ARTIST: Gelato-kitty (Today's art is available at the tumblr/livejournal for 365daysofusuk)
AUTHOR: Kelbora
June 2nd, 2014 – The New Golden Age
The death of a gentle titan heralded the solemn proclamation of succession from the balustrade of St. James. From the shadows of sorrow, came the first matriarch to bear the burdens of the crown since Her Majesty, Victoria; though it was the spirit of the new queen's namesake people were hoping to reign reborn. As the loyal masses, tired from years of war and desperate for restitution for their hope, watched and waited around the world, the ancient rites of ascension to a deteriorating throne played out once more.
He wanted to feel the people's optimism, but all he could marshal was exhaustion.
"You know, people would pay good money for your reserved seat in the front row," the man in the newly occupied space beside him began. "Yet here you are, loitering about the gallery, like a relative without an invitation."
The old empire never batted an eye and continued watching the proceedings below, as the Archbishop of Canterbury continued leading prayers for the new queen. "Though I know this may be difficult to believe, I graciously and freely abdicated my seat to someone more eager to sit amongst this sacred pageantry."
He didn't have to look at his former protégé's face to know the harsher truth behind his words had not gone unobserved. Alfred knew Arthur wasn't avoiding the undesirable company of ostentatious nobles; he was avoiding the eyes of the world.
The time of imperialism had withered and breathed its last. The war had worn the Englishman down to his bones and carved itself into the fabric of his being. His pristine ceremonial uniform was ill-fit and hung about him loosely, barely held in place by the belts that looked to be holding him together too. The real secret of his symmetry, however, was the bandages keeping his back straight and protecting his still-tender wounds from bleeding through his publically acceptable shroud.
The empire within him was dying. The restoration of his strength now teetered on the will of his Commonwealths to continue supporting him and the young woman kneeling before God.
He always seemed to be at someone's mercy these days…
"This should be a time of renewed optimism and I see your people eager to believe that…so can't you, too?" Alfred asked with his own cautious hope.
The elder closed his eyes to compose his carefully constructed façade of wellness, and tightened his hands behind his back. "It's the very reason I separate myself from them now.
"My state is a reminder of the past four decades of hell humanity has wrought upon itself and this world. We have survived on the blood of young men and dogged pride for too long, and now we stand with what many would consider a hollow victory and naught but rations to show for it. I know my appearance reflects that…and I will not make a disparaging spectacle of myself when all eyes want to and should be focused upon the first real hope we've had in years. The people need this moment…not a reminder that our golden era has ended."
For a few blissful moments Alfred rewarded his painful emission with peace, letting his senior listen to the words of Her new Majesty echo through the consecrated halls of Westminster. Arthur remembered a time when her father and grandfather had spoken those same words, as so many of their sovereign predecessors had before them…
"I'm proud of you."
Arthur returned from the scene below and suspiciously met the eyes of the man beside him. "Are you mocking me?"
The American shook his head and smiled. "I'm being sincere. I'm proud of you," he repeated, and turned to face Arthur with his hands in his pockets. "These past two wars have changed us, yes, but we're still here. The days of empires are at an end, but you're not…and this alliance we've formed, that's not ending either."
Arthur furrowed his brows but Alfred was swift to stop him before pessimism found breath. "Your people want this to be the start of something new and I do too. I don't just want to have each other's backs in trenches and on battlefields anymore…I want us to have them all the time."
"Alfred," the Englishman stopped him and tightened his expression. "What are you getting on about?"
The young man just chuckled, tossed his head up and rocked back on his heels in a juvenile fashion. The energy about him was anxious and giddy, and seemed to be getting in the way of his words; so when he leaned forward, taking hold of Arthur's hand and placing a small box in it, Arthur was only moderately surprised.
"Do you remember before D-Day when we exchanged tags…so that if one of us was killed they'd appear on our own army's killed-in-action rosters and we'd know? I checked the lists every day, sometimes twice a day for my name and was glad to have never seen it," Alfred began in a hopeless ramble, still trying to channel his thoughts into coherent speech. "It was like…they were good luck charms and that helped me keep going most of the time. I just kept thinking about that over and over…"
Arthur kept his eyes locked onto Alfred's face, as the other seemed like he was trying to move towards some point while not letting go of the Englishman's hand.
"You said it yourself, it was the first time you could remember not dying in a war. I know you tell me I'm a sentimental fool, but that meant something to me," the American said with a more nostalgic…older smile.
It was then, while the choirs of the Anglican church sang their divine hymns to call God to Her Majesty, he took his free hand and pulled the ball-linked chain bearing two British fiber-disk dog tags from beneath his collar. Arthur stared at them transfixed for a time, before finding it in him to look back at Alfred, whose smile had only widened. "These have been my good luck charms too, and I owe you a lot of thanks for them. So, when you're ready to let me…I'd like to spend the next eternity doing just that."
Arthur remained speechless, especially when Alfred used his hold to pull the other into his embrace and kiss him chastely on the lips; leaving more of a heartfelt promise than passion.
"God save the queen and long live England," the American whispered, and it was all Arthur could hear even with the crowd chanting the same below them.
With lingering hesitancy, Alfred released the dazed Englishman and made his way from the gallery. Arthur remained rooted to the spot for some time before he realized the box left in his hand.
With no small amount of tentativeness on his part, Arthur removed the lid on the unremarkable parcel and stared at the simple gold ring looped through a ball-linked chain, bearing the tags he had returned to Alfred after the war.
Alfred's tags and a ring conveying Alfred's message:
From one equal to another, will you marry me?
~June 2nd, 1952: Fin~