A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

The Idris' heir's passion was tangible. Lord Farley Idris looked at his son with an expression of the utmost scrutiny. Verdant hadn't exactly blundered, not obviously enough for the mistake to be pounced on, but it was certain he was not following convention. He was tainted by emotion, just as Lord Idris counselled the Queen against.

With Verdant's urging, Oliver's finger was tapping against the finger of his sword, barely containing the urge to speak his mind. In this room full of great men, what fool could point his finger and promise greatness? Even Oliver knew that much. The years had matured him, they'd made him keep his quiet for longer, but so too had they strengthened his passion.

He caught Captain Lombard's eye. That man, as official as he was, could be counted on to make the right choice in moments like these. He'd known Oliver from the start of his martial career. He was in a better position than most to make such a judgement call.

The man, with that stony face of his, should have been the very man to chastise them as fools and order them to hold their tongues in silence. Yet a sigh escaped his lips, and he was the very man to encourage them to be daring.

Oliver's fist clenched, mirroring Asabel Pendragon. He stood up, his emotions a whirlwind. All that he'd built up on the battlefield over these past years had been stirred up by the High King.

The passion of his, that strange form of Command that Oliver had, that had even corrupted Verdant, it danced in his eyes, as the battle of two eternally opposing Fragments, and the master that held them together.

"There will be victory, my Queen," he said, declaring it. "My men shall fight with the strength of thousands. With my trust in Lord Blackwell, and my trust in my own men, I can promise you that victory. We shall carve your road to the Stormfront centre by force."

It was strange how one man could say one thing, and have it sound so different from thousands more.

With the look on Oliver's face, and the intensity about his presence, he could have chosen any collection of words, and it would have reached the Queen. Though her rank was far different from his now, and they could not be the friends that they once were, it did not eliminate the connections that they'd once built.

But the fact that his words did not only reach Queen Asabel, but also the great men around her – that was cause for surprise. Lord Idris' usually reserved expression was tainted by the raised eyebrow of exasperation, whilst Lord Blackthorn was glaring Oliver down as though he were an enemy on a battlefield.

The Pillar of Politics smiled a gentle smile, and the Pillar of Logic was studying him. For every pair of retainers down the steps, there were curious expressions on their faces.

Not every reaction was positive – far from it. But that there were reactions betrayed all the same, in a room where every man must keep himself reserved. Even if their young Queen had given in to emotion, just for an instant, they were not allowed to follow suit. Yet Oliver had stirred them, and Verdant noted that fact with glee.

He rode his master's momentum, and made his declaration. "Father, I shall be joining him, if you would permit it."

Before Lord Idris could dare to deign that assertion with a reply, Lady Blackthorn spoke up as well. "I shall be joining him as well, Father."

The response from Lord Blackthorn was thunderous. "You!?" He roared. "You have not even graduated from the Academy yet! Don't jump off a cliff after fools."

"I have no need for what a Passing Scroll offers me," Blackthorn bit back, bravely baring her father's fury. "My place is on the battlefield. I have proven that, have I not?"

The man positively growled. Indeed, she had proved it. She'd shown even more aptitude than her brothers, but that was the sort of thing that an early entry into the Second Boundary could get a youth.

"Not in the Queen's presence," Lord Idris said, his voice soft and measured, in a sea of otherwise heated emotions. "You shall taint her words."

"Please be at ease, my Pillar of Coin. The passion of your children is inspiring to me. I would have you answer them," Queen Asabel said, choosing to speak through Lancelot this time.

The Pillar of Coin had to make a visible effort not to sigh. The breaking down of convention clearly irked him, but the words of his Queen were absolute. "I would have expected you to go, Verdant. Your Lord is to battle. I did not doubt that you would join him. You've heeded my tutelage these past three years, so go, if you must, and go with my blessing."

"Is that all you have to say to him?" Queen Asabel asked. From the way she was smiling beneath her crown – despite speaking through Lancelot as a mouthpiece – she must have known there was something more to the relationship between the two of them than let on.

The middle-aged Lord looked to be at the end of his rope. He'd been holding his composure rather well, but at the continual prodding of the youth, he was beginning to lose it. She wanted him to say more, but he had no more words of logic to speak.

Yet his son, and his son's Lord, continued to stare at him, their eyes filled with youthful passion. Enough to sweep even a man his age along with him.

"The Idris' are not battlemade men. Our history contains only obligatory enlistments. We've won no glory through it. If an heir of mine is to take to the battlefield, I would have him be successful at it. You're many things, Verdant. If can continue to win success on the battlefield, then as an heir, I could think of none stronger for the position in all the Kingdom," Lord Idris said.

It was at his Queen's prodding, but apparently, Lord Idris still felt embarrassed saying it, for he all but turned his back on the procession, suddenly finding a rather urgent need to be nearer the throne.