The White Knight

"The Queen" Fanfiction

"Her Majesty the Queen was rushed from the scene of what can only be described as a near-disaster. Her Majesty was greeting attendees at the opening of a new library this morning when a young man approached the Queen and withdrew a large caliber hand gun from his jacket pocket. Video footage captured by a home video camera shows the swift action of the guards as they descended on the man and subdued him as other guards escorted the Queen from the premises. Understandably shaken, Her Majesty was immediately returned to Buckingham Palace, where officials report that she was not injured, and that the police are looking into the event. In other news, Girl Guides in…"

The rest of the news cast was lost on His Highness, Prince Phillip Mountbatten, Duke of Edinburgh as his chauffeured car made its way through the streets of London. He tapped nervously on the empty seat to his right where Elizabeth often rode beside him, and seemed to fidget as he glanced out the windows, somehow willing the car to move faster. It was the third time he'd heard the news. He first heard it on a break from a day of touring a Welsh battalion's barracks on a small television that was playing the news in the same room. Shock washed over him as amateur footage showed his 50 years bride smiling and greeting families one minute, and then coming face to face with a .38 caliber pistol the next. He heard the news again seconds after that, when his cell phone rang and the Queen's representative from Buckingham Palace was calling to tell him. Hearing it again on the radio as he rushed home only agitated him. Despite being repeatedly reassured that she was uninjured and only badly frightened, he insisted upon cutting his day short and coming home. She had not asked for him, but after so long of a marriage, there are some things you simply *know* and Phillip *knew* that his Queen needed him.

A guilty sensation niggled away at Phillip's conscience. Nine times out of ten, he was with Elizabeth at functions like the one she was at today. Why had he not been there today? He could have been there to console her and perhaps could have protected her like a husband should. He fought not to clench his teeth.

"Stupid! It was stupid of you not to be there with her!" he scolded himself in silence.

"We're here, Your Highness," the chauffeur said as they pulled up to the curb. Phillip shook his head to dispel the memories of fear and helplessness as the footage rolled over and over on the television. He ignored all servants and the small knot of press representatives crowding the gates and shouting. Even from the distance from the gate to the door where he entered the palace, he could hear them. He strode into the palace, his long legs carrying him along as quickly as he could without running. If he lost his cool, he was likely to say something he would regret later and that the press would have a field day repeating. He uttered just three words to the Queen's personal attendant when she met him in the corridor.

"Where is she?"

"In her bedroom, Your Highness," the woman replied with a bob of a curtsey. He was long past her before she finished her response, finishing the trek to the bedroom in near record time. He rapped at the door sharply and was greeted by a shriek on the other side of the door. He opened it immediately and found his wife, his sovereign, sitting in a chair in a dark corner of the room, as far from the reach of the light from the windows as she could manage. She was wringing her hands, pale and trembling, her blue eyes wide behind her spectacles. He could tell that even here, in her own bedroom—their bedroom—she was trying valiantly to put that self-control she was so well known for back into place. Here, in the one place she had no reason to hold back, she was still trying to be Queen instead of simply letting herself be human. His heart swelled with relief to see for himself that she was physically unhurt by the gunman and he crossed the room as she fumbled to stand.

"There you are," he murmured, opening his arms as he came to the chair. She crumpled into his embrace heedless of her glasses, or her silver-white hair in its perfect curls. She continued to shake as he folded his arms around her and simply sheltered her there for the space of a few seconds before he coaxed her to sit down on the edge of the bed with him. She had not met his eyes, so great was the fear that she was still feeling, her nimble fingers twisting the wedding ring she wore. She had not uttered so much as a single word as she sat beneath his protective arm and quivered. Never had she come so close to being assassinated. So many questions raced through her mind that the room around her was a blur. The only clear thing in the room was sitting right beside her; a comforting warmth that she had not yet quite registered, but it made itself more real as a long, masculine hand reached out and covered both of hers. She finally looked up, realizing that he had spoken to her and that she hadn't even been listening.

"Elizabeth? Elizabeth, speak to me," the voice said. She looked up at him, her heart still pounding in fear, and could only manage a meek nod of her head.

"There…that's progress," the voice continued, a smile softening the long face and changing the shape of the kind-looking eyes of her Greek husband. She breathed shakily as she nodded again. She could hear him, but couldn't seem to make herself reply.

"I came home as soon as I heard…please speak to me," Phillip begged. Another sharp knock at the door startled them both, making the Queen duck her head and her Prince tighten his grip on her as the door opened, admitting their oldest son, Charles.

"Get out," Phillip growled.

"I've just been told that my mother was almost shot, you could at least—"

"Get out," Phillip repeated himself more firmly. "See that we're not disturbed again." Charles straightened, nodded curtly and turned, closing the door with a harsh snap. He turned his attention back to his startled wife and he began to fear that if he didn't figure out the right thing to say, she might actually panic herself into a heart attack.

"You're safe, my darling. Please do something—tell me what I can do to help you," Phillip said, clutching her right hand in his own. "Cry, Elizabeth. Let yourself cry at least before you give yourself an ulcer." She looked up at him again, his words slowly taking root and one moment at a time, she finally broke down and started to weep.

"Hold me!" she wept, pressing herself more tightly into his arms. "I can't stop shaking!" Phillip obliged most willingly, rocking a bit and whispered softly that everything was all right.

"I've got you…I've got you now…Shhhhhh….I'm so sorry I wasn't there with you today," Phillip murmured. She held tightly to his sleeve and kept her head tucked against his shoulder as she cried, letting the tears blur her glasses and fall unimpeded onto Phillip's lapel. Her Prince, her white knight, her comfort and strength who came running home when he heard what had happened to her. He came home and sought her out, pulling her out of the dark corner she had huddled into in terror. He now held her against his chest and protected her, guarded her, assured her that she was safe. A strange thing reached her ears--had he just said he was sorry?

"Whatever for? You mustn't blame yourself for this. What could you have done?" Elizabeth replied, her voice gaining some strength.

"I keep going over the news footage in my head. I keep placing myself there, trying to figure out what I could have done. Something. I could have done something. I might have seen him reaching into his jacket pocket and pulled you away. I could have been there to hold you immediately after, could have ridden with you back here to the palace. I could have done something," Phillip babbled.

"No," Elizabeth said softly. "No, I won't let you find a way to blame yourself for this." There was a silence of a few seconds during which the Queen slowly released her grip on her husband's sleeve and seemed to be gathering herself. She looked at him in his fine suit, worry creasing lines into the corners of his eyes and she managed a small smile. He favored her with one of his own and lightly stroked her cheek with his fingers as he moved to cup her face in his hand and bent to softly kiss her. They remained with their foreheads touching for a while, simply sitting in the quiet until she reached up to brush her cool fingertips over his face as she pressed her hand gently against his cheek. He covered her hand with his and then turned his head to kiss her palm.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you, too," he replied in kind, still holding her hand against his face. Finally, he moved it away, smoothly moving to hold it between both of his own hands.

"Why don't you lie down and rest?" Phillip suggested softly.

"Yes. That's a good idea," Elizabeth replied, letting him help her to stand and then waiting as he pulled back the covers. She smiled as he struggled with the pillows and the tightly tucked sheets and then sat down again, toeing off her shoes before letting her beloved tuck her in. She took a deep breath as soon as her head touched the pillow and a sense of relief washed over her. Tucked into her bed, warm, snug, and watched over by the man she loved—her white knight—the Queen started to fumble to take her glasses off, but Phillip assisted with this, too, setting them quietly on the bedside table.

"Stay with me?" she said sleepily. Her eyes were already drooping shut when he sat down on the edge of the bed again and stroked her hair affectionately.

"Until the sea doesn't touch the shore," he replied warmly. "Rest well, my love."

Phillip spent long, quiet minutes watching Elizabeth fall asleep. The silence seemed to sooth his nerves somehow and he took a deep, cleansing breath in the cool space of the room. There was a knock at the door and Phillip quickly glanced at his sleeping Queen, fearing that she might awaken. He breathed more easily when he discovered that she wasn't disturbed and once again, Prince Charles looked cautiously into the room. Phillip waved him in and then motioned for him to be quiet. Charles nearly tiptoed around the bed and brought the chair from across the room with him so that he could sit near his parents.

"The boys are worried. They heard it on the television and they're afraid for her," Charles said softly. "Anne and Andrew have called. They want to know if they need to come home. Edward is out of the country with his family and we haven't heard from him yet."

"They don't need to come home. God forbid had something worse happened, then yes, but as it is, she's not hurt," Phillip replied. There was a tense silence for a moment before Charles rose from his chair and nodded, starting for the door to, Phillip assumed, call his siblings.

"Charles?" he called softly.

"Sir?"

"Come here," he said. When Charles returned to his chair, Phillip took a beat of time to form the words in his mind before he spoke.

"You need to know that I wasn't angry at you before. I was simply focused on your mother and her needs and at that moment she didn't need people fussing about her. Every little sound upset her and I needed to make sure that she was all right before I let anyone else near. Does that make sense?" Phillip explained. Charles nodded.

"It's this business with Diana that has me so afraid. I was afraid something like this might happen but I thought for sure I would be the target, not mum," Charles said.

"I understand," Phillip said. Both men turned when the Queen shifted her weight in her sleep, emitting a soft sound close to a whimper. Very quietly the word 'no' came next, a word she repeated more firmly as the nightmare she was obviously having grew more violent.

"No!" she cried, thrashing the other direction.

"Mum," Charles said, reaching out to touch her shoulder.

"Darling, you're dreaming…wake up," Phillip coaxed, taking hold of her hand. Her body startled as she woke with a gasp, opening her eyes wide to find that Phillip had stayed as he said he would, and that Charles had joined him there. Both princes moved to help Queen Elizabeth sit up, patting her hands and speaking softly as she let herself become more aware. She reached for Charles and embraced him, an affection that he smiled as he received.

"Where are the boys?" she asked as she held him.

"In their room worrying about you," Charles replied.

"You dreamed of them?" Phillip asked. Elizabeth nodded hastily.

"I dreamed there was another gunman. This one had a rifle and he was aiming for the boys," Elizabeth explained as she continued to clutch Charles to her. "Charles was there with them and he'd already been shot!" Elizabeth lost the resolve to keep from weeping again and Charles held her as she steadied herself and sat back a moment later.

"I'll go and tell the boys you asked for them. They'll like that," Charles said, carefully releasing his mother from his arms and standing up to go. Phillip brought her a handkerchief and gently stroked her shoulder as she cried and bravely tried to gulp back tears that only a mother and grandmother could really understand.

"Feeling a little better?" Phillip asked.

"I will be when I have the boys in my arms," Elizabeth said stubbornly.

"Grandma," William's voice called from the doorway. Elizabeth turned and her pained expression melted. She gestured for both of them to come closer and both of the young princes grinned as they walked around the bed to the side she was on and each took a position on the edge of the bed where they could lean into her open arms. Elizabeth inched to one side to make room for them a second before William sat down closer to the pillow, winding his arms around her shoulders from behind her and resting his head against her left shoulder, while Harry perched in front of her and wrapped his arms around her torso, cuddling in against her other shoulder. She held them each tightly and kissed the tops of their heads, relieved now that she could see and touch them and reassure herself that they were really all right. Charles watched with a smile from the foot of the bed, virtually ignored along with his father as Elizabeth nearly vanished beneath her grandsons.

"We're glad you're all right, grandma," William murmured.

"We were so worried when we heard," Harry added.

"I'll be all right now, dear," she murmured lovingly. She hugged them once more and patted their cheeks before they sat up again, their smiles evidence that she wasn't the only one who was going to be all right.

That night, when Phillip came to bed, Elizabeth was already huddled beneath the covers and facing away from him. He slid into bed and propped himself on one elbow. She didn't respond, so he lightly touched her upper arm, making her startle a little and then roll over onto her back so that she could see him.

"Are you all right, cabbage?" Phillip asked gently, his affectionate nickname for her softening the stress in her expression. His hand now covered hers as it rested over her belly, and she nodded, though she kept strangely quiet.

"I'm considering cancelling my commitments for tomorrow, but I'm not sure I should," she finally said softly.

"Why not?" Phillip replied. "You've been through something traumatic. You deserve to take a day off to get yourself right."

"But would it send the right message? I don't want people to think that I frighten so easily," Elizabeth fretted. Phillip inched closer and pressed kisses to her temple and then her forehead, finally looking down at her with an adoring smile.

"All people are going to think is that you're human and you are. Come now. The whole of England is not going to come to a standstill simply because you take a day for yourself," Phillip said, lowering his lips to hers in a comforting kiss. She responded by shifting to accommodate his body so close to hers, and returning the kiss with the first enthusiasm she'd shown all day.

"Keep that up and I'll have to cancel my own commitments tomorrow and stay home as well," Phillip teased, making her chuckle before he kissed her again. Morning would find Her Majesty and her white knight curled tightly together with the sun filtering through the draperies, his arms around her, hiding her, protecting her, like any good knight would do.