A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

And so it was decided that Oliver would have a meeting with General Skullic. Apparently, Skullic was meant to take charge of him in more matters than just the military. Oliver was meant to be serving under that man's command on the recent missions that the High King had forced him to become involved with.

As such, it seemed, he was put into a soldier's position and treated like a soldier otherwise would be. It was not only on those missions that he was to serve General Skullic, but throughout all his days in the Academy.

Just how overbearing that would turn out to be, Oliver wasn't sure. Verdant had assured him that it was likely to be a mere formality, whilst they freed up the other Professor's schedules so that they could take half an hour or an hour a week to teach him in the subjects that he was studying.

Oliver himself wasn't so sure. Nor did he particularly mind. He'd said weeks ago – as he was grasping for a plan of what to do next – that he wanted to attract the attention of a General and have him teach him personally. Well, here he was now, on his way to the Central Castle, ready to do just that.

Of course, it hadn't occurred in nearly the way he'd expected. He'd thought that a great victory at the Games would have impressed the Academy Generals enough to give him tutelage, but now the Games seemed like a distant memory. It seemed unlikely that Oliver would be allowed to compete in them at all, now that he'd been excluded from the rest of the Academy students.

At least he was still allowed to eat in the dining hall, Oliver reasoned, and do all manner of everything else. It was only lessons that he was barred from. That wasn't so large a sacrifice.

As he left the dining hall that morning, he'd done so under the nervous eyes of his retainers. They didn't seem to trust that he wouldn't get attacked on the short walk back to his room and then the short walk after it back to the Central Castle. They seemed to be itching for something to do.

Verdant had needed to shoo them away, telling them that if they had that much time on their hands, they would be better served to spend it training, so that they could be of use to Oliver when the time came. They'd reluctantly agreed to that, but the three of them – Jorah included, despite how he'd fought on the night of the assassination – seemed to want something more consequential to do.

It was a feeling that Oliver could almost relate to. He still hadn't seen Asabel. Nor had he received a letter from her. After all that had happened at the trial, it seemed inevitable that he'd have to have a discussion with her, but what could he really say? It was the same problem of the previous evening, he didn't have anything of true worth to offer her.

Nothing to justify the sacrifice that she'd undergone in order to see that his trial ended justly.
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He pushed back through the doors of the Central Castle, taking the same way as he would if he was heading for the dining hall. The last of the yellow shirts were still busy eating, rushing madly to get it down to them.

Apparently last place, among the Serving Class was seen as the worst of the mealtime, especially at breakfast, because it seemed almost impossible to make it to their classes on time after it, and no teacher would express even the slightest bit of sympathy to a student that arrived late, even due to a last place meal.

He headed once more to the upper floors of the Central Castle, in the same way that he'd explored it trying to make his way to Command Class for the first time – something that was also seeming a good time ago, now that it seemed unlikely that he would ever participate in those classes again.

No one had told him where to meet General Skullic. Even the usually astute Verdant – who never seemed to overlook anything – had given Oliver the time, but not a location. Oliver himself had neglected to ask for the 'where' before it was too late, having just naturally assumed that it would be in the General's office.

Now here he was, betting it all on that conclusion. He allowed himself to retrace the steps that he'd taken those weeks before, as he eyed the doorways on the upper floors of the Central Castle, looking for one that was bigger and grander than the rest. He soon found it. Once more he reflected on just how easy it was to mistake that door for the Command Classroom, given their close proximity.

He knocked on the heavy wood of the door gently, two careful raps.

No reply.

He knocked again, more firmly this time. Three raps for good measure.

"In," was the only reply he received, and it was a muffled reply at that. It could have been half a sentence that he'd merely misinterpreted as permission, or it could have been the whole sentence. Whatever the case, no more words followed it that would have offered any further explanation.

Oliver tested his luck – which, if recent events were anything to go by, was anything but good – and grabbed the heavy iron ring handle anyway. He gave it a sharp twist, and put his shoulder into the door, heaving it open.

Skullic was there, behind his desk, still dressed in his full armour. He certainly seemed a comparatively young man when compared to Tevar and Blackwell – Oliver was reminded of that once more, when seeing him.

If his appearance wasn't sufficient to nail his age down, then the temper tantrum-addled state of his room likely did a good job. It was just as Oliver had seen it last time. Well, not quite.

The level of destruction was the same, perhaps even worse, but these were quite clearly different – and newer – pieces of furniture that had been broken, and now there was soot all over the ornate carpet as well.