"The Littlest Kingdom" (Please Check First Post For Opportunities)

[A_Lonely_Guy]

Background

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Over a span of three decades, a succession of short term Noble Lords and Ladies drove the Barony of Tulane into financial ruin. To maintain their unsustainable life styles, they sold neighboring Nobles parcels of their frontier lands, then the majority of their timber-rich forests and fertile bottom lands, and even a dozen rural villages -- indentured serfs and stock animals included -- until finally, today, the once proud Barony of Tulane has been reduced to a fifth of its once great size.

The Great House is the one shining treasure left in Tulane, but when -- for the sixth year straight -- the Baron of the day was unable to pay his taxes, King Hurtha exiled him and took possession of the remnants of the Barony himself. The King maintained the Great House, using it as a hunting lodge and a rendezvous for the quenching of his insatiable lust, more often than not with the wive or daughter -- or both -- of one of the Nobles who served him.

Twenty years passed, and the health of the King -- who still had no recognized, legitimate heir -- began to fade. All about the Kingdom, Noble Ladies and peasant wenches alike began their efforts to establish the legitimacy of their illegitimate children as the true heirs of King Hurtha. The competition -- sometimes conducted quietly behind closed doors, other times pronounced loudly in the streets and public Ale Houses -- intensified every time a new rumor of the King's imminent death began to circulate.

While the Nobles who served him were lining up behind specific individuals with seemingly legitimate claims to the King's bloodline, the King himself had already privately decided which of his bastard children would sit in the Throne once he'd passed.

 

[A_Lonely_Guy]

Standing beside and slightly behind his King, Garron of Ermia greeted each of the arrival Nobles with a smile and the slight, respectful nod of his head ... while never taking his eyes off the swords and daggers that hung from the belts about their own waists and the waists of their one and only one Escort or Bodyguard.

When the last of the guests -- eleven Lords, three Ladies, and escorts -- was assembled, the Captain of the King's BodyGuard nodded to Garron, who in turn gestured to the Guardsmen at the Great Hall's entrance. Slowly, the heavy oak doors swung closed, slamming in place with a thunderous boom that echoed through the hall. The last time Garron had heard this sound, a treacherous Noble had entered the hall in chains and exited the hall with his head in a bucket. Garron looked about the faces and wondered how many of them were expecting a similar experience ... as well as wondering whether they themselves were to be the one leaving in two pieces today.

Garron knew that there were more than a few Nobles with reason to be wary of the unexpected invitations that he and some of the King's Guardsmen has been delivering over the past week. Across the kingdom, the competition for the crown was in full swing, despite the fact that the King was still alive and well ... or, at least, alive.

Nobles and peasants alike were desperate to prove the legitimacy of the illegitimate children in an attempt to put that child on the throne upon the ailing King's death. Every female who had ever parted her thighs for his Monarch and then birthed a child any where close to a year later was coming to the Chancellor with proof that their son or daughter was the love child of His Majesty: love letters sworn to have been written by the King, impartial witnesses to the reputed affairs who, of course, had no reason whatsoever to lie; even simple comparison's of the physical similarities between the King and his offspring were all offered up as undeniable evidence that this child or that child was the child to assume the Crown when the time came.

The tension was great between the Nobles assembled here today, most of whom were already standing behind one child or another. Stories abounded of what the Nobles were doing to aim the succession of the crown in a direction that favored them; secret treaties, promises of land swaps, even kidnappings of innocent children and assassination attempts of those supporting a prospective heir.

"Lieutenant!"

Garron suddenly realized that his name had been spoken ... once ... twice maybe...? Without even thinking, his hand moved to the hilt of his sword, gripping it tightly. He caught the disapproving glare of the Captain of the King's Bodyguard, then realized that the King's hand was extended in a familiar gesture.

Garron stepped forward, taking his King's arm and aiding him unsteadily to his feet. He was about to step back again when the Monarch gestured to the stone floor before him and commanded, "Take a knee."

Garron's stomach rolled over. He asked, trying to conceal his shock and fear, "Your majesty...?"

The King reached out and patted him on the shoulder, smiling as he repeated, "Take a knee."

Garron hesitated; there were only two reasons for anyone to take a knee before the King -- knighting and execution -- and neither applied to Garron at this time. Unless...

Garron's stomach rolled again. Someone had accused him of treachery against the King; it was the only reason for the King to kneel Garron on the marble before him. As he stood there, simply staring at his Lord -- his stomach continuing to twist, his heart pounding so hard he couldn't hear the murmur rising in the assemblage -- he thought to himself, Run!

But he didn't move; he couldn't have if he'd wanted to. His entire body was frozen in uncertainty. Suddenly, his mind was filled with a twenty year old memory of when, as a boy, he'd come across a bear in the forest and froze, terrified. As the massive creature rose to its back feet and let loose a thunderous growl, little Garron has simply stood there and stared up at the beast ... until finally, the bear -- uninterested in human meat -- dropped to all fours and wandered slowly back into the berry-thick undergrowth.

"Lieutenant!" the Captain repeated, causing Garron to quickly turn his eyes to him. The man was standing just inches from him. He released the buckle on Garron's hip, causing his Guard-provided belt holding the sword's scabbard to fall away from him. The Captain pointed to the designated spot and commanded, "Take a knee."

This time, Garron didn't hesitate. He moved quickly -- to the place on the floor where just days earlier he'd helped restrain the man who departed headless -- and knelt on one knee. As he waited, he was suddenly aware that his hand was gripping the hilt of his dagger so tightly that pain was beginning to radiate up his arm. He released the grip quickly, flexing his fingers, then crossed his fore arms over he knee ... and waited.

What am I being accused of? his brain screamed within the walls of his skull. What lies have been told of me? Who has betrayed me? I am but a loyal Guardsman. I have no intrigue in my heart.

Garron heard the sound of metal on metal -- the Executioners ax being lifted from the marble floor perhaps? -- and was so certain that he was about to lose his head that he looked up and, with a pleading tone, said, "Please, my Lord--"

Then ... even more uncertainty.

The Captain of the Bodyguard was handing the King his Ceremonial Sword ... the King's Chancellor was dangling a gold medallion from a ribbon in one hand ... and ... Garron's mother had suddenly appeared from out of no where and was standing beside the King's current Consort with a smile as broad as the river that cut through the Kingdom.

"I will make this short and sweet, as they say," the King began. He was trying to sound regal and authoritative, but his words were labored by the difficulty he'd been having breathing. He stepped closer to Garron and raised the tip of the sword to hover over Garron's head. "Garron of Ermia ... for the years of loyal service you have shown the Crown and the Kingdom, I proclaim you Viscount of Tulane..."

A group gasp sounded behind, startling Garron even more than the King's unbelievable words.

"... with all the privileges and responsibilities that accompany the title," the King continued, laying the flat edge of the sword on Garron's right shoulder, then lifting it and laying it on the left shoulder as he continued. "This title and the lands that come with it are accompanied by the rights of inheritance and the duties of obligation."

Duties of obligation, Garron knew, meant paying the King's taxes and conscripting troops for the King's army. These were the responsibilities of any and all Nobles ... but ...

I'm not a Noble! I'm a lowly soldier! I'm ... I'm a nobody! He pulled his eyes away from the King and looked to his mother, whose eyes were filled with tears. She doesn't cry! Why is my mother crying? Why is my mother even here? Why the hell am I here!!

Garron was totally overwhelmed. This just didn't happen to a Commoner. Oh, sure, he'd heard of Commoners being knighted and their children being granted lands and titles, but a Commoner himself...? That didn't happen, not because the King wouldn't do it, but because the Nobility -- upon which the King, almighty as he is, depended greatly -- wouldn't accept it.

"Rise, Viscount Garron of Tulane," the King finished, pulling the sword back and allowing the tip to clink to the stone floor. "Rise and greet your King."

Garron hesitated, still shocked. Tulane...? This they will NOT accept!

Garron had often accompanied the King -- typically accompanied by one or more of his Courtesans of the day -- to the House at Tulane as part of the Bodyguard. The small castle was a beautiful structure in a beautiful place; it sat atop a small hillock in the heart of a fertile land, surrounded by fields of grain, pastures of sheep, and forests thick with timber. As a part of the King's domain, it was perfect, a pleasure wonderland with riding, fishing, hunting and -- in the House's bed chambers -- endless sex with what ever female companion he happened to bring with him or have waiting for his arrival.

But, as a stand alone Territory, Tulane -- once a Barony but now, apparently, a Country -- was insufficient for ... well, for just about everything. The County borders were at those thick forests visible in every direction from the House, with the lands beyond them claimed by other Nobles who -- if it hadn't been that the House was the King's pleasure palace -- would have seized what remained of the Barony decades earlier.

There simply wasn't enough land in Tulane to support a Viscount and the people who would be needed to maintain the land.

Garron stood to face the King and greeted him not as a Commoner Guardsman, but as a Noble man; he bowed his head, looking to the King's feet, and -- as he'd seen visiting dignitaries and those inheriting their deceased parents' titles do for so many years -- said with a shaking voice, "It is my honor and pleasure to meet you, Your Highness."

The Captain returned to Garron with a sword -- a different sword -- and, with the help of the Chancellor, wrapped and secured the belt and scabbard to his waist. Garron looked to it; unlike his Guard sword, which had been designed with the weight and functionality of combat, this one was elegant and light weight, obviously meant for the ceremonies, such as this.

The King held out his hand, palm down. Garron looked at it, then glanced quickly between the Captain, the Chancellor, and his mother, all of whom had broad smiles or were nodding their head reassuringly. Garron was being ripped apart by the still-pounding heart and, now, a chill surging up his spine. He stepped forward, took the King's hand, leaned, and kissed the massive stone adorning the ring on his middle finger. "Your Majesty."

Garron looked up to see the King look beyond him, to the crowd. A round of applause arose, accented by exclamations of praise. And while the praise that Garron was hearing was emphatic, he could tell that the sounds were not coming from all of those assembled behind him. Again, he repeated to himself, They're not going to accept this!

While the Barony of Tulane hadn't been able to support itself in the years before Garron's birth, changes within and without the Kingdom -- environmental, political, and military -- had now left the County of Tulane sitting at the crossroads of the Kingdom, with the three highways that cut across King's lands intersecting inside the tiny Territory's boundaries. Aside from the beautiful House and valuable land surrounding it, the strategic importance of the County and the toll roads and bridges within it were the primary reasons the neighboring nobles had been petitioning the King for control over it for a generation.

And now it's mine...? he thought. They won't accept this.

The King stepped forward unsteadily and took Garron's shoulders in his hands. "You have questions." The King's words came out as a statement, not a question. Garron was unsure of how to answer, but the King continued, "All in good time, Viscount Garron of Tulane. Sounds good doesn't it...? Viscount ... Garron ... of Tulane."

"The feast," the Captain said politely to the King.

The King released his hold on Garron and called, "To the banquet room. Now, we feast."

The crowd began to disperse immediately, with the sound of murmuring voices filling the room. Garron turned and looked to his fellow Nobles; those facing him wore expressions that ranged from disbelief to dismay to downright hatred.

He flinched at the feel of his mother wrapping her arms around him. "I'm so proud of you my son."

As he returned the hug, he whispered, "I don't understand."

"You will, son," was all she said before she clasped his hand and said, "But now ... they wish to celebrate your good fortune with wine and food and music and dancing girls--" She laughed loudly. "You always liked dancing girls, son."

He followed her, silently, his eyes moving about to all of those about him, confused.

This doesn't happen, he told himself. This ... this just doesn't happen...

 

[A_Lonely_Guy]

The feast was a confusing event for Garron: half of the guests were joyous and jubilant, drinking and eating and laughing as the musicians moved about the room with the scantily clad dancers; and the other half -- who spent half of their time leaning back and forth whispering -- were somber and constantly glancing Garron's way with expressions he preferred not to analyze.

And the entire while, Garron was trying to figure out how he, a lowly soldier and member of the King's Bodyguard, could be elevated to Viscount of a County that -- while being tiny and unlikely to be able to support itself in its current state of affairs -- sat at a strategic location which could give it a prominent place in the Kingdom's power if the right circumstances presented themselves.

Garron, of course, could only assume that this affair was a result of his father's bravery during the war.

The story that Garron had grown up with was that his father had saved the King's life during the War of the Eastern Mountains. The King had traveled to the Front to review the troops, but he and his entourage had been ambushed and facing certain capture or death. From out of no where, a Light Cavalry man -- "wielding a sword in each hand and screaming like a banshee", the King had once recalled -- swept into the heart of the enemy unit, killing its leader and several other leaders. He made three passes, each time taking multiple lives, as well as at least one arrow each pass from the archers on an outcrop nearby. Devastated and confused the remains of the unit dispersed, and the King was was saved.

Garron's father would die three days later of his injuries in the tent of the King himself. His last words were of his regret for leaving his pregnant wife alone, unable to care for herself and their unborn child.

"Fear not," the King had said, "She will never want for anything."

And neither she or Garron had. Garron's mother had been provided with a pension and a small piece of property that she worked free of tax obligation. His mother reported to the King's Chancellor every year about how she was doing; and was told that for anything she needed, all she had to do was come to the Chancellor and ask.

The next chapter of Garron's life was, of course, the one he remembered with the greatest detail. When he was six, his mother died of the Fever. He was taken into the home of a Palace Guardsman and raised as the man's son. When Garron was 14, his new father was killed during a Palace Revolt. Garron petitioned the King to be allowed to replace the man as a Palace Guardsman but was turned down for his lack of experience. Instead, he joined the King's Cavalry, as he birth father had, and proved himself there sufficiently to not only join the Palace Guard but to eventually rise to become part of the King's Personal Bodyguard.

He owed everything that he was to the man sitting at the head of the feast table. And now, he was being given an opportunity that, while he didn't honestly believe he deserved it, he knew he would make something great of.

 

[A_Lonely_Guy]

Garron stood at the crenelation of the Lookout Tower, peering down at the people who had been gathering all morning in the field below the House of Tulane. He glanced to the man beside and behind him and asked with a tone of dismay, "Where are the others?"

"This is everyone, m'Lord," the man said, stepping forward to take a better look at the three dozen men, women, and children below. "Maybe ten more ... out near the border. They can't all abandon their work to meet their new Lord Master, Sire."

"Yes, yes," Garron said, "I understand. I just thought..."

He led the thought fade and the words trail away. He'd requested that every one inside the borders of Tulane come to the House today. So he could introduce himself and his vision for the future of Tulane. But this...! He couldn't maintain the House and the property around it with thirty to forty people; how was he to maintain the entirety of the County of Tulane in this way?

"Gather them," he commanded, studying them closely. "Provide food, drink ... and I will see them shortly."

"Yes, m'Lord," the man said, turning to descend the Tower staircase.

Garron watched the group for a long moment, thinking that this was even more impossible that he'd imagined it would be.