CHAPTER 1956: WHITE HEART - PART 5

His expression was inscrutable. It was difficult to glean any sort of degree of emotion from it. He kept himself regal, and firm. He invited Oliver forward, but would give him no more quarter than that. He gave him his attention. The King’s lack of movement seemed to state that his attention was more than enough.

As Oliver strode his way down the main walkway, his closer advisors came in after him, and joined the crowd. Minister Hod, Jorah and Nila amongst them.

Oliver arrived at the bottom of King Emerson’s steps, and gave him a nod. He had been warned not to kneel. He found that to be an easier warning to listen to than he had expected. His legs seemed to refuse the want to buckle.

He did not speak. Once more, Verdant had warned him not to. It was King Emerson’s duty to greet him. Instead, Oliver simply stared at the man, straight in the eyes, with the utmost in expectancy. An arrogance that Ingolsol easily lent him.

An arrogance not for the fact of his own new station, but for what he saw to be the most obvious of conclusions. A farce of an event, it was to be wrapped up in ceremony. There was only one outcome that Oliver could foresee, and that was the pledging of the Emerson’s to Queen Asabel’s cause.

"Welcome, King Patrick," King Emerson said.

Verdant nodded quietly to himself. There had been question as to whether King Emerson would acknowledge Oliver as a King. He did so, though he seemed to pause upon the title, making it more uncertain than it otherwise would have been. A political sort of compromise. Something that the gathered Emerson nobles would not fail to take note of.

"I thank you for your time, King Emerson," Oliver said. He could not do regalness well, so he did not try. Verdant had made an attempt to teach him, and then he had shaken his head with a smile. "I attempt to change the course of a river that is already set, it would seem. You will find in your own way what it means to act like a King, I do believe, your Majesty."

That too, the nobles would take note of. They eyed the new King for any sort of weakness. His own claim to his new throne was dependent on his apparent confidence in it. If he doubted himself where it was he stood, then who would yield to him?

They looked upon a young General that had snatched a crown for himself, and they wondered at the sort of creature that could make an entire army proclaim him as that new title. Opinions were already had, and suppositions were made, but none spoke them too loudly, for fear of it. Doubts as to his magnitude, but none yet sure enough to act on those doubts, to secure advantage for themselves.

"You have made quite a journey to these lands of mine," King Emerson said. "How did the road treat you?"

"Well enough," Oliver said mildly, knowing very well, just as Verdant had said, that King Emerson was likely to dance around the issue. It was Oliver that had arrived with a request, and Oliver that would have to bring it up to him. The King was not likely to make it easy. "You look well, King Emerson. Has the weather been treating you well?"

He said it with a smile, something of a cutting remark. Anything to stir the old man out of his game of etiquette as quickly as he could.

The King did not rise to the bait. "The sea air agrees with me," he said. "I am told that you paid visit to one of our beaches the other evening with your retinue. How did you find it? They say that a man can see his future in the nighttime waves, what sort of future did you see?"

"Warmer water than it ought to have been for this time of year," Oliver said. "Jelly fish on the shores too. Venomous little creatures, sitting still, waiting for you to step on them."

King Emerson nodded. "One can never be too careful. The sea is dark, deep, and vast – and the nighttime sea, that’s full enough of predators that no local would dare to swim in it."

"Ah, I wish you had warned me before I did," Oliver replied.

The King smiled lightly. "And what of the future you saw in those waves?" He asked.

Oliver inclined his head. It was strange talking in a room full of so many people. There were stairs all around them, designed as seats, so that all could see, even from the furthest back. The Emerson throne room seemed more like a stage than the ones that Oliver was used to. It was almost helpful that it was designed like that, for it didn’t allow Oliver to forget what it was he took part in – a mere performance. A strange little war of words, where he would ever be inferior to the well-spoken likes of a King. He thought he understood just a little better now, why it was the nobles were so inclined towards metaphor. A way of prodding a man towards a question, without directly asking him it.

"I didn’t see the future," Oliver said bluntly. "Your people must have been mistaken."

"Ah?" King Emerson said, almost disappointed. "A shame, then. The peasantry are often fond of their superstitions."

"But I did see, rather clearly, the past," Oliver said quickly. "I saw the brutality that Tiberius caused us. I saw the Queen Pendragon as she was, before his sword had reached her – and I remembered the cause that she fought for."

The King remained silent. A degree of acknowledgement in that. A clumsy dancer Oliver might have been, but he’d danced well enough to bring up the issue, without it being jarring. The Emerson King allowed the new King Patrick to say his piece.