Disclaimer: I do not own Tin Man. Now ask yourself this question, do you want to mess with someone whose brain comes up with these things? Even Quality Control thinks I'm insane.
Author's Note: I had an amusing idea...
Ahamo stared at his desk with woe and despair; of all the things he'd missed during his life in exile as the Seeker, the Royal Paperwork was certainly not one of them. Examining the stacked parchments with a dejected air, the Consort had the sinking feeling that no one had been keeping up with the onerous duty in his absence. In fact, he could swear he recognized that memo over there as one that he'd set aside for later perusal some fifteen years ago. Groaning, he rubbed the heels of his hands against his temples; this was going to take forever.
Sighing, the Royal Slipper reached out and picked up a sheaf of paper at random and resigned himself to fulfilling his obligations. Oh God, he thought moments later as he promptly became lost in the extensive technical jargon, Ambrose wrote this one. Taking a quick glance at the missive's date, the Consort was disappointed to note that it was fairly recent, meaning that he'd have to read the four, no five page document – double sided, too, DG must have introduced her friend to the basics of being green. Sighing again, Ahamo dusted off a portion of his brain that hadn't been used in a long, long time and soldiered on.
Fifteen minutes later, he found himself reading the same sentence for the sixth time, and not because of inattention, but because the Royal Advisor's lingering synaptic difficulties had apparently decided to add just that extra touch of torture to the already excruciating process. Somewhere between pages five and six of Ambrose's treatise on munchkin-human relations, Glitch had evidently decided his opinion should be heard and had taken over the writing. To make it worse, the Consort discovered with a quick scan, between the repeated sentences and the rants about ankle-biters and hanging baskets there actually was relevant information, which Ahamo had no choice but to wade through and decipher. There was nothing for it but to grit his teeth and carry on.
Finally feeling that he was coming to grips with the salient points of the manuscript some forty-five minutes or so later, the unfortunate Consort's concentration was unpleasantly shattered by a sudden clattering in the hall, as if someone were storming through, knocking down every suit of armour on their way by.
"Cain!" Ahamo's youngest daughter's exasperated voice demanded, "Put me down. What the hell do you think you are doing?"
"Taking you back to your room so you can put on something decent," the Tin Man growled back over the noise of a tremendous crash.
Understandably curious, the Consort got up and strode across the room.
"Decent! There's nothing wrong with my shorts!" DG shrieked just as her father opened his study door. Wrapped in Cain's duster and hefted over his shoulder, the youngest princess' legs were kicking furiously in the air as she grasped at any and all handholds she could. Another decorative suit of armour hit the floor with a deafening din. "What is your problem? It's a hundred degrees out there, I am not wearing one of those flouncy, multilayered monstrosities. What on earth could be wrong with...it's because my legs are showing isn't it? It is!" she shouted in disbelief when the Tin Man deigned not to answer, "Of all the Elizabethan...for pity's sake it's just my legs, it's not like pretty much everyone has a pair of their own! Oh no, I must die of heat stroke lest they catch a glimpse of my ankles. Uh oh, don't look, Cain, it's my ankles!" she cried, kicking my feet with renewed vigour, "Ankles!"
Staring after them as his daughter and the Tin Man disappeared around the corner, the Consort could only shake his head at the idiocy. Really, as her father, Ahamo was supposed to be the one freaking out over what DG chose to wear. Shorts, he snorted as he sat down behind the desk, of all the...wait a minute, what had he been doing? Looking down blankly at Ambrose's tidy but tiny writing, Ahamo spent a desperate minute trying to remember what the memorandum had been about only to discover he could no longer recall. Moaning in frustration, Ahamo flipped the pages back to the first and began all over again.
Triumphantly re-deciphering the Royal Advisor's thesis paper a stream-lined forty-two minutes later, the Consort rifled through his desk for blank paper, a pen, and the royal signet ring, and prepared to compose an appropriate reply.
"How many times do I have to tell you?" DG's voice rang out once more, "I was perfectly fine! I used to climb trees all the time in Kansas and never had a problem! What's more, everyone let me!"
"They didn't know you were a princess there, and those that did couldn't let you know," Cain growled back, "and I highly doubt you started by climbing out a third story window to do it, either."
"I swear, Cain, if you remind me I'm a princess one more time...and you may have noticed: I made it to the ground just fine! Maybe if someone wasn't barricading me in my room over their ridiculous, antiquated opinion of my clothes I wouldn't have to escape out my window! Put me down!"
Ahamo felt a headache coming on as the bickering pair made their way past his door again. He should have realized it was a mistake to locate his study so close to the Royal Apartments, of course, he hadn't had children then. Now, what had he been planning to say?
Halfway through writing his letter, puzzling over a particularly important point, the much tried Consort once again had his thoughts annihilated as Cain and DG buzzed his office once more.
"I was not overreacting," the Tin Man stated firmly – and loudly.
"You decked him, twice!" the youngest princess fired back.
"He wasn't respecting you! His hands..."
"I tripped!" DG yelled, "He caught me, hand placement was an accident, if you hadn't knocked him out we'd be in the middle of a perfectly innocent awkward moment right now! Here, let me look at that."
"It's fine," Cain insisted.
"Hold still!" the princess commanded. After a moment she added, "I don't think your hand's broken-"
"I told you it's fine," the Tin Man huffed.
"-but we should put some ice on it."
The Consort's eye twitched as he grabbed Ambrose's novel yet again to remind himself about whichever point he'd been about to argue.
"DG!" Cain bellowed just as Ahamo was setting pen to paper once more, "DG, get back here!"
"Go away!" DG hollered back, "Bloody hell, Cain, you're infuriating! Just leave me alone for five freaking minutes!"
Half the O.Z. probably heard the bang as DG slammed her door, rattling all the windows in the hallway with the force she'd put into it. A few moments later Cain made sure the other half was not left out as he slammed the door to his room as well. Ahamo's pen snapped in his hand, enough was enough. A drawer was wrenched open and closed then the Consort stormed out of his study and down the hall.
"Cain, I told you...oh hi Dad," DG said as her father strode unceremoniously into her room, "This is really not a good – wah!" she shrieked as she revisited the position in which she'd spent much of the day.
The Tin Man, meanwhile, had collapsed onto the edge of his bed and assumed Brooding Position One. Cain's shock when the Consort strode in with DG over his shoulder had nothing on his absolute astonishment when Ahamo abruptly hurled the princess at him. Taken by surprise, the Tin Man was knocked backwards onto the mattress with DG sprawled over him.
"By the power invested in me as the Consort of the Realm," Ahamo orated, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. Here," he said, dropping the spare signet ring on the bed, "now there's nothing stopping the problem being solved, some of us have work to do." And with that the Consort strode out of the room, leaving the flabbergasted newlyweds behind him.