Zioneer
Banned
Here is a short, hopefully humorous TL based off of a silly idea I had: What if, through various misadventures, England had seven kings in one year? And what if they told their stories in diary form? The two PoDs are simple: Conan of Brittany goes into a coma rather than dying from his poisoned gloves, and Sweyn II of Denmark actually decides to invade England. Also, everyone has horrible luck. Note: this is not supposed to reflect any of the kings OTL personalities or historical accurary whatsoever. It’s solely for fun.
From the diary of Edward the Confessor, January 1066
Dear diary,
I’m in a coma. I’m old and sick and have greedy Normans and hillbilly Saxons and barbaric Norsemen contending for my throne. Life is not going so well for me, I confess. (Eh? Eh? I’m the Confessor, you know). And if I ever get out of this coma, I’ve got to name an heir. Let’s see, I’ve got Harold and his clan of feuding, warlike Godwinsons, I’ve got William the painfully ambitious and his Norman schemers, and young Edgar and his acne.
Oh, I’ve even got Harald “pillage and plunder are some of my favorite things’ Hardara and his buddy Tostig, brother of Harold Godwinson. What a collection of terrible choices I’ve got. Of course, what none of these clods remember is that I don’t actually choose a successor, the Witegenamont does! Diary, if I get out of the coma, I think I’m going to name an heir and then proceed to promptly die. In fact, I can feel myself waking right now…
Sincerely,
Edward the Confessor
From the diary of Harald Hadrada, September 1066.
Dear diary,
So I’ve decided to subjugate England under my iron fist. Should be fun, Tostig promised me that it should be easy. Just step on some Englishmen, carve the earls up like turkeys (whatever turkeys are; I’m from Norway, our delicacies are rotten shark, so maybe a turkey is like that?), and then plant my boots on the throne.
Oh, and have Tostig stab anyone who says differently. He’s very good at stabbing. Especially backstabbing. And he’s great at backstabbing his family, but whenever I mention that, he looks like someone killed his dog. I might have. In fact, I think I’ll find a puppy for him when I’m king. Maybe pillage a hovel that has a puppy. Hmm, I like the sound of that. Puppy-pillaging!
In any case, I’m off to chop off Harold Godwinson’s head and wave it about, that seems to be a reasonable thing to do. My next entry should be about all the puppy-pillaging I’ve done!
Happily,
Harald Hadrada
From the diary of Harold Godwinson, early September 1066
Dear diary,
Well, that went well. Harald Hadrada is dead. His last words were something about pillaging puppies and rotten shark? Norseman are very strange. No matter, at least Tostig is dead as well. He should have remembered the saying “bros before homicidal barbarian Vikings”. Very old saying, I believe it originated at the monastery of Lindisfarne.
But enough about old sayings, I’m king, that’s great! All I have to do now is stab the Normans a couple of dozen times in the face. It would improve their appearance, at least. So I’m off to do that. Might have to stab Sweyn the Dane as well. Heck, I’ll stab Edgar the Atheling! My stabbing arm is going to be tired by the end of this…
Godwinsonly,
Harold
From the diary of William the Bastard- I mean, Conqueror, October 1066
Dear diary,
I hope you liked what I’ve done with my title; I think it’s pretty awesome. I’d rather be a Conqueror than, well, what I was before. I think I deserve it after all that mess at Hastings. I mean, I lost my favorite horse. Well, my favorite two horses. And my helmet. Of course, Harold lost his eye and his life, so it’s a fair trade.
First order of business is to crown myself as soon as I get to London. I don’t want the Danish pastry-king Sweyn getting here before I can establish myself. And if anyone calls me the son of a tanner, I’ll boil them into a piece of leather! I just hope that being a king and a vassal duke of France doesn’t backfire horribly. But it’s not like that could lead to a war a hundred years long, could it? Meh, I shouldn’t worry about things, I’m king! I’ll write again once I’ve put a few Saxons on pikes or something.
Conquering all the day long,
William of Normandy
From the diary of Sweyn of Denmark, late November 1066
Dear diary,
So I just killed the Norman… I think his name was William? I’ve never been any good remembering French names. None of those sissy names like William, Robert, or Stephen. Give me good Viking names like Eric, Harald (but not Harold), and Sweyn. Yes, I think Sweyn is the best name. In fact, I think I’ll make my chroniclers give me the title of “Sweyn the Best”. Because I really am. Maybe they should call me Sweyn the Big Daddy? I do have twenty kids after all.
In any case, the Danelaw is back, and staying this time, baby! Weregild, wenches and mead for everyone! Time to go to Cornwall and get started on that twenty-first child with a Cornish lass! Whoo!
Partying every day,
Sweyn II of Denmark and England
From the diary of Edgar Atheling, December 1066,
Dear diary,
It turns out I’m king now. Ambushing Danes on the road to Cornwall right after they’ve crowned themselves is surprisingly easy. I think that Sweyn guy was going to a party, but he was already drunk. Oh well, I guess he got a meal of arrows to go with his mead.
But anyway, I’m going to be crowned at age fifteen, isn’t that great? I thought fifteen was when you get acne, start liking girls, and your voice starts breaking. I’ve got the first two, but when I announced the death of Sweyn, my voice cracked so high that apparently I scared away a dog that the King of Norway brought to London. The servants called the dog Tostig, and started sniggering. I’m not entirely sure why. Anyway, get ready for a really long reign England! King Edgar is going to be ruling through the next century! As soon as I have some more of that delicious lamprey, that is.
Hungrily,
Edgar the Atheling.
From the diary of Duke Conan of Brittany, January 1st, 1067
Dear diary,
So I’m the king of England. I was in a coma. That Norman ponce poisoned my riding gloves. Buuuttt it turns out he killed the Saxon king of England, was killed by a Dane, who was himself killed by a teenager with acne.
And now the child-king died of a surfeit of lampreys, whatever that means. So that left no king in England. When I woke up, I didn't know any of that. So I had decided to sail to England to give someone a piece of my mind. The remaining Englishmen immediately offered me a crown on the promise that I don’t die after five days on the throne and don’t kill any more of them. So that makes me King Conan I of England, I guess.
Sincerely,
King Conan I of England
P.S. I feel like I should be conquering somewhere called Aquilonia, wherever that is. I’ve heard of Aquileia, but that’s in Italy, I think.
From the diary of Edward the Confessor, January 1066
Dear diary,
I’m in a coma. I’m old and sick and have greedy Normans and hillbilly Saxons and barbaric Norsemen contending for my throne. Life is not going so well for me, I confess. (Eh? Eh? I’m the Confessor, you know). And if I ever get out of this coma, I’ve got to name an heir. Let’s see, I’ve got Harold and his clan of feuding, warlike Godwinsons, I’ve got William the painfully ambitious and his Norman schemers, and young Edgar and his acne.
Oh, I’ve even got Harald “pillage and plunder are some of my favorite things’ Hardara and his buddy Tostig, brother of Harold Godwinson. What a collection of terrible choices I’ve got. Of course, what none of these clods remember is that I don’t actually choose a successor, the Witegenamont does! Diary, if I get out of the coma, I think I’m going to name an heir and then proceed to promptly die. In fact, I can feel myself waking right now…
Sincerely,
Edward the Confessor
From the diary of Harald Hadrada, September 1066.
Dear diary,
So I’ve decided to subjugate England under my iron fist. Should be fun, Tostig promised me that it should be easy. Just step on some Englishmen, carve the earls up like turkeys (whatever turkeys are; I’m from Norway, our delicacies are rotten shark, so maybe a turkey is like that?), and then plant my boots on the throne.
Oh, and have Tostig stab anyone who says differently. He’s very good at stabbing. Especially backstabbing. And he’s great at backstabbing his family, but whenever I mention that, he looks like someone killed his dog. I might have. In fact, I think I’ll find a puppy for him when I’m king. Maybe pillage a hovel that has a puppy. Hmm, I like the sound of that. Puppy-pillaging!
In any case, I’m off to chop off Harold Godwinson’s head and wave it about, that seems to be a reasonable thing to do. My next entry should be about all the puppy-pillaging I’ve done!
Happily,
Harald Hadrada
From the diary of Harold Godwinson, early September 1066
Dear diary,
Well, that went well. Harald Hadrada is dead. His last words were something about pillaging puppies and rotten shark? Norseman are very strange. No matter, at least Tostig is dead as well. He should have remembered the saying “bros before homicidal barbarian Vikings”. Very old saying, I believe it originated at the monastery of Lindisfarne.
But enough about old sayings, I’m king, that’s great! All I have to do now is stab the Normans a couple of dozen times in the face. It would improve their appearance, at least. So I’m off to do that. Might have to stab Sweyn the Dane as well. Heck, I’ll stab Edgar the Atheling! My stabbing arm is going to be tired by the end of this…
Godwinsonly,
Harold
From the diary of William the Bastard- I mean, Conqueror, October 1066
Dear diary,
I hope you liked what I’ve done with my title; I think it’s pretty awesome. I’d rather be a Conqueror than, well, what I was before. I think I deserve it after all that mess at Hastings. I mean, I lost my favorite horse. Well, my favorite two horses. And my helmet. Of course, Harold lost his eye and his life, so it’s a fair trade.
First order of business is to crown myself as soon as I get to London. I don’t want the Danish pastry-king Sweyn getting here before I can establish myself. And if anyone calls me the son of a tanner, I’ll boil them into a piece of leather! I just hope that being a king and a vassal duke of France doesn’t backfire horribly. But it’s not like that could lead to a war a hundred years long, could it? Meh, I shouldn’t worry about things, I’m king! I’ll write again once I’ve put a few Saxons on pikes or something.
Conquering all the day long,
William of Normandy
From the diary of Sweyn of Denmark, late November 1066
Dear diary,
So I just killed the Norman… I think his name was William? I’ve never been any good remembering French names. None of those sissy names like William, Robert, or Stephen. Give me good Viking names like Eric, Harald (but not Harold), and Sweyn. Yes, I think Sweyn is the best name. In fact, I think I’ll make my chroniclers give me the title of “Sweyn the Best”. Because I really am. Maybe they should call me Sweyn the Big Daddy? I do have twenty kids after all.
In any case, the Danelaw is back, and staying this time, baby! Weregild, wenches and mead for everyone! Time to go to Cornwall and get started on that twenty-first child with a Cornish lass! Whoo!
Partying every day,
Sweyn II of Denmark and England
From the diary of Edgar Atheling, December 1066,
Dear diary,
It turns out I’m king now. Ambushing Danes on the road to Cornwall right after they’ve crowned themselves is surprisingly easy. I think that Sweyn guy was going to a party, but he was already drunk. Oh well, I guess he got a meal of arrows to go with his mead.
But anyway, I’m going to be crowned at age fifteen, isn’t that great? I thought fifteen was when you get acne, start liking girls, and your voice starts breaking. I’ve got the first two, but when I announced the death of Sweyn, my voice cracked so high that apparently I scared away a dog that the King of Norway brought to London. The servants called the dog Tostig, and started sniggering. I’m not entirely sure why. Anyway, get ready for a really long reign England! King Edgar is going to be ruling through the next century! As soon as I have some more of that delicious lamprey, that is.
Hungrily,
Edgar the Atheling.
From the diary of Duke Conan of Brittany, January 1st, 1067
Dear diary,
So I’m the king of England. I was in a coma. That Norman ponce poisoned my riding gloves. Buuuttt it turns out he killed the Saxon king of England, was killed by a Dane, who was himself killed by a teenager with acne.
And now the child-king died of a surfeit of lampreys, whatever that means. So that left no king in England. When I woke up, I didn't know any of that. So I had decided to sail to England to give someone a piece of my mind. The remaining Englishmen immediately offered me a crown on the promise that I don’t die after five days on the throne and don’t kill any more of them. So that makes me King Conan I of England, I guess.
Sincerely,
King Conan I of England
P.S. I feel like I should be conquering somewhere called Aquilonia, wherever that is. I’ve heard of Aquileia, but that’s in Italy, I think.
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