Yes, until/unless people buy the wardship off the King, like Charles Brandon did for Elizabeth Grey.
An Heir To Rule
- Thread starter Tudorfan
- Start date
If Henry sells the Norfolk Wardship off, it'll be for a very high price.
I was sure I'd got them all. This is what I get for adapting a pre-written scene into another story. Thanks to Word, I have gotten them all now.Two or three, actually 😉 Matilda is a prettier name
And, yes, I like Matilda too. It's a very pretty name. I was going to use Maud, but I liked Matilda more.
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Ooh I like it very much! Poor Elizabeth Boleyn to lose his brother, and of course his young children will likely live interesting lives here as well. Interesting to see that Edmund and Katherine have a little daughter, and that he seems to have proven to be a good husband to her.
Little Princess Matilda - currently fourth in line to the throne of England. Quite a catch on the marriage market, I assure you.
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You noticed? Excellent. Well, little Matilda has an interesting future ahead of her.
Book The First: Katherine of Aragon - The Pomegranate Queen
Book The First: Katherine of Aragon - The Pomegranate Queen
Chapter IX: October 1520
Ribiera Palace,
Lisbon, Portugal,
20 October 1520
As King of Portugal, John shouldn't laugh at his cousin and brother-in-law's misfortune - really, he shouldn't - but the hypocrite has well and truly been scolded by God.Lisbon, Portugal,
20 October 1520
"A girl!" he laughs, placing the letter down onto Eleanor's starting-to-round belly as he enters their chambers. "Your brother's concubine has had a girl - another girl - whom they have called Germaine! He's already defying God by keeping the Pope prisoner and God smites him in return!"
He whirls her around, kissing her passionately, before dropping her into the bed.
*~*~*~*~*
Convent of Santa Clara,
Tordesillas, Spain,
20 October 1520
Convent of Santa Clara,
Tordesillas, Spain,
20 October 1520
Joanna, Queen of Castile, Aragon and Leon stares down at the document in front of her and then up at the gentlemen stood before her.
They expect her to sign it, to become a puppet monarch to their regime, just because they have a few grievances with her son. She'd had grievances with her father, when he had been alive, but she would never have countenanced a rebellion against him, and she won't do the same here. They, of course, can wait a little longer.
Juan López de Padilla keeps talking and she changes her mind, bored out of her skull at the ceaseless prattling. She would have rather listened to her mother command her to acknowledge God or have her mother tie her ankles to anvils and hang her from the ceiling than listen to the senseless prattling before her.
She rises, just for a moment, and picks the document up. He and the other members of the Cortez stop prattling on and watch her.
They think she's mad - her parents thought she was mad - her own son, dear Ferdinand, poisoned against her by her dear father certainly believes she is - but she is anything but mad. Sad, frequently sad, but not mad.
She walks to the fireplace and leans a hand on the mantelpiece, pretending to use it as light to read the document even though she can plainly read the words under her nose - she may be sad, but she isn't an idiot.
"Oops."
She tilts her hand and loosens her grip. The document slips from her hand, floats on a gust of wind, and lands in the crackling fire.
"Your Majesty!" cries one of the commune before her.
"Woman!" interrupts Juan López de Padilla, slamming his hands down onto the table that she had been sat at, and she whirls to him with such fury that her skirts fly; the expression on her face, one she'd seen on her mother's face frequently enough, is enough to send horror dancing through their blood. He attempts to backtrack. "Madame..."
"Your loyalty, like mine, Gentlemen, should be to the King of Castle - my son," she says. Their mouths open to protest but she cuts them off, raising a slim hand as she does so. "I am Queen of Castile. I always will be until I die. My son, Carlos, the Emperor, is King." And, God's blood, how that fills her with pride - her baby boy, Emperor! "He rules with my permission, permission that I do not intend to grant you."
Juan López de Padilla roars and draws his sword; the commune exclaim in rage as he rounds the table and holds it to her throat. She isn't scared - being scared is for meagre women, not Monarchs, and she stares down the length of the sword at him, her eyes sparkling as she counts down in her head: 10... 9... 8... 7... 6... "Go on," she says. "Strike me down. Be a man."
5... 4... 3... 2... 1...
The door to the room opens - a tray clatters on the cobbles, wine splattering across the grout in between - and her daughter, her darling Catherine, screams.
The doors to the entrance of her rooms explodes open and the guards are there. They're meant to keep her imprisoned, she knows, but, occasionally, they do come in useful. Juan roars and swings the sword.
"Mama!"
Catherine catches her mother around the waist and the two topple just in time; the sword hits, right where her head was, and catches the side of Catherine's hair, slicing a portion of hair, which floats to the ground.
The guards lunge, Catherine screams again, and Juan topples with the guards, fighting them violently.
*~*~*~*~*
City of the Vatican,
Rome, Italy,
26 October 1520
Charles is furious. So, furious, in fact, that he almost decapitates the messenger with his giant jaw as he waves the letter angrily at him. He is so furious, in fact, that he leaves part of his army behind to keep the Pope imprisoned with Pedro Álvarez de Toledo y Zúñiga, 2nd Marquess of Villafranca del Bierzo in charge, and rides home to Spain.City of the Vatican,
Rome, Italy,
26 October 1520
He had hoped this would all blow over. Now he sees, it won't.
"Very well," he thinks, spurring his horse into a thundering sprint, "if they want a fight, I'll give them one that'll make their heads leave their shoulders."
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Juan López de Padilla was one of the leaders of the Revolt of the Comuneros, which occurred in 1520 through to April 1521. That's why. You can read about it here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Revolt_of_the_Comuneros
As for Juana - well, I couldn't resist; I didn't want to portray her as insane - this is a mother first, after all.
Ooh interesting to see how events are unfolding in Castile, though John of Portugal is a dick lmao.
Book The First: Katherine of Aragon - The Pomegranate Queen
It seems that the Spanish Princess does come in handy for execution scenes...
Book The First: Katherine of Aragon - The Pomegranate Queen
Chapter X: May - August 1521
Tower Hill,
London, England,
17 May 1521
It's raining on the morning of Buckingham's execution. Accused of listening to prophecies of the King's death and intending to kill the King: Edmund can barely believe it, but the evidence had been overwhelming.London, England,
17 May 1521
"Sorry," says Buckingham, looking across to the executioner on his right. "I don't have any money to pay for a clean death."
The executioner pats his pocket; coins jingle inside.
"The man is paid," says Edmund from the crowd and every eye turns to him. "Out of his Majesty's goodwill."
"Thank you," says Buckingham and he well and truly means it; he looks across to his left and meets the faces of Thomas Boleyn and Cardinal Wolsey, who are on the scaffold to his left as witnesses to recount his speech later. He sneers at both of them and then turns away.
Members of the court watch from in front of the scaffold: Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, and his wife Elizabeth, the Duchess of Suffolk and Viscountess Lisle; Buckingham's son, Harry Stafford, Marquess of Daubney, and his wife, Ursula, and her mother, the Countess of Salisbury; the Dowager Countess of Surrey, sobbing into a handkerchief; Edmund and Katherine, the Duke and Duchess of Somerset; Mary, Baroness Bergavenny, who is heavily pregnant with her second child, and her husband, George, 5th Baron Bergavenny; and Buckingham's cousin, the Dowager Queen Elizabeth.
Ursula is crying, Harry Stafford's jaw is set, though tears sparkle in his eyes.
"My King," says Buckingham, looking up to the two of them. Henry and Catherine are watching from the upper balcony. "My Queen. I love you both and never wished you any harm. My last act upon this Earth is to offer a prayer for your long and happy reign. To wish you a son. With all my... heart." His voice falters briefly and he clears his throat so that he can be heard. Catherine smiles sadly. She knows it's impossible now - not at her age - and Henry hasn't been back to her bed since her miscarriage in France. "A son. Vivat Rex. Long live the King!"
"Long live the King!" roars the crowd back at him.
A thunder clap rings over head and one of the soldiers on the scaffold steps forward with a dry, white shirt for Buckingham to replace his sodden one with.
"Fuck off," says Buckingham and the soldier retreats away.
Buckingham adjusts himself, meets the eyes of his children, and smiles to each of them. "Proud," he mouths; Harry Stafford breaks, sobbing silently.
A clatter clunks along the scaffold as a stone rolls behind him. It's the oldest trick in the book, and Buckingham knows it. He still turns his head to stare at it, because he's condemned to death, and he wants it to be clean.
It's anything but.
The sword flies - King Henry's last 'mercy', a quick death for his old friend - and Buckingham's neck severs; blood sprays everywhere, Ursula shrieks and buries her head into her husband's chest, feeling his arms close around her. Harry Stafford's head sinks into her flaxen hair and she feels him heave with sobs.
Dowager Queen Elizabeth turns away, unable to stomach the sight of her cousin being executed. Margaret Pole merely closes her eyes at the sight of another Plantagenet descendant dead at the hands of a Tudor.
Katherine cries, burying her head into Edmund's chest. All he can do is hold her for no words are appropriate for the death of a father.
Buckingham's head rolls and lands at the feet of Thomas Boleyn and Cardinal Wolsey. Boleyn can't look down, can't bare to see the face staring up at him, but Wolsey does... and then promptly wishes he hadn't; Buckingham's dead, lifeless eyes meet his own and they burn into his soul.
As he looks up, Edmund's eyes, full of fire and fury, meet his.
For the first time in his life, Wolsey feels fear.
The executioner crosses the scaffold and picks up the head; blood splatters from it, dripping into the wood below. He holds it up, wordless and silent.
"Long live the King!" bellows Thomas Boleyn, looking ready to be sick.
"Long live the King!" bellows the crowd back.
Wolsey finally looks away from Edmund.
*~*~*~*~*
Two days later, Wolsey's heart sinks when Henry Stafford succeeds his father as Duke of Buckingham and the King burns the late Duke's attainder. He had convinced the King, after many hours of negotiations, to attaint Buckingham and strip his heirs of his lands: he had wanted them for himself.
He realises his own folly when he comes across Henry Stafford, now Duke of Buckingham, leaving court with his wife, Ursula. No-one, not even the King, bats an eyelid as Henry Stafford's hand smashes around his face with such a force that his neck almost snaps.
The court falls silent as Henry Stafford takes Wolsey by the collar and hisses his threat: "One day, I'll make sure that your head rolls like my father's."
Ursula takes his arm, somewhat comfortingly, somewhat warningly, and the two leave; a large, red welt forms on Wolsey's cheek and he feels that fear again as Prince Edmund stops before him.
"My Lord Cardinal," he greets. "I won't threaten you. The new Lord Buckingham has done that. But I will turn his threat into a promise. Remember this, My Lord Cardinal: I am the King's brother. I will always have more influence over him than you will." He gives a malicious grin. "I do believe you bow to Princes, do you not?"
Wolsey curses himself for forgetting and bows.
*~*~*~*~*
Ribiera Palace,
Lisbon, Portugal,
17 - 18 June 1521
Eleanor is dreaming of Spain, of the smell of the court, of the wind on her cheeks - she moans, her beautiful face crinkles, and the pain hits her like someone has just dropped a tonne of bricks onto her stomach. Her eyes shoot open and she screams and kicks back the bed quilt - water and blood seep from between her legs.Ribiera Palace,
Lisbon, Portugal,
17 - 18 June 1521
It's time - their son, the son that has let her hardly sleep for the last nine months, is coming. Their little Prince.
It feels like someone is trying to rip her open and the pain almost knocks her into unconsciousness.
Fifteen hours - that's how long she's there for; Isabella counts every one that passes - fifteen hours of screaming and water and blood as Eleanor is almost ripped apart by the child forcing itself into the world. It's the moment Isabella declares to herself that she will never scream when her time comes, for the shrieking of her sister-in-law (and former step-mother) is positively monstrous: "GET HIM OUT OF ME!"
"Calm, Eleanor," Isabella soothes, wiping her sister-in-law's forehead.
Eleanor grasps her by the collar and they're face to sweaty face. "DON'T TELL ME TO BE CALM!" Eleanor roars at her, shaking her violently, utterly wild. "GET! HIM! OUT! OF! ME!"
"It comes!" cries the midwife.
"He's almost here..." soothes Isabella. "Push!"
Eleanor pushes with all her might and gives a scream so loud that, in Spain, her mother, Joanna, looks up in confusion at the sound.
Blood soaks everywhere, staining Isabella's dress and the white sheets of the bed, and Eleanor faints, totally unconscious, back into the bed as her child erupts into the world.
"It's here!" cries Isabella, slapping her awake.
Eleanor can't help but laugh. "Let me see him!" she orders, holding out her arms as her vision begins to reform in front of her eyes.
The awkward silence that fills the room, even from her sister-in-law, is enough to tell her that something is wrong. "What is it?" she asks. "Is he alive?"
"Yes," says Isabella, handing the bundle of blankets to her. "She's alive."
A girl.
The truth hits Eleanor harder than her fifteen hour labour and she flops back into the bed. After everything - after every prayer, despite two new chapels built in God's honour - it's a girl. A useless girl.
John comes to visit her once she's been cleaned and changed. He's disappointed at a daughter, until he sees the dark hair and blue eyes staring up at him. She's going to be a strong one, he knows. He's certain of it. He'll make her a Queen.
"Next time it will be a boy," Eleanor declares.
"Hush," he says. He doesn't want to think of next time yet - that can wait until Eleanor is able to return to his bed - and strokes her hair. "Call her Eleanor," he says, rising. "After her mother. I must tell the court."
He leaves her behind, bowing to his sister as he leaves.
*~*~*~*~*
Royal Castle,
Westbank of the Danube,
Buda, Hungary,
15 July 1521
She's not displeasing, not to him at least: Dark hair and eyes sparkle and a slightly large chin elongates her face. Her breasts are considerable and she's shorter than he is and soft and round with plumpness.
She drops into a curtsy before him. He steps forward and helps her rise, knowing all eyes are on them, knowing that the nobles expect him to fail, and does everything right: he bows to her, helps her rise to her feet, takes her face in his hands, and kisses her passionately.
God, how he wants her. He doesn't care that bedding a wife for being attractive, rather than just producing children, is against God's laws.
He doesn't care: he wants her naked in his bed, growing stout with his children.
Then, he remembers: she is his wife - tonight, he can have her.
Again and again and again, he can have her.
And, together, they will make beautiful children and make Hungary a force to be reckoned with in the world.
For Mary's part, Louis is not at all displeasing; he's taller than she is, despite being ten months younger - barely fourteen to her almost fifteen - and broad chested with dark hair and blue eyes; his hair is cropped relatively short and his chin is shaved. All in all, in her eyes, a pleasing sight.
She barely bite backs her moans as his hands move to her waist.
*~*~*~*~*
"Your Majesty," George of Brandenburg-Ansbach, the Margrave of Brandenburg-Ansbach, regent of Hungary until King Louis is of age, steps forward to the young King. "Consummation must be witnessed."
"You can have the bed sheets in the morning if you must!" Louis barks at him: not tonight - tonight is between him and Mary. No-one else is watching. Not tonight. Not ever.
George bristles at the dismissal and, as usual, expects Louis to capitulate at his glare.
Louis doesn't - and won't - anymore; he's not a boy anymore - he's a man, now. He's got a wife in his bed, for God's sake; he'll have a son in the cradle within a year. He is not a child: he is a King. He steps forward, puffs up his chest, and stares George down. "Get out."
Terribly shocked at the dismissal - Louis has never spoken to him like that before - and reluctantly admitting defeat, George leaves, taking the other witnesses with him.
Now alone, Louis smiles to himself and turns to the bed. He waves for a servant, who undresses him, and, when he and Mary are alone, climbs into the bed.
"Have they told you what to expect?" he asks.
"Yes," she says, staring up at him from the pillow as she runs a hand across his hairless chest and grips his arm in fright. "They say it will hurt."
"Not if it is done properly," he says. He smiles and props himself up on his right arm, placing his right hand against his face. He lifts his left hand and unties the lacing keeping her chemise attached to her. They're alone, he knows, and though he wants her, though he wants to rip the chemise off her and make her his, he knows he cannot frighten her.
He pulls the chemise off her; she smiles, leans up and kisses his cheek.
He smiles and tips her back into the bed again, then reaches up and strokes her hair. Nose to nose, so close that he can feel her breath on his face, he straddles her.
"I'll be gentle when I put a son in you," he says.
And he leans down, kisses her, and lowers himself as he pulls the quilt up and over them.
Her eyes roll back in her head in pleasure as he does so, and it's the greatest feeling she's ever felt.
"Yes," she thinks, as Louis makes her his. "I will be happy here."
*~*~*~*~*
City of the Vatican,
Rome, Italy,
August 6 1521
City of the Vatican,
Rome, Italy,
August 6 1521
Giovanni di Lorenzo de' Medici, usually and more commonly known as Poe Leo X, finally gives in. He is too old, too ill, and too fat to keep resisting: he's already dying. Oh, his physicians say he will recover, that he is just too fat and suffering from gout, but he isn't stupid - far from it, in fact; he is, after all, a Medici, and no Medici, barring his older brother, Piero, has ever been an idiot - and he knows what death looks like, he was there the day that his father croaked his last, broken and battered and riddled by gout and the disobedience and betrayal of Florence. This is not just gout: this is death approaching.
He no longer has strength to keep resisting, given that some days just breathing is a chore - his successor, whomsoever that is, can pick a fight with the young Emperor if they want.
For his part, he is done.
"What do you want?" he asks Charles, who comes before him.
Charles slams the document down onto Leo's desk and he sighs as he get's Charles's answer: Charles wants to defy God and marry a woman who, in God's eyes, is his grandmother.
"I will grant your request," he says, and it hurts - no Medici has ever been so disgraced, barring his idiot brother, Piero, who's mess he'd had to fix with the reclamation of Florence - but there's no other option. "But, when I do, these are my terms."
He clicks his fingers and one of the servants places another document on the table. As much as Leo is displeased at having to capitulate, as much as he can hear his father screaming "DISGRACE!" over his shoulder, as much as he can hear Piero cackling nastily at his capitulation and humiliation, he knows that this is the way to stop the French.
Charles picks up the document and reads over it: Milan and Genoa are to be taken from France on the command of the Pope and returned to the Empire while Parma and Piacenza are to be given back to the Pope, to the Medici, on the expulsion of the French. Florence and the Medici are to be taken under his protection and the Pope will crown him Emperor, at last, and make him King of Naples while he is to punish all enemies of the Catholic faith.
It is going to be expensive and he knows it - the cost of ten thousand Swiss, to be born equally by him and the Pope - is going to cost an arm and a leg, but the chance to rub failure in the face of that big nosed bastard, Francis, and the fat little French King, Louis, is too much for him to resist, especially with France about to be excommunicated. They're already at war in Navarre - a victory on Spain's part - and the rebellion in Castile has been snuffed out, barring one annoying woman, whom he will deal with himself on his return.
Charles reaches for the quill, dips it in ink, and hands it to Leo. He falters, just for one moment, for one furious moment when his Medici pride rises, but, finally, sighs in defeat and signs the document.
Charles takes the quill for himself and scrawls his own signature on it.
It is done; Charles grins smugly, confidently, victoriously, and everything is filed and announced: Charles has his marriage, Leo is defeated... and no more defiance will be tolerated.
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1520 - Henry, John, and Charles asks for their respective marriage issues to be fixed
1520 - John gets his dispensation
1521 - Charles wins his dispensation
But it isn’t till 1528 that Henry gets his dispensation ?
I feel like John and Charles getting their dispensations would make Henry more impatient
1520 - John gets his dispensation
1521 - Charles wins his dispensation
But it isn’t till 1528 that Henry gets his dispensation ?
I feel like John and Charles getting their dispensations would make Henry more impatient
Every known portrait of Louis had him depicted with blue eyes, for example the one made by Hans Krell attached to the post by me, probably most accurate in depicting Louis in TTL 1520-1521 (his childhood portrait depicts him as straight up-redhead, but his hair darkened with age), because it was made in OTL 1522
Attachments
You'll see why Henry doesn't get his dispensation soon. You will know why within the next 2/3 chapters, depending on whether I cut on to make it shorter.
Good to know; I could only find images of him with dark eyes. I'll edit it now.
Were they really portraits of him? Wiki contains three of them and all of them have blue eyes, as he did IRL.