A Yearning for Yuletide
A peace was befallen upon the grounds of Miþborg, a cold peace and a quiet peace, for, by now, the birds of migration had removed themselves southward, and the animals of hibernation had entered into their dormancy. No rabbit scuttled to and fro on the lawn, nor did any deer browse; of man, likewise, there was not a single one to be seen, as none wished to subject himself to the doings of such a wintry warlock, lest he be frozen. Within the palace itself, however, it being sheltered and teened from the season, there was not a qualm voiced. Neither was there any discontent, with surely enough heat being forthbrought by the kitchen. Therein, chefs toiled, with ovens ablaze, dough kneaded, and soups bubbling. Adjacent from the kitchen, staff of the foot ran about the halls, stringing up the last of the decorations and arranging tables.
"Stop there for a moment, if you would?" called a man emerged into the King's Corridor, who was immediately distinguished from all others by the manner of his appearance, that is his clothing and his age.
"Yes, my lord?" responded he, whom the aforesaid distinguished man had called.
"If you might, go, see to it that His Majesty is going to be properly prepared for the day's function."
The servant nodded in the affirmative, and he was gone in a moment, removing himself thence to the King's Chambers. He knocked upon the oaken doors of the room, once and then twice before he estranged one ever so slightly passed the threshold and stated, "Your Majesty, forgive me for my disturbance, but I'm come with a suggestion from His Grace, the Lord Steward, that you begin preparation for the day's forthcoming events."
The King was already sat upon the side of his bed, and he had been so since sometime prior to the coming of the servant, who was shielded by the door: "You've caused no disturbances. You may open the door further if you wish." The King's words were done, and the door was opened further, that the King could see whom he spoke. "Mister Hrolfssen," recognized His Majesty. This Hrolfssen, Ketel Friþrik Hrolfssen, was a comparatively young fellow, but one older than Erik X Gustaf, — it being the Christmas of 1918, Erik was eighteen and several months whereas Hrolfssen was twenty-three, with the waxing and waning of November's moon. "I'll not need any help in my preparations, but tell me, — or if you don't know, please find out, — has the Duke of Hventien yet arrived?"
"He ought to be, sir. He is set to arrive by noon"
"Great. Thank you, Hrolfssen; that's all."
The Duke of Whentii was the Lord Marshal of Emerstari, a position that had been held by the same family, — his family (the Lejonhofeds), — since the fifteenth century. More than that, he was a member of the Privy Council and a most respected peer in the House of Lords, as well as a wealthy, landowning individual. Even more than that, the King was closely acquainted with him via friendship with his sons in childhood; however, the reason wherefore His Majesty sought that information from Hrolfssen concerned none of those things. Indeed, thoughts of the Duke brought up not the Duke himself, but of the Duke's daughter, one Natalie Jakoba, for at his coronation on exactly two years ago, save a day, she had been seated next to him. The two were seated next to each other as a result of a secret covenant involving the Archbishop of Upsel, the Kingfather, and the Duke himself that had the ultimate goal of securing an heir for the throne. This covenant was a secret one, though; it was one with which both Erik and Natalie were unfamiliar, arranged marriages now being unfashionable, requiring parents to be more sly. Regardless of its secrecy, it was a successful plot, and Erik eagerly waited.
"Who would those arrivers be?" Natalie asked, — that is, Natalie Jakoba Lejonhofed. She stood in a small semi-circle with His Majesty and several other Eirikrians, ones by the names of Soren, Ingolf, and Hrafna.
The one by the name of Ingolf further asked, "Those can't be the Soumian cousins, can they be? No, no they're not?"
"No they're not indeed," Erik said, "those are the Phoenixians."
"In Markion?"
"Yeah. Arriving would be King Charles and his house." Erik split from the group, asserting, "I suppose I should go greet them, lest I should be a bad host."
"You've heard what happened to Cousin Vilhjalm Þjod, or no?" Soren probed, now that Erik was away.
"No, what?"
"Oh, well, right before the Christmas Peace and the Battle of Euchelle, he fell off his horse in a parade and broke his arm."
"That's a rather dreary way to be this time of year."
"Yeah."
The Emerstarian monarch neared his Phoenixian counterpart as the latter entered the Hall. "It's quite nice to see you here, Charles. I would hope that your journey was pleasant? It's quite some ways from Phoenixia to Miþborg." Erik extended his hand for a shake.
"It is quite a way, but the travelling was just fine," Charles answered, accepting the shake.
"Thanks be to God then." Erik acknowledged the Phoenixian queen, likewise the royal children, then he turned himself about: "Well, tonight the palace is yours as much as it is mine. I must briefly attend elsewhere, but I'll be back shortly should you need anything." Following their responses, Erik watched the Phoenixian royals dissipate into the crowd of their peers, then he briefly turned his head, seeing Natalie, Ingolf, and all in his peripheral vision. He started to head towards them, but it all faded away...
Erik woke up, — it had all been a dream, or, indeed, a memory. No longer was this man a youthful and gallant monarch, but a tired and sequestered retiree of an exceptionally advanced age. He slowly pulled himself from off his bed and sat on its side, looking about the room before him. Thence, he cleared his throat and carefully knelt on a rug nigh to a window, that the light therefrom might shine on it. Erik closed his eyes and spoke a prayer aloud; he orated the words without even a single stutter, for this process was not anything new to him, having performed it each and every day for the last twenty-some years since Natalie passed.
He rose up and made a trudge to the bathroom wherein he freshened himself for the day. It was the twenty-fourth of December, the eve of Christ's birth, and exactly one hundred years after the events of this dream. When out of the bathroom, Eherik headed to the dining room of his cottage. "Good morning, Mister Jakobssen," he said, sitting at the table as the aforesaid Mister Jakobssen set a plate before him. Jakobssen, that is Harald Ælfrik Jakobssen, had begun attending the old king in August 1972 when he was a mere twenty-seven years old, and he was still at it now in December 2018. Although, back then he was just a staffer for the late Mister Hrolfssen. Now, he was the Head of Staff.
"Good morning, Sir," Jakobssen answered. "Quite a nice morning, too. Why, Rudolfssen was just a half an hour ago taking the hounds out, and those dogs were goodly happy in the snow."
"That is most delightful to hear. Thank you, Mister Jakobssen."
"My pleasure, Sir. Might you be requiring anything else for the moment?"
"Not at the moment, no."
"Then I shall be in the kitchen if you do." Mister Jakobssen bowed his head unto Erik, thereafter taking his leave from the dining room.
Erik ate his breakfast, — a meal consisting of a scrambled egg and several slices of bread topped in jam with a glass of milk, — and then moved to the living room. There, he positioned himself in the foremost chair and took to reading Olof Krutsner's Adventures, an Emerstarian classic and one of his favorites, after a brief stint of listening to the radio. Erik got himself caught up in the book, and before long, it was half past eleven. "Sir?" Jakobssen said, standing in the threshold of the living room and the dining room.
"Is it truly time already, Mister Jakobssen?"
"It is indeed, Sir. Are you ready?"
"I certainly believe I am. Let us make haste, I say."
"Of course. The car is prepared just outside." Jakobssen handed Erik his coat, hat, and maud then escorted him out to the car
"Good day, Sir," Mister Olofssen greeted Erik. Olofssen, a man about fifteen years Mister Jakobssen's junior, was the another senior staffer of Erik's: he was the head chauffeur.
"Good day to you as well, Mister Olofssen. It is a rather cold day, though."
"That it is, but the children will be excited, I'm sure, about tonight's snow. With snow, comes ol' St. Nick."
"You're right about that. I remember when my three were young, but Erik's eighty-six now, Inge's eighty-one, and Detrik... Well, may God bless him. How are your children?"
"My daughter Erika has got herself a newborn son last month, and my son is in his last year of college, looking to become a lawyer like his uncle. They're both coming in for tonight."
"Congratulations on your grandson, Gerhard. What's his name?"
"Karl Esmund. Esmund after my father's name."
"Where might the Karl come from?"
"My son-in-law's elder brother who's serving overseas right now."
"I see. Give him my gratitude if you would. I will pray that God might allow his unharmed return next Christmas."
"I will. Thank you, Sir." The conversation betwixt Erik and Olofssen slowed to an end, but the cottage, being not terribly far from Miþborg Palace, the two were almost come to their destination. Olofssen looked back to the old king: "We have arrived, Sir."
"So we have. Thank you, Mister Olofssen."
"It is all my pleasure." The door shut, Erik having gotten out, and the car drove away.
After the relatively short amount of time that it took Erik to commute from the courtyard to the of entrance the palace, he was greeted generously. "Uncle Erik!" called Thomes, the Duke of Ekkesburg, "it's wonderful to see you've come out here."
"It's wonderful to be out here, Thom." Behind him, Erik saw the Phoenixian royal family arriving, among others, immediately recalling their arrival a century ago to Christmas party of 1918. "It's truly wonderful to be out here, but I say let's not dally in the cold too long."
"Stop there for a moment, if you would?" called a man emerged into the King's Corridor, who was immediately distinguished from all others by the manner of his appearance, that is his clothing and his age.
"Yes, my lord?" responded he, whom the aforesaid distinguished man had called.
"If you might, go, see to it that His Majesty is going to be properly prepared for the day's function."
The servant nodded in the affirmative, and he was gone in a moment, removing himself thence to the King's Chambers. He knocked upon the oaken doors of the room, once and then twice before he estranged one ever so slightly passed the threshold and stated, "Your Majesty, forgive me for my disturbance, but I'm come with a suggestion from His Grace, the Lord Steward, that you begin preparation for the day's forthcoming events."
The King was already sat upon the side of his bed, and he had been so since sometime prior to the coming of the servant, who was shielded by the door: "You've caused no disturbances. You may open the door further if you wish." The King's words were done, and the door was opened further, that the King could see whom he spoke. "Mister Hrolfssen," recognized His Majesty. This Hrolfssen, Ketel Friþrik Hrolfssen, was a comparatively young fellow, but one older than Erik X Gustaf, — it being the Christmas of 1918, Erik was eighteen and several months whereas Hrolfssen was twenty-three, with the waxing and waning of November's moon. "I'll not need any help in my preparations, but tell me, — or if you don't know, please find out, — has the Duke of Hventien yet arrived?"
"He ought to be, sir. He is set to arrive by noon"
"Great. Thank you, Hrolfssen; that's all."
The Duke of Whentii was the Lord Marshal of Emerstari, a position that had been held by the same family, — his family (the Lejonhofeds), — since the fifteenth century. More than that, he was a member of the Privy Council and a most respected peer in the House of Lords, as well as a wealthy, landowning individual. Even more than that, the King was closely acquainted with him via friendship with his sons in childhood; however, the reason wherefore His Majesty sought that information from Hrolfssen concerned none of those things. Indeed, thoughts of the Duke brought up not the Duke himself, but of the Duke's daughter, one Natalie Jakoba, for at his coronation on exactly two years ago, save a day, she had been seated next to him. The two were seated next to each other as a result of a secret covenant involving the Archbishop of Upsel, the Kingfather, and the Duke himself that had the ultimate goal of securing an heir for the throne. This covenant was a secret one, though; it was one with which both Erik and Natalie were unfamiliar, arranged marriages now being unfashionable, requiring parents to be more sly. Regardless of its secrecy, it was a successful plot, and Erik eagerly waited.
"Who would those arrivers be?" Natalie asked, — that is, Natalie Jakoba Lejonhofed. She stood in a small semi-circle with His Majesty and several other Eirikrians, ones by the names of Soren, Ingolf, and Hrafna.
The one by the name of Ingolf further asked, "Those can't be the Soumian cousins, can they be? No, no they're not?"
"No they're not indeed," Erik said, "those are the Phoenixians."
"In Markion?"
"Yeah. Arriving would be King Charles and his house." Erik split from the group, asserting, "I suppose I should go greet them, lest I should be a bad host."
"You've heard what happened to Cousin Vilhjalm Þjod, or no?" Soren probed, now that Erik was away.
"No, what?"
"Oh, well, right before the Christmas Peace and the Battle of Euchelle, he fell off his horse in a parade and broke his arm."
"That's a rather dreary way to be this time of year."
"Yeah."
The Emerstarian monarch neared his Phoenixian counterpart as the latter entered the Hall. "It's quite nice to see you here, Charles. I would hope that your journey was pleasant? It's quite some ways from Phoenixia to Miþborg." Erik extended his hand for a shake.
"It is quite a way, but the travelling was just fine," Charles answered, accepting the shake.
"Thanks be to God then." Erik acknowledged the Phoenixian queen, likewise the royal children, then he turned himself about: "Well, tonight the palace is yours as much as it is mine. I must briefly attend elsewhere, but I'll be back shortly should you need anything." Following their responses, Erik watched the Phoenixian royals dissipate into the crowd of their peers, then he briefly turned his head, seeing Natalie, Ingolf, and all in his peripheral vision. He started to head towards them, but it all faded away...
Erik woke up, — it had all been a dream, or, indeed, a memory. No longer was this man a youthful and gallant monarch, but a tired and sequestered retiree of an exceptionally advanced age. He slowly pulled himself from off his bed and sat on its side, looking about the room before him. Thence, he cleared his throat and carefully knelt on a rug nigh to a window, that the light therefrom might shine on it. Erik closed his eyes and spoke a prayer aloud; he orated the words without even a single stutter, for this process was not anything new to him, having performed it each and every day for the last twenty-some years since Natalie passed.
He rose up and made a trudge to the bathroom wherein he freshened himself for the day. It was the twenty-fourth of December, the eve of Christ's birth, and exactly one hundred years after the events of this dream. When out of the bathroom, Eherik headed to the dining room of his cottage. "Good morning, Mister Jakobssen," he said, sitting at the table as the aforesaid Mister Jakobssen set a plate before him. Jakobssen, that is Harald Ælfrik Jakobssen, had begun attending the old king in August 1972 when he was a mere twenty-seven years old, and he was still at it now in December 2018. Although, back then he was just a staffer for the late Mister Hrolfssen. Now, he was the Head of Staff.
"Good morning, Sir," Jakobssen answered. "Quite a nice morning, too. Why, Rudolfssen was just a half an hour ago taking the hounds out, and those dogs were goodly happy in the snow."
"That is most delightful to hear. Thank you, Mister Jakobssen."
"My pleasure, Sir. Might you be requiring anything else for the moment?"
"Not at the moment, no."
"Then I shall be in the kitchen if you do." Mister Jakobssen bowed his head unto Erik, thereafter taking his leave from the dining room.
Erik ate his breakfast, — a meal consisting of a scrambled egg and several slices of bread topped in jam with a glass of milk, — and then moved to the living room. There, he positioned himself in the foremost chair and took to reading Olof Krutsner's Adventures, an Emerstarian classic and one of his favorites, after a brief stint of listening to the radio. Erik got himself caught up in the book, and before long, it was half past eleven. "Sir?" Jakobssen said, standing in the threshold of the living room and the dining room.
"Is it truly time already, Mister Jakobssen?"
"It is indeed, Sir. Are you ready?"
"I certainly believe I am. Let us make haste, I say."
"Of course. The car is prepared just outside." Jakobssen handed Erik his coat, hat, and maud then escorted him out to the car
"Good day, Sir," Mister Olofssen greeted Erik. Olofssen, a man about fifteen years Mister Jakobssen's junior, was the another senior staffer of Erik's: he was the head chauffeur.
"Good day to you as well, Mister Olofssen. It is a rather cold day, though."
"That it is, but the children will be excited, I'm sure, about tonight's snow. With snow, comes ol' St. Nick."
"You're right about that. I remember when my three were young, but Erik's eighty-six now, Inge's eighty-one, and Detrik... Well, may God bless him. How are your children?"
"My daughter Erika has got herself a newborn son last month, and my son is in his last year of college, looking to become a lawyer like his uncle. They're both coming in for tonight."
"Congratulations on your grandson, Gerhard. What's his name?"
"Karl Esmund. Esmund after my father's name."
"Where might the Karl come from?"
"My son-in-law's elder brother who's serving overseas right now."
"I see. Give him my gratitude if you would. I will pray that God might allow his unharmed return next Christmas."
"I will. Thank you, Sir." The conversation betwixt Erik and Olofssen slowed to an end, but the cottage, being not terribly far from Miþborg Palace, the two were almost come to their destination. Olofssen looked back to the old king: "We have arrived, Sir."
"So we have. Thank you, Mister Olofssen."
"It is all my pleasure." The door shut, Erik having gotten out, and the car drove away.
After the relatively short amount of time that it took Erik to commute from the courtyard to the of entrance the palace, he was greeted generously. "Uncle Erik!" called Thomes, the Duke of Ekkesburg, "it's wonderful to see you've come out here."
"It's wonderful to be out here, Thom." Behind him, Erik saw the Phoenixian royal family arriving, among others, immediately recalling their arrival a century ago to Christmas party of 1918. "It's truly wonderful to be out here, but I say let's not dally in the cold too long."
