1500: The Weight of War – Part 3 1500: The Weight of War – Part 3 Queen Asabel had to hide her face away from him as he spoke.
He got the sense that she was embarrassed from the praise, and it made him smile.
For how hard that she had worked, she deserved more of it.
“Honestly, it has been a joy to watch,” Oliver said.
“I have worried about you, I must admit.
I worried that you would not get the ti to find rest during it all.
For you have been strong for the longest ti, and I had wondered whether there would be anywhere that you could find your respite.
But today again, I was reminded of who you were, Asabel.
I never had the fortune of eting Arthur, but seeing you, when you have fire in you, I imagine he must have looked quite similar.” “Stop,” Asabel told him, making Oliver’s smile grow all the wider.
It was a fun sort of ga, to embarrass soone with praise.
It only made him want to continue all the more.
“And all the while you have juggled the politics with the other Silver Kings that look down on you.
Your own family has been the cause of much tension, it would seem.
The High King too – you managed to keep him pacified, and away from your business, in ways that the rest of us have failed.
Your diplomacy has to be comnded, but the respect you have won during it all, that’s surely the highest achievent—” “Stop,” Asabel said, her voice strangely fragile.
“Asabel,” Oliver said, grinning, ducking his head so he could catch a look at her embarrassed face.
His smile faded as quickly as he caught sight of it.
It was only then that he realized that she was crying.
Tears flowed like great rivers down her cheeks, and caught on the wide gold and white sleeves of her dress, as she desperately tried to push them away.
“Don’t look,” Asabel said, hiding away from him again.
“You can’t.
And stop talking, not another word, I won’t hear it.” Oliver bit his lip.
He felt as if he’d been exposed to the rawness of her heart for the first ti.
Even if he had wished not to, Claudia saw far more than he did.
It was enough to bring tears rising up into his own eyes.
He bit his lip, for he saw her struggle.
He saw the wounds that had collected up, through her ti alone, and all the ti she’d spent fighting before that.
The scars – marks on her own back, in the sa way he bore the physical scars of the whip.
He reached out a hand despite himself, and put it atop her head.
He knew he ought not to.
One could not act more undignified with a Queen.
And he wished to be careful.
His loyalty to Nila would allow him to do no other such thing.
But he knew as well, if Nila had seen what he had seen, she would have scolded him for not acting.
There was no creature worthy of being called living, that bore witness to such a struggle, such a sadness, and bore no reaction.
“Asabel,” he said gently, and sincerely.
“You have done well.
Terribly well.
You have shown the world great strength, and you will show it even more.” “You can’t… tell that,” she wept, pulling away from him, trying to knock away his hand.
“You have no a-authority.” “You can’t respect in one instant, and then turn my words away when it is convenient,” Oliver said, fighting to keep his hand on his head.
He had to fight to keep the tears from streaming down his own cheeks.
Seeing a woman like Asabel in such a raw state could not fail to make a man cry.
“Asabel, truly, you have done well.
You need not wear the crown all the ti.
Rest your neck.” “How can I rest my neck,” she sniffed, “when your hand is weighing my head down?” She said so begrudgingly, but this ti she didn’t fight the hand away, as if admitting that it could not defeat the overwhelming strength that lay behind it.
“This is soo undignified,” she complained, trying to wipe away the tears, only for more to take her place.
Her nose began to run along with it, and her shoulders kept rising and falling with each rack.
The more she realized that she was embarrassing herself, the more the tears ca.
When she looked up, and saw such a tender look on Oliver Patrick’s face, of all people, it made it even worse.
To her, it wasn’t fair.
For him to be the way he was, always prodding, always mildly aggressive and overwhelming – he shouldn’t be allowed to be tender as well.
He patted her head gently.
“There, there, Asabel,” he said, with the most modest amount of teasing.
“Shut up,” Asabel fud, through her tears.
“I hate you terribly, Oliver Patrick.
You’re so cruel.” “Yes, yes,” Oliver said.
“Then you are one of many.” “How can you dare to show kindness, when we both know we could never be closer?” Asabel said.
She sniffed continually as she said it, but through a mighty glare, she managed to control her tears long enough to get it said.
“You have Nila.
She would not wish for you to be so close to another woman.” Oliver gave a troubled smile.
“You deserve far more than the likes of .
There will ever be a line between us, Asabel, for you know I shall never wound Nila.
But sotis, I have the feeling, is a restriction not better?
Is there not safety in it?
When we can say what we wish, and never have the threat of it leading to more between us?” “It’s not fair,” Asabel complained.
“I don’t want it.
It hurts too much.” “I do not wish to add to your scars, but it seems I might have to,” Oliver said.
“I cannot leave you alone, not when you are suffering so terribly.
How can I turn a blind eye to you, when I catch a glimpse of your heart, and see the struggle you have endured for your strength?
It is muddy, and it is unusual, but I shall not allow you to go lonely, Asabel.
When you need a friend to talk to, and when your neck grows weary of the crown, I shall be there to listen.”
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