the calm before the storm [cowt11 | week 02 | m2]

[hannyakoma]

Prompt: Un posto pulito, illuminato bene

Word count: 525
Rating: sfw
Fandom: Originale
Note: //

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With the inheritance ceremony right around the corner, the whole palace staff was just as frenetic as an ant nest while looking for food to fight off the cold season. Servants ran from a room to another, hands full of decorations and other props created specifically for the big event.

It wasn't everyday that a new king was ascending to the throne, not that a war finally ended without as many casualties as first expected.

Most of the nobles and devout people alike called it a miracle, name and fact alike. Many believed it as a sign that the new monarch was going to bring prosperity to the realm, much more after the late king's disastrous self-destructing tendencies.

As the hustle and bustle didn't show signs to quiet down, Freyr looked at the tower of papers he had on his desk, waiting for his signature -- or, more like the "king's signature". Since he wasn't officially the king yet, of course he couldn't do anything about them. 

It was a bureaucratic quibble, but the other members of the council wouldn't like it if he started to act like his father did just now. He was under close scrutiny, he knew. He could -- and should -- not make hazardous decisions just because he's going to die from overwork later.

Freyr sighed for the umpteenth time, massaging his eyes with a hand. Nothing he could do at that point, right? He chose this for himself. 

The only thing he could actually do was tidying up the place, organizing the documents by type and priority and then preparing himself for a few sleepless nights to catch up with the work. Xylia always said that a tidy place was a good sign, because it mirrored the person’s mind state. Working in a chaotic place could also influence the mind, so for someone that was (in the past, at least) easily overwhelmed, an organized workplace would be the best.

So, he worked hard to make his office a well kept and clean place. To honor her words and to help himself.

His stare wandered around the large office-lobby of his father as he worked his magic. The former king was a man avid of knowledge, something that would have been a nice trait if not used for chaos. 

Tired, caramel-red orbs traveled from the bookshelves-covered walls, filled with tomes of all kinds, to the little decorative statues he had put on the desk, just to liven things up. The desk was placed right below the large window on the wall, pointing north. The light coming from outside projected elongated shadows of the iron decoration on the window itself over the mahogany surface.

His eyes stopped the casual search of his surroundings, landing on a little vase full of colorful flowers behind the chair. He recognized the style: it was undoubtedly a gift from his little niece -- the flowers, purple and blue hydrangea, were Moira's favorite -- and he could not suppress a small smile forming on his lips.

It was such a little, innocent gesture, but it meant the whole world to him.