The Foreign Reign

Death of the Confessor

Guests poured out of Westminster Abbey, the rich and the poor alike, as they leave the burial place of King Edward into the winter air. Some sad for the death of a faithful king; others believing that his piety would surely mean he would go to heaven. However, what was on everyone's mind was that there is no obvious heir to the throne. Edward left without an heir, and there was a power vacuum waiting to be filled. Earlier that day, one of the earls proclaimed that the late king gave him the right to the throne. However, as he left the abbey, Anglo was not in the mood to deal with it immediately. He wanted to be with his son in peace.

When he reached the courtyard, he saw his son gazing at the building, and he watched his eyes study its architecture. The young entity always had an eye for design, appreciating the art of the people before him. Pressing his wings against himself to conserve heat, Anglo snuck towards his son, trying to approach him unnoticed. However, when someone had wings like Anglo, it would be difficult not to be.
The entity turned and smiled at his father, amused at what he tried to do. He was a country in his mid-twenties, his white skin with St George's cross on his face  complimenting with the snow and contrasting with the dark apparel of the people.

"Still studying the Abbey?"
"It's quite fascinating, fa," answered England, "how a place for life has so much death in it." Anglo simply nodded.
"Also," chimed in England, "how such a beautiful gothic design was created by humans, considering what faeder says."
"Listen to me, fauntkin," he made it so that England faced him, "I care for your faeder; however, when it comes to the humans, you should not belittle them. They may be lesser than you; nevertheless, together, they are a force to be reckoned with.
"Speaking about your faeder..." Anglo looked around in the crowd to find a certain entity, Saxon. He should be here, thought Anglo.

A couple of days ago, when Anglo and Saxon heard about the poor health of the king, they decided it was a good time for their son to become the head of the country. However, to official do this, it had to be in the presence of a full-time entity. In the past, it had been done by the world entity but there hasn't been one for centuries, so heads of entities like Saxon took the role.

The pair entered a back door of the abbey and into a secluded room. It was necessary as the conversation they were about to have has yet to be officially announced. Neither Anglo nor Saxon have come around to tell England his upcoming role, so when Anglo told his son, he was understandably shocked and nervous.

England has never given this much responsibility before. Yes, he sometimes did help his fathers when it came to the Danes, but that was pretty much it.

"So, fa, are you going to disappear?" He did not know how to phrase his concern. Nations did not usually willingly give up their status, so he didn't know how they would live after that.
"Nay, I will still be here. It is about time. The world needs more young and aspiring countries like you."

Young and aspiring. More like weak, according to his other father. Saxon often questioned why England would want to be creative when his future job was to lead and defend his country. Once England chose a bow and quiver over a sword, resulting in Saxon telling him that he chose the coward's weapon. England's relationship with Saxon is what people would call a little strained, which was why he preferred to be with Anglo.

England wandered in the small room they were in, allowing the idea of leading to properly sink in. Wanting to comfort his son, he sat down on a bench, making sure he didn't crease his wings, and patted on the place next to him, indicating for England to sit beside him.

"Listen," he began once England sat down, "you are more than ready for this. Both your faeder and I have trained you for this."
"But faeder said..."
"It doesn't matter what Saxon told you," Anglo responded firmly, his wings slightly ruffled, taking England by surprise. Usually, Anglo keeps calm and collected, rarely raising his voice significantly.
"What matters is what you tell yourself and what you allow to influence you, do you understand?" He nodded.
"Good." Anglo proceeded to stand, which England shortly did after. They walked out of the room and into a corridor that would eventually lead them to the backcourt.
"So," asked England, "when will I become the head of the country?"
"Soon," replied Anglo, "soon."