Memories of Ghosts

Seventeen: Tension Arises

**It's been two months since I posted a chapter—you guys must think I'm dead. Sadly I don't have an interesting excuse for you besides school being back in session (all math equations are out to get me and French grammar makes me wanna kill myself). I apologize for the long wait, but here's a long chapter to make up for it. :D

Anyways wish me good luck in French class and I'll see ya in the next one!**

19 August 1585

The sharp sound of Elizabeth's pen sliding across the parchment paper was as loud as thunder in the large and nearly empty throne room, echoing like a scream from the middle of a grassy field. Arthur stood beside the occupied throne and had the perfect view of the unrolled document presented to his queen, but he still leaned forward in anticipation, just like Cecil and Walsingham next to him. They all held their breaths until Elizabeth lifted her quill from the paper, ending both her signature and the noisy silence surrounding them.

She then handed the snow-white quill to Walsingham who also held the black bottle of ink, unintentionally forcing the men behind her to straighten up in unison. Once he plucked the pen from her hand, she looked up at the man before her with a gaze of power and empathy.

"I do hope that these soldiers I'm sending you will help ease the suffering of your Protestant people, Sir Netherlands," she said in Flemish.

Willem Morgens (or Sir Netherlands as he was beginning to be called) lightly shook the paper, trying to dry out the freshly applied ink. He rolled it back up, tied a thin piece of twine around it, and then stuffed it into his inner coat pocket. He peered back at her and mumbled in a gruff voice, "I hope so too."

Arthur studied the crumbling state that Willem was in and wondered how he had the capability to even stand on his own. White bandages were wrapped tightly around his head, covering his large forehead and his right eye—he could see tiny dark red spots sprinkled along the rough fabric near his hairline, a telltale sign that he needed to replace the bandage soon. Scars and bruises decorated his pale skin in all sorts of shapes, sizes, and colors and if one got too close, the faint odor of iron and smoke could be smelt lingering about his person (even though he had a change of clothes and no burn marks or infected wounds were present on his body).

Despite how painful it looked like to be him at that moment, he still wore that seemingly permanent frown upon his chapped lips. Arthur had only seen Willem in person a few times (their histories haven't cross paths too often), but whenever he did, he always appeared pissed off. His behavior didn't match his face, thankfully, for he was a straight-forward, quiet, and hardworking lad. Arthur didn't have anything for or against him.

"Will you be staying with us another night?" Elizabeth inquired. "Do you require any medicines or traveling provisions for the journey back?"

Willem shifted his weight onto one foot with a bit of a limp. "I already have what I need. The sooner I get to my people, the better—they'll want to see the signed treaty as soon as possible."

"I understand. I'll have my men assist yours in raising the siege of Antwerp on the date we arranged."

He nodded and then paused for a moment, pondering over something. "Are you sure you don't want the title of Governor General? It's frankly a little odd that you're rejecting it."

Elizabeth nodded her head once. "I'm quite sure, thank you."

"My people would want to know why."

Arthur, Walsingham, and Cecil all glanced at each other, surprised at Willem's subtle yet blunt demand. Their gazes aimed toward the Queen—though not directly—as they waited for her answer. She hesitated but eventually responded with the same authoritative stare that hardly ever slipped from her face: "I am honored by their proposal, but they must understand that I'm already fully dedicated to my home country, England of the British Isles. I don't mind providing assistance to other countries, but I cannot be responsible for them."