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Thread: La Fleur et L'épée: SS6.4 France

  1. #1
    Axis Sunsoar's Avatar Domesticus
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    Default La Fleur et L'épée: SS6.4 France

    A couple confessions: I was planning on my next AAR being a Thrones of Britannia playthrough, and I was planning on my next writing project being a Creative Writing piece, but Thrones still seems a long way away, and Creative Writing is much more mentally taxing so its taking longer to get that where I want it, so as a brain relaxation technique, I have created this thing you see before you, where a game has set up my characters, setting and plot quite nicely for me.

    This will not be an excruciatingly well-revised, carefully planned-out story, its more of a write it as I go and have time for it thing, when I need to take a break from other stuff. Hopefully I can still turn it into an enjoyable reading experience as well.

    Without further ado, here is the prologue. It's not exactly the prologue I wanted, but it was the best thing I could come up with that did what I wanted it to:


    Prologue:
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    “The night that had settled over the town of Blaye seemed unusually dark on All Hallow’s Eve of the Year of Our Lord 813.Heavy cloud cover had blocked out the light of moon and stars that would typically have provided some light, even so late in the night. Around midnight,the blackness spit out two hooded figures riding hard who made their way toward the basilica. They dismounted at the door, stopping only briefly to tie the horses loosely before sweeping through the great double doors together. When their hoods were removed, both were revealed to be men of long white hair and beard. One of them carried his warrior’s frame straight, and was much taller and broader than the other. He walked with an imperious gait, save for the subtle dragging of his right foot with each stride he took. The other man shuffled along, the difference in their heights accentuated even further by his stooped posture as he trailed his comrade. Together the two elderly men made their way to the far end of the Basilica and descended down the steps located to the right of the altar.


    They emerged in a mausoleum, surrounded on all sides by stone tombs, and the visages of the men contained in those tombs. Together they made their way through the maze of tombs until they found one that bore the likeness of a bearded warrior, clasping a horn. Together they stopped, and looked down at the relief carved into the tomb for a moment. Then, with strength belied by his age, the warrior dragged the slab from the tomb and looked down at the bones inside, still clutching the split halves of an ivory horn. He drew his sword from its sheath, and examined the long, honed blade semi-consciously caressing the gold hilt with his other hand. He turned at last to his companion. “You are sure that now is the time, Tilpin?” His withered companion nodded gravely. “Yes, my emperor. When you return to Aachen tomorrow,it will be for the last time. You shall not leave again.”

    “So be it. 71 years is a long time to live. 45 years a long time as a king. And the 13 years as an emperor have seemed the longest of all.”Charlemagne, for so the aged warrior was, turned and smiled sadly down into the coffin. “Roland my friend, it has been far too long.”


    For a moment, he was overwhelmed as a tide of memories swept over him, himself riding proudly astride Tencendur, at the head of a colorful cavalcade of triumphant troops. They had just ridden on campaign through Spain and found themselves unopposed, Charlemagne’s reputation conquering for them,as all the fortified cities they encountered offered unconditional surrender and the Frankish army was still unharmed as it returned back over the Pyrenees in high spirits. And then the horns had sounded, the shouting had begun and the screams had followed, and above it all, the trumpeting of that ivory horn. The column had wheeled about but in the narrow mountain pass they were through it took time. Too long. By the time Charlemagne arrived in force upon the battlefield, their foes had melted back into the forests and hills, and almost his entire vanguard lay slain upon the field. Roland was one of the last bodies he had found, buried so deep as he was in the corpses of his slain foes, his horn cloven in his grasp, his blade, in a titanic final feat, buried deeply in the face of the cliff he had fought against, as he was unwilling to see it passed to his foes.


    Now, Charlemagne found himself staring at the same horn, in the grip of the same man, but he was only bones now. “I hope you will have a better legacy in legend than I was able to grant you through my lifetime,” he whispered to the bones that were left of his friend. He slowly lowered his bared blade into the coffin beside the body before leaning his weight behind the slab to slide it once more into place. “I wish you had lived to see my coronation day. My real coronation. Not as King of the Franks, not as King of the Lombards but as Emperor of Rome. The Pope himself rested that jeweled crown upon my head, at a great ceremony which almost caught me by surprise as part of a Mass which he held in my honor. It would have been an even better reign with you still at my right hand, leading my armies. Alas that it was not to be.”

    He turned away from the tomb, leaving bishop Tilpin to lay a hand on the stone and offer a prayer: “May this blade remain here, guarding the rest of the Frank’s finest warrior, until such a time as another is found fit to draw it and lead the people of France to the same glory its former master brought.” Together, the two men swept out of the crypt once more, unaware of the large eyes that peered at them from the shadows, waiting until they were completely gone before disappearing into the night with the sound of soft breaths, rapidly released.



    The two men remounted their horses and rode out of the town once more, though they were many miles away from the capital at Aachen they made it there by the end of the next day, and without ever leaving the city’s walls again, took to his bed ill, and passed on by the 28th of the following January.”



    Chapter 1 - The King of France

    Chapter 2 - Conversation by Candlelight

    Chapter 3 - Ashes of an Empire

    Chapter 4 - Unexpected Guests
    Last edited by Axis Sunsoar; January 15, 2018 at 02:41 PM.

  2. #2
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
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    Default Re: La Fleur et L'épée: SS6.4 France

    Nicely done! You have got me interested in who was watching from the shadows, I wonder if someone is about to take up the legendary sword of Roland.

  3. #3
    Caillagh de Bodemloze's Avatar to rede I me delyte
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    Default Re: La Fleur et L'épée: SS6.4 France

    That is a thoroughly intriguing beginning. I want to know what happens next, now!






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    Axis Sunsoar's Avatar Domesticus
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    Default Re: La Fleur et L'épée: SS6.4 France

    Chapter 1: The King of France

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Philip I Capet had inherited the throne of France at the age of seven, ruling with his mother and Baldwin V as co-regents until his 14th birthday. From the moment he claimed sole possession of the crown he labored to expand the holdings of the French crown which had dwindled away to insignificance during the reign of his father, Henry I. For the time that Henry held the crown, lords who allegedly owed their fealty to France and the Capet line had found themselves free to serve themselves however they chose. Philip’s first action as king was to abruptly disabuse them of this notion. For some, it took little more than a royal visit, a gentle, but clear reminder that their king would be actively involved in their lives once more. Others required a bit more persuasion that they too remained vassals of the French crown.

    In time, Philip added Bourges, an important trading hub and the Vexin region to the northeast of his capital in Paris to the direct holdings of the French Crown. In addition, he was able to secure reassurances of loyalty from several of France’s most prominent nobles. The dukes of Aquitaine, Brittany, and Burgundy were quick to offer pledges of fealty, welcoming the King with grand feasts, tourneys, and spectacles. At the gates of Caen, however, they were turned away with the news that the Duke of Normandy was absent and there was no one present to receive them.

    He camped outside the imposing stronghold for several days, intending to intimidate his way into the fortress, before word arrived that sped his tour of his nation along. Richilde, the wife of Baldwin the VI, late count of Flanders, had sent urgent word that the count’s younger brother Robert had contested the county, after swearing to his brother that he would watch over his young son, Arnulf until he was old enough to rule the county in his own right. Naturally, such things could not happen within the borders of his kingdom, where the king should be the only man who determined the rise and fall of other nobles.

    Philip sent the bulk of his forces to ride against Robert and quickly ended his attempt to seize power, where conflict was met at Cassel. The battle was much more costly than anticipated, as Philip’s chosen commander lost his life, and, in an unfortunate twist of fate, one of the other lives lost in the conflict was young Arnulf’s, and Robert the Frisian was appointed Count Robert I of Flanders anyway, a count who was displeased with the king. Regardless, Philip continued to ride through his kingdom, making himself known to the peerage of the realm. It was generally agreed that he could have made great progress toward bringing France toward its former glory, except that after obtaining the tribute of the count of Anjou, he abruptly returned to Paris, and did not leave those walls for many years.


    Now, in his 48th year of age, the man who was once seen as France’s potential savior was almost too wide for his throne, which he had squeezed himself into once again, at the head at the most extravagant reception hall in his palace in Paris. His new, Catholicly unrecognized wife was ostensibly seated in the throne beside him, although the still beautiful Bertrade de Montfort’s idea of sitting involved spilling over the armrest of her chair and across the King’s left shoulder and arm as he listened to the grievances his subjects brought before him, dispensing judgement, punishments, and reparations as he saw fit, while she giggled and praised his decisions.

    As he dismissed the minor noble who had brought the most recent complaint against him, two guards, unfamiliar to the king personally but in royal livery, dragged farmer from the region surrounding Paris was dragged forward followed by a young man whose fine cloak and confident stride suggested wealth, but were not that of a lord. “A merchant then,” Bertrade murmured into his ear. Once again, Philip found himself smiling languidly, pleased at how her thoughts always seemed to follow his own. She really was the best choice he had ever made.

    The merchant bowed deeply, then rose to his feet and seemed prepared to stop, but as his eyes rose to the kings face he stuttered and stopped, looking somewhat wary and unsettled. A whisper crept into his ear once more: “You’re leering at the poor man darling.” The King let the smile drop from his face, trying to appear instead open and show the man that he was listening.

    The merchant began again, “Your Majesty, this man is responsible for one of the many farms which raise the sheep that I require for the wool which I trade to Spain and to the British Isles and once shipped across the Mediterranean to Italy except that I no longer have access to a Mediterranean route. Recently this man was heard complaining that everyone who labored to gather the wool were being… insufficiently compensated. Next time I came to gather for my shipments, all of the sheep were shorn, and the wool nowhere to be found. At first, no one seemed to have any clue where six hundred bales of wool had gotten to. However, after a bit of… persuasion, I was able to discover that this man is responsible for plotting and leading them in concealing it. I demand that he be punished.” He knelt once more before the king.

    Philip lazily extended a finger and beckoned his chancellor to him. “Francis,” he mumbled, “why must I, a king, sit and hear the demands of the commonfolk?”

    “This ‘commoner’ is one of France’s foremost merchants and traders, and, in fact, he has a royal commission to trade with other countries on France’s behalf. It would be wise to listen to him and treat him with respect.”

    “A royal commission? I certainly awarded no such position, nor signed any such document.”

    “I believe it was your son who appointed him, majesty, and he has in fact proven worthy of the honor, since he has done much to bolster France’s treasury substantially, and has also acquired timber for our ships, additional food and weapons to supply our armies, even luxury goods like that fine silk that your, ah, wife, is dressed in.”

    The brief hesitation did not go unnoticed by the king, but it would go uncommented on, for now, though he did wonder why he kept the man around.

    The aforementioned wife took the opportunity to add her voice to the conversation; “Darling, we clearly owe this man much, perhaps we, you, should pay him some heed.”

    Philip turned back to the merchant now kneeling before him. “What is your name my good man?”
    “Jacob Bonet, your majesty.”

    “A Jew then?”

    “A Radhanite, your majesty,” Francis informed him. A helpful man, Francis. No doubt why he kept him around.

    “I hadn’t realized they still did any business.”

    “Most don’t. Since the rise of Italy’s mercantile states the majority of them were killed, driven into hiding, or bankrupted. However, your son has seen fit to place some measure of trust in this man and it has been repayed many times over.”

    “Very well. Jacob, I hear you have served your country with distinction, and therefore this man shall be cast into the royal dungeon and you shall have the full use of my interrogators to discover where this wool may have disappeared to. It will be found and gathered and you may ship it off and continue to serve the crown.”

    “Thank you your majesty,” the merchant said, rising to his feet and preparing to leave the hall, “I hope to continue to serve the crown to the best of my capabilities. As he began to walk out of the hall, the peasant still groveled on the floor, seeming frightened, by the sentence he had just heard, but unimpressed by the majesty of his surroundings. The king contemplated the unfortunate thief for a brief moment before his interest was piqued by something the merchant had said earlier. “Jacob?” he called out, and the young man turned around inquisitively, “what is it that is preventing you from reaching the Mediterranean with your goods?”

    A flicker passed across the young man’s face. It almost seemed to be relief, but that would be absurd, and it was gone before the king could really decipher it. “Ah, that would be the counts of Provence and Toulouse, your majesty, who have decided that I should no longer have access to any of the ports within their territories. In fact, no one considered an agent of the king is welcome within their borders for any sort of business these days.”

    “Are they now? Perhaps I shall have to see what can be done about that as well.”

    “That would be… most appreciated your majesty.” With another deep bow he departed from the chamber, leaving the two guards to drag the farmer from the room behind him as yet more supplicants came forward to take the merchant’s place, but the king’s mind stayed on the merchant’s words. If his subjects were showing such open disdain for the crown, it meant he was becoming no better than his father before him. The father who had lost almost all the crown’s power, and made the name Capet a joke among the nobles of the realm.

    Perhaps, if he had not been so preoccupied by this thought he would have considered, for a moment, what a bizarre case this had been. Wondered, perhaps, about the absurdity of peasants stealing that much wool successfuly. Questioned, maybe, why anyone, even a prevalent merchant, would have been allowed to bring such a trifling matter before the king of the realm. But the merchant’s last note about the dissent in his southern territories, and
    his own musings about his legacy and his father's, echoed in his mind, too loud for such other thoughts to surface.


    Last edited by Axis Sunsoar; December 17, 2017 at 02:04 PM.

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    NorseThing's Avatar Primicerius
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    Default Re: La Fleur et L'épée: SS6.4 France

    A great start. I will to not even knowing about this group or clan of Jewish merchants. For others who want to know there is this wiki article: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Radhanite

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    McScottish's Avatar The Scribbling Scotsman
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    Default Re: La Fleur et L'épée: SS6.4 France

    Ah, this takes me back...to when I and others used to write AARs; very, very good stuff, Axis. Can't wait to see where the trail leads.

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    ♔atthias♔'s Avatar dutch speaking
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    Default Re: La Fleur et L'épée: SS6.4 France

    I like this especially the fact that philip seems to be slipping back into its fathers dependency
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    Default Re: La Fleur et L'épée: SS6.4 France

    I agree, this is very good!

  9. #9
    Axis Sunsoar's Avatar Domesticus
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    Default Re: La Fleur et L'épée: SS6.4 France

    In an effort to keep up with my regular once-a-week Sunday posting schedule, I have taken five minutes out of my day to copy-paste from a word document, even though it's Christmas Eve. I know, what a tragic hero I am.

    Chapter 2: A Conversation By Candlelight

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Late in the evening, the day of his meeting with the merchant, Philip reclined in the royal bedchambers, his concerns still churning through his mind, he turned to Bertrade. “Is it possible?” he demanded, “that my own lords stand in outright disregard, no, opposition to, my orders? Is it possible that I have become as weak a on the throne as my father was? That my presence is hardly felt beyond walls of my royal city?”

    “My dear,” she reached out, trailing a finger down his cheek, neck, and then onto his chest, “you shouldn’t say such things. You are a good king. A strong king. A king chosen by God.”

    Philip rolled away from her abruptly and sat up on the edge of the bed, staring blankly into the darkness beyond the light of the candles still ignited on the bedside table. “Do not talk to me of God and his will.” He spat, though any venom in the words seemed lessened by the hollowness in his voice.
    “The will of God also dictates that we should be apart. At least if Ivo, the good Pope, and all his other messengers here on earth can be believed.” He turned to her, pain and anger warring in his eyes, wearing a plaintive expression on his face. “My love for you has cost me the support of Vatican, and the respect of many of my own people. God is no good to me if he will not let us be together, and I want his will to be no part of my kingship.”

    “Then rule by your own will.” Bertrade crawled towards him and put a soft, small hand on his shoulder. “You still have my love, and the love of our children, and you can show your people that you don’t need God’s will behind you to be an effective King.”

    “You mean…?”

    “Whatever it takes. Remember the first twenty years of your reign, as you rode all about the kingdom and drew all of the nobles back to you that your father had lost? By whatever means they required?”

    “I would never even have stopped that particular course of action if I didn’t run into someone at the court of the Count of Anjou that put my mind quite firmly on other things.” He murmured, as a hint of a smile crossed his face.

    “Mmm, I wonder who that was.” The former wife of Fulk D’Anjou giggled as she snuggled closer to the King of France. “I do apologize for distracting you all those years your majesty, but,” she paused to plant a gentle kiss behind his ear and let out a smoky laugh, “I certainly don’t regret it.”

    Phillip allowed the threatening smile to overtake his face, resignedly, “I don’t regret it either my dear, not a moment of it.” He did not, however, respond to her other advances, as their conversation had shifted his mind far from pleasure for the night. Instead after planting a brief kiss on her cheek he stood, pacing about the room shirtless, exposing what once was a warrior’s body, now softened by age, and underuse. “Even if I could bring my nobles back into the fold regardless of my excommunication, I don’t think at my age, in my form, that I should be traipsing the length and breath of my kingdom to challenge my nobles, let alone go to war with them if it comes to that.”

    Bertade, who had settled back on the bed with a small pout as he walked away, drew herself up and rushed across to Phillip, grabbing his hand, “War is not the only way, Phillip, you certainly wouldn’t have to be alone! I know this betrayal is fresh, or at least the knowledge of it, and I am sure it hurts to think that you might have lost your nobles, but I promise you are not completely abandoned.”

    He turned to her, his other hand wrapping about hers, “Yes, of course. I can send for Louis. It’s about time I involve him in the government of this nation. I fear he has grown lazy at court and he does have all of these ideas in his head of France and it’s glory, why not let him help realize these ideas? It will be his before too long after all.” Bertrade’s grip on his had went limp and she seemed upset. “Come dear, we cannot pretend that I will live forever, especially not the way I have completely ignored my health since returning to court with you.”

    “I know my dear, but it’s not just that. You have other sons too, you know, sons who would also be happy to help their father, and it would be good to expose them to some of the country’s nobles as well, let the people of this country know how proud you are of all your children, it could just as easily be one of their countries too, before too long after all.”

    Phillip frowned gently at her, “Bertrade, I know you love our sons greatly, and I know you would love to see one of them take the throne after me, despite the presence of my older son, Louis,” he looked toward her meaningfully as he delivered this reminder, “but in the eyes of the church, and many of my people, they are not even legitimate children due to the… circumstances of our union. They are not likely to be accepted by the people or the nobles of the country. And even if the circumstances of their birth were not what they are, the nobles of the realm love Louis, he is the picture of chivalry, a perfect gentleman in court, a good catholic, and quite the skilled competitor in both the tilt and the melee.” He was not entirely able to keep the pride out of his voice when he described the strong, ambitious lad who reminded the king so much of his own youth, which did not go unnoticed by Bertade.

    “It would be next to impossible for me to declare Phillip heir and bypass Louis, and it would still be an uphill battle for either of them to take the crown even if something… untoward, should happen to Louis,” He released her hand and stepped back to draw himself to full height as he addressed the woman he saw as his wife, “so I would strongly discourage you taking any part in trying to help them along in that way.”

    “Phillip!” She recoiled from him in shock, “you cannot possibly be suggesting I would harm Louis in any way! I love the boy, admittedly, perhaps not as much as my own children, but that is only to be expected, I would never do anything to hurt him. It only seems that perhaps one of our sons would be a better choice if France is to survive into the future. Phillip may not be the warrior his brother is, but his political acumen is unmatched, and Fleury is becoming a talented warrior in his own right who could serve his brother’s military needs. Louis, capable as he may be, is just one man, but between our two sons France could be governed with twice the effectiveness, with a king to focus on the matters of court and a Marshall to maintain the military. It might mean a golden age for this kingdom, and it would be your legacy.”

    “Ah my dear Bertrade,” Phillip sighed, moving closing the distance between them again to grasp her hands, “I am sorry for what I said, I know you would not hurt Louis. I wish it were so simple. I know how much you love our children, and I am sure they would make wonderful rulers of this kingdom when I am gone, but Louis will succeed me, and there is no way to change that. The sooner you accept that, the better it will be, for us and for them. I will think about what you said about bringing the boys out with me. Phillip at the very least, although Fleury may be a little young yet for such things. For now though, it is late, we should take our rest, especially if I am to begin reclaiming my kingdom tomorrow.”

    Still holding her hands, he led her back to their bed, snuffing the candles out as she nestled her head against his chest, though neither slept immediately. As Phillip directed his thoughts toward whether or not this path he had determined he should set down was even attainable, Bertrade thought about how she might still secure the future of the children of her own body on the throne of France, still preferably without harm to the current prince, who she had truly become rather fond of despite herself. Besides that, if she could somehow recruit him to her plan it would lend substantial credibility to her sons reign, since he would otherwise be a banner for their enemies to rally around. She just had to figure out how to make him agree, since she saw that there would be no convincing his father. However, even the most foreboding emotion, or the most intricate planning could not ward off the creeping fingers of sleep, and both succumbed in time.

    Meanwhile, in a small, spartan room in the central fortress of the City of Rheims, a far cry from the elaborate hall in which Phillip received his guests and held his councils, the king’s eldest son, Prince Louis, held his own court.





    Thanks for reading and commenting all!

    In particular:
    A great start. I will to not even knowing about this group or clan of Jewish merchants. For others who want to know there is this wiki article: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Radhanite
    Thanks for sharing the link, it didn't even cross my mind to clarify that particular term, but I'll definitely keep in mind for the future that certain things might need further clarification!

    Ah, this takes me back...to when I and others used to write AARs; very, very good stuff, Axis. Can't wait to see where the trail leads.
    Happy to provide some entertainment to another veteran, (based on this I take credit for the beginning of your new AAR btw)

    I like this especially the fact that philip seems to be slipping back into its fathers dependency
    Indeed, as you may read, you are not the only one to observe this

    I agree, this is very good!


    Thanks for the love Alwyn!

  10. #10

    Default Re: La Fleur et L'épée: SS6.4 France

    Your conversations are written beautifully.
    The story is good.
    I wonder if there will be rebellion or succession crisis now.
    I also noticed the fact that you take the time to reply individually to every comment for which you deserve rep.That is a very good trait.
    100% mobile poster so pls forgive grammer

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    NorseThing's Avatar Primicerius
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    Default Re: La Fleur et L'épée: SS6.4 France

    I like how we can all take the same bits of history and create such different worlds from the same limited facts. I look forward to more of your Heir. Your take on the wife of Phillip is interesting as well since you view the woman as younger (or at least my reading of you view).

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    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
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    Default Re: La Fleur et L'épée: SS6.4 France

    Good update! Like mad orc and NorseThing, I'm intrigued by the possibility of a disputed succession and by your use of history. I wonder how Prince Louis sees the situation - does he feel threatened by the sons of Bertrade (and, if so, what will he - and they - do?).

  13. #13
    Caillagh de Bodemloze's Avatar to rede I me delyte
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    Default Re: La Fleur et L'épée: SS6.4 France

    You can always be relied upon to provide us with good writing.

    This is great. I'm really enjoying the relationship between Philip and Bertrade - and other people's reaction to it. The fact that Bertrade thinks she can put a child of her own on the throne without hurting any of Philip's other children seems rather optimistic, but I like that she doesn't want to hurt them.

    I'm looking forward to finding out what's going on in Louis's court.






  14. #14
    Axis Sunsoar's Avatar Domesticus
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    Default Re: La Fleur et L'épée: SS6.4 France

    After a break for the New Year, I bring you:

    Chapter 3: Ashes of an Empire


    Author's note: In this chapter the second son of Philip I (his first by Bertrade de Montfort) is introduced, and is also named Philip, historically. However to avoid confusion I will use the naming convention set by the game, and the King will be Philip while the son is Phillipe. Enjoy!


    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Looking at Louis Capet, one would have no trouble believing he was a prince. Tall, handsome, young, and dashing, his bearing and manner was princely. His reputation was princely too, and many who didn’t even know him revered him. He stood now at the head of a simple wooden table before a gathering of other young men, of an age with himself, more or less. A map of Europe was spread across the table in front of him and he was fervently tracing a path through French territory and east. In an almost giddy, but still commanding tone he was rapidly detailing a plan to his compatriots.

    “It is absolutely imperative that we reclaim Metz before anything else. As the birthplace of the Carolingian kingdom, and by extent the empire, it shall also be the birthplace of our conquests. It is not suitable that it should be held by a man who does not consider it part of our kingdom.”

    He paused to look around the room. He had gathered a group of the brightest young members of French court, resulting in a group of nearly 20 lordlings and nobles’ sons gathered in a room just barely large enough to hold them. Many of their faces showed agreement, but on some he saw hesitation, and others seemed puzzled by his focus on the Carolingian kingdom, but none raised their voices in outright opposition. He was gladdened by the lack of dissent. It was much easier to sway an undecided mind than to override one which was already made up in some other direction.

    While he acknowledged that hesitation to contradict him could partially be attributed to his status as crown prince of France, he also knew that as long as none of them felt strongly enough to reject the theory outright, he had a chance of persuading them all to see his vision. Of course, they would be joining him in his conquests regardless of their agreement with him, as they were all jockeying for position with the future king, but he did not want to march at the head of a host of sycophants who followed him only for the position it could secure them, for such men could be swayed quickly by the opportunity for power or position to follow someone else to some other goal. Instead, the young prince truly desired to lead a group of men who shared his vision and would fight to the death alongside him to see it realized.

    “With Metz captured, we will have a front to hold against the Germans who currently lay claim to the title of ‘Holy Roman Empire,’ and reclaim the glory that rightfully belongs to France. The legacy of Charlemagne rightfully belongs to France. The Franks were his people first, long before he was ever anointed emperor, and it shall be France which once again rises to attain such great glory as he once attained!” As he paused again to cast about the room, he saw that he had garnered more support from the young nobles, and his impassioned speech of the glories of France appealed to their idealism, and the idea of adding new land to the kingdom boded well for their future standing.

    As the nobles gathered into smaller groups and began murmured conversations, Louis allowed himself to smile faintly, slumping and dropping a hand to the shoulder of the boy seated at his right, half in approval, and half to steady himself. Though Louis himself had much love for the history of his people and the legends surrounding the country, his knowledge paled in comparison to that of his half-brother, Phillipe. Practically a scholar, the younger boy had carefully studied all the recorded histories of Charlemagne, and used other texts to piece together events that may have occurred between those specifically recorded. He had served as researcher, right hand, and a driving force behind Louis’ most recent push to convince his youthful counterparts among the French nobles to join him in his quest to expand royal holdings. Occasionally, Louis thought with some bitterness that it would be better if Phillipe himself simply took charge of the efforts. It often seemed he was the true prince of the pair, noble and refined. He was still young though, and despite this rare jealousy, Louis did love his young half-brother, whom he considered a full brother in all but name.

    He leaned down to whisper, “We seem to have gained some momentum for now, but I do not know how long such an argument will hold their interest when they see the bodies of their men littering the ground, and find the money draining from their coffers.”

    “It won’t need to.” Phillipe answered simply. “It need only hold their interest long enough that they throw their weight, and that of their family names, behind your position. Once we have father convinced, the misgivings of a few minor young lords will mean little. Besides, I’m sure the thought of new lands for themselves and the favor of the future king will go a long way toward soothing the pain of such losses.”

    Louis nodded as he heard the echoes of his own thoughts in his brother’s words. “And if our efforts here are not enough to convince them to support us? Or if their support is not enough to convince father?”

    “Don’t worry too much, our plan has more layers than just this one. I’m confident that everything will come together.”

    In proof of his point, the sturdy beechwood door swung open and a young man swept in, dressed well, if somewhat plainly. He did wear a rather exceptional coat, bound at the neck with a chain of gold links. He was followed by three other men, two of them still in the livery of castle guards and the other in the trousers and rough shirt of a common peasant. The well-dressed member of the party who had entered first and seemed to be the leader of the party stepped forward as if to address the Prince, but Hugh Borel, the young heir to the Duchy of Burgundy stepped boldly into the path of the newcomers. “Men such as you are not welcome in this company,” he spat, his gaze darting between the man at the head of the company and the peasant who brought up its rear. “Why were these men allowed in?” He demanded of those who were clad as guards.

    By this point, Louis had made his way to the door, where he took up a position behind the shorter, broader lord. “Easy Hugh,” his command was gently, but carried throughout the room, and all those who had not yet become aware of the newcomers stopped their conversations and now had their attention drawn to the encounter at the door. “I have been expecting the news these men carry, I will be receiving them now in private, please,” he turned an apologetic smile to the lords who populated the rest of the room, “Our business together is at an end for the time being, and I must now be on to the next. The work of a Prince, you must understand. As always, it has been my pleasure to gather with you all.” He offered a slight bow of the head to each as one by one the young noblemen of France strode from the room. Hugh was the last to leave, turning one last spiteful look on the newcomers, and half glancing toward Louis. He knew better than to question the orders of his prince, and even if he did not, he was cowed by the older man’s stature and reputation, and so he left without another word.

    Before the last of the other lords left the room, Geoffrey d’Anjou, current co-count of Anjou, oldest son of the aging Fulk d’Anjou, Louis pulled him aside. Known as Martel, “the hammer,” the Angevin lord was massive, even compared to the impressive figure of Louis, his bright red hair sat a full head higher than Louis’ own head, and he was broader across the shoulders than the prince of France. Louis fixed the slightly older man with his bright blue eyes. “There are many disloyal lords in the northeast,” he said quietly but firmly, “not too far from those lands which you currently govern.” Geoffrey nodded, already guessing what Louis might be suggesting. Louis chose not to drag on the game. “I need someone in the east I can trust, and the lands of the dukes of Brittony and Normandy both stand outside of the crown’s authority for now. There lands are yours, and yours alone if you lead France’s armies against them when the time comes. You can leave Anjou to your father, and the younger brother he favors over you, and take lands of your own.” He extended a hand, and Geoffrey gripped it firmly with another nod and left the room.

    Phillipe then began to stand from his chair, as after watching this encounter he too prepared to leave the room, and Louis faced a momentary dilemma. He was fond of Phillipe, and his younger brother’s blue eyes always seemed guileless enough, but who could say with the eldest son of Bertrade de Montfort. He was certainly clever enough, perhaps enough to feign innocence. He had been nothing but helpful so far though, and so a wave of Louis’ hand saw that he remained seated and eagerly present. Louis himself then followed suit, easing into a chair, pushing his sword aside so it did not hinder him. He let out a deep sigh – he had remained standing throughout the council and was more than ready to take a moment of leisure. At last he turned his attention to toward the men who he had cleared the room for, but whom he had scarcely acknowledged since their entry.

    He extended a hand indicating the chairs which had, until recently been occupied by the height of French chivalry, the gentle smile he had worn since he had seen his words working on the men gathered broadening. “Jacob! It is good to see you – to see all of you, Guillaume, Michel, Dalmas – and I am glad to once again be free to spend some time among friends, all the better if it serves a purpose.”

    The young merchant accepted the invitation to sit, followed by his companions, other friends of the prince, clad according to their respective roles in the charade they had put on for the king. As he moved to a chair, Jacob feigned surprise; “You mean to say that those men you chose to spend so much time among are not those you would consider friends? But I thought it was ‘your pleasure to meet with them’!” he mimicked, fairly accurately.
    Louis could not help a small snicker escaping as he caught the gaze of the young merchant. “So long as they are in my company they are my friends. As soon as we part however, I do not look with any great fondness upon most of them, and I would suspect they share the sentiment. But you did not come to hear me mock the highborn of this land, did you? What news of your errand?”

    “Indeed I did not, but it is a rather pleasant perk of the trip. The news I bring is good, and urgent, we have ridden hard from the moment we were out of the king’s sight.”

    “Judging by your smell, I believe you fully.”

    Jacob rolled the jab away with his eyes as he pressed valiantly on, this time turning to encompass the younger Capet in his audience. “Your damned fool plan worked after all, Phillipe. For a moment it seemed as if our journey had served only to give us all a bit of practice playing before a royal audience, but eventually your father became quite interested in the fact that the lords of Tolouse and Marseilles had barred their gates to representatives of the king.”

    “Good!” the prince beamed at those gathered around the table. Phillipe turned to him earnestly with excitement, and a clear measure of pride shining in his eyes. “If father has at last been made to see the state of his kingdom it should not be long before summons arrive for you to join him in Paris, there is no doubt that he will seek your judgement and aid in such times. All we must do is wait.”

    “Indeed, little enough time now, compared to all the time I’ve already spent,” the prince whispered thoughtfully, but something the younger prince had said seemed to have drained some of Louis energy. “It’s a funny thing, isn’t it Phillipe, that father might trust my council now that he has been made to see the threat, but he has not trusted it all along as I myself have tried to reveal it to him. He only ever dismissed me as naïve, overly suspicious, and told my I was seeing demons among friends with no cause. Maybe I should have sought your help sooner,” he offered, but bitterly, as if it stung him to say so.

    In an effort to restore some levity to the conversation, he turned to his brother and offered an abrupt laugh. “This at least bodes well for the chances of all your other plans brother, perhaps I should start putting more faith in you.” Despite the jest, the mood in the room did not lighten. It seemed that the friends found little more to discuss, in the wake of the prince’s ponderings, and so wait they did.
    The wait, it happened, would last three weeks, though they felt even longer, and when at last an end came, it was not some royal messenger who brought it.




    As always, thank you to everyone who takes the time to read my work. I'd probably write anyway, but it's always more fun to know people are reading as well.

    Quote Originally Posted by mad orc
    Your conversations are written beautifully.
    The story is good.
    I wonder if there will be rebellion or succession crisis now.
    I also noticed the fact that you take the time to reply individually to every comment for which you deserve rep.That is a very good trait.
    \

    Thanks for the kind words! I've always had a ton of trouble with conversations and its taken me a lot of work to try and make them believable and enjoyable to read, so I'm glad to see that someone finds them enjoyable.
    As I write, I've always found that comments really help spur me on, and so I like to go out of my way both to leave comments on other works, and to acknowledge the comments which are left on mine, because I really do appreciate them, and I like to engage with the people who are reading my work. Unlike if I were a real author and had produced a published work, this kind of thing is a living story, and as such I've found that I can really benefit as an author when I take the time to engage with readers, understand how the material came across to them, and even see what they might be looking for in the next chapters that I can implement.

    Quote Originally Posted by NorseThing
    I like how we can all take the same bits of history and create such different worlds from the same limited facts. I look forward to more of your Heir. Your take on the wife of Phillip is interesting as well since you view the woman as younger (or at least my reading of you view).


    Indeed, when provided with such a wonderful vehicle for working in history as the TW historical titles, it really helps set up the stage and make for an interesting work to try and take advantage of all the facts there are, and then manipulate them to tell the story we want to. As it happens, I look forward to more of my heir as well
    , I have some plans for him that I hope will be enjoyable through some future chapters.
    As for Bertrade, she was in fact 18 year's Philip's junior, although as an interesting historical note she was actually about 27 years younger than her previous husband, Fulk d'Anjou, and was his fourth wife, as opposed to Philip's second.

    Quote Originally Posted by Alwyn
    Good update! Like mad orc and NorseThing, I'm intrigued by the possibility of a disputed succession and by your use of history. I wonder how Prince Louis sees the situation - does he feel threatened by the sons of Bertrade (and, if so, what will he - and they - do?).


    Indeed, hopefully some of that wondering was fleshed out in this chapter, although I did have some trouble writing this one and trying to convey what I wanted. Of course, that is far from a one-chapter question, as I intend it to be rather central to the plot as a whole! Thanks for reading!

    You can always be relied upon to provide us with good writing.

    This is great. I'm really enjoying the relationship between Philip and Bertrade - and other people's reaction to it. The fact that Bertrade thinks she can put a child of her own on the throne without hurting any of Philip's other children seems rather optimistic, but I like that she doesn't want to hurt them.

    I'm looking forward to finding out what's going on in Louis's court
    .


    You're too kind! That is a very interesting relationship dynamic, and I've found myself attempting to grasp how it might have been viewed in their time, by other's close to them, and by the country/world as a whole, which has been an entertaining challenge. I'm glad that Bertrade's character is coming across as I intended so far!
    Hopefully this last chapter has sated some of that curiosity about Louis and his pseudo-court!

    Until next time everyone, thanks again for reading, and I hope you have enjoyed the shenanigans of some young folks who've got glory on the mind!
    Last edited by Axis Sunsoar; January 07, 2018 at 05:54 PM. Reason: I never get the damn spoiler tag right the first time

  15. #15
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    Default Re: La Fleur et L'épée: SS6.4 France

    Quote Originally Posted by Axis Sunsoar
    You're too kind!
    I don't know what you mean; I'm notorious for my rudeness and lack of charm.

    And yes, it is nice to see what Louis's up to (or at least the beginnings of that). Thank you.

    This one, I think, is one of those chapters that makes you wish more had already been written, so that you can see what happens next, and how everything turns out. I'm looking forward to the next one already...


    I agree with you about comments, by the way. I find that kind of support very encouraging, and very helpful. It's always interesting to know what other people thought were the important bits of a chapter I've written - they don't always agree with me!






  16. #16
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
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    Default Re: La Fleur et L'épée: SS6.4 France

    It sounds like Louis and Phillipe are finding their studies of histories useful, in making a claim to the legacy of Charlemagne and getting support from the nobles. Phillipe seems to be confidence that they can hold onto the support of the nobles when they suffer losses - I hope their plan will work.

  17. #17
    Axis Sunsoar's Avatar Domesticus
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    Default Re: La Fleur et L'épée: SS6.4 France

    Chapter 4: Unexpected guests

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The royal procession clattered loudly through the arched gateway of Rheims in the shadow of the lofty cathedral, sending a messenger boy sprinting off toward the castle. The group made quite the presentation, prompting the inhabitants of the city to pause the day’s regular activities and gawk, as they had little opportunity to behold such sights typically. King Philip rode proudly at its head, despite his somewhat advanced age and, more of a factor, his advanced weight. Despite a weak chin, now thickened with fat, the king could still project majesty when he chose, wearing a long purple robe, lined with ermine fur at the collar and hem despite the heat, which served to conceal all his undesirable girth. At his right hand and two paces behind was Bertrade de Montfort, resplendent in a gown of white silk with a trailing cape of golden thread. She lavished in the attention of the French people, offering waves, blown kisses, and an occasional small purse of gold to the gathered populace.

    Clinging just behind his mother rode Philip’s third son, and second born of Betrade, Fleury, his wild mess of dark hair mostly hiding his pale blue eyes, which darted about eying the crowds of lowborn Frenchmen and women. Just as he was an unusual sight to them, the peasantry was also an anomaly to the youngest Capet, who had spent most of his life so far in the shelter of castles and churches. As was the custom among some later-born noble sons, his family thought to make him a priest, eventually a bishop, though the 11-year-old had not taken particularly well to the idea yet. They made their way through the town slowly, stopping at the Cathedral to pay respects to Bishop Oliver and donate alms.

    They had arrived at midday, but the casual pace of their procession meant that the sun was not far from setting by the time they made their way to the castle where Louis had made his residence for the past few months now with his pseudo-court. This delay had allowed the prince, who was out in the training yard when the watchman from the gate found him, to take a brief bath, meal and prepare a proper greeting for his father and the royal party.

    When the company at last made their way to the keep, they found Prince Louis waiting for them, in the great reception hall, with Phillipe at his right hand. A handful of the young lords whom he had been holding council with were also gathered, but he and Phillipe had been very careful with their selections. The group present had to have enough prestige to be worthy of bearing witness to the arrival of the king, but could not be so powerful that an observant visitor might begin to wonder why young men from families of such rank were present. Naturally, Jacob and his companions had been promptly sequestered in a tavern just outside of Rheims proper as soon as word of the royal arrival reached Louis’ ears. Not only were they not of proper station to attend the meeting, but there was no doubt that seeing the merchant who had prompted the king’s change of heart present in Louis’ company would raise suspicion, and that was even if he hadn’t payed enough attention to the rest of the group present and would not recognize the “guardsmen” or “peasant.”

    As he advanced towards his father and the rest of the noble visitors, he dryly pondered whether any other son in all of Christendom had ever had to put this much planning and effort into speaking with their own father. Along with the heavyset king, the visiting company included Bertrade, who stayed close to the king’s side, with Fleury close behind her. Louis was surprised but pleased to see his uncle, Hugh of Vermandois near the back of the company. Members of the family typically put effort into avoiding association with the King’s younger brother after he had returned early from the crusade, pursued by accusations of desertion and abandoning his fellow crusaders. Louis had always done his best to defend his uncle, since he was certain he had some good reason for returning home, in all ways, Hugh had always seemed the perfect knight to Louis, aside from the rumors, and for much of his youth he had idolized the older Capet, especially after his esteem for his father had faded.

    Along with the royals, there was of course an impressive gathering of nobles, likely whoever had been present at royal court at the time. The prince, by choice absent from Parisian court for several years, did not know many of them well at all, but one young lady in particular stood out to him. While it was no surprise that he would not be particularly familiar with his father’s court, he did not recognize her in the least, and she stood very far forward in the company to be some minor noble. He should at least know of anyone who was as close to the king as she evidently was, even if he had never met her.

    Louis found himself out of time to ponder this strange girl any longer as he reached the front of the company. A smile forced its way across his face as he exclaimed “father!” grasping the elder man’s hand and then pulling him into a brief embrace, perhaps slightly stiffer and colder than befitted a young man greeting his father, but enough to pass muster before the gathered lords. When he greeted the beautiful woman at his father’s side however, it was hardly warmer than ice. “Bertrade,” he intoned, as if speaking of a friend’s death. She gave him a glowing smile in return, “Louis! How wonderful it is to see you!” she swept toward him arms opening to offer an embrace of her own. Reluctantly, the prince turned his head to each side and offered his father’s bride a kiss on each cheek as she crowed, “It’s been so long since we’ve seen you at court or spoken!” as if trying to make sure all the nobles remembered the prince’s dereliction of duty.

    Louis pulled himself away as quickly as possible and finished greeting those members of the company he knew and introducing himself to the rest as the rest of his court waded in behind him, with greetings and introductions of their own. At last, Louis had made his way through the peak of French society, having exchanged at least a few brief words with everyone in the party. All but one anyway. As found himself becoming impatient, anticipating the start of the planning, he had only yet to make an introduction to the strange girl. Before he could, his father’s voice at last rang out. “I am sure you wonder why such a host of nobles has descended upon you my son,” he said, with a bright, fond smile for his eldest. Louis hated that. He hated his father’s smiles and pride and caring demeanor; it made him feel guilty that he could not reciprocate the love his sire felt towards him.

    “Louis, this is the Princess Ragnhild Svenson, daughter of the King of Denmark, and soon to be the newest member of our household as your bride.”
    Already anticipating his words, Louis began to talk as his father finished, “I am certainly glad that you have finally come around to-” Louis stopped short. He had anticipated incorrectly. He recovered with as much grace as he could, his long strides quickly closing the distance between himself and the petite girl. The closer he drew to her, the smaller she seemed to shrink before him, and when he finally stood in front of her and took her hand with a flourish, he had to bow nearly as far as he could with grace to bring his lips to it. Since he had first begun growing to full manhood, he had been flirting with ladies common and highborn alike, but presented so abruptly with this woman he was now told was to be his bride, he that he found himself unable to conjure anything glib to say. Nor, he realized, did he want to. Instead, he looked at the girl with what he hoped was kindness in his eyes and spoke softly: “It is an honor to make your acquaintance, my lady, and I look forward to growing to know you more.”
    She offered him a shy, but sweet smile, and stumbled through what he assumed was some greeting or pleasantry in heavily accented French. Between the mangled pronunciation and soft pitch of her voice, he could not understand her words, but he had no desire to embarrass her, so he merely stepped back and returned a smile of his own.

    Briefly, Louis felt an unfamiliar tenderness and a sense of peace that was not present in the life he was used to. It was a strange, alien sensation brought about by this delicate flower which had somehow sprung up in the harsh lands to the north. He severed the moment abruptly as he whirled about to face his father, struggling to keep himself restrained. Regardless of how lovely this new bride seemed, he still had reason to be upset. “This comes as quite a surprise to me father. I suppose I would have expected this topic to be broached at some point before I was ambushed with it,” he spat with thinly veiled venom, adding, “not an issue, of course, just a thought,” unconvincingly. The gathered nobles shuffled uncomfortably at the tirade, but Philip, either unaware or refusing to acknowledge his son’s discontent, smiling benevolently, “Well Bertrade and I figured that perhaps we would surprise you.” Louis eyes slid briefly across to his father’s second bride. Her involvement did not surprise him at all. She would probably think it a perfectly wonderful idea.

    He nodded tersely, as close to accepting the thin justification as he would come, as his father began speaking once more. “Our kingdom is fractured, Louis-”
    “As I have tried to tell you several times now.”

    His father ignored him: “Our kingdom is fractured, and my crown – our crown – is weakened. In order to address this, I have contacted the rulers of several other kingdoms, pursuing alliances and productive matches, and I have arranged for both you and Constance to tie us to some of the land’s other great powers. The lovely Princess Ragnhild has of course been good enough to join us here, and as soon as your sister arrives and is prepared, she will be embarking on the journey to Portugal to be wed to the young son of King Afonso. Naturally, she will be allowed to stay long enough to witness your wedding.”

    “My wedding?”

    Bertrade cut in smoothly, her light girlish voice dancing through the room. “Of course darling, that is how these things work you know. Once you are betrothed, marriage tends to follow. And seeing as we are here at the site of France’s finest Cathedral, why not sooner rather than later?” She finished with a dainty but rich laugh of amused triumph, eliciting visible reactions from a number of the gathered nobles. Much younger than the king to whom she played consort, Bertrade was still renowned throughout the land as a great beauty. The very sight of her weakened men’s knees, and her sultry whispers and sweet laughs left hearts beating faster. The only thing Louis’ heart felt for this harlot was contempt, however, and her words were too much. Even as years of tutelage in the ways of the court screamed that he should not, the still-young prince turned on his heel, and in the sight of all of the gathered courtiers and his own bride-to-be, put his back to Bertrade de Montfort and his own father and king as he stalked from the room.


    Quote Originally Posted by Caillagh de Bodemloze
    I don't know what you mean; I'm notorious for my rudeness and lack of charm.

    And yes, it is nice to see what Louis's up to (or at least the beginnings of that). Thank you.

    This one, I think, is one of those chapters that makes you wish more had already been written, so that you can see what happens next, and how everything turns out. I'm looking forward to the next one already...


    I agree with you about comments, by the way. I find that kind of support very encouraging, and very helpful. It's always interesting to know what other people thought were the important bits of a chapter I've written - they don't always agree with me!
    Well I've endeavored to satisfy some of that curiosity, although of course the entire point is to make people want to keep reading, so hopefully I've left at least as many new questions to be asked

    As for comments, it really is amazing the affect it can have on my narrative when someone even leaves a simple comment like "Oh I wonder how X will think of this/respond to this" or "I can't wait to see how this effects Y" because it tells me that someone wants to see something that I hadn't even considered, and I'll often wind up trying to address that.

    Quote Originally Posted by Alwyn
    It sounds like Louis and Phillipe are finding their studies of histories useful, in making a claim to the legacy of Charlemagne and getting support from the nobles. Phillipe seems to be confidence that they can hold onto the support of the nobles when they suffer losses - I hope their plan will work.
    Perhaps it hasn't quite played out the way they thought it would, but it has certainly had some result
    After I came up with that whole bizarre plan I just couldn't quite justify it actually working out as perfectly as they hoped. Besides, if everyone's plans worked out perfectly, what story would be left to write? Of course, the claim upon Charlemagne's legacy is still there if they can find another chance to bring it to bear...
    Last edited by Axis Sunsoar; January 15, 2018 at 02:39 PM. Reason: It's always the spoiler tags

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    Default Re: La Fleur et L'épée: SS6.4 France

    Great updates .That last paragraph of chapter 4 was err lets just say ..........well done .
    100% mobile poster so pls forgive grammer

  19. #19
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    Default Re: La Fleur et L'épée: SS6.4 France

    That's lovely writing, Axis.

    I can't imagine Ragnhild was impressed by Louis's behaviour. I wonder what effect that will have. (I imagine Louis's parents are just congratulating themselves on having arranged the marriage - they were probably expecting his reaction!)






  20. #20
    Axis Sunsoar's Avatar Domesticus
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    Default Re: La Fleur et L'épée: SS6.4 France

    Chapter 5: Words of Warning


    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The wind was whipping and an autumn rain had begun to beat incessantly against the small group of riders by the time they finally gained the gate of Rheims. The sun was still hours from setting, but the sky had darkened so far that it hardly made any difference, except that it meant the castle’s cooks likely would not have anything prepared for hours yet. They were riding hard, any thoughts of decorum fallen by the wayside with the first drops of rain several hours ago now. They were held a moment by the guards, but an imperious flash of a signet from the company’s leader saw them quickly through the gates.

    The city itself, despite being the center of the Church’s power in France, could certainly have been more impressive. There were streets, at least, but the cobblestones were not well maintained, and each time a hoof struck them, it flung up water and filth. Of course, if one was inclined to be generous, Rheims was in no worse shape than most of the towns and cities that dotted Europe. Outside of the Italian heartlands of the Romans, the great roads which the empire had built were not all that well maintained. The leader of this company was not in a generous mood. Lamentable road conditions were not the only discrepancy as it turned out, the miserable rain was also a far cry from the mild and pleasant early fall weather which bathed the broad streets of Rome, only recently departed.

    Misery, it seemed, would not rest until this two week journey had reached its very end, for even when the party reached the castle, there were no waiting grooms to look to the horses. So, in rain which seemed to fall heavier every moment they lingered beneath it, and in woolen cloaks that were certainly becoming heavier as they stayed beneath them, the seven riders fed watered their own horses with as much speed as stiffened muscles and numb fingers would allow, grumbling among themselves. As they neared the end of the process, servants in royal livery bustled out, stumbling over their apologies as they took over, allowing the party at last to enter the keep.

    One last, wistful thought of the Vatican and all its wonders: the fine wine, the respect of men who at last saw an equal, most of all the sun. All of that, left behind in the wake of an urgent summons from home, could be quite a point of frustration if the mind was allowed to dwell upon it for too long. It was, therefore, in just such frustrated state of mind that a bedraggled Constance Capet cast aside her sodden, mud stained robe and at last stepped the Great Hall at Rheims to greet her family.

    Despite the irregular hour, the whole royal Capet family had gathered. Constance supposed she should be flattered. Her father Phillip was sprawled across a throne on a raised dais in the center of the chamber with Bertrade, as ever, close beside him. Prince Louis, Constance’s own younger brother, did not sit. He stood rigid, apart from both father and pseudo-mother, and while he kept the apparent tension out of his face, he was not able to hide it in his bearing, especially for someone who knew him as well as Constance. The two half-princes were also present, with Phillipe standing halfway between his idolized brother and beloved parents, as if trying to bridge the gap. Fleury perched upon his own chair, that unusually fierce gaze directed now towards the door through which a princess of France had just entered, the latest object of interest.

    Constance offered a careful curtsy for her father, trying to avoid including Bertrade. A difficult task, with the two so entwined.
    Constance had suspected that Louis might not be forthcoming with his grievances, expecting perhaps to have to ask Phillipe discreetly to understand the nature of his dispute with Phillip and Bertrade. As she retired, fuming, to the chambers which had been prepared for her, she found that she had no cause to ask anyone else what actions he might have taken issue with. In fact, she had similar cause for concern now. Married? Sent away to a man I’ve never seen? Unknowingly echoing the thoughts of the eldest daughter of the King of the Danes not too long ago.

    Of course she had been as courteous and dutiful as she could be while her father sat and expounded upon how fantastic this was for the family. Inside she had seethed. She had privately harbored a slim hope that her wishes might be taken into account on the matter of her own nuptials. In fact, there were several particularly striking ducal heirs that she had encountered in Italy that she had to admit had warranted some consideration. The heir to the Duchy of Milan for example, her visit with whom had been rudely cut short by a messenger from home. He would have made quite the alliance. Not an option now of course.

    She had no sooner flung herself across the bed furiously when there was a commanding tap at her door. Knuckles firmly rapped out a pattern, remembered from childhood. “I didn’t bother to lock it,” she called out, and a moment later Louis stalked into the room. She rose and he offered a perfunctory brotherly embrace before throwing himself into a chair in front of the cold hearth. She returned to the bed, more daintily this time

    Looking at the young man in front of her, it struck Constance that she probably saw him differently than anyone else in the entire kingdom. To the rest of France’s inhabitants, he was Prince Louis, the dashing and handsome heir to God’s favorite throne. To her, he was a little brother, young, often petulant and still learning in the world. He had learned a lot already, many people would have no idea what his internal thoughts held right now, would think him completely at ease. His older sister knew him too well though. She could literally see the frustration seething just below his carefully constructed mask of calm. She had to laugh softly to herself as she sat, waiting for him to crack. She hadn’t realized cheese and wine could be consumed with such violence.
    At length, he finished his concentrated assault on the refreshments and began to speak, as she knew he would.

    “Welcome home, dearest sister.” His voice was flat and Constance could hear the sarcasm dripping from each word.

    “Why thank you.” She responded in kind, standing to offer a mock curtsey. “Anything I can do for you, since everyone else seems to be busy deciding my future, you might as well join in,” she spat, aware she was being unreasonable, but unable bring herself to care.

    “Hey now, I’m the one really on your side here. We share a fate.” Louis protested. At least you get to stay home. Constance did not offer this thought though, he was right about them being on the same side. Besides, it wasn’t really like she minded, she had been out of France for some time now, it was just nice to find something else to complain about.

    Louis was still talking: “It’s not even ‘everyone’ really,” he said sagely, “just that damnable woman and her foolish fantasies. Something about falling in love, or whatever she is, with father must have her set on making sure everyone else’s feet find the path to such eternal happiness. All I wanted was to have the opportunity to take the sword to the rebel barons and reclaim the crown’s lost glory. Yet somehow in her foolishness she has managed to thwart my, and Phillipe’s, careful plans!” There was anger in his voice now, and the hesitation before mentioning Phillipe did not escape Constance’s notice.

    Her own melancholy was now receding rapidly, something about wanting to help her little brother – and what he had said about that woman. There was no need to clarify of course. “Be very careful before considering Bertrade de Montfort a woman who operates only from her foolish fantasies, Louis,” she warned, “I would wager whatever dowry we’re sending the Portuguese to take me that you’re right about her being behind it, but if you think her only motivation is some idealized desire to play a matchmaker you are going to be very sorry one day. She’s much more dangerous than that.”

    “Oh of course, I'd almost forgotten, seeing your step children married off well is always evidence of a nefarious power play.”

    “Marrying me off is.” When Louis looked skeptical she continued, “I don’t know how your marriage fits in, or what Bertrade has planned, but I do know that sending me to Portugal can only help. Whatever she’s up to, it won’t be the kind of thing you can charge and cut to ribbons with your sword. It will take a woman to combat it.” The beginnings of a smile crawled across her face, “and perhaps Bertrade has provided such a woman. It will be months until your wedding, plenty of time for me to converse with your lovely bride-to-be. She will need someone to talk to as she tries to settle in here, no doubt. I am sure Bertrade planned it to be herself, but I certainly think someone closer to her own age is better suited.” Constance paused triumphantly, and was grinning broadly now, the inconvenience of her own marriage forgotten for the time being as she flung her mind at the beginnings of this new project.

    Louis on the other hand had acquired a rather glazed look in his eyes at some point, and it didn't suit him particularly well. While he looked at her and nodded when it seemed she had made a suggestion, he was clearly painfully lost. I’ll need to spend some time teaching him too. The future king shan’t be able to hold his throne long through force of arms alone.

    It seemed Louis had taken advantage of this lull in the conversation to continue to convey his desire to restore the glory of France. Constance was at first tempted to wave him away, complaining of fatigue and thus cut an end to it, but after a moment’s consideration decided that, if handled properly, this could be another opportunity to secure her little brother’s position across the realm. She allowed him to ramble on for some time, before finally a plan was fully formed in her head.

    “Brother,” she interrupted him, “I think it is high time the lords of the realm are informed of your upcoming marriage.” She smiled brightly. “Perhaps your sister can offer some assistance in those invitations,” she offered. Louis looked puzzled, until Constance began to explain.

    Within two days messengers rode from Rheims, carrying the news of the upcoming royal wedding, carefully worded messages for the nobles who were to receive them. Upon their return, one by one, these messengers would be determining the fate of France, pushing it closer to war. As they rode out though, only two people who had present in a solar that day were aware of the impact they might have.



    Quote Originally Posted by mad orc
    Great updates .That last paragraph of chapter 4 was err lets just say ..........well done .


    Thanks for reading! I'm glad you enjoyed that bit, it took a bit of work to get it to a point I was satisfied with it, I'm glad you think it turned out alright!

    Quote Originally Posted by Caillagh de Bodemloze
    That's lovely writing, Axis.

    I can't imagine Ragnhild was impressed by Louis's behaviour. I wonder what effect that will have. (I imagine Louis's parents are just congratulating themselves on having arranged the marriage - they were probably expecting his reaction!)


    Thanks for reading and the kind words Caillagh!

    Indeed, it doesn't seem like the best way to endear yourself to your future bride to go storming off in a tantrum (especially when she is the reason for said tantrum)... but we shall have to see if Constance can save the situation for her brother.
    Last edited by Axis Sunsoar; January 20, 2018 at 02:30 PM. Reason: Why double spoiler tags? Why?

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