I am currently in."