A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

His booted legs tangled behind themselves, and his back was bent fully backwards, with his half-empty plate in one hand, on a sure track to spilling itself.

"Careful," Oliver said quietly, catching him with a single arm at his back, whilst reminding him of his tipping plate with a nod of his head.

Now that he'd found himself steadying the youth, Oliver was once again reminded just how big he was. And not just big, the boy had thickness to him as well, with broad shoulders, and enough weight to make use of his frame. There was even the beginnings of stubble on his chin. A heavy boy.

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The boy's first instinct was not anger, but alarm, for he knew that it was the table of nobility behind his. If he was going to be clashing with anyone, it would be them. Then he righted himself enough that he could see Oliver's blue jacket, marking him as a noble, and then his eyes darted to Blackwell's pin at his chest, marking him as one to be treated with a Lordling's level of respect.Nôv(el)B\\jnn

Oliver might have sworn he could see the man's soul leave his body. He almost laughed – almost. For here he was, a mere peasant, dressed in the attire of a noble, and the boy had worked himself up so frantically at the mere prospect of accidentally barging into him.

"S-s-ser..." the boy stammered. He was at least two years Oliver's elder, Oliver was sure of it, and he towered over him with that age – it seemed like everyone was towering over Oliver lately – and so to see him showing such an urgent level of respect, despite Oliver having done nothing to earn it off him, it was a remarkable thing indeed.

"It's fine," Oliver said with a wave of dismissal. He moved to walk away. But apparently, that was the wrong thing to do. The boy seemed to confuse him for a vindictive noble, for he called out to him.

"S-ser! Please wait! I'm really sorry… I'll make it up to you, just please don't—" the boy began, well and truly petrified.

Oliver frowned, wondering how he might assure that man that it truly hadn't bothered him, when he caught sight of Kaya and Jorah spooning food into their mouth a little ways down the table. Jorah was doing his best to look like he wasn't involved, but Kaya was looking towards Oliver with obvious recognition.

Oliver smiled back at him. He had to shout a little to be heard, given that the boy was seated a handful of seats away from where they were.

"Kaya!" Oliver said. "How do I convince him that I'm not going to do anything?"

First, Kaya seemed started that Oliver had remembered his name – even though he had only given it to Oliver a mere handful of hours before – and then he was on his feet, snapping to attention, as though a drill sergeant had called him, and then in the next instant, he was confused, and looking across the table to Jorah for guidance.

Jorah, for his part, let out a long sigh. He finished his mouthful, and, taking his plate with him, he marched around the table, and grabbed Kaya's arm with him as he passed, pulling him towards Oliver.

"When a noble addresses you, you make yourself available to them. Don't stand there like an idiot. You're going to get hammered down one day, when you irritate the wrong one," Jorah said in exasperation, but despite his tone, it was evident that he cared for that friend of his.

"My apologies, Ser Patrick," Jorah said with a light bow of his head. "Please forgive my friend's ignorance of proper etiquette."

"Only if you'll forgive my own ignorance," Oliver said. "It seems that I'm bothering the two of you yet again. I'm trying to convince this fellow here that I don't intend to do anything ill against him, apparently I must have said something wrong…"

"Karesh…" Jorah said, shaking his head.

"Hm?" It was only with that motion from Jorah that made Oliver catch on. Big man that he was – far taller than Kaya – he had those distinctive black curls swinging long on his head, and that same excitable energy, with the same flushed cheeks, and faintly sheened forehead from sweat. "Oh, are you two brothers?" He asked, pointing to him and Kaya.

The two recoiled at that, displaying far more emotion at that comment than they should have in the presence of nobility, causing Jorah to grimace yet again.

"Second-Cousins," Kaya said firmly. "Not even full cousins."

"Ser," Jorah corrected.

"Not even full cousins, ser," Kaya said with a meek blush at his mistake.

"Karesh, you can calm yourself. I expect if you stay any longer, you really will be irritating him. I saw what happened. If anything, you should be thanking Ser Patrick for catching you before you fell over and made a fool of yourself. Don't bother him with your apologies when he's already made it clear that they aren't needed," Jorah said stiffly.

"Oh… Er… That's right. Thank you," Karesh said, with an awkward dip of his head. He still seemed nervous enough to shiver.

"Karesh, is it?" Oliver noted, adding the name to his memory. He had not forgotten that lesson that Dominus had taught him all that time ago – of the importance of making connections. Now, with Volguard's warning, that lesson of Dominus' seemed even more pertinent. With the rest of the nobility against him, he wondered just what the serving folk were like. "You're a big fellow.

You'd make a good shieldbreaker, if you were planning on joining the army."

And that wasn't untrue. He was certainly big. Not quite as big as Judas, but then, he likely hadn't finished growing yet.

That comment, when all others had failed, seemed to finally breathe the ice with Karesh. He drew himself up proudly at being praised about his height. Despite being older than Kaya, it seemed they both shared the same likeable simplicity. But then he seemed to realize something. "…Shieldbreaker? The Garsh don't use shields, do they, ser?"