[centre][h3][b]Laxion Hosarusson[/b][/h3]
[img]https://s32.postimg.org/xz3aev8mt/LAXION.png[/img]
[sub]Let there but one word be: Peace![/sub][/centre]

Laxion kept his eyes upon the boy king for a while, but eventually he placed a hand upon his son's head and surveyed the other two men. When his eyes turned to those of the young armoured knight, he found that the knight was looking his way. He held the man's gaze for a few moments before the knight lowered his gaze and nodded in respect. Laxian did likewise. He did not know the man, but he assumed that he was one of the young king's new advisers. No news had reached him about the identities of those who would become his acquaintances at court, and Laxion hardly felt that it was necessary for him to know anyone. He was here, first and foremost, to advise the king and to teach him. He knew well the intrigues which were bound to take place in a king's court, especially in the court of a young and pliable boy king, but he was not interested in partaking in such petty games. He was a man learned in many things, and especially in the history of people and nations, and he knew well that such games and politics only served to weaken the state and bring about its doom. He would be the piercing light which helped the young king see through the deceit and read the intentions of men like the scholars of Crimsamara read the pages of endless tomes and volumes. He rubbed Torinus' head once more and looked at the young boy with a smile. Torinus' gaze did not waver from the king and Laxion could not help but raise an eyebrow. 

Now that he thought on it, he had not seen any children in the royal palace. The king was, as far as he could tell, very much alone. Friendless. Perhaps Torinus would be able to provide the young king with the much-needed company and lightheartedness of one his own age. Indeed, it often escaped the minds of lesser men, but not Laxion's, that the young - whether they were kings or not - desperately needed company and time to play so as to develop into well-balanced humans. And there was a certain gravity and severity in the face of Rurik that foretold a disposition which could ill-tolerate 'play' or perceived 'time-wasting'. And though he could not tell for sure, this knight-adviser also seemed of the hardened stock - his eyes, as he looked from the king, to Laxion, to Torinus, disclosed some of his ill-concealed thoughts on children. [i]Mere[/i] children.

A sound near the great room's entrance caught Laxion's attention, and an announcement was made for one "Lord Grenn Albraght". A tall, thickset man made his way in and made it known, as an almost excessive amount of mud and rainwater dirtied the red carpet, that he was the Driftmarkian delegate. Laxion made it a rule to reserve judgement of others until such a time where enough information had been gathered on them to make the judgement both fair and accurate. His travels and exposure to people of all cultures and creeds, and his deep studies and understanding of the histories of different peoples, had made him particularly tolerant of those who were different, willing to make excuses for those who did not act in ways which conformed with his own cultural and religious prejudices. There was no denying, for instance, that this Lord Albraght had come in with an air of irreverence and barely-disguised conceit. But was it not right that one feel comfortable in the presence of his master and liege? Was it not right that of all places, one should feel at home here in the great palace of his royal majesty? Why should immediately encompassing and being comfortable with the role of an adviser be perceived as irreverent or conceited? If anything, Lord Albraght was showing them all how an adviser should carry themselves. There was no need for formalities and pomp and ceremony when one was here to be a close adviser of the king and give him sage guidance in matters spiritual and mundane.

[color=#8b2323]“[b]First of all, it's de Warenne, not 'Dwarenne.' That not every man in the council can speak like a man and instead speaks like a peasant child, that is fine by me, but I would appreciate...[/b]”[/color] Laxion had not seen Lord Albraght do anything untoward, let alone something which warranted the sudden and hostile reaction which the knight now gave. Before the king could intervene and settle the issue, the doors of the throne room swung open once again and introductions were made for "His Esteemed Lordship, Chugo Bey". The atmosphere in the throne room grew markedly hostile as the Bey made his way in and offered the king the regards of the Khan and his gifts - a war-bow and a horse! Either the Bey was being deceitfully diplomatic, or this gift meant the Khan truly saw in the boy king an equal, or a desired equal. The war-bow was the pride of the Khargats, no bows in the land were of a higher quality or better craftsmanship. Likewise were their horses, for they were a nomadic people and took great care that their horses were of the finest quality. The bow and the horse were their means of survival, their pride, and to give them as gifts to anyone was the greatest symbol of respect and esteem. Laxion looked to the king and hoped that he would hurry to accept so tremendous a present from so important an ally.

But perhaps the scholar, despite his great knowledge and understanding, failed to understand what was running through the minds of the others. It had been so long since he had to deal with petty minds that he had not paused to wonder if some of the minds present here were of that sort. For that reason, Rurik's sudden outburst left the old man rather stunned and somewhat confused. But quickly did realisation dawn upon him, and he leaned back into the pillar and prepared to weather the storm of pettiness and bigotry which burst forth. This, more than anything, confirmed to Laxian that Rurik was indeed of the hard sort; of the somewhat inflexible type, set in his culture and ways. He did not blame him, it was natural. And he did not think that it made him any less an honourable or chivalrous man, any less intelligent, but perhaps something the less wise, and thus something the less closer to Perfecti.

The boy king, however, surprised him. Rather than giving fuel to his uncle's xenophobic outburst, he remained calm and attempted to heal the diplomatic insult delivered to the Bey. For a few moments Laxian wondered at the wisdom with which the king acted compared with the foolishness of the uncle. Which, he wondered, was the veteran statesman, and which was the unqualified child? Laxion looked at the Bey and saw that he was yet calm and responded rather agreeably despite the grave insult delivered him. The Khan had clearly sent of his men the one whose breast had the greatest expanse, the greatest patience. He was about to speak to the young king, advise him to accept Khan's gift, but it appeared that the storm which he had thought settled was only now brandishing its true furies.

The adviser-knight drew his sword and made a stand before the Bey. He accused him and reprimanded him, and invoked the king to see the truth of this "savage's" purpose, and he pointed his blade at him and stood there most threateningly. Laxion put an arm around Torinus' shoulder and brought the boy closer to him, whispering a quick prayer for mercy. And when the storm had reached its zenith and Laxion was bracing himself for its disastrous crescendo, the doors of the throne room swung open and the arrival of "Her Noble Ladyship the Heiress of Belintash, Lady Layna Marie Farwynd" was announced before all.

With supreme calm, and the coolness of the Belintashian peaks, Lady Farwynd made her entrance. She did not so much as glance at the scene of discord before her. She knelt before the boy-king and gave him her condolences as though a disastrous confrontation was not taking place beside her. Why, this was no woman! This was no human! Blood could not run through those veins, and that which appeared like flesh was not flesh and that which appeared like skin was not skin! It was ice and steel that ran through her. She was a being of solid stone! Carved from the mountains, nurtured on iron and snow, built that no emotion should ever run through her. Laxion shivered slightly as he looked at her. Was this what it felt like then? Was this what it felt like to see the people who made of these courts and intrigues and politics a home? It was certainly far different from the detachment and warm safety which observing them through the pages of a tome brought.
As she rose, there was in her eyes for the Bey the slightest flash of disdain. But then she turned and stood like a statue beside him and Torinus. Laxion dared not turn his head and acknowledge her. Nay, he could not even bring himself to speak or advise the king. Silence, he thought to himself, was for the best. Would that he could melt away into the pillar behind him!

Then the Bey spoke, and though he was calm, Laxion knew that the situation had transcended the realms of calmness. And though he spoke eloquently and overturned all the Knight of Saint Michél's arguments, Laxion knew that he spoke to many a deaf ear. Only that foresight which the young king had shown before could put this all to rest for now. But the trumpet of war had sounded, and Laxion would have no part in it! 
There was a sudden movement at Laxion's side, and when he looked down, he found that Torinus had released himself from his embrace. The boy stepped forward, a small frown on his face.
'Tell them!' he shouted, looking towards the king, 'tell them to stop! Have they no respect for their lord and master! They draw their swords and tongues before you with the utmost disregard for your presence and your authority. Is this the court of the Grand King of Emperiat, or is it a playground for children?' and though Laxion had enough time to consider the irony in what the boy said, Torinus did not have enough time to finish, for his father stepped forward and dragged him back.
'F-forgive him, my liege. An overexcited youth. The untamed fires and passions burn yet within him,' he made an apologetic bow toward the king, before looking towards the Knight of Saint Michél and the Bey.

'Though, perhaps, there is some truth in what he speaks,' his ancient head turned towards the two culprits, and his old eyes stared long into them before he continued, 'would that you both draw back, for this confrontation is most unseemly, and most disrespectful, before our king.'