Chapter 1980: Rapid Expansion - Part 4
His boots clipped a rhythm down the corridor, as Oliver went striding in the opposite direction to Verdant. He gave nods to the soldiers that honoured him with their salutes and then with a knock and a murmured response, he let himself inside Hod’s room, a short distance away.
Hod raised an eyebrow at him, seeing how animated Oliver was. "You stride in like a man determined. So, you have come to a decision? And I imagine it shall be a troublesome one."
"We take the High King prisoner," Oliver said.
"Indeed," Hod said, unflinching. "And was it not you who advised me that such a thing would be impossible. And wise advice after all it was. To expect that we might secure the High King in his own halls, during what will certainly be a pitched seize, and against such skilled opposition as Lord Blake – that’s optimistic. To expect to secure him alive is even more so. You yourself pointed out that he was a bitter enough man that he would rather secure himself than be captured."
"I disagree with my own statement on that," Oliver said. "I said it only out of hatred. The High King I know is too cowardly to turn a knife or poison on himself. His corruption began with his own avoidance of any sort of suffering. He is not likely to change now, when we put him in a position of the most significant danger."
"Was that Verdant I heard striding off, as if he were in a hurry to do something?" Hod said. "Off to inform the Emersons, I imagine? You are lucky in that man. Creatures of his intelligence and skill are rarely as loyal as he is to you. What you must have shown him over the years to earn such a level of respect, I can only imagine."
"I wonder if I could ask the same of you," Oliver said.
"That level of loyalty?" Hod scoffed. "You inspire, Your Majesty, and I delight in seeing how it is you confront this world that we exist in. But I am what I am. There is a reason that many before you have accused me of a coldness. Even now, earlier this evening, you accused me of the same."
"No," Oliver said. "I ask you not to be Verdant. The years have made him a close friend, as much as an advisor. I could not ask the same of you. But you have given me strong advise, and you have stuck close by me, and guided me to victories I thought to be beyond my reach. We call you Minister, Hod, though your Ministry ended before Tavar died, when you left the Academy. There, you served a symbolic role, as a symbolic Minister. I would ask that you undertake the true thing now. If you suppose that I ought to spend time as King, then I would ask for something similar for you in return. I would ask that you commit to being my Minister of Logic, that you form one of the Pillars that should see me from crumbling."
Hod’s expression was a thing to behold then. A man difficult enough to catch off guard that Oliver’s late-night visit did not even begin to phase nor surprise him. This, however, finally seemed to reach him. The straight forwardness of emotion that Oliver Patrick was at times prone to. The honest earnestness that most lost when they were simply children – to have no extraneous wants other than that which he asked. To present himself entirely as he was, and to put himself entirely at risk of the worst possible rejections.
Hod had to look away. Cold they might have accused him of being, but even that cold hearted Minister, for just a short few moments, found himself to be touched.
"You need not be so formal, Your Majesty," Hod said. "I was already that, for as long as you wished it."
"...Would you make it more formal still?" Oliver pleaded. "I am weaker than I once was. I find I reach for more things to rely upon than vagueness, given the state of lacking stability we do exist in."
Hod heaved a long sigh, and turned back down around, before slowly going to one knee. When he spoke his words, however, he was straight, and disciplined, and terrifyingly serious. "King Patrick, I do swear to serve you with all the tools that I have available to me, until the end of your days, or until the end of mine."
Now it was Oliver’s turn to be mildly embarrassed. "...Thank you."
"The incorrect response," Hod said, rising quickly to his feet. "But it will do. Very well, Your Majesty. Impossible problem you have chosen. To capture the High King, and make him our prisoner, until we have what we need to properly put him on trial. You are aware of the difficulty of that undertaken – it will be a battlefield matter. Can you still assure me on our success?"
Oliver was fierce as he gave his pronouncement and clenched his fist. "I will do whatever it takes to make it so, Minister Hod."
...
...
He walked the darkened corridors of that old Blackwell estate, where one could fancy they could see, or at the very least feel, the ghosts of the old departed Lords just a bit more strongly now that the last of their line had died.
Oliver supposed he could feel it – yet he still strode with purpose, the crown on his head perched at an angle, casually placed, barely sitting there. Fire in his heart, movement to him, the whirlwind of activity that he so loved. Different to how he remembered it. A certain distance. A different taste in the world, a different feeling in the air. Not the same grey grit that he once knew, with so many problems to solve, and the thrill of ticking through them one by one. A different thing, a more childish thing, easily distracted.
The occasional suit of armour that lined that corridor would distract his attention, and make his steps slow down by the smallest degree. He’d stare just a little bit too long, and wonder, foolishly, if he could see a pair of eyes behind the visor. If he might enlist those old hollow-shelled suits to fight on his behalf. Childish once again, but then childish was the answer. He supposed them to be willing, if they could. And he supposed there to be a hint of regret that they couldn’t.