A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Oliver sighed again. Whilst Jorah's loyalty, and his serious taking of his oaths was certainly a good thing, it could prove vexing when he was in as much of a hurry as he was. Deciding once more that it was pointless to argue, Oliver pulled out a large key, and fought with the lock, before barging the heavy door open and forcing his way inside.

He nodded to Jorah before he closed it, and then he clicked the lock, and listened to the sound of retreating boots. They came after a few moments. Jorah really had waited until he'd heard the lock click on the inside before he'd dared to leave. He was almost foolishly conscientious.

Inside, Oliver barely made it to his bed, before he felt his legs weaken. His head dizzied, and he fell to his knees, his head catching on his soft blankets. He closed his eyes there, feeling the stirring in his body, the slow building of pain. It was starting. Not quite yet, but soon. For now, it was a mere dull ache, like his daily headaches, but spread throughout his whole body.

He could feel his pulse pounding throughout his body, and he could feel the cold and the hot at the same time.

After gathering himself for nearly a minute, he managed to turn his head towards the fireplace. He'd built it up that morning, ready to light for when he came in, but now he found he didn't have the energy to nurse it. Discover hidden stories at empire

He groaned, the mere thought of adding to it was enough to make him feel as though his head was about to explode. The amount of pressure that was building up inside his skull made his normal level of dizziness that much worse. Every time he shifted his eyes to look somewhere else, it would take a good few seconds before the heavy dizziness borne by the movement subsided.

He closed his eyes, or tried to. He realized that he probably should have gotten undressed, and just gone straight to bed. He'd neglected to even light a candle, so his room was pitch black, but Gods was that floor cold… and yet his head was so hot.

After another minute or two, he heard a knock at the door.

"Food, my liege," came Verdant's voice, followed by another firm knock.

Oliver groaned as he stood up, cradling his head. The mere act of standing seemed like an impossibility. It took what seemed like an eternity for the room to steady enough for him to be comfortable walking to the door, and when he did, those few steps seemed like an immense effort. He turned the key, and then struggled to pull the heavy bit of wood open.

"Verdant," he murmured, acknowledging the tray full of food. There was a large plate piled with Oliver's favourites, with a large helping of beef, and potatoes, and pie, and on the side, there was another plate of cake, along with two glasses of drink. One appeared to be orange juice, whilst the other was water. "You were quick," Oliver noted.

Verdant frowned at that. "No, I don't think so, my liege… I was held up at the Central Castle by a fellow staff member. It must have taken me half an hour at least."

Oliver's eyes flickered upwards. Had he really been lying with his head against the bed for half an hour? To him, it barely seemed like five minutes. "I must have drifted off to sleep, then…" Oliver guessed.

"Whilst I'm here, allow me to tend the wound on your back," Verdant said. "I will not trouble you for long. I might not look it, but I was rather a rather adept member of the medical course in my time here as a student, and I've often spent my weekends treating soldiers in the hospital. You can be assured that I'm practised enough to be confident in my speed."

Without the energy to refuse, Oliver merely allowed him inside, as he retreated back towards the bed. All Oliver wanted to do was lie down and go to sleep. He couldn't imagine how dreadful he looked, but he forced himself to use his last bit of energy to hold himself together, at least while Verdant was here.

Verdant put down the food on the bedside table. "When I told the serving man that you were too tired to pick up your own food, he insisted on getting your favourites prepared for you. He seems to be rather fond of you," Verdant noted, as he prepared his medical supplies.

Oliver grunted. "I suppose that's because the other nobles are all used to eating that kind of food all the time… But it's really good stuff," he said so sleepily, speaking of things that he normally would not have mentioned.

His words caught Verdant's attention, as he paused his task. "True… The Academy's dining is apt, but for nobility, it would not be such a surprising level of quality. The food at my father's estates is notably superior… I have to wonder just what you were eating before that you would relish the Academy's dining so strongly."

He finished mixing his poultice, and began on the wounds on Oliver's arm, the shallow ones, gently cleaning them, then applying a thin layer of the thick green mixture that he'd made. If Oliver had been in a better mind, he might have known what it was – he'd begun to study such things after all. But in that moment, it was the furthest thing from his mind. He hardly felt Verdant's touch at all.

He was settled into something approaching delirium.

"Mm, whatever I could catch, I guess…" Oliver said, his reply weak.

Verdant glanced at him in worry, as he moved onto the wound at his back. "Is this normal?" He asked in a whisper. "I've only my only Boundary Break as a reference, but I do not recall the tiredness that you currently feel… Could it just be a result of battle?"

"Hm… I hope so," Oliver said. Verdant finished with the wound on his back, and continued talking to him, but by now, Oliver hardly heard the words. They came in one ear, and out the next, all part of a mindless and distant babble. All he caught was Verdant's parting sentence, when he stood up and went towards the door once more.