Chapter Text
In April of 2005, the British royal family was picture perfect. The Queen had just celebrated her 40th birthday; she was fresh and young, six months pregnant, and followed by seven darling children and a deeply devoted husband. She had never been the most present and attentive of mothers, but she likes to think that she would’ve been in an alternate universe where she wasn’t Queen of an empire. Even as Princess Royal and heir presumptive until 2003, she was forced to prioritise her duty and service to the country above her children and family. At the time, even as she became Queen and the rules and expectations became harder, it was easier to do—because Edmund was there.
Edmund, though still dutiful in his service, could prioritise the children. When Colin wanted to ride a bike before his feet reached the pedals, so he could catch up to his older brothers, Edmund was the one who helped him stay upright. When Daphne was the star of her class Christmas play at age 4, Edmund was the one who sat front row with a video camera. Violet was somewhere in Wales at the time. When Gregory had a sleep regression as a baby, just months after Violet took to the throne, Edmund was the one who stayed up every night. Every time one of their children needed someone, Edmund was that someone. Violet was there occasionally, but not with any reliability.
Edmund had always been the constant in Violet’s life, the person she could—and did—rely on more than anyone else. In May of 2005, Violet was bitterly reminded that constants don’t exist. All of a sudden, Edmund didn’t exist.
Benedict and Colin, aged 14 and 12 respectively, were enjoying a hike with their father in the beautiful spring weather. The family were at Windsor Castle for the weekend, but Anthony stayed at Eton so he could study for his looming GCSE exams. Days off were more common in Violet’s calendar as her pregnancy progressed, so she got to spend a rare and peaceful Saturday afternoon with her daughters. It had been so very perfect, but so very normal—which is perhaps what made it feel especially nice.
It happened so quickly once it started. Benedict, Colin and Edmund hadn’t been far from the castle, almost finished their hike, but it was far enough that made help a lifetime away. It was only just close enough for Violet to reach Edmund before his final breath was stolen from him.
Violet pushed away Benedict and Colin immediately, refusing to let them bear witness to either their deceased father or utterly broken mother, and then she barely moved for hours. She saw a member of staff begin walking towards her from a distance, before they were pulled aside by a phone conversation and didn’t return. Everything she saw looked like she was on the other side of frosted glass, only able to make out indiscernible figures and nondescript movements.
Anthony was the first person Violet saw with any clarity, her 16-year-old son hurrying across the grass in a shambled disarray. He paused, maybe 50 metres in front of where Violet still sat clutching the limp body of Edmund. He spoke so carefully, so sincerely, but he was still the very next person she pushed away.
An ambulance arrived soon after Anthony left, taking away the body of the dead consort with a fulorn energy that seemed reminiscent of a lead balloon. Violet still spoke no more words than strictly necessary, going to her bedroom silently. She shut the door without a single word to her daughters.
Violet tossed and turned in the bed that had too much empty space, and no one dared question the queen for sleeping in a guest room instead. No one would ever admit to how loud they heard her sob, or how she crept back into her marital bed in the dead of the night.
Violet felt obligated to maintain the strength that a queen always should. She arranged the funeral service entirely herself, talking to only her closest aide, and made sure there would be a seperate moment just for her children. Gregory was only 2 years old, and would grow up as familiar with his father as the baby still in her womb. On the day of the funeral, Violet rode in a carriage with her daughters—speaking to them as much as she had in the previous fortnight.
Edmund entered Westminster Abbey for the last time, laid so safely in a box that Violet wished could’ve protected him sooner, and Violet followed with her six eldest children. Anthony spoke on behalf of the family, and Violet didn’t blink. Falling apart in a field had been so easy, but losing a single thread in public felt impossible.
The second service, with Edmund above the vault of St George’s Chapel he would soon be interred in—less than a mile from where his body was cruelly defeated—had all of Violet’s children and no one else. It was such a stark contrast to the 2,000 people that had filled the abbey with societally appropriate mourning. They each spoke softly, the aura of performance entirely faded, and Violet saw her children for the first time in weeks. She saw how they grieved, and she saw how they held each other. Even tiny little Gregory, cradled in Benedict’s arms as he fussed. Torn between the attitudes of a recluse and the desire to fold her children into her arms for eternity, Violet’s hands never left her stomach. She was almost seven months pregnant, and trying to end everyday with her baby still safe. Protecting her unborn child felt like the only thing she could control.
Hyacinth was born three weeks early, little more than a month after Edmund died, just barely making it to term, and she was named immediately—far quicker than any of her siblings. Violet and Edmund had discussed some H names: Henry, Harry, Heath, Helen, Holly, or Harriet; but Hyacinth was the one. Hyacinths had always been Edmund’s favourite flower to find in the garden and give to Violet, and it was surrounding all their bodies in an almost divine way as she begged him not to leave her.
With her one constant taken away, Violet didn’t feel like she could do things differently than before. She had to be the constant. She stayed dedicated to her duties, prioritising her country over her family. She was the same as she had always been, and it was far too easy to forget that Edmund wasn’t around to prioritise the children for her anymore.