Chapter Text
Shivers from the cold air awake him from his reverie, then finding himself nakedly standing in front of his closed shower faucet above his tub.
You have to start early.
Don't let the King down.
He left his place and started drying himself, then walking towards the closet.
King George VI has his honour trusted upon you.
Then he chose his navy blue suit.
It was the dawn of the 16th day of September 1938, where the air had been quite chilly due to the raised humidity of autumn in the Northern Hemisphere. There was this silence that this man loved the most. The silence where there are no marches being drawn by patrolling armies that the Minister had administered near his domain, as if there'd be any harmful substance getting under his skin with his wire-barred, high-concrete wall surrounding his land and heavily guarded household. His place almost looked like a mansion in the middle of a war with barracks, and somehow near the future, he might as well get his own collection of artillery with cannons, catapults and fire shells— ready to fire, to kill the Minister's overly dramatic improvements to the armory.
Neither could he monish the man, if he were to be on his shoes, he'd be doing the same thing. It is just the only way to reprieve his people from the empire that they had built.
This wasn't even a joke, and if so, how he pray to the Creator that could someone please slap him hard that he'd get back to his consciousness, get himself far from the terror that the fascist global enemy had retorted.
BUT IT WASN’T JUST LIKE THAT.
It was a horrifying statement, an ultimatum wherein Germany would send nuclear bombs to the Domain if they wouldn't surrender. Of course, losing your kingdom did mortify the King of United Kingdom and Dominions of the British Commonwealth, seeing your family's legacy, your thirteen -year old daughter, Elizabeth II, who will soon be reigned queen after your death, and the little nine-year old princess Margaret Rose who had just celebrated her birthday nearly a month ago in Windsor Castle, all fall down upon your hands— that pierces sentimental people's hearts, especially a father. Perhaps a sole part of the King's ego will hunt him down, ghosting him that he should have conformed to the advice of the Parliament to evacuate his family to Canada. But he never did.
The statement was initially all in cryptic message from the German Enigma issued on 1934, which meant that it could be deciphered using the translation made by the Polish Cipher Bureau's military intelligence mathematicians who reverse-engineered the machine; however, what petrified them more were the next messages.
One thing's certain; the Nazi used the Enigma cipher in creating the encrypted messages, but the lights and characters are much more difficult, and never yielding an understandable word. Stating the common would identify D bulb as A, but it was never as simple as that— it was complex.
The trial-and-error technique was even useless. They needed cryptographers and mathematicians from Poland, or send themselves to Warsaw, Poland. He needed to make a decision, a move, as fast as he could, or else he'd be a disappointment to his mummy, his country, the King, and to his brother.
Fast and accurate.
It was all just yesterday.
What they have now is today.
He took a deep breath and entered the conference room.
This is war...
The door banged revealing the members of the Parliament, sharing small talks and some, discussing possible solutions and strategic orders they would be making. Upon hearing the source of the noise, they all stood and refrain from what they are doing, and then turned to look at him, vowing their heads to recognize his presence. He returned the acknowledgment with a nod and continued to walk towards his seat when a dressed woman approached him and said,
"A pleasant morning to you, Sir Mycroft Holmes."