Sir England/Tales of Sir England
From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
Contents |
Tales of Sir England
Farewell My Sweetest Friend
Chapter 1
The memories of Sir England's childhood seemed distant and confusing. Normally he wouldn't think of them, but he made a point to do it on a regular basis to remind himself who he was; who he really was. He knew he was Sir England, he also knew he was The Shield of England, and The St. George Cross, and The Lion of England, and every hero who possessed Paradigm, all the way back to Sir Bors of the Round Table. He also knew that he wasn't supposed to do what he was doing, as it risked compromising the secret of the Arms. It is what forced The Shield of England into an early retirement and had Sir England taking his place prematurely, his training not yet complete.
Sir England paused to contemplate what happened to the papparazi that had been spying on Shield and probing his mind. The official word was that he had been warned and relocated, but from what he knew of MI5, the meta-human papparazi was probably relocated somewhere very grey with no windows.
He buried his face in his hands, it was becoming harder and harder to remember his own past without becoming distracted by some other memory. The Shield had never found it this hard to remember, why was it so hard to do it himself?
He clenched his fists and pushed them into his tightly shut eyes in frustration. Perhaps he should ask the squires he grew up with. Surely if he explained the situation, they could recant to him their childhood and he would remember. He lifted his head and smiled, that was exactly what he would do. With a feeling of victory, he stood up and strode confidently to the door of his flat. When he opened it, he was met by Special Agent Page; a slight woman of thirty standing just under five feet four inches.
She looked up at him and smiled sweetly, "Going somewhere, Sir?"
"Yes, I..." he stopped. He'd forgotten why he had gone to the door, had she knocked him up? He shook his head and blinked a couple of times, "Uh, no, I don't suppose I was. Why, were you wanting to go somewhere Agent Page?" He flashed a charming smile.
"Shut up!" she demurred, covering her mouth with one hand and poking him in the stomach with the other. "I wasn't coming here for a date."
"Oh? Why on earth would you come all the way out to see me then? Perhaps you wanted to stay in?" He winked playfully.
"Shut up! No!" she couldn't hide the smile from her face as she pushed him away playfully. It wasn't that she was charmed by his chatting her up; quite the contrary, in fact, she found it hilarious. "You have an audience with the Queen." She gave him a playful slap on the arm he was using to shield himself from her attacks.
"The Queen? I don't remember being called to an audience."
"Dozy oaf! That's why I'm here, you daft fool!" she slapped at him again. She would normally never break protocol to fraternize with a fellow agent like this, but ever since she was assigned to be his psychological observer, she was allowed to associate with him in this way.
"Ow!" he lied, "Okay okay. Let me get changed."
When he went into the bedroom, she slipped into the backdoor she had created in his psychic barrier to make sure he wasn't jeapardizing himself or the Arms again. She hated that she was about to lose him to the Americans, but with his disturbing habit of trying to bring personal memories dangerously to his surface thoughts, the preperations had to be rushed. It had already been planned to send him over as an ambassador, mostly because he was in dire need of regular training and experience, but the underlying reasons were no less important. The official statements will be that the United Kingdom, seeing the carnage caused to Paragon City; and hearing Statesman's plea for the heroes of the world to gather there, would send one of her most valued defenders of the Crown to contribute to Paragon's rehabilitation.
She worried about him, though. His mind seemed to be having an acute reaction to his inherited memories and foibles and she was having to work overtime to counter it. Most disturbing of all was his minds reaction to her manipulation; unless he was distracted it was becoming harder and harder to do, as if he knew and was closing the doors she had created. The general consesus among her colleagues was that he was immunizing himself to her intrusions, which was why a new operative was being assigned to him for his stay in the States. She would be briefing her replacement, but she was afraid that she would be bull-dozing her way into his mind instead of working in gently.
"How do I look?" came a familiar voice. She looked up and blinked at him, realizing that she had allowed herself to become distracted while in his mind. It was no wonder he was rejecting her intrusions.
She flashed a quick smile, "Like a waiter, what took you so long?"
"A waiter?" he pouted "I spent a lot of time at the Crown's tailor having this suit designed."
"I know, you missed several appointments that day- and why the cowboy boots?" she interrupted herself.
"I like the pointy toes." he said meekly.
"Don't you dare give me the puppy dog eyes," she scolded, "or I'll smack you with a millwall brick. Now come on, you don't want to be late."
"Yes, mother." He chuckled, "Why am I being summoned again?"
"You, Sir," she poked him in the chest, "are being sent to America."
Sir England's eyebrows shot up and seemed to be trying to crawl over his head and down his back as he gaped at her response. "America?" he managed, "Really?!"
"Really." She pulled him, stumbling, out of his flat by his arm.
"That's brilliant!" He beamed, stumbling after her.
"Yes," She frowned, "fantastic."
Chapter 2
Sir England stepped out of the double doors, and saw Agent Page waiting for him. He rushed over and swept her up into the air, his hands under her arms. "Myfanwy, isn't it fantastic? We're going to America!"
She averted her eyes from his, "I'm not going with you."
"Surely you're joking." He chuckled. He at least hoped she was joking.
"I'm not. Put me down, please." The smile fell from his face and the happiness washed away from him like the tide.
He set her back down, "But... But you must come. I... You..."
She looked up at him and, seeing the sadness in his eyes, couldn't hold her own back any longer. She covered her mouth and sobbed. Sir England reached out to comfort her, but she turned and ran for the door. He moved to follow but a hand caught the crook of his elbow; he turned to see a man in a black three piece suit with a small blue flower in the buttonhole of his lapel.
"If you would, Sir England, come this way." The man swept an arm towards an open door on the other side of the room. Sir England looked back from the man just in time to see Myfanwy pushing through a door across the room. "Sir England, if you please." The man smiled and tugged gently on his arm.
"Of course." Sir England said reluctantly and cast a glance over his shoulder as he followed the man out.
The man lead him down a corridor and into a small conference room. Seated around the oval shaped table were very few familiar faces, as he entered, they all turned to look at him.
"Please, Sir." The gentleman who had brought him indicated the chair at the head of the table, which Sir England took obligingly.
"Good," Said one of the men, standing up, "Now that we're all here, we shall begin." He nodded at the gentleman with the flower, who took the open seat near Sir England. "I'm sure I do not need to introduce the man seated at the head of the table, and I'm sure many of us are familiar with each other." He looked around at the gathered faces, "However, we have a guest. If you would stand, please, Agent Cornflower."
The man stood, straightened his flower, and smiled. "A pleasure."
"Agent Cornflower is Sir England's new liason, as he is no longer under our influence."
Sir England raised an eyebrow and looked up at Agent Cornflower.
"Surely you knew, Sir." Cornflower said, sitting down, "As you are leaving the United Kingdom for your current assignment, you are to be temporarily assigned to MI6."
"So... After I've returned, my position in MI5 will be returned?"
"Correct." Answered Cornflower.
"And Agent Page will be reassigned as my liason?" He looked hopefully at the agent in charge of the meeting.
The man cast his gaze down at the papers laid out before him, "No, Sir England, she is being moved on to... Other assignments."
"That is unacceptable, Agent Page and I have a rapport and work extremely well together. I demand she be assigned as my liason upon my return." Though his demeanor was calm, his raised voice showed the gathered agents a rare glimpse at the hero's anger.
"I'm extremely sorry, Sir England," the man said, looking desperate, "but it is out of our hands. The orders cannot be challenged."
"We shall see about that." He growled, leaning back into his seat and looking at the agent over laced fingers. "Do continue."
"Yes of course." He looked unnerved; in fact all of the agents but one looked uncomfortable now. Agent Cornflower gazed nonplussed towards the man in charge of the meeting.
The meeting itself was extremely dull, mostly details about the upcoming assignment. When they reached the point in the meeting where it turned into a lecture about appropriate behavior while acting as an ambassador, Sir England drifted off.
He tried to remember when he had first met Myfanwy. It had been shortly before he had accepted the mantle of-
There was a blinding pain. He clenched his teeth and clutched at the sides of his head, his face twisted in agony.
"Sir England!" Called the presenter, "Dear God, someone help him!"
Then just as soon as it struck him, the pain was gone. His vision cleared and he saw the gathered agents standing up, mobiles in hand, dialing as fast as their fingers would let them on the tiny keypads. "What happened?" He mumbled and leaned forward, resting his head in his hands.
"Sir England, are you hurt?" Cornflower said, resting a hand on the back of Sir England's head.
"No. No I'm fine. Just a bit of a headache. Go on, please."
The presenter looked to Cornflower, who nodded, and the meeting continued as if nothing had happened.
Chapter 3 (unfinished)
The journey was comfortable, but dull. Sir England wished that they would have allowed him to fly across the Atlantic on his own. Even though it would have been slower than his current accommodation, it would have allowed him some distance from his new liason. Although Cornflower had never done anything to wrong him, he resented him just the same for replacing Myfanwy.
Sir England looked across the cabin at Cornflower who looked up and smiled warmly at him. He pushed his smoked lenses up the bridge of his nose to break eye contact with the agent, stood, and strode toward the front of the modified British Airways 747. The spiral staircase near the nose of the plane was a bit cramped for him, and he was afraid he might become wedged and require assistance to get free without damaging anything. He was fretting over the crimped handrail when he felt a hand on his elbow; he looked around slowly fearing that, somehow, Cornflower had made it into the lounge before him.
"Sir England, please don't worry about that." The hostess smiled and motioned towards a small table with padded leather chairs,, "Please have a seat; is there anything we can get for you?"
An air steward brought out a tray with a silver kettle, a china cup, and a plate stacked with biscuits and scones. "Tea, Sir England?"
"Yes, please." Sir England looked back up at the hostess as the steward poured the tea, "I don't suppose I could trouble you for a bacon butty and a jacket potato, could I?"
"Of course, Sir England, what would you like in your potato?"
He opened his mouth to respond, but quickly closed it again. He remembered his favourite kind of jacket potato was one that Myfanwy had made for him. Prawn vindaloo with scrambled egg and chili sauce; it was repulsive and delicious at the same time. He smiled. That was before he was... Before he was...
Blinding pain shot through his mind like an arc of electricity. His face screwed up in agony and he clenched his fists, bringing one of them down, hard, onto the table; splintering it and sending the silver and china flying. The hostess and steward shielded their faces and retreated to avoid the flying debris.
It was quiet, and had been for several minutes. Sir England was slumped over in his chair, his white evening jacket torn in several places, and his gloves split at the seams.
The hostess regained her composure first, "Sir England, is there something the matter?" she asked as gently as she could manage.
"I'm fine," he replied without raising his head, "just a bit of a headache. How long until we touch down?"
The hostess looked over at the steward who was still dumbstruck, "I'll go check, Sir." She wrapped an arm around the steward's shoulder and began to guide him towards the kitchen.
"I'll be in my cabin," Sir England said, standing to leave, "Please wake me when we've arrived."
"Of... Of course, Sir." She stammered as Sir England staggered past her, one hand on his head, the other on the bulkhead to steady himself.
