forum King and Consul // OxO with Knightinadream

Started March 09, 2022 by @ElderGod-Icefire

tune

(I've been thinking about what if they start to send letters to each other then they arrange to meet. Or what if they have another sparring match but we skip to them having tea or something. What do you think?)

"Good day, Your Majesty." Sabbas did not turn his back until he stepped out into the hallway. His servant's hands were out, ready to motion if he should help remove the sword, but Sabbas shook his head then went off. No matter how far away he was from where they sparred, his mind kept wandering back. It went to see the look in the king's blue eyes and his sigh. A gentle grin rested on Sabbas's face. And while he kept asking God to forgive him for investing in rumors, he can't seem to get himself out of one in particular. Not to mention, Sabbas wants to get deeper into it.

(yeah i like that! Letters would be neat, because then they get to know each other a bit more and then they get to meet in person? It could also be interesting if Edward gave Sabbas a tour of some areas in the palace?)

Edward headed to the chapel that stood on the castle's grounds, kneeling quietly by the altar to pray, his eyes lifted towards the stained glass windows and his mouth moving with silent pleas. He did not want this attraction any more. He did not want to look at men the way he did, did not want to want them. His wife should be the object of his desire, the thing that occupied his thoughts and his dreams. She was lovely, and why could he not see her as she deserved to be?

(Yeah that sounds good to me. I love the idea of Edward giving Sabbas a tour of some parts of the palace! I'm down to doing all of that. Should Sabbas be the one to send a letter first?)

It didn't take long for Sabbas to get into regular clothes. Back in Spain, it is normal for people to be about fifteen to twenty minutes late, but he has learned that the French only tolerate a five minute delay. He was five minutes late to tea with the French ambassador; luckily he brought up His Majesty and his tardiness was brushed aside. Maybe Sabbas shouldn't have brought up the king. The whole time his mind kept wandering to play with thoughts. Maybe he shouldn't be diving into waters he cannot see the bottom of, but he always thinks with a tempted yet bold mind. Always and forever will.

(Perfect! Yeah I think he probably should, if that's alright with you?)

Edward spent some time in the chapel, praying quietly and offering his respect and love to the Lord above. It was…difficult, sometimes, when his heart pulled in a direction so against what the Lord said was good and right. And yet, what could he do but ask for forgiveness? What could he do but repent of this sinful nature that tugged him down?

(Oh yeah, no worries! I just wanted to ask just in case.)

Tea time with non-Spaniards is always an odd occasion for Sabbas. This time any moment he gazed at the cup or noted how he was speaking French to the fellow ambassador, he kept thinking about the king. It was strange. For once, Sabbas knew that he shouldn't be foolishly waltzing with such thoughts that he normally has for people where it doesn't matter. He is more than a man on the Spanish king's court now; he is now also apart of the British king's court. A new, and risky, world.

But he has to be an ambassador. A bridge between two empires who hold the world in their hands. Sabbas paced around the room after he returned to his chambers. He kept doing so for minutes on end. But he stopped once words started to flood his mind. "Feel free to write to me as well…" So he took his quill and some parchment then began to write.

Unto His Majesty, the King of England,

Ambassador Valiente of Spain wishes to send his gratitude. This is not an appropriate, worthy, way to approach this, and yet I would like to thank Your Majesty for all the kindness you have bestowed upon me. When I was given the position as ambassador to your great empire, I have to admit that I was rather surprised and nervous. I always had looked at Your Majesty's portrait that the English ambassador in Madrid had hanging in his office. Eyes as blue as the earth's gorgeous oceans looking back at me as I stood and stared back at them.

I have traveled from my hometown to Madrid to Paris and back, but I never really had thought of the day when I would be blessed with such a position to serve for two great kingdoms. Yet the moment I had stepped into England, I was welcomed and felt at home, a new home. Sparring and walking through the gardens with Your Majesty has helped with my previous nerves. Those experiences have brought me much comfort and wisdom. I look forward to all the times we shall meet in the very soon future.

Sincerely,

Ambassador Valiente of Spain

Sabbas pressed his ring into the wax. Once he satisfied with the state of the envelope and seal, he gave to one of his servants, telling them to deliver it to His Majesty. By the time the servant rushed out, Sabbas already rested his head against the desk and forced out a sigh.

By the time Edward received the letter, he was back in his own chambers, seated at his desk. His desk was scattered with other papers and with various writing utensils. Paperweights, trinkets, a cluttered assortment of various items that lay on it. When the letter was delivered, he carefully opened it up and read through it. In the quiet peace of his room, his cheeks flushed faintly when he read Sabbas's description of his eyes. He didn't know why.

That was a lie. He knew why he flushed, why he felt what he did. It was because of this damned attraction that he felt towards other men. He could not stand it, and it did not seem to go away no matter how much he prayed and begged with the Lord above to take it from him. He cleared his throat, and began to pen his own letter in reply.

Unto Ambassador Valiente of Spain,

I would wish to return your feelings of gratitude. You have shown chivalry and honor in all of our meetings together, and I look forward to our future meetings. I also extend thanks, for the kind words granted to me from yourself. Most ambassadors are not so ready to interact in the way that you have, and for that, too, I must thank you.

I am glad, also, that you have enjoyed your stay in England thus far; I know that our weather and clime is far different from that which you are accustomed to. I look forward to further sparring or strolls in the garden with you. Our discussions have been enjoyable, and if you are amenable to it, I would like to have more. I should like also to learn more of Spain and its peoples, from one who has lived there. I look forward to your reply, and to our future meetings together.

Sincerely,
His Majesty Edward VII, King of England, Ireland, and Scotland

Like Sabbas earlier, he used sealing wax to imprint the royal seal into the letter and seal it shut, then placed it in an outgoing box; servants checked that box every few hours, so that the letters would reach their destinations.

(I just wanted to let you know that my responses are going to be all over the place because I have band camp and college. I'll do my best to respond asap.)

In the few hours following the departure of the letter, Sabbas sat around the chambers while reading through other letters or papers. The sun began to gradually make its way down the horizon by the time a letter from His Majesty arrived into his hands. Laying on the floor with his legs crossed, he held the letter up to his face. Every now and then he had to stop to think about the meaning of a word before continuing on.

He jumped up from floor then darted over to the desk. Not even in his chair yet, he dipped his quill into ink and it hovered over the paper. His hand was shaking a little. Sabbas sat the quill back before slowing sitting down. Minutes passed by until he was ready to write again.

Unto His Majesty, the King of England,

It is an honor to be bestowed such words by Your Majesty. Readiness, as I have been told, is a vital characteristic for being an excellent ambassador. I have been inspired by Your Majesty and my fellow ambassador from your empire to develop such a characteristic. Although, I would like to respectfully argue that my motivation to dutifully serve our grand empires, King Rengent Alejandro, and of course, Your Majesty has assisted me in such volubility.

England's weather and clime is different from Spain, but I can assure you, my king, that I will have myself accustomed to both in due time. Even in such downpours or winds or frigid temperatures, I would be more than honored to have more discussions with Your Majesty. I would also be more than honored to tell you, my dear king, all about Spain and its peoples. There is so much to tell, although I will do my best to explain anything about Spain to Your Majesty's heart's content.

For the time being, what I can say is that Spain is a country of pride and variety. We have only been united for a little over a hundred years thanks to the previous royal family. Even then, Spain has been home to many groups of people since the beginning of time. We are all very proud of our culture and are always eager to share it with others. Of course, as an ambassador, such a thing is very helpful. As your ambassador to Spain, I am more than eager to tell Your Majesty anything that piques your interest the next time we meet or in my next letter.

Sincerely,

Ambassador Valiente of Spain

(it's totally fine, no worries!!)

By the time Edward recieved Sabbas's next letter, it was nearing bedtime, and he decided to write a reply first thing in the morning. It was late now, and by the time Sabbas would have recieved his reply, it would be even later, and the king did not want the ambassador to feel pressured to respond so late, and waste candles and time and energy over something that, in the long run, was rather trivial.

So instead, he set the letter on his desk, right in the middle where he would see it first, and set his quill beside it. After breakfast, and after prayer, he would write the letter. Not before. Not with how the Spaniard had made him feel. On accident, of course; no good man would try to seduce another man. It was Edward's fault that he felt this way. It was a stain on his soul, not on Sabbas's, and he knew that. He held no fault in the Spaniard for this mark on his own soul.

He disrobed, putting on his nightclothes and staring for a few long minutes at the door to his bedchamber, trying to decide if he was brave enough to visit his wife. If he was man enough to visit his wife. A true man, after all, would have made love to her already. A true man would have given her at least one child already. But he had not. He had failed her, just as he failed, daily, to resist the temptations of these lustful, carnal attractions that held no place in a good man, in a godly man.

Sabbas was up until the early hours of the next day. Staying up late is as natural to him as the sun and the rain. Lots of fun always happens at night after all. And for this Spaniard, one would think he would be having fun. Well, not this time.

Despite spending a decent amount of time in England at this point, he still had to get used to certain aspects of living here such as eating supper six hours early. Maybe there just things he cannot get used to. There was the option of continuing work, yet anytime he held up a piece of a paper, he found himself looking down at one of the king's letters.

He sat still at his desk when the sun was setting and as the moon shone vividly through the windows. At least it gave him minimal light as his eyes ran through each word over and over again. They ran up and down then left to right. Eventually the words became scrambled. None of it was beginning to make sense as his eyes squinted.

Suddenly the attention to the words swayed into thoughts about the king. Sabbas let out a reluctant sigh while resting his head against the desk. He shouldn't be thinking such things, and he isn't worried about the attractions to men that worry him. No, he's lying actually. A liar is all that he has ever been, to himself, his family, all of Spain and Europe, and the world. He is worried, especially since he knows that this could get him into trouble. He worries about saying one thing that will lead him to his execution. His name, his reputation disintegrated in front of everybody.

But of course, he has held the romantic interests of Prince Alejandro as well as many other nobles; although most of which were not serious. The current troubles of the present shouldn't have him tangled in nerves. He had to use more than his own intelligence and "name" to have his own power flourish after all. There is power and danger in seduction, but is there any power in real attraction? Would it ever outweigh the danger?

All of this pondering left his mind a storm. Sabbas didn't even leave his desk or undress. The heavy weight in his mind kept him there. Eventually as his eyes fluttered shut, the thoughts had stopped, but only just for a few moments. Those blue eyes appeared in his dreams. He wished it wasn't a dream.

The morning came with weak sunlight filtering through heavy clouds; a constant in England's weather, it was as familiar to the king as his own face. He awoke with a heavy sigh, eyes flickering open and dreams fleeing as the world came into focus. It took only moments until he could remember hardly anything of his dreams, beyond the vague feeling of a warm body pressed beside his, of calloused hands touching his skin. He shook his head and shook away the memory of his dreams, pushing off the covers and slowly moving from the bed. For now, it was quiet. He was alone. He would not be so for long. Soon, servants would come in bearing letters and news and clothing, his manservant would arrive to help him dress, his steward would arrive with a rough itinerary for his day. His few moments of alone time were precious, and he treasured them.

Today, all he did was walk to the window and look out at the grounds, eyes flickering over the faint figures already out and about. Many had likely been up and moving before the sun had even peeked over the horizon. It was on the backs of such hard workers that the kingdom was able to function, and he knew that.

Soon, as he had known would happen, people began to come in, and he got dressed for the day and headed to breakfast. To his relief, breakfast was a "private" one, consisiting of himself, his wife, her ladies-in-waiting, the husbands of a few of those ladies, and a few other nobles that were closely tied to the monarchy. A private, small affair of near 20 people, taking a little over an hour to complete.

Lord only knows how long he was asleep. When in Madrid, Sabbas typically woke up at the tenth hour after going to bed just hours before. Typically he wouldn't be at his desk while dreaming about running his fingers through the silky-smooth blond hair of the English monarch. Speaking of English monarchs, he doesn't understand why these people here awake for the day as early as sunrise. At least they know how to party; to love, he isn't really sure about that yet.

Sabbas only managed to wake up when a servant came in with a letter from a Prussian noble. The servant gasped at the sight of him slumped over, and he gave the poor young man another scare when he awoke. With some help from the servant, he was able to change into fresh clothes for the day. Crimson clothes, of course.

He took the envelope, setting it on top of the letters from the king. Breakfast was skipped and he decided to step out for a walk; might as well get one in before it starts to rain. His feet took him to the gardens. The smell of morning dew persisted, laying about on the grass and plants. Holding his hands behind his back, he kept his stroll to a slow pace. His chin held up high.

After breakfast, he headed to the chapel to pray, kneeling at a pew and closing his eyes, hands clasped in supplication as he devoted himself to prayer and to the Lord. Before he did anything else that day, he wanted– needed –to take time to pray. To cleanse himself and chase away all those strange, horrible feelings, and to gain guidance and wisdom in his meetings that day. He always needed it, after all. Who did not? The Lord would provide, if only Edward asked him in the right way. So ask he would, and he stayed in the quiet light of the chapel for quite a while.

It was a lovely little place, with tall, stained glass windows that left in soft filters of colored light. Built of pale stone, it held services within every Sunday for any of the nobility who wished to attend. It was, however, commonly understood that the only ones who actually attended were the royal family and those expressly invited by a member. Nobles or ambassadors did not come without an invitation, depiste the fact that there was no rule banning them from coming.

Sabbas kept on wandering around certain parts of the palace he knew. Sometimes he would be stopped by somebody to chat for a while before they would invite him for tea or to go off somewhere else. He always declined and offered to another time, then he would go on his merry way. Back to strolling around with his hands behind his back.

His mind was static, numb. It is amusing how the troubles that plague his mind can always be pushed to the side by force. Of course, Sabbas still thought about His Majesty, the letters from Alejandro, his true identity, his power, and the strange new world he is in. What makes is even more amusing is how his rather romantic affairs are not even a major problem compared to others. All of which, he carries on his back, making him Atlas.

As he approached the chapel, he stopped. The hairs on his neck stood. He looked over his shoulder while his hand reached out to the handle. Can he afford to be curious here right now? He shrugged to himself then opened the door. To hell with his cowardice.

Closing the door behind him, he stood still. His eyes looked around. "Estos ingleses y su orgullo. Mira todo esto…. Todo por Dios," He mumbled underneath his breath. A string of low chuckles followed. It is beautiful. The place is beautiful from wall to wall.

He didn't even noticed who was there. All it took was a few steps before he stopped and saw someone in the corner of his eye. Sabbas said in a low voice, "Ah, I am sorry for disturbing you. I was lost."

Edward shifted faintly whne he heard the doors open and close, sitting up at Sabbas's words. He finished his prayer quietly, crossing himself, and then he looked over, eyes lighting slightly in recognition of the Spaniard. "Ah, ambassador Valiente." he greeted, standing and flashing a quick, small smile. "It is quite alright. I was finishing up anyway." he exhaled quietly, brushing his hands gently against his robes. He looked around the chapel for a moment before his gaze returned to Sabbas. It was…slightly disconcerting, to see the Spaniard in the chapel. To see a man that he could not deny a small attraction to, inside the place he fled to when those attractions were too strong.

"This is the chapel. My chapel." he cleared his throat quietly, eyes moving to the stained glass windows, rather than lingering on Sabbas for too long. He did not want to stare. It was…impolite, for one thing, and for another…well. He simply could not stare at him for long.

The sight of His Majesty making the cross led him to curl his lips back while turning his face away. He needed to compose himself. They worship the same God, even the same one as the Ottomans, but here they are now. Then again, his presence in this chapel is highly precarious. Does he care? Naturally he should, and he does, believe him. On there other hand, he doesn't see any wrong being done. He is Sabbas Desiderio Valiente Medina after all.

And all Sabbas wanted to do was to get lost in observing the king in front of him. It wouldn't be very diplomatic of him. A smile crept up onto him. He gave a forty-five degree bow to the king. "My apologies, Your Majesty for disturbing your time of prayer."

His tongue glided on top of his teeth. He forced a chuckle. "Well with the stained glass windows complimenting those eyes of yours, Your Majesty, I would assume that it is only your chapel," He mused. "It is beautiful."

(sorry for the wait!)

He shook his head faintly. "Quite alright, ambassador. I was nearly finished." a half-lie; he could have gone on longer, but he did not overly mind his prayer time being cut short. "And, as for the glass and my eyes, while I appreciate the flattery, you must forgive me for not accepting it. I only meant that this chapel is mine to use, not in any way made for me. It is made for the Lord above, and any beauty in it is his. Never mine." the Lord brought goodness to this place. It was Edward's presence that sullied it, Edward's sins that destroyed it's beauty and curdled it. Even now he felt that he was tainting the place, not when he could hardly look at Sabbas without his mind wandering to things it should not.

(It's okay! No worries!)

"Oh….My apologies regardless," He nodded. Is he some sort of interruption otherwise? Sabbas was only able to wonder. The whole time he listened to the king speak, he let his eyes linger. They looked up and down. He tried to look into those gorgeous eyes, but the king's only did so once every now and then or so. Why isn't he looking? The man is the king, he can look into a Spanish-Moorish bastard's face or God if he wanted to. He can stare back or look somewhere else, but he's stiff.

Sabbas sighed while rolling his shoulders back. His chest slightly puffed out. Gradually, he began to stroll down a pew in front of the king. His hand glided on top. "Well God has certainly bestowed the beauty and fortitude he has created onto you. He knew you would be king, would be the head of the church and this chapel…." He smiled. Setting his hand on the edge of the pew, he leaned a little forward towards His Majesty.

"To be chosen by God to rule a great empire…To be one of the world's most powerful men…it is amazing. You, Your Majesty, are amazing and I have been fascinated even while still on Spanish soil. And by God, I can assure you that I am at this moment standing in this chapel with you right now."

Edward swallowed faintly as the Spaniard came closer, and he closed his eyes for only a moment, needing that second to collect himself. His guard had dropped while he was praying and now…now what could he do? Sabbas was close, and while the way he was talking certainly could not truly mean anyhting…it was a lot to think of. His throat seemed dry, and his heart was beating too quickly, and they were in a church. "Ambassador, I…" he took a deep breath, gaze moving to Sabbas for a long moment. "I do not deserve your fascination. I…only do my best by the country that God has seen fit to give me. It is nothing to deserve your amazement and fascination. Any man worth his salt would do the same." would do more. Any man worth his salt would have produced an heir by now but he could not even think about lying in bed with his wife. His beautiful wife, who had never breathed a word of complaint about his lack. He did not deserve her. He did not deserve this kingdom. Not when he was so flawed and horribly sinful.

Sabbas smiled following with a simple head bow. "I am glad that the Lord has done so, because I am not sure how I would feel if I hadn't been blessed by Your Majesty's presence." His lips kept still, parted open waiting for words to flow freely. Usually he has prepared dialouge, yet anytime he let's his gaze linger on the king, he loses it all. By of what means is he trying to say?

His eyes squinted. A man worth his salt, is that an English phrase? Wouldn't King Edward be worth much more? Wouldn't he be able to do much more with his worth? He is the king of the British empire for God's sake.

Standing up straight, he rolled his shoulders back. The adjustment of his posture led him to get a glimpse of the king once again. Not for his own pleasures, maybe. He let his hand drag on the side of the pew as he made his way over to the one the king stood in.

"Forgive me if I am coming off as being too frank, but, is Your Majesty alright? Your Majesty seems to be unwell or….distressed for a lack of a better term. Is there anything I can do?"

"I am quite alright." Edward replied, a touch hastily. "Please, do not worry about that." he was unsure how to politely usher Sabbas from the chapel. Yet, here he stood, polluting this perfect place with his sinful mind and sinful heart. "Ambassador Valiente, please do not worry about me." he was fine. He was only worried and concerned and already feeling tense about this. His time of prayer was meant to help him relax, meant to help him calm, and it had, but he had dropped his guard while admitting everything to the Lord, and this was not a situation he knew how to deal with.

His jaw tensed. Forcing words back down his throat, he looked down into the other pew. Is he really worrying for His Majesty? Or did his eyes just pick up on the way the king's eyes were shadowed with thoughts of possible pondering and nerves? Observing the monarch which is not the one he has to swear his devoted loyalty to isn't something he should be doing. But, he wouldn't mind it if he could. Just not as an ambassador or a political actor.

"I wouldn't necessarily call it 'worrying', my dear king," He said, "A king is still a man and can have people who care about him deeply. Consider me one of them." Sabbas realized that his hand was reaching out towards His Majesty, and forced it to return to his side. He breathed, "How could I be worried about Your Majesty? You have strong fortitude, will power. I believe in you, my dear king."

He watched as Sabbas reached out, then dropped his hand again, and cleared his throat quietly, shaking his head for just a moment. "I…well, thank you for the kind words, ambassador." he finally said, taking a faint, shifting step, gaze flickering to the oak doors for a moment. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were polluting this place. That he was polluting this place. The ambassador was not at all at fault for the way Edward's heart twisted up what was good and replaced it with evil. This was the Lord's home, good and pure, and he dirtied it with every moment they were here. He could almost feel the angels and the saints on the stained glass windows watching him, could almost see the judgement in the eyes of the statues, could read the disgust in their praying, folded hands.

"My pleasure, Your Majesty," He smiled. It bore thin, yet his eyes shined in their wide capacity. A weight hung in his heart, swinging back and forth the more he stared at King Edward. It halted. Everything stopped and his hand began to shake. Ah his confidence and swagger must be making this interaction rather tense.

He did waltz into the king's chapel; him, being a Catholic. Their respective views on religion also include insights on drinking and wine. He could perhaps offer rioja as an apology. On the other hand, if there is one thing that Sabbas has learned from his uncle, the Spanish court, and France, it's that wine can get to any man's heart and mind; quite literally.

Yet he can tell that His Majesty is simply not any man. Quite the contrary as a matter of fact. What is terrible is how he has a role to maintain. Sabbas cannot run up to him or gently touch his hand or act on impulse or anything. If only he were an English man or if King Edward was a Spanish prince….

He ran his fingers through his hair. The way his mind wraps himself in thoughts is dangerous. Every calculated move poses a threat, but with Sabbas, there is something more dangerous than his mind. "Am I a bother, Your Majesty? Would you prefer if I leave right this instance? I know you are uncomfortable because of me and my presence. Is this true?"

"No, no, of course not. I have only been…weighed down by my thoughts and my heart as of late." the best way he knew to put this. "That is all. It is not a fault nor concern of yours." he took a small step along the row, gaze moving towards the doors again. "If we are going to talk further, however, I would prefer if we moved outside." at least if they moved outside, he would feel less like his presence defiled a holy place. He would never be clean, but it was harder to pretend to be when he was here, in this place.

The king's voice was fighting with the sounds of Sabbas's heart rapidly beating. He bit down on his bottom lip. Fool, he should have never ask such things. This isn't what a man of power should be doing, listening to what his heart has to say rather than his mind. Can he even consider himself to be a man of power in the first place?

"Outside…." His eyes took a glimpse around the chapel. It is quite the place to have a conversation. Sometimes Prince Alejandro and him would have conversations while sitting in a pew or his uncle would be talking to someone in the church. It's quiet though. Very peaceful yet there has to be something leading to King Edward to have a preference of talking somewhere else.

Briskly, he walked out of the pew aisle. Just as he approached the door, his hand grasped the handle. "Well, Your Majesty, if that is what you wish…." The door creaked as he pulled the handle down then opened it. "After you, my dear king."