Belgian Waffling - A Comedic Victoria III AAR

[MidKnightDreary]

Belgian Waffling
A Comedic Victoria III AAR

Introduction:

I have no idea how to play Victoria.

In 2011, I purchased a bonafide, paper-box version of Victoria II. It was my very first Paradox game. I was 11 years old. I bounced right off the game, a fruitless attempt at playing my American homeland abandoned after surely less than an hour, and I went on my merry way. Years later, Crusader Kings II got me back into the hobby, and I now own every modern "Big 4" Paradox title, plus Stellaris. However, Victoria III only joined the party a few weeks ago with the Humble Bundle monthly, and I couldn't resist the opportunity to snag the successor of the game that introduced me to the name Paradox Games. That said, I still have no idea how to play Victoria.

So why not make my idiocy an AAR?

I had been getting the itch to write again for some time. My day job is a very technical and scientific role, but my hobbies are overwhelmingly creative in nature. Plus, I can't keep making the prolific and talented Nikolai carry the whole load of the Victoria III AAR community. So heck, why not write one where my inability to lead a country through the 19th century will become part of the storyline. Buckle up and prepare to facepalm.

Disclaimer: This is a comedy AAR. Slang, jargon, and dialogue may be wildly anachronistic. No disrespect is meant to any culture or historical figure, except Leopold II.

Welcome to Belgian Waffling.

​

Notes:
- Backseat gaming is encouraged.
- My "advisers" will be considered as in-game advisers as well, please indicate if your comment is "in-character" or "out-of-character".
- You can opt out of being a character at any time. (4/25/24)

 

[MidKnightDreary]

reserved for table of contents

 

[Nikolai]

Plus, I can't keep making the prolific and talented Nikolai carry the whole load of the Victoria III AAR community.

I welcome more content! Subbed and good luck!

 

[Lord Durham]

Looking forward to this .

 

[MidKnightDreary]

Prologue 1:
The Confessions of Lewis Taylor, Second King of Belgium

I never set out to be a king. No really, I swear. I'm not putting on airs of false humility, or may God strike me dead. Well, I'm not much longer for the world anyhow, so you'll just have to take my word for it. I set out today to write the whole truth and nothing but, and thus all visitors except my faithful scribe, Ludolf have been cast out of the room. Yes, Ludolf, you. You don't have to write down the parts where I'm talking directly to you. No. Stop it.

Now then, where was I? Ah yes, right at the beginning. I never was much good at getting to the point. It all started when I was a young lad, growing up in the State of Connecticut, in the USA. Don't look so surprised, Ludolf, you'll wear out your face long before you're done being surprised today. See, I was born Lewis Thalmann, the son of a Saxon who moved to America in search of a new life. Then he died of yellow fever 3 years after I was born, as did my mother. So there I was an orphan in an infant nation. I was taken in by a kindy shipbuilder who only beat me a few times a week, and in return, I worked hard as a shipbuilder myself. After the little scuffle in 1812, and whatever else was going on, I had enough money to move and pursue my dream. Theater!

I moved down to Philadelphia and managed to land a very small role at the Walnut Street Theatre. Taking the name "Lewis Taylor" to sound more American, I shared an apartment with about 9 other actors and was even understudy to the understudy for the great Edmund Kean. One night, the understudy was sick, and for a glorious moment, I was just a normal understudy. What a rush!

On a fatal day in late 1835, I was watching a practice by a juggler named Signor Vivalla, who was scheduled for a show the next year, when a gentleman approached me, speaking in an odd accent I now know to be Belgian. And that's where the trouble began...​

 

[El Pip]

The famous nation of Flanoonistan and it's unofficial motto 'Causing international inconvenience since 1830'. Naturally I will have to follow this.

An intriguing start, I look forward to seeing where it goes.

 

[Chac1]

Love the flag and the introductory concept here. AARland has very few comedies so this is definitely welcome. @MidKnightDreary is certainly a newcomer of note to take up an AAR along with their very interesting comments.

I will definitely follow this along. The concept of an orphan in America becoming the King of Belgium is a rich joke all by itself.

P.S.: Plus, already using the Inkwell scores extra points.

 

[MidKnightDreary]

Prologue 2:
A Connecticut Yankee In King Leopold's Court

"Good Sir, do you have a moment?" rang the voice.

I didn't realize he was talking to me, at first. Usually, I wasn't addressed as 'good sir', more often 'hey you' or simply 'MOVE'. I had a knack for standing in the wrong place.

"Sir?" he enquired again.

"Oh, my apologies. I didn't realize you were addressing me." I replied. Perhaps I was standing upon his shoe?

"No worries, my friend. Listen, you bear a striking resemblance to a wealthy and powerful friend of mine. I was wondering if you would be interested in coming with me to play an amusing joke on him. He would be quite surprised to see his doppelganger across from him, don't you think?"

"Well, I don't know, I'm really quite busy. Maybe I can pop by sometime." I wasn't really that busy, but one has to keep up appearances.

"Ah yes, I've spoken with your director. Perhaps he could be persuaded to find someone to replace you as... Illiterate Buffoon Number 3?" he asked. I couldn't tell if he was mocking me. It takes a lot of work to breathe life into that character!

"Well, I'm sure it would be a real struggle," I said, graciously and humbly. "Perhaps it could be done."

"I hope so," the stranger said. "I'm prepared to pay quite handsomely." He jingled a bag of coin, the fat purse weighing down his hand. My reply caught in my mouth. That was at least three year's worth of pay. "Consider this a deposit. Would you like to come discuss further?" I nodded meekly, pride and role forgotten, and followed at his heels like a young pup at its master's heel.

Henrick Bakker started the chain of events that would lead to the accession of Lewis Taylor

"Sit." My companion, who I now knew as Henrick Bakker, said. I sat. "Have you ever had a waffle?"

"Uh... no," I admitted, surveying the small cafe I had been led to. "What's a... waffle?" I turned the unfamiliar, somewhat silly-sounding word over in my mouth. Waffle. Waffle. Fun word.

He smiled, and instead of an answer, he relayed an order of two waffles to the overly-attendant waitress, no doubt gravitating to the imperially dressed man. One of my nine roommates, a waiter when he wasn't portraying "Illiterate Buffoon 2" with the vigor of one who didn't know he'd peaked, had mentioned that Europeans would occasionally give extra money for their meal, intended as a gift for good service. I'm sure it will never catch on here. Regardless, we got our waffles in good time, and she got a coin that quickly vanished into some inside pocket.

I sat looking at the dish. "It's.. a grid? Made of bread?"

He was already tucking in, having crushed a sugar cube and poured it into the holes of the dish. "Just eat it. You'll see."

My first apprehensive bite could not have been more of a revelation. The dish, so spongy yet with a crunch at its thinnest points, the sweetness of the sugar and the dough, and the fullness that sat in my stomach as I ate four of them that morning all combined to a rapture of flavor. I was enthralled.

He broke the silence first. "The French will say they invented the waffle. They are wrong. This dish, my friend, belongs to the Belgians."

"Ah, yes," I sat back thoughtfully, at least I hoped. "The Belgians."

We sat in silence for a long moment, until he got the hint.

"Belgium is a nation newly independent of the Dutch, around six years ago. I'm afraid I've understated the import of my aforementioned friend and your seeming twin. He is, you see, the King of Belgium."

"Oh."

"Indeed. Thus, if we are to present him with your presence, we must go there, as he is quite busy, what with leading a nation and all. You understand. Of course, all travel will be paid by myself, and I'm prepared to offer a generous stipend." he jingled the coin purse meaningfully. I swear I saw the waitress' ears perk up like a cat.

"Ah yes, I would be most inclined to... look like the king, in your service." I realized late how lame that sounded. Graciously, he seemed not to notice, or at least acknowledge. "I'll pack my bag at once. Do you think they would make me a waffle to go?"
​

---

Silas Richards, which carried Lewis Taylor and (almost) Hendrik Bakker to Belgium.

We got so close to shore. Truly, they had already begun preparations to make port in Bruges. I can still remember it. The sailors were going about their business, and Hendrik was talking to me.

"Soon you will see, our beautiful home. Oh, and the waffles, they are sublime!"

Given more time, I'm sure "The waffles are sublime" would not have been his choice of last words. Planning makes a fool of us all though, and those are the ones he got. A rope broke, snapping with a sound that haunts me to this day, and the free end caught poor Hendrik in the face. He staggered, clutched his hand to his face as his mouth made a wordless, soundless scream, and pitched silently into the waiting arms of the water below. Aghast, I took too long to respond, and by the time we put boats in, he was beneath the waves for good.

Putting into port in Bruges, I was greeted by a few friends of his. "Where's Hendrik?" they inquired. I gestured witlessly at the water lapping around the dock. They asked the captain of the vessel instead, and given the same answer, returned to me, their new American curiosity. "Say," they remarked. "Has anyone ever told you that you look like the king?"
​

---

The gaggle around me, 'The Forum of Educated Belgians' as they stylized themselves, wore out of asking questions about America faster than I thought. After a carriage ride, we took a locomotive the last 25 miles or so to Brussels, a bit of a novelty for me, as I had not been on one before.

The first locomotive in Belgium, running between Brussels and Mechelen

We approached the palace in a jolly mood, not least from the liquor provided to us. "It's New Year's Eve, after all!" one comrade pronounced. "We'll have a surprise for the King and joy for us all!" Hendrik aside, I supposed.

At the gates, the guards let us in without looking too close. The sharing of the liquor certainly helped their New Year's Spirit. The men bundled me up in a spare outfit of the King's and shoved me towards the door where the King and Queen were having their private dinner. "You're the spittin image." they slurred. "They'll love ya." I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I did look quite dapper. The Kingdom of Belgium seemed to have a higher costume budget than the Walnut Street Theatre. I grinned, recalled my Shakespearean kings for inspiration, and prepared for the performance of a lifetime.

Lewis Taylor, pictured here in the same outfit he wore New Year's Eve, 1835.


​

 

[Midnite Duke]

Loved, thank you for trying your hand. Will the Queen love Lewis more than the King? Are the friends going to substitute Lewis for the King? Does Lewis ever get enough waffles and will combine waffles with maple syrup or whipped cream? In a spin-off of a Quill18 (youtuber) trope, will Lewis invade France and make Paris the capital of Belgium? Chicken and waffles, French fries.

 

[HistoryDude]

Welcome to AARland! I look forward to seeing what results from this - it's always nice to see more comedy.

Does this Lewis character's resemblance to the king explain how he ascended the throne of Belgium?

 

[Midnite Duke]

Have you ever seen 1993 movie Dave with Kevin Kline being recruited to pose as the President?

 

[Nikolai]

Have you ever seen 1993 movie Dave with Kevin Kline being recruited to pose as the President?

That movie was awesome.

 

[El Pip]

Alas poor Hendrik, at least he died thinking about waffles which is perhaps of some small comfort.

 

[MidKnightDreary]

I welcome more content! Subbed and good luck!

You looked lonely on the Vicky 3 forum.

Love the flag and the introductory concept here. AARland has very few comedies so this is definitely welcome. @MidKnightDreary is certainly a newcomer of note to take up an AAR along with their very interesting comments.

I will definitely follow this along. The concept of an orphan in America becoming the King of Belgium is a rich joke all by itself.

P.S.: Plus, already using the Inkwell scores extra points.

Goodness, you're too kind.

Looking forward to this .

I am, frankly, in awe of already getting a compliment and catching the notice of the legend himself. Thanks for checking me out!

The famous nation of Flanoonistan and it's unofficial motto 'Causing international inconvenience since 1830'. Naturally I will have to follow this.

An intriguing start, I look forward to seeing where it goes.

"The former low country of Flanoonistan!" The King guessed.

"What? Where is that?" Lord E asked in confusion.

"That is his majesty's new way of describing Belgium." Koht wearily explained.

"Why?"

"Well the 'Flanoon' comes from their Flanders/Walloon confusion, any country called 'The former' automatically sounds dodgy and to be avoided, while the addition of 'stan' makes it seem a long way away and surrounded by bleak mountains. And dodgy." The King explained.

Did you reference an 18-year-old joke? That's dedication.

Loved, thank you for trying your hand. Will the Queen love Lewis more than the King? Are the friends going to substitute Lewis for the King? Does Lewis ever get enough waffles and will combine waffles with maple syrup or whipped cream? In a spin-off of a Quill18 (youtuber) trope, will Lewis invade France and make Paris the capital of Belgium? Chicken and waffles, French fries.

I actually watch Quill from time to time! All the rest will be answered in time...

Welcome to AARland! I look forward to seeing what results from this - it's always nice to see more comedy.

Does this Lewis character's resemblance to the king explain how he ascended the throne of Belgium?

Hmm, great question.

Have you ever seen 1993 movie Dave with Kevin Kline being recruited to pose as the President?

I actually have not, so please, pretend I'm super original instead.

Alas poor Hendrik, at least he died thinking about waffles which is perhaps of some small comfort.

May we all be so lucky when our time comes.

 

[Lord Durham]

One night, the understudy was sick, and for a glorious moment, I was just a normal understudy. What a rush!​

Yes, this line made me laugh. Very dry. Appeals to my Canuck sense of humour.

I sat looking at the dish. "It's.. a grid? Made of bread?"

He was already tucking in, having crushed a sugar cube and poured it into the holes of the dish. "Just eat it. You'll see."

My first apprehensive bite could not have been more of a revelation. The dish, so spongy yet with a crunch at its thinnest points, the sweetness of the sugar and the dough, and the fullness that sat in my stomach as I ate four of them that morning all combined to a rapture of flavor. I was enthralled.​

All that's missing is a liberal pouring of good 'ole Canadian Maple Syrup.

I am, frankly, in awe of already getting a compliment and catching the notice of the legend himself. Thanks for checking me out!

I'm flattered, but in reality I'm just someone who's been around a long time (off and on) trying to instill a sense of community in AARland.

BTW, as has been noted, love the flag .

 

[MidKnightDreary]

Prologue 3:
Joking Hazard, or The Queen's Side Piece

I barged into the dining chambers. Truth be told, I didn't mean to barge, but the latch was quite hard to maneuver, and I put too much force behind my effort to unstick it and stumbled gracelessly into the dining chamber of the King and Queen of Belgium. The two sat at the head of a moderate-sized dining chamber, eating peacefully. Well, peacefully until I barged in.

The pair stared at me. In the low light, I doubted they could make out my figure in too much detail.

"What is the meaning of this?" The king demanded. I could see by the candlelight that he sat beneath a large portrait of himself. I suppose if I had the money, I would have too.

The portrait of Leopold I that hung in the dining chamber.




"I am here as entertainment, Your Majesty!" I proclaimed. "Behold, the premiere of a new play, Le Léopold et le Léopard" What was I doing? I hadn't rehearsed for this, or actually written it quite yet. My traitor of a brain picked that exact moment to remind me that Leopold and Leopard sounded similar in French, and my mouth, as it often does, ran faster than my brain. Thank God that I had learned some French from some of the actors that had passed through the Walnut Street Theatre. Dredged up somewhere from the dusty storeroom at the back of my mind, I was reminded that kings executed people that they didn't like. Wait, did they still do that?

"Ah, splendid," he said gracefully, chuckling. "Léopold et le Léopard, that's quite clever." Even our voices were similar. Remarkable. I looked over at him and his much younger wife. She was a true beauty and had looked up from some tome or another to see what I was up to, peering eagerly into the darkness. "Well, go ahead." Leopold gestured with his fork, then took another bite of his waffle. Truly, we must have been kin.

"Yes, er, let me see." I stammered, pondering nervously. Though I was in the unenviable position of having to compose a one-man play off of what, frankly, was a ludicrous title, I have always been quick on my feet. "Ah-hem." I cleared my throat and launched into my off-the-cuff performance. How does one describe the innermost thoughts and desires of a man whom one knows quite little about? God alone knew, but I had to try. After all, I had interrupted his sacred waffle time. This was no longer about survival, but about making it up to my doppelganger.

"He must be so much more than just a king
The head of state and head that bears the crown
Such peace, goodwill to all he'll always bring
The men, the young, women joyous 'round town

But hark! An enemy is on the prowl
A spotted beast from far African shore
The calling of the moonlit warning owl
On Belgium's young she seeks to wage a war

Who stands between the beast and her young prey?
Who braves the teeth and claws of the leopard?
Who does God send when clergy kneel and pray?
Who heeds the call to be Belgium's shepherd?

King Leopold the first shall do all that
Now watch as he shall bravely brawl this cat"

Truthfully, I just sought to buy myself some time by co-opting the Bard and opening with a sonnet, then a raucous physical performance as I brawled an unseen leopard. Physical comedy always got them going. From there I could perhaps launch into a soliloquy about the burdens of leadership, and then maybe one from the leopard's perspective. As I finished my sonnet, I threw myself to the floor, twisting as I went to bear the brunt of the impact upon my shoulders, rather than my neck. However, I propelled myself too far and crashed into a suit of armor somewhere in the dark, which promptly fell over. The King laughed, which was a bit of encouragement to my ribs, which had just lost a battle against a heavy shield with the advantage of three feet of momentum.

"Come into the light, my friend; I want to see the performance better!" he called loudly, a bit unnecessarily since we were only three in that room. Beer had perhaps loosened his tongue, not that I could begrudge him that vice. Whatever strong thing Belgians bottled and shared readily had certainly loosened my tongue, though it had likely impaired my judgment and coordination. I put up a ferocious effort against my imaginary foe, though the she-leopard, aided in no small part by the collapsing armor stand and the hardness of the floor, was certainly getting her licks in as well. I executed a flawless tumble while mock-strangling the beast and landed in a pool of moon and candlelight, and thus the King could truly look at me for the first time. However, he had turned to his wife for a moment and was in the process of extolling the virtues of dinner. "I do wish you'd eat more, my dear, the waffles are truly sublime..."

His wife, less enthused about the sweet dish, had turned to look at me as I finally became truly visible, and my uncanny resemblance to her husband hit her like a charge of cavalry. An astute reader, the queen immediately called to mind the writings of the poet Donne of England, who had witnessed an apparition of his wife on the night she stillbirthed, though the wife was not truly present. She took it, as she told me later, as an ill omen at once, though the immediacy of the ill portent was unexpected to even her highest superstitions.

The King noticed the look of horror mixed with curiosity on her face and turned to face me, brow furrowed towards whatever had upset his wife so even as he took a bite of waffle. The look did not last long, however, as he caught sight of me, his seeming twin, cavorting in simulated mortal combat, his brow lifted, and he began to laugh heartily, waffle-praising and -chewing forgot. He laughed and laughed, so much so that the walls of that room echoed with the sound of it. For a moment, I was thrilled. All was going to be right in the world. I dreamed a brief dream of living in European luxury. My reverie was interrupted by the sounds of a king dying. Not metaphorically, with laughter, but literally, with laughs turning to desperate chokes and wheezes, the last, labored breaths forced past the food he'd inhaled along with them. He fell then, hands clutched to his throat, as his wife uselessly scrambled at a rapid pace to try and do something, anything. Had the imaginary leopard wanted, it certainly would have had the drop on me, as I sat there dumbfounded, in a regally-dressed heap on the floor.

After a minute, maybe more, there was no hope. The flickering candlelight and moonlight illuminated a pathetic scene. A king, unmoving, undone by a dessert and a joke from a friend who now resided at the bottom of the Atlantic. A queen, aghast, begging her husband to awaken. An actor, dressed as a king, watching a version of himself die. I wondered if I would look like that when I died. So still, so lifeless. The laughter of a few scant minutes ago replaced with stony panic.

The Queen called for servants then, though I know not what for. The King was on his way to Paradise. The occasion of the night saved me then, as I don't know what would have become of me had the New Year's Eve fireworks display not gone up then. The queen's anguish turned paradoxically to annoyance and anger as she called, and failing that, searched for a servant who had not run off to watch. Grief is a hard thing to wrangle, and as it slips from our hands we often find ourselves in possession of lesser emotions that we would, in more sober-minded times, consider to be less immediate, but in the throes of despair, are much easier to grasp ahold of.

I decided that this probably wasn't going to end well for me, so I chose that time to make a hasty retreat. Maybe I could flee before I was, presumably, arrested and executed for the death of the King. Maybe I could find passage back to America and swear off Europe and Europeans forever. Maybe if I timed it right... My scrambling, desperate mind, freed of its battle against the leopard only to be thrust into another desperate scramble to survive, suddenly found the sober clarity only known to those on the wrong end of steel. The Queen, you see, was holding me at gunpoint.

The Queen Anne's pistol used by Queen Louise


Being held at gunpoint by the Queen of Belgium was such a bizarre occurrence that my brain simply refused to accept it. Reality simply bounced around my brain like it was in an infant's rattle, then simply collapsed back into acceptance. She still had the gun.


"Do not move," she demanded. She made a persuasive argument. She started pacing a bit, muttering to herself in French. Something about the Dutch and masquerade? My eyes didn't leave the pistol's barrel, whose aim correspondingly didn't leave my eyes. She knew how to use that thing.

"Take off your coat. Now!" she barked at me. "What's your name, poet?"

I did as she said, though at the time, I figured she just didn't want to get my blood on it. "Lewis. Lewis Taylor."

"I am Queen Louise of Orleans, and I intend to stay Queen." Well, all the best to her, I had thought.

"Listen, I didn't mean to-" I protested, to save my head as much as in genuine apology. Guilt and shame would have their day, but shock wasn't quite done with me yet.

"Quiet. We don't have much time. My husband loved his country, and he wouldn't want it going to ruin just because some stupid American-" and she punctuated the latter two words by jabbing the barrel of her pistol at me twice, causing me to wince. "- came in here while we were eating and made him choke!" I wanted to protest that I didn't make him take a bite of the waffle, but it seemed like a bad time. She bent down and removed the jacket of her recently-late husband. She offered it to me. "Put it on."

"Uh, my lady... majesty" Honorifics weren't my strong suit. "What?"

"Put. It. On." Queen Louise and Queen Anne combined made a powerful duo, and soon I was wearing a dead man's overcoat. "Now put yours on him." I did as I was told. With the coats swapped, we sure did look like... Her plan landed like a blow to the liver, and my knees went weak.

"Surely you don't mean for me to pretend to be..." Her determined nod quieted my objections. "Put him over where you were." I dragged the poor King to my former spot under the pool of moonlight. He looked irritated with me, which was fair, I supposed. "Now then. When the servants come, you are going to be Leopold. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I-" She cut me off.

"You are going to be Leopold, who has come down with an illness, lost his voice, and is headed to bed at once. Do you understand?" I nodded. "Good, you're a quick learner. You'll need that. Now sit."

I sat next to her, appreciating the spread of food before me. I turned to look at her, as she cracked the volume she was reading before. Childe Herod's Pilgrimage. I approved, though she never managed to advance a single page, and tears crept down her face as she stole glances at the heap that was once her husband. I did feel for her, for love lost to the injustices of fate, but raising my voice seemed an ill-fated idea, so I simply kept quiet and contemplated if I had offended God to end up in this place.

When a maidservant returned from their firework-inspired dereliction of duty, she stood agape at the sight of a corpse on the floor. The Queen, I suppose my Queen now, simply looked up from her reading. "Ah, you've returned to duty?" The maidservant stammered an apology, eyes not wavering from the dead man, but the Queen waved her off. "Summon the guards, and I suppose those Forum fools probably are involved in this somehow?" She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, and I gave a slight nod. "Bring them as well."

The guards arrived first, and were shocked to see that the King was dead, and also that the King was alive, and if a little pale and sweating (the Queen held the pistol to my side as I sat), more or less well. "We'd an actor to visit us, but his constitution did not hold up," she explained. She had them hood the deceased man, for operation secrecy as well as common decency. When the Forum members arrived, likely hoping for high praise for their gambit, they at least had the decency to look chagrined at my presumed demise. They'd apologized profusely, and the Queen continued the cover-up. "Not only have you ruined our dinner, but you've also upset His Majesty's-" and I realized with a start that that was me now "-health", she continued. "He's very tired and wishes to sleep now. Isn't that right?" I nodded in a manner I hoped was regal. "Get the actor in a coffin at once, and prepare a plot. Tomorrow morning, he will be buried. His Majesty and I will attend, to thank him for giving his life in the service of our amusement. He was an American, I understand? Likely a Protestant, then. His Majesty's personal minister will officiate. Make it happen." The chastised Forumites scurried away, the body of the King in tow. "Marie," the Queen closed the proceedings by inquiring. "Please show the King to his bedchambers."

As I walked along the halls of the Royal Castle of Laeken, I couldn't help but be impressed. It was a good step up from the ten-man apartment I had resided at in Philadelphia. That feeling intensified as I entered my new bedroom. It was huge, with a massive canopy bed taking up the middle and intricate furniture around. I dismissed the maidservant with a shake of my head when she asked if I needed anything, and the second the door closed behind me, I threw myself onto the bed. Soft, comfortable, yet surprisingly supportive, it sure beat the hammock on the ship and the cot in Philadelphia. The alcohol and overwhelming stress overran my tired body, and I prepared to drift off to a well-deserved sleep.

It was not to be. I heard the sound of the door and raised my weary head to see Queen Louise marching through the door with purpose. "Sit up," she demanded. I didn't see the pistol but complied before it became necessary. "Do you know why I'm doing this?" she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed next to me and staring at the wall, where a giant portrait of someone I surely couldn't name hung. I shook my head. "You can talk now," she rolled her eyes. "Nobody would interrupt the King and Queen in their bedchambers."

"Ah, right. Sorry." I volunteered pathetically.

"Belgium is a young nation." she began. "We only gained our independence six years ago, and Leopold was... you are the first king. Our son," she caught my surprise. "Yes, we have a son. Our son is but nine months old. Were the Dutch to know that our King was dead and his successor an infant, they would sweep like an Orange tide through the nation, and the men who died for the freedom of this country would have died for naught. I will not allow it." she stuck out her chin defiantly. "I am French by birth but Belgium is my home now. You will be Leopold, and you will save Belgium. Do you understand?"

I nodded, for once not afraid of speaking up, but simply for lack of anything to say. Any pledge seemed banal. After a minute of us sitting there, I could only come up with one thing to say. "I am sorry. About Leopold."

The sad warmth of her smile caused my heart to ache. "Thank you. I did care for him greatly." The warmth disappeared along with the smile, however. "Now it's time to get to work."

"Can I not sleep, and let the terrors of the day be washed away?" I groaned. She produced the pistol again from somewhere in her dress. "Fine, fine, sorry, please put that thing away." It vanished where it came from. "Why do you even have that?"

"My brother, Duke of Orleans, gave it to me as a gift when we were younger. It's a comfort to have, even if rarely needed. Now, husband. It's time for the King to learn about his country." The scorn in her voice when she said 'husband' conflicted me between pity for her loss and sadness for her disregard for me. Truth be told, I couldn't help but admire her even then. A woman of 26, the late King and I were both two decades older than she, and her presence as Queen of Belgium surely was a political move. She may have been expectant of that as her lot in life, but American that I am, I did not see it as the norm. What followed was a sleepless night, as I gained the most schooling of my life at once, and I learned more about Belgium than I ever thought possible. She was a good student of politics and an advisor worth having. Leopold

The next day was my funeral. What an odd thing to be able to say. Attendance was sparse, consisting mostly of the Forumites who withered any time the Queen or I looked their way, the royal entourage, where I met "my" infant son, Leopold II, and "my" pastor. I was Protestant by nature, and so too was the late King. I realized, standing graveside as the pastor recited a simple homily, that the Catholic Queen had done her husband a small mercy in death, as he was able to be buried under his own tradition. She, for her part, hid her grief well, offering a thin-lipped smile when I caught her eye. As the gravediggers filled the hole behind the coffin, I stepped in, ostensibly to pay respects but truthfully to read what the legacy of Lewis Taylor would be.

The memorial plaque over the true burial place of Leopold I


Nice, real nice. As I departed, sour, from the cemetery, the Queen came close to me, talking low and quietly. "Don't mess this up. All of Belgium is counting on you." I looked at her quizzically as an advisor started to gesture for me to follow him. "You have a council meeting!" she hissed. God help me, why hadn't she mentioned that earlier?

As I was led away, I quoted the only thing that came to mind. "Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown," I muttered, the Queen looking a bit impressed for once. I was let into the council chamber, seeing the expectant faces of my ministers as they rose to welcome me.

My name is Lewis Taylor. I am the second King of Belgium, and I have no idea how to run a country.



End Prologue​

 

[Chac1]

Well, this AAR is arriving, so far, quicker than I can make time to read it. Very impressive. Well-written. Funny. Great characters already. If that is just the prologue, we are in for a fine waffle-eating ride.

Queen Louise and Queen Anne combined made a powerful duo, and soon I was wearing a dead man's overcoat.

This was my favorite line among many well-crafted lines in the last two chapters of the prologue. In one short sentence you sum up the plot and make some interesting references.

Also, at times, this takes on a style that seems like it fits in the 19th Century. Admiring how you are doing that along with the humor, which ranges from dry to prat fall funny.

Chicken and waffles, French fries.

That sounds like quite a Southern breakfast (in the U.S.). But as @Midnite Duke represents Virginia, he would know. Definitely some spots worthy of visiting in that state with that on the menu.

Now, I will say something that may offend any French readers that visit this AAR, but I find Belgian cooking to be superior (having traveled through Europe several times). The Belgian version of frites always seemed to be superior and why the herb and mayonnaise sauce Europeans often use on fries (instead of the pedestrian catsup) never caught on in the states is beyond me.

Looking forward to more waffling....

 

[Midnite Duke]

Long live the King! May he forever bow to the wishes of the good queens, Louise and Anne. Thanks for updating.

 

[Idhrendur]

A wonderfully amusing intro.

 

[HistoryDude]

That's... certainly one way to gain a crown.

Queen Louise has good taste. I like Byron.

How long does Queen Louise plan to keep up the charade? Forever? Does she at least plan on bringing some servants into the plot?