Title: A Prayer At Lurlinemas
Author: Penny_Hill
Characters/Pairing: The Queen and Ambrose
Rating: G
Summary: A few months after Azkadellia's possession, Ambrose gives the Queen her Lurlinemas gift.
Warning: A little *sappy!fluffy* and generously sprinkled with references to Wicked.
Length: 1444
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the rights to Tin Man or Wicked, nor the respective characters of either work.
Located deep inside the castle, the House of Gale's private oratory was simple and plain. Occasionally one of the reigning queens would add a new wooden pew or replace a tattered portrait of one of the saints or gods; but other than that, it was as it always was from the very first queen. The oratory was a chapel, a place of solace and reflection. Reflecting upon one's soul was not intended to be a comfortable endeavor.
The Queen was kneeling in front of the portrait of Saint Glinda. Traditional votive candles of gold and green, in honor of the Lurlinemas holiday, had been lit and their small flames flickered from the slight drafts. A few other black, iron-forged lanterns hung at each grey stone pillar provided the only other faint light. As Lurlinemas approached, the Queen had grown more and more somber. Even the castle, usually full of merriment and good cheer seemed sad and the ancient marble pillars felt colder to the touch. For the caretakers, no matter how much gold and green velvet finery they hung from every nook and cranny seemed to warm the halls and rooms. It was as though some invisible gloomy fog permeated right down through the stone and grout in to the very castle's soul.
As gently as he good, Ambrose opened the great wooden door. Made of tall oak trees from the Great Gillikin Forest, it was once pale with a golden glow from the special Gillikin varnish that had been applied to preserve it. But age and oil from a thousand royal and servant hands weathered the wood to nearly black and the shiny Gilllikin varnish had long ago worn off. The door protested with creaks and groans at Ambrose's push but shortly relented.
Ambrose knew not whether the Queen heard him approach. His footsteps bounced off of the stone pillars and walls. As he walked nearer to the Queen, he glanced up at the portraits of the saints. He felt their eyes gazing at him intently and he briefly wondered if one of them would break the silence. He was not a regular attendant at service and it was well known throughout the royals' close circles that he was not a man of belief. If he had been born on the Other Side, he would have been known as an agnostic, maybe even as far as an atheist. He turned his head away from the unrelenting stares and focused his attention back on to his Queen.
As Ambrose neared her, she lifted her head and her woolen shawl slipped ever so slightly from her shoulders, exposing pale smooth skin. Ambrose swallowed as he saw the momentary glimpse of flesh. Then he cursed himself for allowing himself to lapse in such a fashion.
The Queen looked up at the portrait of Saint Glinda. "It's a beautiful representation of her, isn't it Ambrose?"
Involuntarily Ambrose fiddled with one of the tiny screwdrivers he always had in his pocket. "Yes my Queen it is. It was commissioned by Ozma the Mendacious as she was later known by." He forced a small chuckle. "But I'm far from being an art critic." The Queen smiled at his attempt at self-depreciating humor but said nothing.
For a few minutes the only sound in the oratory was from the occasional crackle from one of the lanterns.
The Queen bowed her head once more and murmured a few more words. She then started to rise from her kneeling position and out of habit bred from familiarity; Ambrose reached out to help her up. His hands gently grasped her arm and as he smelled the faint scent of roses in bloom and another rush of memories flooded his mind. He willed them away once more. He thought of a conversation that they had had earlier in the month. "Are you sure that you will not reconsider running electric wires for light? The lamps could be fashioned to resemble candles so that the effect would not be lost."
The Queen readjusted her shawl and said, "Thank you Ambrose." She turned and looked around the oratory. "No, I believe that the lanterns and candles shall stay. I was thinking more of commissioning a new offertory table for Saint Glinda."
A half-hearted "Oh," was the only response that Ambrose could offer.
"But that's not what you came down here to talk to me about was it?"
Surprise, then guilt crossed Ambrose's face. "No, it's not."
"Then what has brought you down here dear Ambrose?" The lyrical quality to the Queen's voice was not as pronounced. The notes were flattened by hints of sorrow.
"The Lurlinemas holiday was always your favorite. But as it has drawn near, you've withdrawn. There are rumors that you are even going so far as to shorten the royal festival."
The Queen replied rather hastily. "The summer drought has made the year difficult for the farming communities. At this time of year we should scale back the festivities and instead concentrate on giving thanks to what we do have and to offer assistance to those in need."
Ambrose said nothing. He looked at the portrait of Saint Glinda. He was convinced that she was staring at him, in expectation perhaps? But expectation of what? He dismissed the thought and he returned his focus to the Queen. He took a deep breath. "That is true my Queen, but the real reason is Azkadellia isn't it?"
It was the Queen's turn to look surprised and then guilty. Ambrose continued, "Perhaps it's not as noticeable to some as it is to me. But Azkadellia has not been herself for some time has she?"
The Queen walked over to one of the wooden pews and sat down. She pulled her woolen shawl closer to her. At that moment, Ambrose did not see the Queen of the O.Z.; he saw a worried mother.
"She has not been well since our summer holiday in Fanaqua. The doctors have said that there is nothing physically wrong with her. Ahamo and I were reminded that she is beginning the mid-adolescent phase of her life. It is the time where in the quest to leave childhood and begin adulthood there will be good days and bad days. She will love us one day and despise us the next."
For right or wrong, Ambrose sat down next to the Queen. She did not move away and instead reached for his hand. He was hesitant, afraid of what memories her touch would release next. Her hand was cool and he held it with both hands, for comfort and for warmth.
"But you don't think that it's mid-adolescent angst do you?" he asked.
"I do not know what to believe Ambrose. Ahamo is satisfied with the doctors' diagnosis. He even cited his own troubled adolescence and made the remark of like father, like daughter."
Ambrose was surprised at the Queen's unusual amount of candor but he was thankful for it. As he held her hand, it was like the old times, before Ahamo came in to their world.
"That is why I was praying to Saint Glinda."
"For guidance?"
"Yes."
Ambrose looked over at Saint Glinda. Even though he had changed positions her blue eyes continued to stare at him. Two simple words entered his mind, comfort her. Whether it was from her influence, or from his love for his Queen, he asked, "Do you want me to pray with you?"
The Queen's head snapped up. She was startled but then her face softened. She momentarily wished she could see in to his mind; she wished she could see what had just transpired to cause him to ask such a question. "I would like that very much," she whispered.
Together they rose from the pew and knelt in front of Saint Glinda. Aloud, they recited the prayers they learned as children. In silence, they prayed for the welfare of the O.Z. and for Azkadellia.
Later that day, the Queen finished her requisition and gave it to the courier. After she watched him run down the hallway she turned her attention back out the window. It overlooked Central City and faced the setting suns. It was a beautiful winter sunset. The gift that Ambrose had given to her earlier paled to what she had just requisitioned for him. She stared at the small picture of them together in front of a small café at Shiz. It would be used as the basis for the larger portrait. But perhaps, he would see how much she still valued their personal friendship as much as his professional advisement. She whispered, "Thank you Ambrose."