Fiftypence said:King of Minors: Uh, from an online English-Finnish dictionary.o
Clever.
I am actually amazed that it got the conjugation right. (Yes, I know a fair amount of Finnish, learnt it from my grandmother.
)-
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Clever.
I am actually amazed that it got the conjugation right. (Yes, I know a fair amount of Finnish, learnt it from my grandmother.
)
I didn't notice the update.
Nice one.
So, will he drown on the cross-channel ferry?
The ferry will sink but Jens will wash up on the most mystical place of all
The Isle of Man!
great stuff Fifty!
The Isle of Man!
great stuff Fifty!
King of Minors: it didn't, i just guessed. I'm glad I somehow got it right. And no, he won't drown as that would just be crap.
Ghostwriter: Indeed.
cthulhu: Thanks.
BBBD: I assume you mean the Isle of Wight?
Ghostwriter: Indeed.
cthulhu: Thanks.
BBBD: I assume you mean the Isle of Wight?
The Danish Revival
42. Do What Thou Will
Where there had once been thirty, there were now but eight members of the Ancient Order of Atlantis, the secret society that controlled all the organs of power in the Danish-Norwegian Kingdom. Their Grandmaster, Mathias Jonsson, had made sure to root out “traitors and undesirables” from the Order, consisting mostly of those believed to be angered by Mathias’ seizure of power. These people, many of them powerful and respected men in their own rights, were now in the hands of the LOK.
The meetings of the Order now took place in the Masonic Hall in the centre of Copenhagen, under the guise of the Grand Lodge of Danish Freemasons. After all, the thinking had been, who would suspect that a real secret society would use such a public place as the Masonic Hall? Indeed, who would care? All the men of real power and significance were part of the society.
The remaining members of the Order, the self-styled Council of Eight, met here every second Tuesday, but not on nights where there was a full moon. Then they would meet on the Wednesday. Now, as a meeting was in progress, no one outside would have known, as no light emanated from the Hall. Someone standing outside may have heard a hint of macabre, eldritch rites as a whisper in the wind, but no more. Such a person would have just dismissed it as Masonic nonsense anyway, and would most likely have walked away unperturbed. Had they known the true significance of the distant sounds, they would have been filled with an unimaginable dread.
Moving into the Hall, the dark corridors distantly echo. Going onwards, through the large oak panelled doors, one would find the Council of Eight, that most blasphemous and terrible secret society that is a stain upon the good reputation of humanity. The man standing in the plain black robes, with a stature of mature youthfulness is none other than Chancellor of Denmark, his wavy brown hair shining under the soft glow of candlelight. Here, under the nose of Copenhagen, esoteric truths are spoken of that only the initiated may ever hope to comprehend. Mathias is now speaking, with a firmness of voice and a calmness of spirit that bewitches all who listen, much like that great proponent of animal magnetism Wilhelm Mesmer.
“Christianity, Islam, Judaism. The differences between these belief systems are a falsehood, as at the heart of each lies the same truth of divinity and esoteric knowledge. The ancient ones understood this, and realised how dangerous it would be for the ignorant masses to comprehend this. Thus, they gave birth to the Mysteries, and formed secret societies so that those who had the right blood could be party to the truths that presented themselves through the medium of the occult. There was a reason these societies remained a secret; the arcana with which they dealt was powerful, and should the knowledge pass to a man without scruples then it could do untold damage.
Of course, this happened. The first religions, those of the Egyptians, the Jews, the Babylonians, indeed even the Greeks, all stem from the same deception, the first religion. For religion is a virus, the most deadly virus that one can use against the common man for it offers him hope and salvation, and thus the will to infect others with this same message. This, my brothers, is what has given rise to the religions we see today. The old pantheons of God, it was realised, were just abstract symbols of the same great divine truth, and thus the first monotheistic religion, that of the Jews, was born. With the knowledge no longer in the hands of secret societies the truth got distorted to the point of absurdity, and by the time Judaism rose it was nothing but falsehood after falsehood.
The release of religion onto the common man was no mistake, but an act of vitriolic sabotage, for whoever it was that was responsible knew that through religion came strength through the illusion of weakness. For the initiates of those ancient societies were equals, not subordinates, of the divine, they were indeed part of the divine. The preacher gave a message of salvation, but indeed the only thing those gullible fools needed to be saved from was the virus of religion itself. Through religion they were made weak, subservient, slaves to the will of the divine; their will was sapped, until it was but a vestigial remnant of power. “The meek shall inherit the earth,” say the Christian preachers. The meek are weak, the meek are pathetic. It is those who know the truths that the occult yields, those who have real knowledge, the strong, those who can utilise the true strength of their will-” Mathias paused, his eyes dark and reflective, “they are the ones who should inherit the earth. The strong, the proud, the noble, the rich; they must crush with ruthless disregard the institutions that lie on a bedrock of weakness. Not just the church, but all of modern society. This city, this country, this thing we call civilisation, these are all founded upon the assumptions laid down by the teachings of the proponents of weakness. As such, they are inherently flawed and are but caricatures of how things truly should be.”
I have them, Mathias thought, looking round at the faces of the other seven members of the Order. I have them in the very palm of my hands. Maybe, just maybe, they will not only follow me to the very edge of the abyss, but right down into it.
“Thus, brothers, I have a plan, a scheme that will restore the strong as the rightful masters of the weak.”
He told them the plan. There was a collective gasp, and mumblings of protest from all but Lars Sandlund, who sat quiet and reflective. Mathias held up a hand to silence them, and spoke with serenity.
“I apologise, but the first stages of the plan are already in action. Lars is already involved with certain aspects of it. However, I appreciate that things are not currently as they should be. At the moment people would not tolerate it, as their weak minds could not bear the thought of it. A few years is needed, and so a few years I will give it. Then,” he said, smiling, “I will turn everything upside down!”
There was a ragged cheering from the Council, and Mathias was laughing inside. Show them the inevitable and they will just give in, surrender their wills. Even the strongest, it seems, have weak minds.
Where there had once been thirty, there were now but eight members of the Ancient Order of Atlantis, the secret society that controlled all the organs of power in the Danish-Norwegian Kingdom. Their Grandmaster, Mathias Jonsson, had made sure to root out “traitors and undesirables” from the Order, consisting mostly of those believed to be angered by Mathias’ seizure of power. These people, many of them powerful and respected men in their own rights, were now in the hands of the LOK.
The meetings of the Order now took place in the Masonic Hall in the centre of Copenhagen, under the guise of the Grand Lodge of Danish Freemasons. After all, the thinking had been, who would suspect that a real secret society would use such a public place as the Masonic Hall? Indeed, who would care? All the men of real power and significance were part of the society.
The remaining members of the Order, the self-styled Council of Eight, met here every second Tuesday, but not on nights where there was a full moon. Then they would meet on the Wednesday. Now, as a meeting was in progress, no one outside would have known, as no light emanated from the Hall. Someone standing outside may have heard a hint of macabre, eldritch rites as a whisper in the wind, but no more. Such a person would have just dismissed it as Masonic nonsense anyway, and would most likely have walked away unperturbed. Had they known the true significance of the distant sounds, they would have been filled with an unimaginable dread.
Moving into the Hall, the dark corridors distantly echo. Going onwards, through the large oak panelled doors, one would find the Council of Eight, that most blasphemous and terrible secret society that is a stain upon the good reputation of humanity. The man standing in the plain black robes, with a stature of mature youthfulness is none other than Chancellor of Denmark, his wavy brown hair shining under the soft glow of candlelight. Here, under the nose of Copenhagen, esoteric truths are spoken of that only the initiated may ever hope to comprehend. Mathias is now speaking, with a firmness of voice and a calmness of spirit that bewitches all who listen, much like that great proponent of animal magnetism Wilhelm Mesmer.
“Christianity, Islam, Judaism. The differences between these belief systems are a falsehood, as at the heart of each lies the same truth of divinity and esoteric knowledge. The ancient ones understood this, and realised how dangerous it would be for the ignorant masses to comprehend this. Thus, they gave birth to the Mysteries, and formed secret societies so that those who had the right blood could be party to the truths that presented themselves through the medium of the occult. There was a reason these societies remained a secret; the arcana with which they dealt was powerful, and should the knowledge pass to a man without scruples then it could do untold damage.
Of course, this happened. The first religions, those of the Egyptians, the Jews, the Babylonians, indeed even the Greeks, all stem from the same deception, the first religion. For religion is a virus, the most deadly virus that one can use against the common man for it offers him hope and salvation, and thus the will to infect others with this same message. This, my brothers, is what has given rise to the religions we see today. The old pantheons of God, it was realised, were just abstract symbols of the same great divine truth, and thus the first monotheistic religion, that of the Jews, was born. With the knowledge no longer in the hands of secret societies the truth got distorted to the point of absurdity, and by the time Judaism rose it was nothing but falsehood after falsehood.
The release of religion onto the common man was no mistake, but an act of vitriolic sabotage, for whoever it was that was responsible knew that through religion came strength through the illusion of weakness. For the initiates of those ancient societies were equals, not subordinates, of the divine, they were indeed part of the divine. The preacher gave a message of salvation, but indeed the only thing those gullible fools needed to be saved from was the virus of religion itself. Through religion they were made weak, subservient, slaves to the will of the divine; their will was sapped, until it was but a vestigial remnant of power. “The meek shall inherit the earth,” say the Christian preachers. The meek are weak, the meek are pathetic. It is those who know the truths that the occult yields, those who have real knowledge, the strong, those who can utilise the true strength of their will-” Mathias paused, his eyes dark and reflective, “they are the ones who should inherit the earth. The strong, the proud, the noble, the rich; they must crush with ruthless disregard the institutions that lie on a bedrock of weakness. Not just the church, but all of modern society. This city, this country, this thing we call civilisation, these are all founded upon the assumptions laid down by the teachings of the proponents of weakness. As such, they are inherently flawed and are but caricatures of how things truly should be.”
I have them, Mathias thought, looking round at the faces of the other seven members of the Order. I have them in the very palm of my hands. Maybe, just maybe, they will not only follow me to the very edge of the abyss, but right down into it.
“Thus, brothers, I have a plan, a scheme that will restore the strong as the rightful masters of the weak.”
He told them the plan. There was a collective gasp, and mumblings of protest from all but Lars Sandlund, who sat quiet and reflective. Mathias held up a hand to silence them, and spoke with serenity.
“I apologise, but the first stages of the plan are already in action. Lars is already involved with certain aspects of it. However, I appreciate that things are not currently as they should be. At the moment people would not tolerate it, as their weak minds could not bear the thought of it. A few years is needed, and so a few years I will give it. Then,” he said, smiling, “I will turn everything upside down!”
There was a ragged cheering from the Council, and Mathias was laughing inside. Show them the inevitable and they will just give in, surrender their wills. Even the strongest, it seems, have weak minds.
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Any chance we'll hear more about the actual game events, such as Danish industrial development, colonization, and world affairs? Any chance of more screenshots?
A very interesting speech made by Mathias. But, in the end of it all, I'm sure he will learn who's really weak.
GuyB: Not for the time being. I lost the original savegame for this, and don't even have it installed as the CD is broken. I lost all the screenshots i had taken as well, but i will try and reproduce them once i get a new copy of Victoria.
King of Minors: Thanks.
cthulhu: Maybe.
BBBD: Could be.
King of Minors: Thanks.
cthulhu: Maybe.
BBBD: Could be.
The Danish Revival
43. Meeting in Copenhagen
14th August 1841
Above the smoky city of Copenhagen there was a cloudless, azure blue sky, and the sun sat in the sky like a god. A cool sea-breeze negated the effect of the sun, and so in the city it was only pleasantly warm. The streets, as usual, were busy, as both rich and poor went about their daily business. The voices of the wealthy, tucked safely away in their horse and carriages, were intermingled with the noises of simple street traders plying their wares, in the marketplaces and street corners. This was Copenhagen, capital of the Danish-Norwegian Empire, and Søren loved it, despite the stench created when the sun’s rays rested on the grimy residential streets which frequently would waft into the city centre. This was home.
When he was not attending the theatre, he would take frequent walks through his city, taking the time to stop and chat to friends and strangers alike. Today was no exception, and as he strolled down the Vesterbrogade he looked up at the sky, feeling the brush of the cooling wind against his cheek. He stopped and sighed, as the thoughts that had harried him over the last couple of months once again welled up in his mind. He sat down on a wall, checking his pocket watch. Behind where he sat was an open space, an area that was to become some kind of public gardens. Søren looked over his shoulder, and saw that there was indeed some activity in the area, builders.
There was a sudden dip in brightness, and as Søren looked up he noticed how suddenly the sky seemed to be littered with the solemn grey of heavy rain clouds. He grunted, and checked his pocket watch again irritably. He mumbled something, and sat for another couple of minutes until he saw the familiar shape of Helena approaching. She smiled, and waved. He stood up, and Helena glanced at the sky.
“Looks like it may rain.” Søren nodded, and quickly changed the subject.
“What’s going on, Helena? It’s been a month since I heard from you, what have you been doing?” She grinned apologetically as it began to rain slightly.
“Sorry, but I’ve been so incredibly busy! I am a lady of leisure now, you know!” That was true. When her father had died, she had inherited his substantial wealth, what with her having no other close male living relative. She was an odd species in this age; a woman with almost total freedom to do as she pleased. Søren worried whether him being seen with her might arise in some people a misguided suspicion of improper behaviour, but Helena did not seem to notice.
He frowned.
“What about Jens, and Chancellor Jonsson, and all that?” Helena smiled, her hair fluttering in the breeze.
“Yes, well, I’ve…” she stopped, and a strange expression came over her face. “I’ve had a feeling that I should wait. Strange dreams…” She stopped, and looked up brightly, and spoke hurriedly. “But never mind about that.” Søren was suspicious.
“What dreams?”
“I’m..not sure, something in them telling me certain things. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about the whole Jens thing.” As she spoke, Søren noticed various disapproving looks from people, and felt prickles on his back. “…so, how about it?”
“What?” Søren said, distracted. Helena looked at him with mild anger.
“If you had been listening, you would have heard me say that I have a feeling that Jens may be in England. Don’t ask me how I know, I just do.”
“England?! How did he get there?”
“I don’t know, that’s not important. I went on to say that we would be heading for England as soon as possible.” Søren widened his eyes.
“We?! But, I…” Why not, he asked himself. Because, his mind replied, you’ve never left Copenhagen, let alone Denmark itself! He had never been very adventurous, and saw even the rest of Denmark as being strange and alarming. He was not averse to going to England per se, it was just that he loved Copenhagen. He knew he would be insufferably homesick. And, he thought, there is Helena, speaking as if it is nothing.
“Well?” She raised an eyebrow. “Come on, it will be fun!” Seeing his reluctant expression, she looked at the ground, her voice sad and low. “Oh well, I suppose I must go alone. I’m sure a lady, in London all alone, who speaks little English, will be absolutely safe and fine-”
“Okay, okay!” Søren held his hands up in surrender, with a heavy heart. “I’ll think about it.” Helena giggled, her hair now glistening with the small drops of water that fell gently from the sky.
“Well, you had better think fast as the boat leaves tomorrow night!”
Søren swallowed hard, and looked around where he stood, at his city of Copenhagen. A city currently under the thumb of a tyrant, a city that he could help save. He did not know how, but he felt that it was possible, but to do it he must first go and find Jens. Somehow, he was the key to all of this. He spoke very quietly.
“Okay, I’ll come.”
14th August 1841
Above the smoky city of Copenhagen there was a cloudless, azure blue sky, and the sun sat in the sky like a god. A cool sea-breeze negated the effect of the sun, and so in the city it was only pleasantly warm. The streets, as usual, were busy, as both rich and poor went about their daily business. The voices of the wealthy, tucked safely away in their horse and carriages, were intermingled with the noises of simple street traders plying their wares, in the marketplaces and street corners. This was Copenhagen, capital of the Danish-Norwegian Empire, and Søren loved it, despite the stench created when the sun’s rays rested on the grimy residential streets which frequently would waft into the city centre. This was home.
When he was not attending the theatre, he would take frequent walks through his city, taking the time to stop and chat to friends and strangers alike. Today was no exception, and as he strolled down the Vesterbrogade he looked up at the sky, feeling the brush of the cooling wind against his cheek. He stopped and sighed, as the thoughts that had harried him over the last couple of months once again welled up in his mind. He sat down on a wall, checking his pocket watch. Behind where he sat was an open space, an area that was to become some kind of public gardens. Søren looked over his shoulder, and saw that there was indeed some activity in the area, builders.
There was a sudden dip in brightness, and as Søren looked up he noticed how suddenly the sky seemed to be littered with the solemn grey of heavy rain clouds. He grunted, and checked his pocket watch again irritably. He mumbled something, and sat for another couple of minutes until he saw the familiar shape of Helena approaching. She smiled, and waved. He stood up, and Helena glanced at the sky.
“Looks like it may rain.” Søren nodded, and quickly changed the subject.
“What’s going on, Helena? It’s been a month since I heard from you, what have you been doing?” She grinned apologetically as it began to rain slightly.
“Sorry, but I’ve been so incredibly busy! I am a lady of leisure now, you know!” That was true. When her father had died, she had inherited his substantial wealth, what with her having no other close male living relative. She was an odd species in this age; a woman with almost total freedom to do as she pleased. Søren worried whether him being seen with her might arise in some people a misguided suspicion of improper behaviour, but Helena did not seem to notice.
He frowned.
“What about Jens, and Chancellor Jonsson, and all that?” Helena smiled, her hair fluttering in the breeze.
“Yes, well, I’ve…” she stopped, and a strange expression came over her face. “I’ve had a feeling that I should wait. Strange dreams…” She stopped, and looked up brightly, and spoke hurriedly. “But never mind about that.” Søren was suspicious.
“What dreams?”
“I’m..not sure, something in them telling me certain things. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about the whole Jens thing.” As she spoke, Søren noticed various disapproving looks from people, and felt prickles on his back. “…so, how about it?”
“What?” Søren said, distracted. Helena looked at him with mild anger.
“If you had been listening, you would have heard me say that I have a feeling that Jens may be in England. Don’t ask me how I know, I just do.”
“England?! How did he get there?”
“I don’t know, that’s not important. I went on to say that we would be heading for England as soon as possible.” Søren widened his eyes.
“We?! But, I…” Why not, he asked himself. Because, his mind replied, you’ve never left Copenhagen, let alone Denmark itself! He had never been very adventurous, and saw even the rest of Denmark as being strange and alarming. He was not averse to going to England per se, it was just that he loved Copenhagen. He knew he would be insufferably homesick. And, he thought, there is Helena, speaking as if it is nothing.
“Well?” She raised an eyebrow. “Come on, it will be fun!” Seeing his reluctant expression, she looked at the ground, her voice sad and low. “Oh well, I suppose I must go alone. I’m sure a lady, in London all alone, who speaks little English, will be absolutely safe and fine-”
“Okay, okay!” Søren held his hands up in surrender, with a heavy heart. “I’ll think about it.” Helena giggled, her hair now glistening with the small drops of water that fell gently from the sky.
“Well, you had better think fast as the boat leaves tomorrow night!”
Søren swallowed hard, and looked around where he stood, at his city of Copenhagen. A city currently under the thumb of a tyrant, a city that he could help save. He did not know how, but he felt that it was possible, but to do it he must first go and find Jens. Somehow, he was the key to all of this. He spoke very quietly.
“Okay, I’ll come.”
So, Kirkegaard goes to London.
An early revolution in philosophy coming up?
Nice update.
An early revolution in philosophy coming up?
Nice update.
The Danish Revival
44. A Royal Mess
Ameliensborg Palace, Copenhagen
17th September 1841
“I assume you’ve seen this?” King Christian VIII picked up the newspaper, and sighed. Emblazoned on the front page was the screaming headline:
“Crown Prince in New Drunken Scandal!!!”
Mathias took the paper back, glancing meaningfully at the empty chair next to him. Crown Prince Frederik had returned to Copenhagen a week before after five years in Jutland, which the King had hoped would calm him down. He had even had the good grace to offer him a place in the Privy Council. This had clearly not been a wise move.
Upon returning, Frederik had got spectacularly drunk and had made unwanted advances on several of the serving girls. Last night, he had again got drunk, but this time had been sighted with two prostitutes, and had collapsed in the gutter outside the Palace at about 3 A.M. As far as anyone was aware he was still there.
Crown Prince Frederik
The newspaper was passed around to the other Privy Councillors while Mathias and the King continued talking.
“I really hoped that spending time away from the city would give him a sense of, of, perspective. To tell you the truth, I’m worried he’ll never father an heir!” Christian frowned. “A legitimate heir, that is.”
“He hasn’t fathered any children as far as I’m aware,” Lars interjected. Mathias nodded.
“True, true. However, it is essential that he finds a wife, if only for his public image,” the King said worriedly. “I’m just concerned that someday he will be King of this country. We will be an international laughing stock!” Mathias patted him on th shoulder, and smiled reassuringly.
“Don’t worry, your majesty. I’m sure something could be arranged.” Something can always be arranged, he thought. Frederik may have been debauched, fat, lazy and arrogant, but he was also unpretentious. Indeed, there were even stories that he had actually thrown a half-eaten chicken leg over his shoulder, along with many other things.
Frederik was currently unmarried, although had been having an affair during his exile in Fredericia with a dancer called Louise Rasmussen, who unfortunately had been too low-born to marry the Crown Prince. Unless something changed, it seemed that a succession crisis may very well have been on the horizon, as Frederik seemed to be incapable of fathering a child, as well as the matter of his perceived unsuitability to become monarch.
Mathias left the meeting half an hour later, alone. As he walked through a quiet courtyard within palace grounds a figure emerged from the shadows, walking quickly until it was side by side with him. Mathias was too oblivious to notice.
“Nice day, isn’t it?” Mathias turned his head sharply in surprise to see the princess Maria.
“Oh lord, where did you come from? You nearly gave me a heart attack!” She giggled.
“Oh don’t be such an old man!” Mathias took a deep breath.
“What are you doing lurking around here, anyway?” She screwed her face up.
“I’m supposed to be at a fitting for my wedding dress,” she said the last two words with unsurpressed disgust. “Father says I must get married and have a son soon for the families honour, so he’s rushing everything.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m to marry Prince Maximilian of Habsburg next week, can you believe it?”
“No,” Mathias said weakly. He knew it was going to happen, but he was surprised at how fast time had gone. He had been so busy over the last few weeks that Maria had more or less slipped his mind. A thoughtful expression came over Mathias’ face. “I’ll tell you what, I will try to persuade the king to cancel.” Maria stamped her foot impatiently.
“Don’t you think I’ve tried that! No no, his mind is all made up. Aargh, I hate him!” Mathias patted her on the shoulder noncommittally, and to his surprise Maria leapt into his arms and kissed him. He gently pushed her back.
“Whoa, not here, people may see,” he whispered.
“I don’t care! I want to marry you! Don‘t you want me?” He did, he really did.
“Okay, I’ll sort something.” Seeing her doubtful expression, he grinned. “Don’t worry, I have a great deal of influence over your father. I’m sure he will see the error of his ways. Anyway, don’t say anything yet and go along with everything.” She nodded.
“Okay, but can we meet again? I’m sure I can evade-” Mathias put his finger on his mouth, and she stopped.
“That won’t be necessary. I can assure you that by tomorrow the wedding will be off, and preparations will have begun for my wedding to you.” Maria burst into a wide smile, embraced him and slunk off back into the shadows, leaving Mathias alone in the courtyard.
“Then there will just be the Habsburgs to worry about,” Mathias muttered.
Ameliensborg Palace, Copenhagen
17th September 1841
“I assume you’ve seen this?” King Christian VIII picked up the newspaper, and sighed. Emblazoned on the front page was the screaming headline:
“Crown Prince in New Drunken Scandal!!!”
Mathias took the paper back, glancing meaningfully at the empty chair next to him. Crown Prince Frederik had returned to Copenhagen a week before after five years in Jutland, which the King had hoped would calm him down. He had even had the good grace to offer him a place in the Privy Council. This had clearly not been a wise move.
Upon returning, Frederik had got spectacularly drunk and had made unwanted advances on several of the serving girls. Last night, he had again got drunk, but this time had been sighted with two prostitutes, and had collapsed in the gutter outside the Palace at about 3 A.M. As far as anyone was aware he was still there.
Crown Prince Frederik
The newspaper was passed around to the other Privy Councillors while Mathias and the King continued talking.
“I really hoped that spending time away from the city would give him a sense of, of, perspective. To tell you the truth, I’m worried he’ll never father an heir!” Christian frowned. “A legitimate heir, that is.”
“He hasn’t fathered any children as far as I’m aware,” Lars interjected. Mathias nodded.
“True, true. However, it is essential that he finds a wife, if only for his public image,” the King said worriedly. “I’m just concerned that someday he will be King of this country. We will be an international laughing stock!” Mathias patted him on th shoulder, and smiled reassuringly.
“Don’t worry, your majesty. I’m sure something could be arranged.” Something can always be arranged, he thought. Frederik may have been debauched, fat, lazy and arrogant, but he was also unpretentious. Indeed, there were even stories that he had actually thrown a half-eaten chicken leg over his shoulder, along with many other things.
Frederik was currently unmarried, although had been having an affair during his exile in Fredericia with a dancer called Louise Rasmussen, who unfortunately had been too low-born to marry the Crown Prince. Unless something changed, it seemed that a succession crisis may very well have been on the horizon, as Frederik seemed to be incapable of fathering a child, as well as the matter of his perceived unsuitability to become monarch.
Mathias left the meeting half an hour later, alone. As he walked through a quiet courtyard within palace grounds a figure emerged from the shadows, walking quickly until it was side by side with him. Mathias was too oblivious to notice.
“Nice day, isn’t it?” Mathias turned his head sharply in surprise to see the princess Maria.
“Oh lord, where did you come from? You nearly gave me a heart attack!” She giggled.
“Oh don’t be such an old man!” Mathias took a deep breath.
“What are you doing lurking around here, anyway?” She screwed her face up.
“I’m supposed to be at a fitting for my wedding dress,” she said the last two words with unsurpressed disgust. “Father says I must get married and have a son soon for the families honour, so he’s rushing everything.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m to marry Prince Maximilian of Habsburg next week, can you believe it?”
“No,” Mathias said weakly. He knew it was going to happen, but he was surprised at how fast time had gone. He had been so busy over the last few weeks that Maria had more or less slipped his mind. A thoughtful expression came over Mathias’ face. “I’ll tell you what, I will try to persuade the king to cancel.” Maria stamped her foot impatiently.
“Don’t you think I’ve tried that! No no, his mind is all made up. Aargh, I hate him!” Mathias patted her on the shoulder noncommittally, and to his surprise Maria leapt into his arms and kissed him. He gently pushed her back.
“Whoa, not here, people may see,” he whispered.
“I don’t care! I want to marry you! Don‘t you want me?” He did, he really did.
“Okay, I’ll sort something.” Seeing her doubtful expression, he grinned. “Don’t worry, I have a great deal of influence over your father. I’m sure he will see the error of his ways. Anyway, don’t say anything yet and go along with everything.” She nodded.
“Okay, but can we meet again? I’m sure I can evade-” Mathias put his finger on his mouth, and she stopped.
“That won’t be necessary. I can assure you that by tomorrow the wedding will be off, and preparations will have begun for my wedding to you.” Maria burst into a wide smile, embraced him and slunk off back into the shadows, leaving Mathias alone in the courtyard.
“Then there will just be the Habsburgs to worry about,” Mathias muttered.
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Nice update.
Somehow, I can't imagine Mathias getting married, he will probably think of something to prevent it.
Somehow, I can't imagine Mathias getting married, he will probably think of something to prevent it.
Can he really be in love, or it is something else that drives him?
Great update, I say let the Crown Prince reign! The Party King!
Great update, I say let the Crown Prince reign! The Party King!
Ciçatrix: No, bear in mind that with things the way they are there is a high chance that a son with Maria would inherit the throne. Btw, what's with the change of name?
BBBD: Possibly both.
To anyone who may actually still be reading: Good news, I will soon be recieving a new copy of Victoria (from eBay), so things should get moving more quickly. It's been stuck in 1841 for a bit too long.o
BBBD: Possibly both.
To anyone who may actually still be reading: Good news, I will soon be recieving a new copy of Victoria (from eBay), so things should get moving more quickly. It's been stuck in 1841 for a bit too long.
o