[the title of war hero among an enemy was not an easy feat to win. hawkins fuller had never been striving for it, instead just trying to survive and protect as many of his own squadron of men and his fellow eastern countrymen in the heat of a battle he neither supported nor wished to endure. king smith had always been a fair ruler to them before the border skirmishes and the tentative rebellions that had split him away from their land, now spearheaded by a young and power-hungry man of good fortune and none of the politics that made for a sensible and sharp leader to maintain such a feat. not to say that hawk was a traitor against his unfortunate placement here among the people he'd grown up with - never, and he'd gone to war as expected of a highborn son with land and a title to defend, no matter what distance between his own father and the lack of inheritance due his way under current unexpected circumstances.
this hadn't been without heartache. he'd lost his only friend and confidant - a man he respected, maybe even grew to love along the way - kenneth ward. slaughtered at first brush with smith's army after he'd foolishly followed out of an obligation to his family name, restoring his honor, and to be near hawk himself. that's a guilt that will never wash away, not even after he'd saved the lives of his own men and the opposing army and single-handedly managed to bring an end to the bloodshed and battles. the ironic bit? a letter had arrived, signed from estelle fuller earlier this morning letting him know his father had passed before news broke of their victory, of hawk's achievement. it only made him laugh freely and without bitterness, because his father would find a way to die and never allow hawk the satisfaction of proving him wrong in passing judgment that hawk would never be the kind of man he'd respect or love.
well, now he's about to meet a princess. to take mentorship from the wise tutelage of a man he's always respected and wished to do well under the hand of in a glorious kingdom made that much stronger from their newly restored territory. even if his hands bore no chains and there are guards all but hauling him into the luxurious quarters of a man above his station, he doesn't feel much like a prisoner. only when they've marched away does he realize how bone tired he is now that the roar of battle cries and clatter of shields, the rush of swords swinging through the air and the vitality of life itself bursting beneath his skin has ceased. he's still filthy from his last action - covered in dirt and crusted blood, though little of it is his own. a bath - or even just a dip into one of the rivers would do him well before the feast and his meeting to a woman he has only heard of that is to become his betrothed.
so he's surprised to see someone else standing in his apparently chambers, fit practically for the king himself with a view worth a thousand words and lush materials that made the room at his former family home look closer to a pigsty. and even moreso to see that the rich, chestnut waves that rest near a trim waist belongs to a man rather than an elegant woman of the court. hawk finds himself momentarily struck by the beauty of him - delicate skin with a pale, olive undertone. dark charcoal smeared along the rims of his lashes, long and elegant hands that reach up to press his lenses closer so hawk can see honey in the reflection from the sunlight streaming through the open archway. one step inside, and hawk sees the flash of hard muscle from his legs - toned enough that he might have sooner fit well as a soldier.
his gaze lingers equally longer than it should, lips pulling into an amused and confident smile.]
You know my name.
[curious, when mere weeks ago his father seemed determined everyone might forget it.]
And you welcome me so freely as if you are a mere servant, when I can tell by the cut of your robe and that sigil you are far more intelligent to be here heating my baths.
[he tips his head, tone light and teasing.]
Though I can't say I'm not eternally grateful. I like the sound of that.
[hawk watches him pull out the flower, struck by what a humble and altogether sweet gesture it is, customary or otherwise. he steps in, aware he must utterly reek of sweat and blood and dirt, but finding himself drawn to this man all the same.]
Counselor Laughlin. A pleasure.
You brought me a gift - thanks for an achievement any man with a shred of honor would have done were he in my shoes.
[carefully he plucks it from tim's fingers, twirling it slightly and marveling at the vibrance of its color before his gaze drags back up to tim's eyes - somehow all the more bewitching this close. he's distracted from his reverie when he hears the ding of something heavy at their feet, glancing down and seeing the pretty hair piece still bouncing into place on the floor.]
Allow me.
[he bends to one knee, reaching to pick up the delicate trinket and lean back slightly, dipping down to meet tim's gaze.]
no subject
this hadn't been without heartache. he'd lost his only friend and confidant - a man he respected, maybe even grew to love along the way - kenneth ward. slaughtered at first brush with smith's army after he'd foolishly followed out of an obligation to his family name, restoring his honor, and to be near hawk himself. that's a guilt that will never wash away, not even after he'd saved the lives of his own men and the opposing army and single-handedly managed to bring an end to the bloodshed and battles. the ironic bit? a letter had arrived, signed from estelle fuller earlier this morning letting him know his father had passed before news broke of their victory, of hawk's achievement. it only made him laugh freely and without bitterness, because his father would find a way to die and never allow hawk the satisfaction of proving him wrong in passing judgment that hawk would never be the kind of man he'd respect or love.
well, now he's about to meet a princess. to take mentorship from the wise tutelage of a man he's always respected and wished to do well under the hand of in a glorious kingdom made that much stronger from their newly restored territory. even if his hands bore no chains and there are guards all but hauling him into the luxurious quarters of a man above his station, he doesn't feel much like a prisoner. only when they've marched away does he realize how bone tired he is now that the roar of battle cries and clatter of shields, the rush of swords swinging through the air and the vitality of life itself bursting beneath his skin has ceased. he's still filthy from his last action - covered in dirt and crusted blood, though little of it is his own. a bath - or even just a dip into one of the rivers would do him well before the feast and his meeting to a woman he has only heard of that is to become his betrothed.
so he's surprised to see someone else standing in his apparently chambers, fit practically for the king himself with a view worth a thousand words and lush materials that made the room at his former family home look closer to a pigsty. and even moreso to see that the rich, chestnut waves that rest near a trim waist belongs to a man rather than an elegant woman of the court. hawk finds himself momentarily struck by the beauty of him - delicate skin with a pale, olive undertone. dark charcoal smeared along the rims of his lashes, long and elegant hands that reach up to press his lenses closer so hawk can see honey in the reflection from the sunlight streaming through the open archway. one step inside, and hawk sees the flash of hard muscle from his legs - toned enough that he might have sooner fit well as a soldier.
his gaze lingers equally longer than it should, lips pulling into an amused and confident smile.]
You know my name.
[curious, when mere weeks ago his father seemed determined everyone might forget it.]
And you welcome me so freely as if you are a mere servant, when I can tell by the cut of your robe and that sigil you are far more intelligent to be here heating my baths.
[he tips his head, tone light and teasing.]
Though I can't say I'm not eternally grateful. I like the sound of that.
[hawk watches him pull out the flower, struck by what a humble and altogether sweet gesture it is, customary or otherwise. he steps in, aware he must utterly reek of sweat and blood and dirt, but finding himself drawn to this man all the same.]
Counselor Laughlin. A pleasure.
You brought me a gift - thanks for an achievement any man with a shred of honor would have done were he in my shoes.
[carefully he plucks it from tim's fingers, twirling it slightly and marveling at the vibrance of its color before his gaze drags back up to tim's eyes - somehow all the more bewitching this close. he's distracted from his reverie when he hears the ding of something heavy at their feet, glancing down and seeing the pretty hair piece still bouncing into place on the floor.]
Allow me.
[he bends to one knee, reaching to pick up the delicate trinket and lean back slightly, dipping down to meet tim's gaze.]
May I?
[put it back where it belongs.]