“The Lamentation of Fate” (Part II)
Harlkson International Airport
Elleholm, Ostboland(Co-written with
Boaga)
Before long, the plane touched down and went through the motions of a plane landing and coming to a full stop, and after that time had come and passed, the royal guardsmen aboard the plane began to organize into formation to depart the plane. The stairs were lowered, and sunlight filled the plane’s interior, prompting Erramun to put on his sunglasses. After several of the guardsmen had departed the plane, Erramun rose from his chair and proceeded to follow them out onto the tarmac below.
Despite having sunglasses on, Erramun squinted in the sun as he walked down the steps, his eyes shifting across the sights to be seen beyond the plane. Somewhere behind him were his wife and his mother, though he did not turn his head to see where exactly they were. Perhaps Erramun couldn’t help, but he had the gait of a playboy, not a king, swaggering from side to side as he made his way down onto the tarmac. He could feel the heat coming off of it in the sun through his shoes.
Even now on the tarmac, Juila had to keep up her posture. She tried as subtly as possible to smooth out her soft pink jacket and matching pencil skirt. Her stylish, small fascinator hat picked up with a slight breeze, but settled down tight on her hair. She was able to keep up her appearances for the cameras, which were everywhere (as usual).
The airplane door swung open, and a few guards popped out. Finally, Juilia caught the familiar sight of her cousin, Erramum, swaggering down the steps with his sunglasses on.
The assembled crowd began cheering as the Boagan royals stepped off of the plane, the civilian onlookers waiving their mixture of Boagan and Osben flags in the air. Cameras flashed and clicked as and reporters shouted “Over here, over here!” intermixed with “Welcome” and “Long live the King!”. One unkind voice, raised above the rest heckled: “Hey wonderboy!” Meanwhile, the brass band struck up the tune of
Bakea eta Oparotasuna; noticing the King’s fast descent down the stairs however, the conductor hurried the tempo.
Julia’s brother found the whole thing amusing. Just a pace or two behind her, Mikael snorted and started giggling. She imagined her mother, Queen Helena, giving him a diplomatic scowl.
“Mikael,” Her mother sighed. Helena was nothing if not a measure of decorum. But even now over the roar of the crowd and the band, the Queen Consort could hardly resist commenting. “Sunglasses . . . that boy.” Helena huffed. “Ah there’s Cecilia . . . at least she’s presentable. . .” she added.
As Erramun reached the bottom of the stairs and strode out onto the red carpet, Margarete ducked out of the plane and onto the stairwell. The gathered onlookers, who had died down by this point, suddenly renewed their loud cheers. “It’s the Princess! Princess Margarete! Queen Margarete! Welcome home! Hooray! God save your grace!” and so on. Margarete smiled with the sustained cheers, looking across to the various onlookers and giving several polite royal waves as she descended the steps. When Margarete reached the bottom, she suddenly went off script.
Margarete veered off of the designated red carpet and approached one of the crowd barriers, the civilians and journalists hushing themselves as she approached. The Princess stopped short, and looking to several faces in the crowd said: “Thank you all for your warm welcome, it is so very gratifying.” She nodded in appreciation
One wisecrack photographer piped up. “We wanted to see the King.”
Margarete smiled. “How about this? You can take pictures of a Queen and a Princess right here,” she quipped. “. . .a two for one offer!” The crowd laughed and clapped in response. The Princess took a minute to pose, rotating between her left and right. Then Margarete went up to one young girl and signed her flag. “Hello there. Oh thank you very much. Now then, don’t let anyone tell you a girl has to dream small, ok? There you go, thank you sweetie.” She shook a few hands.
“How do you feel about being back home Your Majesty?” A journalist piped up.
“Well now . . .” Margarete smiled, turning to the press agent. “. . . I feel like having a drink, how about you?” The crowd laughed and nodded. “Is
Levandeek still good? I haven’t had one in a long time.”
“They’re still very good,” An elderly, eager man chimed in. “the best wheat beer in Artemia ma’am.”
“Oh that’s excellent.” Margarete replied. “We’ll have to have one at a local bar.” The man blushed slightly. Several of the women around him giggled.
“What would you say is the main difference between Boaga and Ostboland?” Another journalist asked.
Margarete chuckled: “That’s easy: my brother is on all the money here!” Again the crowd laughed, keeping up the joyous mood for several seconds for several seconds.
“What are you most looking forward to on your visit here?” A third journalist said, raising his hand.
Margarete looked at the faces in the crowd for a moment. “Family. . .” She replied. “ . . .of which you all are an integral part. . .” Several of the onlookers clapped and cheered her name again. After a moment’s pause Margarete addressed them all. “Now I do have to go, I apologize, but thank you all again so much for coming!” As she turned and walked away towards the red carpet, the crowd cheered once more.
Meanwhile, Erramun walked the length of the red carpet, during which time his wife caught up to Erramun and walked alongside him. Queen Cecilia Was radiant in the light of the sun, in her white court dress that contrasted with her tan skin and long, pinned-back brown hair. With the eyes of the masses upon him Erramun finally did his best impression of his mother and pulled a fat cigar out of a coat pocket. He held it out, and one of his security guards did him the favor of lighting it for him. Erramun took a long, deep drag of his cigar before looking up and blowing smoke into the air, and then smiling at the onlookers.
More than a few members of the crowd and some press officials laughed, finding the young cigar smoking King a symbol of amusement and mockery. In between the ongoing cheers one could hear a shout or two of “Can’t light it yourself?” or “How much is the brand paying you?” or “Found something larger than your ego?” . . . one particularly unkind person in the crowd shouted above the rest: “Ah! Your latest oral fixation?” The last one made more than a couple people jeer. Again, Julia’s brother Mikael let out an undiplomatic snort from behind her.
Helena was speechless for a moment, before finally muttering “. . . what a boorish buffon, the sheer indecency . . .” Julia did not turn around to address her mother's comment, but continued to calmly stare straight ahead at Erramun and Cecilia. She would take things in stride. Her cousin’s attempt at being an . . . everyman just now was a bit . . . unusual in her mind, but she didn’t let that distract her from playing the dignified role. Worst case scenario, she had enough grace for the both of them.
When they had sufficiently approached, Julia stepped forward and said, warmly: “Cousin, it is good to see you again, welcome back to Ostboland.” She went for the kiss on both cheeks, doing her best to avoid the cigar smoke. She dropped a bit of her formality, saying: “Em, how have you been? Still getting a lot of sun down on the beaches I hope.”
Erramun glared one time at the heckling crowds before giving them the finger, and then he faced his cousin with a grin on his face, all while Cecilia laughed in utter delight. After Julia kissed Erramun on both cheeks, he reciprocated. “Thank you Julia, it’s great to be back, such lovely people in this country,” he said, looking over his shoulder contemptuously.
Yeah, they like it well enough. I’ve been well...surely you remember my wife, Princess Cecilia of Agrana and Griegro.”
The young queen curtsied formally, dignified in her pose and possessing all the magnificence that one might expect of that great house, said to descend directly from Mary Magdalene herself. “Princess Julia,” the Queen said in a flowing voice, “he gets plenty of sun, especially on his ass.” The Queen sniggered gleefully into her gloved hands.
“Yeah yeah yeah, all around tan right?” Erramun shrugged before handing off his cigar to his wife. “If I recall correctly, the beaches up this way aren’t nearly as...accommodating.”
Julia tried her best, but she couldn’t resist smirking and letting out a laugh. “Not really, well - unless you are interested in the Polar Bear Swim,” she quipped. Julia took Ceclia’s hand and reciprocated her curtsy. “. . . I hear they’re signing people up for next winter already.” Juiia turned and waved for them to come forward to meet her mother and younger brother.
Helena the Queen Consort was all smiles, despite the occasional side glance at the still fuming cigar. “Cecilia! Hi! Oh it is so nice to see you again - how is your family doing?” She went in for a nice hug.
Mikael gave his older cousin Erramun a short, respectful nod. Glancing back and forth between the crowd and his cousin, the young prince raised his eyebrows mischievously and grinned: “You’ll be front page news tomorrow.”
Cecilia exchanged embraces with Queen Helena, while Erramun did the same with Mikael. “Your Majesty,” Cecilia said to Helena, “my sister is well, enjoying her life as queen, or so I’m inclined to believe. As for me, well, I’m just having a grand old time being a queen myself. Your nephew is a splendid man after my own heart,” she explained before taking a long, deep drag of the cigar. Cecilia blew the smoke out in the shape of a halo and watched it fly away.
“...When do I not make front page news?” Erramun shrugged after he embraced his cousin. “I know for a fact somebody took a picture of me flipping off the crowd, but hey, that’s what they want right? Gotta give the people what they want, it’s good for publicity,” he laughed.
Again Mikael grinned, “Sorry bud, you were beat out this morning by that sheep which could balance four plates on her - “
All of a sudden the light, full voice of Margarete burst forth: “Julia! Julia is that really you?” Margarete briskly walked forward, as if full of a new wellspring of energy, kissing her niece on both cheeks, followed by a curtsy.
“Oh, Aunt Margie!” Julia looked a bit surprised. One moment her aunt trailed off to talk to the crowd, the next moment she appeared out of nowhere.
How does she do that? “I uh . . . wow it is nice to see you again!”
“My you were such a little thing when we last met! Look at how well you’ve grown - and doing such a splendid job so far,” Margarete beamed. Margarete looked over to Erramun, and then to her nephew, and gave Mikael a hug. “Mikael, not causing your sister too much trouble?” Mikael shrugged in response. “Oh now really? Don’t make it too easy . . . here later on I can tell you all about the pranks we pulled on my dad.” The two smiled at each other.
Then, the interaction Juilia dreaded: Helena turned away from Cecilia and Margarete turned away from Mikael. They swiveled into each other, their eyes met.
“Margarete.”
“Helena.”
The two queen consorts exchanged one of the shortest hugs in recorded history, almost like a light tap on both of the shoulders blades in the back. It perhaps resembled a security sweep at an airport: maybe each one was looking for a concealed weapon on the other. For a moment they looked at each other in silence. Then Margarete pursed her lips and said:
“Well . . . how are -”
“HE is doing okay,” Helena interrupted: “I saw him two days ago. He’s still asking when his sister will ‘get home from her vacation, and take the train up from the Equator’.” Helena now frowned slightly, and raised an eyebrow. “You know, Erik is around all the time now to talk to him . . . ”
For just a second, Julia detected a flash of shock run across her Aunt’s face, realizing just how seriously her brother’s condition had deteriorated. Julia tried not to interject.
You didn’t have to go there mom . . . she thought.
Uncle Erik died over 30 years ago. Margarete tapped her little handbag with some of her fingers, looking off to the distance. She let off a short huff, trying to process. “Wow I . . . I didn’t . . . oh Hele-”
Helena was relentless. She glowered over (and somehow through) her sister in law: “So, are you going to cut your visit short like last time, or will you actually be staying the whole trip with your son and daughter-in-law?”
For several seconds neither woman said anything. Julia thought it was incredible that both of these trained women had completely forgotten that an entire cheering crowd and a flock of reporters were still watching them. Unable to let this silence and awkward staring continue for any longer, Julia finally said, “I think the cars are ready for us, maybe we should start walking?” She gestured between her aunt and mother, motioning them down the carpet. Everyone seemed to nod and walk forward.
While Erramun observed the conversation between his mother and and aunt with great amusement, Cecilia considered the exchange carefully, and when they all started walking down the length of carpet, Cecilia addressed Queen Helena. “For what it’s worth, your Majesty, it is certainly my intention to take full advantage of this...visit, and I would feel much more confident in doing so if my mother-in-law is my guide, if you will.”
Erramun felt the need to suppress a laugh. Cecilia apparently had a lifelong habit of pushing buttons and creating awkward situations for her own personal amusement. When she was younger, she would often assume the opposite position of her sister, Queen Isabella, if only to provoke a reaction from her. Some in the media even insisted that Cecilia only married Erramun because she wanted to be a queen, and only after she was told by members of her native court that she wasn’t queen material. So now here she was, poking and prodding foreign monarchs, consorts and princelings so she could enjoy a tickle from their frustration.
Helena waited for Cecilia to catch up before turning to her and saying: “That’s wonderful, then I hope you don’t miss a single opportunity - and oh -” she craned her neck slightly, “you too Em - seriously do enjoy yourself while you’re here. At some point you’ll have to go down to Lucklö, your uncle would be so happy to see you.”
Margarete was now walking next to Julia as they paraded down the carpet, taking a moment or two to wave to the crowds as they approached the parked vehicles. In between a wave Margarete leaned over to ask “Do they still keep the stables?”
“Still there, I think they’ve renovated them recently for the horses.”
“Ah well, nice to hear something has changed at Lucklö.”
“It still has its pretty view Aunt Margie.”
“Yes, it was my favorite . . . the lake, the dense forests, the mountains, would never want to miss a day outside.”
“...Basically the northern half of Boaga,” Erramun laughed. They continued walking up to the car, and that was when Cecilia took the opportunity to finish her cigar and throw it down on the ground before waving and blowing kisses to the crowds that had gathered to welcome them.
Once they got into the car, Cecilia sighed, and said to Erramun. “Yeah, but the northern half of Boaga smells like feces. I can’t imagine the same can be said of the wilds of Ostboland, but then again I’ve been wrong before.”
Erramun got comfortable in his seat and then he asked his wife, “are you always a smartass?'
Smirking, Cecilia responded, "nope. Sometimes I'm asleep.”
Letting out a laugh, Erramun teased, “and you don’t get much sleep,” before sliding his hand down her back.
Cecilia however was unamused by the joke. “For most of my life I have been adored by fools and hated by people of good sense, and they all make up stories about me in which I am either a saint or a whore. But I am above these judgments, I am a Queen.”
“...Do you ever lament your fate?” Erramun asked her as he pulled his hand away.
“No,” replied Cecilia as she shook her head. “Not even for a moment.” She smiled then and kissed Erramun on the cheek, and for the first time the entire trip, he thought that maybe his fate wasn’t so bad after all.