Broken Ascension

Prologue

O Britannia! O Britannia!

There was to quote a cliché, electricity in the air. For so long, the nation had been the poor cousin, grasping at the last honors of Empire, destined to slowly sink to mediocrity. Much had been said for the decline, of how true leadership had expired in the last days of the 20th century, leaving no true inspiration as the country dragged its way into the new dawn of the 21st. And terrible that century had been, robbed of direction, pawn of Continental politics, a decline in the Royal Line. It would have been over. It should have been over. Across the Atlantic, besieged by its own demons, the great Americans too had fallen. The twin pillars of the Atlantic would shrink and be left on the dustheap of history.

But something flowered in the last days of the century. Perhaps Britannia herself had finally awakened. The nation had forged forward, the people had rallied. Legends of old heroes, of Wellington and Nelson, of Churchill and even Thatcher had been dragged out from the obscurity of history and waved as inspiration. And Britania had thrived, regaining its place as a paragon for the world. Even as the West of the Atlantic decscended into chaos and the Pan Arab states solidified into a hermit kingdom. Even as the East tore Europe into two and left the Union fluttering in the dust.

O Britannia! The new dawn had come and today, was the pinnacle of it. A new King was to be crowned. A King that did not merely inherit an empty promise of a throne. A King that had been elected, chosen by the people. The first true constitutional monarch. Of the people, for the people. By the people. Long live the King. Long live Charles the Ninth. And the future would forever be changed. No, not change. Returned to the form that it should be. Back to the full binding of man and God, and the sacred bloodline.

They stood amongst the crowd, their hearts soaring. After so long they had managed to return the throne to its rightful heir. So long. The return of the King Over the Water. Tonight the Loyal Toast would be given once more, without secrecy, without fear. After all this time, God had spoken and their King now stood high above all. What was broken now renewed. The broken ascension, now restored. Against the trespass of Parliament all those years ago, now finally answered. But oh did their old enemy fool themselves. Parliament had thought they reigned supreme again, breaking forever the Royal Succession. Had conspired to put their man on the throne. A second Glorious Revolution, now theirs was the power eternal. In the Revolution of 1688 they had installed their King. And they had done it again today. Oh but if only they knew. The truth was most glorious. For it all came full circle. The King they installed today was the true heir to that which they had deposed all those years ago. The most sacred bloodline of all, the bloodline of the Divine Right.

The Glorious Revolution had wrested the throne from the Stuarts, the line of the great King James, which had educated the world on the divinity of kingship. They had tried to break it when they had beheaded Charles the First. The restoration had given the Stuarts a second run but it was not to be. Parliament had grown fat and heavy with their own perceived power. They were sure of themselves as the true helmsmen for the destiny of the nation, the King be damned. And they had robbed Bonnie Prince Charlie of his heritage.

But the faithful had persisted, even when close to extinction over the centuries the seed did not die. And when the world had come to realize the folly of governments of the common, they had fanned the flames, sprouted the seeds and and in the end come to this glorious conclusion. If there was any surprise, it was that they never would believed how the ranks of the believers had swelled, how many still held to the truth. When the weapons were poured forth from the holds, so many were ready to pick them up. And thus they had come here to this point with an army of the faithful. Victory yes, but not yet fully complete. True he was King, but at the moment a King in name only. The Monarchial Succession Bill had seen to that. But they had spent centuries doing God’s work in returning the heir. They could spent a little bit more time to restore the King’s Divine Right. Parliament could not stop them, they were but common people With minds easily manipulated and hearts easily corruptible. All hearts except the King, he of God’s choosing.

O glorious conspiracy! Conspiracy was the tool of Parliament. The tool that broke the ascension. What was justice but to use their own tools against them. They would Toast tonight and revel in their victory. The battle won, the war begun. Tommorow then their efforts would be redoubled. And when all the mist had blown and the dust settled, the true King would finally reign supreme. Long Live the King! And death to the will of the common!