The Only Game Where the Best Players Sit on the Bench

“And now,” said Arthur, shuffling the papers on his desk, “for the man Clarence of Philippine.”

Pellinore sighed.

And his lord laughed. “My! Has he been that much of a thorn in your side already?”

“You could say that, my liege.” Pellinore leafed through his own pile of parchment. “We’ve been after him for years, you know that.”

“Aye. Not just the warehouse robberies, either?”

“No, sir. Do you really want me to go over this again?”

“Aye,” Arthur replied, this time with a sigh of his own, “so that when the inevitable pleas for clemency come, I have  bevy of reasons to say no.”

“Well, to start, he was branded as a thief around about the age of twelve, in his hometown of Philippine. That would have been twenty years ago. He was branded on the shoulder …” Pellinore flipped through a couple more pages. “According to the shire reeve, there was a monk involved who pleaded for mercy. He thought there was hope for the boy.”

“Hence the shoulder branding?”

“Aye, my liege. So he could cover it and have a hope of learning a skill, earning his bread and living a normal life. He was committed to the care of the monk who pleaded for him, ordered to stay there for at least six months. Within a fortnight he’d run off.”

“Any reason for that?” Arthur asked.

That was his liege all over — if there was a telling question to be asked, he would ask it. But for this, Pellinore shook his head. “The shire reeve has one — that the boy was rotten to the core and wouldn’t know gratitude if it hit him in the face with a cudgel. He’d been raised by that same monk, so he would know.”

“Very well. Continue?”

“He moved into Albion proper at that time, we think. It would have been just as we were setting up the kingdom — he could disappear for a bit. And he did.” Pellinore sighed. “There’s no record of him for ten years, when we started hearing his name in connection to some violent robberies taking place along the border.”

“I see. How violent?”

“There were deaths, my liege — both immediately and … some time after.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows.

Pellinore closed his eyes. “There was a young woman with one of the groups that was robbed. Though she claimed — at the time they all claimed — that the robbers hadn’t touched her, she was obviously bruised and shaken … and within six weeks, she … she was found drowned in the mill-pond.”

“Suicide following rape?”

“It wasn’t publicized as such, but yes.”

Arthur sighed. “Any proof that it was the man Clarence who raped her?”

“Her brother, sire, came to us after her death and told the truth. It was definitely the man Clarence.”

“Wright Almighty.” Arthur drew his hand down his face. “So Joyce Pelles wasn’t his first?”

“The first reported by the woman …”


He knew that tone. “Between young Joyce Pelles’s testimony and the man’s demeanor … I would wager my lands that no, she wasn’t.”

Arthur shook his head. “So how do we see to it that this — piece of filth is not set free to harm any more women?”

“To say nothing of the stolen property, assaulted men and murders in this file,” Pellinore murmured, “and this is just what we can definitely connect to him. However, that’s not what you asked … we have good proof, eyewitness testimony, to connect him to a highway robbery from five years ago.”

“Five years. That’s chancy. Memories can shift.” Before Pellinore could protest, Arthur held up his hand. “And even if you and I are convinced by the evidence you collected five years ago, a jury might not be.”

“We still have the witness — the son of a man Clarence killed when that man did not stand aside and let him take his property. I think a jury would believe the boy — er — young man’s testimony.”

Arthur gave the ghost of a grin — the grin of a man beaten and not too upset about it. “Good. I should know better than to doubt you, eh? One of these days, Pellinore, you ought to tell me to shut it and let you do your job.”

“It’s perhaps better for you to keep in practice,” Pellinore demurred, “you’ll have to issue these reminders to your son-in-law before long.”

“Son-in-law! Don’t remind me!” Arthur laughed. “She was just this big,” he held his hand somewhere below the desk, where Pellinore couldn’t see, “a day ago, I swear. What happened?”

“I believe it is called ‘time,’ my liege, and it flew.”

“Aye — alas, alas, and all that rot. Speaking of time, and flying … how long are you planning to stay on after young William comes back?”

“As long as it takes, my liege. Whenever he’s ready to step up, I’ll step down.”

“And you think that will take …?”

Pellinore stroked his beard. “It’s hard to tell, at this point. The boy has a fine mind, but …”

“He’s not a blustering prosecutor who will bully the juries into voting guilty?”

“Not by any stretch of the imagination. And he’ll need a good deal of experience before he’s ready to take the reins as Chief Magistrate.”

“So what you’re saying is that you’re not planning on going anywhere anytime soon.”

“My wife has asked me from time to time whether I intend to die at my desk and have yet to get up the courage to inform her of this,” Pellinore smiled.

“Well!” Arthur chuckled. “Didn’t think Lady Eilwen had it in her to say that!” He reached for his quill, but paused. “Pellinore?”


He sighed. “Go easy on the boy. He will be my son-in-law. And he’s a good lad. About the only one who can drag Tom kicking and screaming back from the brink of some of his more asinine stunts.”

Pellinore chuckled. “If he finds it in himself to work some of that magic on my Lamorak, he will not only earn my indulgence for whatever mistakes he inevitably makes, but also my undying gratitude.”

Arthur opened his mouth to let out a joking reply, but a knock from the door stopped him. “Enter!”

A chambermaid entered and curtseyed. “Majesty.”

“Yes, miss?”

“There’s a man from Glasonland here, requesting an audience. He says his name is Christopher Tower.”

“Tower?” Pellinore asked, sitting up. “Of the Towers?”

The maid started. “I — I don’t know, sir.”

“Is he armed?” Arthur asked.

“The guards say no, my liege.”

“Then send him in.”

After the maid curtseyed again and left, Pellinore turned to Arthur. “A Tower! Of the Towers, possibly! What in the world could King Vortigern have …” He paused, observing Arthur’s scrunched face. “My liege? What is it?”

“I’m counting,” Arthur murmured.


“Aye.” He sighed. “Counting the months between when my brother made a very public tour of Tower Prison and when old Jason Tower’s only daughter gave birth to a bastard son, whom she called …” Arthur raised his eyebrows.

“Oh,” Pellinore murmured. “Oh, dear.” Wonderful, he thought, just wonderful. A renowned civil servant of Glasonland, from a long line of civil servants, just happens to be an illegitimate son of Vortigern — who doubtless wants to take up King Arthur’s offer of clemency and protection, because it is as not as if he has a well-paying position, a high place in society, plenty of security and absolutely no chance at the throne — and thus no reason for anyone to want to kill him — back at home.

Yet when young Christopher Tower slipped into the room, two things became immediately apparent to Pellinore. The first was that the man had some Pendragon blood in him.

The second was that he was looking a very frightened young man, for all that he held himself so stiffly and barely seemed to breathe for fear of gulping openly. “Your Majesty,” he said, and started to kneel.

“At ease — er — arise — whatever the hell it is that you say,” Arthur blustered, and laughed at himself, which made the young man stare at him — and then, slowly, start to smile.

“That’s better,” Arthur replied. “Have a seat, Master Tower.”

The poor young man’s jaw dropped, but he managed to stumble to the other seat and stammer his thanks.

“Hardly any trouble, my good sir — if you will notice, the chair was empty,” Arthur replied with a wink. “Now, what can I do for you?”

The young man blinked rapidly and glanced at Pellinore, his blue eyes — the blue eyes of old King Uther, current King Vortigern and young Prince Vortimer, if Pellinore remembered aright — seeming to plead for … something. Perhaps an explanation as to why the sovereign of a land — any land — would be so open and welcoming to a young man whom he had never before seen in his life.

“Ah, but where are my manners? Forgive me, Master Tower. This is Lord Pellinore Gwynedd, my Chief Magistrate. And I am King Arthur.”

“P-pleased to make your acquaintance, my lords,” managed Master Tower.

Arthur smiled, which was probably the wrong tactic. Vortigern tended to smile just before he did something to ruin the life of whomever he was smiling at. Pellinore would know — never had Vortigern smiled so often at him, an unassuming, lowly courtier, except for that brief period when he had been chasing Eilwen.

As if to prove Pellinore right, Master Tower shrunk in his seat.

Arthur kept smiling, as if he intended to dispel the demons of Vortigern and cruel Pendragon smiles by force of will alone. “Now, Master Tower, what brings you to Albion?”

Master Tower looked from one of them to the next, then swallowed and gathered all his courage in one fell swoop. “Majesty, I’ve heard — we’ve heard — in Glasonland, it’s said that you’re willing to offer amnesty and protection for any bastard of King Vortigern willing to move to Albion and renounce any claim he might have to the throne. Is — is this true?”

“Aye, it is. Why do you ask?”

The young man gulped. “My — my liege, I’d like to take you up on that.”

“Ah,” was Arthur’s only reply to that.

“I know  you will probably think it — disloyal, and unpatriotic, and unfilial, and cowardly, and — and many things like that. And perhaps, Majesty, if it were just me, I would — I would have the courage to stay at my post, and continue to serve Glasonland. But …”

“But?” Arthur prodded.

“But I have a family, Majesty. A wife, and a daughter, and — and right before I left on this journey, my wife told me … we’re expecting another.”

“Well! That is excellent news! Congratulations, my boy!”

“And –” The young man clearly had some sort of set speech, but something that Arthur had said stopped him short. “I — excuse me, Majesty?”

Arthur smiled — a wry, rueful smile that even a man who was far too used to Vortigern’s serpent’s smiles could hardly interpret as threatening. “You just said you and your wife were expecting another child, and so I offered my congratulations. A new baby is always a reason for congratulations, is it not — don’t you agree, Pellinore?”

Master Tower looked at Pellinore as if to beg him to restore sanity to the situation — to answer brusquely that of course no nobleman could be expected to care about a commoner’s breeding habits, and to exhort his liege to return to the situation at hand.

Alas, Pellinore could not do that, both out of loyalty to his king and the fellow-feeling of one Sim to another. “Indeed,” he replied. “You have my congratulations as well, Master Tower.”

“Oh — er — well — thank you,” he murmured.

“I bet,” Arthur interjected, “that your father would not have done that, would he?”

Master Tower turned to Arthur with a look like a stricken stag.

“Aye, I bet the only time he’s bothered to congratulate a prospective father is when he’s the father in need of congratulations,” Arthur spat. “We do not do things that way here in Albion. First of all, if I even thought of straying as Vortigern has so often, my wife would skin me alive — ask Pellinore if you don’t believe me.”

Again, came that pleading look, the visual begging to restore sanity. And again, Pellinore could not answer that plea — well, not entirely. “‘Skin alive’ is perhaps an overstatement, but I have no doubt that Queen Alison would make our King’s personal life very, very unpleasant.”

“And that, Master Tower, is a lawyer for you — cautious as the sun is bright, but fundamentally truthful so long as you’re the one paying him.” Arthur winked.

Partly to put the young man at ease, and partly because even Pellinore couldn’t let that one pass, he answered, “I’ll be sure to tell your future son-in-law you said that.”

“Oh, touché!” Arthur laughed. “The boy’s studying law,” he remarked to Master Tower.

And finally, young Master Tower cracked a smile.

Arthur saw it — Pellinore could tell that by the twitch of one side of the lips, the grin that so nearly went lopsided — and then he was all business again. “So, Master Tower, you are willing to swear before witnesses that you will give up any rights you may or may not have to the throne of Glasonland, both for yourself and for any heirs you might have?”

“Yes, yes, Majesty!”

“Then I believe I can offer you amnesty, and my protection.”

To see the young man sag in relief was almost enough to make Pellinore regret every word he had said and left unsaid against Arthur’s plans for Vortigern’s bastards — almost. For even though this one might be a good apple, it would take only one apple to spoil the barrel, and cause Wright only knew what horrors in Albion. And there would be one bad apple. With a father like Vortigern, there had to be at least one bad apple.

“Oh — thank you, thank you, Majesty! I — I don’t know how to …” He leaned forward, shaking even as he rested his head on his hands.

“You don’t have to,” Arthur answered. “Believe me. Once upon a time — nigh on twenty years ago — I too came to this land, with a wife and two small children whom I was very anxious to protect.”

The young man did not just crack a smile at that — he beamed it.

“And now that we have those formalities out of the way,” Arthur breezed on, “why don’t you tell him about the new prison we’ve just built, Pellinore?”

“New prison?” Master Tower asked, looking at Pellinore.

“New prison?” Pellinore repeated. Oh, no. Oh, no. Letting them into the country is one thing, but —

“Indeed, it’s a fine place,” Arthur continued, “or at least, as fine as one can expect a prison to be. State-of-the-art and all that. It should be very hard for any prisoners to make an escape from there! And, I should mention, there’s a whole tower dedicated as an apartment for the warden and his family … isn’t there, Pellinore?”

“Well, yes, but –”

“And Pellinore and I, we’ve been at our wits end trying to find someone to run it,” Arthur said. “You see, our noble families have been … somewhat sparse in younger sons. Those who are old enough to be able to give some thought to a career in prison-wardenship have, alas, other plans — plans which we can unfortunately not dissuade them from — and those who aren’t old enough to give some thought to a career in prison-wardenship are … well, babies, to be frank. Lionel’s about one, isn’t he?”

“Aye, my liege,” Pellinore sighed.

“And my nephew Agravaine will be two next year. So you see the bind we are in,” Arthur said to Master Tower with the air of one man letting another into a conspiracy.

“I — I’m not noble, Majesty.”

“Ah, true! But you see, Pellinore and I were looking among the noblemen because most of the commoners in this area are either indentured men, or men who see only too well the many, many opportunities this relatively new land for profit. You, after all, would know — none better — that prison-wardenship is not the best paid of professions. Surely not as well-paid as bringing home boatloads of spices, furs, silks and exotic woods from Smina.”

“I would indeed know that, Majesty. But — it’s a comfortable living. At least, it was in Glasonland.”

“And it shall be here. The nice thing about encouraging one’s commoners to bring in the boatloads of spices, furs, etc. from Smina is that it does tend to increase the tax revenues. I would tell you to share that with King Vortigern, except that I’d really rather he didn’t know — less competition and all that. Besides, I doubt you’re on speaking terms at the moment.”

“He was a bit … upset when I tendered my resignation …”

“So there’s no bonds of loyalty to keep you from accepting the job!” Arthur replied, grinning.

“I — I — you’re offering the position? To me? But we’ve — we’ve …”

“Just met,” Pellinore finished. He glanced at the young man, then sighed and turned to Arthur. “My liege, please, slow down a moment. I understand you are excited to meet your nephew and welcome another talented young man into our kingdom, however –”

“We just met, and for all I know he could be a spy of Vortigern’s, or completely incompetent?” Arthur asked.

“Well — er — yes.”

“I’m not a spy! Majesty, I swear, I’m not!” Master Tower protested.

“I doubt very much as you are, but as I said — that is a lawyer for you. Fundamentally cautious.”

“I believe, my liege, that the last time you said that, it was fundamentally truthful,” Pellinore pointed out.

Arthur smiled. “True.”

“And I am sorry, young man, to — to stand in your way like this, but I must protest. I must. We know nothing about this young man, my liege. We have no idea whether he as an able administrator of the Tower Prison or not, and we cannot ask, for we cannot expect your brother to be truthful. And let us be honest with each other — both of us know what the Tower has become since your brother took the throne! It is no longer merely a gaol, a place to put criminals while they await trial or punishment, but a — but a next of torture! Frankly, we cannot be sure that this young man’s being an able administrator of that at all fits him to be warden of your Majesty’s prison!”

The young man winced. “There — Majesty, what Lord Pellinore says is — is somewhat true. But the torture … the stories are exaggerated. Most the prisoners aren’t tortured. The ones that are … it’s by royal command.”

“And if you refused, they’d be turning the screws on you?” Arthur asked.

“Aye, Majesty.”

“I thought as much. And as for your objections, Pellinore, I completely understand them. That’s why you’ll be supervising young Master Tower during his probationary period — which will end when you give him your approval.”

Pellinore blinked. “Oh, my liege,” he sighed.

“You do have an office inside the prison, do you not?”

“Indeed, sire, I do.”

“Right above the new courtroom, if I remember aright.”

“You do.”

Arthur grinned. “And so, you will be on the spot and easily available to supervise!”

Pellinore sighed. “Indeed, my liege, I will be.”

“And if this young man does anything objectionable,” Arthur nodded, “you will doubtless hear about it immediately and be able to deal with the problem. In fact …” Arthur mused, “I might permanently make the office of prison warden subordinate to the Chief Magistrate, and not one that reports directly to the crown. What do you say to that?”

Pellinore sighed. “I think, Majesty, that you are determined to give this young man a chance, and for me to continue to protest would be a waste of breath.”

“You would be very right about that — I would you would save your breath for your reports on his performance, which I assure you will be given all the attention they are due.”

“Thank you, my liege,” Pellinore murmured.

“And as for you, young man!” Arthur turned to Master Tower. “What think you of taking this job, eh?”

Master Tower slowly smiled. “I — I think, my liege, I should like to try it — and I would only be too happy to be subordinate to Lord Pellinore.”

“And so we solve both your problems and mine with one neat trick! Wonderful. Pellinore, these are the days I like — the days when answers to all of our problems walk in the door under their own power.”

Pellinore sighed and shook his head, but he could not quite hide his smile.

“Now, my boy,” Arthur said, rising. Young Master Tower rose as well. “Let me have a good look at you.” He clapped the boy on the shoulders and held him at an arm’s length.

Then he grinned.

“You’ll do, my boy, you’ll do,” he said, leaning in to bestow the formal kiss of kinsmen. “Now — allow me to introduce you to your aunt. Pellinore will doubtless object to my phrasing, but I assure you, she would have my head if she knew that she had a new nephew in the room and I let him get away without her having a chance to give him tea.”


13 thoughts on “The Only Game Where the Best Players Sit on the Bench

  1. I like. You definitely see Tommy in Arthur in this post. It’d be the sort of thing that Tommy’d do. It looks like we might not be seeing much more of Clarence. Which is a yay. (As long as you don’t hang him.) He’s done enough bad.

    I do like Arthur though. Especially the fact that he congratulated Christopher on his coming baby and that he’s going to call Alison Christopher’s aunt even if Pellinore would object.

    I like the fact that Pellinore’s being lawyer-y too. Somebody’s got to keep Arthur from getting into too much mischief. I mean maybe it’s not so nice, but it is sensible and sometimes the two are not compatible.

    I’m also glad that Arthur made Christopher feel welcome especially as he’s quaking in his boots. He’s a good guy as well as being a good king.

    • There’s a lot of Tommy in Arthur, and a lot of Arthur in Tommy. 🙂 Sometimes I feel like I’m just saying that and bending over backwards to make the characterization be true, but … then Arthur goes and does something like this.

      Pellinore wouldn’t object to Arthur calling Alison Christopher’s aunt — he’d object to Arthur saying that Alison would have his head. 😉 He’s a lawyer, he’s all about the precise phrasing, you know.

      It’s exactly what Pellinore is trying to do — keep Arthur out of trouble. Arthur’s own best bud, Lance, isn’t quite bright enough to know what’s trouble and what isn’t, sometimes, and he has Arthur’s back to the point where it’s almost a fault. (He can function as a conscience for Arthur sometimes, though. Lance might not know what’s smart but he usually knows what’s right.) Meanwhile, Bors is just … Bors, and Lot & Mordred are both too cunning and too unscrupulous to rein Arthur in if giving him his head will prove to be advantageous to them. Also, Arthur does not trust them implicitly enough to take their advice without too much question, as he would Lance or Pellinore’s.

      🙂 I think “good guy” is Arthur’s middle name. He really is a Popularity Sim when he puts his mind to it. Thanks Andavri!

    • Luckily, Clarence won’t be sticking around for too long. I just need to find a way to kill him off that won’t offend Andavri’s sensibilities too much. *sigh* Now I’m almost wishing for that Sarlacc/”Pit of Judgment” beastie …

      And once Coralie gets a little older, Christopher will be relieved to find that she has plenty of playmates. There’s Darius and Isabel, and Melehan, Melou and Aimée, and Rob and Dannie will be popping out kids any day now, and … it’ll be a whole big happy neighborhood is what it’ll be! 😉

      • Sim Wardrobe > Sims 2 > Objects > Other Objects??? > Crate of Throwing Axes. For all your executionary needs. (There’s also a sword on MTS, but execution-by-sword was generally reserved for nobility and royalty.) You could also use the Cursed Fire Vase to burn him at the stake (use a pillar for the stake, stick him on a four-square foundation and pile firewood and crap around it), although he’s not what you’d call a heretic. You could use Wrath of the Gods to just personally get in there and smite him Yourself. I’d say you could feed him to Dindrane’s cowplant, which seems like a quick death, and quite possibly what’s down there IN the Pit of Judgement… And while there’s an electric chair on MTS, apparently it might take a few tries. *thinks of ways Sims can die* Starvation is too slow, old age is too good for him, drowning I have alternately called a good way to die and a bad way to die (it is slow and painful but apparently towards the end you start to calm down and almost get high due to oxygen deprivation). Sickness is not an execution… You could feed him to Mirelle if you have the right hacks (and she dislikes him enough). Carrigon has some poison if you’d like Clarence’s last words to be the same as Socrates’s last words– “I drank what?” (Although this one might work better.)

        … So I just went looking for the video I love so much for resource purposes and decided there should be a way to stone Sims using the death-by-hail animation…


        Make him fly an evil kite?

        Crushing was a fairly standard Medieval execution method– however, between satellites, elevators, and murphy beds, I’m not really sure if there’s a good Medieval crushing method available to Sims 2 players.

        I also think the Batbox has a Smite option.

        • I think the Batbox does have a Smite option. I think I might have been enough of an idiot to try it out on Bors, and that is where Bors went when he up and disappeared on me. *headdesk* *headdesk* *headdesk*

          If I’m not just imagining that, and I very well might be.

          Ok, I’ve downloaded the Crate of Throwing Axes (don’t know why I didn’t have that before) and the Cursed Fire Vase. The vase in particular might come in handy for a burning-at-the-stake. For some reason I never even thought to look at it, probably because I had it mixed up in my mind with the incendiary bomb, which … is a little too much of a bomb to be useful in what’s supposed to be an individual execution. I’ve also got the poison which I have nefarious plans for.

          So, since Andavri said no hanging … at the moment it looks like Clarence might get mercy, King Sigefrith style, since I have a real hard time imagining Clarence being sentenced to be burned. He’s bad but he’s not that bad.

          Oh, and psst … look what’s in the Pit of Judgment! *wanders off grumbling about Sarlaac rip-offs*

          • Nerd Rage Moment: Hey, that is NOT a Sarlacc ripoff. The Sarlacc is supposed to be a tentacled hole in the ground, not this whole special edition sand beak nonsense. And Han shot first! /nerd rage moment (Man, I loved a LOT about the special editions, but they changed the awesome rubber cantina aliens and tried to make Han less awesome and stuck a CGI muppet in the Sarlacc… On the other hand, the explosions kicked ass even if everyone I went to see the New Hope special edition in theatres with kinda… fell asleep before then. Familiar movie, six or seven exhausted high school drama nerds (plus Hat’s Mom) in the middle of rehearsals… we were like “Oooh awesome aw bummer oooh awesome oooh ZZzzzzz…. … Did… we all just sleep through the Death Star exploding?”)

            Ahem. Now back to Medieval and/or morbid nerdery.

            Potentially, you could just say that since Albion has no executioner but several knights, the axing is happening because… I don’t know, Hangman’s Union Rules or something. Would YOU want an Exectioners’ Guild mad at you? I bet Arthur wouldn’t. Who knows, someday you may need to sentence someone to death by burning, or offering the option of hemlock, or something. (Although for transgressions lesser than Clarence stands accused of, hard labor might be an easier-to-manage punishment. Put those convicts to work digging ditches! Then sell the crap they dig up in the prison souvenir shop!)

            • LOL!! Alas, I barely remember the Special Editions. Though I do remember that the Special Edition of Empire Strikes Back was the first time I actually saw that movie all the way through. For some reason, I kept falling asleep sometime in Cloud City when my parents tried to show me at home … and I’d watched the Hoth sequence enough times (while trying to see the whole thing) to be thoroughly bored with it.

              But ok, it’s not … quite a Sarlacc rip-off. I maintain, though, that EA was probably ripping off something.

              LOL! @ at the Hangman’s Union Rules. Good point that no sensible ruler would want to piss them off. They know how to kill you quickly and relatively painlessly … and not so quickly and quite painfully … and how to keep you (or your enemies, rather) an inch away from actually dying, at least if Terry Pratchett is to be believed.

              I think, though, that the prison souvenier shop will have to wait until I figure out how to properly run a prison. One step at a time. 😉

  2. I can’t imagine Pellinore will stay suspicious of Christopher for very long, although I do understand why he might be concerned.

    Arthur was so awesome here, accepting Christopher as his nephew and making him feel at home. Great guy. Great king 🙂

    Can’t wait to see the rest of Vortigern’s sons, although Pellinore’s thought about the bad apple does have me a little worried. Meanwhile, though, I’m just going to be optimistic and hope they’re most a good bunch–and of course the matchmaker in me hopes that at least one of them is young enough for Delyth 😆

    • As soon as Christopher earns Pellinore’s trust, Pellinore will gladly give it to him. Until that point, Christopher’s going to have to work his ass off. 😉

      Yes, yes, Arthur is a pretty good guy. 🙂 What can I say, he’s based off the mythological best king England ever had.

      Lol, since Vortigern reputedly has scores of sons, I doubt we’ll ever see them all! (The last thing I need is to add 20 more Sim families to my hood who are all related and thus useless for breeding purposes.) But there will be some more before all of this is through. I just need to think them up (i.e. plug some more holes in Albion’s economy).

      I did have an idea for a daughter of Vortigern, though … but we’ll see if that ever happens, since I have a whole new family who’s due to hit Albion’s shores next round. 😉

  3. “I believe it is called ‘time,’ my liege, and it flew.” Oh lords, isn’t that the truth?

    Yay for bringing Chris safely to Albion! I was terrified for him and his family, but I can breathe a huge sigh of relief that they’re here now. And maybe it’s too trusting of me, but I would have done the exact same thing that Arthur did. They’re family, and family looks out for one another. *nod nod*

    • Yes, yes it is the truth. I look at my students and think, “Wasn’t it just yesterday that I was your age? How in God’s name did I learn so much in 24 hours?” 😉

      Chris and his family are already moved into Albion (in-game if not in-story) and they are safe for the moment. And yes, Alexandra (Sandra) is preggers. So there should be no shortage of merchant-babies, I hope.

      Arthur’s not only got family-feeling at work here, he’s working off some guilt as well … since he’s trying to start a civil war in Glasonland to keep Albion safe. Or, to be fair, he’s trying to time the civil war that will almost inevitably happen so that it will cause the least damage to Albion. But by offering his nephews (and possible nieces) a safe haven, at least he can help somebody out.

      Thanks everybody!

  4. I understand why Pellinore is so worried, but I think everything will turn out great. And it’s so nice to see Arthur as king. He’s just so charming and welcoming. 🙂

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