A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"Tevar is coming," Verdant warned him. Only with that warning did he finally stop.

His arms were tired. His whole body, really, was tired. The lack of sleep had drained him. But despite that fatigue, he still felt that he could have gone on for longer. It was nothing compared to the intensity of a long battle. It had been a calm bit of meditation in comparison.

The medical professor had arrived before Tevar had, bearing Oliver's clothes.

"I don't suppose he has to wait for an announcement before he gets his clothes back, does he?" The man called out to Tevar as the General strode over. "Dawn has already come, after all."

Tevar gave a nod, and made a motion with his hand, indicating that it was fine. The professor tossed them into Oliver's arms as soon as he was given approval. The professor grabbed Oliver's shoulder after unburdening himself, feeling his body temperature.

He grunted. "Eyes," he said, then reached up to firmly grab Oliver's eyelid, and pull it back. He grunted again, and then felt his pulse on his wrist.

"Well?" Tevar asked, as he approached.

"Remarkable," the professor said, though when he said it, the word sounded almost like a bad thing. He seemed almost disgusted that they'd been worried.

"The Third Trial is complete, then. For the first time in a decade, we've had a student make it through, Oliver Patrick. Though, I have to say, you look considerably better than the last one that made it through," Tevar said. His strict voice seemed softened somewhat as he offered those congratulations.

"You're just pleased that you don't have a dead man on your hands," the professor said bluntly. Oliver expected he was likely the only one in the whole Academy who could speak to the General so bluntly. "Had he been of a weaker sort, you'd have made an enemy of Blackwell."

Tevar grimaced as being seen through so plainly, but he begrudgingly admitted it. "A dead student is always a problem," he said. "Well, that is all, boy. You've been delivered your punishment, and you've endured it. Go back to your room, rest, and get yourself warm. And I'd ask that you keep your head out of trouble in future.

Dismissed."

Oliver saluted. The General looked at him oddly as he strode away, but Oliver just shrugged. The medical professor trailed after Tevar, apparently content that he'd done his job. The other students that walked into the dining hall with them whispered as they went.

"Not going to put your jacket back on?" Verdant asked. Oliver looked down at his clothes and wrinkled his nose, shaking his head.

"No, my trousers are far too wet for that."

…

…

Within the hour, Oliver had dressed himself back in his room, handing the wet clothes off to a serving woman to be cleaned, and then redressing himself in his uniform. Gods, it felt good to be dry again.

Verdant had seemed surprised when Oliver asked how long they had before the lectures. Oliver wasn't sure quite what was so surprising. Of course, he was still going to attend, despite missing the night of sleep. He had the perfect opportunity to add to an illusion of himself. It would not be particularly hard to push himself for another mere 9 hours.

The priest hadn't said anything, but something behind his eyes had glowed with approval. He'd insisted on fetching him breakfast on his behalf, so that he wouldn't need to rush himself ragged. Oliver, of course, had been only too glad to agree, though, he'd ended up doing so hesitantly.

How exactly was he meant to treat Verdant? Why exactly was the man so keen on assisting him? He'd spoken of Greatness, as though that explained away everything, and in the moment, it had seemed enough… but now with the lengths he was going to in order to be of assistance, Oliver almost felt bad relying on him. After all, he wasn't the only one who'd stayed up the whole night.

Verdant had stood watch in the cold as well, without uttering a word of complaint.

Oliver wondered briefly if the man had any relation to Lombard, with the stoney way he managed to keep his feelings hidden behind a calm face. Oliver pretended to be calm, he wore the act as a useful illusion, but Verdant actually was that thing. He seemed as immovable as a boulder, though with a much higher level of eccentricness.

Considering the man made Oliver sigh again. There was much he needed to do. Far too much. The previous night had been a good opportunity to think it all through, but he didn't feel any clearer on the exact path that he needed to take.

The Games… Amassing a force… Getting the attention of a General so that they would teach him. He needed an instructor for the sword as well. He'd been banned from swordsmanship lessons, so that was a no-go. At the very least, he needed someone stronger than himself to spar with.

He opened up the door to his room, puzzling through a plan of actions, munching on a small stick of bread that Verdant had got him. Distracted as he was, the woman outside of his door very nearly became a wall, as he just barely managed to avoid crashing into her.

He had to twist violently to get out of her way, but saving his bread was the harder feat. It fell from his mouth where he'd left it dangling, and he had to snatch it from the air in a moment of panic as it fell down past his knee, speeding towards the floor.

"Ah, thank the Gods," he muttered to himself as he caught it. He'd still likely have eaten it even if it had hit the floor, but still.

He straightened up, to see who the woman was that had been so close to blocking his doorway. There he saw a face that he'd much rather not have seen, especially sleep deprived as he was. He bit back a harsh line, and merely opted for a strained smile.