No Fury

Now: Seventy One

"My people," Harry begins, and a hush immediately descends over the mass of bodies. Harry pauses, and I imagine he's just smiled, or kissed Anne, or simply waved when a wave of cheers erupts again.

"My people," he repeats, urging for them to calm with a gentle, "Please. Please."

And eventually they do quiet again, but quiet is relative. It is as quiet as they can be in such numbers. I can practically hear their excited trembling.

"What a year we have had," Harry begins, and I do not know how he does it, but his voice carries both joy and sorrow.

Some people cheer, some simple agree with a quiet "aye" - and the effect is a dramatic rumble. I step to the window and push aside the curtain just enough so that I can see him.

The crowd erupts in deafening cheers again.

But . . . he is already out there, and has not done anything new to earn a reaction.

Is this cheering for me?

I step back a bit out of shock, and hear the laugh in his voice when he says, "Please! Please! Lend me your ears!"

After several moments, they quiet again, and I peek through the curtains. Harry glances over his shoulder at the window, smiling knowingly. When he turns just slightly, I can see Anne tightly clutching his coats in her tiny fists. His hand rubs slow, calming circles on her back.

Because she is with her father, she does not cry at the noise. She is not even afraid. She is still, face calm; she is as suited for this role as is her father.

"In the past year, we have had loss," he calls out across the courtyard. "We have had joy, and sorrow. We have been betrayed, and we have come together as a people — united — and won the war."

The crowd cries out in celebration. Harry raises his free hand, palm down, urging for quiet.

"Let us not forget that I am your king through grave tragedy," he says, and the effect of his words is like a blanket thrown over the assembled masses. They still, shoulders dropping in grief.

"But I will not waste this," he promises. "I will not let my father's death be the downfall of our great kingdom. I will not let his death be the start of a dark time for us. No," he says resolutely, "we will grow. We will prosper. We will reign."

He swallows, then while they cheer some more, and glances to his daughter, hiking her higher in his arms.

"There is so much . . . " he begins, and trails off, before kissing her temple. "Too much time has passed. I have not spoken with you in far too long. The Council has overseen everything in my absence, and I've returned to find a warm home, happy, prospering subjects. For that, I am forever in their debt."

Across the courtyard, and standing on another balcony, Tomlinson, Liam, and McCullough all nod in acknowledgement.

"This tells me that a kingdom is not run by one man alone. It is run by all of us. It is run by your working hands, and your generous hearts and your backs which bend and break to keep us all fed, and warm. This contribution of yours — from all of you — does not go unnoticed." Harry shakes his head, seeming to take a moment to look at every single face standing before him. "Not ever."

Tears well in my eyes at the shocked silence, the way the village folk turn and look at each other, wondering in hushed voices if they've heard him correctly. The idea of his father thanking his subjects so baldly for their simple hard work is impossible to imagine. With this demonstration of gratitude, Harry has done exactly what he'd hoped to do. He has told his people that he is a different kind of leader.