TransChannel

This has been fascinating, has it not? All of these people, many of them noble warriors, vying for the attention and choice of the common man. I find it astounding, and frankly a rather refreshing change from my home. Let them come to us to be chosen, for once!

But my dear mother, I can hear her now, she would have an opinion on this. What, she would ask, what good are warriors without the laymen? The knights stand upon the backs of their people, whether their weight be felt light or heavy, and without the common man the powerful are weak.

Treasonous words, Mother, oh so dangerous words uttered at home, be careful, Mother.

But! Is she so wrong in her opinions? We are not all warriors, nobles, royalty here, and yet have we not a voice? Our own wisdom? In my thirty years I have found many hats sat upon my head; page to the Countess of Ulster, valettus in the retinue of Prince Lionel, foot soldier, spy, writer, herald, landlord, messenger of Kings, esquire of the royal household, student of law. Do I perhaps not own some skill and knowledge worth offering to this noble company we are building?

For unlike my dear mother, who can at times be harsh and swift in her judgement, I do not believe that we should cast out the warriors. What folly would that be, when we are indeed at war! Yes, there should be warriors there, and many!

But every war has its talks, its subtle diplomacies, and I see no voice of that so difficult art standing forth for Council. Too it has its foot soldiers as well, and workers, craftsmen too often ignored, and those children and others who find themselves so quickly cast aside.

Can I fill so many hats, all at once? Perhaps not, oh I do fear not. Yet as a common man, one oft thrust into wholly alien situations, I do find myself wondering. What has this journey been but a puzzle of new possibilities, for one such as myself? Constant adjustments and education? This, the advisement and guidance of people, be it few or many, I do indeed have great knowledge in. Perhaps, after such a long time wandering this ship lost for purpose, I have found it in the Council.

If it is so, and indeed even if it is not, I am your most humble servant, Geoffrey Chaucer.

((ooc: Pretend the spelling here is correct and all difficult, plz. Transcribing was breaking my brain, though I may try again/edit later.))

Truly it is a strange world, this, for it robs me of so much yet I find myself whole and healthy, if not content. Hope is, a friend has said and I must now repeat for I fear one robbery has been that of my own words, what gets me through the day, and especially the night; the hope that that morning in London, in our home, with our children, will not be the last time I will look upon your sweet face.

Philippa, this is my night, and I have great fear that it is only the dusk and we have not yet begun our descent unto midnight. It is without difficulty to imagine my not surviving to see the day break anew, but I must. How else may I awake? How else may the children once more clamber and yell and jump on our bed? May I lose myself in your eyes? May I fetch you apples at hours unknown even to God, clad in the only cloth that matters in the presence of your finery?

Such pity I would you'd have for me, but I fear that in truth you would have none. Too often, I think, have I wandered from your side, by this lord's bidding or that one's, or by my own foolish curiosity pulled. Too likely you think this just punishment; wandering endlessly without direction, gazing upon sights that no single piece of me, nor all of me together can properly describe, and all of it falling short of the one destination I have always been leaving but cannot now return to.

Cruel, cruel lady, I would that I could return to you; you are the queen of my heart and well you know it, no palace, no majesty, no far off place may ever replace you there. The hole bored from lack of your presence by my side is felt most keenly. Today I bled, or perhaps the day prior, I know not, but I bled and it is to my great shame that I thought not of you but only of my undoing. These things are one and the same, myself, yourself, but I stared too hard into the abyss, awaiting the demon lord Death whom I thought would approach, and left no mind for us. Your apology I must beg for this most horrendous sin, my lady. It shall not happen again, no more shall I let my thoughts wander so far. They are all which may remain close to you in this time and place, and thus they will never again leave your side, that we may be together in entirety upon my return. I am all of yours, sweet lady, as you are all of mine, and thus shall I remain.

I muste now gyv up. Wher dide alle ye lerne yer wordes?