A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"The opposition shall lead," Tavar declared, before clarifying which side the opposition was. "That is, the side that is opposed to the notion that Oliver Patrick defended himself from an assassination."

Lazarus and Jolamire nodded at that, and shifted from their seats in order to engage in a short discussion with each other. It could have simply been Oliver's imagination, but he could have sworn that the two men looked nervous. All the while, Hod continued to stare them down, as though they'd committed some truly incommensurable sin that he couldn't forgive them for.

It took a considerable bit of pushing from Tavar to finally get the man to return to his seat so that the trial could continue taking place.

"Then, we shall call our first character witness," Jolamire declared. "The son of a man prominently seated amongst the crowd today," he said, with a nod to a rather rotund man, who nodded his respect back. "Lord Gargon. It is good to see you well. I am pleased to see that our small Academy affair was able to attract your attention."

The man made no reply. It must not have been appropriate to speak from their position as a member of the crowd.

"We shall call forth Mills Gargon – student of the same year as Oliver Patrick. A boy that has shared many a class with him, and had more occasions than most to grow familiar with his character," Jolamire said. "If you would, guardsmen."

At his word, the guards opened the door. When it was organized, Oliver didn't know, but as soon as those doors were open, Gargon was there, wearing a smug smile that quickly faded to a nervous one when he saw the magnitude of people that were gathered there.

He had to take a second to collect himself, before he dared to step inside. He was dressed in Academy uniform, with his blue shirt peeking out from underneath a stylish black jacket. He took quick and long strides, as one would expect from such a tall and gangly youth. He tried to do so subtly, but he was clearly looking for his father amongst the crowd.

The relief was evident on his face once he saw him. A woman next to the Lord nodded to the boy, and he had to suppress a smile. That must have been his mother, Oliver realized. He'd overlooked her, on account of her plain dress.

It seemed almost a painfully long time before Gargon had cleared the rows of benches, and all the while, he was forced to endure the walk in silence, with no word of encouragement. It was an even greater distance still until he stood in the centre of the hall, below the thrones, being stared down on by five great and powerful Ministers.

Now he couldn't hide his nervousness – the smile on his face was all but twitching.

Oliver took a certain amount of glee in that. A childish little smile, as he was lined up for his execution, he was enjoying the slight bit of discomfort of a man – or boy – that he faintly disliked.

"Well then, young Lord Gargon, thank you for giving us your time today," Lazarus said respectfully, despite the fact that he was far the boy's social superior. It seemed to be just what Gargon needed, for with a slight bit of pandering, he woke up again, like a parched plant given some water.
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"It is my duty to expose injustice," Gargon said seriously. "Of course, I would come when asked."

Oliver picked up on that last part, as did many. Gargon didn't seem to realize his misstep, if one could call it that. It was merely a curious fact that he'd been arranged as a witness beforehand.

Their deliberations, and their pretends of organization and the passing of messages to guards, that had all been a mere ruse, as had the ten minutes that they'd been forced to wait as they did such pretend organizing.

"An admirable attitude," Lazarus said kindly, nodding sagely, as though it were some great wisdom. "Then, I would ask that you tell us what you know of Oliver Patrick – what you've seen of him. Your general impressions…"

Gargon needed no more egging than that. He glanced towards Oliver. Oliver respected that he could at least look his way. Perhaps he'd underestimated him in that regard. If only the boy knew just how starved Ingolsol was to get at him, he might have been a considerable amount more cautious.

"A rude and impudent man," Gargon declared immediately. "No regard for the proper way of things. He gave me none of the respect that I am due as a Lord."

No one exactly applauded that fact. If it were a crowd of lesser nobles, they might have even looked down on him for being upset by that minor bit of disrespect. But these were high-standing men, Lords themselves. If a citizen did not respect their status, then what meaning did it have?

They did not cheer it, or even stir at it, but it no doubt set another mark against Oliver in whatever tally they had going on. Oliver breathed out through his nose, realizing that this would be a long day.

"He's conniving as well, slippery like an eel, he doesn't have the slightest trace of decency about him. He tried to buy my workers out from under me mid-project without bothering to consult me first. Of course, that was quickly dealt with, but it was noted nonetheless."

"Oh, he did?" Jolamire asked, feigning interest. "Now that is a rather deceitful manoeuvre… Hard to trust a man that schemes through such things."

"He brings such schemes to the battle board, and to our Command lessons," Gargon continued. "By some trick, he changed the game, so that when he commanded it, my pieces went back, and when he spoke, all his pieces would merely shake in place. He meant to mock me, after disrespecting me at the beginning of the lesson.

He isn't graceful in defeat at the least – he had to devalue my own victory with such childish tactics."