[ for all his time holed up in the palace walls of washington, for all the books that timothy laughlin has read about war, treaties, battles, trade, politics - he's never experienced something quite like this. a land to the far east, a territory once under the purview of king smith and his court, rose up in rebellion, trying to claim farmland and distant oil repositories for their own use. it had started quietly - rumors of men sneaking across the border at night, codes whistled in open air with no source, notes left behind, marks in the sand.
overnight all hell broke lose - dozens of hundreds of men from either territory fighting mercilessly, and for what? a strip of land that tim, for all his trust and care of king smith, knows the king himself hasn't seen in years. they don't often travel to the borderlands, where the territorial rules blur and the lines turn various shades of gray. he remembers too well standing in the court council, looking over maps and making plans for deployment alongside the others when the news came.
a single man had brought all of the conflict to an end, and by some miracle, saved majority of the soldiers on both sides.
it's the very man that tim has walked in on now, and even from a distance when he'd watched the guards parade in the prisoner-turned-offering, he'd found himself struck by the man's stoicism, by the cut of his jaw, the striking blue of his eyes, and the hair dark as coal he's sure when washed free of the dirt and blood from battle.
a hero. tim heard the whispers and saw the gleam of admiration in the king's eye. the man brought here from the battlefield both as the spoils of a great conflict (before his intervention, nearly a thousand men perished), but also as an offering of peace. tim realizes a little too late that he's stood in the doorway overlong, peering in at the high, arching rooms fit for a prince. tim himself had worked tirelessly to be sure the arrangements were made for the most ornate fabrics and lush furniture he could offer.
this man will marry my daughter, the king had told him, after all. and it is tim's job to wait upon hand and foot of those with even fingerprint on the throne. ]
Hawkins Fuller, from the East?
[ he doesn't sound sheepish or shy, even if his posture seems almost apologetic in the way he interrupts. after all, the man had only just been brought to these rooms unceremoniously by the guards who seemed to have missed all the context required for handling of this guest.
tim steps into the room past the guards, finally, and smiles at them, giving them a nod that tumbles loose curls into his face. a gold clip, elegant as a tree's branch in fall, having slipped from his bustling and commotion. the curls cascade down his back, landing just at its middle where the sash nipping in the deep crimson of his robs falls loose behind him, trailing the pool of expensive fabric, rich and light, with the king's sigil just above the breast bone. his bare feet make soft taps on the tile as he shuts the main door behind himself and turns again to regard hawk, a hand subconsciously rising to adjust the thin, round, gold glasses atop his nose. they glint in the warm light of the room as he turns to survey the lodgings. ]
Don't think badly of them - they weren't told you are an honored guest and resident. I'll see to it you're not handled so poorly again - and I've called for your bathing pool to be heated for you, if you'd like? You must be tired? A hot bath is always refreshing to me after a long day, but. Well.
It's incredible what you've done - the King wishes to show his gratitude in any way that he may.
[ tim steps into the room, and from under one arm he pulls out a parchment wrapped flower - a vibrant violet dahlia. ]
It's customary here to offer a gift to a new resident of the household - mine is very simple, but I have no doubt you'll be inundated with gifts before too long. Oh. Sorry. I'm Counselor Timothy Laughlin - advisor to his majesty and his daughter the royal princess.
[ he gives a little bow in greeting, which makes the ornate hairpin fall loose altogether, the gold clattering to the floor between them. ]
➤ 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑦 𝑚𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟
overnight all hell broke lose - dozens of hundreds of men from either territory fighting mercilessly, and for what? a strip of land that tim, for all his trust and care of king smith, knows the king himself hasn't seen in years. they don't often travel to the borderlands, where the territorial rules blur and the lines turn various shades of gray. he remembers too well standing in the court council, looking over maps and making plans for deployment alongside the others when the news came.
a single man had brought all of the conflict to an end, and by some miracle, saved majority of the soldiers on both sides.
it's the very man that tim has walked in on now, and even from a distance when he'd watched the guards parade in the prisoner-turned-offering, he'd found himself struck by the man's stoicism, by the cut of his jaw, the striking blue of his eyes, and the hair dark as coal he's sure when washed free of the dirt and blood from battle.
a hero. tim heard the whispers and saw the gleam of admiration in the king's eye. the man brought here from the battlefield both as the spoils of a great conflict (before his intervention, nearly a thousand men perished), but also as an offering of peace. tim realizes a little too late that he's stood in the doorway overlong, peering in at the high, arching rooms fit for a prince. tim himself had worked tirelessly to be sure the arrangements were made for the most ornate fabrics and lush furniture he could offer.
this man will marry my daughter, the king had told him, after all. and it is tim's job to wait upon hand and foot of those with even fingerprint on the throne. ]
Hawkins Fuller, from the East?
[ he doesn't sound sheepish or shy, even if his posture seems almost apologetic in the way he interrupts. after all, the man had only just been brought to these rooms unceremoniously by the guards who seemed to have missed all the context required for handling of this guest.
tim steps into the room past the guards, finally, and smiles at them, giving them a nod that tumbles loose curls into his face. a gold clip, elegant as a tree's branch in fall, having slipped from his bustling and commotion. the curls cascade down his back, landing just at its middle where the sash nipping in the deep crimson of his robs falls loose behind him, trailing the pool of expensive fabric, rich and light, with the king's sigil just above the breast bone. his bare feet make soft taps on the tile as he shuts the main door behind himself and turns again to regard hawk, a hand subconsciously rising to adjust the thin, round, gold glasses atop his nose. they glint in the warm light of the room as he turns to survey the lodgings. ]
Don't think badly of them - they weren't told you are an honored guest and resident. I'll see to it you're not handled so poorly again - and I've called for your bathing pool to be heated for you, if you'd like? You must be tired? A hot bath is always refreshing to me after a long day, but. Well.
It's incredible what you've done - the King wishes to show his gratitude in any way that he may.
[ tim steps into the room, and from under one arm he pulls out a parchment wrapped flower - a vibrant violet dahlia. ]
It's customary here to offer a gift to a new resident of the household - mine is very simple, but I have no doubt you'll be inundated with gifts before too long. Oh. Sorry. I'm Counselor Timothy Laughlin - advisor to his majesty and his daughter the royal princess.
[ he gives a little bow in greeting, which makes the ornate hairpin fall loose altogether, the gold clattering to the floor between them. ]