The Song of Wessex

[tpmcinty]

Finally caught up again. Real life keeps pushing me away from the forums as of late.

I find it interesting King Arthur keeps trying to bring his son back fully under his wing by having him return to his English holdings. The son seems to enjoy being out from under his father and has found a place of refuge in his wife's court and lands.

 

[Nikolai]

There is tension. Yet I feel it's somewhat lightened? Or perhaps just settled in some kind of understanding. The grandson might turn Scottish though. That will give a fair malus to relations down the line.

 

[stnylan]

Maud's repeated refrain of "Father" is interesting. It is almost ... pointed.

It is not a knew thing - she has always, it seems, made a point of seeming deference. Arthur is probably perceptive enough to know that this "mere" woman is in many ways a staunch opponent, but because of his own machinations not one he can face directly. And he is ill-equipped by temperament for the shadow-fencing on the wall. And, one notes, she is a good bit younger than he.

 

[coz1]

Fb-fb:

Ok, all caught up again!

In both the last two chapters, there remains a definite “accommodation with residual tension”. King Arthur with his own conscience, no matter how much he professes and even believes in his own manifest destiny. Between father and son, what the King hopes from his son and is prepared to explain and the son to understand and accept. And then between the three, Arthur King, Arthur Consort/Prince and Maud.

Not sure whether by design or intent that tension can or will ever be broken or appreciably diminished, but it is there and well portrayed. Sure, single-minded pursuit of a grand goal (for gamer and character), but never without cost or complication. And never completely neat and tidy.

So many bold princes and heavy crowns over the years. The larger the realm, the heavier the crown and the stronger neck needed to bear its weight. I don’t get the feeling (hints aside) that Prince Arthur really has the strength or commitment for it. Maybe he would grow into it (if he ever got the chance). More likely it would break him.

First of all, good use of the phrase "manifest destiny" as I think that is exactly how King Arthur sees it. For that reason, I think he is destined to find tension with anyone that threatens that ideal. When the Prince won't play his game? Threat. When Maud shows spine? Threat. When anyone looks to stand in the way of his design...always a threat. The King can afford to be accommodating due to his immense power, it lasts only so long before he finds a way to neutralize it (as he eventually did with his late wife.) And as you state...that always comes with it risks of cost and complication. Very well said.

It's hard to say what Prince Arthur would until he finds the crown as there have been many different looks over the years. Some were born to it (like Queen Anne) and others were clearly not (certainly King Æthelric) and some grew in the job (arguably this very King Arthur.) Just like IRL, it takes the right kind of person to hold that power and do it well. There are many pitfalls (and even moreso in this House of Wessex) that can taint a man or woman. I think the old saw about power corrupting is a bit overused, but it does have some validity.

Finally caught up again. Real life keeps pushing me away from the forums as of late.

I find it interesting King Arthur keeps trying to bring his son back fully under his wing by having him return to his English holdings. The son seems to enjoy being out from under his father and has found a place of refuge in his wife's court and lands.

The Prince is certainly being tugged in two different directions right now and it cannot be easy. He loves his wife and he respects his father even if perhaps he does not like him. He knows he has a duty to both, but Maud is taking 1st place right now and King Arthur sees it. As above...threat. Perhaps a good thing that Queen Aveline is dead now. One wonders what she might have done about that?

There is tension. Yet I feel it's somewhat lightened? Or perhaps just settled in some kind of understanding. The grandson might turn Scottish though. That will give a fair malus to relations down the line.

I think settled into an understanding right now...but to a point. King Arthur's goal is all important and he has no time for those that would see it incomplete. As above, as long as the Prince shows recognition of his duty now and future duty, King Arthur can afford a bit of leeway. Should Maud steal his son and grandson...then all bets are off. As far as the youngest Arthur, that fear was there as I no longer held sway over him once the Prince gained Lancaster. That said...I think Lancaster is really where he was raised. I am just making it seem more realistic by having him by his mother to Scotland.

Maud's repeated refrain of "Father" is interesting. It is almost ... pointed.

It is not a knew thing - she has always, it seems, made a point of seeming deference. Arthur is probably perceptive enough to know that this "mere" woman is in many ways a staunch opponent, but because of his own machinations not one he can face directly. And he is ill-equipped by temperament for the shadow-fencing on the wall. And, one notes, she is a good bit younger than he.

The King Arthur/Queen Maud relationship is turning into one of the more fascinating duos in the story (for me at least.) I hesitated when I first starting using the father/daughter thing, but it seemed to fit for myriad of reasons. One, she just lost her own father. Two, it gives the King a chance to sort of condescend. And three...it is definitely used and quite often as "very pointed." I tend to use the ellipses more than italics to show a pointed phrase in my writing. A pause before the bite, as it were. And indeed, Maud is almost nearly the same age as Prince Arthur so it works on that level too. The King is now raising her just as he raised his own son. To what effect? We shall see. Also, I wanted to get away from a lot of "Your Grace" ... "Your Grace"...as they spoke to one another. They are of equal rank now but not of equal power. That continues to shine through, I hope.


To all - Some great looks at this last scene and the last few! It is truly gratifying when I see that as it lets me know that what I am working on seems to play well and that I am getting it right. I know that it is hard to keep up at times. We all have real lives. I wish that I could post less frequently to assist but I write too much for that and if you don't keep at it, in CKII you'll be off the first page with 24/48 hours most days. With that in mind, I plan to post the next scene tomorrow and that will end chapter 7. I went in a little different direction and am quite keen to see if works or not. As stated, it puts us at about the midpoint of the story and it is time to start laying track for the end of the line. For that reason, I'll hold off until Saturday to start chapter 8. Hopefully that gives time enough for everyone to take it in and give their two ducats.

More than that, I just wish to reiterate one more time how thankful I am to have you all as readers and for your excellent comments! In about 4 months, I will have been at this saga for 3 years. I got Rightful King done by the middle of 2017. I finished up Bold Prince around the end of the year and into 2018. And I got Heavy Crown completed by the end of 2018. I don't know that I will finish this book this year or into 2020, but I hope it so and I hope that I keep all of you as fans of the work. I've lost a few by the wayside over that span, but I've gained a few as well. Thank you to all that have spent the time to give these words your eyes and your mind. It makes what I do here worth it!

 

[coz1]

​

The Song of Wessex​

* * *

Scone, Scotland - December 1322​

Prince Arthur trudged up the hill in the face of a biting wind. He’d passed the Abbey that held the sacred stone that nearly all Kings and Queens of Scotland had stood by when crowned. Only his wife had decided against it when she became Queen, though that had more to do with the rebellious lot in Gowrie than anything other. At least, that is what he assumed. Yet he was not here for a crowning nor a ceremony. In truth, he was alone. He had left his few men behind at the camp as he stated he wished a small hike for the day. Lord Brice had suggested that it was not safe and that Her Grace would not wish him alone in the wilds of Scotland. The Prince of England scoffed at the notion and answered that he would return by nightfall.

He had every intention of doing so and every intention of being alone as he made his quest. Up over another hill, he finally found what he was looking for. A cave nearly hidden by the overhanging crag. It was cold that day yet there was a mist by the cave that matched his hot breath as he hiked near to it. As he approached, he hollered out but there was no answer. Taking a closer step, he moved to light a torch and then entered into the darkness. He could hear his steps below and a slight drip of water in the distance. The Prince soon saw a light at the end of a tunnel and as he emerged, there he found an old woman sitting by a fire that billowed smoke up through a hole in the earth above.

She was dressed in rags and held no fine features to her face. A crooked nose and a hairy mole to her cheek, the woman was frightening to look at and the Prince understood why she chose a life of solitude. He stepped forward and exclaimed, “I seek the Lady of Scone!”

Without looking up from her boiling pot, the old woman grinned, “I be no Lady. If you know of me, then I be called the ‘Crone of Scone’ and no other. What calls you to me, little Lord?”

“Madam...” Prince Arthur stepped further into the light, “...I am the King of Scotland!”

The old woman slowly turned her head to look on him, “Are you? You’ve the whiff of sassanach about you. Are you certain?”

“I was not aware that the English and Scots held a different smell.”

She grinned, “Oh...but to this old nose...they do.”

Prince Arthur shook his head and then took another step, “Madam...I come to you as I have heard of your powers...your sight.”

“You be needing of my sight?” she asked with a curious look, “What does a King need of an old crone?”

“I have had...” the Prince hesitated, “...have had poor dreams of late. They concern me and as I asked around at the Scots court...I was told of your name.”

“I hold no name, King,” she answered as she slowly stood and rounded to him looking deeply into his eyes, “Yet I see your trouble already.”

The Prince was unnerved, “What...what is it that you see?”

“Do you know where you are?” the old woman asked as she leaned in closer with a grin.

“I am at Scone,” Prince Arthur answered with certainty, “A cave on a crag not far from the Abbey.”

The old woman found a larger grin, “Did you see the rock?”

“Do you mean...the stone?” Prince Arthur questioned, “Of course...as I left the Abbey.”

“No, King...” she replied with a trained eye, “...the rock. It still holds the blood of your Lord of Mercia. Stained for all time as he lost his head that day. It’s said a great man...until he wasn’t. I think you come to me for another that lost a head. Or are you fearing that it may be yours?”

The Prince was taken aback, “How do you know?”

“I didn’t until you told me,” she snickered as she moved to place another pot on the fire, “That’s the trouble with you Lords...especially round here...there’s always a head to be snatched from the body.”

“Now see here…” the Prince exclaimed and she rounded her eye to him again.

“Who sent you to me? The lout Duncan? A royal pedigree means little with that clan. I tell you...King...beware that Prince.”

Prince Arthur stood taller, “What do you know of Prince Duncan? How do you know any of the royal House?”

She grinned as she sat once more, “I was once young and beautiful. You needn’t believe it, but it’s true. And he was a fine lad...full of features to like. Yet brothers abounding. He needed his peace.”

“I don’t believe you,” Arthur stated, “You are far too old to have been with Duncan.”

The old woman looked up once more with a serious eye, “Looks may be deceiving, King. And I was never with Duncan. I was with...his brother.”

“Gilbride?” Prince Arthur asked.

She screwed her face into a frown, “Let him rot, that one! Never! If you are King, then you are married to the girl. Look to her, King. And her father.”

“If you had all this, then what are you doing to these parts?” the Prince questioned, “Every court has its favors. Why did you not take yours?”

“The man of God from St. Andrews,” she answered as she looked back to the flames, “There can be only one and I was called witch.”

Prince Arthur looked to her with a skeptical eye, “Are you a witch?”

“You tell me...King,” she replied with wry grin, “Sit and tell me of your trouble and you shall find out.”

“I don’t know what I am doing here!” Arthur exclaimed and shifted to leave.

The old woman found a stronger voice, “You know exactly what you do here...Arthur of England!”

Arthur showed a shock, “How do you know me?!”

“Why don’t you sit...and get your answer,” she suggested, “You’ve come all this way. You owe it to yourself.”

“I wonder if you are wicked, madam...” the Prince replied and she was caused to stand once more.

“I’m no more wicked than your father. Sit, King. Tell me of your dream.”

“There is...a lion...” Prince Arthur went against his better judgment and found a rock to sit upon as he told his tale, “...I see it in the distance. It crouches like any great cat...waiting for its prey. There is an eagle resting to a tree limb that is about to break...and the lion sees it. The lion waits.”

The old woman sat once more with a curious eye, “Go on. You have more to say. What does the eagle clutch in its talon?”

“No thing,” Arthur answered with sweat beginning to pour from his brow, “It is the lion. And he has my son.”

“Even better,” she grinned as she poured a drink from her pot and offered it to the Prince.

Arthur was reluctant to drink, “You help me not.”

Ignoring him, the old woman took down her own drink and then smiled, “You cannot get to him, can you? A story as old as these hills. I am not unknowing, King. I know of our lands...all of them. The eagle is the Empire...and the lion is your father. Why does your father have your boy? And why are you powerless to stop it?”

​

The Prince showed a long stare before answering, “Because England is in the eagle’s talon...and no matter what I do...I am not able to get to my son. I fight, I crawl...but for every step...my son gets away from me. The lion snarls and roars...and the eagle cries out...and my son is silent. I cannot reach him.”

“It’s a good drink...” the old woman looked on with a grin, “...and it will help you see. All of your trials...give me your hands, King. Let me read them.”

“You answer nothing!” Prince Arthur exclaimed.

She smiled as she reached out her own hands, “Give them to me if you wish your answer. Silence may be a reward, King...but that is not why you’ve come to me.”

With reluctance, Arthur held out his hands for her to take, “Then tell me...why can I not get to my son?”

The old woman held to them and closed her eyes. She mumbled to herself and then with a flash, she opened her eyes to stare straight at the Prince, “You are made to do a service...for a King. You have found yours...and that is all that you will find. I see death. Many deaths. I see pain. Pain for what you have lost...and what you will lose. The lion has cubs...and yet I see only one. And the eagle...it is there...and it comes for you!”

“You are a witch!” Arthur exclaimed as he pulled his hands away.

She kept a serious eye to his own, “No, King...but I see. Princes will die...and you have short years left to you. Make of them what you will...but do so for the lion.”

Prince Arthur looked on with shock, “I think that I make a mistake. I believe you to be evil!”

“No sir...for I see another,” she answered, “I may not be Christ’s child, but I see another. A cross. White upon blue...and feminine.”

“My wife?!” Arthur had to ask.

“The Queen,” she responded, “She needs you. She cannot help your son. You cannot help your son. Yet you may help the lion...and you are meant to. The talon of the eagle is sharp...and you are meant to feel it.”

Prince Arthur grabbed her hands, “Why can I not save my son?!”

“Because you cannot save yourself...” she answered, “...and you cannot save your brothers and sisters. There is only one...”

“Who?!” the Prince asked with great concern.

The old woman calmly wrapped her hands around his and then pulled him close, “The lion roars...King. But you are not the lion...not the eagle...not the cross. You are but a speck of dirt...but fear not. All is not lost for there will be others. The lion will reign supreme and the eagle will be taken down. Yet not by you. Never you. There are others...and there is one. You must do all you can for the sake of one.”

“My son?” Arthur asked with worry.

The old crone smiled, “No. Your son will not live. Yet you will have a daughter.”

“I already have a daughter!”

“You will have another...” the old woman answered, “...as your wife...the Queen...she is with child.”

​

“How do you know this?!” Prince Arthur asked with great concern.

The old woman sat back with another smile, “I felt your hands...and I have seen your dream. I know your life...King. A tortured man and a headless woman. Faces made blue by death. Yours is among them. Yet you have a part to play. You do not play at King. You never will. Yours is in service to the lion. And you will never save your son.”

“I must!!” he exclaimed.

She sat back and kept her smile, “You cannot. That is your duty...King.”

Prince Arthur suddenly opened his eyes and felt the sweat of his body against the sheets. Maud slept quietly beside him and did not stir when he awoke. He nervously looked around the dark chamber lit only by a dwindling fire and shadows danced over the walls. Yet she was not there...the old woman...she was gone. His breathing continued in fits as he tried to calm his mind. He sat up and grabbed for a drink next to the bed and as he gulped it down, Maud rolled over beside him.

“Are you unwell, husband?” she asked with a sleepy voice.

“I...I am fine,” the Prince answered as much to himself as to her.

She raised her head to him with concern, “Did you have another poor dream?”

Prince Arthur rested his hand to her face, “No. Perhaps too much ale this night.”

“Good then,” she answered as she lowered to the pillow once more and suggested with a yawn, “We must both find some rest if we are to the Abbey on the morrow.”

He stared down at her for a time before giving reply, “Of course. I will be fresh on the morn. I promise, sweet dove.”

Maud lifted her hand gently and brushed at his cheek before closing her eyes once more. Yet the Prince would not sleep again that night. He was too afraid to see what he might find if he did.

* * *

Melun Castle – August 1351​

“Such foolish notions!” the old man exclaimed as he peered over his chess piece.

“Are they, sire?”

The grizzled chin quivered as he answered, “They were, Ans. To be certain!”

“And yet...so much of it turned out true.”

“How like him...” the old man held a shaky finger over his queen, “...to go from one witch to another. No good would come of it. Mayhap it brought upon him a curse.”

His opponent watched his movement carefully, “Your mother was said to be a secret Cathar. Some would suggest that so too was your father the King.”

“Nonsense, Ans!” the old man answered with strength, “Both would forsake their early thought and were true Christians when they died. And they were not wicked!”

“Yet how to square it, sire? I know of your heartbreak...but it was foretold.”

Slowly dragging the queen across the board, the old man lined her up two spaces from the king, “It was not at all foretold. The old witch called for another daughter. And she wasn’t even bloody real!”

“You’ve forgotten my knight, sire,” the opponent took his queen, “And the Prince did have another daughter. She was also right about the son.”

“Is this what they teach you these days, Ans?” the old man asked with a raised brow, “Just the right way to torment me?”

“I have all the time in the world, sire. It is spent looking after you. Never to torment. Tienne and I both...we shall always serve you.”

The old man pushed his chair away from the table as he looked to the window, “I suppose we shall all be together again someday.”

“There are many that long to see you, sire. You hold up at this castle...you do not return to England. Your son is missing of you...your grandson.”

With a wistful eye, the old man felt a tear to his cheek, “And I am missing of them.”

“It need not be so, sire. They are waiting for you.”

The old man brushed at his cheek, “I...am not ready.”

“So you stay to torment yourself?”

A slow turn of the head showed no smile as he answered, “It is my fate...as all others have seen theirs. I wonder Ans...does it hurt...your leg?”

Anselm looked down to his leg that held a grotesque scar and answered with a smile, “My pain has been set free, sire. I wonder...when will yours be so as well?”

“Majesty?!” the Lord Chancellor Edward entered the chamber after a knock and looked around, “Do you speak with someone?”

Anselm silently shook his head and the old man craned his neck to reply, “Just trying to keep my wits to me, my Lord.”

“Then you have yourself to checkmate, Majesty,” the Earl grinned as he pointed to the chess board.

Arthur looked back to the board and softly answered to himself, “No, sir...that was my opponent.”

* * *

End of Chapter 7​

 

[stnylan]

So both Arthus, at different times and places, having troubled visions. I do view it with some alarm that the Prince's dream is partnered with the aged King's spectral visitor. That is an ill omen.

I wasn't quite sure if it was a dream at first, mind you. But then, such dreams are something of a signature sequence for you my friend so I should not have been surprised. It works well.

 

[Bullfilter]

Ah, a dream within a dream. The Princess Bride or Inception? Neither, of course: it is but the haunting Song of Wessex!

A great scene to finish off the chapter - I enjoyed it a lot. Like all grand tragedy, the story needs triumph and hubris before the sad denouement.

The horrible headless ghosts (to be thought out loud in the broadest Scottish highland brogue) come out when the hour is late ...

Bravo.

 

[Nikolai]

Ill omens. And a good question; what was fate and what was made into being by belief of it being fate?

 

[coz1]

Fb-fb:

So both Arthus, at different times and places, having troubled visions. I do view it with some alarm that the Prince's dream is partnered with the aged King's spectral visitor. That is an ill omen.

I wasn't quite sure if it was a dream at first, mind you. But then, such dreams are something of a signature sequence for you my friend so I should not have been surprised. It works well.

In the end, I decided to sort of tie the two strands together. Keep what I already had and then subvert it at the end to make it more realistic. I'll talk more on this below.

I did enjoy placing the King's scene with the Prince's due to the vague supernatural elements of both. I try to fit at least one later scene within each chapter to keep with the initial conceit of the story and this one worked better than most, I think. Every time we return to the aged Arthur, we know more and more why he is so haunted in his old age.

Ah, a dream within a dream. The Princess Bride or Inception? Neither, of course: it is but the haunting Song of Wessex!

A great scene to finish off the chapter - I enjoyed it a lot. Like all grand tragedy, the story needs triumph and hubris before the sad denouement.

The horrible headless ghosts (to be thought out loud in the broadest Scottish highland brogue) come out when the hour is late ...

Bravo.

Thank you, sir, and I don't deny that the Prince's presence in Scotland caused my mind to drift to a rather well known play also located there. I didn't want to steal so much as create somewhat of that mood. We'll tackle the ramifications and "what it all means" in the next chapter and beyond, but I liked the idea of ending this chapter with that air of uncertainty. The Prince has it and I wanted the reader to have it too. See below.

Ill omens. And a good question; what was fate and what was made into being by belief of it being fate?

An excellent point and very much what I was going for in the scene(s). I'll explain a little more below.


To all - A little more explanation about this most recent set of scenes. As mentioned, this places us roughly at about the midpoint of the story and it was time to start implanting ideas of where we go from here. I've hinted at some things already and I admit, quite a lot is hinted at above. I can't say outright what of that is true or not, but I can say that some of it is. Initially, I wrote the Prince scene as actually happening until I reconsidered (due to wise counsel) and worked it into a dream. That may be why it reads more realistically than most of my dream sequences. At the end, I wanted to build up an idea of prophecy. Being the medieval world, I assumed that the figures might make more out of such than we might in our own times. It will definitely play into future action, especially in how the Prince approaches things going forward. I have some feints planned along the way, but it is building towards something. Sorry to remain a little secretive about it, but I hope that makes the reveal that much more impactful.

Thanks for reading and commenting, as always. And for those of you that have been along the ride from the beginning, I tossed in a little reference to Book 1 and everyone's favorite Duke of Mercia. It's fun to pepper in little things like that from time to time after having built up such a massive history.

 

[coz1]

​

The Song of Wessex​

* * *

Westminster, England – September 1323​

The King entered the solar and was surprised to find not one but two guests before him. Prince Arthur stood tall and smiled as he gestured to his own son Arthur, “I am sorry to be late with my gift to you father, as it took some time to arrange; but in honor of your turning to fifty and three this summer, here I bring to you your grandson.”

The youngest Arthur offered a perfect bow and the King showed a grin, “How old are you now, lad?”

With a slight look to the Prince, the boy answered “Six, Your Grace...soon to be seven.”

“Come now, lad...” the King gestured for him to sit in his lap, “...you may call me grand-papa. You serve two Kings at the now and it might get confusing for you.”

As the boy crawled up, King Arthur looked to his son, “Had I known the lad was coming, I might have found for him some treats. I wonder...however did you manage it, Arturo?”

“It was not easy,” the Prince answered, “As I wrote to you, Maud is quite heavy with child at the now and I had to promise to return swiftly so I am afraid that our progress to here will be short lived.”

As the King played with his grandson, he asked, “You risk missing the birth of another son?”

Prince Arthur turned to pour them both some ale, “I have reason to believe it a daughter, yet I am sure to be back to Cupar before she gives birth.”

“Ah! But what is this?” the King looked warmly to his grandson, “It is a fine ring, lad. Someday you shall wear it. Would you care to hold it?”

“Yes please,” the young boy answered eagerly and King Arthur slipped it from his finger and handed it over.

As the boy showed awe as he turned it over in his small hands, the Prince returned with a goblet of ale, “Be mindful that he does not lose it, father. I think that ring to be irreplaceable.”

“Nonsense,” the King winked to his son, “The actual ring is locked safely away in the tower. I had this replica made some years ago. No good losing the real thing on the field of battle.”

The Prince offered a smile, “I think you lose rather little in the field, sir.”

“If you would like...” the King smiled to his grandson, “...I can have two more made and we all three can strut around in our finery. Three rings for three Arthurs, eh?”

“Now who might get confused by that, father?” the Prince laughed and moved to the low fire.

The King stood and gently placed the youngest Arthur back in the chair to play with his ring, “Let them get confused. I learned well from mine own father...it’s the best thing for them. Did you come by way of Teviotdale as you moved south?”

“I did,” the Prince answered as his father joined him by the fire, “I be certain that Lord Anselm is fast on my heels as he was mopping up the last of the rebels there. I joined Lord Theobald as far south as his home and then we made our way to Westminster.”

“Blasted rebels!” King Arthur grimaced, “That’s why they should remain confused. I’ve no time for it. Do they not know that I grow our realm fast and furious? Yet they wish to plague me with their unruly behavior and heretical thought. I dare not think they wish to taste my bitter blade but if it should come to it...”

“I doubt very much that King Arthur the Just would do such a thing father,” the Prince jested with him.

The King skewed a serious brow in answer, “Just try him, sir.”

“True enough, father,” the Prince replied as he looked on his son, “A rebellious lot is a dangerous thing.”

“Indeed it is!” the King showed a wide eye, “Just look what has happened to your poor sister in Norway! Her husband Ulv...dead to a dungeon. From King to slave...just like that. And their poor girl...naught but thirteen.”

“I am told that Blæja is called regent for the girl,” Prince Arthur suggested.

The King shook his head, “That is little salve for the wound. I sent her there to be a Queen, not to be a pauper and answer to her own daughter.”

“Indeed...” the Prince quietly replied, “...a parent should never answer to their children.”

With a stern glare, the King turned and then softened, “I’ll allow that. It seems we are destined to always have a back and forth, Arturo. One minute you understand my mind completely and the next you question every part of it. That lad there, son…he’ll be of age soon enough. You will know then what I have gone through...what we have gone through.”

The Prince turned to his son with a prideful eye, “I hope with less rough patches, father. Yet you are likely right. I know that the crown you wear is a heavy one. I know it even more now that my wife wears one as well. It is why I come to you...so that we may be well met and my son known well to England.”

“Will Her Grace Queen Maud not scoff?” the King drained his ale and moved to pour another, “She seemed determined to raise the lad a Scotsman.”

The Prince followed for another as well, “She is determined in her way and I remain loyal to her. Yet he is my son as well. He gains much no matter which way he looks and he should be seen often in those places.”

“Pleased am I to hear it,” the King turned and poured with some pride, “What brings on this new found desire?”

Prince Arthur gave nod as he held his drink to his lips and considered it, “Age, mayhap? Maud and I are both past thirty and we have seen much in our time. She has her realm to rule and someday, I shall have mine.”

“Quite so,” the King grinned, “As you said, Arturo...I won’t live forever.”

A knock to the solar door drew them from their conversation and the Lord Marshal entered with a bow. The youngest Arthur was quick to jump from his chair and run to him, “Uncle Anselm!”

“Easy lad,” Anselm smiled and then looked to the King, “Your Grace...I am returned from Teviotdale.”

The King raised a humored brow, “And apparently now an uncle?”

“He has been to Scotland so much these past years, father...” the Prince explained, “...I believe the lad thinks him family.”

“And so he is!” King Arthur smiled as he moved to greet his Earl and held his hands to young Arthur’s shoulders, “And returns to me, my champion. I am told that Lord Theobald still has gumption left in his old bones. How much heavy lifting did you have to do this time, sir?”

Anselm grinned as he looked from Prince to King, “The King of Scotland is not wrong, sire. The Lord Duke held fast against the rebellion and it was all but done when he left the final bits to me. I thought it owed to him...hoping you did not mind.”

“You’re the Lord Marshal, Ans...I leave it to you,” King Arthur gestured for his son to get the Earl a drink, “And so we are safe once more from meddling hands to the north?”

The Prince did as suggested and then shifted to hand Anselm his ale, “Safe from Scotland, father. Connaught is back in Maud’s hands and Gowrie appears to be silenced for the now.”

“My Lord Prince is correct, Your Grace,” Anselm warmly accepted the goblet and tussled the young lad’s head as he kept his eye to the King, “As our friend Lord Amedee was want to ask often...what next, sire?”

The King allowed a hearty laugh and the knelt to his grandson, “Now see here, lad...this is a lot of boring stuff that we must needs discuss. I tell you...if your father says it is alright...go down to the kitchens and tell cook that His Grace demands that you have all the sweet meats that you desire. What think you of that?”

“Grand-papa?” the youngest Arthur looked to him with a questioning eye, “I...would like to stay...and listen...if I may?”

The Prince stood over them, “He is very curious father...he enjoys learning.”

“Then by all means!” King Arthur lifted the boy up in his arms and swung him around, “No time better than the present for a little Lord to learn his lot in life.”

“Yet you must let us talk, son,” Prince Arthur directed as the King sat him down, “Find your chair by the fire and when we are done...”

The King winked to his grandson, “And when we are done, we two shall both find sweet meats!”

Anselm grinned to the Prince, “He is spoiling him again, isn’t he?”

“I believe he can do no other, my Lord,” Prince Arthur answered with a smile.

“Hush, you two nannies!” King Arthur moved to the window and smiled wide, “I am in a good mood. My son comes to visit and brings my grandson to me...Teviotdale is done and over...and I have conquered Ireland. Why not be cheerful?”

“Because it is not your nature, father?” the Prince questioned with knowing, “And I dare say...only half of Ireland is conquered.”

The King spun with a smile still to his lips, “I am called their King, am I not? No mythical High King or some such jot...true King just as I am in England, Wales and France. I call that a conquering, Arturo.”

“Yet there is more to do there, sire,” Anselm reminded, “You ask of the north...Moray still holds Ulster and the King of the Isles...”

“Is a man I respect,” King Arthur gave nod, “Màel-Martain is known as wise for a reason. It was his misfortune to inherit Briefne when he did. The Isles do not concern me and the rest of Moray is for your wife...is it not, Arturo?”

The Prince skewed a curious eye, “You would allow Maud free passage in Northern Ireland, father?”

“It is not so much that...” the King found a larger grin, “...for I have for both of you some good news. The treacherous Sieghard of Champagne is finally dead. Long may he rot! A girl naught but twelve now rules to that Duchy. As of the spring, it was said to me by the Lord Chancellor that she was in your favor, Arturo.”

​

“In favor of the Prince for France, sire?” Anselm questioned.

The King kept his grin, “Indeed so, Ans. Yet how long do we think that will last? She grows and all the while has the Emperor to her young ear. And as I turned fifty and three this summer...Luitpold of Germany is now seventeen. A man ready to fight.”

“You don’t mean...” Prince Arthur showed concern, “...you’re not...not thinking of another war with the Empire, are you?”

“And why should I not?” the King found joy in the thought, “He’s still a boy and untried, this Luitpold. By God...he cried when I took from him last!”

The Prince stepped forward, “He was a child, father.”

“He’s still a child as far as I am concerned and will cry again,” the King drained his ale and moved to pour another, “He finds trouble to the low countries and to the south...and I did not send my youngest daughter to Poitou to see her a servant of the Empire forever. I’ve told you, Arturo...I am not yet done there.”

Anselm looked from Prince to King, “It surely can be done, sire. Yet I am but a soldier and no diplomat. It seems to me that the Lords of France...which you will need for such an adventure...are not fully invested with them all being so new.”

“They are not all that new, Ans,” the King turned in reply, “Amedee’s son Baudouin is finished with his troubles with the church...and Anjou and Orleans remain firmly ours. There is always strength to Normandy and we’ll get the strength from Burgundy even with their young Lady.”

The Prince was not done with his concern, “Berry, father?”

“The Lord of Berry holds naught but Bourges, Arturo,” King Arthur showed a firm eye, “I could not count on him if I wished to. And with the struggles to the low country, our Lord of Normandy’s Flemish troops will have free passage.”

Anselm gave nod, “I think all of that is true, sire. Yet I may remind...while we have good men at the ready, hard and true...they have been fighting to Ireland and the north for a good long time. It will take a relearning to point them east and as we do...you know well that the Bretons will take their chance.”

The King turned to his old friend and held an eye for a time before offering a smile, “I’m not sold on the idea, Ans. Just pondering. I hold claim on Reims and I aim to use it one of these days. She’s a young a girl in Champagne and above all, I hold France as the fortress. Every bit of it. It protects us. I sent Nell to Poitou for that very reason...”

“And she and her husband might find themselves greatly out should you move east, father,” the Prince cautioned.

King Arthur turned to his son with a sharp eye, “I ask your advice, Arturo, because it is your realm as much as mine. However...mayhap stick with your wife’s for the now?”

The Prince stood taller, “I do, father. It may seem self-serving, but the threat from the highlands remains always. Much can happen in the Empire but you have built so much as you have pushed far to Ireland and beyond. I believe the Lord Marshal is correct. The Breton threat remains in both Ireland and France.”

“My Lord Prince speaks it true, Your Grace,” Anselm added, “If trouble there be in the Empire...then more will come. It always does. And it remains vast, no matter the strength we hold.”

The King showed a small laugh as he moved to his grandson by the fire, “It appears that I am outnumbered, lad? What think you of that?”

The youngest Arthur shrugged his shoulders with a shy grin and caused the King to laugh even more, “Then very well! You and I shall go and conquer some sweet meats and let these two figure it out, eh?”

Leaving them no chance to respond, King Arthur had swept his grandson into his arms and left the solar. Anselm smiled at first before turning to the Prince, “You know he holds wish to the Empire.”

“I do, sir,” Prince Arthur showed caution in his eyes, “Yet...I think it not yet time for his next adventure there.”

“He will take Reims eventually,” Anselm replied with familiarity, “You know it as much as I. He will take any and every land he desires.”

The Prince looked to the Earl with appreciation, “We have grown closer, my Lord. And I am thankful for it. I shall need a man such as you as my father held Lord Amedee...”

“Do you think him too old for it?” Anselm asked with some incredulity to his mind.

“Not at all, my Lord Anselm...” the Prince attempted to explain.

Anselm pushed, “Then why do you wish him to take more from your wife...from Scotland? You know well that if he pushed north, eventually he will surround her...and your son.”

“It will all come to my Arthur in the end,” the Prince answered with a sharp eye, “And I only do what I must. You need to trust me on this, Anselm of Gwynedd. You have proved a good friend...to my father and now to me. I cannot tell you why...I just...I think father should continue north.”

The Earl gave nod as if he understood, “For your Queen’s protection.”

“Indeed so, my Lord,” the Prince wavered a bit but returned the nod, “For Maud’s protection.”

 

[Nikolai]

Knowing neither younger Arthurs are wont to survive for long, this happy scene is making me sad...

 

[Bullfilter]

You play it well, no matter the hints (and prophetic dreams), the characters don’t know they’re doomed, and must be written as if they do indeed survive to in herit. But @stnylan is right, it is sad to be aware they will (presumably) fall sooner than their patriarch.

So, another imperial entanglement beckons ... or does it?

 

[stnylan]

There is a grimness here as @Nikolai says

And a decided touchiness on Grandfather Arthur. A guilty conscience no doubt

 

[coz1]

Fb-fb:

Knowing neither younger Arthurs are wont to survive for long, this happy scene is making me sad...

There is that but it is getting to that point that will be the challenge. Also...I said some of it was true. Not all. I can't tip my hand any more than I have done, but...

You play it well, no matter the hints (and prophetic dreams), the characters don’t know they’re doomed, and must be written as if they do indeed survive to in herit. But @stnylan is right, it is sad to be aware they will (presumably) fall sooner than their patriarch.

So, another imperial entanglement beckons ... or does it?

I'm glad that you see that. I made it fairly clear about Prince Arthur in the above scene...I cannot say more about the others...but he will indeed not inherit the throne. I thought it was time to play that card and since then I have been writing as though he fears it, but all others think he most certainly will. This will continue. I have to get into their heads and each one of them surely knows that he will succeed King Arthur. From this point in the story, I have been writing the Prince as either believing it, or seeing signs that it was nothing at all. I have some fun with it in the coming chapter.

And indeed, you catch one of my feints...is it the Empire or Ireland again? Sometimes I like to include my own mind as player when asking these questions and it was prime territory to go for at the time. You will find out soon enough which way I go.

There is a grimness here as @Nikolai says

And a decided touchiness on Grandfather Arthur. A guilty conscience no doubt

The grimness comes in the knowing, I expect. The scene itself was rather jovial, I thought. Questioning (especially on the Prince's part) but happy. Is King Arthur touchy? Surely. After all...he's conquered Ireland, but only half of it. He gets chance to see his son and grandson...which happens rarely. He's in a good mood...and when is the last time we've seen that? Does he have a guilty conscience? He likely should...but does he?


To all - I'll admit that moving from chapter 7 to 8, I was unsure of the proper sequence. I built the end of chapter 7 showing "all happy families" so to speak and then wanted the big reveal at the end, but briefly considered moving the Prince scene to start this one. I think it works better this way, but as always, you readers are the better judge as I have no other true editors. I originally envisioned the above scene as the Prince fretting about his worry and supposed fate, but as I wrote, it turned into this. It always does.

I'm happy to get into what the prophecy might be, if it is a thing at all, if anyone wishes to discuss it. Until then, I will happily write along and assume it all works together. Chapter 8 deals with his response and ends on a rather tragic note. That's why I wanted this scene of happiness (true or not) to come in between. When we are done here, I promise to give a longer statement about the entire process, but there is reason I wished to write this particular part of the story. Queen Mary was fascinating and so too, Queen Anne. Yet their reigns were, dare I say, typical of their ability. Arthur's story showed to me something far more interesting.

I hope to get the next scene up tomorrow and for those wishing to know, I've already finished chapter 8. I hope another set of cracking scenes and that I will have you all along for the ride. Thank you to those reading and most especially, to those giving comment! I've been around for awhile...this full story has been around for awhile...it's easy to assume it has a following (which it does.) I am grateful for all votes given to my work in the ACAs and yearly contests, but what means the most is the response to the latest posted chapter. For seventeen years, the first thing I do when I visit the forum is see..."who read what I just wrote?" That you comment let's me know that you did. From much experience here, I am certain that I am not alone.

 

[coz1]

​

The Song of Wessex​

* * *

Cupar, Scotland - January 1324​

“You look...pensive, sire,” Prince Duncan suggested as he entered the solar to find the English Prince staring into a roaring fire in the hearth, “Does something trouble you, Arthur?”

He was absent minded and it took a moment for him to register the words before turning, “Lord uncle? I…did not hear you come in.”

“Well that’s obvious,” the Scots Prince grinned, “And how many times must I tell you, sir? We stand on far less ceremony here to Scotland. If I may call you by your Christian name, please do the same for me. I’m not your uncle. Merely Duncan, if you please. What troubles you? Still worried about Maudy?”

Prince Arthur showed a slim smile, “I am sure she’ll be fine. A bit weak from the birth but she gains her strength.”

“My goodness...” Duncan grinned as he took a chair next to Arthur, “...most new fathers would be overjoyed by a new son. Yet you look as if to see the reaper. I hope you know that you may speak your mind to me.”

“You take good care of Maud and I am thankful for it...Duncan,” Arthur replied with trepidation, “Yet...I suppose I expected something different.”

Duncan laughed, “I surely hope not something worse! It’s Scotland, laddie. We take fine pride that every great now and then something good happens.”

“No...of course,” Arthur answered quickly, “Little Reginald is perfectly healthy and Arty and Ava are over the moon for him. I just...well, I think Maud mayhap wished another girl.”

“Nonsense, sir,” Duncan grinned, “No Scots family is complete without two sons to battle each other. You’ll have to watch those two as they grow.”

Now Arthur laughed, “I suppose you would know well about that.”

“Know it I do, laddie,” Duncan stood to pour them both a drink, “I’ve just come from a meeting with my nieces who beg of the Queen to release their father. Mary and Annabella are right pretty things and I hated that I must say again nay to them...yet we both know that Maudy won’t do it and right on her for it. Gilbride is a beast and can only be controlled if he is chained.”

Prince Arthur showed question in his eyes, “Do you not feel poorly for him...your brother?”

“Of course I do,” Duncan returned and handed the Prince some ale, “He’s my kin. Yet he wished others dead. Also my kin. How do you square that circle, eh? You come from Wessex. I imagine you know a thing or two about that.”

“I’m not so fully invested in our family ways,” Arthur turned back to the fire.

Duncan questioned him, “You’re not? Just come back from your father, haven't you? Surely he’s got something new cooked up...something else to ruin our lives?”

“That’s unfair,” Arthur turned to him with a stern look.

“Ach! I know it,” Duncan grinned as he sipped at his drink, “Old habits and all...can’t be helped. We’ve developed quite a long history now...England and Scotland. It’s to be expected.”

Arthur softened, “I argued in favor of Maud...as always.”

“So you did argue?” Duncan asked with a skewed brow, “About what?”

With a sigh, the English Prince turned back to the fire, “My father holds grand schemes to the east. He will never be done to the Empire.”

“Could have fooled me,” Duncan laughed, “Given that he’s spent the better part of the last decade in and amongst us here...I never thought your father to be a poor planner but if he’s wanting the Empire, he’s looking in the wrong place.”

Arthur turned to him again with an earnest face, “Lord Anselm and I both counseled that Moray is the key.”

“There’s no Imperial palace here, sir,” Duncan jested.

“It is for Maud, Duncan,” Prince Arthur pressed, “She’s not safe as long as the highland chiefs hold away from her. There is not but one man that can do it...”

Duncan gave nod, “Your father...I know. I argue it myself, but I think Maudy gets tired of it. She loves you, laddie...but she’s afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” the English Prince questioned with concern.

“That you’ll become your father...” Duncan replied with a serious eye, “...and all that comes with it.”

Arthur turned back to the fire with determination, “I’m not my father.”

“No...” Duncan agreed, “...yet you’ve a right streak of him in you. I’ve watched you, laddie. I’ve seen you grow. You change...as we all do...but there remains a singular focus to you. Just like dear old papa.”

“My focus is on Maud...and my son,” Arthur argued.

Duncan smiled, “And now you’ve got two.”

“Yes...” Arthur looked to the flames, “...I do.”

“You’ve got more than that,” Duncan produced a letter from his sleeve, “I guess you and your Lord Anselm were persuasive. Should have lead with this, mayhap...but your father is again to war.”

​

“Not to Reims?!” Arthur turned with a grave concern.

Duncan backed away as he handed him the letter, “Easy, sire. I only give the word. And it’s to Ulster to throw these highlanders from Ireland.”

“Why did you not seek me out with this, uncle?” a voice called from behind them and Maud stood holding her newborn son, “Have I not a right to know that my husband is soon off to war once more?”

“I thought you still abed, Maudy,” Duncan stood and kissed her before winking at the baby, “And look at the little cherub. I think he favors you, my Lord Prince.”

Maud ignored him and looked to her husband, “What does the letter say, Arthur?”

“As your uncle says,” Arthur stood and went to her side, “My father makes war with Moray over Ulster. He’s raised his armies and expects to be in the field by the spring.”

She looked to him with a sad eye, “And you with him?”

“Nay, sweet dove,” Arthur replied, “He asks no thing of me. Rather...it is to you.”

“He wishes Scotland to join him?” Maud asked knowing the answer.

Arthur gave nod, “It’s true.”

“You don’t have to join him, Maudy,” Duncan suggested, “It’s his war. Let him fight it. You’ve just had a child and we’re barely done with our last war.”

Maud looked past him and to her husband, “No uncle. I do. My Arthur fights for me and not his. He proves it now.”

Prince Arthur smiled to her, “I pressed for you, sweet dove. He listened.”

“Then it will be worth it,” she smiled back before looking to Duncan, “Call for Lord Brice, uncle. Have him raise the levies. We are once more to war.”

​

* * *

Downpatrick, Ireland - May 1324​

“Dear Lord, our Father...hear us as we plead...” King Arthur spoke softly as he knelt at the altar, “...allow me to be Your righteous hand and smite the evil foes of Your grace and benevolence. Forgive me of my sins...or hold them not to me until the glorious day when I come to meet You. I long for it, oh mighty Lord...but not yet. I have so much more to do...”

Heavy steps echoed throughout the ruined Cathedral, which really was no more than a glorified Abbey wrecked by years of war and an earthquake some fifty years prior. The King crossed himself and turned to see the portly Earl Laurence waiting patiently, “My Lord Earl...I hope that you are not a man for stalking for I doubt that you could sneak up on a roebuck if you tried.”

Earl Laurence grinned, “Stealth is not suited to me, Your Grace. Besides...I rather like my feasts that others provide.”

“Then I think perhaps to catch you some wild beast while to Ulster,” King Arthur answered as he stood and joined his Earl, “I’ve seen many to my time here to northern Ireland and you may feast for days.”

“As always, sire...you are most generous,” the Earl replied and gestured for the doors to the Cathedral, “And I am sorry to interrupt, but your son the Prince awaits you to your tent.”

The King showed surprise, “Arturo? What does he do here? I’ve not called for him.”

“No, Your Grace...” the Earl answered, “...it is the Prince Eadgar.”

Arthur immediately took strides to find his tent as the portly Earl struggled to keep up, “He arrived just some time ago, sire. He waits with Sir Guy at the now.”

“A good man, your Guy,” the King walked with purpose, “Pleased am I that you gave him recommendation. We are always in need of good fighting men and he proves a natural leader.”

The Earl was growing out of breath, “I thought you might appreciate him, sire. He comes from Dundalk and so knows well these lands of Ulster.”

“With the Bretons joining the war, we can use all the help we can get,” Arthur answered as he moved through the camp and spied his tent, “Yet see that my sons bags are not unpacked, my Lord. He shall not stay long.”

​

The Earl stopped and gave bow, “As you wish, Your Grace.”

The King turned his attention to the tent and entered with an attempt to smile, “Eddy...a fine chance to see you. Yet...what do you do to here?”

“You did not waste time, father,” Eadgar stood and greeted the King with warmth, “When I heard that you were back to Ireland for another gain, I came straightaway.”

Arthur looked on his son for a moment with a perplexed eye but then turned to the knight, “Sir Guy...thank you for making my son comfortable. The Lord Earl Laurence is seeing to my son’s mount. Please have it ready to leave.”

The knight offered a quick bow and left the Prince to question, “But why, father? I come to help. Arty has always marched with you before in Ireland and now that he is seeing to his new son to Cupar, I thought...”

“You did not think,” the King answered his son quickly and with a sharp eye, “Had I wish for you, I would have called for you. I would hold you to Briefne where I have placed you...and with your Lady wife.”

“Berchte is well, father,” the Prince replied with impatience, “And I am no young boy anymore. I can fight.”

Arthur sighed as he looked on his youngest son, “I do not wish you to fight. I hold over ten thousand men to northern Ireland where there is no real fight. The soldiers of Moray are to Scotland where Lord Anselm bears the burden. This is naught but long sieges and boredom...and no place for you.”

“Should I not have chance to see that for myself?” Eadgar asked almost as a plea.

The King unbuckled his sword and placed it to his cot before turning with his own plea, “No, you should not. I am sorry, Eddy, but I cannot risk it. This fool of Moray has called in his Breton allies and if you see action, it may well be to your Earldom. You should be there and ready to protect your wife...your peoples. I need you not.”

That comment stung the Prince, “I have worth, father!”

“Of course you do,” Arthur stepped to his son, “And it is with your wife. Has she found herself with child yet?”

“She...” Eadgar was reluctant to answer, “...does not care for my bed.”

The King waved it away as he found a map, “Then you must make her. Your maman and I were never fast friends but we found five children together. That is your duty and no other.”

“Then I am destined to be no thing but a spare...for the rest of my life?” Eadgar questioned with dejection.

Arthur raised his eye with a stern look, “I’ve no time for this, Eddy. My Lord Marshal is in the fight of his life to Aberdeen I am told...and with the full brunt of highland force to him. I find claim on Sens and look to my objective there. I’ve called up the Lords of France and have sent word to Lord Baudouin to take charge there and see the Bretons put low. All of these things are on my mind. I am fighting a far flung war, Eddy. I need not fight with you as well.”

The Prince stood taller, “So I am shuttled off to Briefne and for you, that is made well?”

“Yes!” Arthur suggested with impatience, “What more would you have me do?”

Eadgar pleaded once more, “You might allow me my place as you did for Arty!”

With another sigh, the King held to his son’s shoulder, “Your brother holds Scotland at the now. In time, he will hold much more. I am sorry that my plans for you have not come off...your wife’s family being who they are...and how they are. Yet your role remains paramount! You look to me as your father, Eddy...but I was a second son. A spare as you call it. Now I am King. Do you see? Your place is in Briefne!”

“And so I am to do no thing but wait?” Eadgar asked with some anger, “Hope that something poor happens to my brother as it did yours?”

“Pray God nothing happens to your brother...” Arthur replied with a serious eye, “...and in time that I am able to reward you more. You are my son, Eddy, and I hold great care for you. Yet you must remain safe. Everything that I build...it must remain safe.”

Eadgar stared at the King for a time before giving a defeated nod, “Very well. Then I shall return to Berchte and do my duty. I wish you good fortune, father.”

“And I wish you happiness, my son,” Arthur tried to console him, “You will hold a grand place someday and stand by your brother when he needs it most. I give you Briefne to show the crown in Ireland as your brother does to Scotland. So yes...go back to your wife and find your children. Start your family as I have done and find your place there.”

The Prince was dejected but nodded once more, “I will, father. I promise.”

​

 

[Bullfilter]

A more complex war this time. Looks like Moray will be crushed in Aberdeen - it will probably break their power for years to come.

So, the Empire must wait a little longer yet - thought that might be the case. And the prophecy-dream is not quite the literal truth! They are always subject to interpretation. And like Nostradamus, the best ones are crafted to be ambiguous enough that almost any plausible outcome can be claimed as vindication!

Another son for Arty, which complicates the dream interpretation - which son did it actually refer to then? And was the reference correct - or just Arty’s subconscious fears manifesting themselves? And will there be another daughter later?

Meanwhile, with Eddy and two grandsons in the wings so far (maybe more to come if Eddy can persuade the reluctant Berchte to do her ‘duty’) there at least seem to be enough spares around even for an aged king to have at least one viable successor. Not to mention any other more distant members of the Wessex line with a valid claim to the crown.

 

[stnylan]

King Arthur is starting to treat his sons like he used to treat his wife, as things who should so as they are told instead of people containing their own wills. He has become quite the ardent solipsist.

If the scene with Eddy was rather tragic - even abusive - the scene in Scotland was altogether more heartwarming. Affection across difference, differences acknowledged and - if not precisely laid aside for good - then at least put aside in these moments. An interesting little trinity there in Scotland, Maud, Duncan, and Arturo numero duo (as it were).

 

[coz1]

Fb-fb:

A more complex war this time. Looks like Moray will be crushed in Aberdeen - it will probably break their power for years to come.

So, the Empire must wait a little longer yet - thought that might be the case. And the prophecy-dream is not quite the literal truth! They are always subject to interpretation. And like Nostradamus, the best ones are crafted to be ambiguous enough that almost any plausible outcome can be claimed as vindication!

Another son for Arty, which complicates the dream interpretation - which son did it actually refer to then? And was the reference correct - or just Arty’s subconscious fears manifesting themselves? And will there be another daughter later?

Meanwhile, with Eddy and two grandsons in the wings so far (maybe more to come if Eddy can persuade the reluctant Berchte to do her ‘duty’) there at least seem to be enough spares around even for an aged king to have at least one viable successor. Not to mention any other more distant members of the Wessex line with a valid claim to the crown.

It was indeed more complex though I surely heightened the risk of it within the later scene. Anselm's battle at Aberdeen was a larger engagement, but as I had over 10K in both Scotland and Ireland, there was never any real fear. The more troubling aspect was logistics having three major fronts. I don't recall if I knew that Brittany was an ally of Moray at the time, but I was surprised when they were called in. Not that I had trouble raising enough men to counter, but I was forced to call up quite a few more than initially expected. As seen, however, I was not lacking for leadership or numbers.

And quite so as regards the prophecy - it is indeed up to interpretation. I made it vague enough that it could represent a number of things and/or people. Some of it could be outright untrue for the future, and some exactly correct. One of the reasons I thought to include it was the myriad of ways it could be interpreted. It was fun for me to build and hopefully fun to suss out as we move along.

King Arthur is starting to treat his sons like he used to treat his wife, as things who should so as they are told instead of people containing their own wills. He has become quite the ardent solipsist.

If the scene with Eddy was rather tragic - even abusive - the scene in Scotland was altogether more heartwarming. Affection across difference, differences acknowledged and - if not precisely laid aside for good - then at least put aside in these moments. An interesting little trinity there in Scotland, Maud, Duncan, and Arturo numero duo (as it were).

I thought Duncan might gain a few fans as we moved along. He's turned into a fun little character for me. Not entirely good but not evil. True to himself, and to an extent to Maud. I needed her to have someone fully grounded in the Scots court and he seemed a natural fit. As for King Arthur - he is indeed a man of his way or none by now. Everything for his goal and nothing without. The scene with Eadgar will have bearing later on, but for now it shows both what you suggest above as well as the continued lack of issue with his wife Berchte (who many may recall prefers the ladies.) That and a somewhat ironic comparison of the 25 yr old Eddy and his father at 24 when King Ælfstan II was not inclined for his son to join in battle either.


To all - Must keep pushing forward, but thank you both for the comments! And thank you everyone who is reading. The next scene follows and ends one long-standing threat while introducing another (spoiler alert!)

 

[coz1]

​

The Song of Wessex​

* * *

Cupar, Scotland - September 1234​

Prince Arthur sat by his wife Queen Maud in the solar as they watched their older children at their tasks. Princess Aveline was now thirteen and worked with her needle as she learned the womanly arts. The younger son Arthur was nearing to eight and had been charged with learning his histories by the court tutor. The youngest Prince Reginald had already been taken up to bed and the royal couple sat in silence with a smile as they considered their family. There was another war on, but this time the Scots border seemed secure and they held their place without need to suffer.

“I am surprised, husband, that your father does not call for you,” Maud suggested with a smile as she watched young Aveline carefully make her stitches.

Prince Arthur held closely to her hand with love, “I believe him to have it well in hand, sweet dove. He did not just raise the crown levies, but so too Northumberland, Kent and my men of Lancaster. Yet he allows me to stay safely home with you and for that, I am thankful.”

“As am I,” she answered him with a grin, “It gives us chance to try for another daughter.”

Arthur held a little tighter, “So soon? We’ve the three. Is that not enough for now?”

“Do you not wish a great brood?” Maud teased with a flirtatious eye, “Your father has the five.”

“Had the five,” Prince Arthur turned his eye back to his eldest son, “And I’m not sure we need risk it with our war at the now.”

Maud showed him a quizzical brow, “Is that it...truly? Husband...you have been cagey of late. Have you had more poor dreams? Is there something you needs must tell me?”

“Of course not,” Arthur leaned over to kiss her cheek and was saved when the Lord Steward entered the solar.

“Your Grace...the Lord Prince Duncan wishes to have a word,” Thomas de Cupar suggested with a bow, “He waits without.”

Maud gave nod, “Then send him in, Lord Thomas. There are no secrets here.”

“Are you...certain, Your Grace?” Thomas asked with concern.

Prince Duncan entered the solar behind him, “She’s certain, my Lord. I’d hoped to keep this discreet...yet...it’s my brother.”

“You speak of Gilbride, sir?” Prince Arthur questioned as he stood.

“The very one, sire,” Duncan answered as he looked to Maud, “And dear niece...I’m afraid that his time is now.”

Maud stood as well and went to him, “Where is he, Lord uncle?”

“I hope you don’t mind...” Duncan took her hand, “...yet I had him moved to make him more comfortable in his last hours. Hunger and thirst are the least of his worries for he goes to God a sinful man. Yet...he remains kin to us both.”

“Of course not, uncle,” Maud held closely, “You would take me to him.”

Prince Arthur shifted to hold her arm, “Would you wish me to go with you, Maudy?”

“No,” she answered as she turned with a sweet kiss, “Stay and see after the children. I think this something I must do alone. Besides...did you not receive word from your brother today? Why not find your reply to him. He may have some nice bits of gossip about Ireland.”

Prince Arthur returned her kiss with his own, “Then take a care, sweet dove. You can trust no thing he says...your eldest uncle. Near death or no...”

“I’ll be fine,” she hugged him and then followed the Scots Prince.

Duncan led her through darkening hallways and not down but up. Finally to a circular staircase, the two reached the top finding a guard that showed the care and concern still given to this Prince and former King. Maud entered after her uncle to find a stuffy room with shutters closed and a smokey fire burning. Gilbride rested to a bed which was likely the finest sleep he had found for these last many years. Duncan pulled a chair close and then gestured, “I’ll stay if you wish it.”

“You may go, uncle,” Maud answered without taking her eyes from the man that wished her own father dead, “He is no harm to me now.”

Duncan allowed a slight bow and then rubbed her shoulder as she sat, “I’ll be right outside.”

The Queen gave nod and then pulled the chair closer. The chamber door shut behind her and she sat in silence as she looked over the prone body. Leaning in, she finally whispered, “You couldn’t even make three score, sir. Not so mighty now, are you?”

A raspy voice replied in the darkness, “Outlived your papa...didn’t I?”

“You remain spiteful,” Maud observed as she sat back, “After everything that has happened.”

Gilbride had no strength but he did his best to push up in the bed and held his tired eyes to her, “What else was I...to do? I warned...your father...little girl. He didn’t...listen. And so...we come...to this.”

“I’m no little girl anymore...uncle,” Maud straightened her back, “I am Queen, which would not be had you your way. The last many years of your life are wasted because of your acts...because you wished my father dead.”

The eldest Scots Prince closed his eyes as he thought on it, “I never...wished Ratty dead. Yet I...cautioned. Don’t fall in bed...with Satan. My mother...his own son...my son...all dead. And now...you lay abed with him...as well.”

“I share a bed with my husband...the King of Scotland,” Maud replied with a prideful tone, “We’ve three fine children to us at the now...if you’ve not yet heard. Scotland is safe and secure and devil or no, the English King sees it that way. You made your choice and I made mine. You chose poorly, uncle. And now you are to die. Have you no last confession to me? No regret?”

Gilbride struggled in his bed and tried to see her face clearly, “If I could...stand and bow to you...little girl...I would. My brother...was a fool...yet he had you. Yes...I will die. But I have no...regrets.”

“The world passes you by, sir,” Maud kept a spiteful tone, “As you have languished in the darkness of your sins, the highlanders are lessened. The King of the Isles holds little interest in Scotland. Ireland is transformed and even the Bretons look for a savior. My God...crusade is successful in Iberia and the Moors of Andalusia are on the run. All because good Christians rule and no thing like you!”

​

“You fool...yourself,” Gilbride found a wide eye, “I warned your father...and I warn...you. I was...no great King. My mother? No great Queen. Scotland...has been bereft. Mayhap...you are the one. Yet you dance...with the devil. Your son...will not be Scots. He will...be English...of Wessex. If he ever lives at all.”

Maud leaned in close, “You hold no time to make any great plan or prophecy, sir. I will bring to you a priest to help your passing, but you must at first allow me your confession.”

“I have...no confession...to make...” Gilbride struggled with his words, “...save...for my...daughter. That is all… I have left.”

“Then you prove your perfidy even now,” Maud answered him, “You shall not be shriven for you deserve it not. Had you your way, my father would have died without ever gaining his crown and...”

“The English King would see to it!” Gilbride grabbed her wrist with surprising strength, “And if you wish...apology...then for my Mary...I am sorry. Do not task her...with my sins.”

Maud wrested his hand away and sat back as she rubbed to her wrist, “If it might make you find some comfort, your daughters both have petitioned for you often. I could not grant it...would not. Yet I hold them not responsible for your actions. As Queen, I know all too well that the sins of the father are surely not to be visited upon the girl child. We have so few chances...and they are not to be squandered.”

“Then I die...in peace...” Gilbride found enough strength to look Maud square in the eye, “...knowing...that she is...safe.”

“She’s safer than you,” Maud stood and backed from the bed, “And...I am sorry that it has come to this...uncle.”

Gilbride rested his head to the pillow and closed his eyes, “We...make our...beds. Scotland...England...all of us.”

The Queen resisted saying another word but crossed herself as she moved to the chamber door. She found Prince Duncan waiting as he said he would be and brushed a tear from her eye as she looked to him, “You would call for the Lady Mary. She is to Crieff, I believe. I needs must see her...and uncle...I am sorry.”

“He was not, Maudy,” Duncan gave nod, “But I thank you.”

Maud held to his arm for a moment before turning to him with a sad eye, “Bury your brother, uncle. We are not quite done with the past...but we hold for ourselves the future. Whatever that may be.”

​

 

[stnylan]

Maud does see things with a very clear eye.

It is remarkable, in its way, how ineffectual Gilbride is. He makes an interesting contrast with King Arthur. One is a power indeed, the other impotent, and yet both are remarkbly self-centred and incapable of acknowledging that there might even be another view of things. They are alike - perhaps why Gilbride recognised King Arthur for what he was and has become - he saw himself.