(Bridge continuation of Duty, Honor, Country.)

Charles pulled up the reigns of his horse sharply, perhaps a bit too sharply as the pair of guards riding with him pulled up short as well. There it was, Navarre, two armies approaching one another the sounds of booted feet thrumming against the hard packed earth was a stirring sight. Banners waving in the breeze the orderly ranks of militia, the less of peasant levies, and the proud baring of the Knights on both sides drawing ever closer.

"Your Majesty," came the voice to his right. It still took Charles a moment to realize they were speaking to him. HIM. A King? It still baffled him how it had all happened, it had been so fast. Trusting in Argorian's wise council he had traveled swiftly to Spain in response to the mysterious letter he had received promising to inform him about the reasons for the continuing attempts on his life. He had been certain it had been a trap, and indeed it had been though not the kind he had envisioned. In a manner that Charles, still had difficulty wrapping his head around the Hart family did have ties to the Spanish thrown going back over a hundred years. It was a distant tie, but strong, and with the Rey abdicating there had been quite a scramble to determine who had the most legitimate claim on the throne made more difficult by the fact that there were armies of thugs banging at the doors for Spanish blood!

"Damn Argorian.." he muttered softly under his breath.

"I'm.... sorry our Majesty?" blinked the confused guard looking at his compatriot with a look of befuddlement plain upon his features.

Charles at least had the decency to look suitably embarrassed. Argorian had accompanied him to Spain, helped him discover the truth, shot an elbow into his ribs when he hesitated excepting, then the two men had shaken hands and he'd run off to become a Templar as they'd had a mind to do together! He gave a slight rueful chuckle at the very thought... well he knew who to give the blame and credit to in equal measure for his current predicament.

"I still do not believe this is wise your Majesty. Let the battle play itself out there is no reason for you to-"

Charles raised a hand and drew a slow steadying breath as he checked his axe and ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth as the rest of whatever the man had been about to say was cut off short.

"We have driven ourselves to exhaustion getting here on time. If I am to be a King then I shall live and if needed die one. I will not leave those Knights down there to fight and die alone. Are you with me?"

The two guards looked at each other, and then nodded. "We are," not that they had much choice.

Charles smiled then and removed his axe from it's holder and adjusted the familiar weight of his shield onto his other arm. "Come then. It is war, and it wouldn't do to show up late.!"

(***********)
(Hours later, sunset.)

Charles was weary to his core. He knelt on the edge of the battle looking out over the carnage his ears still partly deaf from the sound of it.... horses dying, men screaming, and just the sound the pure cacophony of charging horses slamming into each other. Blood covered him. Some his own, some of it that of men whose names he did not suspect he would ever know, but they had won the day.

He had arrived only moments before the battle had begun taking rank beside Knights who hadn't the foggiest clue who he was, as they had been on campaign when he was crowned and their frantic flight from the coronation to the battle had outpaced even the most dedicated of couriers. There hadn't been time for introductions, just the mad swirling chaos of battle after that. Charles couldn't even remember most of the battle to be entirely honest. Thrust, defend, attack, fallback arrows, spears axes clashing breaking against each other and cleaving flesh from bone. This, this was the end result of war, the true cost when one Nation chose war over peace and decided to attack. He did not yet know what kind of King he was going to be, but he already knew what kind of King he did NOT want to be.

"Are you well my son?" The voice startled Charles for a moment, who had not risen from his knees since the battle had broken up. The head of his axe was grounded against the earth and both his hands lay on top of the grip half supporting his weary battered body. Though if the support was more emotional than physical he did not yet feel able to say. He was aware now, being so interrupted, how dry his mouth was, and how empty was his stomach. He still did not think he'd be able to eat, whenever he thought of food he was reminded of watching a man's guts spill out onto the blood soaked earth.

"I am... uninjured Father.." Charles answered, avoiding part of the question as he took in the sight of the Priest standing there. He was a middle aged man, perhaps some ten to fifteen years older than himself. There was some blood on his hands and his ropes, and a bundle of what appeared to be bandages at his side... helping the wounded then.. Charles should be grateful there were men doing such things, and he was, but for one moment he could not help but wish to see this pale unassuming form replaced by some warrior-monk of legend. A fanciful notion, yes and one soon banished, but Charles was too honest with himself to deny the thought.

"I see," the Priest didn't say anything more right then, just handed Charles a skin of water which he gulped from greedily washing the grime and the dust from his parched throat.

"Tell me Father, is this the will of God?" Charles asked nodding out over the remains of the battlefield, his stomach turning again at the sight of several vultures battling over scraps of dead carrion that used to be men of his and the Imazighen's army. Christian or heathen the birds were, apparently unable to tell the difference. Perhaps there was some maudlin wisdom in that, but this was not the time or place to ponder what it might be.

"My Son, men... even Kings, have been asking men of God that for far longer than you or I care to think about." The Priest paused then, placing a hand on his shoulder, "And I can but give you the same answer that is always given. We do not say what is God's will, for who can know the mind of such? We do what in our hearts we are moved to believe is His will and try to make the best judgments that we can with that principal in mind. Your charge before God was to defend your faith and your People, you have done this."

"Have I Father.... or is this just the beginning?" Charles sighed softly and shook his head, struggling to his feet as best he could, the surviving member of his guard, one arm in a sling, moved to help support him but was waved away quickly. He was exhausted, and battle sore, but he would not be helped around like some invalid.

"Another question for which I have no answer. Put your Faith in God your Majesty, it is there you will find your answers."

Charles looked at the priest for a moment and nodded, moving off in the direction of the Camp where the Spanish army was regrouping after the battle. Tomorrow, next week, next month he did not doubt this war would continue. But one day it would end. He would lead Spain as best he could, duty compelled him to make this new homeland... stronger than he found it. To lead it into the next chapter of history. And to be ready to wreck bloody vengeance on the bastards who dared attack Her. The thought seemed to give strength back to his weary muscles as he entered the camp, he would pay the butcher's bill, but he would never give up a single inch of Spanish land to remain under an invader's control. If it was war the enemy wanted, it was war they would have.

"Majesty." Paul, gave Charles a brief bow as he entered the room where the man still getting used to the weight of the Spanish crown sat. He was seated in a rather simple looking wooden chair, a goblet of wine in one hand and the small desk in front of him littered with papers some marked with the seals of nobles up and down the length of the continent.

"Father Paul it is good that you have come," Charles nodded from his seat and then gestured with a hand towards the single empty chair on other side of the desk. The two men regarded each other for a moment and then having a few more of hesitation the priest took the offered perch. Charles was known for having a rather spectacularly explosive temper upon occasion, and for a man who was normally so calm, almost sanguine, it could be a shocking and frightening thing to behold for the subject of that wrath. Paul had had the opportunity to see that anger first hand over the last several weeks and it was a thing that... disturbed him about the new King. Still, he didn't seem angry now, and there was the irony that his anger was never known to come upon him while he was drinking.

"One thing I like most about Spain," Charles said with a little hint of a smile and then pushed a second goblet towards the priest... "France is practically on our doorstep... and the wine flows freely. You would not believe the flavored vinegar that occasionally passed for wine in Gascony. It is not their fault, far from a port and not enough people with money to support better."

Paul took the goblet and nodded in agreement. Paul too was originally from England, further north than Charles, and from a different kind of family, but that had been one of the reasons he had been brought into the fold of his Court now. Charles was simply more comfortable with a priest he could talk to in his own language and who could help him learn yet more Spanish. To his credit Charles was a tireless student both in matter's of state, war, and more academic pursuits like learning the language.

"That is indeed a... blessing."

"You are still upset with me." Charles said, it wasn't a question. And swirled the remaining contents of his goblet around while he pursed his lips with thought. "I acted badly, I admit that. But the situation is resolved now and the parties have moved on."

"As you say your Majesty." Paul nodded again. The incident in question had occurred two mornings before when Charles had gotten into a heated argument with one of his nobles concerning duties and taxes. There had been true concern the matter might come to blows but it had been quickly defused by Paul and Sir Hector, the new man in charge of Charles' personal guard. "But I fear we have not seen the last such incident."

Charles sighed softly and nodded. "Yes, I'm aware that my... accession if you will may have created a few bruised egos along the way, but we will just have to move past it.. there is no help for it. Even with the treaty there is too much going on war rages, rumbles and rumors... even my generosity is thrown back into my face as though it were some kind of insult." Charles shook his head a little more stubbornly. "I will know better next time."

"Forgiveness... is never a mistake Majesty."

"That might be true for a man, a noble, and yes a priest. But for a King? If that forgiveness leads to his subjects being killed then yes... it must be counted as a mistake."

"Do you believe such will occur here?"

Charles considered that a moment and shrugged.

"Who can say? They attacked Spain once without formal declaration of war... without cause, driven by their greed and jealousy. Who is to say what will happen now, will they be honor bound? Will they obey the letter and not the spirit? Will they prove themselves as without honor as their attack already suggested?"

"I cannot answer these questions right now Father, and they trouble me with the rumbles I hear."

Paul frowned for a moment and shifted in his seat as he regarded the young King closely.

"What do you mean?"

"There are rumbles that the Imazighen have convinced others to fight their wars for them so they do not have to reveal to the world the blackguards that they really are." Charles opened his mouth again seeming about to say more and then shook his head seeming to think better of whatever he had been about to say. Paul took a close look at him again before replying.

"Majesty-"

"Use my name, we are alone and I am not so high that I need flattery in private."

".... as you wish... Charles. You speak I think about the Moors, yes?"

Charles smiled a bit and pointed over to Paul.

"This is why I like you. You think like an Englishman!"

"But we are both Spanish now Ma-... Charles."

He nodded, "But who every truly learns to think like anywhere but where he came from? It is there you learn to tell when a man is lying to you by the way he looks, his stance, who is falsely flattering and who is sincere in his assurances of loyalty. It is something like learning about people all over again... and now here I am..."

Charles flashed a little bit of a smile. "Yes, I am concerned about the Moors. They might well suffer much for being true and brave allies... for the crime of not backing down in the face of overwhelming odds, for the pride and avarice of men who have no honor."

"Are you not being... a bit all encompassing Charles? I am sure there are men of honor everywhere... it is merely a matter of finding them."

"Indeed." He sighed slightly and shook his head. "They will have the opportunity to prove their honor by not acting as mercenaries for those who thought to gain by surprise what they could not gain any other way. It is amazing that the pretext for this war will be for the same crime the Imazighen tried to inflict upon Spain herself!"

"And what will you do if this does happen m'lord?"

Charles stood up then and took several steps towards the empty fireplace. Who could endure a fire in this god awful heat? He felt as though he were roasting, the very air had a dry quality he was still becoming accustomed to... it was part of the reason for his occasional bad humor.

Paul waited for a time, and when it became obvious he was not going to get an answer, he stood up and left Charles to the silence of his thoughts.

"Ah, Father Paul, pleased you could come," Charles said, standing in front of an open window looking out towards the ocean. The young King wore a slightly sardonic smile as he nodded outside so that Paul could follow the gesture to see what he was speaking of... "Things proceed well now that the war has ended my friend, there remain a few snags but," he paused then with a faint chuckle and extended his hands apart, "Isn't such the way of the world?"

"Indeed... Charles," the priest almost choked on the word, it was difficult to unlearn what a lifetime had drilled into you... this.. informality was somewhat disturbing. But still, he was the King, if he wanted to be called by his name well... "I assume that you speak of Sweden?"

A faint little smile touched his lips as he nodded. "Ah once again, I fear you must have a spy among my scribes Paul, else you must tell me how you have gained this power of mind reading.... would that I could acquire it... imagine how much easier that would make negotiations!"

"Perhaps... a bit of an unfair advantage I would think." Paul could not prevent a small answering smile back at Charles as he joined the King standing at he window.

"You know, a short time ago I was running for my life dodging assassins and now.... I stand here anointed the King of Spain," Charles shook his head slowly and cracked a little hint of a smile, "It is quite a lot to adjust to."

"But... you were a Count, surely you had some experience."

Another little smile creased Charles' face as he regarded Paul. It shouldn't surprise him that so little of his personal history was known here, he was a veritable stranger, his claim to the throne he now sat on thin as a razor and yet still legitimate the recordings of marriages and bloodlines held in the Castle were meticulous.. and here had thought that the English had a monopoly on bureaucracy!

"My King needed someone he could trust, and for a wonder he chose me. Months later we rode halfway across Europe intending to take Orders and ride off into battle... so much simpler than the day to day... politics of it you might say." He shook his head slowly and gave a slight shake of his head. "But here we are, and it is to the future I now call you here."

"Oh?"

"Yes, it is very likely the Swedes will attack us soon, so I have a task for you."

Paul gave a slight inclination of his head and then waited patiently for the reply, but instead was handed a single parchment. The priest unfolded it quickly unable to disguise the look of shock plastered upon his face.

"B-but this.. you d-.. how is this possible?!- Is THIS what you want Majesty?"

"Shh my friend," Charles said gesturing all around, "All that is said is often heard bu those we do not wish to have it. Execute my commands to the letter, in that specific order and trust that all will be well." He paused for a moment and pursed his lips, "No, but if the pride and blood lust of others forces my hand... I will not shirk from it. I signed a treaty of peace and I mean to honor it, but those who would break it.... well.. let their worth be known by man and then by God. It is a new day in Spain Father, but there will always be those who lack... vision. So, we prey for their hearts to turn towards peace and new partnership... and we prepare warm receptions for others..." he paused to regard Paul once again.

For the briefest of moments Paul looked slightly mutinous but then he bowed.

"Of course.... Your Majesty.."

Charles turned back towards the window. And there it was. Once he had been isolated by the crimes of his ancestors, vindicated by his own service to his King, and brought low again my enemies whose names he was just not beginning to unravel. Then he was lifted high by still older ancestors whose names he could not have picked out of a list had his life depended upon it had not the records been so perfectly preserved... only to be isolated once again by the same. He took a deep breath and looked back over his shoulder at the priest who was withdrawing.

"And Father Paul. Send Sir Hector in, there are preparations to make if we are to properly receive guests."

"..of course." Paul regarded Charles for a moment, sensing as well as seeing how his mood had changed so quickly during the span of their conversation. He may not easily bare the weight of the crown that had been thrust upon him so unexpectedly, but none could fault him for lack of decisiveness. He looked down to the letter held in his hand then and swallowed an unexpectedly large lump that seemed to refuse to go down, but somehow he found a half whispered voice, "Quod alter angelus sanus , quod sicut a valde mons montis igneus per incendia eram iacio in profundum : quod tertius secui of profundum quoniam cruor..." he took a slow steadying breath and left Charles along to his thoughts.


((Translation of the Latin from Revelation 8:8. "And the second angel sounded, and as it were a great mountain burning with fire was cast into the sea: and the third part of the sea became blood")

Charles stood on the dock, his hands clasped behind his back, the expected number of messengers, servants, knights and God only knew who else assembled behind him. They followed him around like bugs circling some animal who had been unfortunate enough to wander into a swamp. That was a trifle unfair, but honestly he didn't see the need for it. Still he did put up with it because all attempts to stop it led to such looks of reproach from those same individuals that he would take such honor away from them that he couldn't follow through with it. So... this was what it was like to be a King hmm? He shook his head slowly and couldn't hold back a soft chuckle.

The chuckled turned into a smile as the small part walked down to meet him, and tossing away all expected decorum and scandal be damned he moved quickly down the dock to meet them and wrapped his arms mightily around the woman who led the procession who looked shocked and appalled by the gesture as much as all the others behind Charles himself.

"Heather! My God cousin but it is good to see a familiar face," in a similar unladylike fashion the woman thus accosted hammered a small fist into the top of Charles' shoulder and he set her down to allow her to regain her dignity. He could be excused, distantly related through his mother, Heather's father had fostered him after the death of his own father, and the two had been raised as brother and sister from children. They were well known partners in all sorts of mischief and since becoming involved in affairs of state Charles had often relied on Heather's steady, practical approach to things to balance his own widely fluctuating passions. Which was to say... to help him moderate when his temper got the better of him.

"REALLY Charles.." she said, the tone of her voice not altogether unpleased, "I take it you are happy to see me?"

"Naturally," Charles smirked a bit and then stepped to her right and behind her where one of the traveling maids was baring a young boy of about three, who seemed more interested in chewing on.... something than what was going on. His smile softened for a moment and he leaned forward smoothing back the boy's hair and giving him a kiss on top of the head. "And hello to you too Alfred."

He paused for a moment watching the boy look back up to him blinking before going back to bury his face in the shoulder of the woman carrying him. Charles turned back to Heather then and offered his arm, which she took, as they made their way back towards the party Charles had brought with him who still looked quite put out.

"It is good to have you here Cousin. Your lettering telling me of your safe return to your Father's castle was a great balm to my worries after the sack of North Haven..." he shook his head slowly, "and the death of poor Sir Gregor..."

"He was a good man, a true and loyal friend." she agreed.

Neither of them mentioned that talks had begun for Heather to marry Gregor days before his death... it wasn't necessary the loss of both of them still too keen to enter into.

"But meanwhile look at you Charles, how did all of this happen?"

"Cousin that is a story in and of itself... and one I promise to tell you, but first let us get you and your ladies settled into rooms in the castle, they've been made ready for you."

"Mmm... good, I feel like I'm positively about to turn into a fish if I spend one more day on that ship!"

Charles shook his head as the two were joined by the slender, black clad figure of Father Paul.

"Heather... this is my Confessor, Father Paul... Father.. Lady Heather, my good cousin from England who has now joined us here much to my delight. And, she's brought with her my oldest boy Alfred."

"Indeed your Majesty, so I see," the priest inclined his head a bit and allowed his eyes to wander over towards the small boy where a smile cracked it's way a little but further across his face.

"Please, join us Father." The Priest nodded again and fell into step beside the two of them.

"We have much to discuss, all three of us. We have signed the treaty with the Irish to secure our mutual boarders, and the situation with the Roman Alliance has been resolved to the satisfaction of most involved. There are always rumors of the future, but for not at least things appear to be secure, Spain is secure." Charles nodded again to both. "Plans are progressing well also for the tournament four nations have already sent word of their intentions to send knights to compete in the event! It will be a great day for Spain."

"And," Paul said, "what will you do if these...rumors bare future fruit?"

Charles paused for a moment and regarded Paul. "I am merciful Father, but let no man mistake me for a Saint. A man who ends up in my dungeon a second time will never leave there this side of Paradise."

"As you say Majesty.." Paul said blinking a bit.

"Terribly formal isn't he Charles?" Heather remarked looking over at Paul for a few moments.

"In public," Charles couldn't suppress the slight smile that pulled at one corner of his mouth. "Do you have reservations? Please speak them Father that is why I asked you to speak and have made such use of your council."

Paul paused to look at Heather for a moment and then seeing as it was now obvious that she wasn't going to be giving them privacy.

"It concerns the other matter we discussed last evening, concerning the well being of your newborn son."

Heather drew back for a moment. "You actually fathered another bastard Charles?"

Charles coughed despite himself and tried his best to ignore the question.

"Yes, what of it?"

"The message you wanted has been sent on it's way... and you are sure this man is worthy of being the God Father of the son of a King?"

Charles stopped for a moment and then laughed a bit shaking his head. "Father, if this man is not worthy of such a thing no man God ever made was."

"As you say Majesty."

QUOTE:


Sir Argorian de Wolfe,

I hope this letter finds you enjoying your retirement from politics, however knowing you I somehow doubt since taking Orders your life has been anything but. It is with great joy I write you today my friend to announce the birth of my second son. This event has caused no small amount of bustle throughout Spain as you can imagine but no more so than the nature of the request that I now send to you. I write you today friend to ask if you would stand as Godfather to my son, for I can truly think of none better suited for the task of seeing to his well being in that or other ways.

Until next we speak,
-Charles Hart
-Rey de Espania

Somewhere in Greece, the men led by Argorian had disembarked the and were setting up the camp because in the next morning they were to march and needed to be well rested . He stood on a hill above the camp ground and observed the men bellow him . Suddenly a feeling of déjà vu overwhelmed and he was back in Norway looking down on the camp of English soldiers under his command . Argorian shook his head, chasing away the thoughts of his former nation and remained there a while longer with his eyes lost somewhere in the horizon .

His meditation was interrupted by the sound of steps climbing the hill accompanied by heavy breathing . The templar turned only to see a young man , with his cheeks red probably from the exhaustion of climbing the hill . Argorian stood up to confront him , You are not one of the Order . State your business in this camp ? Asked the knight with a stern voice . The man finally pulled himself together , Excuse me , sir knight but the men in the camp told me I can find you here . I bear a message for you from the Rey de Espania .Argorian's eyes widened , Well what are you waiting for ? Hand it here !

He read the message and smiled . Turning to the messenger , You did well to bring this to my attention lad . Come ! He ordered the messenger . You may rest in our camp tonight but tomorrow morning I want you to be off to Spain and deliver my reply to his majesty Charles Hart .

They men descended to the camp ground where Argorian wrote a reply :

QUOTE:
Your Majesty ,

Life away from politics has done me only good and I cannot say I'm eager to change anything right now . Although , if there's one thing I learned in England it's that no matter how much you try to run from political issues they will always catch up and envelop you .

I consider it an honor to be the Godfather of your newborn son and I gladly accept the offer . Once I take care of some business here I will take a leave of absence and visit Spain again .

May God bless you , your Majesty .

Regards,
Argorian de Wolfe.

After giving the letter to the messenger , Argorian told him : Talk to the quartermaster , he handles the supplies and will get you something to eat for tonight and some food and drink for the road . If you need a place to sleep you can bunk down with the other soldiers . He handed him a couple of silvers for his expenses and let the messenger be on his way .

Charles shot a glance over his shoulder he buckled the belt of his tunic. The servants nattered on in Spanish for minutes that compounded into seemingly hours while he stood there and then he gave himself a bit of a shake. Just when he thought his Spanish lessons were making progress he tried to actually understand a conversation that was going on and pooof... so much for that theory. We'll he'd just have to redouble his efforts. He couldn't very well expect men to fight and possibly die fighting in the armies of a man who couldn't even speak to them!

He nodded to himself a bit and let out a somewhat hushed sigh. But all the news wasn't bad. Argorian and consented to being the Godfather of his second son, an honor all around... it wasn't every boy who could claim a former King and a Templar as a godfather! Of course what Argorian didn't know was the boys name. Argorian of South Haven. Charles smirked just a little bit and made a motion towards one of the servants.

"Father Paul should be here shortly, bring him in.. there are things we should discuss."

Charles settled himself down at his desk and began going over reports from all the shires of Spain. No one ever told him that being king involved such mountains of paperwork. I mean there were actually reports on the number of cattle in each province of his realm... cattle! The most he knew about cattle is that when sneaking out of a farmer's barn.... oh his youth had been QUITE misspent before he regained his lands... you had to be careful not to literally step in shit... He supposed what he really needed was a Minister... he sighed softly tilting his head as he could hear Paul being lead into his study now.

"Majesty." The priest said softly and gave a small bow at the door as he wandered inside. He wore his customary black rope, his hands with fingers folded against each other as he moved to stand beside the desk only sitting when indicated to do so by Charles himself. Even then he sat a trifle uncomfortably.

"Father Paul, thank you for joining me."

"Not at all Ma- Charles.."

Charles cracked a bit of a smile. No matter how he chided the Priest he could not break the formality that seemed to be part and parcel of who the man was... anymore than he could change the formation of the stars in the heavens.

"Lord Argorian has agreed to stand as God father to my son. So preparations must be made... The Tournament I think would be an excellent time to introduce my sons to the realm and nobility here in Spain.." Charles paused a moment looking to Paul. "You don't approve?"

"I..." The priest looked uncomfortable a moment and shifted in his seat, "I do not agree that war is something that should be made into a game for men with sticks and horses...Majesty.."

Charles did a bit of a double take, regarding the priest for a long few minutes and then exploded into a fight of laughter.

"Oh Father Paul... I do dare say you might be one of the few people of true moral conviction I've ever met in my entire life... clergy included."

"Thank you... I think?"

"Oh yes, it was indeed a compliment... but now I have a request to make, that you send this reply message to Argorian... but first I ask that you take my confession."

Paul blinked a bit. "I... of course Majesty..."

QUOTE:


My Lord Argorian,

It was with great pleasure that I received your agreement to Godfather my son. He is a healthy boy and I daresay that one day he'll have a battle cry to rival that of the barbarian hordes themselves!

I will look most forward to such a visit. I was not prepared for the beauty of the land I now find myself in. It is different from where I grew up I will confess, but I fear Spain has grown on me in a way I never could have anticipated long ago.

Enjoy the rest my friend, you've more than earned the opportunity to put down burdens if that is your wish. Still do not vanish too much from politics... the words of Men of Honor are sometimes drowned out in these times we live in, they need champions for cause and body both. I fear God may have greater things in mind for you ultimately that the quiet life, so enjoy it while you may.

-Charles

It was not Charles' habit to pay visits to others. He was told often and repeatedly it was not a seemly thing for a King to do. Could that be right? He wasn't sure but to be honest what was the real point in protesting to people whose sole job was to serve you and yet somehow still managed to be in charge of your life? As well as argue with the rising sun or the changing of the tides!

But this... this was a special day.

"My dear sweet boy..." Charles listened to the voice from outside in the hallway, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he leaned against the wall, motioning to his guards, who trailed him even in his own castle to be silent for a moment. "...you will be a fine strong young man won't you? And have you been good?"

"Yes Father... I mean Uncle... er.. what do I call you?"

"Uncle Paul would be... wonderful my boy..."

"Ok Uncle Paul.. may I go now?"

"I... yes.. I'm sure you want to run along and play," the priest said unable to keep the momentary lapse of sorrow out of his voice as the little boy ran out of the room like a fired arrow past Charles and his guards in a brown clad blur... redoubtably off to play with some of the servants children. Charles watched the boy for a moment, just a few years older than Alfred, and wondered to himself what kind of world it would be for the two young children? Would the constant wars make a difference to them... would they grow up warriors or diplomats... bathe in blood or the holy oil of saints? It was food for thought. He sighed ever so slightly and finally stepped around from behind the wall to enter the open door of Paul's chambers which were located in the servants quarters of the castle itself.

"Father Paul.." he said softly, feeling uncomfortable now seeing the man, the lines of sadness etched on his face, the age that didn't usually seem to be a part of the face... though he had to be approaching fifty years of age... he seemed to retain some kind of youthful... energy that defied temporal logic. Charles liked to think it was a special spark of divine favor... In truth? It was likely just good fortune he supposed.

"Y-your Majesty!" Paul said, looking surprised and shocked as he looked around the room cluttered with scrolls and other odds and ends that and suddenly very aware this wasn't the proper setting to receive his sovereign in! "I... forgive me I wasn't aware you were coming down to see me.."

Charles smiled waving off the apology as he moved into the room looking around critically at everything. Texts in Latin, German.. Arabic.. some from Roman historians... others theological texts of the kind he would expect to find in this situation... and then there was Paul himself who was fidgeting with his rosery between his hands which suddenly like the rest of him seemed to look so hold to him.

"The boy your... nephew?" Charles asked pointing over behind his shoulder in the direction the boy had run off to in such a very great hurry.

"Yes Ma-... Charles. My younger brother's eldest. Quite precocious as you can see. I've not seen him since he was christened. They... came for the Tournament and Feast you see..."

"Excellent. You will have to get them to join us at my table at the Feast... I'm sure Alfred will idolize him greatly... he's the right age for it.." Charles chuckled ever so slightly and ignored the slightly shocked expression on Paul's face who merely nodded.

"When one of the paiges told me you had not checked on them today I was concerned for your health.. are you alright?"

"I.. yes.. I do apologize it will not happen again."

"No no, Paul you misunderstand me. Of course spend time with the boy while he is here." It wasn't something that Charles would have understood even a year ago... but now? Well, even if none of the fire had gone out in Charles' heart there were parts of him... rough edges which had been smoothed away by the accumulation of scars and life..

"Thank you..."

"Do you regret not being able to have children Paul?" Charles asked pointedly, seeing he'd once again shocked the Priest not only with his directness but an odd habit of cutting right to the heart of the matter with the precision of a finely honed blade. Oddly the question seemed to settle Paul down greatly, and as Charles watched the look of age and sorrow seemed to lift as if washed away by an overzealous barmaid's rag.

"Regret? No. But I would scarcely be human if I did not wonder what might have been on occasion. I do not regret taking my vows, Charles... but..."

Charles nodded slowly, "When you see the boy you wonder perhaps what yours might have been like?"

"I-.... yes I suppose that's as good an explanation as any."

Charles moved over towards the Priest and smiled resting a hand on his shoulder for a moment and giving it a squeeze. "Take the time with your family that you need Paul. You have worked tirelessly since my coronation and there will be much to do after the Tournament as well..."

Paul was quiet for a few long moments, and oddly enough the look of age seemed to creep back in on him a little bit as he nodded.

"Yes.. I... I suppose I will do that your Majesty..."

"Charles smiled as he supervised the distribution of food to the newly free subjects of the Irish Queen. It shocked the conscious to see them subjected to such vile heresy as being chained to a False Pope and dishonorable Queen. He watched, startled as Juan danced to the side playing a game of keep away with several of the children who had had to be reminded how to laugh again after the Spanish armies had come through liberating them from the tyranny, both temporal and spiritual.

But he was acting. Removing the taint and the foreign overlords from these lands was something true, substantial justifying all the risk he had taken in finally following what his prayers had told him was right and proper for so long. He had delayed out of a misplaced sense of loyalty, convincing himself that he could temper them, return them to the true path... but the awful truth had been finally unveiled. These were not their lands, the lands of their fathers and father’s before them, they had invaded them in but living memory tossing out their former freedom and bonds with lands where their brothers, fathers, sisters, and cousins dwelt in Spain, France and Burgundy. The oppression had been ended."

"Ah!" Juan shouted born to the ground by a shower of small bodies giggling furiously as they finally took the small trinkets he had been running from them with away. No matter the price these lands would never return to Irish rule, he would make any attempt to resettle them an unremitting nightmare if they tried. With God's help he would prevail and how could he not with the heretics now united seemingly against the world?

"Sire," panted Juan getting to his knees, a faint blush coming to his skin that amused Charles no end.

"No no, Juan, it's alright my friend. I think these children need to know that not all lords are as capricious, spiteful, and unfeeling. See to it that food provisions are spread out among these people, and try to send some out to the other villages as we pass as well. The land seems picked bare to fund the war in the North." Charles shook his head silently.

The name was never spoken in council anymore. It was always, 'Her," or "Irish Queen," or some other vague title that allowed everyone to know whom they were talking about without sending Charles into a violent rage. They feared this anger, but it differed from his temperament of the past. In years past it had been the rage of a young man who had little experience with the world outside of his own small part of it, but the years and the burden of responsibility and forged that anger to a white hot edge that could cut one straight to the bone with more than just the blade of his weapon. For now, for the first time, Charles was feeling the anger of the truly righteous.

The children were noticing Charles now and whispering among themselves as he approached, Paul near at his side and Juan trying to restore some of his dignity in the presence of his King. He squatted down beside them and looked at their mud smeared, tired faces picturing his own children enduring what they had gone through.

"Would... you like to hear a story?"

Charles' heart almost broke when he saw the eagerness in their eyes and he nodded, motioning for them to gather around him close.

"Attend me then young squires," he said with quite amusement as he drew them around a small campfire that was normally being shared by several of his guards, "While I tell you the tale of Mad Queen Dolly and her magical puppet named Mouthpiece."

Juan made his way around the group handing them out what food they could spare.

"This is the tale of Mad Queen Dolly, a story I have told my own sons several times, this is not a story of which the ending is known, but it is a story that has many beginnings." He nodded slowly, letting his voice soften just a tad so that each little ear had to pay special attention to each and every word that he spoke.

"Queen Dolly ruled a vast kingdom. Once its compassion, justice, and loyalty were the envy of the world and people flocked to be a part of what was taking place there. Once it had been a haven for those driven from their own lands by evil lords and ladies, and wicked Kings. But this was in a time before Dolly came to power, a time when cooperation and peace did not mean blind obedience.”

"Oh it was a dark dark day for the Kingdom children. For years Queen Dolly had led her people to war after war... to make her Kingdom's vision of the world absolute and punish any and all who failed to conform to it. She orderedher puppet Mouthpiece to raise the taxes... always raise the taxes to fund her wars. The land once green and verdant was stripped bare by her demands."

A soft gasp was heard among the children as they nodded slowly, knowing something about what it must have been like now.

"This is the story of the petitioner from Trisa. Trisa was once a shining example of what the Kingdom had accomplished. It wasn't the largest city or province in the land, but its people and lords lived in harmony... at one with the land and each other. No one went hungry in Trisa, though few enough were rich, and they always were able to send money to the capital to help those less fortunate than themselves. They were good, simple, honest, and a God fearing people... as should we all strive to be. But in this new kingdom Trisa, like the rest of the land, began to decay. Its young men were worked to early graves in the fields to try to conform to the demands of higher taxes or pressed into military service for there were no knights in the land anymore to protect them. Its people were desperate, and so this lone brave soul set out for the capital hoping against hope that he might reason with the Queen."

"What was his name?" A small voice piped up from the back.

Charles smiled softly, "His name was Paul," he watched the priest jump and then try to look stoic all over again, that will teach him to try to ignore him again... "and he was a man who always listened to God and tried to life to his example, attended Mass, made confession for all his faults and failures; for those he was a good man he knew none were perfect. He was a landowner, not yet a knight or a lord, but a tenant of such, a man of some no small respect in communities. He had been mayor of a village and once long ago had even served in the army as a young man. But Paul was now old and he knew the day of his death would soon befall him, so he chose to make this last pilgrimage for the sake of his own people in Trisa even knowing he might surely be punished greatly for his act."

"His family begged him not to go, for they feared for his life. 'Stay here,' they begged tears rolling down their cheeks, 'be with us, and do not throw your life away.' But Paul was sure, following the path of our Lord, he knew that someone must speak for the people, someone must try. Because once Dolly too had been a little girl like his own grandchildren she had been young and innocent and he hoped he could find that part of her still and return her to the path. 'My mind is set my family,' he told them, 'our people starve and there are none left to protect or defend us, someone must speak. Better it be I so nearer to the end of my life.. I would gladly wager those few years I have left in the hopes of a better life for all of you.' And so brave Paul set out to the capital. On and on Paul traveled crossing the narrow band of sea until the land of his forefathers, the capital of the kingdom was in sight."

"All the wealth of the Kingdom flowed here... all the taxes, and Paul was horrified to discover that even here the rot that seemed to have infested the land had taken hold. Towers that had once shown snow white were stained and pitted, and the air was fouled to the point of choking by the ever present beating of hammer on anvil. Where once trees had stood proudly, some centuries old, the land had been cut clear to provide fuel for the fires that turned a land of peace to one of war. A voice spoke to Paul in that moment... and he knew weakness. 'Give up Paul. Look around you here, this land is not within your power to save, go home kiss your grandchildren and live to watch them grow to adulthood."

"But Paul did not give up, he did not surrender to his temptation, he went to the castle and petitioned to see the Queen."

Another gasp went through the small crowd which had been slowly joined by other villagers and soldiers from the Spanish army as well.

"He was made to wait days before he was admitted. Forced to arrive at dawn each day to beg audience and then left waiting as morning turned to noon, turned to dusk... and then he'd shuffle out of town, his stooped back and weary step growing every day weaker as he returned faithfully. And every day the voice returned, it urged him to surrender while there was still time. He denied this voice, for he had Faith that he had been brought here for a reason... Faith that God would help him turn the heart of Dolly and that another golden age would flourish in the land again."

"Then, on the tenth day he arrived, he was admitted."

"The guards showed him through the Halls, and here, finally he saw that there was a place where the decay gripping the land did not hold firm. There was a place where the walls still gleamed and people still walked with spry step and held head high. For the walls of this castle were strong and tall, built to glorify men and the Queen herself not God. Paul was brought into the presence of Dolly and for the first time he felt his resolve weaken."

"She sat on a throne adorned with gold and jewels, more wealth upon this one seat than he had ever seen in a long and hard worked lifetime. Her hair was pure fire, and her eyes were hard orbs of violent green that saw no pity. They looked through Paul, for to the Mad Queen he did not matter, she was an inconvenience from her wars and manipulations. Here was one who did not understand the meaning of her office to protect and shelter her people, meant to be a steward to them onto God. And Paul knew fear.”

"She said, 'Who is this dirty peasant you bring before me?' her voice a boom that filled the hall and almost sent Paul to his knees, but he gripped a crucifix close to his heart and drew strength from it, knowing that he was here for a purpose and that he must rely on a power greater than himself to see him through.

"He replied, 'I am Paul, your Majesty, of Trisa.' "

"Do not speak to the Queen peasant!' squawked Mouthpiece, his misshapen body turning around on the left arm of the chair to face Paul. His red hair and green dress giving him a comical appearance but there was nothing funny about his words.... The tales of the men executed for defying he and his Queen were legendary."

"Paul struggled down to his knees in supplication, 'Please, I beg you in the name of God, have pity on your people. We are sick and starving. Are not we great enough already? Is not our power sufficient? Must we make orphans of our children and those of other peoples still?' "

"TRAITOR!"

The children jumped horrified as Charles bellowed out the word.

"Boomed the voice of Mouthpiece sending Paul to the floor. His forehead touched the cool marble of the throne room floor. 'You speak off treason against the crown peasant!'"

"Paul replied, not daring to look up from the floor, 'No my Lord, I am a loyal servant of the Kingdom. I ask only for you to show the compassion you are so known for to your people in this their time of great need.' "

"Queen Dolly sneered down from her thrown, "Look around you peasant. Do you see need here? I do not, my Kingdom is great and vast and there is no room in it for traitors! Take him away!' "

"Guards came forward grabbing Paul by the arms and dragging the old man roughly to his feet. He did not struggle, for indeed what could one old man do against these soldiers? He cried out in pain as their metal armor dug into his frail arms. 'Please Majesty! Your people cry out to salvation, they beg you to save them, they beg you in the name of the Church and of God!"

"The Queen replied, "Church? God? *I* now decide what is holy. I am second only too God and NONE shall defy me! Kill this man and make his death an example to all of the price of defying me!' "

"Oh no...," a quiet voice came from the crowd, "please tell me he didn't die! Paul is a good man you can't let her kill him!"

"Indeed child, indeed, and indeed he was a good man, dutiful to God and the Church. He was mindful of the welfare of others and had not let his own pride or even fear of his own death get in the way of his begging for the help of others. In the end Paul was released, by a prison guard named Eric, who took pity on the old man and put another man who was condemned to die for murder in his place. But for Eric's story... I'm afraid we'll have to wait for another time."

"Awww...,"

"Now now, don't be greedy," Charles smiled and motioned, "Now who can tell me what you have learned from this story.” He watched them twist, the same as is own eldest son did when having to discern the moral of such a fable.



“Um…,” muttered one, “Don’t anger a Monarch?”



Charles laughed softly and shook his head.



“No dear child. There is no temporal power that can thwart the will of God, it is absolute and His will is done. However powerful a mortal might become… and there are some whose power is vast indeed… those who act with true hearts are his people, and he shall always come to the aid of those brave souls who speak out when others are silenced by fear. This was not the end for Paul my young friends, for soon he and his would be rescuer would be called upon to do many more things to help the People. ”



Charles smiled and looked up to Paul before shifting to his knees. “Father Paul, if you might bless us now against evil spirits now, in the hopes that we all might become better servants of God.” The group knelt together as Paul murmured softly in Latin making the sign of the cross over them as he moved across the group.

Tomorrow is another day, thought Charles, another fight for God and another blow against the Heretic.

The real Carlos stood up spitting on the man, "You are tainted by evil! Go back to your pope and be washed for your sins! For in such lies does come such sin! Our peasants were well fed until you came along with that evil king The Game! Letting him eat all the beauty from our lands. Do not fill our childish heads with your slander! Go repent your sins and be cleansed, but not here on our good land! We now have to fight your demons of greed!" The once simple farm boy, turned scribe in training, and now made into this puppet for the mad king Charles stands up with his fists to his chin. "I will never serve you... You... you.... right hand of satan!"

under investigation

The Hag of Ireland was captured by the evil ones. Her own pack of sticks used to flog her. Heaving into her last asthmatic breath to hear Carlos stand up to the lying one. "Dats my boy! Ye need to run Carlos! RUN!" Coughing and choking into her final breath. The once joyous hag lands face down in the dirt at the kings feet dead with her eyes wide open! Staring at Satan's child in this king of Spain.