Ireland, 1446-1450.
With this, I want to try and revive this great AAR. I have had much fun playing, reading and writing it, and I don't want to give up on it. We lost a player, which is very sad, and I still hope he'll change his mind... we haven't played in a long time because of many things... Even though this might not be exactly the right time for things, I would like to see this AAR continue someday. Since I already had the pictures done, I thought I could as well write the update too... Enjoy!
~*~*~
The Irishman waits.
~*~*~
Five months passed, and in May of the Year 1446, Feidlimidh and his army were still in Iceland, waiting for the new fleet to pick them up. However, it would take another two years to build the fleet needed to transport Feidlimidh and his army back to Ireland. There was nothing they could do but wait.
In the mean time, in England, the Scottish started to invade Irish territory again, this time in Cornwall.
The Irish were powerless against them, as the entire Irish army was stuck in Iceland. Of course, the Danish would never allow for the Scots to control the Irish lands, and their army crushed the Scottish force in Cornwall easily.
~*~*~
The war dragged on. The main Irish army was still in Iceland, and the Scots were too busy fighting off the Danes to be invading Eire again. Even though things had looked bad for Eire, the country began to recover, and a new, secondary army was formed to help the Danes fighting the Scots by taking the southern provinces. The Scots saw this danger, and soon enough, on the 12th of January of the year 1447, another messenger from Scotland arrived at the Irish court.
“What do you want?” The older man grunted at the messenger. He was clearly tired and drunk. The advisor was in charge in Feidlimidh’s absence.
“Oh, really? I don’t think so, laddie. Go tell your Scottish lord that we Irish will not accept his silly offers.” He snickered. “Especially not when we’re winning. Shoo, get out of here before I decide to have your head, boy!”
The messenger bowed hastily and took off as fast as he could. There was no way he would risk his head, not even for his country. The older man grinned as he watched the boy run. “Good riddance.”
Another few months passed, and rebellion against the long war broke out in some parts of the country. While part of the Irish army smashed some rebel forces in Gloucestershire, the force that had marched on Wessex in January, finally won the siege of the main Scottish stronghold there. On the 25th of August, Wessex surrendered to Eire’s forces.
Barely a month after the win at Wessex, the Danish King made peace with Norway, making Iceland Irish territory. Of course, Feidlimidh knew he would have to give up those provinces later, as they rightfully belonged to the Danish King. But that didn’t matter at that moment, part of the war had been won, and Feidlimidh was pleased.
Time passed, and Feidlimidh grew more and more uneasy in Iceland. He was unable to rule his country, and he didn’t like that. In February of the year 1448, the new fleet was finally ready and able to set sail for Iceland.
“My liege, wake up. The fleet has finally arrived!” A soldier entered Feidlimidh’s chambers. They had been making themselves at home in the old Norwegian stronghold in Reykjavik, to stay safe from the cold and comfortable.
Feidlimidh sat up in his bed, rubbing his eyes. “Are you sure? Are you sure it’s not that pesky Scottish fleet patrolling here again?”
The soldier nodded. “Very sure, my liege. The ships have docked in the harbour.”
Feidlimidh jumped up and dressed himself quickly. Finally he would get out of there, away from the cold, and go back to his beloved Eire. He ordered the soldier to muster the army and prepare for leaving, while he himself rode down to the harbour to check out the ships. He couldn’t be happier when he found out they were indeed Irish, sent to bring the army home. A few days later the ships set sail for Eire.
Of course, the trip home would not be a safe one. On the second day of sailing, the Irish transport fleet ran into one of the Scottish patrols. Fortunately, the light transports could easily outrun the heavy warships, and shook them quickly. By the end of the month, the Irish King was safely at home in Leinster once more.
~*~*~
As time progressed, so did the war. The Irish forces fighting off the Scots for the Danes were successful, and drove the Scots out of Yorkshire on the 28th of March of the year 1448. The Danes kept pressing on in the north, slowly defeating the Scottish armies and taking more land.
Things were looking good, and would be good for a while longer. Feidlimidh was happy to be home. Because of the long time away, he wasn’t very interested in ruling, and enjoyed partying with his friends more, putting himself in embarrassing situations often. One day, he crossed the line as he chanted “The Danish King is a coward!” to the people of the court after having drunk too much. As the Danes were the oldest and most faithful allies of Eire, Feidlimidh was reprimanded for this childish and foolish behaviour. However, despite efforts to keep things quiet, rumours leaked to the people.
The rumours about the King made the country feel neglected and sooner rather than later, parts of the country tried to take advantage of this.
In July of the year 1448, some Norwegian patriots decided to seize the chance and stage a revolt in Akureyri, hoping that the Irish stronghold there wasn’t all too strong and they would be able to push on to Reykjavik before the Irish forces would arrive, with the hope of defecting to Norway again someday.
“What?! Idiots! How could you let this happen?!” Feidlimidh shouted at his advisors as the messenger told him about the revolt. “Can’t you do even a simple thing as ruling this country right?! Do I have to do
everything myself?!”
He rushed out of the throne room. He would do this himself. He would take the army and the fleet back to Iceland to crush the rebels. He was determined. He would win.
He was the King, after all.
So Feidlimidh sailed back to Iceland to crush the rebels. A few months later, he would indeed crush the rebellion in Iceland.
This would appease the people of Eire again for some time, and the rumours slowly faded from the people’s memories.
~*~*~
It would be fairly peaceful for another two years. The war was still going on, and the Irish forces were still fighting alongside the Danes to defeat the Scots. In Cumbria, a small force of rebellious English tried to storm the castle, but failed miserably.
Things were good for Eire and its people. But again, the good times would not last. On the 13th of October of the year 1450, not even a Friday, the King of Eire, Feidlimidh II, went out hunting with his friends, as he always did when he was bored. A sudden thunderstorm surprised the party on the mountainside, and Feidlimidh was unfortunately struck by lightning. He died instantly. His friends watched and could only mutter: “The King is dead...”
And so the reign of Feidlimidh II, King of Eire, ended on the 13th of October 1450, on a mountainside somewhere near Leinster. His mind was blank as he died, fried by lightning.
