Oh dear, perhaps I bit off a bit more than I could chew. Three moderators have already taken an interest. Not sure I can handle the pressure/danger.
Veldmaarschalk: He could play many, many roles, considering this
part of the AAR could last almost 300 years.
robou: I'll admit, it won't be easy.
coz1: Whatever gave you that idea?
stnylan/Wetew: Glad to have your support!
Lord E: So you're familiar with the family, then?
In case you're wondering what that out-of-place noise in the intro was, well... it has something very much to do with the situation Britain is in at the start of this AAR. Bonus brownie points if you can guess/know what it is.
Murmurandus: Oh yes, I realize, thanks in particular to everyone saying that.
~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~
December 27th, 1066
King William groaned in pain as he slowly stirred from his restless sleep. Blinking furiously against the morning light pouring in through the castle windows, the king's vision slowly came back into focus, the once blurry sight transforming into one he did not quite expect.
Rather than awakening in his bed after a rather poor night's sleep in his private chambers, William found himself in the main banqueting hall, dressed in the same clothes he had been wearing the night before. Apparently, William discovered as he rose to a sitting position, feeling a sharp pain from the corner of his back, he had passed out and slept leaning across the banquet table. Looking around, William could see other distinguished nobles and courtiers sprawled out around the hall, either on the floor or at their seats.
"I trust you had an enjoyable evening, your grace," a suave and cultured voice came from behind William. The king winced and held his head as a sharp pain lanced through his skull. After a moment, William looked up and turned to see Lanfranc of Pavia, just as airy and pompous as his voice betrayed, standing expectantly.
"So enjoyable..." William paused to exhale a slight belch. "...that I don't even remember it."
Lanfranc made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat that grated on William's nerves. "Yes, the servants are still cleaning the vomit off the ceilings. Quite the accomplishment, really."
"Sorry to have missed it," William grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose to relieve the pressure. "A miracle befitting Saint John's day celebrations."
"Saint Stephen, your grace," Lanfranc corrected. "Today is Saint John's day."
"Whatever," William again grumbled. "After awhile they all start to blend together." He trailed off, trying to overcome the effects of last night's drinking binge. Finally, he spoke up again. "I assume you have something else to say?"
"Quite so, your grace," Lanfranc nodded. "I was told to convey Lord Blackadder's gratitude over your boundless generosity last night and expressions of his unending and etcetra loyalty."
"Who?"
"Lord Blackadder, a rather minor noble who followed you from Normandy. He's been tagging along in the court since Hastings, where he claims to have killed forty nobles and two hundred peasants with nothing but his favorite sharpened spoon."
"Oh yes...
him." William responded, frowning sourly. "Perhaps we should stick him in amongst the rabble next time we go into battle: arrow fodder. If he's so grateful for a meal, imagine how he'll be when he gets to prove he's a man."
"Actually," Lanfranc said hesitantly. "He was thanking you for the generous land grant you bestowed upon him last night."
William suddenly stiffened. "Land grant?" he repeated quickly, his voice gravely concerned.
"Aye, your grace, and titles."
"Please tell me it isn't somewhere close," William said. "Not Surrey or Bedford... oh God, it wasn't Essex, was it?"
"No sir," Lanfranc shook his head.
William sighed in relief, deflating noticeably as he reclined against his chair. "That's certainly fortunate. So where did I end up sticking him? Arques?"
"Robert already has those lands," the Italian replied.
"Who?"
"Your son."
"Ah, right, him. Edinburgh?"
"The Scots control Edinburgh."
"I knew that. Then where?"
Lanfranc retrieved a paper from inside his robes and unrolled it. "The writing's a little sketchy, but it appears he received the 'county of Exeter and the Duchy of Cornwall to show everyone that even bastards can make it in this world.'"
William frowned thoughtfully. "Hmm... I don't suppose I can revoke his titles now without looking like..."
"A bastard, your grace?"
"Yes, exactly. Besides, at least it's far away. I have a feeling this will be the last we hear of 'Lord' Blackadder. Don't you think?"
"Indeed, your grace," Lanfranc bowed obediently. "Now, there is the matter of the title of count..."
"What of it?" William asked.
"Well....it seems our Saxon subjects have a word that sounds
suspiciously similar to... 'count.'"
"What sort of....
word?" William asked, mimicking Lanfranc's tone.
Lanfranc hesitated for a moment. "Let us say it could be used to describe your... lovely wife, your grace."
The king winced visibly again, though not from his hangover. "Good God, that's horrible! We'll have to think of a new word immediately if we expect to be taken seriously by these Saxons!"
Lanfranc smiled. "Shall I inform Lord Blackadder of the change?"
William smirked and the pair burst into laughter momentarily, until William again clutched his head in pain, his laugh turning into a howl.
The new Duke of Cornwall