"Will, maybe we should-"
"Not now, Beverly," Will instructed, doing his best to keep his voice steady as he led the way to the throne room. Footsteps followed eagerly behind him, belonging to not only his guard and his friends, but to all those subjects who had lived through the night. "I do not have-"
"There are traditions to uphold, William," Beverly again pushed, voice still lower than Will thought it needed to be. "If we do not perform them, your reign may be questioned. It's already hanging by a thread. We cannot afford to do this incorrectly."
Will refused to slow his gate. "What part of the ritual are you referring to? Because at the moment, I have very little patience for traditions."
Will's arm was grabbed lightly, calling the man to a halt so he could look at the hand that Beverly was bringing to his view. Her voice was no more than a whisper when she spoke.
"You are covered in blood, Will. At least do the bathing ceremony. Show them how pure you are."
Will's eyes darted over his fingers that were dried and cracking with the remnants of the past king across them. It would be a lie if he said he didn't enjoy the way the blood looked nearly black in the moonlight that poured in from the windows and the shadows cast by the lit torches.
"I am the furthest thing from pure Beverly. Maybe it is time for the public to see exactly who their king is. No more lies and falsehoods. Only truths." Will freed his hand from Beverly and continued towards the throne room, shoving one of the doors open when he reached it. Beverly raced after him, and Will ignored the worried look on her face. "Beverly, will you please see that the Archbishop of Canterbury is fetched as swiftly as possible? I am not wasting my time going to Westminster. I have other things to look over now. Have him bring the bare essentials."
"William, I-"
"Please," Will begged lowly, so as not to be heard. "Do not undermine me at this particular moment. We will discuss everything fully after. I promise. Now, go. Make haste."
Beverly nodded and rushed off the way they had come, handfuls of her skirts in her hands to run faster. Will motioned Jack closer to him and the man pushed forward the soldier in his grip to fall in line with Will's steps.
"I want all those who oppose me on their knees before the throne. I want to see all their faces. Am I clear?"
"Yes, Your Highness," Jack agreed with a nod, falling back to instruct all his men of Will's orders.
Will inhaled deeply, the air around him cool and refreshing. It filled his lungs with strength as he took his place before the thrones. Thrones that only he would fill. No one else needed to fill them. Not Hannibal, nor Margot. They were his and his alone.
He turned his attention to the throne room that was filled steadily with all of the guards and the court. Women clung to their husbands and there was low chatter among them that fell silent when Will raised a hand, calling for their attention.
He held out his hand towards Brian who came to him. Brian's face was pale, and he inhaled deeply, stopping before Will and bowing before turning to face the crowd. He held up the severed head that Will had let roll down the stairs minutes before. There was a sharp shift in the room as an icy coldness whipped through it.
"My loyal subjects," Will announced to the room, his voice somehow louder than he had ever made it before. It was power, it was strength, it was him. "Today marks a pivotal moment in the annals of our realm. Fate has thrust upon me the mantle of leadership. I now stand before you as your new sovereign."
Will didn't miss the way a shiver ran through the crowd, uneasiness hanging there now as eyes wearily took in his father's head before them and the pale guard. He just hoped that he was able to show them who he wanted to be, what he could be, instead of them fearing him like they seemed to be doing now. Not that Will could blame them in any sense. He couldn't imagine what it must be like to be woken from a dead sleep and brought to the throne room to see your king dead before you.
"The sun has set on the reign of my father, King Sanford, a monarch who, in his twilight, faltered in his duty to safeguard our land. The kingdom languished under the weight of indecision and weakened resolve." A murmur of dissent rippled through the assembly, but Will raised his hand, quelling the unrest. "I did not seek this throne for glory or ambition. No, my intention is to restore this kingdom to its former glory, to mend the frayed threads of our society and ensure a future of prosperity for all."
Will took to pacing before the thrones, looking across all the faces present. The terrified eyes, the anger in some faces, the men on their knees, waiting for their fates. Exhilarations flooded Will and he forced his smile to be kept at bay.
"In this critical juncture, I implore each of you to pledge your loyalty to me, to this kingdom, and to the vision of a brighter tomorrow. Unity will be our strength, and together, we shall forge a legacy that transcends the tumultuous events of today." Will hoped that his voice held enough blend of calculated charisma, authority and persuasion that compelled the audience to listen. He came to a halt to look around at his subjects once more. "I understand the uncertainty that clouds your minds. The path ahead may be treacherous, but I promise you this: with your allegiance, we shall navigate these troubled waters and emerge stronger, a bastion of stability in a world fraught with chaos."
He paused, allowing his words to linger in the air, the weight of them to settle. "Today, I call upon you, my loyal subjects, to stand with me. Together, we shall carve a destiny worthy of our kingdom. Pledge your loyalty, not to me alone, but to the shared dream of a realm reborn. And I can promise that no harm shall befall you, if you find yourself still in my good graces. No assets or lands will be seized."
As Will extended his hand, the hall held its breath, and the subjects, torn between doubt and curiosity, faced a momentous choice – whether to embrace the new era or resist the currents of change that swept through the kingdom.
From the doorway, Will spotted Beverly entering the room with the archbishop behind her, the man looking utterly putout and upset. The color drained from his face as he took in the scene and his eyes met Will's. There was no challenge in them. Only acceptance of their fate.
"Sir Zeller, turn to face me and pledge your fealty to me," Will instructed. His friend turned to face him, hand that was holding the severed head trembling. Will reached out and took the scruff of hair that Brian held and pulled his father's head to him. He didn't give it much of a glance before he tossed it aside, to be forgotten. It had no place here, not even to watch his coronation. "Kneel and bow." Brian obeyed, a relieved expression on his face. "Do you pledge your fealty to this kingdom and to me?"
"Yes, Your Highness," Brian stated, loud enough to be heard. He was the example. He had to guide the people to do the same. Will needed this to be perfect and it would be. He would see to it.
"Repeat after me," Will instructed, hands outstretched to Brian who took them and rested his forehead on them. "I promise to be faithful and loyal to William, King of England."
Brian's words were strong as he repeated what Will had asked him to without question. "I promise to be faithful and loyal to William, King of England."
"To never bear arms against him or his heirs. So help me God."
"To never bear arms against him or his heirs. So help me God."
"Very good," Will praised. "I welcome your fealty and accept your submission. Now let us be what we once were and what we should always be. United. You may return to your post."
Brian pulled his hands from Will's and rose back to his feet. He stepped towards James and took his spot next to their friend who succeeded Brian with the same motions and words. Will waited patiently as Jack forced the man in his grip towards the steps of the throne and Will looked down at the man who was shoved to his knees. This was the moment of truth. A moment that would shape his reign. A moment he could never come back from, but he had to solidify his place at the head of this kingdom, whatever it be.
"Do you pledge your fealty to this kingdom and to me?" Will asked, holding his breath as he waited for the answer. The armored man before him spat at his feet and Will closed his eyes with a deep exhale. His hand found the bloody dagger in his belt, but he waited, eyes falling back onto the man. "I shall only inquire once more. Do you pledge your fealty to this kingdom and to me?"
"Never," the man hissed, and Will gave a small nod in understanding.
The motion was almost second nature to him as he freed the knife from the leather of his belt. A smooth motion found the knife gliding over the skin at the man's throat, the only vulnerable spot not hidden behind armor. Will didn't so much as blink as a new wet and sticky heat hit him. There was gasping and gagging as the man's hands went to his throat in a vain attempt to ebb the flow of the blood.
It didn't take long for the man's body to go limp, and Will motioned for Jack to remove the man from the front of the throne. He was tossed aside unceremoniously, and Will met Jack's gaze as Jack turned back to the throne.
Without a word, Jack knelt before Will, armor turning a glistening red from the spilt blood and the corner of Will's lips tipped up just a twitch.
"Do you pledge your fealty to this kingdom and to me?" he asked confidently.
"Yes," Jack answered with a nod, before taking Will's outstretched hands and resting his own head against them. "I promise to be faithful and loyal to William, King of England. To never bear arms against him or his heirs. So help me God."
The pile of bodies grew. Will knew that there would be some who opposed him, but he hadn't realized how many of his father's own guards were going to be loyal to Sanford. But Will was pleasantly surprised when Hannibal's men all bowed at his feet, not a single one of their lives thrown away and Will wondered if Hannibal had mentioned anything to them before he had left for Spain.
Whatever their reasons, Hannibal's own good word, or their trust in Brian and James, they all stood with Jack's remaining men, and the rest of the court while the archbishop came to stand beside the thrones.
"This is most outrageous," the man hissed under his breath. Will was swift to catch the man as he slipped in the freshly spilt blood.
"I will wear your blood and crown myself, if you so wish to complain," Will informed in a low voice as he straightened the man up. "Is that understood?"
The archbishop's hands gripped tightly to the crown in them, his knuckles going red over the twisting silver and gold. "Yes, Your Highness." He stepped around Will, who kept his eye on the man carefully. "Please kneel."
Will obeyed, dagger still held firmly in his fist as a precaution. His knees were soaked through with blood, and he looked across the room. One set of eyes caught his attention more than any other. A pair that seemed to drink up all the blood in the room. Eyes that were unjudging as they watched from the very back of the assembly. Hannibal's eyes.
Will shook his head to remove them from view and they vanished as if they were nothing more than smoke, leaving Will breathing hard, phantoms still clinging to him without forgiveness or reasonings.
The archbishop's voice, though heavy with sorrow, resonated with the authority of tradition. "Prince William, in the crucible of conflict, you have proven your mettle and valor. It is with a heavy heart that we bid farewell to our fallen king, but it is with hope and conviction that we place upon you the mantle of leadership."
The circlet was lowered onto Will's head with a bit more force than what was necessary, and Will shot a dark look towards the man who returned it.
As the metal touched his brow, a surge of emotions welled within him- a mixture of grief and sadness for Hannibal, regret for what he had done to Margot, gratitude for the support of his friends, and the profound realization that his life had inexorably changed. This was all his now. Legitimate or not, this kingdom was now his and no one would take it from him.
The onlookers, their eyes reflecting a mixture of fear and respect, bowed their heads in a silent acknowledgment of the transition. The once-prince stood, now anointed king.
"Long live King William," the archbishop called out across the room and Will listened to the words being chanted back at him, resonating deep within the stone walls to live there now amongst all the other rulers that had come before him.
"Long live King William."
"You're not here," Will whispered as he scrubbed the blood from his hands in the water basin. Eyes that matched the color of the gathering water stared back at him from the mirror. "Please don't do this to me. Please don't haunt me like her. I don't think I can take this."
"You want me to leave?" Hannibal's voice, somehow wrong even though it was coming from Will's own memories, asked. The apparition sat in the chair behind Will, arms folding over his chest with a deep breath. A breath that was real and would never fade.
Will's movements paused and he felt his chin tremble as he looked over the man he couldn't touch. "No," he whispered. "Please don't leave."
Hannibal nodded and said nothing. He simply watched as Will finished cleaning the blood from his body. He had dismissed everyone save for Jack, Brian, and James as his personal guard right outside the door. Once he was fully clean, he would fetch Beverly and then he was going to begin the building of his kingdom. He didn't have much of a plan, but he was determined to see this through.
His limbs ached as he attempted to pull his clothes from his body. His arms were stiff and refused to move higher than just his chest. After several failed attempts, he made his way to the door and called through it.
"James, would you fetch Alana for me please?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," his friend's voice answered through the wood.
Will returned to the water basin and mirror, looking over his body. He lifted the shirt up to look at the splattering of bruises that littered his skin. And then his fingers went to the stitches on his cheek. The last time the rings had touched him, they hadn't left nearly as deep of marks. They would scar horribly. But he supposed that was the price he would pay for his kingdom. It was small for what it could have been.
Will jumped as the door opened and he turned to face Alana who swiftly bowed. "Your Majesty," she stated rather matter of factly than with any real feeling to it. "You called?"
"Please Alana," Will muttered. "You can just call me Will. I am still just me." He wasn't sure what he would do if everyone around him changed how they acted with him in the room. This is when he needed them most. Where he needed some small piece of everything to stay the same. Especially since what he had done had been done for people like Alana and her son. Will only wanted this place to be better for the likes of them. "You know me."
"You are not the little boy I raised," she whispered, her eyes glistening with tears. She cleared her throat and nodded. "What can I do for you, Your Majesty?"
Will's heart broke just that much more, his chest aching with the heat of it. His hand went to the pain as if it were a physical ailment he could somehow heal. He was still just Will. He was still the same as he always had been. He just wore a slightly bigger crown now was all.
"Can you help me undress and bathe please?" Will asked, his mouth dry and his voice thick. "I can't lift my arms over my head."
"Shall I have the physician fetched as well?" she questioned, her tone a single note that tugged at Will's chest that much more.
"In a moment," Will whispered, tears beginning to burn his own eyes.
Alana strode over to him, passing by where Hannibal sat and not acknowledging him in any capacity. He really was just in Will's head. But he looked life-like. He was just as real as Mischa had been. Just as solid.
The movements between Alana and Will that had always been so smooth in their struggle of Will wanting to be his own person and Alana just following etiquette and precedence. But now they were clunky, as if this were their first-time meeting. It took time to undress Will and helping him into the bath was an excursion all its own.
The tub swirled from clear to incarnadine. Ruby eyes followed the length of Will's back as Alana helped wash the blood from his skin. It was comforting to feel the familiar gaze, even if it was imaginary. When the eyes rested on the metal that still adorned Will's head, the gold and silver took on a new weight that made Will's neck heavy.
He tried to reach up to remove the item from his head, but his whole body refused, sending harsh waves of pain through him and his arm returned to the cooling water. Without a word, Alana's nimble fingers plucked the crown from his curls and tossed it to the floor with a clatter that sent a small smile to Will's lips.
His eyes met Alana's and he found himself met with a small grin from her as well. Maybe there wasn't too much damage between them. Maybe the flames hadn't tarnished his bond to the rest of the world as badly as he had thought they had. Maybe there was a chance.
Clean water was poured over his head, making his curls run into his face. They were brushed back by gentle fingers as the chamber door opened once more. Will's neck burned as he turned in the tub to find Beverly through a soggy gaze.
"You called for me?" she asked as she stepped closer.
"Have you sent that dispatch to Margot yet?" Will asked as Alana carefully scrubbed the blood away from the stitching in his cheek. He winced, eyes closing tightly at the heat in the touches.
"Yes, it was sent out a few hours ago. I wouldn't expect to hear from her for a few weeks at least," Beverly explained. "But I will let you know the moment that we hear from her."
"Perfect," Will grumbled through his teeth. "And has the news about my coronation gone to print?"
"Yes. It will be in the morning papers."
"And the cleaning?"
"It is still in the process of being-"
"Excellent. Thank you, Beverly." Will's interruption was one made with a smile. "I appreciate all of the work you've done for me."
"How are you feeling, Will?" Beverly took a seat in the chair and Will watched as Hannibal faded away to make space for her. Will did his best to hold back the misery at his love dissolving instantaneously, but the pain came out as a gasp when Alana pressed a cloth to his stitching again. "They look rather horrid."
"They hurt like a bitch too," Will got out.
"I'm almost done," Alana assured. "I will fetch Chilton when I'm finished."
"Thank you."
The room fell into an oddly comfortable silence while Alana finished her work. Will was rinsed once more and then both women helped the man from the tub, who was then dried and dressed carefully. Alana bowed and left the room, door closing behind her, leaving the two friends alone.
"Beverly, I need you to look into the letter," Will instructed. "I am begging you to find out more information, anything you can about the Mary Rose."
"Will, the letter was fairly thorough," Beverly said as she guided Will towards his bed. "They had records of everyone on board. They had-"
"Unless I have the records in my hands and the bodies at my feet, I cannot allow myself to believe that he is gone!" Will shouted, voice cracking in his throat. He wasn't exactly sure where the sudden outburst had come from, but it drug everything from him.
Fatigue settled in like a heavy fog, enveloping every inch of Will. It wasn't just the weariness of muscles or the heaviness of eyelids; it was a bone-deep exhaustion that seemed to seep into the very marrow of his bones. Each step felt like lifting lead, as if the universe's weight had intensified its pull on him alone.
His mind, once bustling and citylike, was nothing more than an empty desert landscape. Thoughts stumbled over each other, tripping on the fog of fatigue that clouded his cognitive pathways. It was as if his brain had hit a wall, and the usual clarity of thinking had been replaced by a murky haze. Simple decisions became intricate puzzles, and the effort to form coherent sentences felt akin to assembling shards of shattered glass.
The ache was more than physical; it was a profound soreness that radiated from the core of his existence. It resonated in the creaking of joints and the groaning of weary muscles. It wasn't a sharp pain; rather, it was a persistent, dull throb that echoed with each heartbeat. His body seemed to protest every movement, pleading for a respite that felt elusive.
Even the act of breathing became a laborious task. Inhaling felt like dragging in air laden with the weight of the day, and exhaling seemed to release not just breath but a fraction of the exhaustion that had settled in. He yearned for the solace of stillness - longed for a sanctuary, a moment where the world would pause, where time could slow its relentless march and grant him a mere moment to simply be and grant him the luxury of rest. But the weariness clung to him like a relentless shadow, a reminder of the battles fought, the hurdles overcome, and the price paid for the journey.
It was a weariness that surpassed the physical realm, infiltrating the very fabric of his emotions. The usual vibrancy of life had dimmed to a muted grayscale, and even the most joyful memories felt distant and obscured. Laughter, a distant echo; joy, a fleeting apparition.
"You need to rest," Beverly's voice said somewhere distantly to him. It blew across the desert, on the sandy winds.
"Come to bed," a heavily accented voice called to him, and Will's eyes found his bed in the midst of the shifting sands. Standing beside it, tall and sure, was his knight, his Hannibal. "Your kingdom will not fall in a single night while you rest-"
"-Not while those who are loyal to you keep watch." Beverly's voice weaved and tangled with Hannibal's as the bed grew closer.
"You will search for me, won't you?" Will asked, the words clinging unpleasantly to his tongue. He knew what he was asking for was important. Something to do with the man waiting for him at his bedside.
"I will search for you," Beverly assured. "For now, rest and Chilton will be in to look after you."
Will's body collapsed into his bed, the softness snatching him up to drown him in much-needed comfort. He blinked around and found Beverly trucking the blankets around his body. She brushed back some of his curls and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
"I'm sorry," Will whispered on instinct, the reasoning behind the words distant now as sleep dug into him, drugging him, making him drunk with its poison.
"You loved him. I can't be upset with you for that." Beverly's hand was replaced with Hannibal's calloused fingertips as they brushed through his damp curls. "Rest now-"
"-Your Majesty," Hannibal whispered, leaning over. "You can rest now."
Will's eyes slid closed at a kiss pressed to his lips. It was faint and no more than a whisper, but it held a spring warmth in it and the promise of Hannibal's summer.
