There was nothing calculated, nothing planned as history was forged into shape

Every street lamp in Stornoway was sparkling. Every pathway, forsaken. The carriage rattled listlessly through the street. black horses with golden bridles and clinquant silver hoofs trotted down the cobblestoned pathways. Just a black carriage and nothing more filled the coronation procession of King Meriwether. The jagged Scottish mountains cut through the sky like splinters of ice. They were vampiric teeth awaiting to bite into the idle clouds; clouds that floated like swans made of frozen mist. 

The carriage driver was a man dressed in a long cloak. The golden crown upon his head glittered under the light that poured forth from the milk white moon. The stoic calm of these early hours pervaded all the chaos in the heavens above. The woman who sat next to him leant against his shoulder. her rose black hair fell and tumbled down his cloak .  The sudden gusts of wind rippled her tresses like they were waves of the northern sea surrendering to Boreas' cruel will.

The few inhabitants who had ventured out to see their new monarch stood silently with expressions of wonder. they didn't detest him anymore. In a way the peasants had capitulated to him. for he seemed omniscient and grand. The Anti hero was something that was always better than the hero. this devilish man had eyes that gleamed. And those that had beheld his visage understood there was no need to be afraid. 

  The former queen was nothing now. She seemed as fragile as a cobweb. as forgotten as a lover's hope. as captured as the dreaming rosemary that remained tragically confined within the canvas. Someday she may fade away forever. Like a beautiful autumn leaf she leant upon the usurper and tyrant's shoulder. she clutched his arm... as the cruel wind tore through her like death itself. 

I had known the former queen for a while. She treasured the winter. the way the lone and ghostly moorland twinkled under a blanket of moonlit frost. The ruby sun sparkled in the frozen dawn and clouds turned pink. The climate was milder on the island due to the north Atlantic drift... but we were not saved from the bitter Scottish cold. something our new ruler seemed to understand. 

I saw as he removed his cloak and wrapped it around rosemary. He took a flask of rum and began  to drink, still holding the carriage horses with one hand. the cart left town and clattered off into the remote an desolate Hebridean distance. How strange our new king was... I thought to myself. There was no carriage driver… no parade, no trumpets or officers. He acted like he didn't care about how anyone saw him… and yet he had this power over all of us.  he had the horses in control with just his firm grasp… and with the same hand he had the world. As if he demanded it… we would all bow to his will in an instant. 

As the blazing fire of fate encircled and swooped around all us. I waited for the end of this singular fable and myth. Pirate of the Scottish seas… of the northern waters… and king that owned the queen…. What kind of headlines would fill the papers next?

Certainly it was true. He was the king of our island as soon as he stepped foot upon these moors. That's why there was no need to mark this occasion. No need for publicity. No need to enchant and entice. He wore the crown like he would never care even if it fell off. I suppose he knew that if it ever did… Rosemary would pick it up and hand it back to him. Such is the nature of our weak and feeble former queen rosemary. She who once had both moral and political ascendancy over a country… was seized by the evil hedonistic devil and has surrendered to him. 

This is the tragedy that will become the history of The Isle of Lewis and Harris. And it has only just begun. 

It is official. A new King has taken the throne and hold of the kingdom at early dawn today. The Lord Meriwether was officially crowned king in a private early morning rite., and is now to be known and named as His Majesty King Meriwether of The Western Isles, and the former “queen” Rosemary is no longer the official Queen of the country. 

She will continue to be named queen… but only for the reason that she is to be wed to a king in a few days time.  The coronation was hardly a celebration at all. many newspapers were not allowed to discuss it openly.  Henry Flintsworthing from the Celtic printing press reported the events as he saw them when the king and queen returned home from the private coronation ceremony in Stornoway church. 

THE CELTIC PRINTING PRESS.