Tweet of the Day: Faking Lesbianism in Pop Culture and Patriarchal Bargains

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Interesting week this was. Both serials are on solid ground after something of a shaky start. I like the fact that I have a female MC in Wizards’ World War. I’m starting to like Gwen, a lot! Hope my readers feel the same way about her as well.

So what happened during the week:

• Mon: TV Tropes- Must Have Caffeine! Will somebody bring me a cup of joe? NOW!
• Tue: Old friends meet but it is not a happy reunion in WWW: One for the Road.
• Wen: World Building- YouTube as a Research Tool. No, I’m not kidding!
• Thu: Mordred enters Ambrosius court in- A Round Table
• Fri: Time to get political- SOPA & the Problem with “Special Crimes”

Nearly a full week of blogging. Not bad if I do say so myself and I just did.

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The New Year Eve after the Battle of Hogwarts, 98-90. Our story starts the afternoon of New Year’s Eve in the Granger home in Melbourne, Australia.

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“Hermione Jean Granger! How could you?” ,screeched Mrs. Granger at the top of her lungs. Hermione shrank from her mother. Her eyes brimmed with tears.

Ron grasped her by the shoulders, “She did it because she loves you, Mrs. Granger. Voldemort was killing wizards and muggles–”

“Who?” asked Mr. Granger who wrapped an arm around his wife.

“Non magic folk, Mr. Granger. Not that it matter, nobody was safe. That’s why we joined Harry, to stop him an we did, or at least he did,” said Ron.

“The Potter boy?” asked Mr. Granger. “But why tamper with our minds Hermione. I never thought you would use your magic that way. If I had known–”

“I did it for you. To protect you, didn’t you hear what Ron said?” pleaded Hermione.

Mrs. Granger collapsed on the living room sofa, “We heard you sweetheart, it’s just that…this is all too much.” Hermione joined her and explained what happened after she erased their memories.

Mr. Granger turned to Ron, “You’re Mr. Weasley’s youngest, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Sir,” said Ron.

“You’re quite taller than I remember,” said Mr. Granger. He waggled his finger between Hermione and Ron, “So you and my daughter?”

“Yes, Sir, we are together. Officially, that is. We been dating for awhile.”

“Ah,” said Mr. Granger with a knowing smile.

It took sometime for the Grangers to accept that they were not Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins, that their daughter was a witch and last year events. The Grangers decided that since they already made a life for themselves in a new country they would stay.  Hermione promised to visit them whenever possible.  They apparated to Sydney in order to take a Portkey back to London, but Ron insisted they stay around until midnight.

“But Ron, will miss our Portkey,” said Hermione.

“Don’t worry, I got it covered,” he said. And indeed he did, for he had arranged not one, but several Portkeys through his Ministry contacts. They watched the fireworks over Sidney bay, ported to Tokyo, then Seoul, another key took them to New Dehli and a few more jumped them from Moscow to Paris. They chased the midnight hour, tasted different foods, and watched all manner of  celebrations along the way.

Under the Eiffel Tower, Ron pulled Hermione close. His hands covered hers as they laid on his chest.  People milled around, but for a moment just before the countdown began, it was as if they were along in their Parisian space. He looked down at her, at the tangled of brown hair, the soft intelligent eyes.

“Hermione, I need to tell you something, something I’ve been meaning to say for a long time,” he said.

“What is it?”

“I don’t deserve you,” he said. She tried to pull away, but he kept her hands firmly in place.

“What?”

“Please, let me finish. You’re wonderful, clever, beautiful everything I could ever want, anything any bloke would want, but I’ve been prat all these years. I never told you the whole truth of what happened with the locket,” she opened her mouth to speak but he pressed on, “It did things to me. Thoughts, ideas, stuff I was already thinking. About you, about me, Harry, my family, but they were lies. All of them. Thing is, they were my lies, stuff that I believed, it just showed them to me. I destroyed it but there one truth in all the lies,’ he took a deep breath, “I’m no good for you.”

“Ron, please, don’t say that.”

“It’s true. I’m not, you know. I’m not as clever you are, not as brave, not anything. But I’m trying and tonight, you know being New Years and all, I decided to make a resolution. To be the kind of man you need me to be. It’s going to take a lot work, I know and knowing me I’ll probably screw it up, but better do it now, right?”

Hermione’s right hand slipped from Ron’s grip. She placed her index finger on his lips.

“Ron, you’re the man I want, and I need,” she said. She giggled when he frowned, “Something don’t make sense like how you always stood up for me or how you were willing to sacrifice yourself for others. How I know you would die for me  even though that’s the last thing I would want.”

He mumbled through her finger, “You mean it?”

“Always the tone surprise,” she said.

She tiptoed to kiss him. The crowds counted down the last seconds of the year. At the stroke of midnight their lips parted. Ron knew that it was resolution worth living for.

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Tweet of the Day: Here Kitty, Kitty

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First off what is PIPA/SOPA all about:

And it looked like the opponents succeeded. Or did they?

Critics insisted that these bills were dangerous because they empowered the U.S. Government, based on mere accusations of piracy and copyright infringement, to shut down websites without any real due process. But just as the celebrations began over the saving of Internet Freedom, something else happened: the U.S. Justice Department not only indicted the owners of one of the world’s largest websites, the file-sharing site Megaupload, but also seized and shut down that site, and also seized or froze millions of dollars of its assets — all based on the unproved accusations, set forth in an indictment, that the site deliberately aided copyright infringement.

In other words, many SOPA opponents were confused and even shocked when they learned that the very power they feared the most in that bill — the power of the U.S. Government to seize and shut down websites based solely on accusations, with no trial — is a power the U.S. Government already possesses and, obviously, is willing and able to exercise even against the world’s largest sites (they have this power thanks to the the 2008  PRO-IP Act pushed by the same industry servants in Congress behind SOPA as well as by forfeiture laws used to seize the property of accused-but-not-convicted drug dealers).

So while stopping the bill was a victory (of sorts) it is too little too late. For you see, online piracy has now been elevated to the hollowed ranks of Special Crimes for which all measures must be taken to stop it, even if the punishments far outstrip the acts and the measures do far unjust than the results of the crime itself. And no, this not start on September 12, 2001. No, it as old as civilization itself. In fact the old “Eye for an Eye, Tooth for a Tooth” is an aversion to extreme punishments for even the smallest crimes, that is to say only take something of equal value to what you have lost, no more, no less. Another fact is how the only crime mentioned in the Constitution of the United States is treason. Why? Because it was a one of those special crimes for which little evidence was needed to prosecute that it was abused by the Crown with ease.

But what are these so called “Special Crimes”? They are the type of crimes that the State considers so heinous, so destructive, that the only way to deal with them is to chuck the Rule of Law and create “special” laws to deal with them. We seen it in the so called War on Drugs. Think that the government needs to convict you to cease your property? Nope. A mere accusation is all that it’s required. And good luck getting it back.

It gets worse of course if the subject is terrorism: indefinite detection, torture and of course capital punishment (assassination) and you don’t get the chance of even appearing before a court (no Habeas Corpus for you Bob!).

Also yesterday in American justice, a three-judge panel of a federal appellate court in Virginia upheld the dismissal of a lawsuit brought against Donald Rumsfeld and other Bush officials by Jose Padilla, the U.S. citizen who was imprisoned for almost three years without charges or even a lawyer and was systematically tortured to the point of permanent mental incapacitation. Padilla sued the former Defense Secretary on the ground that he had authorized Padilla’s illegal imprisonment and torture. The Obama DOJ vigorously defended Rumsfeld, arguing (a) that Rumsfeld is entitled to immunity on the ground that he had reason to believe his acts were legal and (b) an American citizen has no right to sue a government official for the treatment he receives as a designated “enemy combatant” — even if the treatment in question is torture and prolonged imprisonment without charges.

And now online piracy has joined this illustrious group of “Special Crimes”.

There is old Spanish proverb that goes something like this:

“Justos por Pecadores”

Go ahead and have Google translate that for you, before someone in Hollywood slaps a copyright on it.

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Severus the Rogue – 1 – 2 – 4

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The doors of the hall burst open.

“Father,” said Arthur. He dragged Gwenevere by the hand.

Father turned, his back curved with the weight of the bear pelt draped over his shoulder. Old eyes wrinkled with concern looked upon Arthur.

“What is it, son?”

Arthur turned to the group that followed. The warriors took a knee at the sight of my Father. The leader brandished a bronzed leaved spearhead.

“These men saved us from a Saxon attack,” said Arthur.

“Saxons? Here? Rise please, and tell me your names so that I may properly thank you,” ordered Father.

The spear man rose. The links of maille caught the dappled rays of sunlight that streamed through narrow windows of the hall. But there was something strange about him, something familiar. His nose was not unlike Father’s. His cheeks as high as Arthur’s. Yet his eyes were of a cold blue grey. Never had I seen a man with such frigid eyes such small motes of icy water.

This man is a abomination among men! Father, Brother, can’t you not see it?

My veins turned icy cold, yet the conversation continued. Arthur regaled us with the daring rescue by the man he called Mordred. Father nodded his approval. Mordred and his men stayed silent throughout.

“So, by what twist of Destiny you happen to be here, Mordred?” asked Father.

“We once served Vortigen, but he is now a prisoner in his own hall. He invited Saxons to serve him as mercenaries as the Romans and–”

“There are no Romans!” shouted Father. “There is no Rome! We stand alone!” he shook with rage.

“Father, please, let Mordred finish,” said Arthur.

“He sought to use them to defend his holdings and promised them land in exchange for their services. But they, led by the brothers Hengest and Horsa, flooded the countryside with their kin, collected taxes in the name of the King and punished most crudely and cruelly anyone who opposed them. When we raised our concerns to the King, they sent killers in the night for us. A dozen of us fell to knife and club before the alarm was raised. I’m afraid that those that attacked your son were coming after us, my Lord.” said Mordred.

“So the South has fallen. Very well, follow me,” said Father.

He led the arms men to an adjacent room where a large round table stood in the middle covered in sand.

“Merlin!” shouted Father.

The wise sage rushed to his side, “Yes, my Lord.” He waved a hand over the table. The sand changed to different shades of green and reshaped itself into map of the isles. Red flags appeared on the southeast corner. More banners in the North marked the Angles/Orcs and the Picts.

“So these are the Saxons you speak off, Mordred?”

“Yes my Lord.”

“Very well. Arthur!” Brother approached and bended a knee. Father took his bearskin cloak and put it on Arthur’s shoulders. He then took his sword from the scabbard and handed the gleaming icy blade to him. All eyes focused on the sword. Water dripped from the edge as the frozen metal met the humid summer air. Mordred’s blue-grey orbs shone in it’s presence. I’ve seen men hunger for it before, but never with such a gleeful smile of triumph. “This is your charge now, Arthur. Go forth and smite these interlopers before they come to far.”

“Yes, my Lord,” said Arthur, his lips quivered in reverence.

“As for your Mordred. We shall have a banquet in your honor, for you have saved those who I hold most dear, Arthur and the Lady Guinevere.”

Thus the viper finds a new nest. But I can see it’s scales.

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Tweet of the Day: Odd Like Us

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YouTube?

You mean the land of anime themed videos, kittens and political hack jobs?

Yes, the one and the same. For you see world building is as much about research as it is about, well, building worlds. research provides the cement that glues together the raw stirs of imagination into a cohesive whole. From how armies work, to the stock and trade of different cultures, from ancient times to today. And while nothing beats good old fashioned book research, YouTube is shock full of documentaries where other people have done the research for you such as:

Of course, the same rules of research apply to these videos as they do any other form of research: author’s bias, contradicting claims, and at times shaky factual foundations. Yet few things beat visualizing history the way video can:

You can’t beat that magic table. I even borrowed the concept for one of my serials. Another benefit of using YouTube is that you don’t have to chase the same programs through cable or local TV and stuff your digital recorder with shows you may never watch. Instead you get the same shows in 10:00 bite size (on average) which you can watch (re-watch) at anytime. I prefer BBC documentaries, although these are not infallible by any means. The two above are from them, this third example is not but still good:

War based documentaries dominate YouTube but you can find videos on just about anything.

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Season 1 - Dispatch 1 – Dispatch 3 – Dispatch 5

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The Rampant Unicorn Pub, Aberystwyth, Principality of Wales, 22 December, 13:09 hrs

“And he gets up and says, ‘I’m alright!’”

“So was he?”

“Well no, he took one step and fell down, dead!”

The men near the door laughed at the joke, a snippet of conversation among the two dozen or so spouted by regulars of the pub. They mixed with an Bowie/Mercury duet that came from the  jukebox in the corner. I  wanted to hear the set up to the punchline but I had better things to do. Aber had two of the three things I needed to cross into the Otherworld, the National Library and Owen. Took a week of research to find the missing pieces of information. Which left only Owen.

Apple cheek, deep dimpled Owen Jones tended bar at the Unicorn so I went straight there. He nodded at me as if to say ‘I’ll be with you in a moment,’ then stopped, wide eyed.

“We need to talk,” I said. He broke eye contact. He erected an emotionless wall between us. His way of keeping the memories at bay.

Not a chance.

“You owe me,” I said.

The wall crumbled, “I owe you? Okay, fine, talk.”

“Somewhere private, please.”

He pointed upwards then turned to the other fellow at the bar, “Michael, cover me.” Michael frowned. He led the way to a storage room upstairs. “What is this about me owing you?” I led the memories of our time in University flood back to my mind. The shame, the anger the revulsion of what he did to me. His eyes watered, “Fine, I said I was sorry!”

I screamed at him, “Using your little mind tricks to make me fall in love with you is not something that you can just apologize for! That’s rape that is!”

The thick woodwork of the pub plus the noise from the jukebox screened our shouting match from the patrons below.

Again the wall came up, slower this time, “For God’s sake I would never, I did…” the wall around his psyche collapsed as his temper rose,”NOT! DON’T YOU DARE SAY THAT ABOUT ME!”

I held my ground and the impulse to incinerate him where he stood.

“If only… but you didn’t wait, I fancied you, you know. Cute little Owen, the girls would say. Charming, quick with a smile Owen Jones. You two would make a nice couple and all of that rubbish.  But no, you got desperate. Had I been somebody else–”

“I am not like that, you hear me. Never! I…”, the nausea he felt enveloped us both. His shoulders slumped, “What do you need?”

“I need you to make me invisible.”

“I don’t make people invisible, not really, it’s just–”

“Spare me the explanations. Can you do it or not?”

“I can, yes…”he leaned against a stack of boxes, “But what for? The Prince has a few psychics at his disposal, why me?”

“I don’t work for the ruddy Prince!” I said. The timber trembled beneath my feet.

“You want to cave my family’s business in?”

“Sorry, but no, I don’t work for the Prince or anyone else, and since you are tending bar at a pub, I bet you don’t either. Am I right?”

“Yeah, I’m not the fighting and murdering type. So what is this all this really about? And don’t bother lying to me, cause I’ll know.”

“Avalon,” I said.

“Ava…are you mad!”

“Yes, I am a crazy woman with a fiery temper. A literal fiery temper.”

“But why?”

“Because it’s time to do what needs to be done.”

His consciousness pushed against mine like the soft fingers of a doctor probing the flesh of a patient. But he knew better than to push too hard.

“Fine, I’ll do it. But neither you or I can open the Veil, no matter how thin it is these days.”

“No, but a necromancer can, and I found one.”

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Tweet of the Day: Six Sentence Sunday – Vexx

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Okay, after last week hyperactivity this post comes oh so very late, yet here it is. First of it was between Lampshade Hanging or this, so I went with Must Have Caffeine. To quote the first (short) paragraph of the Trope page:

Ah, caffeine! Truly one of the greatest gifts of God. It allows us humans to surpass the limits of our endurance when we need it most, and it has become a sort of lifestyle for a lot of us.

And for us coffee lovers it most certainly is.  It is a character quirk trope, where in the character enjoys caffeinated drinks, perhaps to the point of not being able to function until they had at least one or three servings of the beverage of their choice. Or the location or paraphernalia around said drinks can serve as a setting for the story (or one of several). It also tends to distinguish characters from different ages: children and teens will drink anything from your average soda to high powered energy drinks while adults will enjoy one of a variety of coffees.

For example, college students may frequent the local coffee shop (be it franchise, dark basement hipster place or long standing college town establishment) and drink stuff with overwrought faux Italian names. A  middle age middle manager will probably hit the instant hard, he has no time to waste getting out of the house and a blue collar worker will have his black straight from a thermos.

But that’s not all, I’ve used it to separate my coffee loving Puerto Rican MC from the other tea sipping Englishmen and women around him.  Not much of a difference, but one that says, “He ain’t from around here!”. Then you have caffeine as a G-Rated Drug (it is a drug that is very much legal around the world, even in places where alcohol is not tolerated) with all the accompanying addiction tropes, mostly played for laughs.

So have a hot cup of java, and relax….

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Tweet of the Day: A Must-Know Tip For Slam-Blang Finales

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Busy and weird week this one was: experiments, serials and the SOPA/PIPA protests. Mine was a white out instead of a blackout, but I think I made my point. So what happened this week:

• Sun: Post on Sundays? Yes, Mr. Dursley- Experimenting with Serials
• Mon: TV Tropes Monday states the obvious (or is it?)- Most Writers are Male
• Tue: The view looks bleak from 10 Downing Street in WWW: Rich Man’s Burden
• Wen: Nothing, Nada, Zilch- SOPA is in Retreat
• Thu: Lovers go for a ride in Ambrosius the Warlord-A Summer Glade
• Fri: My entry into the AW Blog Chain- A Winter Nightmare

So much for this week. See you around!

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Now this is an amazing artist!

Tweet of the Day: WRITING FIGHTING (SCENES): 12 THINGS WRITERS NEED TO KNOW

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Another month, another Blog Chain. You know the drill. First the instructions:

This month’s prompt:
Winter Nightmare

Another broad one: go wherever the prompt takes you. It can be fiction or non-fiction, the nightmare can be Cthulhu or just a struggle with a troublesome New Year’s resolution (or anything in between).

Instructions:
Simply post your blog’s URL in this thread to join. Each post should be less than 1000 words if possible. Read and comment on other participants’ posts if you possibly can–they’ll be doing the same for you!

Then the post, as follows (fiction):

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The valiant knight rode his chestnut steed through the country ways that led from his father’s estate down the Vale of the White Horse through to London. Snow mixed with mud under the hooves of the warhorse, weary beast of burden for the knight in gleaming plate. The winter sun dissolved into inky darkness, the elm branches hung low naked but for a rim of frost. The tired man dreamed of glory in battle for Aquitaine a faithful servant of the Black Prince and his Majesty the King.

The lights of a nearby village beckoned, bright over the next rise beyond. Yet horror struck the young squire dumb as he rounded the dome. For the village was alight from end to end. Tongues of fiery crimson curled from broken windows. Thatched roofs smoked an eery gray smoke. Blood covered the streets. Homes had their walls caved in. Bodies ripped apart lay about like a petulant child playthings. And the stench of death mixed with smell of roasted meat.

No hammer crushed those bones, no sword cleft the villagers in twain.

This was something else.

The proof appeared before him in the form of large frozen puddles.

Was this man or beast?

The stallion shook his head and bucked at the reins.

For the trail lead into a dark wood of naked elms.

I am a Knight of the Realm, I will see this through!

He spurned the mount on to the night, made darker by the brilliant light at their backs. The winter air ripped the heat from the flames, cloaking the pair in it’s icy grip. Only the clop, clop of hooves on snow could be heard through the vacant wood. No crackle of fires, no owls hooted, no dogs bayed or wolf howled.

Deeper they went, into forlorn space between the silent trees.

A crack, a thud and the sharpest blow the knight had ever felt. He came to his feet yards away from stricken horse. His vision blurred, a sharp pain at his side, but his had his sword and with it his calm. Something hunched over his steed, as it whined in loneliness and distress.

This what attacked the village, a giant like in the stories of old!

One tree trunk rested like a ramp on a stump.

I will not shirk my duty, I will stay in the fight.

He unsheathed his blade and ran with all his might. Up the trunk he raced and jumped at the beast.  The blade found its mark and nearly blinded it. The knight fell on the ground left ankle twisted and bleak. The monster roars of the monster shook the ice from the trees.

Now the moment of truth came. The knight had but once chance to fell the monster before it. Pain lanced through his side, from foot to ribs and back. Faster he ran, the giant responded in kind. Two strokes of the sword at the enemies calves. Hamstring cut it slid to the frozen ground with a loud moan and grind.

The knight came to rest on bended knee, held up by his sword. He had done his duty, he had done the deed. His head hit the snow, the lights went out. But at the last moment his courage left him, for he did not want to die. His mind screamed as it fell down the abyss of Death most Dark.

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And now for the Blog Chain participants:

Participants and posts:
orion_mk3 – http://nonexistentbooks.wordpress.com (link to this month’s post)
MamaStrong – http://writingofme.blogspot.com/ (link to this month’s post)
pyrosama – http://matrix-hole.blogspot.com/ (link to this month’s post)
Turndog-Millionaire – http://turndog-millionaire.com/ (link to this month’s post)
Alpha Echo – http://aprilplummer81.blogspot.com/ (link to this month’s post)
LilGreenBookworm – http://themayhemofwritingsahm-style.blogspot.com/ (link to this month’s post)
Domoviye – http://lets-get-happy.blogspot.com/ (link to this month’s post)
writingismypassion – http://charityfaye.blogspot.com/ (link to this month’s post)
kimberlycreates – http://www.kimberlycreates.com/ (link to this month’s post)
Suzanne Seese – http://viewofsue.blogspot.com/ (link to this month’s post)
Diana Rajchel – http://blog.dianarajchel.com/ (link to this month’s post)
Ralph Pines – http://ralfast.wordpress.com/ (link to this month’s post)
Alynza – http://www.alynzasmith.blogspot.com/ (link to this month’s post)
Literateparakeet – http://lesliesillusions.blogspot.com/ (link to this month’s post)
in_one – http://quirkythomas.blogspot.com/ (link to this month’s post)
Tomspy77 – http://thomaswillamspychalski.wordpress.com/ (link to this month’s post)
Inkstrokes – http://drlong67.wordpress.com/ (link to this month’s post)
areteus – http://lurkingmusings.wordpress.com/ (link to this month’s post)
Abielle Rose – http://stainedglassinthenight.wordpress.com/ (link to this month’s post)

Hope you liked it!

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Severus the Rogue – 1 – 3

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“Gwen, wait!”

She looked over her shoulder and spurred her mount on. I followed. Hooves skipped over stones. Heads dodged low branches. The forest opened into a small glade. A creek danced down moss draped square stones. She jumped from the saddle. Her mount ambled toward the water. I dismounted.

“What am I going to do with you?” I asked.

She spun in place. A tiny little thing with long black hair and large dark eyes. I’ve known her since forever and yet at times like this her thoughts strayed beyond reach.

“Take a guess,” she said.

“Not this again.”

She ran up to me and rammed her hands into my curls, “You can do whatever you want with me.” She looked around, “No one is watching.”

“What?” She yanked her hands free, “Ouch!”

“Enough games, what do you think of me?”

Her words still danced in my head.

You can do whatever you want with me.

“I think you are pretty,” I said. Not what the bards would call inspired by any means.

She sat down on a rock beside her horse, “Pretty like a kitten or a song bird? Or am I something else?” She stroke its mane. “What am I to you?”

I sat beside her, “You are dear to me, Guinevere.”

She drew closer. Her lips formed the words my heart ached to hear, “Would you forsake all others for me?”

“I would forsake this and all the worlds,” I said, short of breath.

“Then say it.”

“I–”

The glint of metal caught my eye. Men with swords and axes descended on the glade. I dodged one attacker and slashed at another from the scabbard. Guinevere screamed behind me. A bearded brute dragged her to the tree line. I dance the dance of blades with two then three Saxons, a deadly dance of parries, thrusts and slashes. The man on my left heaved his heavy long handle axe. I sidestepped him and elbowed him in the back of the head as he went past. Countered the man in the center with a hit to the thigh. Ducked an overhead swing from the third man.

The axeman came back at me with an overhead strike. A dark form appeared amidst the sound of hooves. A bronze leaf spearhead ran through him from back to front. I spun about cleaved the second swordsman on the back of the neck. Guinevere tackled me to the ground, bloody knife in hand. A arrow whistles past us. Again, the dark rider with the bronze leaf spear struck down the archer and vanished among the clamor of hooves.

For a moment I lost myself in the flowery scent of her hair.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“I’m–” I saw her hemline awash in blood, “What happened?”

“Oh, this. Well I stuck that one on the leg. Bleed out faster than a pig on a spit, he did,” she said.

The bronze spear rider reappeared with more men and our horses in tow. He lifted the visor of his helm.

“Apologies my Lord. I am Mordred, one of King Vortigern’s retainers,” he said. Strands of blond hair curled from underneath the helm. Icy cool eyes peered down at us from underneath his helm.

“Vortiger? The king of the southeast coast,” I said.

“No longer, my Lord. He made a bargain with these Saxons to serve him and they betrayed him. Those loyal to him where either murdered or exiled. We came north to spread the news yet these barbarians caught up with us. I’m afraid that it was us who led them to you,” he said.

“No need to apologize, we should have been more careful,” I said.

“If it is not much of an inconvenience, may I know to who I speak, my Lord?”

“Arthur, Son of Ambrosius,Champion of the Britons,” I said.

——-

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Season 1 – Dispatch1  – Dispatch. 2 – Dispatch.4

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The Cabinet Room, 1oth Downing Street, City of London, 21 December, 09:44 hrs GMT

The distant rumble of snowplows penetrated the well appointed room. Large portraits of ministers past looked on as the Prime Minister struggled with the current crisis. Since the unbreakable fog outside turned from a eerie yellow of refracted city lights to the grey pall of winter daylight a long procession of cabinet members, party officials and Parliamentary liaisons paraded in front of the Prime Minister delivering two types of news: either things were getting worse or stayed as bad as they had been all winter.

The PM stayed rooted in his chair, fighting the urge to move about or worse look out the nearest window. Doing the former would have him spin around in circles around the main conference table, the later would reinforce his sense of doom. He had come at the head of a coalition government determined to put order to the chaos of Parliament and reform the ministries. Dreams of devolution of power to the people, streamlined government agencies and empowerment of the poor clashed with  the realities of the modern nation state. And then the biggest crisis since the Battle of Britain landed on his overloaded lap. General Sir Richard Cohen Bentley, cleared his throat. The PM looked up and even though he knew that the nothing was going to change he appreciated the General’s blunt words, unpolluted by  political posturing.

“Sir, the situation hasn’t change,” said Bentley as he rolled out a paper map of the country. He used a metal pointer to highlight areas in the map. “Astute and Trenchant continue to patrol the Irish Sea, but aside from increase traffic from Ireland to Wales, they have not discovered the whereabouts of the creature that sunk Diamond. The Admiralty will not risk any other vessels in those waters until the area has been sanitized.”

The PM nodded,” Go on.”

“Fighting has diminished significantly along the border. Royal Marine Commandos and SAS patrols have probed the enemy disposition but so far have found very little about his intentions. As you know our air assets in England proper are grounded and those in Northern Ireland are devoted to keeping an eye on the situation there. Assets stationed in Scotland are overstretched. Now, if we could increase satellite coverage–”

The Chancellor of the Exchequer launched himself from his chair, “Satellites? Do you have any idea how much one of those things costs? I have thousands crowding hospitals around the country do to frostbite and a new flu strain, a collapse of the holiday stores sales and millions of pounds going to keeping roads and power lines–”

The PM cut him off with a raised hand, “Tim-” he nearly called him Timmy, as he did back in their public school days, “the General is not suggesting you go hat in hand to the French to fire off one of their rockets, now is he?” The stocky officer in crisp British Army uniform shook his head. “We will have to make do with what we have.”

“The good news is that we have finished redeploying overseas forces home and that all Territorial Army units outside of Wales are now standing at nominal readiness,” said the General.

“That’s something,” said the PM.

“Perhaps, Sir,” said the General. The hesitation on his voice made everyone sit or stand a little straighter.

“What do you mean?” said the PM in a similar tone.

“I mean, Sir, that counter-insurgencies are never clean or pretty. To go in with full force means that casualties, especially civilian casualties, will sky rocket. To put it bluntly, this government may not survive regardless of how successful the campaign turns out to be,” he said.

“General, may I remind you that it is not the place of the military to dictate policy to Her Majesty’s government,” said the bald Minister of Defense.

Bentley eyes focused on the Prime Minister, “The Boer War, India, Kenya, the Black and Tans, Northern Ireland are just a few examples of what can go wrong even when we do things right. The men and women of the Armed Forces stand ready, but the ultimate consequences will be on us, all of us, in this room.”

That last whisper of PM’s political dreams vanished with those words. He once thought that rationality and policy could solve all problems.  Smart men could use logic to fix things in an orderly fashion. But there was little place for logic in a world gone mad.

“Very well, General. I want a preliminary operations plan on my desk by this time tomorrow.”

Alea iacta est…and let the consequences be damned.

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