Chapter Text
Henry blinks open his eyes to the sound of a fist pounding on his bedroom door. He waits for his eyesight to adjust, lifts himself off of his reading chair he had dozed off in, and makes his way to the door, checking his watch as he crosses the room.
02:38
‘What could they possibly need this early in the morning?’ He thinks as he opens the door, coming face to face with Philip, who looks quite dishevelled though completely dressed.
“What’s going on?” Henry asks as he takes in the sight of his brother.
“The Queen has died,” Philip mutters. “Mum wants us to be included in the debrief from the US Prime Minister.”
Henry goes still. “What?”
“Yeah, she had cancer, remember?” Henry nods. “That’s not the official cause of death but it’s the most probable, though she was old too. Anyway, throw on a jumper and come to Mum’s office as soon as you can. There’ll be a video chat in about ten minutes.”
Henry nods again and Philip walks away. He stands there and watches the hall become busier with staff as they prepare themselves for the news from the US government, until he snaps himself from his thoughts and grabs the closest clean jumper he can find, throwing it over his crumpled shirt as he follows the small crowd of staff to his mother’s office.
There in the room was his family, the Vice-President’s family, office advisors, and anyone else who was deemed important enough to be in attendance. Henry finds a spot next to his sister in a corner of the room away from the bustling politicians as they prepare for the call to come through the speakers.
“Can’t believe she’s dead,” Bea whispers, her sad blue eyes roam the room. “The longest serving monarch ever, gone like that.”
“She was in her late eighties, she had a good innings,” Henry says quietly and keeps his head down. His thoughts turn to Princess Ellen - well, Queen Ellen now - and how she must feel at this moment. Her mother is dead, and a whole country is now calling her Queen and looking at her to continue the monarch’s legacy.
“It’s still devastating. She became Queen when she was twenty! That never happens,” Bea looks around the room, at their own mother, and turns towards Henry. “I can’t imagine what Ellen and the family are going through.”
Henry’s pensive after that. The Monarchy is going through a big change, sure, but the family has lost their mother, their grandmother, and Henry’s thoughts turn to the Queen’s grandchildren, Princess June and Prince Alexander, the two undoubtedly going through the highest amount of grief whilst having to maintain a strong face for the country. Henry remembers how he felt when he lost his dad, losing the one person he felt he could truly connect with and talk for hours with about his novels or his studies, and the feeling of emptiness that was left in his place.
He wonders if Queen Geneveive was that person for the Prince.
He’s brought out from his thoughts by the loud shrill of a phone call coming through the speakers and the entire room falls dead silent as they watch Catherine answer the phone, the giant screen flashing to life with the image of Prime Minister Watkins. Henry forgets his first name.
“Madam President,” Watkins greets with a nod, his face solemn with grief.
“Prime Minister,” Catherine returns. Henry glances at Bea, who wrings her hands together. “I understand this is not a joyous call.”
“That is correct. I am calling to confirm the passing of Her Majesty the Queen Geneveive. The Queen passed away at approximately 9:20pm Thursday 8th of September, surrounded by her family. The United States will now enter a mourning period of five days, where Her Majesty will lie in state at Austin Palace.”
Catherine closes her eyes and takes a grounding breath, and Henry notices his mother’s change in demeanour instantly. “I understand. On behalf of the United Kingdom, we are sincerely sorry for your loss. If there is anything I can do at this time, please let me know.”
Watkins nods his head. “Thank you. There will be a public memorial for Her Majesty once the mourning period is over. I will get the details to you as soon as I have them.”
“Of course, John. Thank you for the call, and sorry for your loss once again,” Catherine finishes the call and sighs when the line disconnects. She looks around the room at her staff before she stands, straightens her blouse, and steels herself. “Well, news of this has undoubtedly spread across the globe already. We continue as normal until information regarding the memorial arrives.”
“Yes Madam President.” The room echoes with the phrase, and bodies start to filter out of the office until the First Family remain. The heavy door clicks shut behind the last member of staff, and Catherine lets out a sigh of relief. She looks at her three children and smiles softly.
“Sorry for dragging you all into this. I didn’t want you finding out online with false information,” she explains.
“I found out by Philip knocking my door down,” Henry shrugs, and crosses his arms loosely in front of him as Philip nudges him. “What happens now?”
“We wait,” Catherine says. “But we will all go to this funeral together. I must admit I don’t know what happens in these situations but I’m sure I can scrounge up some information and pass it along before then. It would be nice to build public and personal relations to the Royal Family at the memorial though.”
“Mum! This will not be a time for schmoozing, and the Royals will definitely not want to deal with that at the moment,” Bea reasons, and Henry can hear her trying to hide the shock in her voice. “This will not be a political trip.”
Catherine stares at her three children and thinks, before humming to herself. “Head back to bed, I’ll talk to you all in the morning. And I don’t want you to ‘doomscroll’ on Twitter when you get to your rooms, alright? We know what happened to the Queen, so there’s no need to fill your heads with conspiracy theories.”
The three nod their heads, and are shooed out of their Mum’s office. Henry has a feeling she is opening up her strong liquor as soon as the door closes, and he can’t say he blames her.
“I’ll see you two in the morning for breakfast,” Philip mutters as the three reach the bedroom quarters, splitting off to his room.
“Goodnight,” Bea says to Henry.
“Night, Bea,” he replies, closing the door until he is shrouded in darkness once more, the only light source being the dimmed lampshade in the corner he forgot to turn off earlier.