AEH

From the Fars News Agency report of 8/30/2026:

It has been announced that the government will be "reviewing all support" for non governmental organizations.

This announcement, innocuous as it may sound, could have major implications around the world.

The major NGO that could be affected by this is of course the Islamic Liberation Front {ILF}. This group, which has branches in Yamnat and Somalia, receives the majority of its funding from the Islamic Republic.

If the government does in fact cut funding to the ILF and other NGOs, the effect on the geopolitics of the Middle East could see a whole new dynamic form.

The Vice Gerent of the Roman Empire sat alone in his office thinking. This in and of itself was unusual, thought Sir Benjamin Basevi, as generally his day was planned out almost to the minute. This blessed interlude would end soon, but for now he savored it.

His thoughts were about the recent visit of the young Empress Marilyn of Neo Britianna. It had been, in his opinion, a triumph for her. It had not be without missteps of course, but on the whole triumph was not an excessive word.

He thought about his own interactions with the young Empress. He had watched her address the Imperial Senate. He knew from experience how difficult that task could be, but she carried it off with seemingly no effort. She had been in turn, charming, witty and pleasant. But she had also made her points, showing the Senate that she was, to put it bluntly, nobody's fool despite her age

Then had come the state dinner. She was dressed superbly, alight with diamonds, or so it seemed. He had watched her charm everyone she met, including his wife, who was not easily impressed by anyone.

Then had come the real work. An entire day of meetings on treaties, economic and trade issue and other matters. Then another day on the various events in Italy, the Balkans, Belarus and other hotspots. Her questions had been realistic, her knowledge good, if incomplete,and her ability to retain knowledge impressive. It was then that he has realized how much she reminded him of her late father.

On the last day of her visit, he had been made a member of the Order of the Sebastos, the most senior of all the chivalric orders in the Empire. As a member of the order, he has been in the Chapel of St. Stephen to see the investiture and it had struck him how the robe and mantle of the order had made her seem small. He knew better, but it did make him reflect on how much responsibility was on her shoulders at such a young age.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his office door. His interlude of peace was over, and it was time to get back to governing. He said a brief prayer for the young empress, then got back to work.

Neo Britianna wrote:

Empress bids farewell to Roman Empire, heads to Persian Gulf Nations

After enjoying her stay in the Roman Empire and having given a grand speech to the Imperial Senate and being bestowed the honor of the Order of the Sebastos, Her Imperial Majesty, EMpress marilyn has departed Constantinople for Baghdad in the Ottoman Empire. Though Britannia itself is mainly Protestant and Catholic, it has a substantial Muslim population and this leg of her Good Will Tour will reinforce her oath to uphold all faiths as Defender of the Realm much like her father declared during his reign. She has been given a grand tour itinerary and will visit anicent sites throughout the Ottoman lands while still being mindful of religious and local customs.

The Empress Marilyn of Neo Britianna arrived in Baghdad yesterday.

She was met at Baghdad International Airport by Sehzade (Imperial Prince) Mustafa, the brother of the Sultan and his wife, the exiled Emir Mohammed V of Yamnat and his wife, and the mayor of Baghdad.

The Empress's motorcade passed through cheering crowds along the streets of the capital. It seemed to observers that Britiannan flags outnumbered Ottoman flags in the crowd, showing the young Empress's popularity with the citizens.

When the Empress emerged from her car prior to entering the Sabiha Palace, where she was to meet the Sultan, it was seen that she was wearing a black scarf lightly covering her head. This shows her understanding of and sensitivity to our religion and customs.

After meeting the Sultan and the Sultana, the Grand Vizier and other government officials, the empress and her party returned through the streets to their residence at the newly restored Al-Rehab Palace.

Due to time constraints, the empress's visits to historic sites in the empire will not be as extensive as previously anticipated. She will be taken to visit the Ishtar Gate and the ruins of both Ninevah and Eridu and inspect the work being done on the Ziggurat of Ur. After that will be meetings with the Sultan and the Grand Vizier, finishing her visit with a state dinner at the Britiannian University-Baghdad.

It has just been announced that the government has granted the request of the provisional governments of Umbria and the Marche for annexation and inclusion in our nation.

Soldiers and civil administrators will begin arriving the the two regions tomorrow. The formal terms will be sent to the legislature for ratification, which is regarded as merely a formality. Thus 2 regions return to their proper allegiance and Italy is one step closer to reunification unter its true government.

It has also been announced the the government is in talks with the Republic of Tuscany about the relationship between our two nations.

Office of the Prime Minister, Darwin House, New London

PM Rowling leaned back against his chair, studying the latest stack of revisions with mild horror. "This is the current version?" he asked, rubbing his temples.

To his left, Secretary of State Robin Marlow didn't even look up from her tablet, replying dryly, "The current version as of forty minutes ago."

"So obsolete by lunch, then," Marlow added with a faint, knowing smile.

"Most likely," Ramírez muttered, the Earl Marshal giving the paperwork a tired, sidelong glare from the right side of the desk.

The diplomatic folder snapped open as Marlow leaned forward. "Foreign attendance continues to increase. The Roman Empire has confirmed a senior delegation. The Russian Federation has done the same, and preliminary confirmations are in from the Federal German Empire, the Ethiopian Empire, and several others."

Rowling raised an eyebrow. "And the Ottomans?"

"I would be astonished if they declined after hosting Her Majesty," Marlow said.

Ramírez slouched further into his chair, a dry smirk touching his lips. "They may simply follow her home at this rate."

"Provided they submit the appropriate paperwork," Marlow countered without missing a beat.

The Earl Marshal stared at her in disbelief. "You would make an Emperor fill out an arrival form?"

"I would make God fill out an arrival form if He wanted diplomatic parking," Marlow shot back deadpan.

Rowling hastily hid a cough behind his hand, trying to swallow his amusement. "Moving on, before we end up annexing Heaven. What about delegation sizes?"

"We are receiving requests from governments wanting larger delegations than originally anticipated," Marlow sighed, flipping a page. "I have already instructed the Foreign Office to make clear that space is finite. Heads of state, heads of government, immediate diplomatic personnel, and reasonable security details will be accommodated."

"And everyone else?" Rowling asked.

Marlow offered a sharp, uncompromising grin. "They can discover the miracle of television."

Ramírez nodded approvingly, pointing a finger at her. "Finally, someone speaking sense in this room."

The humor evaporated as Rowling shifted the papers, his expression turning analytical. "Her Majesty is going to want the ceremony to say something beyond mere succession."

"She has already made that clear," Ramírez agreed, his posture straightening.

"Continuity without stagnation," Marlow supplied softly, watching Rowling's expression.

"Exactly," Rowling said, tapping the edge of the report. "Her father spent years strengthening old alliances and opening doors where he could. Marilyn wants to continue that, but she also wants this reign to have its own direction."

Marlow closed her folder with a quiet snap. "Which is precisely why half the coronation is turning into an impromptu diplomatic summit."

"Could be worse," Rowling murmured.

Ramírez raised a skeptical eyebrow. "How?"

Rowling paused, considering the chaotic logistical nightmare that alternative would entail. "...Point taken."

Ramírez pulled the ceremonial schedule toward himself, scanning the columns. "The principal structure remains unchanged. The procession follows the traditional route through New London. The Armed Forces will provide ceremonial formations, but Her Majesty specifically rejected anything resembling a military parade. There will be an Imperial Guard presence, naturally, but the emphasis remains on the Crown, the people, and the continuity of the Empire."

"Good," Rowling noted, folding his hands. "Britannia hardly needs to prove it possesses an army."

That earned a quiet, appreciative huff of laughter from Marlow. For a transcontinental empire spanning North America and beyond, quiet confidence in that particular department was infinitely more useful than rattling sabers.

"Representatives from every major part of Britannian society will be present," Ramírez continued, listing off the groups. "Provincial and territorial governments, the Armed Forces, universities, scientific institutions, veterans' organizations, emergency services, religious communities, industry, and civic groups."

"Mexico?" Rowling checked.

"Represented."

"Canada?"

"Naturally."

"Panama?"

"Yes."

"Puerto Rico?"

Ramírez slowly rotated his head, fixing a long, deadpan stare on the Prime Minister.

Rowling offered an utterly unapologetic smile. "I couldn't resist."

"You people are genuinely determined to abuse my patience today," Ramírez groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Marlow glanced sideways at him, her eyes sparkling. "You still have some left?"

"Barely."

"How much time are we actually leaving for foreign bilateral meetings afterward?" Rowling asked, steering them back to the brutal reality of the timeline.

"Not enough," Marlow answered instantly.

Ramírez blinked at her speed. "That was quick."

"I know Her Majesty," Marlow said flatly.

"So do we," Ramírez replied.

"Then you understand the problem." Rowling sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Marilyn had inherited her father's most terrifying trait: the sincere, unwavering belief that sleep was merely an optional inconvenience when there was work to be done.

Marlow checked her notes. "The Roman delegation has already indicated interest in bilateral discussions. The Russians are expected to do the same. The Germans have several economic and technical matters they want brought up, and I expect the Ottomans will have additional proposals ready after her current tour."

"Research cooperation?" Rowling asked.

"In several key sectors."

"Trade?"

"That too."

"Defense?"

Marlow hesitated just a fraction of a second too long. "Some."

Ramírez smiled thinly. "Meaning yes."

"Meaning matters for another room," Marlow deflected smoothly.

Rowling nodded in concession. "Fair enough." He dropped his gaze back to the schedule, frowning. "When does she actually rest in all of this?"

Silence stretched across the desk. Neither Marlow nor Ramírez answered.

Rowling looked up, narrowing his eyes. "That was not a rhetorical question."

Marlow cleared her throat, pointing a precise finger at a microscopic block of text on the page. "Right there."

Rowling squinted at it. "That says 'personal preparation.'"

"Technically unassigned time," Marlow defended.

"Robin."

"I am working with the miracle worker's budget I was given."

Ramírez leaned across the table to inspect the tiny slot. "Two hours?"

"Three," Marlow corrected.

"Generous," Ramírez muttered.

Rowling stared between them in disbelief. "We are not running the Empress into the ground before she even reaches the Abbey steps."

Marlow folded her arms defensively. "Then feel free to tell her that."

"I intend to," Rowling shot back.

Marlow arched an eyebrow. "May I attend?"

"No."

"Why ever not?"

"Because I desperately need you to remain Secretary of State after she throws me out of a window."

Ramírez let out a short, barking laugh. "Wise man."

Rowling flipped to the final thick tab. "Security."

The lighthearted mood instantly evaporated, the air in the office growing sharp and professional. Ramírez opened a heavily stamped packet.

"The Imperial Guard takes primary protective responsibility around Her Majesty," Ramírez briefed, his tone all business. "Metropolitan authorities, military intelligence, and foreign protective details are already coordinating closely. Airspace restrictions will step up incrementally as the date approaches, the ceremonial route will be locked down, and reserve units will stage outside the city limits."

"No fortress atmosphere," Rowling instructed firmly. "I want the public to see their Empress, not three miles of razor wire and barricades."

"The plan reflects that balance," Ramírez assured him.

"Foreign governments have all been briefed on the security posture," Marlow added. "No serious objections raised so far."

"Good." Rowling leaned back, letting the silence settle for a beat. To anyone else, the desk was just a graveyard of administrative minutiae—routes, names, timetables, seating charts. But beneath the ink lay the weight of transition. Marilyn's accession had closed a massive chapter of Britannian history, carrying forward her father's philosophy that power meant nothing without responsibility.

"We need to keep the core message intact," Rowling said quietly.

Marlow looked up from her notes. "The succession?"

"The future," Rowling corrected. "The traditions matter. Her father matters. Everything that built Britannia into what it is today matters. But Marilyn does not intend to spend her entire reign staring nervously over her shoulder."

Marlow's lips curved into a genuine, soft smile. "No. She certainly doesn't."

"Then the coronation must reflect that," Rowling insisted. "We honor what came before, and immediately we look forward."

Ramírez closed his folder with a decisive thump. "Old foundations. New reign."

"Exactly," Rowling said.

Marlow nodded, connecting the dots. "And our allies need to see that a change of monarch hasn't softened our commitments."

Rowling met her gaze steadily. "Not merely that. They should leave New London believing those relationships have room to grow even stronger."

Outside Darwin House, the steady, unbothered pulse of New London continued. Civil servants hurried across the pavements, traffic hummed through the avenues, and millions of citizens lived out their days largely untouched by the heavy machinery of state being assembled in their name. Thousands of miles away, Marilyn was doing identical work in a different theater—talking with the Ottomans, renewing old ties, and forging new paths without simply copy-pasting her father's footsteps.

Rowling gathered the scattered folders into a neat, uniform stack.

"Very well. Foreign delegations stay with the Secretary of State. Ceremonial arrangements remain with the Earl Marshal. Security coordination proceeds as outlined. Anything requiring Her Majesty's personal sign-off can wait until she returns unless delay causes an active crisis."

Marlow offered a crisp nod. "Understood."

Ramírez followed suit, gathering his notes. "Agreed."

As the Earl Marshal turned to leave, Rowling added smoothly, "And find some actual breathing room in that schedule, Robin."

Marlow groaned softly, tossing her head back. "I knew you were going to circle right back to that."

"Robin."

"I'll see what miracles I can perform."

Ramírez paused at the door, glancing back over his shoulder. "If we are quite finished here, Prime Minister, I have yet another agonizing meeting about historical ceremonial uniforms."

Rowling offered a look of profound, genuine sympathy. "How bad is it?"

"Someone just rediscovered an obscure regulation from 1890," Ramírez sighed.

Marlow winced. "God help you."

"He abandoned me weeks ago," Ramírez deadpanned, before freezing with his hand on the handle. "Oh, and Prime Minister?"

"Yes?"

"When this coronation is finally over, I am disappearing off the grid for a full month."

Marlow laughed outright. "You'll last four days tops."

"Three," Rowling corrected smoothly.

Ramírez shot both of them a deeply offended glare. "I profoundly despise this government."

"You'll be right back at your desk tomorrow," Rowling replied with a faint smile.

"Unfortunately."

The heavy door clicked shut behind him, leaving Marlow to gather her own papers and depart shortly after. Rowling remained seated for a long moment, staring down at the embossed cover of the schedule bearing Marilyn's name.

There was still an absolute mountain of work ahead. Invitations would swell, plans would inevitably fracture, security frameworks would be rewritten, and some forgotten piece of protocol would undoubtedly detonate at the worst possible second.

Yet the foundations were sound.

When Marilyn finally returned from her tour, Britannia would be ready. Not just to place a heavy gold crown upon an Empress's brow, but to mark the dawn of a reign determined to honor the past without ever becoming imprisoned by it.