A Jameson and Flynn Story

Jameson closes the door to his office and waits, knowing his daughter will be trying to eavesdrop into their conversation. Flynn stands awkwardly in the office, looking around at all the bookshelves. He is not sure where to sit or if he even should. So he waits. A heavy sound of a head banging against the doorknob echoes in the silent office.
“Elisa,” Jameson accuses through the door.
The sound of muffled voices follow and eventually footsteps going down the hallway fades. The door opens and Leandra steps in, her eyes full of laughter and a smile on her face. She does not say anything, but stops next to Jameson. Together they face Flynn, who has tensed up more with the addition of Elisa’s mother in the room.
“Flynn,” Jameson starts, walking over to a bookshelf and examining the books. Leandra walks over to one of the armchairs in the center of the room. There are five total armchairs, forming a “U” around a rectangular shaped glass coffee table with silver legs. The armchairs look inviting and fluffy, exuding comfort.
Jameson continues, “Take a seat.”
Flynn looks at the chairs, unsure which one to sit in. Leandra now sits on the one side, and her gaze points toward a chair on the opposite side. Grateful for the silent guidance, he sits in the chair, sinking into its cushions. Despite the chair’s comfiness, Flynn feels like he just sat down for execution.
“You are a farmer, correct?” he asks. Without waiting for answer he adds, “You have occasionally gardened here before as well, correct?”
Not ready to be addressed, Flynn stutters his response, “Y-Yes sir.”
“Hm. Today will not be about gardening or flowers though will it?” Jameson asks, still looking through the books on the shelf. The question itself could have been meant as a jest, but his voice is stern. “You seem well prepared. Before you say anything, I will tell you a story. You do enjoy stories, yes?”
Flynn nods, not trusting his voice to hold up. A moment passes. Realizing his error, Flynn quickly stutters out another affirmative. “Y-Yes sir.”
“When I was younger, and more in my prime, I caught the attention of many young ladies at Court. I was rather brash back then, you seem more like a wallflower - no offense meant of course. A compliment perhaps. I was to be married off in an arranged marriage of what my father believed was a mutual benefit for the Denner family and a noble Snow Leopard household. When I was to ascend the throne, she was to become the Queen.”
Jameson takes a book from the shelf and examines it before continuing.
“Life has an interesting way of presenting itself. Within a week of meeting my betrothed, I ran into Leandra. You can see how that turned out. We live a sequestered life, Flynn.”
At the mention of Elisa’s mother, Jameson turns around, book in hand, and looks from Leandra to Flynn. Leandra smiles knowingly. Despite the additional pressure represented by her, Flynn feels himself slowly get calmer.
“I do not shy from it. My choices are my own. My decisions and my choices, however, are not something you should aspire to. And granted, as a farmer, you yourself do not share Elisa’s same aspirations. I sincerely stress upon you to take in consideration Elisa’s position and what she has done, will do, and must do, for you.”
Finally, Jameson sits in the chair besides his wife, facing Flynn. He sets the book down on the glass table, facing Flynn, and opens it to a particular page. On the page is a beautiful drawing of white funnel shaped flowers on a thick stem.
“Read it,” Jameson orders, pointing at the words on the page.
Slightly confused, Flynn complies, “Belladonna lily.”
“We have not purchased belladonna lilies for a while now. Yet, particularly on days our gardener is ill, we tend to have many, many more. Why might that be?”
Fearing Jameson is getting off topic, certainly after acknowledging that the conversation would not be about flowers or gardening, Flynn hesitates. He knows he has to answer Jameson. But he also wishes to direct the conversation to its true purpose. His thoughts tangling over each other, he nervously fidgets in his chair. Not even Leandra’s reassuring smile helps him now.
“Well, um… The flowers represent beauty.”
“And therefore these flowers are given to beautiful women are they not?”
Nervous sweat forms on his brow. “Indeed, they’re for beautiful women sir. B-But-”
Jameson leans back in his chair and continues his line of questioning, not giving Flynn time to change the subject, “Tell me Flynn, is this girl-”
Emotions boiling inside him, Flynn can no longer stay composed. In a bout of courage, he blurts out, “It’s Elisa sir!”
Leandra stifles a laugh. Flynn jumps slightly in his chair, surprised by Elisa’s mother first action since sitting down. Eyes darting back and forth between her and Jameson, Flynn becomes slightly flustered, his last words replaying in his head.
Keeping a straight face, Jameson pushes forward, “Yes, thank you Flynn. I can surmise that.”
“I-” Flynn starts.
Jameson holds up his hand, stopping his sentence. “You understand that not only is my daughter a Snow Leopard, not a Lion, but she is also the princess of the nation, yes?”
“I do understand that.”
Jameson sighs. “Please understand that, despite being her father, I honestly have no say in her decision. Even more so as I spurned my father’s for my own.”
“I still want your blessing sir,” Flynn says, returning to nervously fidgeting with the edge of his chair.
A small grin appears on Jameson’s stoic face, the first emotion aside from coldness. As quickly as it appeared, he hides it. “You remind me… This reminds me of a similar conversation I had with my father. Except my conversation did not go well… luckily for you, it would seem, otherwise we would not be here. Elisa’s grandfather was harsh, set in the past, prejudiced - the nation knew that. The nation still knows it, and it has fallen on my brother and I to fix it. Despite best efforts and the small steps towards tribal unity and peace, intermingling amongst the tribes is still shunned from our nation. Those who want such lives leave.”
Leandra stands up, once again surprising Flynn. She has been so silent and unmoving the entire conversation. Watching her, Flynn wonders if she will say anything, having suddenly taken to her feet. But she just continues smiling, placing a hand on Jameson’s for a brief moment as she walks by, and heads out of the office.
“I have thought about it sir. I love your daughter, sir, and all the consequences that come with it. There’s not a single day I wake up without thinking of her face. The way it shines like the moon amongst all the flowers. For me to share my life with her is not just a blessing, but truly a gift. I am not leaving this room without her hand.”
Weight lifts off Flynn’s shoulders, freeing him of the feeling of waiting for execution in that chair.
This time, Jameson does not hide his grin. “That is quite the statement Flynn,” he says. “Do you have anything to back it up with? Any prospects? Lands? Exchanges?”
With each question, Flynn feels his confidence waver. Jameson knows he cannot offer anything. He comes from nothing and has nothing. Reaching a point of overflow, Flynn abruptly stands and practically shouting says, “IS MY LOVE NOT ENOUGH, SIR?” Noise from the other side of the door sifts into the office. Though Jameson does not react, he can picture his wife trying her best to compose herself and failing as she laughs.
“Sit down Flynn.”
Flynn, realizing what he just did, does so instantly. The chair creaks under the sudden weight.
Jameson continues, “I have not made up my mind yet but it appears you have. But as I did, unlike my father, I advise you to not wait for the musings of an old man before making your own decisions about your own life. If you want to be with her, then so be it. I cannot offer my support to you.”
Flynn opens his mouth, ready to protest. Jameson does not give him the opportunity to do so.
“As it was for me… Your situation will likely be tougher. You and my daughter together, even if the marriage is approved and sanctioned, you may very well take away her position as Princess of Catthorn Ridge. You may take away her becoming Queen.” Flynn sinks deep into his chair.
“Would you take away the kingdom that she loves, for your own love?” Jameson concludes his questioning.
Time passes in the office without a response from Flynn and no further prying from Jameson. Only the ticking noise, signaling the passage of time, rings in their ears. Eventually, the sounds of a tray being carried slightly haphazardly approaches from down the hall.
“Alright,” Jameson breaks the silence. He looks straight into Flynn’s eyes. “Do not say a single word while I ask her questions. If you do, I will kick you out and we will never see you again. Am I understood?”
Flynn nods.
“And I swear, if you call me Father, I will remove you permanently.”