State Funeral: Matilda II of McMasterdonia

State Funeral Service

Her Royal and Imperial Majesty, Queen Matilda II of McMastedonia
&
His Royal Majesty, Prince-Consort Richard.
​

The State Funeral Service for their Royal Majesties Queen Matilda II and Prince-Consort Richard will begin today. In attendance include the King-Regent Albert, his wife Princess Madeline of Caspius, and many other members of the extended McMasterdonian Royal Family. Not all members of the McMasterdonian Royal Family are in attendance, with the ongoing terrorist threats against the McMasterdonian state some members were forced to stay away for their own safety.

The Funeral Service will be held at the Royal Flemingovian Cathedral in Intelligentsia, and the service will be led by Archbishop Pious IV of the Flemingovian Cathedral. Eulogies will be read by the King-Regent, King Tozian I of the Kingdom of Plembobria, Queen-Empress Amelia of the Lancerian Empire, Caesar Augustus Felix Albinus Augustus of Imperium Augustum, High Chief Mboto 'Jack' Jones of Naizerre, and Alessandro d'Avelocci the Gonfaloniere of Justice of the Floregasque Republic.

Once the eulogies have been delivered, other guests will be invited to share a few words with the crowd. Following the service, a full state banquet will be held at the Royal Palace, Intelligentsia, allowing foreign dignitaries the opportunity to speak with senior members of the Royal Family and McMasterdonian Government.

Guests are asked not to approach the family of the deceased during the service. Please allow the family to grieve privately.

No foreign security or weaponry are permitted within this house of flemingovia. Security will be provided by the Royal Guard.

---

OOC: Individuals who are attending the service are invited to role play their arrivals to help set the scene for the service. Talk about things like what they are wearing, how they are feeling, etc, give us a vibe for what is going on. I won't necessarily allow all of you enough time to do this, so don't delay and do it quickly,

---

The extended royal family of McMasterdonia were the first to arrive to the temple. Leading the way was the King-Regent, in military attire, at his side stood his wife Princess Madeline and his sister Princess Magdalena. Both Princesses wear wearing traditional flemingovian lilac robes, showing their deep respect for the religious piety of the late Queen and her husband.

Towards the back of the large crowd were other members of the McMasterdonian Royal Family, some of them had not been seen in Intelligentsia in years. These included the still unmarried Prince Alexander, the current ruler of the city of Caspius. Princess Amira the ruler of the Johnslo City, and the hundreds of children of the McMasterdonian royal family.

The Prince Richard, the heir apparent to the throne of McMasterdonia, may be amongst the crowd. Due to the ban on photographing members of the royal family without approval, the face of the Prince is not well known to the Mcmasterdonian public.


In the rear building of the chapel, lied the caskets of the Queen and her consort. They were now draped in the traditional colours of flemingovianism, and were ready to be brought in for the service to begin.


The Royal Family begin to file in and to find their seats at the front of the service. As they sat down prepared to begin what would be a long day of mourning, other guests started to enter the temple.

"We're about two minutes from the church," said the Avelocci's bodyguard, Pietro. He sat in the front seat of the limousine transporting the Gonfaloniere and his wife to the cathedral.

"Thank you, Pietro." Beatrice, the First Lady, said. She turned to look at Alessandro. He was putting the text of his eulogy back in the pocket of his jacket. He wore a three-piece black suit made of tropical-weight wool; Alessandro hoped the material would keep him cool inside the church. A plain lilac-colored pocket square, grey flannel tie, and wrist watch brightened up his outfit as far as was appropriate for a funeral. The watch was silver, with a bone-white mother of pearl face. On his head, he wore a purple skullcap.

"It surprised me that they asked you to give a eulogy." Beatrice said, after a moment. For her part, she wore a black knee-length dress with half-length sleeves. On her head she wore a black headscarf with a purple edge. Her clutch handbag, also black, contained money for the collection plate and a handkerchief.

"It surprised me too," Alessandro replied. He recalled how King-Regent Albert called him personally two days before the funeral was scheduled to begin, asking him to write some words about the Queen. "We were cordial, but not particularly close."

"Well," Beatrice said, "He must have known you'd think of something."

Alessandro nodded and looked out the window. "She had a good sense of humor. She was extremely kind, but the kind of person - I don't know, the kind of person who must have had a lot of secrets." Alessandro paused. "Hell of a bridge player, but it always kind of felt like playing cards with a grandmother."

"Bridge is a game for grandmothers, Sandro." Beatrice said. Alessandro chuckled.

"To be honest, her death was a shock. I always admired the Queenship - it seemed so stable. We're one honest election away from the gutter," he said, surprisingly candid. Beatrice said nothing for a moment.

"Better in a gutter than in a casket."

Alessandro coughed out a laugh - the kind you make when you know you shouldn't.

---

The limousine pulled to a stop outside of the cathedral. Alessandro waited for Pietro to open Beatrice's door, then waited for him to walk around to his own. As the door opened, Alessandro got out of the car and straightened his vest. Pietro handed him a bouquet of red, white, and purple flowers.

He carefully ensured to neither smile nor frown at the cameras taking pictures, and took Beatrice's arm. The pair walked towards the cathedral, admiring silently both the respectful crowd of onlookers and the expert landscaping. Aside from the clicks of camera shutters, it was silent. The feeling in the air that this was a nation in mourning was undeniable, but it seemed to be tinged with fear. The Archbishop here was a man loyal to the royal family, but even now soldiers following the same religion were killing people by the hundreds to take Port Augusta.

Alessandro cleared his throat as they walked inside the cathedral. It was considerably darker in here, but the light was warm. Still arm-in-arm, the Gonfaloniere and First Lady walked to the collection plate by the door. They broke apart, Alessandro reaching inside his jacket and Beatrice in her handbag. They each took out a folded ten-florin note and placed it on the plate, then walked to their seats.

Your average SUV can be rather imposing in the average carpark.

Even so, they seem rather at home on the golden cornfields that dot Imperium, and the dirt roads that connect the dots.

They are not the picture of luxury in the modern day.

Even so, tradition brings its own rewards, and the inside of an Imperium-made, armoured SUV is the picture of tradition.

It may be a cheap chassis, but between that milled steel and the handcrafted wood lay plate-steel a fingertip-deep. A mere hand from that formidable barrier, sat Caesar Felix Albinus Augustus, Imperator. His position in society went without saying - for it and his name were one and the same. Without him, Imperium ceases to exist, both physically and metaphysically. And without Imperium, at least half of that is true for Caesar.

Death is not a topic that Imperium shies away from.

Every Albinese head of state, to the first Caesar Augustus over two millenia ago, lay in repose, in that single Imperial Church, the Door of Peace. Gently preserved, by delicate chemical procedure, wax and metal castings, and the perpetuity of oral teachings.

Death is part of the job for the physical antimanifestation of Peace on Eras - Caesar, the Antipeace, the Beginning and End of War.

But even for a nation - for a man - with ears and eyes across the world, the death of a Queen to the hand of a hidden enemy - no face, no body, no loves or hates - was sickening, and confusing, and frightening - even nauseatingly disconcerting - for you must remember that in Imperium, war and peace go hand in hand - and when there is no war, there can be no peace.

Certainly, he did not feel at peace.

His mind shifted again, and again - from here, to there. Every cast shadow, every bump in the road - a thrilling reminder of mortality.



The Lictor-Magister coughed.



By many metrics, the second-most powerful man in Imperium, even if it is solely by appointment of the Imperator. Scipio Parselcus Machiavelli. A last name not typical for an aristocratic senator, part of the 'new wave' - the noveau-riche. Common to draw Lictors from their ranks. They are the secret police of Imperium. The men who watch the watchmen. And if there is any man in Imperium who would die for the Imperator, rather than simply claim to, it would be Machiavelli.

A man driven to achieve more by madness than by happiness. He took some perverse enjoyment in rationality. It had been a long point of contention in the Imperial family - he was the kind of man who could thank you for a meal and seemed to have meant it maliciously. The kind of man who'd help you fix your car, just so he knows exactly how your engine works. Just in case. And just when you think you have a moment alone, to think about that plastered-on smile and those dead fucking eyes, he'd

"...interrupt you, sir.

The Church is coming up on our right."

"Ah. So it is."

Little Black Dahlia sidled up to the sidewalk, the very picture of grace and majesty in a single banal, pedestrian passage. And the grace and majesty stepped out of that car, bringing pomp to match the Lictor's suspicious circumstances.

It was dressed in black and black tie, with hair slicked back and a face properly trimmed. Adorning his head was a laurel wreath, a symbol of countless eternal flames dimmed - the dying hearts of a dozen Imperators before, and a dozen after. His steps echoed throughout the belfry, as he prepared to make his offerings to the altar.

So he stepped, one foot after the next. The Lictor-Magister followed closely, bringing with him an Augustine holy text.

They marched, diligently, mournfully, in lock-step, the Imperator and Lictor-Magister.



There was not a word said between the two men there, as they looked past each other and spoke to the air. Two men whose lives were entwained, pretending as much as possible that their fates were not the same.

No dialogue here, for they do not care. Look elsewhere.

This is a funeral, not a novel.

The car, its body and windows black and clean, moved through the streets of the McMasterdonia capital. The men sat in the back, separated from the driver by a screen, both in black suits and ties, one with a faint look of boredom on his face, the other seeming paler than usual, peering out of the window, eyes darting to every open window, scanning every rooftop.

Richard Barker looked away from the window and to his company, "Aren't you worried?"

"Not overly, we're in the McMasterdonian capital, surrounded by their Royal Guard, we're in one of the safest places we could be."

Barker nodded slightly and adjusted his tie slightly. This was likely the highest profile event he'd been to in his life, probably the highest that he ever would go to. He'd met royalty before, in his home State of Liffen, but the Grand Duchess held little to no power and was barely known outside of the Confederacy, nothing compared with the late McMasterdonian Queen, unparalleled in power in Her nation and known throughout Eras.

He was a short man, Barker, and his combed-over orange hair rather ruined his attempts at looking dignified. Stephen Lupton, the Confederacy's Executor for Foreign Affairs, company of the Executor-General Depute, was of a greater height and his greying hair still covered most of his head.

They drew closer to the cathedral, Lupton adjusted his glasses and adopted a suitably dour and respectful visage, Barker endeavoured to do the same and patted the pocket of his jacket, feeling the folded paper within, exhaling slowly. The car stopped and both men stepped out, Lupton setting a deliberate pace for both as they walked inside, each bowing slightly to the casket, the taller muttering a prayer under his breath, before turning and walking to their seats some rows from the front.

A single SUV, obviously up-armoured and painted in a beautiful emerald green pulled up to the Royal Flemingovian Cathedral. For a moment Queen-Empress Amelia did not move. The Prime Minister of The Lancerian Empire, the elderly Isaac Oudinot, quietly spoke to her, "Your majesty, we've arrived."

"I know, Isaac, just a moment" replied the Queen-Empress.

She was taking it hard. For a time, the princess cousins Matilda and Amelia had grown up completely together. A span of 5 years while the old Kingdom of Lancers lay in ruins when Amelia, her late father King Henri, and the former Princess Catherine of McMasterdonia & current Queen-Mother of The Lancerian Empire had sought asylum with her family in McMasterdonia. Officially Catherine happened to be in bed sick with a bad cold and at 72 years old elected not to risk coming, in reality she was doing something much more important than that but at the moment the Empire was far away. He had not seen Amelia this way since her father died, another victim of assassination.

"Alright, I'm ready."

"Allow me, your majesty."

The Prime Minister left the vehicle, went around to the side of the Queen-Empress, and opened her door. With the Prime Minister following slightly behind and to the left the two, dressed in Lancerian mourning wear of black with the same emerald green trim, walked up the steps and into the cathedral surrounded by silence except for the occasional clicking of a camera. Someone showed them to their seats. As Amelia was relatively close family she sat just a couple rows back from King-Regent Albert himself, and with an aisle seat to make it easier for her to approach the front to deliver her eulogy. The unrelated Prime Minister sat near the back of the room but because he was Prime Minister of The Lancerian Empire, a very close nation to McMasterdonia, he was in the first row of foreigners, right behind the seat of Prince Alexander whom the Prime Minister recalled he had once met on a visit to McMasterdonia when he was still Minister of Foreign Affairs some years ago now.

Amelia sat quietly in her seat. In her head she was rehearsing the eulogy she had memorized, even still making small changes, trying to make sure that she honoured her cousin the best she could. For a moment she looked up and happened to make eye contact with Albert himself. The Queen-Empress nodded in acknowledgement and the King-Regent did the same and looked away. The Queen-Empress looked down again at a spot on the floor and silently cursed. Today was going to be a long day.

Sera stared out of the window of the sedan as it pulled up outside the cathedral, turning her head to stare at the elderly man sat beside her "Grandfather, you didn't need to come..." Cautiously handing him his cane, the wolfshead topping the cane was solid silver, matching the impressive accoutrements of the Elders uniform, a generals uniform. Lycaon shook his head firmly "No, I may no longer be Khan but it is no excuse for me not to be of use... Besides you have never attended a state funeral, let alone as Khan..." Watching as Sera alighted from the vehicle, they had brought no guards or weapons, keeping their own traditions in regard to funerary etiquette. Both were garbed in the simple black of the wolvesh dress uniform barring Lycaons silver epaulettes and cording. Their sword belts lacking even their scabbards.

Sera helped Lycaon to his feet as he exited the vehicle, he seemed a little trailer than usual. Thanking his granddaughter Lycaon turned, the two of them making their way to the cathedral doors, Sera holding a wreath of Moon lillies, a traditional Marledi floral tribute made with Wolfsea's national flower, Sera introduced themselves "Acting Khan Serenity and Elder Lycaon of Wolfsea..." The attendant taking the wreath to add to the pile of floral arrangements before they were shown to their seats.

It was a nightmare.

John Sirus was conflicted. Even though he and the Minister of Homeland Security, John Yse'qi, were attending this celebration to celebrate the life of Queen Matilda, all Sirus could think about was the death of Alfred Nursson. On one hand, Alfred was a brash, quick and direct leader who killed thousands of Syrixians and enemy soldiers during a war that Sirus himself argued fervently against; and on the other Alfred was a kind old man who made great tea, was always very classy, and was a close friend. A friend one can go out and have a beer with; a friend whom can never be forgotten.

It was hard for Sirus, now once again in the chair he'd previously occupied from 2006 to 2010, the latter year being when he was beat by Nursson in the elections. He knew very well how to run a 2000's-era Syrixia, where flip phones were everywhere and flat screen TVs were only for the cream of the crop, but this was much different. This was 2015. Technology was growing, fast, and Sirus had to learn a lot of new things about being in the top spot in the modern world. But, he thought, perhaps it would be wise to think about this later, and focus on why he was here: Queen Matilda's funeral.

The special elections had just concluded, and now the votes were being counted. Auel Vist was expected to win, but it could be anyone. What Sirus did know about world politics today is that the state funeral of Queen Matilda II, which was what he was attending, was about to start. "Sir, I'd run if I were you!" said the Minister before dashing off. John Yse'qi, politically, had no reason to be here, but symbolically, he was representative of Syrixia's empathy for both McMasterdonia and Eumenor in this incident- after all, a similar security incident involving Cronaali Foreign Minister Eden Hall had happened in Balamb.

Sirus took off running after Yse'qi, being sure not to hit anybody. He needed a rest and a ceremony celebrating the life of the McMasterdonian queen and all she had done for her realm would lighten things up, even if it was a bit somber. Sirus knew that he was now the leader of the Syrixian nation; he knew that Auel Vist had a crush on Lara Kray; he knew that Nebula was, from a political standpoint, probably going to attack Shei Ren; and he knew that...never mind. There we go, getting off track again. Perhaps we should make like Sirus, who focused his thoughts on the ceremony once again, and sat down in the row where the leaders were sitting along with Yse'qi, who was sitting to his right.

To his left, meanwhile, was the party from the Lancerian Empire, and to Yse'qi's right was the party from Floresque.

Batari walked briskly toward the cathedral, her aide trailing at a respectful distance. Her sari, though made of comfortable, breathable fabric, was nevertheless not the easiest garment to walk in, and it was only through years of practice that she was able to maintain her pace.

The sari was made in the most conservative style, befitting a funeral - with long sleeves and a looser fit, it was appropriately modest without being dowdy. The fabric was gunmetal blue, the color of a stormy sea, traditional in Sillish mourning. It was edged with a delicate embroidery in dusty lilac, the pattern speaking of life and death. On her head was a hijab in the same dusty lilac, loosely wrapped and flowing, plain and undecorated given the occasion.

Her aide wore similar colors: a crisp lilac suit with gunmetal blue shirt and kufi. Although it had been skillfully fitted, it still appeared slightly awkward, unflattering, on his broad frame. He was not her preferred aide for state visits, lacking the almost telepathic quality that so endeared Aouli to her - so well did that one anticipate her needs! But Ikaika was just as high-ranking, thus both skilled and important enough for a journey such as this, and his extensive martial arts training allowed him to double as her bodyguard in a pinch. He didn't need to be her favorite to be invaluable.

She reached the base of the steps up to the cathedral, and paused to draw a smooth, rounded stone out of her pocket. Behind her, she felt Ikaika do the same. The stones represented an old Sillish tradition - they were placed next to the bodies of the departed as part of the funeral ritual. Smoothed from jagged chunks by the lapping waves, they symbolized the smoothing of an individual's own rough edges through age and wisdom. Ground away by the relentless tides, they represented the inevitable death and return to nature of all things. And smooth, soft, and round at the end, they expressed the oft-desired serenity and peace of the afterlife.

Once derived from the islanders' religious beliefs, the tradition held strong while those same beliefs fell by the wayside. These days, rocks gathered from Mauna Point, in the Hau'oli district, were considered to be the most sacred and respectful as the land there was not moved or altered during the national remodeling. Batari's rock came from that spot, and Ikaika's came from the shores of the McMasterdonian embassy.

Ascending the stairs, she waved away the usher who moved to guide them to a seat. Instead, they approached the casket (watched carefully by the royal guards) and placed their stones in little niches on opposite corners - out of the way, but secure enough not to fall off when the casket was moved. Batari whispered in Sillish as she did so, words of blessing and comfort for the surviving family. Then she stood and, beckoning to Ikaika, strode into the cathedral.

Glancing around, she saw the Augustine Imperator unaccompanied, except for the Lictor who followed him everywhere. She enjoyed his company, finding him an intelligent and astute man, and she got the impression that he found her forthrightness in the face of his power refreshing. She nudged her aide and they headed his way, the smile on her face remaining appropriately sad. Arriving, she gestured at the empty seat and spoke warmly.

"Felix, may I join you?"

OOC: Sillish names come in two parts. The given name, which comes first, is picked at birth by a child's parents. It is their first legal name and the one by which they should be called. Some people have a nickname for their given name, which can be used relatively freely but is overly familiar to do so in formal or some professional contexts - think calling someone Billy instead of William.

The second name is the chosen name, picked by the individual when they become an adult at the age of 16. This name may be anything they like, and becomes part of their legal name. However, it is not a "last name" as most countries understand it, and it is shockingly rude to call anyone who is not a close friend or family member by their chosen name. Additionally, it is only acceptable in private or intimate contexts - a couple may use the second name on a date, or parents may use their second names around their children, but in public gatherings only the given name should ever be used. As a comparison, though one that is not 100% accurate, think of it as calling someone whom you do not know "Sugar Bear" or "Schnookums", or calling your partner that at their workplace.

Sillish people also do not use gendered titles (such as Mr. or Ms.), viewing them, at best, as quaint. The head of state should be addressed as Batari, which is completely formal and respectful and correct. If your character(s) cannot bring themselves to do so, Ms. Batari is an acceptable (if non-traditional) alternative. Neither Eka nor Ms. Eka are acceptable, and using either would be a diplomatic offense. Similarly, her aide should be called Ikaika, or Mr. Ikaika.

The Imperator looked up from his notes sternly, hearing his first name almost whispered in those great halls.

His jaw was set, upper flush against lower. For a brief moment, his eyes glazed over, as the voice lingered in the open rafters of the Cathedral. And then it made its way into his conscious memory. His muscles relaxed, his lips parting.

It was not a voice he had heard recently, for he had not travelled for some time. But the String was surprisingly near Alba Longa. Getting through border security may be a chore, but when you have your own jet...

It was an old favourite haunt, in his somewhat younger years. And making the acquaintance of Batari simply icing on the cake. Certainly, the Imperator cultivated an air about him - of intimidation, fear, and brutish tradition. That being said, there was something about the Sillish culture which made for an interesting contrast. When they first met, it was unlikely that he would have given her the time of day, were it not for the ideal of the Pax Latina passed down through his family for over four hundred years.

But forced smiles had given way to real ones, in the end. It was his stern frown that he had to force today. That being said, there was no doubt in his mind that Batari would recognize the telltale sparkle in his eye - the left one, the one that had started to cloud with age. Like starlight in the smog. Hopes and dreams to reach for, behind the lingering miasma.

"Yes, you may.

Machiavelli, go pay your respects."

It was a tense relationship between Machiavelli and Caesar. However, the experiences of Magisters and Imperator for decades past had not been wasted. Whilst it would be remiss for the Lictor-Magister to leave his subject of his very raison d'etre unattended, it would be tantamount to insanity to attempt to twist the arm of one of the oldest royal families in the region. And so they had a...gentleman's agreement, of sorts, as countless predecessors had. A simple one - a favour for a favour.

Privacy here, and a closer eye on a Senator there.

Machiavelli excused himself, making himself at home in the background.

The Imperator consulted his notes before turning back to Batari, as if to introduce a second take.

"Yes, you are welcome to join me. It is always good to have company in times as trying as this."

"I said you shouldn’t be going to this."

"You don’t know jack about how foreign affairs work, do you?"

"The country is in economic hell, Jon. The people are already getting fed up with your D.U. junk, and you’re leaving the country again?"

"Do you want to be the one that has to answer why Sauceistan couldn’t send someone to the funeral of one of the most beloved leaders in the North Pacific? We’d have another foreign fit on our hands."

"Your approval rating has tanked in the last few weeks because of this, you know."

“I have one year left in this office. I’m not going to let Sauceistan lose its gains.”

He shut off his cell phone and put it in his pocket. He knew his economic director was not going to be happy tonight when they talked again. But as Executive Director he knew how far Sauceistan had come in terms of being an international player. To him, this funeral was just business.

"We have arrived, Mr. Joninson," the timid cab driver told his passenger.

"Please, call me Jon." The director preferred informality.

He handed the driver a tip and entered the church. Like almost all foreign events, Jon wore all black, with a simple black shirt and tie. On his left chest pocket he had his Sauceistinian flag pin, which he got as a child. When he entered the main hall, he could tell he was one of the least dressed people in the room. No matter, he thought. He couldn’t recognize many of the people there anyway.

Being fairly young for an Executive Director (his 35th birthday was next month), he sometimes gave a poor impression to other national leaders. After all, they had no reason to like him; Sauceistan had been telling every other nation to piss off for the last 100 years. There was Mr. Joninson’s goal: to change how others viewed his nation.

He saw the beautiful paintings and sculptures around the church. The art was admirable, even for a Flemingovian church. It was obvious how much money had been put into the church. After paying his respects to the queen’s body, he took a seat and waited quietly for the ceremony to start.

The Plembobrian Motorcade consisted of an armored limousine with an SUV in the front and back. All three vehicles were black. Plembobrian royal visits were rather flamboyant. The King thought back to when his mother, the Queen for almost all her life, would say, "Oh, Tony, we may rule a small and quiet country, but we will not be outdone in pomp!"

Reminiscence. Were the old ways of pageantry, chivalry, and monarchy slipping away? Today he had been notified that that the Republican Union, an organization dedicated to abolishing the monarchy, was placed on the terrorist watch list.

Tozian -- Tony, as his relatives and friends called him, was not here in his capacity as King or Lord High Chamberlain. But as a family member. Matilda was his cousin. His friend.

Across from him sat his sister, the princess. She stared out the window at the streets of Intelligentsia. Sad, but no overly sad. She was always quiet. Nara II, named for her mother, was always disenchanted with the whole royalty thing. In a way she was the archetypal princess-who-wishes-she-wasn't-a-princess. Though her wardrobe would not appear so. She was wearing a black dress, stylish but sensible for a funeral. (And fitting for royal.) Her hair was pinned up, under her hat, which had a small piece of black lace in front of the eyes.

The king of course, was in his royal uniform, decked across the chest with all honors he possessed by virtue of being king, Commander-in-chief of the Army, Navy, and Air Force, Lord High Chamberlain, Grandmaster of the Order of the Tarsier, just to name a few.

The motorcade stopped. They had arrived. Late. A security guard came around to open the vehicle for them. The princess got out first, followed by the King. They were escorted into the chapel.

As they walked by the casket, King Albert stood there with his head down. Tozian approached him and placed his hand on cousin's shoulder as a gesture of condolence. Albert swung around at looked Tony in the eye.

"I need to speak to you."

Batari nodded her head as the Lictor-Magister faded away, then sat on the other side of the Imperator. Her skirts swirled and a soft perfume filled the air, wistful and full of longing. Ikaika remained standing, radiating the watchful air of an aide ready to intercept anyone seeking to accost his superior. She knew from long experience, though, that he was equally alert to anyone who might have more sinister motives.

She leaned closer to her new companion, and spoke with a low voice. "I had hoped I would find you here, Felix. Affairs of state have kept us apart for far too long, and I miss our old chats. A pity, though, that it takes a tragedy to bring us together again."

While the eulogy is being recited, an entourage of people wearing black clothing arrived at the scene quietly. They sat down in the chairs towards the back of the funeral. In the entourage were the Emperor of Gim, the First Lady, and their two younger daughters.




The black limousine that had transported them to the funeral was parked at the back parking lot by a valet parking official.

The Imperator shifted uncomfortably - towards Batari. His torso started shifting minutely, maybe even consciously away from her, even as his eyes were drawn by force from his notes to her voice.

He took a moment to recompose himself as he lifted his face to meet hers, his uncertainty immediately replaced by familiarity - with Batari, with the rigours of international diplomacy, with that sickly-sweet Cathedral.

"It would be remiss of me not to have attended. It is good to keep in touch with the international community.

But you know what it's like for my people. A centrally planned economy requires active planners. There are sacrifices all of us at home must make, for the good of the nation. I make those sacrifices and fulfill my obligations happily, even if they require me to..."

Felix wavered noticeably.

"...to forego various luxuries, like that of my free time. It is convenient, however, when my sacrifices bring blessings from God, like being able to brush shoul - to entreat the favour of my counterparts on the international stage. Certainly, our chats are a part of my past I do not wish to forget."

Before Tozian had the opportunity to respond, the room became suddenly silent as the Archbishop of Intelligentsia stood behind the altar where the coffins of the Queen and her husband lay. His head was bowed as he spoke quietly in High McMasterdonian.

"Ladies and Gentleman, the funeral service will begin shortly. Please make sure your telephones are turned off and that you do not speak during the service" the temple attendant said.

A few minutes later, the Archbishop moved to the front of the temple. His palms together, in quiet contemplation. He had served as the Archbishop of Intelligentsia since 1969. He was one of the youngest, appointed at only 25 years of age, his appointment caused significant controversy amongst the intelligentsia elite, but over time he had won their respect and admiration. Now in his 70's, the Archbishop continued to serve the Temple of Flemingovia and the Royal Family of McMasterdonia. This day would be very difficult for him, it was he who had taught the royal children the flemingovian scripture, who had blessed their birth and health, and who had served as the celebrant at all of their weddings.

"Dear friends, we are gathered here today to celebrate the life of two individuals who gave everything in the service of their family, their country, and in their god." he paused for a moment, before continuing "The Queen Matilda II, was a benevolent, kind, and intelligent ruler. Her rule was characterised by her strength of character, and her intestinal fortitude.

In the face of many threats against her life. In the face of terrorist attacks. In the face of abandonment by the International Community, and the greatest sin of all - in the face of rebellion by her subjects, our beloved Queen remained strong and resolute.

Many international leaders could learn a lot from our beloved Queen. The World has become full of incompetent, self-obsessed, and indecisive leadership. Leaders have turned away from god. They are abandoning the important tenets of the church - a protection of the downtrodden, and the support of Queen and country. We must remember the Flemingovian mantra. Flemingovia is right. I will listen to Flemingovia. Flemingovia is god. The Queen as the leader of this country, represents the will of God in all that she did. Let us remember that.

I now invite the King-Regent Albert, to give the first of a series of Eulogies".

---

The King-Regent walked to the front of the temple, and crouched beside the coffin of his sister, with his right hand upon the coffin. Attempting to compose himself before taking the stage, it was clear to all in the temple that he was grieving deeply for his sister.

"My beloved sister, the Queen of McMasterdonia, was my best friend, my closest ally, and an excellent leader of the Kingdom of McMasterdonia. From a very young age, the brilliance that was my sister was evident to all. At the age of 9 she could already speak five languages other than McMasterdonian. She was a well known part of all important functions that my Father held as King. She was well known to all and deeply loved by her people. The media became so obsessed with the People's Princess that the Government at the time, had to pass the truth and reconciliation bill to limit the media''s ability to report pictures of this deeply popular princess.

As Chancellor of His Majesties Government, then Countess-Palatine Matilda served with great dignity. For more than 14 years she guided this Kingdom through a period of significant economic growth, very low unemployment, and a modern cultural renaissance. She grieved heavily for our father when he passed, and the great weight that is the crown of McMasterdonia passed to her. I can honestly say that I did not realise how weighty the responsibility of the throne would feel, and I appreciate how strong she was in the face of great adversity.

I promise to love and protect her son, my nephew, and to help guide him when he ascends to the throne of Mcmasterdonia. I promise to guide this great nation down the path she set us on, and to continue to fight the so-called flemingovianist extremists, and the rebels, who seek to besiege and attack this great state. "

The King-Regent concluded his words with a bow to the audience. Removing his hat, he approached the coffins again and laid a white rose upon the coffins. He then returned to his seat, next to Princess Madeline and Princess Magdalena."

The Archbishop moved to the centre of the room again and made a silent prayer before the coffins before speaking

"I invite the Queen-Empress Amelia, of the Lancerian Empire, and the dear cousin of Queen Matilda II to give her eulogy"

The Queen-Empress Amelia of The Lancerian Empire rose from her seat. She walked to the front of the cathedral and assumed a position behind the altar. In front of her sat family and heads of state, all sat in a heavy silence. For a second she composed herself then began to recite her eulogy.

"Matilda was one of the greatest rulers I've known. She, with a pure heart and good intentions, did her best to rule this noble kingdom. But Matilda was more than just a Queen. To me, she was a cousin, the sister I never had."

"As some of you may know, I spent half a decade while the Old Kingdom Of Lancers lay in ruins living in McMasterdonia with the Royal Family. It was Matilda who I grew closest with. For some years I saw her grow as she saw me grow and in all that time she proved herself the brightest of minds and the kindest of souls. I owe a great deal of the woman I am today to the values and courage imparted on me by my dear Matilda. With certainty I can say that the Lancerian Empire may very well not exist today had it not been for the encouragement and her never-ending support. When I cried about the state of my homeland, she consoled me. When I was weak she was strong for me. When her father died, I came here to her. When my father died, she was there for me. Now she, like my father was many years ago, has been robbed from us by those too blind to see-" Amelia's voice broke. A single tear worked its way down her left cheek. For the first time since her father had been killed, the strong, persevering Queen-Empress Ameila of The Lancerian Empire, was crying.

She fought the tears back and continued, slightly quieter before building back up to normal volume.

"-the beauty of the person. In the deepest parts of my heart I will endlessly miss my dear Matilda. May this shining example of light in the dark be forever remembered and may she rest in peace."

Amelia turned around and approached the coffin. She took a bracelet, pretty but humble, from her wrist and placed it next to the body. A matching bracelet still adorned the late Queen. She bent down and kissed her forehead before turning around and returning to her seat.

One final tear fell from her face and landed on the floor below.

The Archbishop watched the Queen-Empress give her statement. He too had known the Queen-Empress well, and had taught Amelia when she stayed in Intelligentsia. All of her studies were done under the direction of Matilda and the then Queen-in exile of the Lancers, Queen Catherine.

"A touching tribute your majesty. I think we can all see here today, how much the Queen Matilda meant to you. Both as a friend, and as a ruler of a like-minded nation. The Queen's passing has touched us all, and together, we must celebrate her beautiful life."

"I now invite Caesar Augustus Felix Albinus Augustus of Imperium Augustum to deliver his Eulogy"

The Archbishop knelt before the coffin again, before returning to his position near the altar.

The Imperator stood, walking to the coffin. His head held high, one arm tight in the crook of his back and the other swinging freely.

His heels snapped smartly against the floor as he paced himself, evenly keeled. Hidden, mostly, from view, he saluted the coffin in the Augustine Imperial tradition. While it was reminiscent of the salutes popular in most of the world, it was one reserved solely for the Imperator within Imperium's traditions. Palm raised to and facing the side of the head, fingertips touching the crown, with the thumb brought in between the head and the fingers to which it remains parallel.

He held the salute for a moment. About a second and a half.

Turning sharply from the coffin - lifting one heel and rotating the other - the Imperator made his way to the altar. Taking it firmly with both hands, he looked out towards the audience. His carefully-rehearsed spontaneous grief scanned the pious and impious alike, without judgement.

"On this day, we come together to mourn the life of a woman taken from us too early.

A woman whose life was the rallying cry of a nation, and whose death has become more than that. It is a rallying car for us, here today. For us, as leaders. For us, as a community of nationstates.

For, make no mistake, it was a death that has come too soon. Throughout her life, cut short, she took McMasterdonia - an aging nation, flying high on the glories of its history - and saw beyond the popular press, the public opinion. She saw into its very seams, and she saw danger. Financial crisis, political crisis, social crisis. These were the three Muses of her reign, and she sought to slay them.

Her birth came during my reign. McMasterdonia, our historic neighbour, rival, and friend, had a new heir looking to take command of its boundless plains and mineral wealth. Needless to say, it was a day that shall live on forever in the archives of our Senatorial minutes.

None of us, that day, could have predicted the achievements Queen Matilda brought to McMasterdonia. She made the McMasterdonians a better people, through strong leadership. She made many of us in this very room better people. She remains an example to all leaders, by rule of God, law, or public.

I was 8, when the Regency Council took power from my mother, out of concern for her health. It was 1953. Nine years later, she passed away. I barely knew her, and my father had passed in my infant years. It was a time of national pain. For the first time in centuries, Imperium did not have someone who could lead.

Queen Matilda was more than a Queen to our Senate - to me. She would become the spiritual successor to my mother, and to her mother, and to her mother - the three Iron Ladies of Imperium, the first, second, and third female Imperators. She embodied everything that those three women saught to be, in varying degrees of success. To quote my subjects in the north, they saught to be women who could lead men, by being the women who gave birth to men - to a nation that could embody everything that we expected of our men and women. They wanted to justify our mythology, and to create an Imperium that no longer had to dream.

Queen Matilda showed us why they - why we were wrong. As Imperium raised walls to defend itself from the outside world, as we justified our mythology, Queen Matilda did the opposite. She was proud to dream of something undreamt. She taught us that it is not enough to be someone else's man, or woman. We had to learn to be ourselves.

Queen Matilda will not be remembered as just a leader, because one does not remember a portrait as just an image of themselves. She was the canvas that showed us our greatest flaws - and showed us a world where those flaws became part and parcel of a flawless masterpiece."

The Archbishop moved to the coffin again. This time, he lightly flicked holy water across the coffin and assembled flowers.

"A touching tribute to the Queen. Caesar is correct, the Queen dared to dream of a greater and stronger nation. In these challenging times we must continue to fight for that dream. A dream out great Queen died for.

"I now invite Queen Leah Charles of Guslantis to give her eulogy"

Leah Charles, who had quietly been listening to the eulogies, stood up from beside Alicia, and began to make her way to the altar. She was wearing a short black dress, high heels, a small black cap, which supported her diadem, and a black lace birdcage fell in front of half of her face. The queen walked, almost expressionless, up to the altar. Charles, since the day of her coronation, hid feelings from the public eye. She did not want to be seen as weak or minuscule, so her face looked serious. Her heels clicked against the floor of the cathedral as she reached the altar. She placed her written speech down on the altar, looked out as far as she could, cleared her throat, and spoke into the microphone.

"Citizens of McMasterdonia, residents of Intelligentsia, members of the Royal family, and above all, friends. My name is Leah Charles, and I have the proud honor of serving as the Queen of Guslantis. Before I was queen, however, and even before serving the Cabinet, my biggest dream in life was to be a diplomat--gosh am I glad I grew out of that one," she began, trying to add a hint of humor into the sad crowd. Yes, this was a funeral, but Charles knew this would tie in with her message. "I got to meet Matilda when I was just a little spunky ambassador. She probably thought I was a little crazy, to be honest, but the impact she left on me was something I would never forget. Now, in Pigletville, we diplomats like to use one of our five official languages, French, for diplomacy, and one phrase I think represents the true soul of the late queen is this: 'la colombe vole libre', or 'the dove flies free'.

Matilda was passionate about what she did, she loved serving her country and people, and is not only a true inspiration for future leaders of our world, but for citizens who knew her legacy as well. She might not be with us right now, ladies and gentlemen, but I will assure you of this: the dove has flown free. I find this correlation so powerful, as the dove flies free, the Democratic Union and the North Pacific Treaty Organization, which both chose the dove as their mascot, are now fighting for the truth of the queen's death, and I will assure you, we will not stop until a conclusion has been made on the dove of McMasterdonia, and I hope you all can see, through this, the shield of peace has grown tighter around the world and Matilda will be truly missed by all of us gathered here today, myself and Chancellor Burns, the Guslant Cabinet, and the citizens of Guslantis. We wish the best of luck to the closest people to Matilda and hope the mourning process will be easy on the lives of those she touched. Merci. Gracias. Danke. Arigato. Thank you," she finished, gathering her papers and moving back from the altar, and toward the coffin.

She gazed at the coffin, a tear running down her face. She reached into her pocket, took out a small ornament wrapped in paper, unwrapped the ornament and began to place it near the coffin. It was a hand-carved glass dove in flight, and had the inscription 'the dove flies free' on it. She turned back to the crowd, bowed her head slightly, and made her way back to her seat.

"A beautiful eulogy, Queen Leah Charles" the Archbishop said quietly

"I now invite Alessandro d'Avelocci the Gonfaloniere of Justice of the Floregasque Republic to give his statement to this gathering of friends"

Alessandro rose from his seat and stepped out from the pews into the aisle of the cathedral. He walked slowly to the coffin in front of the altar, looked for a moment, then walked to the altar. He touched the casket briefly as he walked by, and reached into his jacket to remove his eulogy.

He adjusted his reading glasses - square, with thin black rims - and cleared his throat.

"Thank you, Archbishop," he said, his accent thick. In the Floregasque tongue he would pepper his speeches with off-the-cuff remarks, but his command of the language here was less strong, and felt bound to stick to the script.

"How can I speak of Matilda and do her memory justice? McMasterdonia is an ancient nation, millennia removed from its founding, but Her Majesty will be remembered as a mother of her country regardless. Any attempt to honor her here, even in this temple of Flem, would be a desperate endeavor compared to the hero's welcome she is receiving in the beyond.

"Her life was ended in an act of hatred, which is an unfitting end for a woman so full of love. Her murder was violent, unfitting for a woman who loved peace so. Her death was allowed due to the indifference of the authorities tasked with her protection - unfitting for a woman who cared so deeply about everyone under her care.

"Her reign saw the nation she administered grow and develop into one of the most advanced societies on Eras. Never a day went by that she did not think of the smallest person who would be affected most by her decisions. Even when she died, she died hard at work improving the foreign relations of her nation.

"I remember once a year or two ago, when Matilda was present in Floresque for a diplomatic event, we sat down for a game of cards in the Gonfaloniere's Palace. I left the room for a glass of water and, when I came back, she was finishing an email on her phone. I asked, perhaps nosily, what the issue was.

"I suppose, working so often with Floregasque politicians, I expected the issue to be something involving a foreign business opportunity or domestic trade dispute or local littering charge. Instead, though, she explained to me that a teenage girl had wrote to her. She lived in a rural town outside Port Augusta and wanted to attend university in the city, but her family was unable to afford it. Matilda told me she was planning to speak to the President of the university the next morning to see what she could work out."

Alessandro cleared his throat and looked at his speech for a moment.

"I don't know what ever came of that girl, but I know Matilda would have gotten her whatever she wanted."

Alessandro paused again.

"With her passing, the world has lost a light. The rest of us can only try out hardest to make our own lights shine brighter to cast away the darkness that she so easily kept at bay. Thank you, Archbishop, for your time. May Peace be forever with the Queen in the next life. Flemingovia bless her."

Alessandro folded up the piece of paper and put it back in his pocket. He walked to the casket again, knelt, and said a prayer. He stood and walked back to his eat.

The crowd was visibly moved by the eulogies, but the funeral had started to drag on now. It felt like days or even weeks since they had all come into pay their respects. Funerals are always terribly tiring affairs, the Archbishop thought as he rose to speak once more.

"Thank you for that touching tribute Alessandro, I now invite the cousin of the Queen, King Tozian of Plembobria to give the final eulogy".

Tozian rose. He headed to the podium and paused before delivering his eulogy. "Dear friends, members of my family, heads of state and government, we are here to commemorate the life of one of the strongest and most courageous leaders ever to sit on the McMasterdonian throne. Matilda was no ordinary monarch. From the very beginning she was embattled with turmoil. Rebellion. Religious conflict. Destruction left and right. She kept her sanity. She never failed to make a bold front.

Not many can survive in the position of McMasterdonian monarch. I pray that my cousin Albert has the same courage, wisdom, and strength to lead this nation as well as his dearest sister. I have no doubt of this, the House of McMaster is a great family. Great wisdom runs in our veins. Ruler after ruler has wisely reigned, protecting all persons equally; minority and majority alike. Monarchy and equality under the law go hand in hand. The random vicissitudes of public opinion are culled by the powerful and benevolent position of King or Queen.

There was no greater master of this art than the late Matilda the Second. The world mourns for her. She shall be missed by us all.

To me though, Matilda was not a high-and-mighty potentate, but family. Our relationship was close. As children we enjoyed debating policy and customs. She was a intelligent but humble. She always had a great belief in the importance of truth. The slightest white lies never got by Matilda.

Today we mourn, but we also celebrate her life. Thank you."

The King walked by the casket. Place his hand on it, stared at it, and returned to his seat.

Thank you to all who have participated in today's funeral service. It has been a wonderful celebration of a beautiful life. A life dedicated to the service of the nation, to the service of the world, and to the service of her people. Today we say goodbye to a wonderful life cut short, by the acts of terrorism.

All guests are invited to return to the Royal Palace, Intelligentsia. Where they will have the opportunity to meet and converse with the Royal Family.