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 movent seed to state that his attention was more than enough.
As Oliver strode his way down the main walkway, his closer advisors ca in after him, and joined the crowd. Minister Hod, Jorah and Nila amongst them.
Oliver arrived at the bottom of King Erson’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 seed to refuse the want to buckle.
He did not speak. Once more, Verdant had warned him not to. It was King Erson’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 outco that Oliver could foresee, and that was the pledging of the Erson’s to Queen Asabel’s cause.
"Welco, King Patrick," King Erson said.
Verdant nodded quietly to himself. There had been question as to whether King Erson would acknowledge Oliver as a King. He did so, though he seed to pause upon the title, making it more uncertain than it otherwise would have been. A political sort of compromise. Sothing that the gathered Erson nobles would not fail to take note of.
"I thank you for your ti, King Erson," 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 ans 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 Erson said. "How did the road treat you?"
"Well enough," Oliver said mildly, knowing very well, just as Verdant had said, that King Erson 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 Erson. Has the weather been treating you well?"
He said it with a smile, sothing of a cutting remark. Anything to stir the old man out of his ga of etiquette as quickly as he could.
The King did not rise to the bait. "The sea air agrees with ," 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 nightti waves, what sort of future did you see?"
"Warr water than it ought to have been for this ti of year," Oliver said. "Jelly fish on the shores too. Venomous little creatures, sitting still, waiting for you to step on them."
King Erson nodded. "One can never be too careful. The sea is dark, deep, and vast – and the nightti sea, that’s full enough of predators that no local would dare to swim in it."
"Ah, I wish you had warned 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 Erson throne room seed 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 re 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 taphor. 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 Erson said, almost disappointed. "A sha, 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 rembered the cause that she fought for."
The King remained silent. A degree of acknowledgent 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 Erson King allowed the new King Patrick to say his piece.
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