A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Oliver just shrugged and settled back into his seat. "Please," he said. If he had to deal with the likes of Lancelot, he thought he might as well get a pleasant tea out of it.

"Well, the Patrick's are considerably less masculine than I'd heard it last said," Lancelot said idly, pretending to hide his smile, when all he was doing was magnifying it.

"Mary – show him the blackberry tea, if we still have some," Asabel said, smiling at Oliver. "It's quite delicious. It is amongst my favourites, though my retainers tell me that it's too sweet for them. It would be wonderful to have someone who could appreciate it."

Oliver inclined his head in agreement. Whatever the berry, generally, he would like it. He didn't think he'd yet sampled blackberry tea. They'd dried strawberries from the summer, apparently, and that was what he usually found in the dining hall.

"So," Asabel said, settling back down, after they'd all given their choice of tea. "Is that expedition a story we are allowed to hear?" She smiled. "Fear not, there's no pressure. If it's part of some cunning plan that you don't intend to share yet, then we can speak of other things."

"My liege?" Verdant asked, turning to Oliver for permission.

Oliver shrugged. The further away they got from talk of his condition the previous evening the better. Asabel hadn't mentioned it yet. She'd merely commented on his health. What was her plan? Did she even have one?

Lancelot did not bother to hide his disgust as Verdant addressed Oliver as his master, but Verdant ignored him, and launched into a rendition of yesterday's events. "Well, it was a quest for a Boulder Crab," he began.

"My liege could not find the training opportunities he was looking for in the lesser enemies of the Grand Forest, so he petitioned the Ministers for the permission to go on an expedition."

Verdant left out the fact that it was he himself that had done the petitioning. In reality, Oliver had done nothing for the expedition's preparations, aside from the commitment to the fact that he'd be there. Oh, and his gathering of a few new retainers.

"A Boulder Crab? Ridiculous," Lancelot said disdainfully. "That's hogwash, Idris, and you know it. The council would not have allowed such a thoroughly ridiculous plan to be put into action. They would have required you to send a proper army – and from what I can see, the Patrick faction is what? Three members large?"

"Including my Lord and myself, it is five members large," Verdant corrected. "And if you have questions about the veracity of my claims, then you can ask the Minister of Blades. He himself was there to witness it."

"The Minister went himself?" Lancelot repeated, dumbfounded. "Why? Why even allow such a foolish endeavour in the first place?"

"There are still some amongst the Academy's walls that prize strength above politics," Verdant said with a small smile. "The Minister of Blades is one such man. When asked, he agreed, and there was no more to it than that."

Lancelot frowned unhappily, the disbelief still evident on his face. He eyed Oliver even more sharply. Oliver had reclined himself against the back of the sofa. Initially, he'd intended to adopt a noble gait, and try to present himself as Verdant would, with that same refined air and attitude – but the fact was, he was not Verdant. And these people had already seen the worst of him.

His lagging manners would not add much more to that.

"Come, come, we've settled the fact of truth, whatever happened?" Asabel asked eagerly. She addressed the question towards Oliver. She hardly looked like she could sit still in her seat. Oliver stiffened when her gaze fell on him, followed by Verdant, who seemed to be urging him to conclude the tale.

"Well… I learned a few things, and defeated the beast," Oliver said. To him, the battle itself hadn't been the interesting part, but more what followed. It was hard to summon up the excitement that came with defeating the animal.

"Oh, come, you jest, Oliver," Asabel said with a roll of her eyes, and a quick smile to indicate that she meant it in good fun. "The battle was surely more exciting than that. You need not be humble. I'm aware of just how dangerous the Boulder Crabs are. I've read the literature on them – they're quite the interesting creature.

Did you know that there are some schools of thought that like to declare the Boulder Crab parasitic?"

"By parasitic, you mean it leeches off a host or something, right?" Oliver asked, surprised by how easily the question came.

Asabel nodded eagerly. "Indeed! And usually, it doesn't outright kill whatever it attaches itself to. Well, Boulder Crabs are known to do that. You'll never guess what. In fact, if you do guess… Mm?

What do we have to give? Lancelot?" She spied Mary coming back with a tray full of their tea. "Ah! If you guess it, I'll make a gift of our finest berry tea to you. Does that sound appropriate?"

"A game, then?" Oliver mused.

"A game," Asabel agreed with a smile. "There are some, you see, that declare Oliver Patrick to be a simple brute, good for the sword, and for nothing else. I'm inclined to disbelieve that. I think Oliver Patrick is far more interesting."

"Pah, he won't get it," Lancelot said. "You're wasting your time. If he has slain a Boulder Crab – and by all the Gods, I very much doubt that to be true – then he'll have a talent with the sword that is unparalleled. The Gods do not give their gifts unilaterally. A strength in one area is often given at the cost of weakness in another."

Oliver eyed the princely youth. His barbed comments were growing tiresome. They would have worn on his patience far quicker if he wasn't used to those sorts of backhanded remarks by now, as a result of his Patrick name. He very much doubted that the guessing of a single fact would do anything to cure his reputation, but Asabel had hooked him regardless.

If it was a game, Oliver didn't think he would ever want to lose.

"The book that Verdant lent me, before the hunt, said that Boulder Crabs in general spend much of their time in hibernation. They only make one large kill a year – generally – and spend the rest of the time as mere features of the landscape," Oliver said.