425 AD
Four years shouldn’t matter much about, and yet Ambrosius could tell this time it did.
Four years since he took an upsetting decision to hunt down his brothers and remain the only Aurelianus of his Gens1. A true betrayal of promises he made to his parents, and yet one necessary before the sinful approach taken by the foolish siblings of his. Too cunning, too greedy- And not Roman. That last bit had been the biggest worry, and the one thing that drove Ambrosius to pursue this option.
Many times his determination grew duller, and many more times it was rekindled by the tales of his stories. People that lost families, all because they couldn’t have what they needed. Trained men- they needed troops. More allies, less rumors of greedy captures of their own stronghold from the brother of their most beloved Rex.
Vortigern was slain first, the foolish man attempting to reach him first and attempt to kill him. A play by knives, a foolish one as his death was warranted prior the effort. Yet, the truth behind this seemingly desperate attempt came to light through one of his former servants. Ordered by Uther, the pettiest of Kings, and felled by Ambrosius, the one many considered the one and true king.
In an odd display of affection, even the few surviving Celts swore their loyalties to him, shattering what Uther thought unbreakable. Disloyal subjects? Nay, the natives saw the horrific manners this ‘invader’ had taken upon them.
While Ambrosius was seen as the ‘Defender’ for his duty to the frontier to preserve the few values that kept Celts and Romans working together against the aggressors. A brief siege ensued, not even those once loyal guards to his younger sibling tried to refrain from the inevitable.
Uther croaked and groaned, drunk and panicking, and yet sober enough to slur insults without shame nor pride. A broken man stood before Ambrosius as he entered the throne room with his sword unsheathed. His brother mimicked the gesture, but his own blade had long ignored the need to kill for the good of what was left of their hopes and accepted the laziness of inaction.
Insults, accusations- Ambrosius felt so disappointed by what he was listening and seeing. Here Uther stood, a poor excuse for a tyrant. Weakened by his own desires, and by the comforts he stole from those that couldn’t afford to enjoy.
Never once Ambrosius felt more determined to go for the kill. Not before, not after, just then. And the ensuing battle was nothing short of a humiliation. Uther died by a simple stab cutting into his side. His attacks were unfocused, and lacked strength. He looked so stunned, so shocked- and yet truth finally flashed by his eyes with unforgivable resolve.
“Frater, O’ Frater,”2 He muttered weakly as Ambrosius carefully eased him to the ground. “Pulchritudinem Vidi, sed non turpis. Gloriae Futurae Vidi, sed non Tristis Praesens. Non paenitet, iam non sum frater, Quia… quia perii. Spes Nostra. Dimitte, O’ Frater, stultus cordis.”3
Too little, too late. The apology even now lingered heavily upon his head. But the ensuing mourning barely stopped him from claiming the spot of Rex. The court was reformed within mere days. No more druidism was concerned within the throne room as the matters of the military and of administrations persisted.
Religion was to be addressed on a latter occurrence as the invasion was the primary concern. New men flocked to the banner he held, and many died when the efforts to destroy the plague of barbarians resumed. It was gruesome, admittedly worse than before due to how many barbarians had landed while he handled this issue, but the end result was different for once and it wasn’t truly bad.
Each day the resistance lost momentum and focus, each day chiefs and chieftains died all over the bloody field of the battles. No one held against the unforgiving army of Ambrosius Aurelianus, Britanniae Rex4. And eventually, Londinium was retaken and order was fully restored upon the lands once owned by Mighty Roma.
The court moved, and so did the source of prosperity. The provisional capital received a reward for the loyalty displayed in the form of new permits of lands for the Veterans to claim as their pensions. Part of him wanted to favor the Romans of old by following the tradition to the fullest, yet it felt disingenuous due to the grand effort presented by the natives.
Some were willing to accept most of their customs and had long proved themselves friends of Rome and allies. An equal redistribution was the beginning of something in that regard, but Ambrosius was still too uncertain to determine how advantageous or negative such a decision was going to be. After all, these natives were not truly certain of their own loyalty to this new shaky order.
A crown was then laid upon his head, a proper confirmation of his Roman ascension to monarchical rule, yet that wasn’t something that pleased him in the deepest. A tragic grimace lied on his face as the round metal sat atop his skull during the event, reminding him way too much of the first rule of Rome as the tragic era before Rome became a Res Publica5. Seven Kings, then a Republic of (mostly equals). Which is why a council had to be created, a Senate.
There weren’t enough Romans to seat within said council, but plenty of officers who proudly took this duty and became the members of the first Britannian Senate. Hopefully, in his heart, the start of their return to normal and potential recapture of Rome in the future to come.
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Years were meant to pass and...
Years had gone by, but things had changed so much compared to before when the stalemates made things feel endlessly and eternally bleak. Roman Britannia endured the storm and shattered those that by ships and boats hoped to loot and destroy what was left of old Rome. None won, none succeeded. Rome stood its ground and won. And Rome now represented the Latins and the reformed Celts that constituted its new Realm upon the Britannian lands.
None like the natives from the island in the west or the ferocious descendants of Boudicca in the North6, rebellious feels among those locals under the Wall built by Adrian kept either secret or forsaken as prosperity won out their reluctance, that still sought to conquer and destroy. Peacetime was hardly lasting with these two troubles, but they were heavily dealt with either by the walls in the northern border, or through the ferocious ship-hunting in the seas by the west.
Everything was set to remain as calm and prosperous as expected, and yet news from within his court left him in quite the mood when it comes to hopeful planning. Especially when the whisperer of bad developments was none other but the man he had learned to loathe and yet admire to a degree. One figure from his late brother’s court survived, albeit out of ambiguity rather than genuine loyalty. Myrridin Emrys7 was a Celtic man who had been behind Uther’s slow corruption, but even the servants were keen to admit that Myrridin initiated Uther into this path as a way to approach the plight of his people, but did not encourage the worsening of such a process.
He was revered as a ‘magician’, one that was as amused as wary of Ambrosius. Part of him demanded his death for what he did to his brother, but Emrys won through that desire by proving his worth and sorting out any question tied to the Celts he held. Nothing tainting, but rather concerning the loyalties and the wants of these people to become proper Romans. It was about time that happened. And between riddles, trickery and frustrating antics, a bizarre approach ensued between the two. One that culminated with what for a moment felt like a punch to his guts.
After his usual pacing around the castle and settling more matters tied to relocation of lands, reorganization of villages and rebuilding the broken roads, Ambrosius found himself exhausted and weary by his throne. Not one built on gold or rare gems, but one of solid wood that helped him sit there for long hours with close to no discomfort to those.
Myrridin was already there, the old whelp grinning as he usually would while carrying his wooden scepter and torn robes with a grace only a few could proudly achieve. And, beyond his grudge towards his religion, Ambrosius couldn’t help but see him fit well as a Senator of Old Rome. If only he had less hair on his face and he allowed his robes to be of a cleaner and more pristine color. Still, the usual banter erupted. Philosophy, inquiries about the Celts’ loyalty, and ultimately the plans Ambrosius had for those set in the island in the West.
Yet, as they spoke of that matter, Uther’s name came up, bringing to Ambrosius a sense of upset which was barely veiled. Myrridin could see it bubble from within his face, and yet the old native spoke with a most lazy and yet calm tone. That was until the most hideous comment came forth and brought the conversation to an anomaly. The moment his ears caught the ‘joke’, Ambrosius felt the blood in his face drain and his visage grow more pale by the minute. Myrridin smirked, a most unpleasant display of teeth which held a degree of amusement within a situation the Rex could only see as negative.
“What do you mean, ‘magician’?” He demanded impetuously, tone and eyes sharpening before the jarring reaction. “Uther’s legacy is long dead. My brother and his foolish minions long perished.”
“Uther’s soul may no longer wander this realm, but his legacy exists despite your efforts. Not through followers, but by heir. One you are most away from and will not endanger.”
His eyes narrowed at what he felt like a threat. “And why so, old Barbarian?”
“Because destiny supports those that mean well, Ambrosius Rex. You have done so to this point, and yet that could all come to an end the moment you fail to uphold the reasons driving that bloodletting, that necessary kin-slaying.”
A most humbling retort. Ambrosius never thought he would agree to the fool’s point so easily, yet the sorrow rekindled a moment of neutrality that brought back his aggression. He watched the magus intensely, the man still smiling, almost knowingly, that he won that gamble. Yet, much remained to know and he knew Myrridin was withholding truths Ambrosius had to learn. Not for himself, not just for himself. But for those that were to come beyond him. He was soon going to look for an heir, or else this child could become a threat to his line.
“...And what are the chances of this youth becoming King of my domain?”
“Now, that would be too telling, Rex. And while I understand your irritation at my ‘lacking’ willingness to present you the future, I can still tell you one thing: you will be happy however this situation turns out to be. So please, from the bottom of your own heart, pursue that happiness and wait for the answer to this question to reach you from within.”
That didn’t reassure him, rather, it left a bizarre pit within his chest. Ambrosius knew, to his growing dismay, that this was going to be the new unknown ‘enemy’. Not his nephew, but what his future was going to be and what it was going to mean to someone like him. The kingdom had almost collapsed due to Uther, and his son could end up being worse if those taking care of him are the same as those that tricked Uther.
Time was going to give him peace, either by peaceful realization or through a deadly conclusion to his life.
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- Addendum -
1: Gens – Roman term used to describe individuals of a ‘family’ which connected to ancestors through shared names to exalt themselves as inheritors of their legacy;
2: Latin-to-English Translation – “Brother, Oh Brother.”
3: Latin-to-English Translation – “I saw the Beauty, but not the horrible. I saw the Glorious Futures, but not the Sad Present. Do not repent, because I was not your Brother, for… for he died. Our Hope. Let me, oh Brother, a foolish coward to die.”
4: Britanniae Rex – King of Britannia;
5: Res Publica – Term used to describe a Republic, translated as the ‘Public Thing/Affair’.
6: “The ferocious descendants of Boudicca in the North” – Describes the Picts, somewhat erroneous due to contemporary discoveries, Romans believed Boudicca to have strong connections with what, at the time, was seen as the Picts’ tribes.
7: Myrridin Emrys – Celtic Identity of the Arthurian Figure known as Merlin.