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Sergeant
Oct 27, 2009
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What would have happened if Edwīne and Morcar had succeeded in liberating the English from Guillame de Normandie? What would have happened if the Normans had not been around long enough for their culture to permeate the fair moors of England? Had the English throne remained English, would a powerful empire still be possible? Would the Dark Ages ever really end?

WHY NOT EXPLORE THIS POSSIBILITY?

Norþanhymbra
December 26th, 1066


Only a single day has passed since the crowning of Guillame "The Bastard" de Normandie as King of the English. Even though news of the crowning has yet to reach the far corners of the kingdom, it would come as no surprise.

In the north of England, two Saxon brothers remain in power; Edwīne, Earl of Miercna, and Morcar, Earl of Norþanhymbra; whereas the rest of the country has been redistributed between Norman French nobility. As worrisome as this was to the Saxon earls, they had little choice but to submit, at least temporarily. They hadn't armies to speak of, as their own forces had been obliterated by the former Norse King Haraldr III harðráði.

The future looks bleak for the Saxon people. A foreign power has taken control, as has been the history of England under the Vikings. Gōdwine's sons, the heirs to the throne, are dead. There are few allies nearby that could be any real help, save for the Kingdom of Scots to the north, the Norse, who may still be aggrieved at the death of their King Haraldr, and the Sons of Dena, who may be just as aggrieved as the Norse, being that they had been evicted from Denalagu. The Welsh can be of no help, as they are no unified people, but a smattering of Princedoms, Dukedoms and Baronies.

What shall become of our fair Engla Land? Only time shall tell...
 
Yes! England, ruled by the English, not some continental bastard and his cronies.
 
I always like reading these Saxon AARs. I've tried a coupleof times to beat William but have always failed and been forced to go independent. :(

Also like the different names.Kinda remionds me of the Anglo-Prussian AAR :D
 
I'll be following this. Looks interesting. Good luck, I think you'll need it!
 
DECEMBER 26th, 1066

MapDec26th1066.jpg


The two Saxon earls sat atop horse looking across the open fields to the city of Ligeraceaster. Now, above it, was no longer the Wyvern, but instead Guillame's standards now fluttered abreeze. It was heartbreaking to see what had become of the fair English land, what could have been prevented had the earls come to the aid of their now dead lord.

"The bastard." muttered Morcar, as arrogantly as always.

"What has transpired cannot be changed, brother mine." replied Edwīne. "Consider yourself lucky that this is all the farther that the Normans have advanced as of yet. Why, with the time that they have had, they could be sitting in my fair Lannaceaster, or Eoforwic!"

"I am quite aware of that, brother mine, but we have allowed these curs to advance this far! Damned are we to sit and beckon them?!" Morcar raved, his tone growing steadily from an angry mumble to a furious roar.

MorcarEarlofNorthanhymbra.jpg

EdwineEarlofMiercna.jpg


"'Tis not healthy to blame oneself, nor to blame me equally for Gōdwinesunn's death. The fight is lost, why not we return to our homes and live out the rest of our days rejoicing that we were spared rather than chasing our deaths?" Edwīne reasoned.

"But Edwīne! What if we are the next target?! You can go to dance and drink and make love until you hang from Norman gallows, but I shall not be fallen to these low-borne dogs!"

"You have absolutely no comprehension of Guillame's military might, nor of his mercy."

"The only reason you have seen his mercy is that francophilic son of yours."

Estmond.jpg


"You leave my son out of your pathetic insecurity about your own culture, knave! If you die by the hand of your lord, then it's your own damned fault, and you can burn in hell with the rest of the arrogant swines like you!" Edwīne snapped, losing his temper.

"I'll give Lucifer your regards." Morcar retorted, turning up his nose. "What happens if you're wrong, and the Normans do attack? Would you not desire the security of an ally?"

Edwīne thought for a moment. "If the Normans do plan to attack, I shall not need an ally, for I have an arrogant swine in Norþanhymbra."

And with that, the two Saxon earls went their separate ways, Edwīne to Lannaceaster, and Morcar to Eoforwic. Whether their secret alliance would come in handy could not be known, except to the Normans themselves. However, time would soon reveal all...

- - - - - - - - - -

GuillameKingoftheEnglish.jpg


"Damn." said Guillame, breaking the silence.

"What say you, your lordship?" asked the Saxon servant, in poorly accented Norman French.

"L'anglaits-saxons, they do not know when to give up, yes?" Guillame observed as he watched the mob outside.

"I suppose not. Shall I send for the archers, liege?

Guillame turned and smiled malevolently. "Oui, but send for the entire regiment. Perhaps we shall teach them what a real fight is like, yes?"

"Yea verily, liege." said the servant, scurrying away. Guillame turned back to his window and whispered to himself, "This is going to be fun..."
 
I shall subscribe, looking great so far. Intriguing start.

And also, welcome to the forums!
 
Things don't look good for the people of Leicester. I hope Edwine comes up with a cunning plan soon...
 
A nice little narrative right now, I'm hooked! Great work! :cool:
 
DECEMBER 30th, 1066

"Do you, Morcar, son of Aelle, take this woman to be your wife-" The priest was cut off at once by a man who came bursting through the door, covered in mud and blood and muttering incoherently. "What evil is this?! Have at you, intruder!" shouted the bishop as a guard stood to remove the unwelcome guest.

"Do not harm this man!" commanded Morcar, taking note of the heraldry on the man's cuirass. "He is one of us." Morcar went to the wounded man, against his soon-to-be wife's wishes, and knelt before him. "Tell all, brother."

"Guillame! Ligeraceaster... besieged and destroyed! Wæl hit wæs! Oh, god, women were raped, children were killed, fields were burned!"

"The bastard! Does he follow you?" Morcar questioned. The crowd in the church was becoming concerned now.

"Nay, cynehláford, but he has armies spread across Westseaxna and one regiment in Cestrescir! News has also reached us that he has already tried to usurp the house in Miercna!"

"Edwīne!" Morcar gasped.

"There is worse news yet, cynehláford." the wounded man said taking on a less panicked now than disheartened. "The rumors are true. That bastard is the King now."

SouthEnglishRebelCampaign.jpg


- - - - - - - - - -

AelfwynButler.jpg


Aelfwyn sat quietly in her bedchamber, mulling over the day's events. A wedding interrupted, a Frank as King of the English, pillaging, plundering... Perhaps Eoforwic was not an unrealistic target for the Normans? Perhaps it was not safe here anymore?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Morcar, who had finally come to bed. He was worn and tired looking, and did not hesitate to collapse upon the bed.

"So, you finally come to bed?"

"What of it, m'dear?" replied Morcar, half-asleep already.

"Stressful day, yea?"

"Yea."

"Don't fall asleep on me yet, deary!" said She, smiling suggestively. "You're throne needs an heir; you need a son, yea?"

"If that's how you're going to play it..."

- - - - - - - - - -

NEAR CESTRESCIR...

"Stop, you bastards! To order, to order!" the officer shouted to the rampaging Norman infantry.

"Leave them to their business!" Guillame shouted, holding up a hand in gesture. "A good rape-and-pillage session never hurt anyone, oui?"

"Ahh, oui, roy." replied the officer. The two watched as the men ran back and forth, throwing torches onto rooftops, smashing windows, stealing goods, and doing things to the local women unfit for description. Ah, glorious is the Royaume de l'Anglaits...
 
Ah, another Saxon England - hopefully! Always nice to see these. God beweardie þa suna Ælfgares!

(As a very, very minor nitpick, you're lengthening the wrong vowel in "Éadwine". :) As I said, very minor - definitely not nearly enough to prevent me from enjoying this!)
 
The bastard is truly a bastard!
 
JANUARY 15th, 1067
THE FIRST WAR OF ENGLISH SUCCESSION
a.k.a. the Forty Day's War​

They were beautifully orderly, these legions of Englishmen and Danes assembled now in Eoforwic. The same was happening in Lannaceaster, but not to such a scale. 1,024 men, spear armed and clothed in leather and iron, ready to fight for their land, and drive away the Bastard. Morcar had come to address them all, to raise their morale before they went off to kill.

"My brothers, sons of Englaland, Guillame has seen our efforts to resist him, and so we now face invasion. Éadwine is already in war, and, as a brother would, we must go to fight by his side." He climbed up upon his steed, turned to face them again, and continued. "The good lord gave you this land, birthed you English, you lived your lives with an English identity, an English pride, and an English nation! Do we stand back and let the Norman deright us our culture, our land, our tongue?!"

The column began waving the Wyvern banners hung from spears, and the colour holders swept their flags back and forth in the wintry breeze, as the men shouted, "Nay!"

"Good men, now who shall follow me?!" shouted Morcar back to them as he rode to the head end of the column. The men began cheering and singing songs of victory, songs of bravery, of women, of all the things that there are songs to sing of as they marched off towards Lannaceaster, to join Éadwine's army.

JANUARY 19th, 1067
THE BATTLE AT LANNACEASTER​

It was cold that morning, and deadly silent. It was snowing, but not heavily. The weather had been unfavourable for the past few days, and it showed no signs of bettering soon.

The sound of a horn, a haunting sound, signaled the arrival of Morcar's army to the Ceaster. Over the hill came a small army of Englishmen and Danes, swaying lazily back and forth as they went, trailed closely by the clinking sound of equipment and armour. The road was muddy, and the soldiers were doing their best to stay on their feet, rather than slipping and sliding.

Once Morcar crested the ridge, he could see that Éadwine had already assembled his army outside of the fair Ceaster. He could also see, on a not-so-distant moor, the Norman banners over an encampment. Today would be the day...

"Ah, Morcar, brother mine, it is good that you have come." hailed Éadwine from his pavilion.

"How many men?" Morcar questioned, straight to the point.

"He has 2,200, approximately, some of his regiments combined with the Count of Surrey's private army. I have only 640 men here, so I require all the reinforcement I can possibly have." Just then, another horn blasted over the moors, from the North. The very tops of banners became visible over the hills.

"What force is that?" asked Morcar, confused.

"An unexpected ally, brother mine. It is the King of Scots." explained Éadwine, as the Lion Rampant became clearly visible.

MalcomKingofScots.jpg


It was well noon before the battle commenced. The weather had unexpectedly warmed, and there was sunshine now, as if nature was mocking the melancholy of war. Slowly, a long line of Normans, Englishmen, and various mercenaries came over the southern hills, and slowly into the range of archers. The moments crawled, there was tension in the air. These Normans, who had supposedly been barbarians to the fullest extent of barbarism, marched in without a single shout, without a single expression. They seemed just to stare soullessly forth, unquestioning. Their very nature inspired fear in many a young boy in the opposing line.

"Archers, let fly!" shouted Morcar, and a rain of arrows fell upon their adversary. The dead fell without a sound, and the still living continued to stare soullessly, their advance unmarred by the falling of their comrades.

"Archers, FEU!" a Norman scream could be heard across the field. The following was less a disorderly rain of arrows than a wall, screaming down from above as the arrows whistled down upon the English boys, now almost in a panic.

In the end, it was the Scots army who saved the day, coming in on the flank and surprising the Normans, who turned out to be much stronger fighters than any had anticipated. Would our English boys ever rest easy?
 
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Nicely written. I believe the bastard wanted only create a illusion from a small invasion force when he really has thousands and thousands of troops. In the end he was also known as, The Conqueror ;).
 
Great writing so far, and I'm reading with anticipation to see what becomes of the Leofwinsons.

As a side note, I believe that before the use of gunpowder, arrows were released with the word 'loose', rather than 'fire'. :)