A Time For Peace

Wednesday, January 1, 2003

Wessex, England - Ancestral Estate of Duke Robert Lancaster II

The kiss they shared at midnight was the second they shared as husband and wife, and at that moment, nothing else mattered in the world, but that moment.

The imposing, deep, rich sound of the grandfather clock struck an eighth, a ninth, a tenth time, and yet the kiss continued, impassioned, inflamed, and true.

An eleventh, and twelfth time it sounded, the latter ring breaking the kiss, until its next occurrence in 2004.  The couple embraced under the glitter of countless stars, standing on the terrace balcony, just outside the Grand Library of the Lancaster Ancestral Estate in rural Wessex, England.

The wind picked up just slightly, sending the Duchess' auburn hair fluttering around her cheeks.  The Duke moved closer to his wife, strengthening his embrace, sensing the increased chill in the air.  He surveyed his lands, and surveyed his year at the same time, and smiled contentedly.

The end of 2002 marked the end of Robert Lancaster Investment Enterprises, the beginning of his tenure in the MSWA, and most importantly, the birth of his first born son on March 15, 2002.

That above else was his pride and joy, and had given his soul a sense of completion, of pure and utter happiness he had never known on Earth; only God's love could surpass his feelings.  Despite a year that saw war threatened in Iraq, perhaps North Korea, and the threat of further terrorist activities - peace was present.

Their little boy was fast asleep, after a day of crawling about and crying, giving the couple some cherished time together.

The Duke of Wessex sipped his Dom Perignon 1970 slowly, cherishing the sweet flavour and effervescence.  Stephanie let out a yawn, signaling her sleepy state from a rather long day.

An owl called out somewhere in the nearby woods, piercing the silence once more.  The bird of the night called out the present time of day, again suggesting to the Duchess that she turn in for some sleep.

She whispered quietly as the wind once more brushed past them.

"Robert, I should be off to bed soon...we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

Stephanie was referring to their return trip to Memphis, where the Duke would prepare for any impending match at the upcoming edition of Championship Wrestling.

Lancaster realized that he too, should be sleeping soon, despite showing no signs of exhaustion.

"Very well."

His wish to join his wife in bed was second to his desire to read the results of New Years Revolution on the CAL's official website, to see if indeed, the CAL itself - along with its website - would continue unimpinged, or, oppositely, if the pay-per-view lived up to its name by ushering in a new era of revolution under the guise of the NATPW. Before that however, before the results were to be posted several hours from that point, he had a conference call just after midnight.

"But I have some business to attend to as you know."

She looked up at him and smiled, nodding.

"Alright.  I'll go check on Edward now, and I'll be in bed by the time you're up I'm sure. Let me know how things went...but, try not to be long."

Stephanie reached up and kissed her husband firmly on the lips, as she opened the French doors leading back inside to the Grand Library.

The Duke was left alone on the terrace, gazing at the stars as he loved to do, ever since childhood.  Although he knew that his future did not rest with the stars, he wondered at what history they had been witness to, and what history he himself would be either a witness to, or an active participant in, in the upcoming year.  Finishing the last of his Dom Perignon, he entered the house, and locked the doors firmly, where Simkins was waiting, silver tray in hand to take the Duke's now drained champagne glass.

The embers in the fire place were casting an eerie, quiet glow throughout the library, over the many Greek artifacts, and the filled shelves of the library itself, where books as old as the house itself - from the 17th century, and even priorr - rested silently, their words ready to come alive once more for anyone who sought their knowledge.

The Duke walked forward, casting and adding his own shadow to that of Simkins against the walls, smiling at his old servant, and friend.

"Well a very happy New Year to you Simkins."

He nodded ever so politely in thanks.  "And to you as well, your Grace."  The Duke placed his glass on the tray, and looked at his watch, realizing that RGII would not have even started yet in Dallas.

Simkins inquired, "Will there be anything else this evening your Grace before I retire for the evening, if so convenient."

"No, thank you Simkins, you have a good night."

"And to you as well your Grace."  Simkins bowed slightly and walked quietly out, sealing the large oak doors to the library, the creek of the door and thud confirming its closure.

Now to business...a midnight conference call with his financial advisor.  One helluva way to spend a New Year's morning.

In fact - no way to spend a New Year's morning.

Lancaster reached into his pocket and switched off his phone, ensuring silence for the next couple of hours.  He quietly exited the library and went upstairs into his bedroom, where he found his wife about to slip under the covers, wearing a lavender silk chemise, exposing her cleavage nicely.

She smiled softly.  "I thought you had some business my love."

He slid up to her and grinned. "Business can wait...I cannot, however, for you..."

Stephanie placed her arms around her husband's neck, and kissed him deeply.  His hands moved to her straps and slid them off her shoulders delicately, where his hand soon found the warmth of her breasts.  They made love for several hours.

The Duke fell into a slumber, but awoke at about 5am.  His eyes focused slowly to see the time, and decided to leave the warmth of his bed to read the results of the pay-per-view, which he was anxious to know.

Returning to the library, he settled into his leatherback chair, picking up his laptop, ready to access the results of the night's events in Dallas.

The Duke stretched in his chair, still shaking off drowsiness, and convinced himself to get up and put another large log on the fire, increasing the rooms illumination substantially, but not enough to be overpowering.

After having done so, he logged onto the CAL website and read the headline, which declared proudly:

Lancaster sighed a heavy sigh of relief, the air escaping from his lungs and mouth quite audible to the silence.  He thanked God that he did not sell his soul to the Devil, that is, Thomas Turner, during that brief chat only a week or so ago on his Lear Jet, by joining Turner's mafia.

He anxiously clicked and chose to read the bare results, deciding that detail could wait for the tape of the PPV itself.

The Duke read the order of elimination in the opening match, which saw his rival of sorts, Chris Wright, eliminated somewhat late in the match.  Robert nodded his head in approval, knowing that he chose a talented foe.  Thinking on Wright for a moment or two, he reflected on their initial informal meeting, at the restaurant.

Lancaster really received a tongue lashing from his wife when they reached their condo, and was accused of being a small, petty man...all the traits associated with the old "Goodlife" he wished to obliterate.  She was right, and he knew it.

A feeling resembling regret began to wash over him.  Regret in seeing a man who, when he looked at him, reminded him of himself at Wright's age, turned into a rival, or even enemy.  The last thing Lancaster wanted was another enemy.

Perhaps sending that painting he had specially commissioned by Herr Andrös, along with that caustic "fan letter" wasn't appropriate after all.  Wright hadn't really done anything to warrant such harassment, aside from the odd smug and sarcastic remark - a charge he could not deny of himself, ever.

Lancaster switched off his laptop and stood up, pacing around the library.  He stopped and lowered his head, ashamed almost.  His eyes lifted to the bookshelf where they met an early edition of Henry VI, Part Two, one of his favoured Shakespearean classics.

He remember having read it as a young man, loving the adventure and history within its pages.  Robert reached into his pocket and unlocked the case, pulling it out gingerly.  He flipped through some pages, before coming across one of the King's lines:

How poignant, and how appropriate, considering his reflections.

Lancaster knew it was time to be a man.  Wright had to be addressed, face-to-face, man-to-man.  There was a time for war, and a time for peace.  When in Memphis, he would attempt to do what few men on Earth had been able to achieve: peace.