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Gotya64

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THE DRAGON'S HEAD
HEIRS TO THE ONCE AND FUTURE KING



Prologue

The door leading to the dusty old library swept open, granting access to the newly inaugurated Count of Perfeddwlad. In fact, he had just come from the foolish ceremony that saw him christened the lord of an insignificant province in the northern part of his liege king's realm. As conceited and pompous as the lavish inauguration had been, it was important nonetheless. It marked a rebirth - a resurgence of a great and noble house. And it was Erwan, Count of Perfeddwlad that would lead that resurgence.

Erwan slowly made his way through the books, running his hands over the dusty tomes. There must have been hundreds of books piled into the cramped room, a result of the painstakingly slow writing of countless monks throughout Europe. Erwan was proud that he knew almost every one by heart, and fancied himself a scholar (and secretly a poet).

He took a seat at a small desk crammed into a corner and lit the candle that hung above the space. The light illuminated a book that was decidedly different than the other worn writings that populated the Count's collection. Rather than the traditional Latin of the monks, the writing within the pages was in the Breton vernacular, and instead of the ordinary paste and tack covers, the book had been carefully bound in beautifully aged leather. Perhaps the most noticeable difference was that it was mostly empty, as if waiting to be written in. Erwan turned it over, and read the cover with loving eyes.

History of the Pendragons.

He opened the book and began to read.

From the beginning, the blood of the Pendragon line was imbued with greatness. The lineage can be traced directly to the Imperator Constantine I the Christian and the divisor of Rome, and then to his son Constantine II. It would not be under the Romans, however, that the Pendragons would rise.


Constantine the Great​

The division of the Roman Empire left Constantine II with only a weakened shell of the once mighty state. Internal strife further loosened his grasp on the Empire, and a failed liberation invasion of the Italian Peninsula ended with the Emperor's premature demise. As civil wars and insurrections raged on the continent, an usurper to Britannia seized the throne, casting the kingdom into darkness.

To protect themselves from the treacherous usurper, Constantine II's twin sons fled to Brittany, where they took refuge among a host of Romano-Briton tribes. The first son's silver tongue earned their allegiance, and as they became of age the second son led an invasion of Britannia, slaying the usurper and claiming their rightful throne. The two sons of Constantine II, who were named Uther and Ambrosius, presided jointly over the region of what would later be known as Wessex, though it is a Saxon name and that barbarous people had not yet begun its assault on the Britons.

The joint reign of Uther and Ambrosius was with difficulty at almost every turn. Raids from the Highland Picts came with unsettling frequency, as did occasional incursions of the Norse. Dealing with these foreign threats strained the relationship between the two brothers, as Ambrosius preferred to diplomatically bribe the attacking tribes, while Uther, with a keen military mind, pressed for a preemptive attack. Finally, Ambrosius relented, and Uther headed north with the kingdom’s finest warriors.

As Uther successfully beat back the Pictish tribes, Ambrosius was killed in his sleep (ostensibly by a Gaelic assassin), leaving Uther the sole King of Briton. In acknowledgement of the final break of Britannia from the Roman Empire, Uther swore off his Roman surname and took the name Pendragon, or Dragon’s Head. Uther Pendragon’s reign was marked by a series of successful campaigns against the Picts and Irish Celts, as well mapping the Isles in their entirety. Uther’s style of rule has been lost to history, but the lack of recorded rebellions and rising prosperity of the Britons lend credence to the theory that he was a wise and just leader.


Uther Pendragon​

Uther Pendragon died in old age after some thirty years of rule apparently without an heir. However, his personal notes revealed the existence of a bastard child somewhere in the realm, sparking a kingdom-wide frenzy to locate the boy. He was found living as a squire under the protection of a Sir Ector. Just days later, the boy was crowned king. His name was Arthur Pendragon.

The reign of the Once and Future King Arthur began with a series of revolts by the Romano nobility, who doubted Arthur’s lineage and above all resented being ruled by a king of the native Briton culture. After these rebellions were repressed, Arthur consolidated the Briton military under the command of the Round Knights, the best and brightest warriors of Arthur’s realm. With the Round Knights at his side, Arthur peacefully incorporated the petty kingdoms surrounding Briton and subjugated the Pictish Scots. By the time Arthur reached thirty-five years of age, most of the main island was part of his realm, and frequent invasions of Ireland eliminated any threat they might pose.


The Once and Future King​

A new threat arrived from the west – the Saxons, fleeing the more powerful Frankish tribes and seeking new lands to settle. For nearly a decade and a half, Britannia was engulfed in near-constant warfare between the Britons and the invading Saxons, until finally the frequency of their arrivals slowed, though never truly disappeared.


Erwan read pages upon pages of Arthur’s exploits, from the construction of Camelot to his ideals of chivalry. Of course by now he knew every word by heart, but the story of the boy king never ceased to amaze him. A king that ruled not by his own ambitions or greed but by a code of chivalry, of honor. Of course, Arthur was but human, and that would prove to be his downfall.

An adulterous relationship with his kinswoman Morgause resulted in a bastard like Arthur himself, named Mordred. Upon reaching adulthood, Mordred decided to enforce his claim to the throne by force. He enlisted the help of the Saxons and Picts, promising free access to the island to the Saxons and independence to the Scots. The coalition met the King’s forces at the old Roman fort of Camlann. The coalition was defeated and Mordred slain, but not before the son mortally wounded the father. There he died on the battlefield, the Once and Future King.


King Arthur died of his wounds soon after his battle with Mordred.​

Only several remained of the Round Knights, and those that did either went into hiding or joined the rebellion of Mordred’s son Melehan against the new king, Constantine III, who is often described as a tyrant of the worst kind. Though the revolt was put down and Melehan killed (after fleeing and hiding in a church) the Arthurian kingdom soon fell to the Saxons, and the Pendragons faded into legend.

Or did they?

Melehan’s death was presumed by many to be the end of the Pendragon line, but in fact the son of Mordred had secretly married and fathered a child with a Briton baroness. With the Saxon horde enveloping the country, the baroness and her Pendragon child fled to Brittany along with many other Britons. There they stewed in obscurity, where the men served as knights of the most minor capacity. Still, the lineage continued. Arthur’s blood still flowed through his descendants.

The fortunes of the Pendragons changed when the King of Brittany led an incursion into Cornwall, seeking to liberate the Breton people living under the now Anglo-Saxon oppression. The campaign was a dismal failure, but the anonymous Pendragon knight earned the admiration of a Welsh count, who hired him to lead his forces in war. The knight accepted, and House Pendragon moved to Wales. In the Year of Our Lord 978, Arthur’s heirs had returned to Britannia.”


“Erwan!” a voice behind him exclaimed. Erwan jumped and slammed the book shut, mouth opening as he prepared to give an indignant speech on knocking before bursting into an occupied room. He swallowed his words upon recognizing the man whom he addressed.

“K-King Bleddyn!” Erwan stuttered, awkwardly bowing low to his new liege, who laughed good-naturedly.

“Forgive my intrusion, Erwan, but I wanted to personally congratulate you on your new title.”

Erwan smiled. “It is much appreciated, my lord. An awkward silence filled the stuffy room. Erwan’s appointment had not been one of Bleddyn’s choosing – rather Perfeddwlad had nearly revolted against the King’s rule, demanding a direct vassal that could govern the province more efficiently. Bleddyn reluctantly acquiesced, and Erwan, a popular and well-known knight in the city of Denbigh, was nominated.

The King peered over Erwan’s shoulder at the closed book. “Ah, I see you are an educated man! That is good, very good.” He walked over and examined the cover. “Hmm, History of the Pendragons. That would be King Arthur and such, yes?” Erwan said nothing, irked by the intrusion of privacy. “Yes, the Round Table and the stony sword or whatever. Quite the fine tale, I’d say. It’s a shame it’s legend.”

“A shame indeed, my lord.”

The King looked around and shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “Ah, yes, well. I’d best be off then. Congratulations again. I look forward to a long and err, productive relationship. Good day, Erwan.”

“And to you, my king,” Erwan said stiffly. He watched him go, and then glanced at the book. Myth and legend? Hardly. Erwan pulled a drawer open, and withdraw a folded white banner. The fabric was smooth and silky, and it smelled centuries old. Because it was.

“If it is all false, my king, how did I happen upon this?” He led the banner unfold, revealing a shimmering gold symbol in the middle of a white background. The symbol was a chalice. The Chalice. The one that Arthur, his Knights, and countless others in Europe had sought for a thousand years.

The Holy Grail.

The flag had flown over Arthur during all his campaigns, a symbol of victory and conquest. Someday, it would fly again.

Erwan lovingly placed the standard back into the drawer. He reopened the book and pulled a quill from an inkpot at the top of the desk. He took a deep breath, and began to write.

In the year 1066, Erwan Pendragon, descendent and heir to Arthur the Briton, was granted the title Count by…
 
Last edited:

Gotya64

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Welcome, one and all, to my most humble AAR! As you can probably tell (or not, if you’re not a fan of the phenomenon that is “reading”), this story will follow the fictitious exploits of the Pendragon family as they attempt to reclaim Britannia.

Some basic information:
- I used the ruler designer to create Erwan and give him the traits that I deemed fitting.
- I won’t savescum, but this means that this AAR could end rather abruptly given the precarious position of Wales. Just be warned.
- I LOVE when people give me pointers on how to write better.
- A comment is worth a million views!
- I have decent knowledge of Arthurian legend, but by no means do I claim to be a scholar. If you do happen to be a scholar on King Arthur (why would you ever want to be a scholar on King Arthur?), keep in mind some “inaccuracies” you find in the story might be intentional—poetic license and whatnot.
- The goals for this AAR will be a little foggy, though I'm leaning towards forming the Empire of Britannia, which would serve as the fulfillment of the restoration of the Pendragons. I could always import it to EUIV if I keep it going that long. After all, I could get wiped out in the first twenty years. :)
- Enjoy!

Table of Contents:
Prologue
Chapter I - A New Count
Chapter II - That Loving Feeling
Chapter III - Confederation​
 
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Alizon

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I really like the way you started the AAR. I believe if you continue with the same style it would be great one. Just a common issue, do not avoid posting maps...Everybody loves them. It is a shame when some great AAr writers do not pay attention to such issue :D
 

Gotya64

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Thank you! Do you mean you like the narrative or historical writing better?
 

Gotya64

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Chapter I - A New Count




County of Perfeddwlad​

Erwan arrived at his new estate at Rhuddlan with a sense of optimism he had never experienced before. Finally, it seemed, God had decided to once again smile upon the Pendragons. The castle was no Camelot, but it still promised comfort and security – a fitting home, Erwan thought with a smile.


Rhuddlan Castle​

Erwan was met at the gates by his chancellor, a boy of just 16 who chattered incessantly all the way through the Count’s tour of Castle Rhuddlan. By the time they were finished, Erwan had learned nothing about his new home but now knew that his young chancellor’s name was Steffen and that he was particularly fond of onion soup, sunny days, and fairs.

“That will be all, Steffen,” Erwan said politely upon reaching his new quarters. The courteousness was strained, but luckily his patience was well known among friends.

The chancellor paused and seemed to wrack his brain. “Oh yes! I nearly forgot! King Bleddyn requests your services as chancellor. Or demands, I suppose. Can’t well say no to a king, can you?”

“Tell him I would be honored,” Erwan said as he began unpacking his things. Several minutes passed before Erwan noticed Ieuan still standing at the doorway. “What is it, Steffen?”


“Oh, uh…” the boy stammered. “I can’t seem to rem—oh! King Bleddyn would also like to offer his daughter’s hand in marriage. I believe her name is…err…what was it…”

“Steffen…”

“Gwenllian! That was it! A pretty one, they say. Or I say, anyway. A good choice for you, milord.”

Erwan paused. “Send a courtier with my acceptance.” Steffen bowed, and this time left for good.

The new count slowly stood and made his way over to the large bed that dominated the room. Marriage? It was an institution unfamiliar to Erwan, and the prospect of such intimacy with another human being made him uncomfortable. Erwan himself was a bastard child like King Arthur and Mordred, the fruit of his father’s sins with a peasant woman. The stigma of Erwan’s bastardy affected not only Erwan, but also his father, who was unable to ever gain a woman’s hand in marriage.

“No, you weren’t especially fond of me, were you father?” Erwan murmured. “I was nothing but a black spot on your name.” Erwan walked to the window and gazed out at the green Welsh hills. “If you hated me so much, why did you take me? You could have easily cast me out on the streets, and no one would have questioned the virtue of a knight such as yourself. And yet…”

The legitimization of Erwan as a Pendragon and thus an heir meant that an education was required, and under his father’s strict tutelage Erwan became fluent in Welsh, English, Norman French, and a smattering of the north German dialects. Erwan also developed a keen interest in reading and writing, and by the time he was an adult there was not a monk in Britannia that knew better the texts of Plato or Ptolemy.


Count Erwan

It was not Erwan’s scholarly intelligence that gained him the County of Perfeddwlad, however, but rather dumb luck. When his father died Erwan inherited his knighthood, and with it came the responsibility of patrolling Welsh roads for bandits and brigands. Erwan and his men came upon such a host of criminals within Perfeddwlad’s borders. The host was easily defeated and arrested given that Erwan commanded nearly triple the men that the enemy possessed. Despite this, the escapade earned Erwan the popularity that eventually saw him granted the county.

The following morning Erwan set out for his liege king’s capital in Aberffraw for the marriage. The wedding was a brief, formal affair that left Erwan sad and dejected as he returned to Rhuddlan with his new bride. Though she was beautiful as Steffen said, he could not draw more than a word from her during the carriage ride, and he was happy to leave her at the castle to settle in.

Next he met his vassals, Mayor Custennin of Denbigh and Bishop Ceneu. Their words were polite but Erwan sensed a scornful undertone—it was clear neither were particularly thrilled to be serving under a Breton.

Luckily, Erwan was distracted by a group of wandering Breton knights that requested to stay a night in his castle. Happy to see those of his own culture, the Erwan conversed with the warriors long into the night, and they told him of the events outside his realm.

For one, the Anglo-Saxon English were faced with invasion just as Arthur had been threatened by the Saxons. This time the invaders flew the standard of William of Normandy (who to Erwan’s amusement was also a bastard child). According to the hedge knights, King Harold’s forces were already routed, and it was only a matter of time before William claimed the throne of England. When he asked of Brittany, they only shook their heads and remarked that it was only a matter of time before French subjugation.

It was during this time that Erwan’s relationship with his wife began to improve. It had been nearly a year since their marriage, and the count soon found himself spending more and more time with her. He learned of her love of gardening, and soon found himself spending hours upon hours tending to the castle garden with Gwenllian. He even received the rare kiss for his efforts every once in a while.


Their bedroom activities improved as well, and in 1070 Gwenllian announced that she was with child. Several months afterwards, a healthy young girl was born. Erwan managed to hide his dismay of not having a male heir.






As winter arrived, news came from England of William the Bastard’s (now the “Conqueror”) success, and the subsequent rebellions by the Anglo-Saxon lords. This pleased Erwan, for a weakened England could not encroach on Welsh territory.

Erwan also hired a new chancellor—a Castilian by the name of Diego Martin. Martin had a reputation for being rather unscrupulous, but the count figured that was the kind loose morality he needed for the task ahead.

“Yes, my lord?” Martin inquired as he entered Erwan’s study.

Erwan dodged the question. “I trust you’ve settled in well? Wales is quite the change from Iberia, I’m sure. Less sunny, among other things.”

“Quite well,” Martin replied, sliding into a chair across from Erwan. “It’s a little wet and rainy but all is well in the summer.”

“Good, good,” Erwan said awkwardly. He wasn’t quite sure how to go about conveying his message. Luckily, he didn’t have to.

“Do not worry, my lord. I understand. A count only wishes to stay a count for so long, yes?” Erwan reddened and began to protest, but Martin raised a hand and smiled. “Just name the county, my lord, and soon enough \you will have a rightful claim to it.”

“Gwynedd,” Erwan muttered.

“I shall go at once,” Martin said, and with a bow left the room.

Several years passed and the county’s administration carried on as normal. The rebellions against William the Usurper came frequent and often, but repeatedly failed. Distracted by these events and the day-to-day administration of his realm, Erwan almost forgot about his chancellor’s mission. That is, until an innocent looking letter arrived by courtier.


As Erwan accepted the letter, he was affected by a profound guilt. He was the heir to Arthur, a noble lord of chivalry and honor. Yet Erwan felt more like Mordred—a traitor and usurper, the man that destroyed the kingdom. Many nights were lost to thoughts like these, especially as he shared a bed with the daughter of the man against whom he would war. It even reached the point where the stress caused Erwan to fall ill. However, his decision was made easier by Bleddyn’s own vassals, who approached him with the offer to back his claim of not only Gwynedd, but the entire kingdom.


With the backing of the nobles, Erwan gave the order to prepare for war.
 

LordTempest

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Great job so far Gotya, I love the concept and I love the writing. Keep it up! :)

Oh and by the way, I think I better bring this to your attention before I forget. Congrats!
 

Gen. Marshall

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Congratulations on your Weekly AAR Showcase award! I'll definitely be following this.
 

DensleyBlair

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I shall echo the sentiments expressed by the good men above me. I'll be sure to catch up with what you've done thus far – and many congratulations for your showcase. May it be the auspicious start all AARlanders hope for!
 

Gotya64

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I am quite honored by the award and the comments from the forum's most preeminent AAR writers! (I am rather embarrassed to say I have read most of you all's AARs, but having only registered on the forums a month ago or so, I have been unable to comment).

On another note, I hope to have another update posted by the end of today (after my Kansas City Chiefs play, of course).

Again, thank you for the honor!
 

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Gotta stop by to say congratulation! This AAR is intriguing and the charachter depiction is very nice, subbed from me :)
 

Gotya64

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Chapter II – That Loving Feeling

“You are a son of the devil! You are nothing! You have betrayed my family, betrayed me! How could you?” Tears streamed down Gwenllian’s face as Erwan tried to remain stoic as possible. “Now you just stand there? You claim the titles of your wife’s family and just stand there? With a child on the way, you go to war?” The woman began sobbing uncontrollably and after a moment fled from Erwan’s presence. The Count sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead.


“That went well,” Chancellor Martin remarked dryly as he approached Erwin.

“You’d do best to watch your insolence,” Erwan snapped. He stood up straight and fixed his chancellor with a venomous glare. “I presume there’s a reason for you to be here besides to make snide comments?”

“Of course, my lord,” said Martin humbly, ego properly checked. “I possess reports from the battlefield. Marshal Goronwy is pleased to tell his lord that your father-in-law’s forces have been routed and that the army is in pursuit. With a slight issue.” Erwin took the slip of paper from his chancellor.


“Elaborate.”

“The Saxon mercenaries you hired to our cause have…well, they’ve abandoned us. They cite lack of pay as their reason.”

Erwan bit his lip in annoyance; he had feared this would happen, as his coffers had run dry months ago. Nonetheless, he was pleased that the mercenaries chose to leave in peace. He remembered stories of a Breton band hired by an Irish count. When the money had run dry, the mercenaries turned on their employer and seized the count’s land as payment. “Very well. Tell Goronwy to continue the campaign. And bring with you a company of reinforcements from our garrison.”

“As you wish.”

That night, Erwan chose to pace the halls of his castle rather than sleep in a hostile bed. As he walked, he pondered the news of late. If Bleddyn’s forces were as thoroughly defeated as Goronwy claimed, then the war would soon be over, and a crown would be held by the Pendragons once again. The thought gave him chills as he imagined the resurrection of Arthur’s bloodline. Someday the Pendragons would be mentioned in the same sentences as the Capets and the Piasts. Maybe even the Karlings…

As satisfying as military victory was, his heart ached at Gwenllian’s accusations of treachery. She had the right to be mad—after all, he was waging war against her own beloved father. The fact that she was with child only made it worse, and he feared her sorrow and anger could endanger the baby, which risked ending the male line of Pendragon succession.

Erwan was so enveloped in his own thoughts that he ran smack into another person as he rounded a corner. Both of them hit the ground with a thud. For a moment the count was confused and disoriented, until he heard a woman’s voice profusely apologizing.

“Oh my lord, please forgive me sir! I must watch where I am going!”

Erwan looked up and found himself staring at an attractive young woman, a servant judging by her clothing. She was still stammering apologies as he picked himself up.

“It quite alright, miss,” Erwan said graciously. “I really must keep my eyes up during the night! I can tell you this is not the first time this has happened to me.” He smiled, hoping to comfort her, but found only embarrassment in her eyes. “Dear me, miss! There is nothing to it! What is your name?”

“Jenovefa, m-my lord.”


Jenovefa​

Erwan brightened, recognizing the name of a Breton. “My dear, do you happen to hail from Brittany?”

She smiled now, a happy look that dazzled the count. “Cornwall, my lord, but from a Breton settlement. My family moved here, and my father is a man-at-arms in your army, my lord.”

“It must be quite different for you,” Erwan said, absolutely enamored with the girl. “To be a Breton in Wales, I mean. I do fear I have earned the resentment of some of my subjects for that very reason…”

Jenovefa quickly lost her shyness, and they talked on like this long into the night. As they continued, Erwan found himself even more captured by her vibrant personality and silvery laughter. It seemed she returned the affection, and the two retired to one of Erwan’s guest bedrooms for a night of love-making. Jenovefa left early in the morning for her duties, but left him with a kiss and a promise to meet him soon. For a long time Erwan lay still on the bed, awash with good feelings.




“She’s married, you know.”

“Good God Martin!” Erwan shouted at his intrusive chancellor, hastily covering himself. “Do you know how to bloody knock!” He paused, thinking about the chancellor’s words. “She’s what?”

Married, my lord, she’s married. To Mayor Custennin, as it were. Well done, you.”

“Get out!” Erwan roared.

“Aye, aye, sir,” Martin said with a laugh, leaving Erwan to groan at his own foolishness.

Despite the marital status of both participants, Erwan and Jenovefa continued to meet regularly within the castle. It was an addictive relationship, one that neither could bear to break. Even the birth of a son to Gwenllian did nothing to impede their love, though it pleased Erwan that he had a legitimate heir. The affair was made easier by Gwenllian’s coldness towards the count and her desire to avoid him whenever possible, even going as far as leaving Rhuddlan for the convent.


Meanwhile, the war against Erwan’s former liege had stalled completely; the abandonment of the Breton mercenaries left Marshal Goronwy with less than eight-hundred men, not nearly enough to besiege any of Gwynedd’s major cities. Thus Goronwy resorted to something of a scorched-earth policy, ravaging the countryside in hope of either drawing Bleddyn’s forces into the open or force an outright surrender. Rumor had it that Bleddyn had received a pledge of support from one of the Irish kings, and was holding out in hopes of being relieved. Even as winter approached, Erwan sent a message to Goronwy to return with nothing less than total victory. After all, a white peace would have the same result as defeat.

And so they waited, Erwan for his former liege to capitulate, and Bleddyn for the supposed Irish reinforcements. The arrival of spring, however, brought a courier from Ireland to King Bleddyn’s military headquarters—his ally the Lord of Breifne was involved in his own wars, and sent his deepest regrets that he could not aid the Welsh king. The courier’s message ended Bleddyn’s hope of victory, and the elderly king abdicated his titles and fled to the relative safety of Breifne. A royal crown once again rested on a Pendragon’s head.


The crowning was a simple affair—the opposite of his former lord’s well-known pomposity. The now King Erwan I was well aware that he was a king of the most minor type; in fact, the court of William the Conqueror referred to the small Welsh realm as merely a “petty king.”

The celebratory ball proved to be an absentee affair, as Erwan spent the night alone with a certain young lady. Chancellor Martin did his part by spreading the word that the King was merely feeling ill, and had opted for rest and recuperation.


“What happens now?” Jenovefa asked her lover the following morning as he softly stroked her cheek. “You are king, the sole ruler. Are you not satisfied?” The question threw him, and he pulled away slightly.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes it matters. Risking your life and your family name for power is hardly a chivalrous pursuit. God frowns upon such things.”

Erwan raised an eyebrow. “That is pious talk coming from a married woman who now lays with another man.” Jenovefa said nothing, and the king knew she still demanded an answer.

“No, I am not satisfied,” Erwan said quietly. He stood and walked to the window of his bedroom. There he saw spring sprouting from the depths of winter – life renewed. “England is engulfed by internal strife, but it will not always be that way.” He turned back to look at Jenovefa. “I admit to having no love for the Welsh, but they are the cousins of the Bretons. Wales must be united under one banner, or else she will be overrun by the English when they decide to look beyond their own borders.”

“A lovely excuse,” Jenovefa said dryly. “But you are a mortal man, and you possess the greed of all mortal men.”

“Perhaps, my love, perhaps,” Erwan murmured. Her words perturbed him, and he could not help but doubt his own intentions.

Am I the heir to King Arthur?

Or am I the heir to Mordred?


 

Derahan

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Oh I certainly love these moral qualms! Beautiful! :)
 

tnick0225

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Definitely enjoying this so far! Very well written. Should be interesting to see if you can take advantage of the de Normandie Civil Wars if they occur ;)
 

Gotya64

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Definitely enjoying this so far! Very well written. Should be interesting to see if you can take advantage of the de Normandie Civil Wars if they occur ;)
Thank you, I appreciate that. :)

For those interested, I hope to have an update posted by tonight. If not tonight then tomorrow.
 

tnick0225

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Gotya64

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Thank you for the great honor! :eek: I hope my AAR continues to hold your interest! I am quite honored indeed! I feel like I've let some promises slide though as I most certainly did not add an update when I promised, and I've been so busy with college that it may not happen until later this week. I've got the update 80% written, so there will be an update someday.