#wmday14

[enjoythesilentworld]

Wille's Month - Mental Health

day 14. @youngroyals-events <3

Wille steps down. Kristina steps up.

read below the cut or on ao3 (T, 900) cw: panic attacks

“Wilhelm?” 

A voice breaks through the ringing in his ears. Who’s is it? He can’t tell, can’t really hear, but can feel a slight breeze on his face. Is he outside? No, he’s walking — nearly running — down a hallway, inside. He’s inside the palace, still. They’ve just had a meeting with the court, and it was not good, and he needs to get away. 

“Wilhelm, snälla,” the voice calls again. It’s not angry or exasperated, though, it’s almost sad. He ignores it, anyway. Too many other thoughts swirl in his brain. 

They hated him. They all hated him. He’d felt so good about his decision when he’d first made it. So relieved, so proud of himself, so excited to tell Simon. Every day after that, he’d only had fleeting moments of self-doubt. But in the end, the day he’d made that speech, he thought he’d been doing the right thing. But now, his resolve is crumbling. Would Erik hate him, too, if he knew? His mamma? She’d said she was okay with it, was happy for him, even, but now? The whole country, it seemed, had turned against him. How could his family not feel the same? When it was really them he was betraying? Their legacy he was walking away from? 

His heart beat in time with his rapid steps down the hallway. His chest feels tight, too tight, and when he brings up a hand to press there, it does nothing to alleviate it. Somewhere, in a distant part of his mind, he hears the click of a second pair of shoes following behind him. It must be Erik’s ghost, come to haunt him and ask him why couldn’t he just handle it? Why couldn’t he stop being so selfish and start being the Crown Prince he was supposed to be? 

The dozens of statistics the court had presented spin around each other in his mind like a winter squall. Cold, tiny bits of ice stab into his skin, a million tiny reminders that he’s failed them. Why couldn’t they see? Didn’t they know it would break him? That role? It had dug its claws into him already and he’d nearly lost his parents and the love of his life because of it. The rift it created, the puppet it made you, it was too much. Why didn’t they know? 

Somehow, he runs into a dead-end. He’s lived here for so long and never gotten lost, but at this moment he doesn’t know where he is. Looking for something, anything to ground him, he reaches out and places both hands against the wall and tries to breathe. Why can’t he fucking breathe?

“Gubben.” This time, the voice reaches his ears and it’s a little more clear, though slightly muted. This time, he recognizes the voice. He spins around and tries to swallow the blockage in his throat and tries to stop the tears. He hadn’t even realized he was crying. Shaking his head, he pulls at the already loose tie at his neck and tries not to let his mamma see how much he’s breaking down right now. He still can’t breathe, though, still just sucking in tiny gulps of air. In a panic, he reaches out blindly, and she is there to catch him. 

Slowly, his mamma lowers them both to the ground, her arms wrapped tightly around him. Softly, she whispers quiet encouragement into his ear, reminding him to breathe. Gently, she runs a hand through his hair over and over, soothing him just like she’d done when he was very young. 

He chokes out an, “I’m sorry,” once he’s gotten his breathing mostly under control. Big, fat tears continue to run down his face, though, and he can still hear the sound of Jan Olof’s voice explaining just how disappointed the public was. And here’s his mamma, the person he’d disappointed the most, comforting him. Guilt crawls up his throat, suffocating him again. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” she whispers into his hair. “You do not need to apologize. Just breathe, älskling, then we will talk. Okay?”  

Unable to do anything else, Wille nods and tries to calm down. She doesn’t seem angry, which is the most confusing part. She seems more worried and scared than anything. The way she holds him now reminds him of that time she’d broken down in front of him and August. He’d been terrified, then. It feels odd, now, to have the roles reversed, but the warmth of his mother’s touch is so gentle and kind it nearly makes new tears well up in his eyes. This is all he’d ever wanted from her.  

Eventually, he calms down, methodically rubbing his thumb over his mamma’s hand where it’s gripped in his. He mumbles another apology, unsure what else to say, and she gently shushes him again. 

“It doesn’t matter what those people think, Wilhelm,” she says softly. “This was the right decision for you, for us as a family.” 

“But Erik–”

“Erik,” she interrupts, placing a hand on his cheek, “is not here.”

He feels that ever-present grief inside him pulse painfully at her words, but she continues. “But I think he would have been proud of you. I am proud of you.” 

A few more tears fall from Wilhelm’s eyes as he looks up at his mother. Not the Queen, not Kristina, his mamma. 

“We will go through this together. As a family.” 

Later, they find out that Jan Olof had buried the lead. In fact, the majority of the population was in support of Wilhelm’s decision. That does lessen the panic from his bones a bit more. But even more so does the love and reassurance his parents continue to provide through the transition. He is no longer Prince, but he is still their son.