I don't own YGO!; warnings still stand. All characters mentioned in
here are either canon or historical unless otherwise stated (i.e. Brihtric
isn't either, he's an OC who has died on me). And ð is pronounced
"th".
Thanks to B/k for betaing this.
********
The fyrd gathered, nervous, excited, and questioning. Yet February
passed, and nothing happened; they calmed down a bit, even though there were
still the occasional people running down the beach screaming the word
"Ship!" repeatedly. March came and went, with a decided lack of war.
And then came April, and Easter.
Something happened then. But, for the moment, let us go back to February, across the Channel--and to Normandy.
********
Like many of his time, William depended on lower nobleman (and lower
beneath) to support him in war. Accordingly, he called together his barons at
Lillebonne, in order to gain their support to attack England. This was the
second such meeting he had called: the first had been amongst closer friends,
who had told him to present his plan to a larger group. And there he gave the
three wrongs Harold had committed against him.
The first was that Harold had murdered Alfred, brother of Edward the
Confessor, along with his father, Godwin. (This despite the fact that Harold
was ten years old at the time, and that Godwin had been cleared of the above
murder twice.)
The second? Harold had been hostile to those of Normandy living in England;
that he had driven them out, with his brothers and father, when they had
returned to England from exile in 1502.
The last was much more recent: Harold was a oath breaker on the bones of
saints, a usurper, and a traitor.
And then William set forth his plan. He would wait for favorable winds and
then sail thousands of horses by boat to England, attack Harold, presumably
win, and prove to the world that he truly was the rightful king of England.
There was one enormous problem that William had not addressed in speaking to
the barons. To put it simply, it was this:
No one transported mounted armies over the water. Not since the Romans and
the Greeks had such a thing been attempted. But they had highly advanced galley
boats in which to transport those horses.
William would be using cargo-boats.
There was a second problem, linked to the first: presuming you could load
thousands of men and horses onto boats, you would be left waiting for favorable
winds. And if you did get a favorable wind, how could you rely on it to stay?
The barons flatly refused the plan. It was too risky. Let Harold stay King
of England--there was no way this could work, it wasn't profitable, and there
was no point in going about it.
The Duke was completely stunned. But he recovered and then set about
convincing the barons that attacking England was a good thing and a fruitful
one.
First he tried trickery--the faithful FitzOsbern let the barons elect him as
spokesman, and promptly sided with William. But the shouts of anger from the
others drowned out his promises of help.
Since that failed him, William arranged to see each baron alone. And alone,
they could not match him for pure will power. They each left, promising some
number of men and to build a few ships, and walked from their leader with
whispers of English land in their ears.
Yet an army formed purely from Normandy would be crushed by the English. So
out William rode to the other counts and dukes, and also to the King of France.
(Partly, also, to request that they not attack Normandy while he was gone.)
There were other charges laid against Harold, none of which made much of an
impression upon them. One man, Count Eustace of Boulogne, did come with William
to England, but that was the only truly welcoming answer he received. (And not
a particularly surprising one, either, considering Count Eustace had in fact,
upon visiting Edward, been openly offensive to the English town of Dover, who
had promptly driven him out of the city and out of England.)
However, the only hostile answer William received was from Count
Conan of Brittany, who first wished William good luck, and then promised to
seize Normandy, as it was rightfully his. (A few days later, he died from
poison spread on his bridle, gloves, and his hunting horn. William was blamed
for this; however, it appeared that it was done without his instigation by
someone trying to please him.)
Other representatives of William's were sent to Denmark and to Germany--and
one to Rome. But the embassy to Rome was not William's idea.
That was Lanfranc's.
Lanfranc was an Italian, a logician, a theologian, and a highly respected
churchman. But he was also a politician, who saw straight through William's
claims and stepped in to help.
Even if Harold had no right to be the English King, there was no proof
William had, either. The promises of Edward and Harold rested upon William's
word alone, and his relationship to the English throne? His great-aunt had been
the wife of two kings and mother of Edward. None of these would stand very long
if, for some reason, William was suddenly subjected to intense scrutiny.
He needed another reason, a new purpose, to give his quest for conquest
strength. The aim, as presented to the world, should not be that of William's
gaining of England. It should be a war to purify the English church, a holy
war. A war that could offer salvation to the men that fought within it.
So the Archdeacon of Liseux went to Rome. The case for William was
presented. Harold was not represented--after all, it would take a month to go
to England and back. If anyone pointed out they were only hearing William's
case, he was not heard.
The Archdeacon returned with the Pope's blessing, a banner to bring into
battle, and a ring containing a relic of St. Peter. There was a condition
attached; William would be the vassal of the Pope and hold England for him.
William had no intention of acting as anyone's vassal, but he accepted the
gifts and was quiet.
Elsewhere in Normandy, a short knight was having troubles. Before him lay
scattered golden pieces, some of which had been shoved together in a strange
lump that somehow resembled a sickly cow.
"Curse you!" snapped Robert, staring at the puzzle. Despite all
efforts to solve it, nothing happened. (This amused Stephen to no end--although
he had tried it as well, with no success.) "Curse you and whoever invented
you..." he mumbled, trying to shove another piece in. His entire hunk of
golden pieces promptly fell apart on him. Robert let his hand crash onto the
table, and brought it sharply upwards, clutching it, then glared at the sharp
piece it had landed upon.
It glittered at him.
With a clatter, the knight rose and stomped away from it, still holding his
hand, to find his friend. He did so quickly.
"Are you still trying to solve your prize?" asked Stephen, amused.
"Yes," said Robert. "I thought I was making progress..."
"What happened your hand?" asked the other, curious.
"Nothing," said Robert quickly. "Just whacked it on
something."
Stephen gave him a skeptical look.
"I did!"
"...So, how about this 'progress' of yours?"
"It fell apart on me," sighed Robert. "Again. The golden
thing is possessed, I tell you..."
"Don't joke about possession," said Stephen, returning to his
normal bad humor. "And don't mention you're carrying something worth who knows
what..."
"Who would steal from a knight?" asked Robert, shrugging. "I
don't think anyone would try that--they'd have to be crazy."
Stephen grunted and the two walked off.
"Did you hear that?" asked someone with a slight lisp, watching
them disappear.
His companion turned around, annoyed. They were both relatively small
people; one was reminiscent of a snake, and the other had the attitude of a
grizzly bear. The former was the one staring after the knights.
"No, mainly because I'm busying hiding the things you
were too busy to steal."
"He has something of pure gold," lisped the other. "That
would be worth quite a lot..."
"Good for him. There's a soldier coming, and I don't like the way he's
looking at us..."
"Quiet, I'm thinking," snapped the first. "He's about our
height...and he has a hurt hand..."
"He's also a knight. I don't want to mess with a knight. I don't want
to die!"
"Let me think of plan," muttered the other. "Just let me
think of a plan..."
His associate gave him a doubtful look. He knew of these plans.
********
To return to England, it was just past Easter--the Tuesday past, in fact.
The men by the sea were becoming complacent; the people of Horstede had decided
there had never been a threat and that the King had overreacted. It was spring,
and new life was everywhere. It was not a time to think of war or death. Christ
is risen; the world rejoices.
Yet Deor thought of death. He did, in fact, think of death every Easter.
Someone had died, a few years ago, just this time of year--Æðelfrið, his
younger sister. Like Deor, she had not been very strong. But unlike Deor, her
weakness was deadly. When a disease came, she withered, a leaf tossed in the
fire, and died almost instantly.
He missed her greatly. Directly after she had died, he had seen her, in the
corner of his eye, heard her voice just out sight, started at the touch of a
hand that was not there. It faded, slowly, and left him. Every year he went to
her grave and said something to her, and this year was no different.
As he left his home, his eye once again caught something glittering the
earth of the garden, between the fresh leaves of the plants. He reached in, and
pulled out, dangling on a cord, a strange golden pendant, a circular object
with a triangle set in the middle, engraved with an eye. From it dangled other
objects, pointed sharply.
What was this doing in his garden? What was it doing in Horstede?
What was it even doing in England? It was like nothing he had ever seen before
in his life, strange and exotic--and frightening.
He held it out at an arm's length, wary of letting it any closer. He would
have to visit Æðelfrið later--this had to be taken to Ulfer's home immediately.
Deor was no thief, but someone in the village was, and he refused to be blamed
for their transgression.
And yet...
If he didn't sneak out tonight, he might not find the time to honor her
until Sunday, and even then... He had always made it before, for her. He should
make it now. And Ulfer was not home, either. His wife was, and she certainly
wouldn't want him visiting late at night...
Still not touching the ring itself, he skirted off to her grave. Even though
all in the village knew that he did this, Deor was suddenly frightened of what
might happen if someone saw the gold before he could return it. But he had
already started off, and he could not turn back now.
"Well, Æðelfrið," he murmured, setting a small bunch of flowers on
the grave, "another year has passed. A house-carl--a real house-carl came
to Horstede. He said there will be war soon... Though that was a long time ago,
so perhaps there won't be one... Most in Horstede think that, at least. Also, I
found this in the garden," he said thoughtfully, dropping the pendant on
the earth by the grave, standing slightly to make sure no one was watching him.
"I'm not sure--"
His thoughts were broken and ripped apart by the comet in the sky. A trail
of wild and fierce fire, it streaked overhead, a portent of doom, lighting the
world into a blaze, painfully bright to behold.
Deor took a step back, and slipped on the dew-covered ground. His hands
stretched out to save himself, and one fell upon the golden circle. He
recovered, and looked at his hand, which had not moved from where it had
fallen. Staring, the boy could not believe what he saw. The ground was
darkening--no, it was being covered by some sort of black mist. He jerked his
hand away from it, but the darkness was spreading. Growing faster and faster,
it climbed into the air, blotting out the fading fire of the comet, and the distance,
out-shone light of the moon and stars. Deor found himself alone in a world of
undulating night.
Not alone.
Two strange, crazed brown eyes opened in the night, narrow and maddened with
hatred. From the gloom a form was made clear, of someone much like Deor
himself, but older, and scarred. On his chest he wore the pendant from the
garden, and he looked down at the fallen youth in disdain.
"You're a devil," breathed Deor, frozen. "Be gone!" He
had no reason to believe that would help, but he could always try...
The other seemed to take a moment to absorb his language, then replied
stiffly--and with strange inflections--"A devil--yes...a demon who has
waited two thousand years for revenge. And we'll achieve it, won't we... Who
are you?"
Deor remained fiercely silent, eyes darting everywhere, seeking escape. But
the shadowed world offered him no gateway, and the other started to laugh.
"There is no place to run, here. No place to run, nor to hide, nor to
live... You are in a higher hell, boy. Welcome to the land of limbo--where
those who cannot die or live remain for eternity. I think you should grow to
know it--so why don't I leave you here?"
Deor, seeing no way out, lunged at the other, in an attempt to destroy. But
he ran into something smooth and cold, like glass, and backing away from it,
found another surface of glass. He was trapped. And the other one was gone. But
now, he could see--he could see through his eyes and feel his body. But he
could no longer control it.
The petals of flowers were crushed into the earth as Deor's body stood, the
narrowed eyes looking down at Æðelfri's grave.
"Appropriate," he said softly. Then he was silent, shifting
through the memories of this boy--who he discovered was named Deor. The grave
was that of his sister, which Deor apparently visited every year. Pathetically
sweet, he thought. Acting as he does will be difficult...
He tilted his head up to the night sky, sniffing the air, feeling as the
night air gently tugged at his cloak and clothes. "Very different from
Egypt," he muttered. "Colder, less harsh..." He studied the new
language in his mind. It was strange as well, unlike anything he'd spoken
before. But he would cope with this--even with behaving as nicely as this boy
apparently did.
"I suppose I should give myself a name, as I know his now..." He
searched through Deor's vocabulary, looking for something suitable. One word
stood out from the others, and he chose it, a smirk developing across his face.
"Ecghete."
.
The comet, with its fearsome light and terrifying fire, was an omen of
destruction to the English people who saw it. And true enough, almost as soon
as it had left, ships were sighted near the Isle of Wight. Yet, these were not
William's ships. They were not the ships of a man who was expected to attack.
They were the ships of someone people had half forgotten.
They were the ships of Tostig, brother of Harold, one-time Earl of
Northumbria and favorite of Edward.
Tostig had been a perfect young man that everyone liked and admired--even
highly critical men. But upon becoming earl, something happened. Tostig became
vicious, murderous, and tyrannical, until the people of Northumbria deposed him
and ordered Edward to exile him. Even Harold could not support him, and Edward
was forced to send him away.
Now Tostig had returned, to reclaim England, with a handful of ships and
only a few sailors. Perhaps he was crazy; perhaps he was not.
But whatever the state of his mind might have been, his actions made sense to
no one.
********
Dun dun duuuun! Cliffy!
(pause) Wait... This whole thing is roller coaster of cliffies... Oh well. I like
them. Anyway...
Æðelfrið means "noble peace" (pronounced Athelfrith), and
Tostig is pronounced "Tohsty", I believe. (No comments from the
peanut gallery...) That brings me to an important point: pronunciation. I found
out how Mouself says Cyneheard. And it's horribly wrong. The name is
pronounced--believe it or not--KUN-hay-aird.
(At least... I think that's right...) Deor is "dayor", not
"deeor". Wulgar=wulfyar.
I think those are the only really troublesome ones, but let me know,
'kay? And criticize... Mmmmm... Criticism... Yummmmmmmmy...
Review Replies:
Little_Child_of_the_West_Wind: Ssssssilver, gollum. We likes silver,
gollum. And we likes Beowulf, gollum. We likes copying Tolkien... We likes many
things. Goooollum.
Tamara Raymond: Thanks a bunch for your criticism. Was this chapter
better? I hope it was...
Mouself: (confiscates your Deor, Bakura, and Ryano [don't own]
plushies) (rescues Cyneheard)
B/k: Oneoneoneoneneo!!!1111 GIVE CRITICISM! GIMMEEE!
angelkohaku: Actually, that's what everyone said I needed... Figures
that I hate describing things... -_-;;; As for Wulfgar and war-horses... You
never know. He might not see one... Then again, he might. (Yes, that made a lot
of sense...) And Flaed is very, very honored.
Tuulikki: Kukukuku... Bow before me, mortals! Erm... I know what you
mean about criticism. I either am too scared to criticize or else I go
completely crazy and start criticizing everything. ("You moron! You used
'an' when you clearly wanted 'a'!") But couldn't you criticize the writing
or something? Need it...need need neeeeeeeeeeeeeed. But I'm very glad Cyneheard
is unforgettable.
Silver Dragon Golden Dragon: You could always be a Saxon. Except for
the fact that Saxons and Danes were enemies... Oh weeeeeeeeeeeeeeell...
Kat: History is good. Learn history. Study actions of evil people.
Learn from their mistakes and rule the world! (cackles)
: Just curious... Are you the same anonymous person as before? ^^U
Anyway... I was afraid of that... You can read the poem online, and you might
want to, because it is probably returning. But thank you very much for the
criticism.
Kat: I don't want to put a list... Because that means I'm not
writing it correctly, and if I'm not writing correctly, I'm not doing my job,
and if I'm not doing my job, I'LL BE FIRED!
And... Bee-keeping was a valid Anglo-Saxon occupation.