Disclaimer: "Oregairu" and its characters are owned by Wataru Watari, Brain Base, and Studio Feel. "Crusader Kings 2" is owned by Paradox Development Studio and Paradox Interactive. I do not own anything, beyond the writing; no profit is intended with the publishing of this story.

The Franks are at war! For the last seven years, King Pepin the Short has waged a campaign to consolidate the southern marches of his kingdom and deprive the Umayyad Saracens of their last stronghold in Septimania, the city of Narabonne. An alliance of Goths and Franks proves to be potent against the Moors, but treachery has befallen the king's forces. Waiofar, the Duke of Aquitaine, betrayed the king and decimated the siege's rearguard before escaping. Unwilling to break the siege, Pepin was forced to let his treacherous vassal flee back to Aquitaine.

But the duke's trespasses are far from over. In 757, the seizure of church lands and distribution as prize for his troops had been a straw too far for both Pepin and his allies in the Holy See. In an unexpected move, the king ordered an expeditionary force to halt the Aquitaine advances into Frankish territory, raising levy troops from the heartland of Francia to maintain the siege of Narabonne.

This army, numbering one thousand men strong, is jointly led by the crown prince himself, Karl Karling, and the king's foreign ward, Hadrian de Seine [1]. Having intercepted the Aquitaines outside the city of Toulouse, the battle that ensued would mark the beginning of the legend these two young men would carve for themselves...

PROLOGUE - The Battle of Toulouse

May 18th, 758 A.D.

"For the king!" Karl roared atop his horse as the forward line closed towards the enemy. Nearly four hundred men in total, they marched in syncopated rhythm – left foot first to support their four-foot shields, the right behind for stability and power. With each step forward, the Frankish line chanted in unison to maintain the formation as they marched across the grasslands of Toulouse. "Show these oath-breakers the price for their treachery!"

Even amidst the noise of one thousand men, he could have envisioned that the archers had heard his command and answered in kind. Two companies of bowmen, nearly a hundred each, loosed their final volley into the oncoming enemy before retreating behind their advancing comrades. The Frankish shields parted smoothly, and the levy made a quick retreat as their arrows fell or broke upon the enemy lines.

"Close formation," one of his captains yelled, trilling three times on a little whistle. The call was taken up across the lines by sergeants and commanders, and the men responded in kind. With the archers safely behind them, the ranks were closed, and their spears were lowered to meet the Aquitaine soldiers. It was a host nearly as great as their own, falling short by no more than one hundred men. "Meet them as one, and meet them with force!"

The two armies met in earnest. Left foot forward, right foot behind, the shield-walls of Aquitaine and Francia crashed into each other, the men grunting as their shoulders strained under the impact. The second lines closed behind the first, pressing their shields against the back of their comrades to add their weight to their fellows. The third, in its turn, supported the second to create a mighty foundation that held fast against the pressure.

"Engage!" the captains shouted, and the second line drove their short swords above and below the forward shields, attempting to catch an eye or foot to weaken the enemy wall. Shouts and curses echoed across both lines as the blades found flesh and the wounded were pinned between the shields. Until the battle had ended, no one, not even the dead or dying, could leave a shield wall.

It had been many years since the Aquitaine's treachery at Narbonne, but the wound still festered in the hearts of both the prince and his father. The duchy had always been resistant to Frankish authority, even after they had saved them from the Saracens at their own request! Charles the Hammer, his grandfather, had put down no less than three rebellions in his lifetime, all instigated by the late duke, Hunald. Eventually, he had surrendered, retiring to Rome to spend his life in a seminary. Alas, he would perish at the hands of a Lombard invasion against the Holy See, but that treachery was a tale for a different time. [2]

In addition to the duchy, Waiofar had inherited his father's rebellious spirit. It had been a mercy, Karl thought, raising his shield to block a stone hurled in his direction. Aquitaine had been left as an autonomous region, paying a nominal tithe as suzerainty to Francia. But even that, it seemed, did little to soothe the man's pride or instill a sense of gratitude and self-preservation. And now, his vanity would cost him, his family, and all of his vassal lords and peasants dearly.

After four months of inconsistent skirmishing along the border of the Garonne [3], Karl had lured the Aquitaines into a frontal assault, pretending to split his army to prepare for attacks on the nearby towns of Albi and Gevaudan. They took the bait, attacking with the full weight of their army and the garrison just outside of the city. To Karl's surprise, the two sides were closely matched, even with his army reunited. The Franks were now in danger of falling prey to their own trap.

As the sun rose across the sky, the prince began to fear that the heat would compromise his men. Hailing from the cooler north, just south of the frozen lands where the heathen Saxons dwelled, the Franks wore leathers and animal skins beneath their armor. They would tire more quickly in the heat than their southern counterparts. He undoubtedly had the advantage of numbers, but the Aquitaines possessed an advantage native only to the southern reaches of Francia. The heat of the summer, it seemed, was just as much a viable weapon as a spear or sling.

Karl looked to the edges of the formation, beyond the forest of spears raised by both his host and the rebel forces. He favored a singular strike, a swift end to the battle with overwhelming force. And his cavalry could do just that, numbering thrice as many as the enemy's and safely hidden away from plain sight. But to deliver that blow, the shields needed to force a break in the line...

There it was. Karl spotted a place in the enemy line where several shields had fallen. Fumbling with his own whistle, he trilled it to signal his commanders, shouting, "There! The left flank, the left flank! Strike now before they-"

As the call went through the army, it seemed that the Aquitaines spotted the hole in their formation. They reacted quickly, storming across the field to commit their reserves towards the hole. The cavalry would be too late...

But Hadrian had heard the call, mounted atop his charcoal stallion and driving his host from the forest hillock they'd hidden in. His father's ward was the spearhead of the cavalry, numbering two hundred men clad in brunia and wielding spatha and spears edged and tipped with iron [4]. These were the Frankish paladins, the knights who smashed the Saracens at Tours with his grandfather [5]. Now they served his friend, who in turn served him, and formed the hammer that would break the rebels upon the anvil that was Karl's infantry.

The Aquitaines stood firm for a mere second before the sheer ferocity and surprise of the charge caused their morale to waver. One man's courage broke and he turned to flee. He was soon followed by two more, then three, and within seconds, the entire left flank was in disarray. The order was hurriedly given for the hole to close, but it was too late. They had only just started settling into position as Hadrian's cavalry smashed into the line.

It was a terrific noise, resounding through the field like a clap of thunder. Equine beast and armored man alike shrieked and screamed, and the noise rattled around awfully in Karl's helmet. Some of the enemy was sent flying, the sheer mass of the horse tossing them about like a child's doll or plaything. Still there were those who were simply trampled underfoot, or left impaled upon shattered spears.

Inspired by the sight, the Frankish infantry pushed forward and fought with renewed vigor. Even the prince could not resist a fierce grin as he urged his unit onward. They pressed the advantage, driving forward to cover their cavalry's escape with spear and sword. Hacking and stabbing their way through the Aquitaines, they broke through the enemy line and split off to fight the fragmented halves.

Before they could lose themselves too deep within the melee, the signal was given for the cavalry to withdraw. From his side, Hadrian produced a bronze horn, and blasted two sonorous notes. Immediately, the riders broke off from the enemy line, retreating to a safe distance to regroup and reorganize. They had perhaps killed no more than a few dozen, but it was enough to cause an irreversible shift in the battle.

It did not take long for the soil of Toulouse to become slick with blood. As the shield-wall advanced, the dead and dying were finally allowed their reprieve. Some had bled to death, others simply suffocated underneath the mass of bodies. Those still alive were swiftly pulled away by soldiers in the third line. It mattered not whether they served the treacherous Duke Waiofar or Pepin the Short. At the end of the day, heraldry mattered little before the Almighty, and it fell to them to treat the wounded with pride and dignity afforded to them as fellow Christians...before ransoming them, of course.

Aquitaine had called up their cavalry, and they raced after Hadrian as if the devil himself were at their heels. A signal was given, and the Frankish host split off; half rode towards the west and up along the hillock, the remainder veered towards the east back towards the shields for another attack. There was no discernible difference between the forces, yet the rebels pursued the company that his friend was leading. His warhorse, with skin as black as midnight, was painfully distinguishable.

"God's blood," Karl said, even as he crossed himself for his blasphemy. His exuberance at the change of the battle was replaced by a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. The Frankish riders were heavily armored, but they were slower to turn and maneuver as a result. The rebels caught them at a vulnerable flank as they tried to angle back down the hill. Within heartbeats, the two forces were a chaotic mess of mailed men and horse, stabbing and slashing in a wild frenzy.

With each cavalryman worth ten times his weight the cost of cattle, they were the resource that had to be most protected The rest of the horses were with Karl's father, besieging the Saracens at Narbonne with the aid of their Gothic allies. Infantrymen could be replaced easily enough; to train, equip and field a paladin was a costly expenditure [6].

However, there was one man among the trapped cavalry that Karl prized greater than any sort of treasure.

Immediately, the prince spurred his mount, racing towards the hill with his men close behind. Caught off-guard, even the paladins would find themselves disadvantaged against the Aquitaine light cavalry. To make matters worse, Hadrian had no shield. He carried only a spear and longsword into battle; the former had been lost in the charge, and the blade had never been his most proficient weapon.

Hadrian's warhorse reared at the rider in front of him as he swung to the rebel at his left. His blade caught the Aquitaine at the base of his neck and opened a grievous wound. Blood splashed over him as he tried to turn to his right, but his warhorse came down heavily on its forelegs, throwing Hadrian off balance.

The rider to Hadrian's right, a commander by the gold trim on his helmet, lifted his blade for a double-handed strike. Only at the last second did he react, raising his sword to protect his side. He caught the knight's blow near the pommel, and their hands froze above his head. Any later, or if the blade had weighed more...Karl refused to dwell on such a thought.

"Foreign devil!" cursed the enemy commander, withdrawing his sword. He was preparing for another blow, one that would rend open a man from head to waist. Hadrian's longsword was too long and heavy to recover for a proper counter. "Your meddling ends here!"

"Hachi!" Karl's voice raged over the battlefield.

With desperate speed, Hadrian brought the tip of his sword scraping along the front of his enemy's helmet. Its edge caught on the soft flesh just underneath the commander's eye. The intended blow veered wildly to the right, merely glancing off the edge of his helm to bounce off the mail protecting his shoulder. The blow was heavy, but his warhorse, a well-trained beast, stepped left to restore its balance and keep its master in the saddle.

Karl's escort crashed into the frenzy, and in the charge, the young prince took off the commander's head with a well-aimed blow. The man's torso stood stupidly there, erect on its legs and spouting like a fountain before falling sideways out of its saddle. Standing alongside Hadrian's horse, he fell into a rhythm of attack with his friend that held the enemy at bay.

Swords and spears fell in every direction, but in the end, the size of the Frankish cavalry won out. The combined mass of horses and bodies prevented any escape for the rebels. Those who threw down their arms and begged for mercy were permitted to live. But for the cowards who tried to flee, or the brave who continued to fight, the Franks fell upon them like butchers.

The prince looked back to the field where he had left the bulk of his forces, and smiled grimly at the sight. Aquitaine's army was in a total rout, desperately fleeing from the Frankish army. He was tempted to signal for his host to join the infantry, chasing down the cowards all the way back to Toulouse.

Now, that would have been a fine sight! He could only imagine the dumbstruck look on the governor's face, how quickly it would change from self-assurance to horror at the sight of his limping, broken army with the prince's army fast upon their heels.

Sheathing his blade, he called for one of his peers. "Send a rider to the army. They are permitted to chase for no more than three miles before they have to return." The paladin nodded solemnly, flicking the reins of his horse from a fast trot into an all-out gallop. And to the retreating Aquitaines, he whooped and hollered: "Run back to Waiofar, you honorless bastards! Run back, you churlish snakes, and tell the duke that Karl Karling is coming for him!"

With his duty and exuberance fulfilled, the young prince could finally address his primary concern. He brought his horse to a collection of the cavalry as they took account for the enemy and horses they captured. Their leader was struggling with a broken helm, brushing off offers for assistants. The glancing blow, it seemed, had damaged the fastener holding it atop his head.

"Hachi, are you alright?"

"No thanks to you..." Hadrian struggled for a moment before he managed to fling off his helmet, revealing that he was as foreign as the enemy claimed him to be. Raven-black hair fell down the front of his face, just above narrow eyes that some likened to carrion feeders, and an odd complexion that even several campaigns or lifetime of winter could not fully tan or pale. The full bore of that gaze, however, was directed firmly upon Karl as its owner's brow contorted into a fierce scowl. "Meddling prince...I had the situation under control!"

"You are very welcome!" Karl replied cheerfully. "How many is that you owe me now, friend?"

"Anything above 'zero' is less than ideal..." the rider grumbled, massaging the place where the enemy's blade had hit. He winced as he rotated his shoulder. "...this is going to purple by the evening."

"Better for it to purple than to bleed," noted the prince. "I will summon a physician immediately."

Hadrian snorted. "O magnanimous prince...you are truly generous, but not even your most skilled healer can soothe or alleviate my injured pride."

The peers looked aghast at the ward's ingratitude and flippancy. But they did not know that this was merely how they spoke and conversed, a game of wits and sharper tongues they played in an admittedly puerile game. And God help him, but Karl was far too fond of it to otherwise stop.

"Fret not! It is hardly your fault that those knights ride quickly. And it is thanks to your charge that our men broke through the enemy shieldwall. The battle is yours today, Hachi. Best not to worry about the smaller details."

Pepin's ward squirmed in his saddle, and it was all the prince could to not otherwise smile, lest it be mistaken for malice or ill-will. Hadrian was perhaps the most critical of all men he had ever known, and his own worst adviser. He was not only humble; he actively sought to tear himself down. But he was weak to effusive praise and genuine adoration. It was tally in Karl's favor, but one won with honesty and kind intent.

He managed to recover, biting a scathing retort: "Your counter-charge was reckless. What if their reserves went into your flank? Or a javelin-thrower or archer caught you with a lucky shot? Their infantry may not have been able to march quickly, but all it would take is one stray arrow-"

Karl cut in with a laugh and a smile. "Stop worrying, Hachi! Actually...worry about yourself before me. Though I am flattered that you were so concerned."

"I worry because only I like having my head on my shoulders! How would I ever go back to the king and tell him 'sire, your son, the crown prince and heir to the Frankish kingdom has perished in battle because he was trying to save my life?' He would strike me down on the spot and throw me back into the Seine in pieces. And that is only if your family does not desire to have a collective go at me."

"Nonsense! Father is too fond of you, and the bishops would have his head before they are finished picking your mind of knowledge." In the back of his mind, Karl grimaced at the thought, but not for the reason that Hachi was whining about. There was at least one person who might not have reacted violently at his own death, perhaps even giving Hachi his own lands and titles...but such thoughts were unbecoming of him.

However, he still preened at his friends choice of words, whether they were chosen intentionally or not.

"You miss the point," Hadrian growled, "I am trying to keep you alive, you bull-headed, riaju-prince."

"...one day, you will tell me what that word means. But in the mean time, you have succeeded in your goal. I am standing here, am I not? In spite of so many skirmishes and now, this battle?"

"You would do wonders for my heart and blood pressure if you would stop leading from the front."

Karl's horse cantered up alongside Hadrian, and the young prince clapped his friend's uninjured shoulder. "Enough of this. Set your worries and fears by the wayside. Our cause is just, and the Lord stands firmly with us."

He paused to consider how the rest of the day would proceed, before continuing, "Your company can deal with the prisoners. We will see that arm of yours bandaged and the treasure split between the men. The train's stocks of ale and wine will flow freely tonight for all the peerage, and you will sit at my side as the hero of the day."

The look on Hadrian's face suggested that leaving him to his duel with the Aquitaines might have been a mercy. And it perhaps may have been. For all his scathing wit and staggering intellect, he was notoriously shy and too self-introspective for his own good. Nothing that prayer and exposure to the thing he feared most would cure in time...which in this case happened to be a cheering mass of people.

How bizarre the people beyond the Eastern Churches were!

"And then tomorrow," Karl said with undisguised anticipation, "We will take Toulouse."

Representing Pepin the Short, the crown prince's actions carried the weight of his father's approval and the Frankish realm. His words were law, edicts that he knew, for all of his griping, Hadrian would obey and seek to fulfill with every fiber of his being.

Terms/References

[1] Lit. "Hadrian of the (River) Seine."

[2] Duke Hunald was the ruler of Aquitaine during the reign of Charles "the Hammer" Martel. After three failed rebellions, he was tonsured and banished to a church outside of Rome. Records indicate that he found a measure of happiness in contemplation, but he would perish in 756 when the Lombards attacked Rome, either stoned to death or dying in the defense of Saint Peter's Basilica.

[3] The River Garonne served as a natural border between the duchy of Aquitaine and the main realm of Francia.

[4] Brunia is a type of scale armor iconic to the Franks; spatha is a type of longsword that entered into military service with the Romans from the early 3rd century onward, and found continued use with the successor states to emerge after her fall.

[5] The Battle of Tours was an important battle that took place between the Umayyad Caliphate and the Frankish and Burgundian realms. Charles "the Hammer" Martel decisively defeated the invasion force led by Abdul Rahman Al Ghafiqui, and set the foundations for the Carolingian Empire with his victory.

[6] The currency reforms of Pepin the Short were based on silver. 12 pence/denarii/deniers was equal to 1 shilling/solidi, and 20 shillings equaled a pound/lirae/livre. The cost of a cow at the time was three (3) solidi, but the cost to clad a Frankish knight in arms, armor and a horse was forty four (44) solidi. (Source: Age of Charlemagne, Osprey Publishing).

Author's Note: Inspired by all of the fiction of Hikigaya Hachiman being transdim'd to either fantasy worlds or historical settings, this little snip was the product of a binge of Oregairu as well as my own love for the Medieval Period, specifically the Dark Ages after the fall of the Roman Empire. The predominant stories that served as the source for this had sent him to either the "Romance of the Three Kingdoms" or the "Warring States Era". I elected to send him into the court of perhaps my favorite ruler of all time: Karl Karling, or as he's better known as, Charles the Great or Charlemagne.

This and another short little snip on Spacebattles were meant to be uncertain one-shots, but with the coming of "Crusader Kings 3", (and the recent lockdowns giving me an unexpected bevy of free time) I feel inspired to write more.

At any rate, that's all I have to say for now. I hope you enjoyed reading. Comments and criticism are always welcome.