Clan Mac Gregor - Scots of the Western Shore
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A Fallen Giant
17/2/1113
The first rays of sunlight swept across the cold, wet land of Argyll. Dew remained heavy on the trees, the grass, the animals and the castle from the heavy rain the night before. As the sunlight slowly crept into Gregor’s room, the old Scotsman groaned and kicked himself out of bed. Rubbing his eyes he sighed and stared blankly at the wall opposite him. Moving slowly he turned and stared at the empty space next to him, in his bed. Tears in his eyes Gregor stood up and paced backwards and forwards, desperately trying to clear his mind.
“No. Don’t think about her. She’s gone.” Gregor thought sadly, “Focus Gregor! It’s been nearly five years since Adela died! You can’t stay in the past!”
Pushing his sorrow aside Gregor busied himself, preparing for another day as Count of Argyll.
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“And that should resolve the problems with castle security!” finished David Mac Gregor with a small smile. As the rest of the council nodded and murmured in agreement, Gregor suddenly realized that he hadn’t been paying attention to anything his son had been saying. David looked over at Gregor, sadness clear in his eyes, and announced “I believe that concludes today’s business my friends! Now if you wouldn’t mind, I would like a word alone with my father.”
The rest of the council shuffled out of the room and Gregor turned and looked his son blearily in the eyes. “He’s become a hard man since that assassin maimed him.” He thought, noting the cold look David gave him, now that the two were alone. “Wait. No. It's more because of that row I made over him marrying that Dunkeld bitch... If I hadn't then perhaps we would still be close.” Gregor had indeed caused much strife to boil to the surface in the small Mac Gregor clan. The arguing between David and Gregor had gotten so fierce, that guardsmen had had to come and restrain the both of them.
“Father. You need to focus on what a mess you are causing!” snarled David, fury apparent in his voice, “I’m meant to be your marshal, not your damn regent! If you want me to become Count so soon, then step down!”
Gregor looked at his son levelly, if a bit unfocused, and said “I am doing this because you will be Count soon. I’m 65 son. 65! My father was killed when he was 30!” Gregor suddenly stopped and shuddered as his mind took him back to that god-awful day, when his entire world had been turned upside down.
“What are you going at father?” David questioned, concern entering his voice.
“I’m old.” Gregor said bluntly, “I doubt I’ll make it another 2 years. Since your mother died I have found it harder and harder to get out of bed in the morning. You need someone to be there for you son, take it from me.” Gregor paused, worry entering his mind, “I, err, haven’t made things with your wife too unbearable have I?”
“The marriage was political father. There is little love between us, even though we have had a child together.”
Gregor genuinely smiled as he recollected his beautiful granddaughter, “How is little Marjorie?”
“She’s well. I think she wants to see you again.”
“That’d be nice.”
“I’ll bring her over from Innse Gall next week. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her too.”
“Yes. Do that.” Gregor mumbled his mind beginning to fill with fog again.
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The pain made Gregor snap out of his reverie. A sharp pain came from his chest and Gregor started coughing. Looking around in confusion Gregor realized he was in the throne room.
The coughing got worse and Gregor struggled to breathe. His eyes widening he clutched at his chest and grunted as he tried to stand up. He managed to push himself out of his throne before he fell backwards as the air rushed out of his lungs.
Looking skywards Gregor swore he could see his father, mother, brothers and his dear wife Adela, all waiting for him with smiles on their faces. With one last gasp, Gregor relaxed on his throne as everything went dark.
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David had been thinking. He had been thinking quite a lot since he had talked to his father in the Council Chambers. “I’ve been the one in the wrong.” he realized as he pondered over why he felt sad that his father had never accepted his choice of wife. “I married politically, just like father did and it brought him nothing but grief. He just doesn’t want me to end up like he did, in a situation where my life may be in danger! I must talk to him!” Firm in resolve David strode down the corriders to his father’s bedroom.
Approaching one of the guards outside the door, David asked, “Is my father well? I wish to talk with him.”
The guard shook his head, “He aint in here your lordship. I think he is in the throne room.”
Thanking the guard David marched down the halls, eager to apologize to his father and repair the rift that had opened in their once close relationship. As he walked into the quiet throne room, he felt something was not right. His father was there, seated upon his simple throne, but the rest of the room was empty and strangely foreboding. David called out “Father? Are you awake? I want to talk.” Silence was the only answer he received.
Frowning David walked up to his father, “Father? Wake up. It’s me, David.” His pulse quickening, David all but ran to his father’s side. “Father? Gregor? Wake up!” he shouted, grabbing Gregor by the shoulders. His father slumped into him and only then did David realize Gregor was icy cold.
“NO! Father! Guards! Come in here! Quick! Fetch a priest, fetch the council, get someone here! Father!” David shouted as he tried to will the cold corpse back to life. Weeping as the guards rushed into the room, David held the body of the late Count of Argyll close, burying his face into the soft, white beard of his dead father.
A Modern Painting of Gregor Mac Gregor, Tired of Life
17/2/1113
The first rays of sunlight swept across the cold, wet land of Argyll. Dew remained heavy on the trees, the grass, the animals and the castle from the heavy rain the night before. As the sunlight slowly crept into Gregor’s room, the old Scotsman groaned and kicked himself out of bed. Rubbing his eyes he sighed and stared blankly at the wall opposite him. Moving slowly he turned and stared at the empty space next to him, in his bed. Tears in his eyes Gregor stood up and paced backwards and forwards, desperately trying to clear his mind.
“No. Don’t think about her. She’s gone.” Gregor thought sadly, “Focus Gregor! It’s been nearly five years since Adela died! You can’t stay in the past!”
Pushing his sorrow aside Gregor busied himself, preparing for another day as Count of Argyll.
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“And that should resolve the problems with castle security!” finished David Mac Gregor with a small smile. As the rest of the council nodded and murmured in agreement, Gregor suddenly realized that he hadn’t been paying attention to anything his son had been saying. David looked over at Gregor, sadness clear in his eyes, and announced “I believe that concludes today’s business my friends! Now if you wouldn’t mind, I would like a word alone with my father.”
The rest of the council shuffled out of the room and Gregor turned and looked his son blearily in the eyes. “He’s become a hard man since that assassin maimed him.” He thought, noting the cold look David gave him, now that the two were alone. “Wait. No. It's more because of that row I made over him marrying that Dunkeld bitch... If I hadn't then perhaps we would still be close.” Gregor had indeed caused much strife to boil to the surface in the small Mac Gregor clan. The arguing between David and Gregor had gotten so fierce, that guardsmen had had to come and restrain the both of them.
“Father. You need to focus on what a mess you are causing!” snarled David, fury apparent in his voice, “I’m meant to be your marshal, not your damn regent! If you want me to become Count so soon, then step down!”
Gregor looked at his son levelly, if a bit unfocused, and said “I am doing this because you will be Count soon. I’m 65 son. 65! My father was killed when he was 30!” Gregor suddenly stopped and shuddered as his mind took him back to that god-awful day, when his entire world had been turned upside down.
“What are you going at father?” David questioned, concern entering his voice.
“I’m old.” Gregor said bluntly, “I doubt I’ll make it another 2 years. Since your mother died I have found it harder and harder to get out of bed in the morning. You need someone to be there for you son, take it from me.” Gregor paused, worry entering his mind, “I, err, haven’t made things with your wife too unbearable have I?”
“The marriage was political father. There is little love between us, even though we have had a child together.”
Gregor genuinely smiled as he recollected his beautiful granddaughter, “How is little Marjorie?”
“She’s well. I think she wants to see you again.”
“That’d be nice.”
“I’ll bring her over from Innse Gall next week. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her too.”
“Yes. Do that.” Gregor mumbled his mind beginning to fill with fog again.
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The pain made Gregor snap out of his reverie. A sharp pain came from his chest and Gregor started coughing. Looking around in confusion Gregor realized he was in the throne room.
The coughing got worse and Gregor struggled to breathe. His eyes widening he clutched at his chest and grunted as he tried to stand up. He managed to push himself out of his throne before he fell backwards as the air rushed out of his lungs.
Looking skywards Gregor swore he could see his father, mother, brothers and his dear wife Adela, all waiting for him with smiles on their faces. With one last gasp, Gregor relaxed on his throne as everything went dark.
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David had been thinking. He had been thinking quite a lot since he had talked to his father in the Council Chambers. “I’ve been the one in the wrong.” he realized as he pondered over why he felt sad that his father had never accepted his choice of wife. “I married politically, just like father did and it brought him nothing but grief. He just doesn’t want me to end up like he did, in a situation where my life may be in danger! I must talk to him!” Firm in resolve David strode down the corriders to his father’s bedroom.
Approaching one of the guards outside the door, David asked, “Is my father well? I wish to talk with him.”
The guard shook his head, “He aint in here your lordship. I think he is in the throne room.”
Thanking the guard David marched down the halls, eager to apologize to his father and repair the rift that had opened in their once close relationship. As he walked into the quiet throne room, he felt something was not right. His father was there, seated upon his simple throne, but the rest of the room was empty and strangely foreboding. David called out “Father? Are you awake? I want to talk.” Silence was the only answer he received.
Frowning David walked up to his father, “Father? Wake up. It’s me, David.” His pulse quickening, David all but ran to his father’s side. “Father? Gregor? Wake up!” he shouted, grabbing Gregor by the shoulders. His father slumped into him and only then did David realize Gregor was icy cold.
“NO! Father! Guards! Come in here! Quick! Fetch a priest, fetch the council, get someone here! Father!” David shouted as he tried to will the cold corpse back to life. Weeping as the guards rushed into the room, David held the body of the late Count of Argyll close, burying his face into the soft, white beard of his dead father.
A Modern Painting of Gregor Mac Gregor, Tired of Life
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Well that concludes Gregor's story. Now it's time for his son David to take over the reigns of power. Let's hope he's up to it.
Hey peoples! Just dropping in to say that this AAR is not dead, but rather on hiatus due to essays then exams! Gimme another month and I should be able to begin to update regularly again. In the meantime here's my first update of the David 'Half-Hand' chapters! Enjoy!
A Comforting Figure
21/3/1113
The sun lowered itself over the horizon, the last few rays of daylight highlighting the small church of St. Molag. Inside the church a group of well-dressed men and women congregated, all of whom knelt and payed homage to a sombre, young, red-haired man.
Nodding absently as another minor lordling prostrated himself on the floor, David overlooked the crowd that had filled the chapel. “Bullshit.” David thought venomously “These people didn’t know my father. They just want favours! Gifts! Attention! The bastards come to me today, on the day of my father’s funeral, and ask, no, plead for hand-outs! Well fuck them all! Leave me be you animals!” Keeping his face woodenly emotionless David sought out his close friend, and personal bodyguard, Edmund de St Molag.
As David looked around he heard a nasally voice approaching. “Get out of my way! Move it peasants! Don’t you know who I am?! MOVE!” Sighing David put on a small smile and turned around.
“Why hello Gudrød! I am deeply touched that you have taken the time to come and attend my father’s funeral.”
The short, fat man owlishly looked at David, a calculating expression entering his eyes. “Why David, I’m so sorry for your loss. Your father was a great man. Even though he owed me so much, I let him live a life of such ease! Surely, once this horrid business is settled, you and I can discuss your father’s promises to me.”
David choked back a snarl of rage, and just managed to keep his expression of gratitude in place. “Of course Lord.”
Grinning at him the pudgy little man pushed himself back through the crowd, his face already covered in sweat from the heat. Scowling at the Duke’s retreating back David turned around and walked outside, angrily pushing his way through the thick crowd. "Promises?! He thinks I'm going to pay him for a debt that has never existed?! Fuck that small man. God, I wish there was some decent pretender to the throne of the Isles. That threat would shut him up!
“David!” a shrill voice called, snappong him out of his dark thoughts.
Groaning inwardly, David once again swallowed his true feelings and put a small smile on his face. “Yes my love?” he called, without turning.
“Where do you think you are off to?! Look at me when I speak to you!” the voice screamed in his ear.
Taking a deep breath David slowly turned around and saw his wife’s petite figure. Ada truly was pretty, he mused, but underneath her exterior there only was a cold-hearted, lazy bitch. “Yes?” David asked politely, strangling the thought of shouting at his wife.
“Do you have rocks in your ears you fool? You are not to go anywhere! One of us must stay here, and since the dead man is YOUR father I believe I am entitled to go back to the castle.”
Nodding, David said “As you wish darling. Take care!”
Scowling at him, Ada turned on her heel and stormed back through the crowd, which had mostly come outside the chapel. “Father was right.” David mused glumly “Never trust a Dunkeld.” Ada had promised to stay for the whole service, yet once again she had broken her word so she could do as she pleased.
David walked back into the chapel, passing through the crowd and ignoring all calls of his name. “God please give me some better company!” he thought tiredly. A hand suddenly grabbed David by the shoulder and twirled him around. Startled David looked into the grinning, freckled face of Edmund de St Molag. “David! ‘Bought time I found you! I've been lookin’ everywhere for ya!”
Grinning David shook his head. “Oh have you Ed? I suppose then that you and your young lady friend just went for an innocent chaste walk around your old home eh?”
“Me? Do that? Perish the thought David, perish the thought! In any case, that was me sister, not some whore from the harbour!”
“Oh was it now? Then where is she?”
“Here!” came a slurred sing-song voice from behind Edmund. Shaking his head, Edmund turned aside letting his sister walk forward. David gave her a quick look-over and liked what he saw. Chestnut hair, milky skin, short stature and definitely not-lacking both at the front and the back. David gave the short woman a charming smile, and said “I am David Mac Gregor! Count of Argyll, Ulster, Galloway and Clydesdale! Marshal of the Isles and Master of the Hunt! Who do I have the pleasure of meeting milady?”
The woman focused a pair of glazed eyes on him and smiled coyly “Coo, that’s impressive. I’m Agnes. Edmund here’s my brother and was nice enough to get me sometin’ ta drink!”
Look up over Agnes head, David raised an eyebrow at Edmund who shrugged and muttered “What? We all enjoy a drink. Agnes just enjoys one more than most!”
Staring at Edmund, amusement in his eyes, David suddenly jolted backwards, surprise suffusing his features, as Agnes’ hand suddenly went into his breeches.
“Agnes! What ar-” David began.
“What?” the pretty woman slurred “Your good lookin’, even with that hand of yours being all messed up, and you want me! Don’t lie!” She said as David opened his mouth to protest, “That’s okay though cause I want you to.”
“But. I’m a. You shouldn’t. Well not here! Everyone’s just outside! Plus your brother’s right there!”
Edmund raised his hands as laughter fought its way out of his throat. “Relax. Use the confessional booth to entertain yourselves. Hell, even I've used it before! I’ll make sure no-one comes back inside.” A pained expression crossed Edmund's face and he began to scratch at his groin, “And don’t worry about catchin’ nothin’. From what I know she’s fine, unlike your’s truly.” Turning around Edmund swaggered over to the chapel’s entrance and loudly announced that the priest should continue the service outside.
“Come on then!” Agnes exclaimed dragging the excited, yet reluctant, David towards the booth. “Sorry Dad.” David thought, “You’d do the same in my shoes!” With that David allowed himself to be pulled into the small, concealed confessional booth from which giggles and groans shortly began to emerge.
The Chapel of St. Molag
21/3/1113
The sun lowered itself over the horizon, the last few rays of daylight highlighting the small church of St. Molag. Inside the church a group of well-dressed men and women congregated, all of whom knelt and payed homage to a sombre, young, red-haired man.
Nodding absently as another minor lordling prostrated himself on the floor, David overlooked the crowd that had filled the chapel. “Bullshit.” David thought venomously “These people didn’t know my father. They just want favours! Gifts! Attention! The bastards come to me today, on the day of my father’s funeral, and ask, no, plead for hand-outs! Well fuck them all! Leave me be you animals!” Keeping his face woodenly emotionless David sought out his close friend, and personal bodyguard, Edmund de St Molag.
As David looked around he heard a nasally voice approaching. “Get out of my way! Move it peasants! Don’t you know who I am?! MOVE!” Sighing David put on a small smile and turned around.
“Why hello Gudrød! I am deeply touched that you have taken the time to come and attend my father’s funeral.”
The short, fat man owlishly looked at David, a calculating expression entering his eyes. “Why David, I’m so sorry for your loss. Your father was a great man. Even though he owed me so much, I let him live a life of such ease! Surely, once this horrid business is settled, you and I can discuss your father’s promises to me.”
David choked back a snarl of rage, and just managed to keep his expression of gratitude in place. “Of course Lord.”
Grinning at him the pudgy little man pushed himself back through the crowd, his face already covered in sweat from the heat. Scowling at the Duke’s retreating back David turned around and walked outside, angrily pushing his way through the thick crowd. "Promises?! He thinks I'm going to pay him for a debt that has never existed?! Fuck that small man. God, I wish there was some decent pretender to the throne of the Isles. That threat would shut him up!
“David!” a shrill voice called, snappong him out of his dark thoughts.
Groaning inwardly, David once again swallowed his true feelings and put a small smile on his face. “Yes my love?” he called, without turning.
“Where do you think you are off to?! Look at me when I speak to you!” the voice screamed in his ear.
Taking a deep breath David slowly turned around and saw his wife’s petite figure. Ada truly was pretty, he mused, but underneath her exterior there only was a cold-hearted, lazy bitch. “Yes?” David asked politely, strangling the thought of shouting at his wife.
“Do you have rocks in your ears you fool? You are not to go anywhere! One of us must stay here, and since the dead man is YOUR father I believe I am entitled to go back to the castle.”
Nodding, David said “As you wish darling. Take care!”
Scowling at him, Ada turned on her heel and stormed back through the crowd, which had mostly come outside the chapel. “Father was right.” David mused glumly “Never trust a Dunkeld.” Ada had promised to stay for the whole service, yet once again she had broken her word so she could do as she pleased.
David walked back into the chapel, passing through the crowd and ignoring all calls of his name. “God please give me some better company!” he thought tiredly. A hand suddenly grabbed David by the shoulder and twirled him around. Startled David looked into the grinning, freckled face of Edmund de St Molag. “David! ‘Bought time I found you! I've been lookin’ everywhere for ya!”
Grinning David shook his head. “Oh have you Ed? I suppose then that you and your young lady friend just went for an innocent chaste walk around your old home eh?”
“Me? Do that? Perish the thought David, perish the thought! In any case, that was me sister, not some whore from the harbour!”
“Oh was it now? Then where is she?”
“Here!” came a slurred sing-song voice from behind Edmund. Shaking his head, Edmund turned aside letting his sister walk forward. David gave her a quick look-over and liked what he saw. Chestnut hair, milky skin, short stature and definitely not-lacking both at the front and the back. David gave the short woman a charming smile, and said “I am David Mac Gregor! Count of Argyll, Ulster, Galloway and Clydesdale! Marshal of the Isles and Master of the Hunt! Who do I have the pleasure of meeting milady?”
The woman focused a pair of glazed eyes on him and smiled coyly “Coo, that’s impressive. I’m Agnes. Edmund here’s my brother and was nice enough to get me sometin’ ta drink!”
Look up over Agnes head, David raised an eyebrow at Edmund who shrugged and muttered “What? We all enjoy a drink. Agnes just enjoys one more than most!”
Staring at Edmund, amusement in his eyes, David suddenly jolted backwards, surprise suffusing his features, as Agnes’ hand suddenly went into his breeches.
“Agnes! What ar-” David began.
“What?” the pretty woman slurred “Your good lookin’, even with that hand of yours being all messed up, and you want me! Don’t lie!” She said as David opened his mouth to protest, “That’s okay though cause I want you to.”
“But. I’m a. You shouldn’t. Well not here! Everyone’s just outside! Plus your brother’s right there!”
Edmund raised his hands as laughter fought its way out of his throat. “Relax. Use the confessional booth to entertain yourselves. Hell, even I've used it before! I’ll make sure no-one comes back inside.” A pained expression crossed Edmund's face and he began to scratch at his groin, “And don’t worry about catchin’ nothin’. From what I know she’s fine, unlike your’s truly.” Turning around Edmund swaggered over to the chapel’s entrance and loudly announced that the priest should continue the service outside.
“Come on then!” Agnes exclaimed dragging the excited, yet reluctant, David towards the booth. “Sorry Dad.” David thought, “You’d do the same in my shoes!” With that David allowed himself to be pulled into the small, concealed confessional booth from which giggles and groans shortly began to emerge.
The Chapel of St. Molag
nice update, and the scene at the end a change from the blood, scheming and violence so far ...
Heh, yeah. While Gregor was motivated mainly by anger and bloodlust, David tends to be led to often by the thing in his pants. He did inherit a rather fierce temper from his father though, he's just better at keeping a lid on it.
Well. This is awkward. I just finished exams and realized that I forgot to save my notes when I updated my PC to Windows 7... In any case I hereby declare this AAR as dead as dust! I've already got thoughts for a new one though, so lets see if I can actually keep my crap together next time! Thanks for reading and/or following.