A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1349 - 1349: Tainted Chalices - Part 6

"…These books are worth more than you might think," Blackwell said to Oliver, as he patted the top of them. "I would be inclined to study them myself, if you would ever permit it. Though their words might be inscribed elsewhere, in easily accessible books, in the likes of the different city libraries, that can not compare to the presence of a page in which a great man inscribed his thoughts."

"…You would be welcome to them," Oliver said.

"…I think I might have been over harsh with you when last we spoke, Patrick," Blackwell said. "I'd apologize to you for that. My expectations were too weighty."

"You measured me against the loss of Lombard and found me lacking," Oliver said. He understood that himself. "And I'd be in agreement with you."

"For now," Blackwell said. "Perhaps that might be true. But an army shifts, men die, and other men rise. It is an immature General that does not accept that fact. In time, you will learn greater depths of leadership, and I am sure, the knowledge that your lineage has offered you then, in terms of the sword, will prove itself to be a very valuable tool indeed."

Oliver nodded. "Thank you, General," he said, turning on his heel.

"I shall be visiting Solgrim at some point," Blackwell said after him. "I understand you are having a competition with my son – I will see to it that neither of you go too far."

Oliver stiffened slightly at those words, but with the weighty burden of the books in his arms, he could not risk looking around again.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Queen Asabel Pendragon smiling with gentle amusement at him – no doubt Oliver looked quite comical carrying his burden of giant books, just as the High King intended he would.

He smiled back at her and wondered whether she had yet received the letter that he'd sent in reply to hers.

Past her, he reflected on the words of Blackwell. His men had worried that the Lord of Ernest would come down with a considerably harsher punishment for all the mischief that they had gotten up to, but Oliver had confidently assured them that Blackwell would not mind it.

Even as he said it, however, there had been doubts in his mind, after the anger he'd seen brewing in the man towards the end of the campaign.

However, in the end, Blackwell had been even more magnanimous than he had expected. Not only did he seem to be fine with the competition, but somewhere in his words, there was a sort of endorsement for it, as if he approved of the concept, and welcomed that wrestling between the two young men that he resided over.

At the top of the stairs, Oliver's walk of shame with his books – if that was what the High King had intended it to be – soon ended. Verdant helped him with the topmost book, and raised an eyebrow in surprise at its weight. Skullic seemed to realize what that meant, and he took two for himself, without asking.

The eyes of the crowd studied them imploringly. Even that small wordless interaction revealed to them much about the relationship between the House of Skullic and the House of Patrick.

Sombreness decorated Oliver's heart with each step, but it didn't overwhelm him quite as much as it once had. It left him in a mood of thoughtfulness, where a smile was further away than it usually ought to have been.

There were graves in his heart that he hadn't seen properly tended, he realized. But he didn't have the slightest clue as to how to begin to address those weaknesses. Grief, in all the years that had passed, hardly seemed to have dulled. It was more that he'd covered their icy fires in a cup, and forgotten about it, so that he could continue functioning.

Mercifully, the trumpets resounded once again, breaking Oliver temporarily out of his mood of thoughtfulness. With them, the High King began to withdraw, after concluding the last of his closing speeches.

Oliver gave the man one last look as he went, burning the sight of him into his mind.

Then, the Silver Kings went, along with Queen Asabel. She looked in his direction, but she seemed to be struggling to see him, and Lancelot was gently urging her forward, as the eager crowd reached hands in her direction. She looked back over her shoulder for another glance, but still, she had failed to find him.

They let the rest of the crowd disperse first, bit by bit. None of their little gathering group was in a particular rush. Skullic was content to wait with them, sharing light conversation, and peeking inside the books that they'd picked up, and showing Oliver it in the process.

"He had a messy hand," Skullic laughed. "Worse than mine, I'd say. But still, it somehow seems readable."

"More readable than your hand is, at least, Daemon," Mary said with a giggle.

"Really?" Skullic seemed more shocked by that than offended. "Am I really that bad?"

"The many years I have spent trying to explain that to you."

"If you would stop pressing down so hard with your pen when you're angry, that would surely go a distance towards improving it," Oliver offered half-heartedly, trying to bat away some of the cobwebs that surrounded his heart.

The other nobles did not seem to be in a rush. It was the greater part of forty-five minutes that they stood there, enjoying the strange reward that the High King had given them, knowing full well that he had intended it to be the poorest reward that he could dream up.

As they stood alone, their little group grew increasingly conspicuous. The crowd nearest them had long since dried up, in favour of gathering around the gates, where the rest of many waited.

But since the gates were still blocked, the Patrick-Skullic gathering was disinclined to move, preferring to instead enjoy the slight freedom, without crowds pushing up against them, for the first time in a good while.

And that was where a certain Minister seemed to find them.

"Greetings," he said, unabashedly cutting straight through the conversation that they'd been having, and announcing himself, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. A tall professor stood behind him, with a look of shame at being forced to share his company. "Hm? Why are you cowering behind me, Professor Volguard? Greet them. Isn't that the proper etiquette?"