A Queen Twice Over: Mary Tudor the Elder Marries Francis I of France
- Thread starter FalconHonour
- Start date
Indeed. Francis wins most of them in the short-term, I think, because he's well, the King, but the older and more involved François gets, the more secure a footing Marie regains...
Agreed. Margot did very well getting out when she did. She and François definitely got the best of their parents compared to their younger siblings.
Well quite. But you know me. Neutral chaos for the win!
If you've read Lionesses Regnant, I promise you I'll be echoing my Anne/Sarah Rose scene as and when Lady Isabella finally gets banished from Court. That was so much fun to write, I want to play with a similar dynamic again.
Well, yes, perhaps, but that's with the benefit of hindsight. Besides, Marie has learned to play the regal Queen in public, if only to ensure she has the upper hand over Isabella. She spends a lot of time channelling her big sister Katherine of Aragon. So, if Francis was to banish her now, he'd be the one opening up a can of worms by airing their dirty laundry in public, which, of course, he doesn't want to be the one to do...
So they are somewhat trapped, at least for the moment....
Rene for the little Count's mother, is what I was thinking, given Renee is legally the sovereign Duchess of Brittany, and François is only Duke jure uxoris, but yes, it was also a common name in Brittany.
And yep. The hypocrisy is astounding @darthfanta
Incidentally, I love the irony of the fact that Charles and Marguerite suddenly have the best marriage of all three royal families. That was never how I intended to write things, but the characters have clearly taken over...
Lovely chapter, it's very interesting to see how Francis and Marie have continued to feud over the years, though I can't say I'm not surprised, it's mid-life crisis time after all...
No, although at least he has a heroic soldier namesake. That will help.
It is indeed. We'll be bobbing in and out of France for a while now, but Amsterdam next, to see Hans of Denmark leave to regain his father's throne...
And we must trot up to Scotland once Louise settles in there too...
Also, page 200, woot! I never thought the story would get this long or this involved. Thank you all for coming along for the ride!!
It’s a great timeline! Thank you so much @FalconHonour for publishing it!
Odo is a very Germanic name which probably contributed and the name seems to have fallen out of favour a few centuries prior even outside of Royals. Hugh is probably in the same way that England's Royal's rarely used the name William, up until the 1600's there'd only been two kings named William and one was the one who conquered the place.
Robert as a name for French Royals may well be avoided due to a combination of politics and other factors.
Robert II, the last French King to have that name that I'm aware of constantly sought to expand the royal domain and thus royal power and while that was often an ambition of French Kings, naming a son that is a bit provocative. Also the whole three wives and multiple sons who kept rebelling against him. Probably would have felt a bit like tempting fate, for a French King to name their son that.
To be clear, the three wives weren't at the same time and only one of them rebelled against him.
Last edited:
I do. That’s what worries me.
Been here since before day one and I’m not going anywhere any time soon!
I do have a Robert planned, although I'm not telling you whose son he'll be. No plans for a Hugh or an Odor any time soon, although Hugh is a nice name, I'll admit
Hey, I promise you lots of babies and family fluff too, if it helps? And thank you for the YEARS of unstinting support
Hey, I've been the cause of many forms of death in your stories - including but not limited to decapitation and someone being boiled alive - so I am not going anywhere. Who else would give you ideas for violent and gruesome deaths? And discuss horribly torturing your characters? And various names? And murders? And encourage you to "sure, throw that person down the stairs and kill them on the cobbles"?And thank you for the YEARS of unstinting support
Who else would to that job if it wasn't for me?
All the time. Some of my best murders/deaths have been designed with your help!
Section CII - March 1533
Written to uphold a promise I made to @King of Danes . Hans is going to war!
The docks are bustling, the air thick with the raucous noise of birds shrieking, dogs barking and soldiers and sailors cursing roundly as they try to stow themselves and their belongings away on one of the three dozen carracks bobbing in the shallows.
In the midst of the tumult stands Hans, King of Denmark. Newly fifteen, he is slight and dark-haired, but clearly determined for all that. His thin shoulders are set, and when his mother Isabella places her hands on them, she can feel his coiled strength beneath her grip. It is only too clear that Hans can’t wait to be about his campaign.
Pride mingled with fear fills Isabella, but she controls it. Hans is about to risk his life for his birth right. However scared she might be for him, he needs to see her calm and collected; the epitome of a Queen.
“Your Uncle has given the command to Señor de Avalos. Listen to him. He might not be Danish, but he’s a seasoned fighter. He knows what he’s about.”
“Yes, Lady Mother,” Hans nods obediently, then kneels at her feet, “The next time we see each other, I’ll be a King in truth, not just in name,” he swears, and Isabella nods, placing her hand on his head.
“Make sure you write, and not just to me. Your Aunt Maria has promised to see what she can do to keep the Swedes occupied. She has her Russian allies primed to aim at Stockholm as soon as she hears that you’re within sight of Oslo.”
“She’ll be the first to hear I’ve landed,” Hans promises, and Isabella allows herself the rare luxury of a smile.
“You go with my prayers, my son. Godspeed,” she whispers, before helping him to his feet and nudging him towards his sisters and his betrothed.
Dorothea and Christina farewell Hans quite properly, Isabella is pleased to note, curtsying deeply to their King before Hans kisses them and pulls them in for brief, fervent embraces.
Ten-year-old Anna of Lorraine is the real star of the show, however. She has been allowed to accompany the 2000 pikemen her father has added to Hans’ army as far as Amsterdam as a show of Danish-Lorrainer unity, and she drops into a flawless curtsy, holding out a beautiful embroidered sword belt, made of tooled leather with bears and lions picked out in the Danish colours.
“My lord husband,” she says in careful, accented Danish, her fluting voice carrying across the dockyard, “I wish you well in your endeavours. I have embroidered you this sword belt as a sign of our commitment to each other. May it bring you Lady Fortune’s favour as you fight to regain what is rightfully yours.”
Her round face is earnest, and her blue-grey eyes are wide as she looks up at Hans.
Hans stoops carefully and takes the sword belt from her soft, childish hands, buckling it on to his hips in place of the one he is already wearing, which he gives to Christina. Christina takes it, then passes it to a page without so much as taking her eyes off her older brother.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Hans says to Anna huskily, kissing her plump little hand, “I shall treasure this gift. You have honoured me with the making of it, and so I shall honour you with the same vow I made my mother and more besides. The next time we see each other, on our wedding day, I’ll be a King in truth. I’ll make you a Queen, sweetheart, you have my word. Do I have your blessing as well as your beautiful gift?”
Suddenly unnerved by the gravity of the moment and all the eyes on her, Anna doesn’t say anything, only nods silently. Moreover, when Hans kneels before her, she doesn’t move to bless him. Several heartbeats pass, and the crowd waits in impatient silence.
At last, Dorothea shifts on her feet, just enough to brush her hand against Anna’s sleeve. The contact jolts Anna from her stupor and she glances up at the older girl. Dorothea nods encouragingly and Anna places both hands on Hans’s head.
“Godspeed, my lord husband,” she pipes breathily, and Isabella lets out a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding. Thank goodness for her quick-thinking elder daughter. Thanks to Dorothea, Lorraine has blessed Hans’s endeavours just as much as Charles has. How can he possibly fail to take Denmark back now?
Hans rises to his feet, bends to kiss Anna’s cheek, and then straightens, his pointed chin set proudly. His burnished armour gleams in the spring sunshine.
He nods resolutely to Señor de Avalos, and the two of them turn, leading their 6000 Imperial soldiers and their 2000 Lorrainer pikemen on to their various ships, including their flagship, the St Margaret, which both Hans and Avalos board.
At the top of the gangplank, they turn and bow, one last time, and then they are gone.
A horn blows and, as one, the ships loose their moorings and prepare to set sail.
As the St Margaret drifts away from the harbour wall, Isabella, Dorothea, Anna and Christina look at one another. They have done all they can. Despite Hans’s brave words, they all know that it is the next few months that will be the true crucible of his ambition to regain his father’s throne. It’s in his hands now. His and those of Señor de Avalos. All they can do, as his mother, future wife and sisters, is pray that Almighty God favours Hans’s cause.
Amsterdam, March 1533
The docks are bustling, the air thick with the raucous noise of birds shrieking, dogs barking and soldiers and sailors cursing roundly as they try to stow themselves and their belongings away on one of the three dozen carracks bobbing in the shallows.
In the midst of the tumult stands Hans, King of Denmark. Newly fifteen, he is slight and dark-haired, but clearly determined for all that. His thin shoulders are set, and when his mother Isabella places her hands on them, she can feel his coiled strength beneath her grip. It is only too clear that Hans can’t wait to be about his campaign.
Pride mingled with fear fills Isabella, but she controls it. Hans is about to risk his life for his birth right. However scared she might be for him, he needs to see her calm and collected; the epitome of a Queen.
“Your Uncle has given the command to Señor de Avalos. Listen to him. He might not be Danish, but he’s a seasoned fighter. He knows what he’s about.”
“Yes, Lady Mother,” Hans nods obediently, then kneels at her feet, “The next time we see each other, I’ll be a King in truth, not just in name,” he swears, and Isabella nods, placing her hand on his head.
“Make sure you write, and not just to me. Your Aunt Maria has promised to see what she can do to keep the Swedes occupied. She has her Russian allies primed to aim at Stockholm as soon as she hears that you’re within sight of Oslo.”
“She’ll be the first to hear I’ve landed,” Hans promises, and Isabella allows herself the rare luxury of a smile.
“You go with my prayers, my son. Godspeed,” she whispers, before helping him to his feet and nudging him towards his sisters and his betrothed.
Dorothea and Christina farewell Hans quite properly, Isabella is pleased to note, curtsying deeply to their King before Hans kisses them and pulls them in for brief, fervent embraces.
Ten-year-old Anna of Lorraine is the real star of the show, however. She has been allowed to accompany the 2000 pikemen her father has added to Hans’ army as far as Amsterdam as a show of Danish-Lorrainer unity, and she drops into a flawless curtsy, holding out a beautiful embroidered sword belt, made of tooled leather with bears and lions picked out in the Danish colours.
“My lord husband,” she says in careful, accented Danish, her fluting voice carrying across the dockyard, “I wish you well in your endeavours. I have embroidered you this sword belt as a sign of our commitment to each other. May it bring you Lady Fortune’s favour as you fight to regain what is rightfully yours.”
Her round face is earnest, and her blue-grey eyes are wide as she looks up at Hans.
Hans stoops carefully and takes the sword belt from her soft, childish hands, buckling it on to his hips in place of the one he is already wearing, which he gives to Christina. Christina takes it, then passes it to a page without so much as taking her eyes off her older brother.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Hans says to Anna huskily, kissing her plump little hand, “I shall treasure this gift. You have honoured me with the making of it, and so I shall honour you with the same vow I made my mother and more besides. The next time we see each other, on our wedding day, I’ll be a King in truth. I’ll make you a Queen, sweetheart, you have my word. Do I have your blessing as well as your beautiful gift?”
Suddenly unnerved by the gravity of the moment and all the eyes on her, Anna doesn’t say anything, only nods silently. Moreover, when Hans kneels before her, she doesn’t move to bless him. Several heartbeats pass, and the crowd waits in impatient silence.
At last, Dorothea shifts on her feet, just enough to brush her hand against Anna’s sleeve. The contact jolts Anna from her stupor and she glances up at the older girl. Dorothea nods encouragingly and Anna places both hands on Hans’s head.
“Godspeed, my lord husband,” she pipes breathily, and Isabella lets out a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding. Thank goodness for her quick-thinking elder daughter. Thanks to Dorothea, Lorraine has blessed Hans’s endeavours just as much as Charles has. How can he possibly fail to take Denmark back now?
Hans rises to his feet, bends to kiss Anna’s cheek, and then straightens, his pointed chin set proudly. His burnished armour gleams in the spring sunshine.
He nods resolutely to Señor de Avalos, and the two of them turn, leading their 6000 Imperial soldiers and their 2000 Lorrainer pikemen on to their various ships, including their flagship, the St Margaret, which both Hans and Avalos board.
At the top of the gangplank, they turn and bow, one last time, and then they are gone.
A horn blows and, as one, the ships loose their moorings and prepare to set sail.
As the St Margaret drifts away from the harbour wall, Isabella, Dorothea, Anna and Christina look at one another. They have done all they can. Despite Hans’s brave words, they all know that it is the next few months that will be the true crucible of his ambition to regain his father’s throne. It’s in his hands now. His and those of Señor de Avalos. All they can do, as his mother, future wife and sisters, is pray that Almighty God favours Hans’s cause.