A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

With a shrug, and a calm smile, Oliver merely said, "perhaps." He was not so involved in the argument that his anger had boiled over. He'd merely done what was instinctual, and flicked off a fly that had been attempting to bite him.

He surprised himself, a little, as the room once more settled into silence.

The others were looking at him differently by now, as he sat with one leg casually draped over the other, leaning back against the bench, ever so comfortable. Before, he had been misplaced, and interesting to that degree. And now he was interesting for another reason entirely.

The Beam of the past would have risen to Gargon's challenges, Oliver was sure. But the Beam of the past would not have been able to stay so calm whilst doing so. Oliver hardly noted a change in his emotions as he fended off the denominations of a stranger, in a room full of strangers, and his peers.

The battle had changed him. Or maybe, it had broken something in him. Perhaps it was growth, or perhaps it was merely scar tissue. Whatever it was, Oliver's calm handling of himself had attracted the attention, ire, and even admiration of some of his peers. And he had not even had his first day yet.

When the class ended, a brief call from the professor was enough to make Oliver stay behind. He remained seated on his bench at the back of the room, as the other students passed him, many giving him more than a curious glance as they went.

Friends murmured to each other, clutching their books to their chests, as they came up the two sets of stairs that sat in between the three rows of benches, and they made their way through the heavy wooden doors on either side of the room.

None of them said a word to Oliver as they left, and it was not long before the room was drenched in silence, as the professor sorted the papers out on his table underneath his blackboard.

With the absence of the other students, Oliver finally roused himself, and wandered down to the front.

"You asked for me, Professor?" He said after a moment, when the professor did not turn to acknowledge him.

"I asked you to remain," the Professor said, without looking back over his shoulder. "That is the pin of Lord Blackwell that you are wearing, is it not?" He asked, still without having turned around to look at him.

"It is," Oliver agreed. Find more to read at empire

"And you're aware of what such a thing signifies?" The Professor said, his tone serious.

"Not entirely," Oliver said honestly.

The older man must have finally finished organizing his papers, for he turned on his heel and drew himself to full height. He was a tall man indeed, and he towered over Oliver. "It marks you as a Representative. Someone to be treated on the level of a blood relation. I warn you of this, in the hopes that it might make your words more tentative, as you argue with your peers."

Oliver frowned. "Are you warning me that I was arguing with the wrong person?"

"I may well be," the Professor agreed. "Mills Gargon, is the son of Lord Gargon, a ward of the South. It would trouble your Lord Blackwell to make enemies of him, and for frivolous reasons."

"I see," Oliver acknowledged with a serious nod. The Professor seemed to approve, for he nodded back.

"And now, let me make a wager, based on that same pin. Your admission here was something of a last-minute proposal, by Lord Blackwell, mm?"

Oliver merely nodded, not pausing to ask how he knew.

"That would explain the lack of forewarning the administration has had for your coming. Blackwell is an impulsive man. Or perhaps one might call him an instinctual man. It is part of what makes him such an accomplished general. Intuition is far harder to teach than cold hard logic," he gestured at the board as he said that. "Now… The reason I asked that you remain behind, is partly out of curiosity.

For whatever reason, it is my classroom that you've wandered your way into, before pen was put to paper and you were signed up for anything else. I wonder, is your interest in strategy genuine, young master Patrick?"

"It is," Oliver affirmed with a nod, though he was sure why the professor had such a disbelieving look on his face as Oliver assured him of that.

"I see… It is simply unexpected, you see…. When one hears of your father – brilliant swordsman though he was – he never had the heart to indulge too much in strategy. It seems I've made the mistake of assuming that the same would be true of his son," the Professor said.

Oliver stiffened at the mention of Dominus. The professor must have noticed that, for he quickly corrected whatever assumptions Oliver might have been building.

"That is of course without intending any offence. I have had the privilege of witnessing his swordsmanship on occasion, when he was a younger man, and it was a marvel, even then…" He broke off suddenly, with a sigh. "Forgive me, boy, for a strategist, it does seem that I have a poor knack for dancing around the issue.

Allow me to be blunt in my warnings, out of respect for your father… The manner of his recent passing – it has resulted in very little praise being spoken of him.

Most label him a coward for having been absent for as long as he was, and no man of standing dares to claim that he believes the rumours of Dominus' passing through to the Sixth—Ah, forgive me, I should not talk of the boundaries before you come of age."

"I know of what you speak, but if your traditions demand that I do not, then I will feign ignorance," Oliver said.

That made the professor go silent for a few long moments. "…There had been other rumours, of course. Of the Patrick heir. A boy in his fifteenth year, winning scars on a battlefield against the Yarmdon elite. Some even whisper that he knows of the Second Boundary."