Or you don't need to start an aar. Reading is easier.
Including spamming to make people feel that you read their aars.
Btw, I actually read them, but can not remember what happened in which aar.
Lotharingia -- A tale of resurrection
- Thread starter unmerged(83622)
- Start date
-
We have updated our Community Code of Conduct. Please read through the new rules for the forum that are an integral part of Paradox Interactive’s User Agreement.
Or you don't need to start an aar. Reading is easier.
Including spamming to make people feel that you read their aars.
Btw, I actually read them, but can not remember what happened in which aar.
When it comes to commenting, you're a stnylan Light, Enewald.Enewald said:Or you don't need to start an aar. Reading is easier.
Including spamming to make people feel that you read their aars.
Btw, I actually read them, but can not remember what happened in which aar.
I have no idea how you've got time to read everything, but if you'd ever start an AAR yourself you'll have an immense base of people owing you readership.
Snugglie said:When it comes to commenting, you're a stnylan Light, Enewald.
Over 400 now owing me.
I have no school for it is summer, and I anyways love aarland.
There's hardly anyone reading here that does not now it already, but just in case, I'd like to remind all of you that the AARland Choice Awards, second quarter of 2008 are up. I recommend everyone to vote -- and note, I do not ask you to vote for me, that'll have to be your own choice and I really won't be insulted if you don't vote for me, but for General_BT and Rome AARisen as you've probably done the last few times, promise! -- and vote proper, i.e. vote for AAR's that you've read and enjoy yourself. Don't bother with the peer pressure.
On another note, update's proceeding slowly, but it's proceeding at least.
On another note, update's proceeding slowly, but it's proceeding at least.
I just started rereading this AAR and I must say it's excellent, now I'll have something to read Great AAR, Snugglie
Great AAR, Snugglie
Call me Salvatore.Capibara said:I just started rereading this AAR and I must say it's excellent, now I'll have something to read
And thank you!
I just read this for some hours
Great story!
For some reason I'm siding with Guntram...weird
Maybe because everyone neglected him and never gave him chance
Great story!
For some reason I'm siding with Guntram...weird
Maybe because everyone neglected him and never gave him chance
Guntram? The one I've consciously painted out to be a brutal twat? My oh my, that is interesting.swippy said:
Nice to have you on!
Chapter XIX
The winter-spring after Thiedric’s death passed without significant happenings, more than the at this point compulsory fall-outs between Guntram and other members of the court, and the swift mood-changes of the ex-prodigy Folkhard. But when the first snakes left their burrows to greet the sun once again the pope Valentino – in Lorraine colloquially called Valentino de Whatever, since no-one seemed to know from where the Holy Father stemmed – died. His successor, to Godfried’s bishops’ great joy, was the German archbishop Konrad of Bremen. Godfried had met him only at one occasion, and had taken an intense dislike of the man – was he not speaking of how everyone must redeem themselves why they can, for in death it is too late, he was mainly sitting in pious silence, looking up at the sky with an obedient look on his face. New pope or no, it soon turned out that Kuno von Nordheim, leading the duchy of Galilee from his native Innsbruck, still was the favourite of the Holy Chair – it was Konrad who as one of his first deeds, exiled the self-proclaimed King of Jerusalem, Guy Khoury. Sir Khoury was largely looked down upon in the courts of Europe, seeing him as the usurper he was, and it was rumoured that the French heir apparent Bertrand Capet was planning on attacking his fellow countryman and seizing the Holy City once and for all. Henrik von Franken was still to take a stand in the matter, since the Khwarizmians and their neighbouring tribes had proven tougher than first expected. The King of Germany had not visited his own lands for years, and many of the dukes in Germany were growing accustomed to instead being ruled by his oldest son, the Duke of Thuringia – Martin von Franken.
Godfried, however, was watching his dream crumble in his hands. The oldest son of the inept ruler Henrik von Franken had proven to be an effective administrator that actually was able to rule the vast kingdom, and Godfried’s own spawn – he had a hard time thinking of them as sons, in his darker moments – instead showed no or even negative promise. As it seemed, the dynasty d’Ardennes were never to rule an independent realm, and the vision of a Lotharingia, ruled by chivalry and bravery instead of theology and piety, was the hopeless dream of a young nobleman with naught but his books.
Of course, no-one had told this to Dietrich de Lorraine.
It was mid-April and the birds were returning from the South after a hard winter when a delegation sporting the cluttered coat-of-arms of the Duchy of Upper Lorraine – Godfried preferred the simplicity of his own coat-of-arms, partially due to the traditional rivalry between the two Lorraines – and so he immediately recognized his competitor’s squadron riding towards his castle. A more paranoid man would have thought it might have been a squadron of soldiers there to either capture or kill him, but Godfried knew that his Southern neighbour would have come himself is that was the case, together with three-thousand of his best friends.
When the delegation rode through the gates towards onto the field of stomped gravel that was the courtyard, Godfried noticed that Duke Dietrich indeed was among the knights that had arrived. The duke of Upper Lorraine was extraordinarily tall and with short, dirt-brown hair, and a beard covering half of his face. His voice was more shrill than deep and seemed to mismatch such a man, and despite the ridicule this sometimes caused him he was said to be a man that still held his wit. Godfried had only met him twice before, on two larger Imperial banquets. By then, Dietrich had only been the second oldest son of the aging Duke Gerhard, but after first his brother’s – and many a tongue claimed that Dietrich had a part in it – and then his father’s deaths he was now the ruler of one of a duchy comprising as many as six counties.
The moment he had seen him, Godfried decided not to go meet him. His back ached, and he preferred to show his dedication to the administration of his realm – although before the delegation’s arrival, he had been studying an old chronicle on the Inheritance Wars after the death of Charlemagne – by staying in his study and pretend he had not noticed the rather loud squadron now occupying his courtyard.
After a few minutes, which in the context were remarkably fast, Godfried heard steps coming up the corridor. It was not any of the pages that opened the door, nor was it Dietrich; it was Reinhardt, seeming more excited and joyful than ever seen before. Following him was, of course, Dietrich.
“Duke Dietrich – what brings you to Andernach?” greeted Godfried in a familiar fashion. Since Reinhardt seemed so excited, the news Godfried’s peer brought ought to be of great importance.
“Duke Godfried, it was long since I last saw you,” said Dietrich in return. “I bring you most urgent news that might be to advantage for us both, and if you serve me some wine to moisten my tongue after a long ride I shall tell them to you.”
Godfried snapped with his fingers at a young page, curiously looking in through the door. “Get us some wine.” When the wine was brought they were all seated, and all displayed different emotions: Dietrich was the very picture of self-control, composed and assertive; Godfried was trying to curb his curiosity at what Dietrich might tell him; Reinhardt was in a state of dissolution, seemingly stuck in euphoria. When the page had poured wine in all of their beakers and been shushed away by Godfried, it was time for it to be announced – Dietrich, enjoying the moment of attention and interest, sipped a little of the wine before saying anything.
“I think my news will be of utter enjoyment to you, lord Godfried. As you can see, your spy master takes it all very, very, well,” being indicated by a nod from the duke Reinhardt, noticeably deviating from his ordinary public appearance, gave a flashing smile in return.
“For God sakes Dietrich, spit it out already!” he chuckled. Godfried began suspecting that the now highly jovial Reinhardt had been poisoned, and he carefully avoided drinking anything of his wine – who knows what his rival by tradition might have mixed into it.
“Henrik von Franken, our beloved ruler, has perished – not gloriously in battle, however glorious it might be battling the Khwa-somethings, but in his tent during supper. If it was due to poison, natural causes or mere over-consumption of food I do not know, but the point remains: he is dead.”
A ringing noise in Godfried’s left ear prevented him from hearing Dietrich’s last words – the demise of Henrik von Franken was the best news possible for the moment, save for the impossibilities of Guntram getting meek or Folkhard getting his act together properly. No more orders contradicting all common sense; no more wars far away from any known civilization or sphere of interest; no more embarrassment in the face of the rest of Christianity. Indeed, if ever there were good news, this set a clear example.
“With the old Emperor out of the way, and the new one not yet ascended – I’ve received this information from a travelling Venetian trader that fled after the invasion of Venice, the Imperial Family does not yet know of this – this is the time to forge the iron, and plot the destruction of the Franken’s. Our first move should be to –” Dietrich was interrupted by Godfried violently shaking his head.
“I am indeed glad for the news you bring me – too many have died in the worthless wars of Henrik von Franken – but if you are here to arrange a coup with me, do not count on it. Apparently, you do not remember what happened in the Rebellion of the Three Dukes.”
“That was long ago. Now the Empire is crumbling –”
“No it is not! It is the other way around; Martin von Franken has been extremely vigilant during his father’s absence, and any criticism against the Imperial Crown has been dealt with swiftly. Magnus Billung, Ludwig Thüringen and old Thiedric had everything planned, and how did their conspiracy end?”
“Billung being a farmer in Denmark, Ludwig without a neck and the only reason Thiedric did not go the same way was that you reached him before old Henrik,” Reinhardt chuckled. “If Bernard had not failed, it might have turned out differently, it might all have turned out very, very differently.” Godfried started to get genuinely worried over Reinhardt’s mental health, which seemingly had deteriorated during the past hour.
“Who is Bernard?”
Reinhardt frowned and waved dismissively. “That is of no importance now. What is important is that we somehow act, although not by rebellion proper. The best way would of course be to make mutual business, and stick to it.”
“You are talking about an alliance?”
“Indeed I am.”
“But none of us is independent. We are both the subjects on the Imperial crown, how can we create an alliance!” Dietrich argued, seeming outraged. Reinhardt sighed, knowing that the main thing bothering the duke with the light voice was the thought of aligning with an old rival, not in a seemingly spontaneous rebellion but in words on document; if doing so, it would be there for all future generations to see.
“The only reason that the two Lorraines are split is that no king in his right mind would have tried to rule a vassal of that size – together they would outnumber the demesne of the current and the four previous Emperors together, not counting Henrik von Franken’s unknown land gains at the end of the world. I say make it a common cause – reunite the two Lorraines.”
The two dukes stood silent for a moment, both considering what to answer to this over-ambitious enterprise. Something inside Godfried was jumping and screaming, signalling that this was their chance – something inside of Dietrich told him to be careful not to be tricked by his Northern neighbours.
“But who would have the upper hand in such an enterprise? On whose head would the crown rest?” Dietrich finally voiced his main concern.
“Well…” Reinhardt looked to Godfried, pleading. At first, Godfried did not understand what his spy master was wondering, but after a moment of doubt he realised perfectly.
“Duke Dietrich,” he said. “We happen to have a small problem; you could call it a succession crisis…”
Wine, bread and pork was carried in on pewter plates, addressed to the two dukes and their advisor. The day had long since drawn to a close and the squadron that had followed Dietrich was housed in the guest house, were they were consuming ale and meat in amounts a little above the border of both appropriate and economically painful – however, to reject them a good meal and the right to eat until they were full would cause much dishonour to the duke, and so they were allowed to keep on rummaging the storage of Castle Andernach.
The three men in Godfried’s study were growing merrier by the minute and grand schemes both on aiming for the Imperial Crown and simply taking over the whole world had been gone over during the course of the evening. With tongues loosened and suspicions chased away by the beverage of good spirits, wine, the hours had been spent talking both about the legendary deeds of Charlemagne and his sons for whom, as all borderland Franco-Germans, Dietrich and Godfried shared an admiration and about the less legendary, but nevertheless amusing deeds of Henrik von Franken. Dietrich had, in between hiccups, complained at the narrow-mindedness of his late father, Gerald, and Godfried had gloomily declared the uselessness of his both sons, as well as his sorrow that he had never sired more. Reinhardt had been in good spirits all since he got to know about the demise of the Emperor and had stared decisively deeper into his cup than the dukes during the evening, and sat chuckling to himself whilst mentioning names such as Bernard and Udo, and occasionally bark to himself about “the bastards” Henrik von Franken and Otto von Nordheim that “almost got me, but I got away from you both.” Reinhardt’s dislike for the late sovereign was well-known, but Godfried had never known the root for it and he was not about to try to extract truths from Reinhardt when he was in this state of mind – the reliability of whatever would be told could, most likely, be hotly contested.
In the dark of night, in the company of a laughing old man, relieved from his biggest fear, the tongue-loosing wine from the Bourgogne and a library consisting of books gathered during a whole life, the dukes of the two Lorraines shook hands; for sovereignty, for help in war, for reunion. And most of all, for the kingdom of Lotharingia.
Thus endeth the nineteenth chapter.
The winter-spring after Thiedric’s death passed without significant happenings, more than the at this point compulsory fall-outs between Guntram and other members of the court, and the swift mood-changes of the ex-prodigy Folkhard. But when the first snakes left their burrows to greet the sun once again the pope Valentino – in Lorraine colloquially called Valentino de Whatever, since no-one seemed to know from where the Holy Father stemmed – died. His successor, to Godfried’s bishops’ great joy, was the German archbishop Konrad of Bremen. Godfried had met him only at one occasion, and had taken an intense dislike of the man – was he not speaking of how everyone must redeem themselves why they can, for in death it is too late, he was mainly sitting in pious silence, looking up at the sky with an obedient look on his face. New pope or no, it soon turned out that Kuno von Nordheim, leading the duchy of Galilee from his native Innsbruck, still was the favourite of the Holy Chair – it was Konrad who as one of his first deeds, exiled the self-proclaimed King of Jerusalem, Guy Khoury. Sir Khoury was largely looked down upon in the courts of Europe, seeing him as the usurper he was, and it was rumoured that the French heir apparent Bertrand Capet was planning on attacking his fellow countryman and seizing the Holy City once and for all. Henrik von Franken was still to take a stand in the matter, since the Khwarizmians and their neighbouring tribes had proven tougher than first expected. The King of Germany had not visited his own lands for years, and many of the dukes in Germany were growing accustomed to instead being ruled by his oldest son, the Duke of Thuringia – Martin von Franken.
Godfried, however, was watching his dream crumble in his hands. The oldest son of the inept ruler Henrik von Franken had proven to be an effective administrator that actually was able to rule the vast kingdom, and Godfried’s own spawn – he had a hard time thinking of them as sons, in his darker moments – instead showed no or even negative promise. As it seemed, the dynasty d’Ardennes were never to rule an independent realm, and the vision of a Lotharingia, ruled by chivalry and bravery instead of theology and piety, was the hopeless dream of a young nobleman with naught but his books.
Of course, no-one had told this to Dietrich de Lorraine.
It was mid-April and the birds were returning from the South after a hard winter when a delegation sporting the cluttered coat-of-arms of the Duchy of Upper Lorraine – Godfried preferred the simplicity of his own coat-of-arms, partially due to the traditional rivalry between the two Lorraines – and so he immediately recognized his competitor’s squadron riding towards his castle. A more paranoid man would have thought it might have been a squadron of soldiers there to either capture or kill him, but Godfried knew that his Southern neighbour would have come himself is that was the case, together with three-thousand of his best friends.
When the delegation rode through the gates towards onto the field of stomped gravel that was the courtyard, Godfried noticed that Duke Dietrich indeed was among the knights that had arrived. The duke of Upper Lorraine was extraordinarily tall and with short, dirt-brown hair, and a beard covering half of his face. His voice was more shrill than deep and seemed to mismatch such a man, and despite the ridicule this sometimes caused him he was said to be a man that still held his wit. Godfried had only met him twice before, on two larger Imperial banquets. By then, Dietrich had only been the second oldest son of the aging Duke Gerhard, but after first his brother’s – and many a tongue claimed that Dietrich had a part in it – and then his father’s deaths he was now the ruler of one of a duchy comprising as many as six counties.
The moment he had seen him, Godfried decided not to go meet him. His back ached, and he preferred to show his dedication to the administration of his realm – although before the delegation’s arrival, he had been studying an old chronicle on the Inheritance Wars after the death of Charlemagne – by staying in his study and pretend he had not noticed the rather loud squadron now occupying his courtyard.
After a few minutes, which in the context were remarkably fast, Godfried heard steps coming up the corridor. It was not any of the pages that opened the door, nor was it Dietrich; it was Reinhardt, seeming more excited and joyful than ever seen before. Following him was, of course, Dietrich.
“Duke Dietrich – what brings you to Andernach?” greeted Godfried in a familiar fashion. Since Reinhardt seemed so excited, the news Godfried’s peer brought ought to be of great importance.
“Duke Godfried, it was long since I last saw you,” said Dietrich in return. “I bring you most urgent news that might be to advantage for us both, and if you serve me some wine to moisten my tongue after a long ride I shall tell them to you.”
Godfried snapped with his fingers at a young page, curiously looking in through the door. “Get us some wine.” When the wine was brought they were all seated, and all displayed different emotions: Dietrich was the very picture of self-control, composed and assertive; Godfried was trying to curb his curiosity at what Dietrich might tell him; Reinhardt was in a state of dissolution, seemingly stuck in euphoria. When the page had poured wine in all of their beakers and been shushed away by Godfried, it was time for it to be announced – Dietrich, enjoying the moment of attention and interest, sipped a little of the wine before saying anything.
“I think my news will be of utter enjoyment to you, lord Godfried. As you can see, your spy master takes it all very, very, well,” being indicated by a nod from the duke Reinhardt, noticeably deviating from his ordinary public appearance, gave a flashing smile in return.
“For God sakes Dietrich, spit it out already!” he chuckled. Godfried began suspecting that the now highly jovial Reinhardt had been poisoned, and he carefully avoided drinking anything of his wine – who knows what his rival by tradition might have mixed into it.
“Henrik von Franken, our beloved ruler, has perished – not gloriously in battle, however glorious it might be battling the Khwa-somethings, but in his tent during supper. If it was due to poison, natural causes or mere over-consumption of food I do not know, but the point remains: he is dead.”
A ringing noise in Godfried’s left ear prevented him from hearing Dietrich’s last words – the demise of Henrik von Franken was the best news possible for the moment, save for the impossibilities of Guntram getting meek or Folkhard getting his act together properly. No more orders contradicting all common sense; no more wars far away from any known civilization or sphere of interest; no more embarrassment in the face of the rest of Christianity. Indeed, if ever there were good news, this set a clear example.
“With the old Emperor out of the way, and the new one not yet ascended – I’ve received this information from a travelling Venetian trader that fled after the invasion of Venice, the Imperial Family does not yet know of this – this is the time to forge the iron, and plot the destruction of the Franken’s. Our first move should be to –” Dietrich was interrupted by Godfried violently shaking his head.
“I am indeed glad for the news you bring me – too many have died in the worthless wars of Henrik von Franken – but if you are here to arrange a coup with me, do not count on it. Apparently, you do not remember what happened in the Rebellion of the Three Dukes.”
“That was long ago. Now the Empire is crumbling –”
“No it is not! It is the other way around; Martin von Franken has been extremely vigilant during his father’s absence, and any criticism against the Imperial Crown has been dealt with swiftly. Magnus Billung, Ludwig Thüringen and old Thiedric had everything planned, and how did their conspiracy end?”
“Billung being a farmer in Denmark, Ludwig without a neck and the only reason Thiedric did not go the same way was that you reached him before old Henrik,” Reinhardt chuckled. “If Bernard had not failed, it might have turned out differently, it might all have turned out very, very differently.” Godfried started to get genuinely worried over Reinhardt’s mental health, which seemingly had deteriorated during the past hour.
“Who is Bernard?”
Reinhardt frowned and waved dismissively. “That is of no importance now. What is important is that we somehow act, although not by rebellion proper. The best way would of course be to make mutual business, and stick to it.”
“You are talking about an alliance?”
“Indeed I am.”
“But none of us is independent. We are both the subjects on the Imperial crown, how can we create an alliance!” Dietrich argued, seeming outraged. Reinhardt sighed, knowing that the main thing bothering the duke with the light voice was the thought of aligning with an old rival, not in a seemingly spontaneous rebellion but in words on document; if doing so, it would be there for all future generations to see.
“The only reason that the two Lorraines are split is that no king in his right mind would have tried to rule a vassal of that size – together they would outnumber the demesne of the current and the four previous Emperors together, not counting Henrik von Franken’s unknown land gains at the end of the world. I say make it a common cause – reunite the two Lorraines.”
The two dukes stood silent for a moment, both considering what to answer to this over-ambitious enterprise. Something inside Godfried was jumping and screaming, signalling that this was their chance – something inside of Dietrich told him to be careful not to be tricked by his Northern neighbours.
“But who would have the upper hand in such an enterprise? On whose head would the crown rest?” Dietrich finally voiced his main concern.
“Well…” Reinhardt looked to Godfried, pleading. At first, Godfried did not understand what his spy master was wondering, but after a moment of doubt he realised perfectly.
“Duke Dietrich,” he said. “We happen to have a small problem; you could call it a succession crisis…”
---
Wine, bread and pork was carried in on pewter plates, addressed to the two dukes and their advisor. The day had long since drawn to a close and the squadron that had followed Dietrich was housed in the guest house, were they were consuming ale and meat in amounts a little above the border of both appropriate and economically painful – however, to reject them a good meal and the right to eat until they were full would cause much dishonour to the duke, and so they were allowed to keep on rummaging the storage of Castle Andernach.
The three men in Godfried’s study were growing merrier by the minute and grand schemes both on aiming for the Imperial Crown and simply taking over the whole world had been gone over during the course of the evening. With tongues loosened and suspicions chased away by the beverage of good spirits, wine, the hours had been spent talking both about the legendary deeds of Charlemagne and his sons for whom, as all borderland Franco-Germans, Dietrich and Godfried shared an admiration and about the less legendary, but nevertheless amusing deeds of Henrik von Franken. Dietrich had, in between hiccups, complained at the narrow-mindedness of his late father, Gerald, and Godfried had gloomily declared the uselessness of his both sons, as well as his sorrow that he had never sired more. Reinhardt had been in good spirits all since he got to know about the demise of the Emperor and had stared decisively deeper into his cup than the dukes during the evening, and sat chuckling to himself whilst mentioning names such as Bernard and Udo, and occasionally bark to himself about “the bastards” Henrik von Franken and Otto von Nordheim that “almost got me, but I got away from you both.” Reinhardt’s dislike for the late sovereign was well-known, but Godfried had never known the root for it and he was not about to try to extract truths from Reinhardt when he was in this state of mind – the reliability of whatever would be told could, most likely, be hotly contested.
In the dark of night, in the company of a laughing old man, relieved from his biggest fear, the tongue-loosing wine from the Bourgogne and a library consisting of books gathered during a whole life, the dukes of the two Lorraines shook hands; for sovereignty, for help in war, for reunion. And most of all, for the kingdom of Lotharingia.
---
Thus endeth the nineteenth chapter.
About time you got a royal crown to fight over.
Makes it seem all the more worthwhile...
Makes it seem all the more worthwhile...
It's been the goal all along, but only now it is achievable within a foreseeable future.RGB said:
Wow, a great update!
I'm glad I read nearly all of it!
Maybe you could become a noble democracy?
Or just have two kings?
I'm glad I read nearly all of it!
Maybe you could become a noble democracy?
Or just have two kings?
swippy said:
The clue is in the last spoken line of the chapter.Enewald said:Wow, a great update!
I'm glad I read nearly all of it!
Maybe you could become a noble democracy?
Or just have two kings?
So an opportunity breaks out but it seems like it's enmeshed in a fight with the spice of intrigue involved . Let's see how it turns out !
I am honoured, and flattered, to announce that Lotharingia has been chosen for excellence in alternative history by the Tempus Society, thus also earning me a place as a Fellow of the Tempus Society.
A writer is never anything without his readers, and so I want to thank you all for reading and commenting in Lotharingia. It is for you that I write, and it is because of you that I try to get better all the time. Thank you all.
Grats on the Tempus Society title. If Upper and Lower Lotharingia unite, will that automatically give you enough land to found the kingdom?