Asabel nodded encouragingly. "That is indeed true. However, the ones in the Grand Forest are somewhat unique. Due to our own infractions upon them, they're considerably more active than their outer world kin, and they require more time to feast because of that."
"If they're hibernating, and they're feasting once a year, the only thing they could possibly be parasitic of would be plants, wouldn't it?" Oliver asked, frowning. It seemed too easy to be the answer.
"Bingo!" Asabel declared, shooting him a thumbs up. "The literature I read was specifically about trees – they saw a rather old specimen that had integrated itself with part of the root system of a tree. But as you concluded, I think that it's likely they're parasitic towards all plants, not just trees."
"So, he's wrong then?" Lancelot asked. "He didn't say trees."
"Well, the answer would be trees," Asabel agreed. "But Oliver did even better than what the book said, so I'd give him an A+. Mary, prepare a casket tea of Oliver's choice for him when he goes, will you?"
"As you wish, Your Highness," Mary said.
"Well, tell me what you think, Oliver," she said, gesturing towards the teacup, and taking a sip of her own. Her face melted into a contented expression. "It's wonderful. I can't believe you don't like it, Lancelot."
"The very smell makes me feel repulsed," Lancelot said.
Oliver took a sip, and his eyebrows shot up. He wished he could have hated it. After all, it was rather sweet… but he just couldn't. "It's good," he admitted reluctantly. Whatever façade of masculinity he was meant to be presenting with his choice in tea, he'd ultimately failed. He saw Verdant smile, as he took a sip of his own black tea.
"See!" Asabel declared. "I'm not the only one!" She dropped her tone a hint, conspiratorially. "How good?"
Oliver hesitated. "…Really good."
She nodded sagely. "Well, Oliver Patrick, I think you and I are going to get along just fine."
"Your father wouldn't like that comment," Lancelot noted. "To think that you're choosing who you like and dislike based on their tea."
"My father is no doubt far wiser than I," Asabel declared in a relaxed voice that gave no hint that she was about to change her mind. "So, Oliver. What was it like, to fight one of these Boulder Crabs? It must have been terribly frightening, no?"
'No as frightening as this,' Oliver thought to himself, though he didn't say it out loud. "It was quicker than I expected. And its movements weren't exactly crab-like. I was also surprised by how sharp its claws were. Sharper than a blade, even."
"That seems unlikely," Lancelot noted. "What about its hide? I've heard it said that they're impenetrable. How did you manage to slay the beast, when its hide cannot be pierced?"
Oliver smiled to himself. "I doubt you would believe me if I told you."
Lancelot narrowed his eyes. "Perhaps I would, if you would tell me something that sounds believable."
"You would have me lie, simply so it's more palatable to you?" Oliver asked.
"Lie? No. I'd have you tell the truth from the off, rather than take us all on this ridiculous ramble," Lancelot said.
"You don't believe that," Oliver noted. "You aren't defending that point with any real conviction. You're well aware that Verdant wouldn't bring up the Minister for the sake of some frivolous story."
Lancelot twisted his mouth. "Hm. Perhaps you're right. Perhaps it's simply you, Oliver Patrick, that I don't believe in. I don't believe in what they say about you – about your strength."
"You should," Oliver said, reclining in his chair. "And if you are wise, you'll add to it in your head, and tread with the utmost caution."
"Is that a threat? In a room full of knights? Do you think yourself my better?" Lancelot asked. "Are you deluded enough to think that you, a mere pup, could come even close to the level of skill necessary to be the knight of a royal?"
Asabel watched quietly as the two of them argued. She had opened her mouth more than once in an attempt to intercede, but she couldn't find her place. Oliver, for his part, seized the argument like a dog seized the scent of prey. It was an escape from the unbearable tension. He didn't like that things were up in the air. He wanted to see what side they landed on.
Both Lancelot and this woman before him… They knew things about him that would wound him if aired. What were their intentions?
As Lancelot argued, his hand instinctively went to his sword, and he let a trace of his aura flash, as he glared his menace towards Oliver. Ingolsol lapped up the hostility with eagerness, urging a fight, whilst Claudia counselled caution.
"Oh, so that's what you are, Lancelot," Oliver said, as realization suddenly dawned on him. "I'd thought there was something off about you."
"What are you implying?" Lancelot asked, cautiously.
Oliver shrugged. "Whatever you think you have, the man you mock as priestly has achieved the same," he said. Lancelot's eyes flickered towards Verdant, narrowed. He looked for something, trying to get at what Oliver was implying… And then his eyes widened, and he sheathed his sword.
"…So that's why you chose priesthood," Lancelot murmured to himself. "So that's why you lived."
"That reason, amongst a few others," Verdant said. He'd been able to keep up with their conversation, despite the euphemisms that riddled it. Lancelot, Oliver had been able to confirm, was of the Second Boundary. No doubt he was confident in his ability, given the youth at which he achieved such a feat – he was only eighteen, after all.
"I'm going to go ahead and say that I have no idea what it is you three are talking about," Asabel declared. "You're not about to start fighting, are you? Is this what boys do?" Of everyone, she directed that question towards Verdant.
The priest accepted the question with a gentle smile. "I do hope you will forgive me for saying this, my Lord," he said, asking permission. Oliver just shrugged. "But for all my Lord's talents, I fear that his lack of fear might be his greatest weakness. When provoked, I have not seen him show the slightest glimpse of hesitation."