The good wise king was dying. He had had a long reign and had brought peace, prosperity and justice to his realm, but he knew his days were numbered. His physicians and his own body reminded him every day that he would not last the year. His queen and only heir had died in childbirth, and there was none to assume the sceptre when he was gone. Who was to take his place?

Amongst his advisers and councelors there were none who he felt could assume his duties. They were either too weak, too old or too evil, sometimes all three. His ministers had been chosen for their skill at administration, and not for their ambition or leadership. The lords and barons of his kingdom would not accept one of their own, no matter who was chosen, he had kept the fractious bunch in check only by being scrupulously even-handed with them and showing no favoritism. If he should honor one now, he knew civil war would certainly follow. The priests had their own hierarchy and owed their allegiance to a patriarch who ruled in a foreign land. Only his judges and his men-at-arms had kept them in their place so far. They were out of the question.

Who else to consider, one of the anonymous clerks and functionaries of the court? They would not be accepted by the people. One of the courtiers? Hardly, their primary purpose was to bicker and flirt with each other and provide some amusement in the palace. The officers of the law? No, he had fought too hard to to curb the abuse of their power already, and some always remained. The Army? It had taken him a lifetime to persuade them to stay in their barracks when not fighting some foreign foe, he was not about to unleash them on his subjects again. One of the merchants, perhaps? No, that was unthinkable. They could not be trusted.

There were a few good men among all those groups, but none could assume the sceptre by a dead king's will alone. He needed one man who could step onto his throne, a simple replacement with no powerful friends or enemies, one who could assume the mantle of royalty to protect and legitimize him until he had a chance to prove himself to all in the kingdom, to reassure his allies abroad, and to give pause to his rivals across the sea.

His thoughts led him naturally to the Assembly. These were humble yeomen who met once a year, who provided a list of requests and petitions to the Crown and who commented on every law and decree, sometimes with approval, sometimes not. They had no power to rule, but a wise king knew that if they were not content, the kingdom was suffering and there were problems afoot that had to be dealt with. The king had often taken their advice, usually with reservations, and sometimes he had rejected it, but he always listened carefully to it. They were his eyes and ears, the voice of his people. He could not talk to every subject, and those with power or wealth could not always be trusted to speak the truth for them.

Every parish selected an Assemblyman, by public vote in each church. It was a noble custom of the land, and had served the realm well for centuries. The people had confidence in their Assembly, and they honored those kings who treated it with respect. The Assembly determined its will by contact among its members, so they tended to form alliances based on regional issues, members who lived near to each other. Once every other year they spent a month in the capital, arguing (and sometimes brawling!) until these groups had hammered out their differences and prepared their petitions and commentaries to the king, and accepted his report to them.

Since the Assembly had no real power, only influence, and even that was diluted when they met, there was little incentive for the rich and powerful to pervert its collective will. Still, it happened. Unscrupulous priests rigged parish elections, limited the franchise or handpicked candidates, merchants and officials bribed Assemblymen and the members themselves traded favors and were often corrupt. And there was the inevitable horse-trading and backroom deals. All parishes were not the same size, a village church represented few compared to a town cathedral, and the big towns contributed more like-minded members and stronger alliances than villages and country parishes. Still, the institution was a rough sampling of the will of the common folk, and it spoke with the voice of the people, however muted and garbled it might be. When the Assembly felt strongly enough on an issue to collectively petition or question the king, the king was wise to listen.

The old king knew the nation was very fortunate to have inherited this ancient custom from the Old Ones. Other lands did not have Assemblies, and he could see the difference. He had instructed his sheriffs and constables to protect the integrity of the institution, and his inspectors and spies did their best to ensure that they did so. It would have to be the Assembly that finally chose his successor, not he.

When the next sealed list of royal decrees was sent by messenger to every parish, judge and garrison in the land, it would include a list of his hand-picked candidates for his throne: honest, capable men he had selected for their honor, intelligence and virtue. And there would be instructions to each parish Assembly to make a selection from that list, to be debated and finalized at the general meeting of the Assembly on the first day of spring. His subjects would trust his judgement, even if he no longer lived, and the Assembly would choose and legitimize his successor. None of these men had been notified of his plan, but they would learn soon enough. He was certain enough of them would want the office that the Assembly would have a strong field to pick from. If not, or if the Assembly could not reach a decision, they would have to pick someone else. That was the final instruction.

He signed and sealed the documents and dismissed his trusted scribe to prepare this, his last decree. Once the messengers rode off to their duty, he would announce his decision at Council.
Alone now, he sipped at the last of his wine, and wondered if this new method would be successful, and if so, if the next king after that would also be chosen this way. Perhaps someday, he thought, the Assembly would come up with their own list. It was his last thought before he fell asleep.