The Dragon Roars - A Powys AAR

[SwingTheSword]

THE DRAGON ROARS

OOC: Hi there everyone! I've been a keen player of CK2 for quite a few years now, but this is my first attempt at writing an AAR on these forums, so any advice would be greatly appreciated.
The central premise of this AAR is simple - I will be writing the narrative based tale of the Welsh Petty Kingdom of Powys, starting in 1066. I'm Welsh myself, which did help with picking a starting location, but independently of that, the situation for Wales in 1066 is really quite interesting. Just three years previously, the various petty kingdoms had all been united under the banner of Gruffudd ap Llywelyn, the only man in history to assume the title "King of Wales" (notwithstanding a few other claimants who only ruled over one petty kingdom at a time). That kingdom was shattered by Harold Godwinson and Gruffudd was killed, but Harold, now king of England, is under pressure from both William of Normandy and Harald Hardrada. Thus, the Welsh lords are left to their own devices, and the time could yet be ripe for one man to unite all the lords once again, and maybe even take vengeance on the English. Let us turn, therefore, to King Bleddyn Mathrafal of Powys, the first protagonist of this story...

(Just a quick note regarding DLCs - all are enabled, but after some thought I decided to disable the Aztec Invasion as, while I love alternate history paths such as this, I didn't want it threatening the structure of the game).

September 1066

Mathrafal, Powys

King Bleddyn stared down his chancellor, jaw set. "You're certain of his news?"

The chancellor nodded, wiping beads of sweat off his forehead nervously. "Aye, your Grace. When I learned of this news, I came straight to you."

For a moment, Bleddyn didn't seem to hear him. He turned away, facing the window of his study. If all the tales be true, this could be our moment. Our time to strike back.

Unsure what kind of reaction he was receiving, the chancellor spoke again. "Your Grace-"

Bleddyn whirled around abruptly, his features grim. "Summon the council, Mayor Enfidaig, and bring them to session immediately. I will join you once they are assembled."

The Mayor of Radnor bowed. "At once, your Grace." From his tone of voice and the way he immediately slipped out of the room, Bleddyn could tell he was glad to be leaving. Endifaig is a good man at heart, but I really ought to have a better chancellor. Perhaps after this meeting, I'll begin the search for his replacement.

Not now, thought - the council was waiting. As Bleddyn marched through the hallways of his castle, he thought that the news he'd just heard was possibly the most encouraging he'd had in three years.

Godwinson you bastard, you're getting paid back in your own bloody coin.

The small council of Powys assembled in the allotted chamber. As they all filed in, Bleddyn made a note of each one. Enfidaig, surprisingly, was first in, then came Powys' marshal and sole vassal, Count Edwyn of Perfeddwlad, armoured for battle, as was his wont. Following along was the steward, Mayor Rhigenu of Caernarfon, eyes flicking around the room as he stroked his neatly clipped beard. The Court Chaplain, Bishop Caradog of Llangollen, followed him in, and tailing them all was Mayor Glywys of Holyhead, the spymaster, hooded and cloaked, with a slight smile adorning a features, as if appreciating a joke that no one else had heard. But it was the man entering last, simply adorned in his court attire, that Bleddyn watched most intently. When they had all seated themselves at the council table, it was this man who spoke first.

"Well, Father, I know you don't call meetings of the council for nothing, much less invite me to one. I presume you have some important matters to impart."

That was Cadwgan's way, Bleddyn reflected. His eldest son and heir had not always been the most patient of children, and Bleddyn had often despaired of him during his tutoring, though he loved him still. But Cadwgan wasn't a child anymore: the eldest of Bleddyn's eight children was a man grown of five-and-twenty years, with his own son to boot. A skilled commander and a diligent worker, he was certain the kingdom would be in good hands once Cadwgan came into his inheritance. But that was far off yet, and Bleddyn could only focus on the here and now.

He inclined his head towards his son. "Correct, Cadwgan. The good Mayor Enfidaig received a messenger this morning, carrying vital news." Bleddyn paused. "News from England."

No one spoke, but Bleddyn could feel the tension in the room skyrocket. Cadwgan looked like he was about to ask something, then restrained himself at the last second. Fortunately for him, Bleddyn wasn't going to keep them in suspense much longer.

"It seems that there are invading forces landing on the coasts of England," he continued. "William of Normandy leads a host from the south, and according to the messengers' report he has 10,000 men at his back. From the north, Harald Hardrada of Norway has landed at York and besieges the city with another 10,000. By the looks of things, our dear friend Harold Godwinson" - Bleddyn could not restrain the sarcasm - "is in some difficulty." A small smile played on his lips as he watched the reactions of the room.

The Count of Perfeddwlad was the first to respond. "What did Godwinson do to get himself in such trouble? Attacked on both sides?"

"By all accounts, Lord Edwyn," replied Bleddyn, "it comes down to the claims both invaders have. The sister of William's father wed King Aelthelred the Unready, who was succeeded by King Edward, who was succeeded by Godwinson. Edward was a wily fellow, as it turns out, who decided to promise the throne to William in exchange for the support of his Norman nobles to ward off Godwinson." He shrugged. "Clearly, no one told the Witangamot."

"But the Duke of Normandy is a bastard, is he not?" said Edwyn, shocked. "Surely he cannot inherit?"

Bleddyn gave him a measured look. "I'd advise not saying that to William, my lord," he told him. "He feels Edward and Godwinson promised him the throne, and then the latter stabbed him in the back. From his viewpoint, he's taking what is rightfully his."

The Mayor of Caernarfon now spoke. "What of this man Hardrada?" he asked. "He is the King of Norway already, is he not?"

"Correct, Mayor Rhigenu," replied Bleddyn, "but like William of Normandy, he's chasing down broken promises. He succeeded his nephew as King of Norway, who himself was promised the throne of England by King Canute, but the kingdom went to Edward." He grimaced. "Hardrada was none too pleased."

"And Harald Hardrada is not a man you want to cross," put in Cadwgan. "He is the last of the great conquerers from those lands. The blood of the Vikings runs deep in him, though the Norwegians have cast aside their pagan gods. He journeyed to Constantinople in his youth, joined the Varangian Guard, and rose to become their leader. The history of that brotherhood counts among it some of the fiercest fighters from the Viking shores. Hardrada means Hard Ruler in the Norwegian tongue, and I say he's more than earned the name."

Cadwgan really did pay attention to his military studies, Bleddyn thought. Impressive.

He picked up the tale once again. "You are correct, son. And by the messengers' report, Tostig Godwinson is with him."

There was a sharp intake of breath from Mayor Rhigenu. Cadwgan looked incredulous. "Godwinson's brother?"

"The very same," Bleddyn said, with a satisfied air. "His brother turned on him and sent him into exile last year. No less than he deserved."

"So now he seeks revenge," Cadwgan mused. "Fitting." He tapped his fingers on the table. "My question is, what are we going to do about all this?"

"That's why I summoned the council," Bleddyn told him. "I would hear your views."

The Bishop of Llangollen spoke first. "I assume we are not going to aid Godwinson, then?"

Silence fell. The Bishop realised he may have made a slight mistake, and his face turned as red as the beard covering it.

Bleddyn looked at him, fury burning in his eyes.

"Am I going to aid Harold Godwinson?" he asked rhetorically, cold anger in his voice. "Am I going to aid the man who killed my half brother, tore down his kingdom, and forced me to agree peace with England? Am I? For your sake, Bishop Caradog, I hope I won't have to answer that question."

The Bishop averted his eyes. "I apologise profusely, your Grace."

"I accept," Bleddyn replied swiftly. "Anyone else?"

The Spymaster, Mayor Glwys spoke next, in a weaselly, simpering tone. "Your Grace, Godwinson may be unpalatable, but can anything be said for Duke William or King Harald? When the fighting is over, could we extend the hand of friendship to the victor, and join our realms in alliance?"

"If you think Harald Hardrada is a diplomat, Mayor Glwys, you clearly weren't listening to Cadwgan speaking earlier," replied Bleddyn. "He would turn on us and invade our realm in a trice. William is the same. I will not put my faith in England, whoever may be ruling it."

Realisation began to dawn on Cadwgan's face. I think he understands the true reason that I called this meeting.

"Father- your Grace - I believe I know the solution."

Bleddyn nodded. "Tell us, Cadwgan."

The heir to Powys rose from his chair. "Councillors, your Grace," he began, theatrically, "ever since my father's half-brother, Gruffudd ap Llewellyn, was slain in battle with the treacherous Harold Godwinson, the lords of this land have been divided. We rule here in Powys, but the south is split between Deheubarth and Morgannwg. Is that truly the image of Wales we want? A divided land? No, I say, we do not. My lords, we must unite all of Wales once more, under our banner. Only then can we hope to put up a united front against England."

The councillors' reaction was exactly as Bleddyn had anticipated. They began to shout over one another, raising all the objections they could think of. The king met the eyes of his son, and Cadwgan could tell he'd done well. The king stood up, above the chaos, and the bickering councillors turned to face him.

"Cadwgan is right," Bleddyn declared. "When will we ever get a better chance than this? Yes, it will mean war with the southern kingdoms, but we must strike now, while England cannot retaliate. Even after the fighting is over, it will take time for them to rebuild. Godwinson cannot hope to win, caught between the two invaders. Do you think the lords of England will accept a Norman bastard or a Norwegian king on the throne? Whoever wins, it will mean plots, factionalism, and rebellions. While the English war amongst themselves, we will unite the petty kingdoms, and then we will be in a position to face them. Do I have your assent to begin this campaign?"

Whatever objections the councillors had could not stand in the face of the determination from the king and his son. They all nodded.

"Good," Bleddyn replied. "It will take a while, that's for certain, but my dynasty will rule a united Wales one day. Thank you, my lords. Dismissed."

One by one, the councillors rose from their seats and filtered out of the room. As Cadwgan turned to follow, the king called out "Cadwgan, if I might have a word?"

"Of course, father," he replied, and turned back to face him. The king clapped him on the shoulder. "You did well there, son."

"Thank you father," he replied. Then he hesitated. "Do you really think we can rebuild the Welsh kingdom?"

"I intend to try," Bleddyn told him. "The blood of Vortigern runs in our veins, Cadwgan, never forget that. It is our birthright."

"Of course," Cadwgan replied, easing a little.

"One more thing," Bleddyn said. "Your family. How is Llewellyn?"

"Going along well, for the most part," Cadwgan told him. "I mostly leave him to his own devices, and he seems to gravitate towards the training field. Evidently, there is something in the swordplay that fascinates even a child."

"Well, in his nine years he's doubtless picked up something from you," Bleddyn replied with a chuckle. Then his face became serious again. "You do know you will have to marry again?"

"Yes," Cadwgan admitted glumly. "I know. The chancellor keeps pestering me about it. I half expect him to deliver my bride to my bed without my knowledge."

"Well, I can't promise such a drastic mode of delivery, but you will have free choice of any eligible matches," the king told him. "Hopefully it will be as fruitful as your first was. I am sorry over what happened to Llewellyn's mother."

"It was the will of God," Cadwgan told him. "She fought hard through the birth, but it was not to be."

"Let us hope no more sorrows of that nature plague you," said the king.

"Thank you father," Cadwgan said, a tone of sadness creeping into his voice. "If you will excuse me, I have to see to my business."

"Of course," the King replied. Cadwgan walked out of the chamber, and Bleddyn was left alone in the room. He seated himself upon the head chair, and tapped his fingers upon the table.

This was but the first step. I had hoped to exact my revenge upon Godwinson himself, but it seems the Duke of Normandy and Hardrada have beaten me to it. But me and my descendents will unite Wales, as my brother once did. That will be my own measure of revenge...

OOC: I hope you enjoyed the first part of this AAR. My Bleddyn Mathrafal is somewhat different to his historical counterpart - the real Bleddyn was a close ally of Harold Godwinson, despite Godwinson bringing down Gruffudd, his maternal half-brother. After the destruction of the Kingdom of Wales, Bleddyn ruled Gwynedd, with his brother Rhiwallon taking Powys. CK2 has conflated both kingdoms and left Rhiwallon unlanded, though he is at my court. I thought the idea of a vengeful Bleddyn was better from a storytelling perspective, seeing as England is currently divided by the wars between Harold, Willam, and Harald Hardrada.
The real Bleddyn was described as a benevolent ruler - his traits in game are Kind, Lustful, and Erudite, but also Wroth, as we've seen so far. I'm trying to roleplay him as closely as I can.
Cadwgan, who we'll see much more of, is the eldest of the family children - he has four brothers and three sisters, though none of them claimed the throne of Gwynedd after Bleddyn - sources suggest they weren't old enough, even though all but one are old enough to rule in their own right in CK2.
As for Llewellyn's mother, she's not named, so I came up with the idea of her dying in childbirth. We'll meet Cadwgan's new wife in Part Two, which will be up soon. Feel free to leave any feedback you think necessary!

 

[Chac1]

Welcome, @SwingTheSword ! Good to see someone else who is relatively new to the forum trying an AAR.

Very much like how you've started, perhaps, because I like council politics.

Having never played a ruler of Wales, this will be interesting to see how it unfolds. From my game experience, Wales is always interesting and complicated.

One question as you set all this up: Do Bleddyn and Cadwgan follow the Catholic faith? I noticed this:

"It was the will of the gods," Cadwgan told him.

Just wondering if that is just an off-hand comment? Writing and playing Norse characters has me always hoping to find other followers of the Old Gods.

Good luck in this venture. Good to see this from the start.

 

[Idhrendur]

Welcome to AAR writing!

 

[SwingTheSword]

Welcome, @SwingTheSword ! Good to see someone else who is relatively new to the forum trying an AAR.

Very much like how you've started, perhaps, because I like council politics.

Having never played a ruler of Wales, this will be interesting to see how it unfolds. From my game experience, Wales is always interesting and complicated.

One question as you set all this up: Do Bleddyn and Cadwgan follow the Catholic faith? I noticed this:



Just wondering if that is just an off-hand comment? Writing and playing Norse characters has me always hoping to find other followers of the Old Gods.

Good luck in this venture. Good to see this from the start.

Haha, that's a typo! Glad you spotted that - I'll go and amend it now. No, all the members of Bleddyn's family (and the rest of the Welsh petty kingdoms) are Catholic Christian. The slip was probably influenced by playing a lot of games as the Vikings and recently re-reading A Game of Thrones.

Wales is a very interesting country to play as. A game I did as the ruler of Morgannwg went all the way into the 15th century and left me as King of Wales, Ireland, and Germany, with plenty of exciting things happening along the way.

I also love council politics, so be sure to see some behind the scenes scheming in the parts to come.

Thanks for reading this early - I hope you'll enjoy the series!

 

[SwingTheSword]

October 1066

“So you’ll vote with me on this?”

Count Edwyn nodded. “Yes, your Grace. I shall. Just remember that it will have to be repaid.”

“Of course, my lord,” Bleddyn replied gratefully. “You are dismissed.”

The marshal bowed, and walked out of the council chamber.

Bleddyn turned to Cadwgan and sighed. “Well, that’s it then. All the necessary backers are on my side for the vote. I swear, my own council wants to stymie my legal system so much, you’d think they were in the pocket of Harold Godwinson.”

Cadwgan nodded grimly. “Still, it’s all settled.”

“Glwys still won’t vote with me, the slippery bastard,” the king said ruefully, “and Caradog always spits some pious excuse at me about why he can’t do it. But if I am to be truly respected, I must have control over who I throw in my dungeon. Then maybe we can look at finally getting that wartime law pushed through.”

“It’ll be difficult,” Cadwgan warned him.

“I know,” Bleddyn replied. “But things don’t come easy, do they?”

He had thought restructuring his council would do the trick. Endifaig had been politely replaced as chancellor by that learned German scholar, Baldomar, who’d brought about notable improvements since he took up the post. Mayor Rhigenu had been a diligent but ineffective steward, so an Irish noble by the name of Donnchad had been summoned to take up the post. Unfortunately, though they might be better at their jobs, they were still very stubborn, and it had taken weeks of bargaining and cajoling before Bleddyn had secured their support on the council, along with Count Edwyn.

Still, they were on board now. Hopefully the law could be enacted that very day.

“How fares your family, Cadwgan?” Bleddyn asked his son.

“Well enough, father,” Cadwgan replied. “Llewyellyn is thriving. He’s a strong boy."

“And your wife?”

Cadwgan’s face softened. “Sigrid is well too, father.”

Clearly, he could not believe that he had married so high. Nor could Bleddyn. No less than a Princess of Denmark had wed his son a couple of months ago, and at the wedding, Bleddyn had the honour of meeting King Svend Estrid himself. A few days later, an alliance was brokered between the two houses.

Sigrid was only a year younger than Cadwgan, one of the King’s many legitmised bastards. From what Bleddyn could make of her, she seemed very much like his son – an honest, humble soul, pious, and a little bit stubborn. They had immediately taken a liking to one another.

“May it long continue.”

February 1067

The messenger looked like he was about to faint under the furious gaze of Bleddyn.

“Is this true?” the king bellowed. “I swear to you, if you speak falsehoods, I will throw you into the deepest, darkest pit I can possibly find in the dungeon!

“It’s- it’s all true, your Grace,” stammered the messenger. “I sw- swear on all that is holy, it is true.”

He is frightened out of his wits. Clearly, he risked a lot revealing this. He is telling the truth.

Bleddyn relaxed a fraction. “I apologise, sir. If you’ll excuse me, I must convene my council. Could I have the paper you brought?”

The trembling hand of the messenger thrust the parchment into Bleddyn’s fingers. The king stood up, and strode off to the council chamber in a dark mood.

The summons did not take long to reach the councillors, and they assembled around the table. Before anyone had said a word, the King slammed the paper on the table. “Read this, my lords.”

Cadwgan picked it up, and studied it for a minute, before addressing the council. “It appears to be some kind of right of conquest. This document, claims that King Maredudd II of Deheubarth is the rightful ruler of the county of Rhos.” He looked startled. “It can’t be right!”

“It isn’t,” Bleddyn said grimly. “That, my lords, is a forgery.”

“Who authored it?” asked Steward Donnchad.

“My sources tell me it was the Chancellor of Deheubarth, Count Bleddyn of Brychieniog,” replied Mayor Glwys.

“I have been trying to acquire a claim on his territory for some time,” put in Chancellor Baldomar. “So far, they have had no success.”

“Or, more accurately, he beat us to it,” Cadwgan realised.

“I don’t blame the Count for his methods,” Bleddyn told them. “We would take up a claim on one of Deheubarth’s territories in a heartbeat, no matter its provenance. The problem is now anticipating when the attack will come.”

“Not for a while yet, I should think,” said Mayor Glwys. “Our forces outnumber theirs two-to-one, and we have the Danes supporting us.”

“I rather doubt King Svend would be best pleased at being dragged into a war over one county,” Bleddyn replied dryly. “In any case, Deheubarth is a tributary of Powys, and a good chunk of their income goes directly to us. If Maredudd does want to attack, he won’t be helped by his coffers supplying our troops.” He turned Count Edwyn, the council’s Marshal. “Edwyn, I’m ordering you to start extra recruitment, beginning today.”

“Aye, my lord,” Count Edwyn replied.

“Now,” Bleddyn said abruptly, “how goes the war in England?”

“Godwinson is hard-pressed, from what I’m hearing,” replied Cadwgan. “William has occupied Middlesex and Surrey, while Hardrada’s pushed south from York and taken Northampton. Harold is running out of options. Soon, I imagine, he’ll be overthrown.”

Bleddyn felt a surge of excitement. “Excellent news. The traitor and usurper will be usurped himself. Now, my lords, if we could move on to the proposed legal changes…”

“Actually, your Grace,” Donnchad said with an apologetic look on his face, “our good Mayor Glwys has been looking through the books of law you requested, and he’s found that a law of that magnitude can’t be passed for at least five years since the previous one.”

Damn you, Glwys. I was hoping to be able to do away with council voting on matters of war altogether, but you’ve tripped me up again.

“It makes no matter,” Bleddyn replied. “I apologise for my presumption, councillors.”

Bleddyn masked his annoyance well, but when the councillors had left, he had a frank discussion with Cadwgan.

“How can I stand up and proclaim that I want to be king if I can’t get through the damned bureaucracy?” the king fumed. “At this rate, it will be years before I can get my hands on one county.”

“That may be so, father,” Cadwgan replied, “but let’s not overreach ourselves. Baldomar is doing all he can to find that claim.”

“He could do with a hurry-up,” Bleddyn grumbled, “but I suppose you’re right. Let us bide our time.”

But what neither the king nor his son knew was that forces beyond their control were moving fast…

June 1067

“You know, for a king, he’s not doing very much. If I was king, I’d have conquered all the way up to there by now!”

The mercenary laughed at his friend’s joke, accompanied by a wide sweep of the arm as he gesticulated towards “there.”

“How would you know all that then, eh?”

The first mercenary smiled. “Ah, Boss has friends at court, doesn’t he? So he’s keeping a constant track of our friend’s movements, right down to his breakfast!”

“He’s really serious about this then, isn’t he? You reckon he can do it?”

“I don’t really care, do I? Long as the money keeps flowing, I’m all in. Unless it’s against one of those bloody Norwegians with the axes!”

“Don’t be stupid, they’re over in England, aren’t they? You’ll be fine!”

“Alright,” the first merc said, with a grin. “I should probably get back to the post. Long live King Caradog, and all that.” He sauntered off.

Caradog ap Gruffudd had heard all of the conversation. Not that he minded, of course. If the banter kept spirits high, it was good for the men, because it would be a long time before they could get on the battlefield. But Caradog had waited before, and he could do it again. So long had he spent, at the court in Brychieniog as steward, pretending he was just a scion of a minor house. Little did they know his lineage, as a member of House Aberffraw, and a descendant of King Rhodri the Great, the first man to style himself King of Wales.

But now it could all be revealed. He knew about Bleddyn’s ambitions to become Wales’ king, always mentioning that brother of his, and how it was his lineage, his right. Well, Caradog had the right too. He wanted his ancestral land of Gwynedd. Bleddyn could keep Powys, if he wanted. He might be a useful ally in time when Caradog became King of Wales.

Oh, Bleddyn would know he was coming, and he’d probably try to ready himself. Caradog was more than happy to let him. It would only make victory more sweet.

OOC: Svend Estrid (his real name historically was Sweyn, although it was also spelled Sven) was the nephew of the former English king Canute. He fathered only one child in wedlock, and had nineteen bastards, including five future kings. During his reign, he fought with Harald Hardrada, and twice attempted to invade England, first in 1069 alongside Edgar Aethling, and then in 1075 during the Revolt of the Earls. He holds a strong claim on England in CK2, and there’s an achievement for taking over England as Svend called “The Outside Bet.”

Rhodri the Great, known in Welsh as Rhodri Mawr, is one of the most legendary figures in Welsh medieval history. Born on the Isle of Man in 820 AD, he came to the throne of Gwynedd in 844, faced down the Vikings head on, and beat them several times. Though he did not unite all the Welsh lords as Gruffudd ap Llywellyn did, he ruled over Gwynedd, Powys, and parts of Deheubarth for much longer than Gruffudd. His legend spread so far afield that even the Carolingian Emperor Charles the Bald had heard of his military exploits. Caradog, if anything, has as much a claim to be King of Wales as Bleddyn.

I attributed the five-year wait between major law changes to Mayor Glwys hindering Bleddyn deliberately by finding an obscure law, just so there’s a narrative reason why Bleddyn can’t yet declare wars without their approval, and why he needed to bargain for their support. Let’s not forget Deheubarth, who may look to press their claim in time, or indeed Bleddyn’s own attempts to forge a claim on the land of his enemies.

I’m very happy to have gotten the first two parts out today, and depending on how things go there may be more multi-part days. The schedule might fluctuate, but hopefully I can keep up this pace for now. I really enjoy writing this historical fiction and I’m encouraged by the reaction to part 1, so feel free to put down any advice or constructive criticism you may have.

(P.S. I had some issues with font formatting which is why the text is a little different. Should be sorted come part three).

 

[Chac1]

Surprised to see this update so soon, but good to get Chapter 2. As long as you are having fun and the writing sparks more creativity, those are two important aspects.

As a new AAR writer, I have found the fAARq very interesting and a useful resource. There are a variety of suggestions there from long-time AAR writers. One of the early basic guides is from @coz1 , and I have found that guidance useful, along with suggestions from some of the folks who are very experienced here.

Your comments about the laws are very interesting, as often, yes, the game imposes a certain uniformity at the beginning of scenarios until you can work on modifications. Lots of narrative ways to explain that and good to see you tackling one path. This may also give you reason to expand and give further context to Bleddyn's decision-making in the future.

Thanks for the additional history and your authorial insights at the end of the chapter.

 

[HistoryDude]

This is interesting. Will Wales find solidarity with their fellow Celts (Ireland and maybe Scotland)?

A succession crisis over Wales is coming, huh? That'll be fun. The victor, though... they might be in a good position.

Do you intend to conquer England? Reclaim it from the perfidious Anglo-Saxons?

An alliance with Denmark is very good. We'll see if it lasts (especially since Denmark also holds a claim over England and might want to press it).

Also, you should probably threadmark your updates (there should be a line for threadmarks at the top of the post - and you can add it by editing posts). It'll help latecomers to your AAR skip the discussion.

 

[SwingTheSword]

Surprised to see this update so soon, but good to get Chapter 2. As long as you are having fun and the writing sparks more creativity, those are two important aspects.

As a new AAR writer, I have found the fAARq very interesting and a useful resource. There are a variety of suggestions there from long-time AAR writers. One of the early basic guides is from @coz1 , and I have found that guidance useful, along with suggestions from some of the folks who are very experienced here.

Your comments about the laws are very interesting, as often, yes, the game imposes a certain uniformity at the beginning of scenarios until you can work on modifications. Lots of narrative ways to explain that and good to see you tackling one path. This may also give you reason to expand and give further context to Bleddyn's decision-making in the future.

Thanks for the additional history and your authorial insights at the end of the chapter.

Thanks for the guide! I've checked it out and it looks very useful.

Re upload schedule, I generally don't like to wait around between posts if I have the impetus to carry on, so when I'm writing something online I'll often put up multiple parts in a day. Don't imagine it will continue every day, but I'll certainly try to keep it to at least one a day. Speaking of which, there'll be a new part up this evening...

This is interesting. Will Wales find solidarity with their fellow Celts (Ireland and maybe Scotland)?

A succession crisis over Wales is coming, huh? That'll be fun. The victor, though... they might be in a good position.

Do you intend to conquer England? Reclaim it from the perfidious Anglo-Saxons?

An alliance with Denmark is very good. We'll see if it lasts (especially since Denmark also holds a claim over England and might want to press it).

Also, you should probably threadmark your updates (there should be a line for threadmarks at the top of the post - and you can add it by editing posts). It'll help latecomers to your AAR skip the discussion.

Celtic unity remains to be seen, as the Irish are divided and the Scots tend not to overplay their hand when it comes to their neighbours. However, a shrewd King might look to reunite the Irish lords and use that power to seek an agreement with Scotland.

Conquering England is certainly part of the goal, but as you'll see in Part Three, it won't be remaining Anglo-Saxon for too much longer.

The Danes are excellent allies and have bailed me out in previous playthroughs. If they decide to get mixed up in the battle for England, things could get very interesting indeed.

I'll update the threadmarks now - thanks for telling me about them!

 

[SwingTheSword]

July 1066

Cadwgan could not suppress a wince as Bleddyn read the words of the message. Having seen it himself, he expected the legendary wrath of the king to be unleashed upon the council. But as Bleddyn looked up at him, the heir to Powys was entirely surprised by the expression on his father's face.

Not anger. It looked a lot more like fear. Cadwgan had rarely ever seen Bleddyn afraid, and it troubled him.

"A descendant of Rhodri Mawr," the king finally said, his voice strained. "How can this be?"

Mayor Glwys, who had given the king the message, replied, "The House of Aberffraw is no longer the mighty force it once was, your Grace, but a few members still exist. This man, Caradog, would appear to be one of them."

"Are we certain?" Bleddyn asked, though by the sound of his voice he already knew the answer. "Could this not be some other minor noble, pretending to bear that name?"

"Alas, your Grace," responded Glwys, in a tone that seemed to imply sadness but wasn't entirely convincing to Cadwgan, "I have pored over the family trees, and it all matches up with what Caradog himself has claimed. He is, sadly, entirely legitimate."

"And thus has a claim to my lands," the king said grimly.

"Not all of them," interjected Cadwgan, putting a finger on the paper. "Read here: he only claims Gwynedd. In fact, he seems to bear little ill will towards you at all." He picked up the message and read it aloud. "To King Bleddyn of Powys, I extend the hand of friendship, and confirm that his rulership of the Duchy of Powys shall continue upon the restoration of my rightful family lands. In time, I hope he will serve me well as a loyal vassal when I claim the throne of Wales, as is my birthright."

"He offers friendship in a gloved hand and conflict with a mailed fist!" the King responded angrily. "The lands belonged once to Rhodri Mawr, true, but he cannot claim the whole kingdom, because Rhodri never ruled over all of Wales. Only Gruffudd united all the Welsh lords, and I am his heir. By rights, I have the better claim." He slammed his hand down on the table. "I will not treat with this usurper while he openly hires sellswords to take my lands!"

"Your Grace," Mayor Glwys said in his usual simpering tone, "while Caradog's actions are detestable, we can at least commend the noble act of him stating his case to you through this letter. Could we not treat with him? Perhaps you could offer him land - not as much as he wishes for, to be sure - in exchange for service as your vassal once you take the Welsh throne. Territory in Deheubarth or Morgannwg might appease him."

Bleddyn's face turned a dark red. "This letter is no diplomatic act: it's tantamount to a declaration of war. Why should I reward the man for trying to steal my land? Besides, Deheubarth and Morgannwg are not mine to give. I would be offering him nothing but empty promises."

Cadwgan had stayed silent throughout this exchange, but upon seeing his father's reaction to Glwys' words, he too addressed the mayor. "Mayor Glwys, giving away territory to a man who makes veiled threats and tenuous promises is madness. Deheubarth and Morgannwg will see it as weakness. Let us defeat the usurper Caradog the only way I see fit: on the battlefield, not through diplomacy with a man who covets our kingdom."

"I apologise, Your Grace," Glwys replied silkily. "I know little of the pressures of a ruling a kingdom."

I will let the snake slither back to his hole for now, Bleddyn thought, but I will not forget this. "That is clear, Mayor Glwys. Nevertheless, let us move on." He turned to the Marshal. "Count Edwyn, from your experience, how long would it take for him to amass the men he needs?"

"That would depend on which mercenary bands he hires, my lord," replied the Count of Perfeddwlad, "but I would say an undertaking of this magnitude would take him at least a year and a half. Maybe two."

"Two years," the king said, calmly. "That at least gives us time to prepare. And if he's sending messages to us, he's clearly not shy about letting us know. In fact, reading this, I think he rather enjoys it. Glwys, ensure your spies keep a close watch on the local area and the courts of the nearby lords, in case one is harbouring him. Council is dismissed."

Cadwgan kept his eyes on the spymaster as the council members left the room. When they had all gone he turned to Bleddyn. "I don't trust the Mayor."

"Nor do I," agreed his father. "He's slippery, but I need him around. Holyhead contributes 400 troops to the army, after all."

"That's true," Cadwgan acknowledged, "but that doesn't mean you need him on the council."

"I might not like the man, but when to comes to spymasters, Glwys is the best one I've got," Bleddyn countered. "Don't forget, we need to root out the traitor in our court. From what Caradog has written, it's clear he knows much of what goes on at court. That indicates an inside source, and Glwys' network of spies may help us figure out who it is."

"Unless Glwys himself is the traitor."

"That did occur to me," the king admitted. "But Glwys isn't the type to operate that way. His dealings are on a smaller scale, not something so brazen. Then he runs the risk of being caught."

"Still," Cadwgan argued, "he was talking about giving away land to Caradog! That kind of talk borders on treason."

"You think he made a deal with Caradog," Bleddyn said, and Cadwgan could tell it was a statement, not a question.

"I don't deny it. The man is grasping."

"It's by virtue of me that he holds his office," Bleddyn told him. "He's lowborn. If he was given any kind of lands, the vassals of the realm would be in uproar." He paused. "Besides, while he's on the council I can somewhat keep him in check. If I were to replace him, there'd be no way to keep at least half an eye on him."

"Alright, father," Cadwgan sighed. "But don't let your guard down when it comes to Glwys."

"I never do."

August 1067

Bleddyn could hardly believe it. After all these years, it has finally happened. I never thought this would come.

Once again, he and Cadwgan were in the council chamber, poring over a missive. This time, however, it brought tidings of joy. A smile lit up Bleddyn's face.

"Godwinson is overthrown!" he shouted joyfully. "William of Normandy rules in London!"

He beamed. "Ah, my son, this is glorious news indeed! Finally, the tyrant tastes bitter defeat, and vengeance is served on Gruffudd's destroyer."

Yes, Harold Godwinson had indeed been ousted. With the capital captured by William of Normandy, he had been forced to seek a peace, only to be thrown into the dungeons, stripped of all rank and title, and now left to waste away.

"What of his sons?" Cadwgan asked. "His brothers?"

Bleddyn's mouth twitched. "Free, though their lands have been taken. Doubtless the English dukes and earls will attempt to put one back on the throne. Let them, I say. The House of Godwin shall tear England apart, while the House of Mathrafal remains united."

"Do not forget Harald Hardrada, father," Cadwgan reminded him. "He still fares well, and looks set to fight on.

Bleddyn laughed, a rare sound these days. "Let them! Let the Bastard and the Norwegian and Godwinson's sons fight over England! It only distracts from the powers rising here in Wales." He placed a hand on Cadwgan's soldiers. "You are a better man than any Godwin can hope to be, and one day, you will be a better ruler."

"You still rule, Father, and will do for many more years," Cadwgan replied, touched by his father's words. "The throne of Wales, once we have driven off Caradog and the southern kingdoms, will be yours."

"As soon as I can find a bloody claim," the king muttered. "Baldomar has been working hard, but he's come up with almost nothing so far. Still, the threats are not yet at our door. We must give him time."

October 1067

"A toast! A toast to King Bleddyn!"

The King laughed. "I thank you, esteemed councillors, but let us not make this overextravagant. This is but a light refreshment."

A light refreshment in which you are three cups deep, father, Cadwgan noted. Bleddyn usually did not usually throw many feasts, but he had consented to a small evening gathering of the councillors in recognition of their recent service. Mayor Glwys seemed especially keen to please, refilling the King's cup whenever it was empty. Cadwgan was worried: his father usually drank only lightly for a good reason.

Mayor Glwys insisted. "To the glory of the King!"

"The King!" The councillors raised their cups high and drank, including Cadwgan. Bleddyn smiled in a satisfied manner, but he looked a little unsteady. Then, before anyone said another word, he swayed and toppled off his chair.

"Father!" Cadwgan cried, and rushed to his side. Immediately, he expected the worst - poison? But no, it seemed that Bleddyn was merely drunk, splayed out on the floor in a manner that was quite unlike his usual upward poise.

"Somebody help your king!" Cadwgan demanded. The councillors stood, unsure. "It would be quite impertinent of us to touch his Grace," observed Mayor Glwys.

"Damn your impertinence and help him up!" Cadwgan almost screamed, such was his anger.

The councillors finally gave in, and helped Bleddyn, semi-conscious, back into his seat. At that moment, Cadwgan made eye contact with Mayor Glwys, and knew for certain that he had planned all this. Getting the king drunk... but why? It could only be to damage his reputation, and weaken his standing among the lords. Perhaps to smooth the way for a certain pretender lord.

"Someone ensure the king is seen back to his chambers," Cadwgan told the lords. "Council dismissed."

He'd never said that before, but with Bleddyn in no fit state to do anything at the moment, he supposed the responsibility fell to him. The councillors quickly hurried off, and the Steward promised to fetch a servant to help Bleddyn. Mayor Glwys was last to leave. Cadwgan caught him by the arm as he went out of the door.

"My lord?"

"A word of advice, Mayor," Cadwgan told him, attempting to summon the fire of his father. "Whatever skulking you may be doing behind the scenes, be warned: it won't end well for you."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, my lord," Glwys said, squirming.

"I thought you'd say that," Cadwgan growled. He placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, sheathed in his belt. "Get out."

He freed the mayor from his grip, who ran away without a backward glance. The servant arrived to escort Bleddyn, who had heard nothing of the exchange between Cadwgan and the Mayor. With Glwys warned off for now and Bleddyn in safe hands, Cadwgan made his excuses and left.

Walking across the castle courtyard, Cadwgan intended to head back to his chambers. But something made him stop on the stair when he reached that wing of the castle - whispered voices. From the sound of it, they were coming from out of a locked door, round the corner - the one usually set aside for the use of the court scribe. Leaning down, Cadwgan pressed his ear tight to it. He could just make out the words.

"...we can't keep this secret any longer. I am telling you, he knows."

That's certainly not the scribe, Cadwgan thought to himself.

Neither was the voice that replied. "How can you prove such a thing?"

"You presume to doubt my words! I have just come from the council chambers..."

They must have lowered their voices, because Cadwgan could only hear bits of the next few sentences. He wasn't surprised that the man was a councillor - indeed, he knew the voice very well. My suspicions, then, are confirmed.

The other voice, now raised, broke in. "That doesn't matter. You have to wait. The plans are almost coming to fruition."

"It will take far too long. I have waited long enough for the support he's promised. Damn him and damn you. If I must do this myself, I will."

There was a third person involved, clearly. Cadwgan wasn't entirely certain who they were talking about, but he had some idea.

"I must be going," the councillor said. "The scribe will be getting suspicious." There was the sound of a chair being moved back, and one of them stood up. Cadwgan reacted immediately, leaping to his feet and dashing up the stairs. He had heard only part of the conversation behind the locked door, and the way he had stumbled upon it felt almost amateurish. Yet he finally had his proof. Now to present it at the council meeting tomorrow.

The next day

Bleddyn looked somewhat startled that Cadwgan had requested a presence at the meeting.

"Cadwgan, it's no great discussion. We are just discussing some obscure tax laws the steward wanted to go over."

"This is crucial, father. The matter is of great import, to you and the council."

Bleddyn sighed. "Well, I've never been one to deny you a voice before the council when you wanted it. I've given the order to assemble."

"Thank you, father. You will not regret this."

The councillors quickly assembled in timely fashion. Cadwgan watched them all intently. None showed any outward sign of worry, though Mayor Glwys still looked a little shaken after last night's events. No doubt he would find the contents of Cadwgan's speech interesting to his ear... in more ways than one.

Bleddyn opened the session in his usual fashion, then declared "My son would like to address the council on a matter he personally requested be discussed."

Cadwgan rose from his chair. "Thank you, father, my lords. As you are all well aware, ever since the usurper Caradog Aberrfraw declared his intent to seize a large part of this kingdom, we have been on high alert, waiting for the day he strikes. But Caradog is a shrewd man, and he has had spies infiltrating this court for many months now. The level of information he was receiving, however, was of a such a volume that I determined it could be no ordinary infiltrator, but a man at a high level. Only a councillor could know some of the things that he knows."

Bleddyn interrupted. "Cadwgan, you're not suggesting..."

"Regrettably, father," Cadwgan declared, "I am. One of the men in this room is a traitor to his king and his realm."

"Such an allegation must be reinforced by truth," Bleddyn said to him. "Name the man of which you speak."

"He is a man, Father, who is well known to you, I fear," Cadwgan said, fixing his eyes upon Mayor Glwys, who betrayed no sign of fear. "Count Edwyn, this accusation is true, is it not?"

Silence fell. No one dared speak. Then the marshal rose from his chair, with fury in his eyes. "How dare you deal in such unfounded slander! I am a true and leal servant of his Grace!"

"Once, perhaps, but no longer," replied Cadwgan coldly. "Consider this, my lords. Caradog needs vassals and allies - rebel lords who will stand with him when the time comes to raise arms. Enter the Count of Perfeddwlad, eager to gain more lands and prestige for himself and his family. Caradog promises him all that and more, in exchange for his service as a spy on the council. The Count gladly feeds him information, but when he realises Caradog needs time to prepare he grows greedy and restless, aiming to rise up against the King himself and take the lands he feels he's owed. Unfortunately, he's a soldier, not a schemer, and so fails to keep the plan secret - thus I have learned. Count, I charge you with treason."

The Count didn't even attempt to deny it. His eyes smouldered with rage.

"Is this true?" the king asked, very quietly.

For a moment, there was no reply. Then, the Count drew his sword. Cadwgan immediately pulled his own from his belt, ready to defend Bleddyn from an attack, but the Count was already running for the doors. Knocking aside the steward, he flung them open.

"TRAITOR!" boomed Bleddyn. "Guards - seize the Count and bring him to me!"

But it was no use. Edwyn had clearly anticipated this, and he knew a good escape route. The castle sprung into action, guards rushing left, right, and centre. Yet a few minutes later, the captain of the guard came to report that Count Edwyn had fled the castle, riding hard for Perfeddwlad.

The King thanked for his efforts, but his gaze was thunderous. Fortunately, Edwyn hadn't inflicted any casualties on the council - the Steward suffered a scrape in his fall, but was otherwise unharmed.

"I could not have possibly predicted this," the king said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Edwyn was a loyal servant for many years."

He turned to Cadwgan. "My son, I offer you my full gratitude. How on earth did you learn of the Count's treachery?"

Vague suspicions and a brimful of luck, Cadwgan thought. One day, he'd tell Bleddyn the whole story. But for now, he simply said "He was careless."

"That is certainly true," Bleddyn replied. "For too long, I have kept you out of my counsels. Now, I feel you should be rewarded for your bravery and cunning: it may have saved my kingdom. I hereby name you as Marshal of Powys, to replace the traitor in our midst."

Cadwgan bowed. "I am honoured, father. What is my first act?"

"Call the banners. We are going to war."


OOC: This has been the part I've spent the most time on, but it's the one I've enjoyed the most. Let me explain some of the behind-the-scenes decisions.

Harald Hardrada is still warring against William, and currently has the upper hand, with 38% warscore. I'll be keeping an eye on England.

Now, to the political treachery in Wales. The feast scene and Mayor Glwys getting Bleddyn drunk are adapted from an event. Incidentally, Glwys and Bleddyn are now rivals, and the King is now a drunkard, which will be reflected in future parts. So even though Glwys wasn't involved in this particular uprising, his part in this is far from over.

As for Count Edwyn's rebellion, his plot was to fabricate a claim on the Duchy of Powys, but narratively I thought it best to link it to Caradog, who will feature in the next few parts. The scene where Edwyn and the yet unnamed co-conspirator discuss the treason was invented, as was Cadwgan doing his best Hercule Poirot impression at the council meeting where Edwyn escapes (because my attempt to imprison him failed). With Powys now in civil war, the next part is certainly going to be interesting. Once again, feel free to leave any advice, it really helps the writing. The reception to this has be great so far, so thank you, and I'll put the next part up ASAP.

 

[Eurasia]

Looking forward to this AAR. The Welsh have done well in my AAR. Also my Mom's side of the family were from Wales before they went to Salem and helped found Rhode Island.

 

[Chac1]

Interesting on many levels... including some unexpected family history from @Eurasia !
Good to see how you've adapted the game events. Thanks for the insights. Good luck putting down the rebellion.

 

[HistoryDude]

I thought the traitor was Glwys! Good bit of misdirection there!

England is going to tear itself apart. That could be fun... especially for the Welsh.

 

[Midnite Duke]

Great narrative! My usual first two tips are link your AAR to your signature and comment on other AARs. You have done both as I found this from your comment on another post. Perhaps you could give some biographical information in the OOC (age, family, relevant trait and stats). Also as you are Welsh, you could give us some Welsh information (foods, interesting places). Do you have access to Tanistry succession (I have not played in Wales, but my first 1453 complete game was in Scotland and I had Tanistry for the last half)? Thank you for this wonderful and when you post, I will read.

 

[SwingTheSword]

I thought the traitor was Glwys! Good bit of misdirection there!

England is going to tear itself apart. That could be fun... especially for the Welsh.

That was the aim! His prior actions would seem to suggest that he is the traitor, but in this matter, at least, he's innocent.

And yes, England is going to be one hell of a battlefield. I'm looking forward to it...

Great narrative! My usual first two tips are link your AAR to your signature and comment on other AARs. You have done both as I found this from your comment on another post. Perhaps you could give some biographical information in the OOC (age, family, relevant trait and stats). Also as you are Welsh, you could give us some Welsh information (foods, interesting places). Do you have access to Tanistry succession (I have not played in Wales, but my first 1453 complete game was in Scotland and I had Tanistry for the last half)? Thank you for this wonderful and when you post, I will read.

Yes, I do have Tanistry! Don't know if I'll use it, but it is being considered.

As for the historical information, I'm more than happy to oblige when it becomes relevant to the story!

 

[SwingTheSword]

OOC: This part contains the first battle scenes of the AAR!

October 1067

It had taken them nearly a full month to assemble the troops. They had marched from all over Bleddyn's lands - men of Powys and Gwynedd alike. The County of Rhos had sent troops, as had the County of Builth. Even the small offshore island of Anglesey, where Rhodri Mawr had once defeated a Viking invasion, sent 400 men. The army numbered 2,000 troops, more than double the men Edwyn could muster. And while the Count shut himself up in his castle, trusting to the strength of his walls, Bleddyn marched personally with his men.

Cadwgan had requested to join the troops alongside his father, but Bleddyn had forbid it. "You are the Marshal now, and my heir," he told him. "The council and kingdom need you there while I am on campaign."

"I am no ruler, Father," Cadwgan protested.

"One day, you will be," his father replied, with a steely look in his eye. He placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "While I am away on campaign, you are the lord here. Speak with my voice, rule in my voice, and keep an eye on the council. Glwys scurries, Baldomar dithers, and Chaplain Caradog hides his contempt behind pious bluster. Steward Donnchad is a good man, but there are precious few of those these days. It may be some time before I can wrestle Edwyn out of his castle."

Despite himself, Cadwgan shivered a little in fear. My father was the true influence on the council. If something should happen to him on the battlefield.

"Of course, father," he said. "Go well."

"And you, my son," replied the king, clasping his hand. Then he had turned away, to head off to the armoury, and that was the last the court of Powys would see of him for some time.

It is up to me now, Cadwgan thought. God help us all.

8th of November 1067

The scout bowed. "Aye, your Grace. We have sighted the enemy. He has camped out on the hill, ready to meet our attack."

Bleddyn smiled. "Good job, sir." He turned to Mayor Rhigenu, the former steward who had been chosen to command the centre, comprised mostly of the infantry which made up the bulk of their forces. "Mayor, order your troops forward."

Mayor Rhigenu nodded. "At once, your Grace. Turning his horse, he rode off to his men.

Then the king turned to his second commander. "Cadw- my son, prepare your men on the left flank."

He'd almost said Cadwgan then, so used was he to the presence of his son in moments of importance. But Cadwgan was ruling in Powys, he reminded himself. Instead, his fourth son, Maredudd, was the man entrusted with that flank.

Bleddyn, of course, would never speak ill of his sons in public - he loved them too much for that. But sometimes, he worried about Maredudd. Not in the way he'd worried about Cadwgan - Bleddyn wasn't stubborn, he was a different sort. Kinder men described him "a man of action and purpose." People more blunt with their words named him, cruel, grasping, and overly ambitious. He had shown little interest in his books as a child, throwing himself into work on the training ground, and growing up to be a competent military commander. He, like most of Bleddyn's sons, stood to gain land upon the succession, but Maredudd was known to be unhappy with his share. Such was the price of dividing the lands.

Maredudd smiled coldly. "Of course, father. By the end of the day, the foe will be smashed and fleeing." He commanded a large, disparate force of archers and pikemen, while Bleddyn led the cavalry on the other flank.

"Remember, these men were once our levies," the king reminded him. "If they yield, accept their surrender. We will need them in the wars to come."

Maredudd clearly looked unhappy with this decision. "Traitors should not be welcomed back into the fold."

"They are his sworn men," Bleddyn said sternly. "It was not their decision to go to war. Obey my orders, Maredudd, or I will see you replaced."

"Aye, father," his son said, sullenly. "I will do as you bid." Without another word, he rode off to his men. Bleddyn duly joined his own flank, comprised of his most elite cavalry, men who would follow him into hell.

As for the battle itself, the king relied purely on survival instincts when the war horns sounded and Rhigenu ordered the centre to advance. Arrows darkened the sky as they rained down upon Perfeddwlad's men, forcing them on to the back foot and starting a rout. Once they started to break, Bleddyn led the cavalry charge that saw them off for good.

Rhigenu reported the losses to the king after the battle.

"It seems our own casualties were light, your Grace: just five-and-twenty men, while our foes lost near two hundred."

Bleddyn shook his hand. "You have done well, my lord. We shall all bask in the victory."

Maredudd's eyes seemed slightly crazed by bloodlust, a sheen of sweat on his brow. "Yes, father. A glorious crushing of the enemy. Now, let us tear down the walls of Rhuddlan and drag that accursed dog Count Edwyn out to face justice!"

"As you say, my son," the king replied, slightly uneasy.

May 1067

Powys

"Rule in my name," his father had told him, and Cadwgan was doing exactly that. One of his first acts had been to dismiss Chaplain Caradog, he of the "pious bluster" and replace him with the court physician, Oucydd, a much more tractable individual. The bishop had fulminated against the decision, yet assented all the same. But the real problem he'd faced over these last few months, was, as ever, Mayor Glwys. The spymaster seemed to have abandoned all pretext of civillity in Bleddyn's absence, and now openly sniped at Cadwgan, who was starting to doubt that his reports at council (or what little he produced) were accurate.

Father, I know you wanted to keep an eye on Glwys, but he is a disruptive influence. We need him off the council.

It was time to go and see Madog.


"Brother, you grace me with your presence at last. And here I was thinking you were never going to leave that council table until Father returned."

"Matters have taken a turn, Madog" replied Cadwgan, ignoring his brother's remark. "Glwys is uncooperative. I cannot have the council fermenting rebellious thoughts."

"And you want me to take his place." It was not a question.

"Yes," Cadwgan admitted. Much as he mistrusted his brother, his talent for intrigue could not be denied. Madog was Bleddyn's second son, two years Cadwgan's junior, and in line to inherit the Duchy of Gwynedd. When Cadwgan ruled, Madog would be one of the most powerful - and potentially troublesome - vassals in the realm.

So why not keep him onside? If Madog took up the post of spymaster, it would give him influence and remove the threat of Mayor Glwys. Much as second sons could be troublesome, Cadwgan would certainly trust his own brother over the scheming mayor.

Madog grinned, and stood up from the chair next to the desk in his chambers. "I thought you would never ask. Should I take up the post now, or give you time to compose a fitting excuse to the mayor?"

"I can have the council convene in ten minutes."

"You are more devious than I thought, brother," replied Madog slyly. "I will make my way to the chambers when you give the word."

Cadwgan turned to let himself out. Madog called out, "Would you prefer it if Mayor Glwys was removed from the picture entirely?"

Tempting, Cadwgan thought, but all blame would quickly fall upon my father. Who else would want the mayor gone? And besides, the thought unsettles me.

"No," he replied, without turning around. "But be sure to keep an eye on him."

Cadwgan walked out of the room and down to the council chambers, bidding a servant to inform the council that they were called to session. Then he sat in the great head chair that he had claimed since Bleddyn went to war, and waiting.

It did not take long. First came Baldomar, then Donnchad, Ouccydd, Mayor Glwys... and there was Madog, slipping into the shadows in the back of the room, as if rehearsing his role already.

Cadwgan spoke. "My lords, I greet you and call this council to session. If you could all be seated?"

The councillors did so, but Cadwgan interrupted. "Mayor Glwys, I would ask that you stand."

"My lord?" the spymaster asked, confused. "I'm afraid I do not understand."

"Stand, Mayor. That is an order."

Glwys did not look at all happy. "Of course, my lord," he said through gritted teeth.

Now was the time to break the news. "Mayor Glwys, the realm appreciates all that you have done on this council, but we feel the time is right for a new outlook. You are hereby relieved of your position."

"My lord? What have I done to warrant this? I am a devoted servant of this realm, his Grace the king knows this!"

"No one doubts your commitment to the realm, Mayor," lied Cadwgan, "but the council requires change to keep the realm stable."

Glwys' eyes flashed with anger, and in that moment, Cadwgan knew he was finally dropping his respectable veneer. "This is an outrage!" he hissed. "Only his Grace King Bleddyn may remove someone from this council!"

"My father asked me to rule in his stead while he was on campaign," Cadwgan responded coolly. "I would say this falls under that remit."

Glwys was not deterred "Who is this replacement of yours?" he sneered "Another lapdog, like that jumped-up Irish steward? A lackey who you can use to enforce your will, boy?"

"That lapdog is the king's son, sir." The voice came from behind Glwys.

The mayor jumped and turned only to come face to face with Madog, wearing an enigmatic smile.

The distraction gave Cadwgan the chance to take the offensive once again. "Yes, my brother, Madog ap Bleddyn Mathrafal, has graciously agreed to take up the post of spymaster. If you want my advice, my lord, I would go back to your lands in Holyhead. Rule there as you will, instead of insulting our nobles councillors and tarnishing your office. Unless, of course, I have to call the guards to have you removed?"

Glwys had no answer to that. He gave them all one last scathing look, turned, and marched out of the doors to the council chamber. Finally, he was out of the way.

My father will certainly find that interesting, thought Cadwgan.

"I apologise for the disruption, my lords," he said, formally. "With our new councillor confirmed in his post, let us discuss the recent reports..."

January 1069

Rhuddlan

Bleddyn's force surrounded the castle in a ring of steel. The siege had been long, arduous, and draining to the men of the army. After another great victory had been won in Mathrafal itself, laying siege to Rhuddlan had proved difficult. It had been a year and a half since Bleddyn had set out for war, and he greatly missed Powys, the court, his wife... and Cadwgan, that great son of his. Instead, Maredudd and Mayor Rhigenu had been his constant companions. The king had hoped that spending all this time with his fourth son might show him his virtues, but it had only opened his eyes more to his faults. The steady influence of Cadwgan was one Bleddyn greatly missed.

But in a short time, we will be home, and the traitor in irons.

"Bring up the Count!" he called.

A group of soldiers flung Count Edwyn, manacled at wrist and ankle, before him, looking exhausted and haggard. The siege had taken a lot out of him, and this once proud lord was now a shadow of his former self.

Neither spoke to the other. Instead, Bleddyn called out "Have the Count taken back to Powys, and kept in the dungeon cells. Let him live out his days there, as punishment for his treachery and treason. He tried to betray the realm to a usurper, then attempted to take it for himself. His son, innocent in this, shall be allowed to inherit his lordship. In time, I hope his family may repay the debt they owe."

"Now, ride for home! For Powys!"

February 1069

"Is the history interesting?" Cadwgan asked.

Llewellyn screwed up his nose. "It is. Though a little difficult to read at times."

"Keep at it, my lad," Cadwgan advised. "Any great scholar must be able to understand the texts of history. It is from them we learn."

Llewellyn had been interested in the world around him from a very young age, so it was unsurprising to see him throw himself into the library. Over the last year or so, Cadwgan had joined him, making the effort to bond with his son, and learn with him. He was immensely proud of him. Although his son was only two-and-ten, Cadwgan was confident he would grow up to be a great man, like his grandsire before him.

"Look!" Llewellyn pointed. "This page shows the Welsh kingdoms! And a list of rulers."

"Aye, it does."

Llewellyn traced a finger down the page, and stopped at Gruffudd ap Llewellyn. "Is that your father's brother?"

"He was," Cadwgan said sadly. "A great and just ruler, too, until Harold Godwinson cut him down and destroyed his kingdom."

Llewellyn seemed awed. Cadwgan ruffled his hair. "I'll leave you to it, son." He put his finger on the page. "There's a good bit there about Rhodri Mawr, if you're interested." He walked out of the library, leaving his son to his books.

The council hasn't convened in a while. I should summon them. The look of the council had changed a fair bit while Bleddyn had been away. Madog had been more than competent in his duties since replacing Mayor Glwys, though was now weakened by a syphillis infection that had fortunately been treated well by Oucydd. Steward Donnchad had begged leave to resign his office, wishing to return to Ireland. He had been replaced by one of his countrymen, Gilla-Patraic, another minor Irish noble. By far the biggest appointment, however, had been a Jewish scholar named Menchen of Tabor, who had done wonders since replacing Baldomar as chancellor, and it seemed only a matter of time before he found a claim that Baldomar had been trying to fabricate for over a year without success.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of horns! An attack!

No, wait, this was a different sound. It could only mean one thing - his father had returned!

Cadwgan dashed to the front gate, and beheld the portcullis rising. There was Mayor Rhigenu, then his brother Maredudd... and his father! Bleddyn looked a little weary, but no harm appeared to have come to him, and he accepted the cheers of the gathering crowd. Cadwgan pushed his way through as his father dismounted his horse. They beheld each other for the first time in over a year.

Bleddyn embraced his son warmly. "Cadwgan, you have the look of a ruler about you now."

The words gladdened Cadwgan's heart, but the formalities had to be dealt with. He took a knee. "Father, I welcome you back to the court, and hereby surrender my role as temporary head of the council."

The king chuckled. "Rise. I heard reports while coming back that you have been busy."

Now to tell him about Glwys...

"Yes, father. I had to make some changes to the council."

Bleddyn sighed. "Glwys?"

The perception surprised Cadwgan, but he did not let it show on his face. "Yes. Madog has taken up the office in his stead."

"Madog?" the king said, raising an eyebrow. "Working with your brothers, Cadwgan? A rare sight indeed."

When they're squabbling over your inheritance, father, it's most assuredly not easy.

"Yes. He battled through sicknesses while you were away, but the physician assures me he will recover."

"I am glad to hear it," the king responded. "Any other news of importance?"

"Yes. Very soon, we may be able to find a claim on the nearby lands..."

April 1069

"Are you well, father?"

Bleddyn smiled. "Yes, Cadwgan. The damn feasts and frolics have me a little on edge, that's all."

Cadwgan felt roughly the same. For the last few months, Powys had been host to feast after feast, because after all this time, Bleddyn was finally having a say in his families' marriages.

"When Caradog comes, we need men, and I can't field enough alone to stop him," the King had told his son. "We need alliances, and if that means marrying my children off, so be it."

It was a rather blunt statement by his father, yet there was truth behind it. So the matchmaking had begun. Maredudd had been wed to Princess Ximena of Navarra, in return for her brother, King Antso, lending his swords in alliance. The King's youngest son, Iorwerth, who had only just reached the age of sixteen, was betrothed to a relation of the Duke of Aquitaine five years his junior. The King's daughters Hunydd and Gwenllian, of course, were also utilised as players in this particular game. Both were Cadwgan's elder by a year. Gwenllian was wed to Prince Donald of Scotland, brother of King Malcom - a personal success for Bleddyn, who had long hoped to see the Celtic lands of Wales and Scotland united, even if he was not yet King of all Wales. But the greatest triumph was Hunydd's marriage to King Svend III of Denmark, who succeeded his father after he died of an infected wound, and was more than happy to renew the alliance between the two realms. Indeed, only three members of the family were not wed; Bleddyn's youngest daughter Denis, who had been disfigured in an accident; Madog, still weakened by syphillis; and Bleddyn's third son, Rhirid, heir to the county of Anglesey, two years younger than Cadwgan.

"With the swords of Navarra, Scotland, and Denmark at our aid, Caradog cannot hope to stand against us," Bleddyn boasted to his son.

"Do you think he knows of the weddings?" Cadwgan asked.

"He may have some idea," admitted the king. "Word travels far. But there is little he can do about it."

"Let us hope so," Cadwgan replied. "The storm is incoming."

"Indeed," his father agreed. "I want every able bodied soldier ready to march when the time comes. We will defeat the usurper, Cadwgan. I swear it."

June 1069

As the last of his men dismounted the fleet he had hired, Caradog let out a sigh of satisfaction. Two years he had waited, but now his force was ready - elite mercenaries, ready to fight for him and his claim.

His son and heir, Traehaern, stood at his side. "Will we not face any attacks from the local lords?"

Caradog shook his head. "Morgannwg is sympathetic to our cause. We will face no obstacle until we reach Powys."

"Bleddyn knows we are coming," Traehaern warned. "His fleet intercepted one of our galleys, and I hear he's called the banners."

"Let him call up whatever force he chooses," Caradog told him. "It will make no matter. The land will be ours."

He looked over the troops one more time.

"And soon, the kingdom."

Powys

The host of Powys was assembled outside Mathrafal Castle.

"The spies' reports were true, then," Bleddyn said, grimly. "Caradog has landed at Cardiff."

"Madog said he would," Cadwgan agreed. "Still, we called the banners in time. The army is assembled. Our allies should come to our aid swiftly."

But Bleddyn shook his head. "No. I sent the missives, but ill tidings have reached us. The Scots are fighting the Norwegian petty kings, Navarra wars with the Hudid Emirate over Aragon, and King Svend is leading his troops against the Holy Roman Empire." His face was grim. "We alone will face this threat, Cadwgan."

"I will ride with you," Cadwgan told him.

"No," Bleddyn said firmly. "You must stay behind."

Cadwgan shook his head, copying his father's motion. "I have already resigned my post as Marshal, father. Rhirid has agreed to work with the council in overseeing the realm. This time, we face the enemy together."

His father nodded. "Very well. Let us march."


OOC: Plenty of upheaval in that part, especially with the timeskip!

Sorry for the rather slapdash introduction of the rest of Bleddyn's family - at least he has the swords of Navarra, Scotland, and Denmark (even if none will help him at this precise moment).

On the topic of the Scots, the two men mentioned in this part might be of interest to you. King Malcom III of Scotland was the son of King Duncan - the same King Duncan that was slain by his brother, Macbeth, though unlike in William Shakespeare's famous play, it happened on the battlefield. Macbeth ruled for seventeen years between 1040 and 1057 before being slain by Malcom, though he did not take up the rulership immediately as in the play. Macbeth's stepson Lulach was crowned king, but his reign lasted for less than a year before he too was killed by Malcom. Prince Donald of Scotland, now wed to Bleddyn's daughter Gwenllian in this AAR, was the inspiration for another character in Macbeth, Donalbain. He too would take up the throne of Scotland in 1093 after his brother, banishing his nephew Duncan, the rightful ruler. The support of an Anglo-Norman army placed Duncan on the throne. His reign lasted six months before Donald took the throne once again after yet another rebellion, and he would rule until 1097. Another rebellion from another of his nephews, Edgar, swept to power thanks to the support of his uncle and namesake Edgar Aethling.

Traehaern, Caradog's son - and cousin to Bleddyn - would become King of Powys in 1073 after none of Bleddyn's children claimed the rulership. He ruled for eight years until 1081.

That was a fun, if daunting part to write due to all the new characters being introduced, including Cadwgan's son Llewellyn. Let me know your thoughts on the progress of the AAR and any advice you may have.

 

[Chac1]

No worries about skipping time: not noticeable by this reader. (At least, no different than previous parts.)
Getting the right spymaster is essential, but I detect some foreshadowing (whether intended or not).
Always grateful for the real history lesson in the postscript, although the longer you play undoubtedly the farther events will you carry you away from how history actually played out.
And now the clash with Caradog....

 

[HistoryDude]

@Chac1 is correct. The time skipping is fine.

The battle could be interesting. The fate of Wales hangs in the balance... may the best claimant win!

Glwys won't like his demotion. It might encourage him to revolt. Keeping an eye on him was good.

The battle itself was short and not covered in much detail, but that's fine. It did its job in the story, and that is what matters.

 

[SwingTheSword]

@Chac1 is correct. The time skipping is fine.

The battle could be interesting. The fate of Wales hangs in the balance... may the best claimant win!

Glwys won't like his demotion. It might encourage him to revolt. Keeping an eye on him was good.

The battle itself was short and not covered in much detail, but that's fine. It did its job in the story, and that is what matters.

I'm not so worried about Glwys, revolt-wise. He's only the mayor of one city, after all. Where he may pose a problem is in supporting plots against Bleddyn, but for the most part, the King is well-liked. Let's hope it remains that way.

As for the battle scene, I will try and extend the length of those in future, but I thought it best to test it out with a short one first, as I'm not nearly as confident at writing battles as I am council scenes.

 

[Midnite Duke]

The spymaster should not have spent so much time hunting for information in brothels. Sometimes, being too dedicated is a bad thing. How dare the allies have other interests that they consider more important than Wales! Thanks for the update

 

[SwingTheSword]

July 1069

Bleddyn looked up into the hills, and grimaced. "The scout's reports were true. He is here."

Ever since Caradog had landed, he had been marching north to confront Bleddyn - but the claimant had been shrewd in his methods. Rather than confront him directly in Powys, the seat of his power, he had swung round the capital and headed for north-east Rhos in the Duchy of Gwynedd. Fortunately, Bleddyn's scouts had learned of his plans some days before, and the king had been marching ever since, to confront his enemy. Now, they were almost face to face, two armies spread out on the hills. Cadwgan noted that although Caradog's host looked fearsome with the sun flashing off his men's armour, their army outnumbered them by some three hundred men.

Bleddyn turned to Cadwgan, perched atop his horse. "You are the commander. Are all the men in position?"

Cadwgan nodded solemnly. "They are. We await only your word."

Bleddyn smiled grimly. "Excellent. Give the order-"

"Your Grace, wait!" a scout interrupted, riding up to him. "Caradog is riding out from his army. He bears a flag of truce."

"It seems he wishes to parley," Cadwgan commented. "Interesting."

"Is it so he can throw his sword in the dirt and yield?" the king said mirthlessly. "I do not see why I should treat with the usurper.

"Father, I think we should," contested Cadwgan. "A usurper he may be, true, but he has offered us this chance to talk. Perhaps he can be made to see reason."

"I very much doubt it," Bleddyn told him. "But you are the commander here, son, so I will treat with him as you bid. Let us hope there is no treachery."

"Violating a flag of truce is one of the most heinous acts a man can commit," Cadwgan replied. "Caradog seems to have more principle. Though I'd raise our own flag, just to be on the safe side."

"Good thinking, my son," agreed Bleddyn. A squire handed him their own flag of truce, and thus equipped, the pair rode out to meet Caradog. The would-be king stood alone, with no guards around him. Clearly, he trusted in Bleddyn's honour.

The three men stood about ten paces apart. Caradog spoke. "So, King Bleddyn, we finally come face to face. It is a pleasure to know my foe."

"It may be less of a pleasure than you think, Caradog," responded Bleddyn icily.

"I see we have not introduced all the people here," the claimant replied, ignoring Bleddyn. "The man beside you is unfamiliar to me."

"This is my son and heir, Cadwgan," replied Bleddyn, indicating Cadwgan beside him.

Caradog seemed amused. "Such is the way with the world that the sons might fight with their fathers. My son Traehaern still lives at the court in Brycheiniog. Who knows, perhaps our sons will continue the struggle."

"I did not come to hear your jests. If you have terms, name them."

"Very well," Caradog said. He straightened in his saddle. "If you and your men lay down your arms and consent to hand over the lands contested, I will call off my men. There need be no bloodshed today."

Bleddyn snorted. "From what I can see, our forces outnumber yours. Why should I yield from a position of strength?"

"My troops are better equipped and hardened in battle," countered Caradog. "You may win, but it would be a grievous cost." He attempted an ingratiating smile.

"But now, King Bleddyn," he continued, "let us discuss this as lords and equals. I bear you no ill will, nor your family. Your brother was a man of great reknown, who would have brought our realm to glory had the English not intervened. Your ancestral lands of Powys will remain yours. When I subjugate the southern kingdoms and take the throne of Wales, I will raise you high, as my most trusted lord and councillor. Your sons shall rule after you. Is this not a good offer?"

"If I offered you the same, you would laugh in my face," replied Bleddyn testily. "Yet I am a reasonable man, Caradog. Disband your army, leave this battlefield, swear to never attack Powys again, and you shall be allowed to live. I would not exterminate the House of Abberfraw, whatever the faults of its descendants."

"A noble sentiment," Caradog mused. He sighed. "Yet I am afraid I cannot take your offer. Alas, your Grace, that it has come to this." He turned his horse, and rode away.

"So be it," muttered the King.

Bleddyn and Cadwgan rode back to their lines. "I have offered Caradog all the chances he deserves," the King told his son. "Sound the horns and begin the advance."

Cadwgan nodded. "Aye, father." He took up his position in the centre. Mayor Rhigenu took up the left flank, and Bleddyn the right.

The sounds of the war horns split the sky, and with a great, terrible cry, the hosts came together. The Battle of Degannwy had begun.

"Archers!" roared Cadwgan, and a storm of arrows filled the sky. The king's heir rode into the fray, sword in hand and flying around amongst the foe. Bleddyn clashed blades with a nearby cavalryman, and slashed at his side. The man tumbled to the ground, wounded. "Mercy, your Grace!" he cried, and Bleddyn rode on past. Cadwgan was fighting hard against Caradog's centre, while Mayor Rhigenu led a charge against the flanks.

Throughout all of this, Caradog stayed calm, directing his men against the foe as the two sides clashed time and time again. The fate of Wales was being fought for on that battlefield, he knew. He had waited long for this day, hiring mercenaries, sending out spies, and attempting to ferment dissent within Bleddyn's kingdom. The mercenaries were holding well.
Cadwgan... now he was of interest. His father was a more than decent fighter, to be sure, but dealt more in rhetoric than arms. His son, clearly, could lead his men through the toughest of times, and he refused to quail even as armoured footmen smashed into his lines and arrows rained down. The tide, however, was beginning to turn...


Bleddyn could hardly believe it. The battle had been fought for hours, and it seemed as though Caradog's host, camped out in the hills, were making the most of the terrain, and had the advantage. Powys had known little war, other than Count Edwyn's rebellion, but Caradog was a far tougher fighter than the Count. He saw Mayor Rhigenu's forces, hard-pressed, start to turn. Even his own men, buoyed by the sight of the king amongst their ranks, were fleeing.

It was a rout.

Cadwgan held the centre for as long as he could, but eventually, even a man of his talent knew the day was lost. "Retreat!" he cried, wearily.

And with that, the host of Powys, broken, battered, and fleeing, was defeated.

Caradog had won.

Later that day

Perfeddwlad

Had the king been a weaker man, he might have had his head in his hands. Instead, as he and Cadwgan crouched in one of the tents in the hasty camp they had set up, he had a cup of wine clutched in his grip instead.

"How?" he asked bleakly.

Cadwgan shook his head bitterly. "It was as he said. Even with the advantage, his troops were far better equipped, and they made the most of the terrain."

The King felt utterly despondent ."Is he pursuing?"

"Thank God, no," Cadwgan replied. "He has headed south, and has Mathrafal Castle under siege. Our own home, encircled by a usurper. It is a bitter day in our history. Our allies will not come. Our armies are smashed. Where are we going to find the men?"

"How heavy were the casualties?" Bleddyn asked.

"Seven hundred. More than three times the amount of Caradog's losses.

The King was silent. Finally, he said, very quietly, "There may be one last hope."

"Where?" Cadwgan asked.

Then, suddenly, it dawned on him. "No. No. They would not come."

"They are bound to. It was part of the agreement."

"You're seriously considering calling for aid from Deheubarth?" Cadwgan asked, stunned.

"They are our tributary state, son," replied Bleddyn. "Not just paying money to our coffers, but in times of war, they will ride to our aid should we request it. Think about it: their swords alone can match Caradog's. Combined with the men that remain in our army, we have a force to match him once again."
"But you were trying to fabricate claims on their land, and they did the same on ours!" protested Cadwgan. "How can I fight side by side with these men one day and face them on the battlefield in the next?"

"We have no time for ethical debates!" the king snapped. "Powys burns. Deheubarth is all that stands between Caradog and victory. You love the realm, do you not?"

Cadwgan nodded.

"Then send the envoys to King Maredudd. At once."

He is right. Of course he is. Caradog cannot be allowed to take Gwynedd.

"Of course, father," he replied. "I shall send a messenger forthwith."
"Then let us hope to God that Maredudd calls the banners," Cadwgan said.

October 1069

Powys

Caradog, sat atop his horse, looked upon the siege camps with approval. Yes, it was all in place. In a matter of months, the castle would yield, and Bleddyn, who last he heard had fled north, would surely not be able to stand against him. Finally, he was taking back his land...

"My lord!"

A messenger raced up to him, breathless.

"What?" Caradog demanded.

"My lord, we- we have seen an army approaching, my lord."

"That's impossible!" Caradog snapped. "Bleddyn fled for his life."
"Not King Bleddyn, my lord. Deheubarth. Deheubarth marches to battle."

So Bleddyn has swallowed his pride and called them to war. I suspected he might. It will make little difference.

"Do nothing for now," he said aloud. "It will take them time to regroup with Bleddyn."

November 1069

Bleddyn's camp in Perfeddwlad

Ordinarily, Bleddyn would have turned away the messenger. But the words this man brought were from no ordinary missive. It was salvation: the best news he'd had in months.

The King leapt his feet. "Maredudd has called his men to war!" he cried.

Cadwgan dashed into the tent. "They answered the call!"

"They did."

Cadwgan took the letter from the messenger and read it. "I have ordered them to immediately march to your camp in Perfeddwlad."

"No," Bleddyn decided. "Let us ride out to meet them on the way." His eyes glittered. "Finally, Caradog will face a true challenge."

December 1069

Mathrafal Castle.

Cadwgan looked over the host of Powys and thought back to the initial clash with Caradog, when Bleddyn had faced down the pretender lord and defiantly refused to yield. Then, they had been sent fleeing, but now the lion banner of Deheubarth flew alongside the dragon of Powys. King Maredudd had been as good as his word, sending fourteen hundred men, and personally chosen to command them. The two kings had not always seen eye to eye, but now Bleddyn and Maredudd were putting aside their differences for the good of the realm. For, as Maredudd put it, "it would be a troubling thing if an ambitious man with pretensions of grandeur raised himself to a great lordship."

Cadwgan wondered if that had been a slight dig at Bleddyn to, but his father noticed, he chose not to mention it. The alliance had to be maintained.

There was to be no parley, as there was at Degannwy. Instead, the armies of the two kingdoms drew themselves up in a defensive position amongst the hills, ready to drive back the wave of soldiers Caradog would send against them. Bleddyn took the left flank, while King Maredudd assembled his best forces on the right, and Cadwgan given the honour of commanding the allied forces' centre.

Caradog's host was arranged in a far more offensive formation - the man was clearly confident that he would smash Bleddyn's army easily, as he had done before. The army's standard-bearer waved Caradog's own flag, the crest of House Aberffraw - a leaping blue fish. Caradog himself stood at the rear of his forces, ready to command as he saw fit.

This was the battle to decide the fate of Powys. Win, and they could drive back Caradog's forces from Mathrafal. Lose, and the war was as good as done. Cadwgan saw Bleddyn give the grizzled King Maredudd a look, and he signalled to Cadwgan to start the advance. Horns blasted, horses snorted, and the two hosts marched. Then they struck each other in a melee of steel and arrows. The battle had begun.

At first Caradog's forces hit them hard, as they had done at Degannwy, but with the troops of Deheubarth now in play, they were slowly driven back. Caradog had given command of his flanks to two experienced mercenary captains. These were diligent men, for sure, but not the sort that would fight until all was lost. One side wavered under a hail of arrows. Seeing this, Bleddyn ordered a charge against that flank. The mercenaries looked like they would hold for a moment, then lost all nerve and fled. Seeing this, the other flank began to consider their position in the battle, and whether it was prudent to flee. King Maredudd himself, fearless in the middle of the fighting, led his own squad of men from both kingdoms, and Cadwgan ordered some of the centre's men to support him. The second flank broke, and that only left Caradog commanding his troops, as Cadwgan had done fruitlessly at Degannwy.

The pretender king fought bravely, but even he knew the tide had turned against him. With one last defiant cry, he looked like he was going to make a doomed charge at Bleddyn, but eventually turned his forces and fled. The Battle of Mathrafal was a victory, and one that Bleddyn badly needed.

Cadwgan saw him going around the troops, congratulating the commanders. Then he came to Cadwgan.

"My son," he said, and smiled. "You did well. We have victory."

"The pretender flees," Cadwgan said, also smiling. Then he frowned. "But victory is not yet complete."

"Indeed," his father agreed. "We must end the threat of Caradog once and for all. King Maredudd will not sanction a pursuit, but, eventually, he will return to these lands, and we will be there waiting for him."

February 1070

Anglesey

"The pretender has withdrawn to this last holdout," Bleddyn observed, as he and Cadwgan sat perched atop their horses. "He had nowhere left to run."

"Not just that," Cadwgan told him. "Perhaps it had some significance to him." He gestured at the island's rolling hills. "Rhodri Mawr won many great victories here. It was on these lands that he defeated the Viking chief, Gorm. Then, after they drove him into exile and seized the island, he returned and defeated them twice more. Perhaps Caradog feels the need to emulate him."

"He is no Rhodri Mawr, whatever he might say," replied the king. "His mercenaries are on the brink of desertion and Deheubarth stands with us. Yielding would serve him best."

"Well, we know he won't," Cadwgan replied. "So with your permission, father, I'd suggest we sound the battle advance."

"My thoughts exactly, son," Bleddyn said approvingly.

Once the horns had sounded, it did not take long for the two armies to engage. Caradog's force of mercenaries by now numbered less than a thousand men, and exhausted after their hasty flight from Powys. The flanks broke almost as soon as the cavalry engaged, and even Caradog himself was up against it. Suddenly, up went a white flag.

"They have surrendered," declared Cadwgan. He spied a group of soldiers on the battlefield, manhandling someone towards him. "And I think I know why."

They flung the man in the dirt in front of Bleddyn. "Caradog Aberffraw, your Grace," Mayor Rhigenu told him unnecessarily. The pretender looked unharmed, though shaken, and he stared up at Bleddyn. "You have surpassed yourself, King Bleddyn," he said. "It would seem I am defeated."

"Do you wish to offer your surrender?" Bleddyn asked, getting straight to matters.

Caradog hesitated, but he nodded. "Aye, I do."

Bleddyn turned to Mayor Rhigenu. "Clap him in irons, Mayor, and take him back to Powys. We can agree full terms there and decide what is to be done with him."

The Mayor bowed. "At once, your Grace." He rode off, with Caradog and his guards behind him.

With that, Bleddyn knew, the rebellion of Caradog Aberffraw, which had threatened the kingdom itself, was finally over. He turned to Cadwgan.

"After all that, my son," he said, "I am sure the council will want a full report. He smiled. "We are marching home."

"Yes, father. Let's hope Rhirid and Iorwerth have kept it in order, eh?"

His father chuckled. "Indeed. You know, I think I'm looking forward to reading over some more reports."


OOC: Well, that's the rebellion over, and the words of Bleddyn echo my sentiment - I much prefer council politics over CK2's rather formulaic battles. In the future, I'll probably skip most of the full battle reports, but seeing as this was our first war, I felt that we should cover it in detail.

Maredudd II Dinefwr, Bleddyn's ally in this part, was also descended from another great Welsh king, Hywel the Good, known as Hwyel Dda in Welsh, who ruled over nearly all the lands of Wales in the mid 11th century, barring Glamorgan and Gwent, which would later make up the Petty Kingdom of Morgannwg. Alongside Gruffudd ap Llewellyn and Rhodri Mawr, he is one of the only men who could reasonably claim to have ruled over Wales.

I hope you enjoyed the account of the war, and feel free to reply with any tips or advice.