A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1420 - 1420: An Unexpected Guest - Part 2

And so, Oliver had ordered Greeves to have messengers sent out, to read an announcement in all the nearby villages. To have them informed that, three days before the actual tournament began, there would be a selection process, free of charge, for all those who wished to enter, but did not have the coin to do so.

"Bloody tens of thousands are going to turn up. This is going to be a mess. The field is going to be chewed up and muddy before we even begin the main events," Greeves said. "You'll ruin everything in your greed, you will!"

"Then we will hold it further afield, Greeves."

Tens of thousands might be coming, if Greeves was to be believed, but only two hundred would be able to make it through. The melees would be quick, and harsh, and armorless. Everyone would fight with a wooden weapon of their choice, and he hoped that would mean that the proceedings would be quick enough.

Naturally, though, it still meant that they would need an awful lot of men to see the events carried out sensibly, without unnecessary discord, and for that purpose the large majority of the Patrick army was to be utilised.

In the end, Oliver had managed to force Greeves to relent, and the message had been sent out, as Oliver had wished it to be. But Greeves was none too happy to have more work on his plate, and Oliver had to admit that he knew that he was pushing it.

Whilst they were in the midst of such businesses, they received a message, bearing the wax seal of an owl, and collectively their hearts sank seeing it. Lord Blackwell had kept an eye on their preparations, and more than once, he had delivered them a harsh correction that had cost them more work.

They ought not to have been bitter, for his corrections were benevolent ones, for the good of the tournament, but that didn't change the fact that they brought in an extra workload, and they had learned to fear such messages.

With a heavy heart, Oliver cracked the seal and began to read. Quickly, he realized that the letters he was reading weren't formed in the same hand as Lord Blackwell's – he was growing almost as accustomed to Lord Blackwell's penmanship as he was with Skullic's. These words were written with a considerably higher degree of care, enough that they would quite easily make Oliver's letters look like the barbaric little scribblings that they were.

"…It's Ferdinand," Oliver said, feeling the eyes of the Greeves and Verdant on him, willing him to tell them what the problem was.

"Ferdinand…" Greeves growled. "What's he doing showing up at this point? He's already thrown the competition. He's hardly moved. Publically, he's chastised that bloody Guild, and that's about it. I thought that was him admitting defeat."

"Well, he's requested a meeting," Oliver said.

"For what day?" Verdant asked.

Oliver scanned the letter. "…Today."

"Bastard!" Greeves said. "They're always pulling petty tricks like that."

"That is a Lord that you speak of, merchant," Verdant reminded him. "Do not be so quick to attach to him vulgarities, in the presence of your own Lord."

"Ain't he earned it, Lord Idris?" Greeves said.

"I think you attach to him the same frustrations that you attach to the Guild," Verdant said. "Though he is at least partly to blame for their actions, I do not think it is fair to say that they are one and the same entity. What time will Lord Ferdinand be arriving, my Lord?"

"…Just after noon, it says," Oliver said. "So, around an hour away, I'd suppose."

"He certainly keeps us on our toes," Verdant said wryly. "But there is naught we can do. He is still the son of your liege Lord. We will be forced to pay him the due respects. Even if he is only here to deliver threats, perhaps we will be able to use that too in our favour, and secure some certainty for ourselves in regards to his intentions."

"True enough. Forming defences against his potential plots is holding up resources for us," Oliver said with a shrug. "We will be skipping lunch, but I think we'll have greater food for thought to fill our belly with."

"I won't be," Greeves said. "There's a lovely fresh loaf of bread, and some of the finest bloomin' cheese sat on my desk at home. I'll be eating through them both before I rush to the meeting of this Lordling."

So Greeves had said, but even in making those threats, he had not been anywhere near late. Nor had he neglected his appearance in any sort of fashion. Verdant, it seemed, was beginning to understand that about Greeves, in the same way that Oliver had – for as much as the man talked, and complained, when it came down to it, he would always do what needed to be done.

They met Ferdinand at the door to Oliver's home, along with the retinue of guard knights. It was with a considerable amount of relief to all of them that they did not see the same old men of the Guild along with him. Ferdinand noticed their looking.

"I come alone today," he said gravely. "In the hopes that our discussion might be more profitable than it was the last time we met."

"One can only hope so," Oliver said, with noble courtesy. "At the very least, the sun has deigned it appropriate to shine for your visit, my Lord. Let us hope that we reach conclusions as pleasant."

The first thing Oliver noticed of Ferdinand, after leading him inside, and allowing him to sit first on the coach opposite him, was that the young man looked far older than when they had last met. His brow was wrinkled with the lines of yesterday's frowning, and there were tired black bags hanging droopily under his eyes. Even his fine blonde hair looked thinner.

"My thanks," Ferdinand said, when one of the servants placed a cup of steaming camomile tea down in front of him, but he did not reach out to drink it. He instead laced his hands together, and rest them against his stomach, heaving a great sigh, as if preparing himself for a task that he well and truly dreaded.