His Grace, Duke Dan of Redmond

A Treatise Upon His Grace, Dan, Duke of Redmond

Hark! Let it be known throughout the shires and hamlets of this realm, that His Grace Dan, rightful Duke of Redmond, is a lord of honour, wisdom, and mirth. Upon his noble brow resteth the burden of governance, yet he beareth it with mirthful heart and a steadfast hand.

In the verdant vales of Redmond, where the waters run clear and the barley groweth golden, there doth His Grace oversee the sacred craft of ale-brewing. None may draw a draught within his lands but it be rich, pure, and full of goodly cheer — for the Duke, most fastidious in matters of brew, suffereth no swill nor sour wort.

Yea, from the smallest tavern to the grandest feasting-hall, tankards brim with ale of rarest excellence, and all do lift their cups in praise of noble Dan, steward of hops and guardian of foam.

May his name be ever poured forth in song, as his ale is poured forth in goblet.

So say we all.

Of Merry Days and a Sorrowful Thirst

Verily, in days of yore, His Grace Duke Dan did oft consort with the King himself, for the sovereign did find much delight in sojourning to Redmond, where the ale flowed as a river, and mirth abounded. Together they did recline beneath the oaken boughs, with horn and tankard alike ever brimmed, discoursing on matters of state and jest in equal measure. Such were days of golden cheer, when the bellies were full, and the hearts fuller still.

Yet lo! A grievous humour did befall the King — a malady most strange, whereby he could no longer partake of barley nor bread, nor any draught made thereof. "Gluten," quoth the leech, "is thy bane." And so the tankard was set aside, and the King's cup grew dry. From thenceforth, the noble burden of revelry fell to Duke Dan alone, who, with solemn vow and noble thirst, did take upon himself the sacred charge of drinking all the beer in Redmond — for crown, for kingdom, and for the joy of the realm.

Of Reunion and the Ale Reborn

But lo, fate did smile once more upon His Grace and the King, when their noble feet did tread the storied cobblestones of Edinburgh, in the land of the Scots. There, amidst the mist and the song of the pipes, they came upon a guild of cunning brewers who, by art and alchemy, had wrought a most wondrous draught — beer, aye, but free of the grievous gluten that had long vexed the King’s belly. Great was the rejoicing, and loud the toasts that echoed through the halls. Thus were the cups refilled, and the sacred fellowship of foam restored. And so, side by side once more, the Duke and his liege did drink deep beneath the northern sky, their laughter mingling with the clink of tankards, as in the days of old.