A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

He heard a soft click as Lancelot gently closed the door behind them, and then moved in position to stand guard, with his hands set neatly behind his back. With him standing so imposingly, Oliver supposed that Verdant and Jorah would be hard-pressed to relax, no matter what the princess said.

He turned his attention to the woman in question, running out of excuses to face her. "Your Highness," he said stiffly, when he saw her waiting for him, right by the balcony's railing, looking down over the Academy's grounds.

"It's beautiful, is it not?" She said, gesturing to the sky, and to the grounds that swept out beneath them. One would not imagine that there could be so much green within the walls of so many castles fastened tightly together – but there was. Green dominated, as did the trees.

Here and there, you could catch a twinkle of blackness, as the tops of the many ponds reflected the light of any stars that made it past the clouds.

So much green, even with all the snow. The green of the fur trees, and then the perfect white of the ground beneath, complete with the dark sky, and the cold and refreshing breath of winter air. Indeed, it was beautiful. A natural beauty, the sort that Oliver could appreciate.

"It is," he agreed honestly.

"It is not what I expected, coming to the Academy," she said honestly. "The Academy is touted to be militaristic in function. When I saw the castles in the flesh, that confirmed it to me. And yet such beauty lies beyond the walls – and such possibility.

Remarkable, is it not, how the Academy changes year after year, how students are allowed the opportunity to build what they will – should they gather the required permissions – and trade as freely as they will? A better simulation for the outside world would be hard to imagine."

"Mostly," Oliver agreed. "Though it seems to me those ideals only reach up as far as the nobility. A yellow-shirted student would be hard-pressed to do any buying."

"Ah, that is true…" she agreed sadly. "But, it is not an impossibility. If they were to gather the gold themselves, they could move just as freely as a noble would."

"And no matter how hard they climbed, they would not be rid of that title," Oliver said.

She looked at him sadly. "For a noble, Oliver Patrick, you don't seem awfully fond of your own kind."

He turned away at that, and merely shrugged. "I'm not talking of individuals…"

"No, I see that," she said. "Your lack of prejudice shines through, even despite what is directed your way."

"Lack of it?" Oliver snorted, surprised by how freely the reaction came. "Not at all. I'm just as quick to judge as anyone else. It's probably hypocritical of me to voice a complaint. You were merely talking, and I chose to pounce on what you'd said."

"Do I frighten you?" Asabel asked, drawing closer, forcing him to look at her. "Because of my position?"

"You terrify me," Oliver said, fighting to be free of her gaze. "But not because of your position."

"Because of what I hold over you?" She prodded. "You would not speak of the poisoning in the presence of your retainers. Am I right in assuming that you're hiding it from them?"

Oliver sighed. If this were combat, he already had a sword to his chest. He was completely at her mercy. A lie would do him no good that he could see of. "Yes," he said simply.

"Why?" She asked, more hotly than she had likely expected to – the clear anger in her voice seemed to make her pause. "I mean… You were poisoned, Oliver Patrick. You'd already stepped through the gates of death."

Oliver tapped his finger on the railing. "And you brought me back?" He guessed. That was her position over him – she'd saved his life.

"No," she said firmly. "Not I. I am no miracle worker, Ser. Nor did I do anything for you, beyond human decency. No, your own will saw you through. But will is not meant to overcome poison.

Medicine would be a different game, if it could."

That surprised him. Given her position, he was sure that she would hold it over him, but she seemed to wash her hands of the matter entirely, and give the faculty over to him. But he knew that wasn't true. He knew it with a firmness. He was already dead, there, by himself. He'd reached the precipice, he'd been almost on the edge of surviving… but ultimately death had claimed him.

He saw death's golden streets.

He didn't want to admit it. He didn't want to give her the power that let her do what she wished with it. His shoulders were still tense with the dread of that weakness getting discovered. He hardly knew why he said what he did.

"No," he murmured quietly. "If not for you, I would be dead."

A silence hung in the air from his words, stretching several seconds. He felt Asabel studying him, as she looked at his face from the side. He couldn't face her.

"I see," she said simply, drumming her fingers on the railing. "You have much of your father in you, you know. He also had your strange sense of honour."

"You met him?" Oliver asked, glancing upwards.

"Uncle Arthur introduced me to him a few times," Asabel said, a fond smile at the memory. "He didn't say much, but I got the sense that he was reliable. Uncle Arthur seemed to think so."

"Mm," Oliver murmured. There it was again. That name of the dead man that he'd never get the chance to meet. Arthur Pendragon – Dominus' only true friend, and a hero across the Stormfront continent.

"Oliver. Even if you refuse to tell your retainers what happened, they will find out eventually," she said. "Do you know who might have done it? The poisoning, I mean. They could strike again."

"You make it sound as though that's your problem," Oliver said, his comment more biting than he'd expected it to be. "If something were to happen, then I expect I'll be able to take care of it."