A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Again, the two men beneath him shared a look, as if they could not tell whether they were being teased. They seemed hesitant to speak, for fear of offending.

"My name is Oliver Patrick," Oliver offered, when faced with their hesitation. "I have only arrived here but half an hour ago. I am unfamiliar with your ways. I ask again: why do you bow?"

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That seemed to nudge them. This time, the boy with the black hair spluttered a reply, as though more assured that it would be fine. Oliver did not miss the stiffening of the other's face as his friend spoke – clearly, he did not completely trust his judgement.

"We're yellows, ser. Of the serving class. You see our shirt?" The boy said.

"Of course he sees your shirt," his friend hissed in alarm. The other boy went red. Oliver did not have to wonder about the extremity of their reaction. He assumed – from first-hand experience – that they were likely familiar with those of a higher rank looking for any opportunity to get offended.

"Ah, I see," Oliver nodded, accepting it quite easily. He might have smirked, had he seen them bowing to him at a different time, given all the trouble the soldiers had caused in Solgrim, hefting their weight as members of the serving class, looking down on the peasantry. But having fought amongst them, Oliver held no grudges.

He took those instances for what they were, even if he did not approve of them. "I had thought that the Academy was for nobles only."

Again, the boys shared a look. They seemed to be rather good friends.

"With respect, ser… You say you've just transferred here today?" The blonde boy asked, raising his head a little. He seemed to be feeling more comfortable, as Oliver made a distinct effort to appear easy-going.

"That's right. As I've said, I have no idea what it is that I must be doing, nor even particularly what I am here for," Oliver said. He decided that the best course of action was to be honest. The two boys were showering him with respect regardless, he was confident enough in his abilities that he did not mind putting his weaknesses on display, regardless of what they might think.

Especially, if by doing so, it meant that he might correct those weaknesses. "By the way, you can stop bowing."

The boys straightened at that, and being able to look at him, they regarded him aknew. Oliver could feel their gazes, as they traced the scars that cut his cheeks. They seemed impressed by them, in the ways that boys unused to the true reality of battle are.

Despite them clearly being older than him, Oliver was struck by the distinct feeling of being the elder.

They caught sight of Lord Blackwell's pin on him.

"This should make your life easier," the letter penned by Lord Blackwell had said, when the pin was delivered. "It will let everyone know of your ties to the Blackwell family. Even the nobility should not take you lightly with it on your chest."

"Oliver Patrick…" The blonde boy from earlier repeated, likely unaware that he was doing so. "I bid that you take no offence, ser, when I say how uncommon it is to have someone transfer in halfway through the year. How old are you, might I ask?"

"I am fifteen," Oliver said plainly.

Again, a look of surprise. "That too is odd. That is Lord Blackwell's pin you wear, but will you forgive me for saying that I have never heard of you..? Even amongst the serving class, it is well known that a child should be sent to the Academy by his twelfth birthday. To do anything less would be to neglect him… Meaning no offence, of course."

"Complicated circumstances," Oliver said dismissively. "Being what they may, here I am, in this corridor, truly unaware of what it is that I am meant to be doing. Have you any guidance for me?"

"Well, ser, given the time of day, many of the other nobles will be finishing up the last of their classes," the taller blonde boy explained. His tone was less urgent than it had been before, but he still had not lost his wariness entirely – he continued to speak to Oliver with all the respect that he could muster.

"Classes, hm? Which classes?" Oliver asked.

"Well that would depend, ser," the boy said again, making an awkward wince. "Forgive me… Could it be that you have not arranged to be in any classes yet?"

"I do not think I have. At the very least, no one has told me anything of the sort," Oliver said, considering it. "So I may choose what classes I wish to attend, you say?"

"You may," the boy agreed, "though such things are usually decided in the presence of a professor."

"Take me to one," Oliver decided. "If you are not too busy. It seems to me that it would likely be appropriate to start whilst there is still light in the sky. There doesn't seem to be any particular reason for me to wait in my room."

"We could… If you insisted, ser," the blonde boy said, though from the awkwardness of his tone and the alarmed glance that he shared with his friend, they both seemed to think that it was a particularly bad idea.

"Though I do think it would likely be better for you to wait, and register for such a class, so the professors know to expect you… And well, many of them would be rather irritated to find their class interrupted halfway through."

"I'm sure it will be fine," Oliver said dismissively. "What class is nearest? Anything interesting?"

"There's alchemy, that way," the curly-haired boy from earlier finally spoke up, but the look that his friend shot at him seemed to make him wish that he hadn't. "Of course… that is if you're interested in that sort of thing."

"Alchemy?" Oliver said with a frown. "I know nothing of it."