Chapter Text
PROLOGUE
The Royal palace
Oslo, Norway
January, 5 years ago
Jared looks out on the sea of people from his hiding spot behind the curtain: faces as far as his eyes can see. A throng of bodies that from this distance almost form an entity. Groups are divided by enormous piles of snow-- dirty snow that’s been shuffled off the ground and piled up through a snow rich winter. Gravel and car fumes have colored the snow black, but right now the snow glows. Every bit of it is covered in lights and there are letters and pictures scattered around. People are gathering around, holding hands, singing and crying.
This must be the fifth time, at least, that he’s heard the national anthem sung. It starts impromptu, with everyone present joining in.
It’s been going on for hours.
The first people started showing up around 11 am, less than an hour after the news broke, and even before the family arrived. They had clapped as they drove past them, but it wasn’t a cheerful clap. It was mitten-clad hands joining in a rhythmic support to the grieving family. And it’s a grieving crowd’s reaction to losing a King.
A king is dead. Their king is dead. And Jared has just lost his grandfather.
He knows this is a national day of sorrow , a day that will forever be mentioned in the history books, but for him it’s a personal loss. He has lost his beloved granddad. The one who used to let him sit on his lap and climb on his furniture. For him, Granddad has always been just that: Granddad. He’s been the most important person in Jared’s life.
When Jared was five, he climbed his grandpa’s lap and asked: Why are they called a prince in the fairytales? And Grandpa had explained to him that in the fairytales, a prince represented the good and the brave, the man we strive to be. And if we succeed in being good and brave, we can overcome the evil.
Jared didn’t think he was always good and brave, and Jeff certainly wasn’t, so he couldn’t understand why they also were called princes.
Dad was brave though. He could see why he would be a prince. But Jeff was just his annoying big brother who would tease him to no end and always rile him up just before they were expected out in public where he knew Jared had to behave unless he wanted to be put in place later by Mom or Dad. Mom especially would yell at him if he didn’t behave. Dad would be more prone to laugh at it, telling Mom that they are just kids.
But Grandpa told him that fairytale princes and real princes were not the same. That fairytale princes were a symbolthat they ought to try to live up to, while real life princes were princes because they had a special job to do. Their jobs were to be the best representatives to their people as they could be. Their obligation was to the people in their country, in this case Norway, and that they were a symbol of the nation.
They were big words for a five-year-old, but they were important. Ten years later, he still remembers them, and how Granddad lived by his own word. “All for Norway,” he said, and by that he meant that he was there to serve the people, not the other way around. And for that attitude, the people had named him “the people’s King.”
Jared could only hope to be as good a representative one day. Not that he ever would be a king; that was Jeff’s lot. No, Jared would always just be a prince and he was grateful for that. He watched his brother become depressed by the burden of being the second heir to the throne, by having to make it his own journey and his own choice to go into that role. At 15, Jared was seriously scared Jeff would waive his right to the throne because that would bump Jared up one place, and suddenly a future as a king would be a possibility rather than a bullet dodged.
“There’s a lot of people out there.” Jeff’s voice is close to his ear, and Jared startles.
“Jeeze. Give a warning, man. I didn’t notice you were just behind me.”
“Sorry.” Jeff laughs, always happy to startle his kid brother, even on a day like this. Jared notices Jeff’s red rimmed eyes and shaking hands.
“You okay, man?”
“Yeah.” Jeff nods.
They look out on the people for a while, standing together in silence.
“They really did love him,” Jeff finally says.
“They really did.”
Jeff doesn’t say anything for a long while, but Jared knows he’s wondering if he can ever live up to the same standard. Their grandfather was a magnificent man. He wasn’t particularly tall, like the men after him have been. They get that from their grandmother’s side of the family. No, he was about average height, but well built. His appearance was more main man than royal, but his brain was extraordinary. He had a knack for history and politics, and would know details about most anything. He could quote people word by word, and would remember the smallest details about the most random thing. He would always look forward to Fridays at 11 am, when council of state took place. Being informed by the prime minister, in company of all the other ministers, about what has been done in the government during the week, and sign his name on the resolutions, was one of his weekly highlights. He was genuinely interested in the state’s affairs, even though a king’s duties are mainly representative and ceremonial, since the power is vested in the government.
“You’re a role model, Jared,” his grandpa used to say. “Give the people someone to look up to. Dare to be yourself. Be proud and be honest. That’s the best way you can fill your role.”
Right now, Jared has no desire to be a role model. Right now, he has no desire to share his grandpa with the people. He wants to curl up and cry, but his duty is to represent.
We wipes his eyes, checks that all the buttons on his black winter coat are correctly buttoned, and goes to stand beside his mother. She grabs his hand and gives it a light squeeze. It feels surprisingly comforting, and he reaches over to do the same to his sister.
“You okay, kiddo?” he asks her.
“Yeah,” she breathes. She’s just 11 years old and still just a kid.
“Are you ready?” his father asks them all, and they all give their confirmation. His dad nods to the cabinet secretary standing by the tall glass doors leading out to the balcony overlooking the palace square. At the sign given by his dad, the cabinet secretary opens the doors -- first one, then the other -- and a gust of freezing cold air whiffs into the room. Jeff, Megan and Jared stand back a minute while his mother and father walk out to greet the people. Standing behind them, looking out on the people and the light, Jared can hear the unison exclaimation expressed by thousands of people greeting his father in his new role.
“The King is dead, Long live the King!”