It was a peculiar threat. One would not have thought that it could make the air so frigid with cold. It was a mournful recognition of what anger was likely to do to a man, but it was also a firm declaration that he would not turn away from it.
Verdant saw in it a depth that he had not expected. Gazing at Oliver, at tis, he felt as though he was looking in the God's Eye – a place that he often saw in his dreams. A lake as broad as the horizon, infinitely dark, always present at night.
Even when he would swim in its depths, the surface would never ripple, it would rely continue to reflect the stars and planets of the night sky as clearly as a mirror.
From Oliver, he found the strangest sense of that place. The divine, the mystical, the odd – that which shouldn't have existed in their world. He'd wondered, at tis, if that was why the fog of civilization still rejected him. But then dawn ca, and reason ca with it, and he would realize once more that it was simply the petty politics of a ti long past.
"You're the strangest sort, Oliver Patrick," Asabel said eventually, a quiet smile. "I suppose I should take your warning to heart. For your sake, as well as mine – and likely for the sake of this whole country, with that danger sparkling in your eyes – I will ensure that I do not fall prey to the sa daggers that were sent your way.
I have received a royal petition for a eting with His Majesty tomorrow – I doubt very much that I should be anything but safe."
"Your warning goes unneeded," Lancelot assured Oliver, for the first ti speaking to him without that noble distance between them. "If there ever ca a day when I failed to do my duty, such that my Lady ca to harm, I would join you in wreaking havoc. I would burn all that my enemies owned to ash, even if it be my own soul in the end."
"Please," Asabel said, "less talk of morbidness. Indeed, we face a mighty foe, but it is not only violence that can bring victory. I do believe that despite our differences, I might be able to reach the High King himself. He has never been unkind to before now. I shall travel with the hopes that tomorrow he shall be just as warm and welcoming."
"Tomorrow…" Oliver said, rembering back to his own mission that was coming up.
"The way of the Gods, my Lord," Verdant said, "they do seem to attach a certain importance to different dates."
"Oh? Whatever do you an, Verdant?" Asabel asked.
"Tomorrow Oliver will travel forth as well, in service of the High King," Verdant said.
"In service of the High King..?" Asabel repeated, her eyebrows raised.
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"Indeed. Oliver has dedicated himself to the role of the High King's servants. He wishes for all to know that he carries out these missions in the High King's na. He restores peace in the High King's na," Verdant said.
"I feel we've said far too much that is treasonous for you to start covering it up now with an act," Lancelot said, his exhaustion giving way to a frown on his handso brow.
Asabel giggled. "Well, you have certainly made my job easier. I suppose feigning ignorance is an act that we can make good use of whilst we are still young enough to have people believe it."
"Indeed," Verdant agreed. "Cling onto all the shields that youth has to offer you. We had only need rely survive, I think and the scales will begin to shift."
"Another one of your visions, priest?" Lancelot asked.
"Visions and my father's cunning. You can choose which one you'd rather put your weight in. But my father believes that you can succeed, Princess. If he thinks so, then I would say your chances are better than slim. My father is not a gambling man," Verdant said. "Hold strong."
Asabel's lip twitched at Verdant's last two words. For the sincerity that they contained, it seed obvious that the priest could see through her, towards the dam of sadness building up inside of her as she struggled with all that she had lost and all the problems that she no doubt had to deal with as a result.
She kept her composure, though and simply quietly nodded her thanks, unable to speak. Lancelot glanced at her, realizing that she had gone quiet.
"Is that all, my Lady?" He asked. "If so, it might be better if we let them go."
"Just… one last thing," Asabel said, coughing into her hand to harden her voice again. "You still have not told what you think, Ser Patrick – of this agreent of ours. Yes, you've threatened to cause all sorts of mayhem and whilst endearing, I find myself to be in need of more certainty. Will you be friends of the new Pendragons? Or will you acknowledge my offer of an alliance?"
"Friends, Princess," Oliver told her firmly.
"Then I shall count myself lucky nonetheless," she said, standing up. "Would you mind shaking my hand to confirm it? A rchant tradition, but I find myself… in need of such reassurances."
Oliver smiled, as a fleeting mory of a little girl playing at rchantisms flitted through his mind. He stood up nonetheless and took her hand. It was smaller than he had expected, and soft. His hand looked as though it hadn't been washed in weeks in comparison, with his calluses and his scars, he couldn't help but feel as though he was sullying the woman.
Her fingers had a tremble that she struggled to hide. That sa swimming sadness that hung in her. Amongst it all, though, there was a fierce light that even Claudia would have been proud of. She was determined. From his hand, he could feel her strength, just as strongly as he could feel her weaknesses. Her spirit quenched an aching in his own heart that he hadn't even realized was building.
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