A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1430 - 1430: The Tournament - Part 8

"I figured," Oliver replied. "But I think I ought to find a way of talking to Queen Asabel, before the blood starts to be spilled. In hindsight, it likely would have been better to warn her in advance. I don't suppose she's overwhelmingly pleased with the choice that we made."

"That will be difficult with such a crowd, my Lord," Verdant said. "Not without an excuse to approach. Even if we are the organizers of this affair, she is still a Queen… Ah, but then I suppose we could simply inquire after what soldiers of hers are competing. That is a completely natural question, isn't it?"

"That," Oliver agreed, seizing on it in an instant. He turned to Yorick, standing faithly amongst his men. "Keep an eye on the field, Yorick. If Jorah has difficulty restraining any of the combatants, or if he needs extra men to keep things in order, it'll be on you to send them in."

Yorick gave a stiff salute. "Very well, my Lord."

With Blackthorn and Verdant trotting after him, Oliver pierced through the crowd as best he could, forcing his way through many of the gathered peoples with brute strength, and apologizing wherever was necessary.

Already, the melee combatants were taking to the field, and the crowd was beginning to disperse from the orderly line that they'd formed for the speeches. They drifted towards the different stalls, and many drifted towards the other sides of the tournament fields, where the ropes dangled to mark its perimeter, and where Patrick and Blackwell soldiers alike stood to ensure that none could go any further to interfere with the combat that would soon enough be happening within.

There was an obvious disparity in equipment that Oliver had not rushed to rectify between the peasantry and the soldiery. They'd at least managed to sauce some boiled leather armour and steel helms for the peasantry that didn't have them, and a weapon of their choice each, but one could still tell them apart at a glance from the soldiers and their chainmail and occasional pieces of steel plate. In that first tournament, it seemed as if half of the hundred participants were peasants, and the other half entirely soldiers. Against Oliver's intention, he reflected, he'd accidentally made something of a class war.

Naturally, the crowd wasn't short in noticing it. The peasants that had travelled far were already cheering on their comrades, before the majority had even taken to the field. They were infected by the air of excitement.

"SKEWER EM'! DON'T YOU LET US DOWN NOW!"

"THEY AIN'T NOTHIN' BUT FANCY EQUIPMENT!"

"COLLECT YOURSELF SOME GOLD, DAMN YOU! IF MY LEG WAS BETTER, I'D BE FIGHTING IN YOUR PLACE!"

The soldiers had their own allies backing them, from the different noble houses that they served. Their cries were far less unified though. The peasantry seemed to support the peasantry unconditionally, but every soldier was divided in amongst their own factions, and their shouts were easily overwhelmed.

With the shouts in his ears, Oliver pierced his way towards Queen Asabel's entourage, and he saw Lord Blackthorn's eyes narrow as he stared him down, as well as Lancelot's face stiffening into a glare. Oliver gave a hasty bow, as if in an attempt to cast away their suspicions, though he knew if Asabel herself had not been there to pacify her men, no amount of bowing would have allowed him to get any closer.

"Ser Patrick," she called warmly. "You need not have gone out of your way to greet us. The tournament is only just beginning. Surely there is much that needed your attention."

"I felt that I ought to come and explain our choice of rules to you in person, my Queen," Oliver said, keeping his eyes fixed to the ground, and his bow in place. "It was not my wish to offend you."

"…Indeed, I do find them to be unsettling," Asabel admitted, not disguising the fact. "But I do not think you would have chosen them out of cruelty, and I hold to the hope that the tournaments will not be as dangerous as we have all come to expect them to be."

Oliver raised an eyebrow in surprise. He hadn't thought she would offer her agreement so quickly. But then he supposed, it wasn't quite agreement. There was a condition attached to it. If his rules proved to be a monstrosity, then she likely wouldn't forgive him.

"Shall we watch the opening bout together?" Queen Asabel offered, gesturing to the place next to her. "Then we can really see if these rules of yours are of a sound mind?"

She presented it as if it was a gentle request, but being the Pendragon that she was, she didn't fail to include in that gentleness a frightening degree of dangerousness. Oliver's face paled as he gave his smile. "I would love to," he said, praying to all the Gods that there wasn't some tragic accident in the very first round.

Before he could even begin to settle himself, and as Queen Asabel politely asked Lady Blackthorn and Verdant questions as to their health, the bell signalling the start of the first bout was begun, and immediately, the battlefield descended into chaos.

It was a free for all, naturally, so it stood to reason that there would be chaos, but even Oliver had not expected it to be that degree so suddenly. He'd supposed it would be more like a melee on the battlefield, for those tended to get quite chaotic, but it went even further than that. There was not a hint of orderliness. There were no factions, just complete and utter violence, wherever it could be sprung up.

Oliver's attention was quickly focused on the first of these engagements. A young man, likely around his age, and a peasant, he supposed, from his borrowed equipment, was being circled by a soldier in full plate armour, levelling a spear his way. The soldier thrust heavily each time, and with each strike, Oliver found himself wincing. Those kinds of thrust would likely always be a serious wound if they landed. His dread mounted, as he wondered if he hadn't made the wrong decision.