What Goes On In My Mind, Fanfiction. James Viscount Serven, Earl of Wessex.

Prologue: Queen Elizabeth

The graveyard was the last place I thought I would find someone who would make my heart flutter, and it wasn't any ghost. It was an angel, my husband, Philp. "My dear, the public eye would never know our motives," he would proclaim. I still recall that very feeling when we were still so young, I was re-reading Sense and Sensibility, flipping through my favourite chapters of class stereotypes. Philip was rambling on about some insensitive Canadian locals after our month-long trip, back when I was still a Princess and didn't crease like paper, I drove like a fish in the water. Oh, the controversy we endured after his short temper and banter wouldn't zip its mouth. "Would you please, focus on all the positive aspects in life!" I snapped. Philp gazed at me insightfully, his eyes in slight frustration."Why would I ever stop my mouth from speaking!" He said delightfully, dancing around our bedroom.

 "This castle is the only place where my mind can truly run free! The press won't comment on what we're wearing, or how we're waving!" I scanned down at my grey shirt-waist dress with a charred stain on the bodice from a burned tourtière. Charles always insisted I throw the thing away but it was my mothers, perhaps he understands now. Philp donned a white and faded beryl striped shirt white cuffed trousers and loafers. The tassels tossed around while he paced like the way I tossed in bed after writing to Philip for the first time when I was just a child. No matter what he wears, he still manages to look incredibly smart. 

He sat by me in bed and whispered in my ear, "My dear, the public eye would never know our motives." 

"I'm glad, I'm so glad you came into my life." The room would always light up with Philp in it. The ancient plaid upholstery, patterned wall coverings, fire screens, carved wood cabinets, and framed landscapes relished without him. Without his eyes, the Gothic Revival would be no more than a holiday house. 

"I spent my last days here. And I hoped to find more." My body drifted somberly as if my soul sprang out of my body. The graveyard's dimmed charred black, sinister eerieness filled the bizarre field, a disturbed sensation erupted me, but serenity overpowered me. "I'm dead, and lived with unmovable regret, but oh how I loved it." I wanted to smile, smirk, and giggle as I did a few years ago however, I can't. Philip seemed to know exactly what I was contemplating.

"How many children do we have, dear?" 

"Four." I frowned and hung my face to the ground.

"And how many grandchildren?" How many grandchildren, do they have to witness my death? They were the most enchanting children I have ever spoken to, their charm, politeness, and strength brought them forward into delightful young children. Many of the latter are not kids anymore...

"Some of them still are." Philp corrected, he could read my mind. 

"James," I whispered, uttering his god-given name repeatedly. I stared blankly into the mist of my regret, "he's just a boy, he loved me and I cherished him." I thought as bitter tears began to trickle down my strait. It has been centuries since I last shed a tear, when everything goes numb, it's hard to feel anything. Every Saturday, I watched him grow into the alluring young man he is today. When I see him, I see a soft Edward, young and pure. When I first taught him how to hold a fishing rod, I saw my mother in him. I saw his passion, I saw his care. I have comforted him at his lowest, I have seen him rise to the stars. As he aged, his love for fishing, and nature, grew with maturity. But he is still the pure boy he always was, her sister, the pride and joy of the family. I live through darling Louise, staring at her was like peering into a mirror that reflected a younger version of myself. The echoing skill and compassion she carried with her during every stumble captured fragments of my mother, her riding, and her work was taken out by the heart. Just like the strengthening women before her, Christ she would be a great leader. Now, I may not know. Now I can never catch up with them during tea, I can't laugh with them. I watched them say their sorrows for the very last time.

The sky strangely cleared bright blue like James's deep eyes, my body lifted mournfully, somberly, longing to glimpse at the light. My feet remained glued to the floor but I held no weight. "Is this what heaven is?"

"Yes dear, heaven is not a destination yet a mere observation. We must watch over the world."

"Just like we used to." We said in unison. As we stood in silence, Balmoral Castle flew over us. Our lush garden cast shadows on the green land, the flowers shone but alas showed signs of dreadful wilting. In the midst of it all, the dee.The beautiful land where my mother would teach me how to stand for pride, from where I first found who I was, from where I taught my children how to catch salmon, and then their children too. The tranquil waters rippled in the summer-turned-fall breeze, grief-stricken sobs filled the current.

A boy, a young one, fourteen or so, raced towards the Dee with his eyes daring not to look above. He seemed to be fighting against a thunderstorm in the most pleasant weather, his lips trembled as he felt extremely uncomfortable in his clothes. Beginning to tug his navy blue sweatshirt as if it were rope to pull him six feet under, where his grandmother would forever rest. His knees convulsed over his dread, collapsing his body onto the grassed, dingy port. His eyes were hidden in his hands of despair as he began to hug his knees. Creating a chamber for his mind, one that he begged to escape from. "Y-you w-were g-gonna, we..." James breathed his voice ebbing and breaking with every line. He gasped for air, his lungs burned with despair, for the first time, he lifted his head to the clouds. His eyes were bloodshot red and blurry from the collecting tears as if he were blind. 

The grip on his knees grew tighter and tighter as he began to dig his face in again. He pounded the land, throwing the world's weight from his shoulders. James bit his lip, "no, no please don't," he thought, resisting the urge to cry again. Alas, tears flooded him, "I don't know what I did to deserve you, I don't know why I'm crying!"James spoke through the tears. He howled no dreadfully as if his heart poured out through his throat. Goosebumps erupted on his skin as thoughts began to repeat. "You knew it was going to happen, why are you so heartbroken?" The voice inside him asked, causing the melancholy to stir even stronger. "I don't, I can't." He whispered, his mind whirled with his Grandmother, although he tried to steer it otherwise. He tried to think about anything else other than the truth, the present. He dreamed of Eagle House School, and his friends, he thought of Leandra. 

Leandra, that girl James invited to have tea with on that Sunday not too long ago. With her stunning thick dark nut brown hair and rounded eyebrows, her skin was as pale as a blank China dish, her eyes sparkling in the light as it danced around her. We talked for hours under the scorching afternoon sun together about any topic that came to mind. She is such a brilliant young woman and a passionate one too. I could feel the anxiety linger when she first met me, a bead of sweat dripping from her forehead as she tried to bow. I laughed and tilted her chin towards my face as she smiled, the warmth radiating off her. As I sat, I brought up her family, she explained how she moved abroad for a whole semester and then brought up how thankful she was to be with me, glancing around our garden in awe.     

"Don't be dear! I may be the Queen to them, but I am his grandmother to him. And to you, a good friend." I said while smiling. Soon, she stopped fidgeting with her denim shirt dress that stretched to her knees and loosely snatched at the waist. Young and pure, I must dare say. 

"James!" An unknown voice called. James stumbled into the lush forest daring not to be seen.
"It's the guards." He hushed under his breath. He began to sprint in the depths of the garden scratching himself on the jagged bushes and twigs. He could not understand why he ran, he couldn't stop. He ran towards the end of the garden, the sage trees and tranquil birds blurred past him. The trees began to thin and the garden ended abruptly. "The maze." He thought. The long and twisted bushes that me and him ran in when he was a baby. That cute little boy.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he darted in without a second thought. He turned and twisted at the bends and collapsed to the floor, clenching his knees. His body trembled as he breathed heavily.

Suddenly, his phone screen lit and vibrated. James's breathing paused as he grabbed it out of his right pocket. There it read it bold text is Leandra.