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Post by brotigern on Jun 28, 2016 12:12:01 GMT
Rumours flit through the palace. Gwrtheyrn, after having fallen from his horse some time ago, had fallen into a deep sleep. Priests prayed through the nights, and learned men came to visit the comatose king, plying their trade. Aye, muttered Lords, what a shame, such a weak and plyable King. Who might his successor be? What sharp, possibly diligent wretch will follow in the place of this man who I could defraud of Aureii?
The answer came one morning. Dawn light bathed the palace, through an open porte, the sun smiled on the resting Gwrtheyrn. A maid came in, a pot of water in hand, ready to wash the king. She shrieked, and dropped the pot. His eyes fixed her with a glare, and the King sat up.
"Ale," he commanded.
Days went by, and supplicant Lords came to bow and scrape. Gwrtheyrn received them all, a sour look on his face. He'd slept, aye, but he'd heard all. He was changed. He had made his way through the world a kindly, laid-back fellow, though he knew all the world did laugh. Well, since he could not prove a lover, he'd be determined to prove a villain, and to hate the idle pleasures of this day.
He set to work in his treasury, determined to find who'd been loyal, and who'd been thief. Soon, he would march.
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Post by brotigern on Jun 30, 2016 19:49:46 GMT
"Bother."
Gwrtheyrn rolled up his scroll with great vigour. It seemed that no-one had been defrauding him. At least, not visibly. He considered that evidence of fraud wouldn't turn up in doctored scrolls anyway, and thrashed the scroll from his desk.
An evening of practice with a javelin did little to sweeten his soured mood, neither did ploughing the chamber maid. He basked in post-coital light, and the frown persisted. Once the maid's eyes regained focus, and the wide grin on her face began to fade, he pointed to the door.
"Ale."
'Bother', and 'Ale' had become something of a refrain to Gwrtheyrn over the weeks since he woke from his coma. He'd found his soldiers had strangely vanished, apparently on his orders. It had taken a while then, to coax him from his chambers, with two living saints sent to assure him that no one bore him any immediate ill will.
Perhaps a long walk in the countryside would do? As a child, he was certain he'd spotted the fair folk in the forests. His uncle had told him they had been German mercenaries, but that Gwrtheyrn had been correct to call them fairies. Whatever, Gwrtheyrn still believed he'd seen the fair folk.
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