An Imperial Match: Anne Boleyn marries Charles V

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1st of August, 1527.
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    • pandizzy

    pandizzy

    Milan, Duchy of Milan. 1st of August, 1527.​

    “What news do we have from the Duke and the war?” Caterina asked in the early morning meeting, one hand on her large belly and the other holding a paper detailing finances and the complicated forms of collecting taxes all throughout the duchy.

    Francesco had left her to rule as regent in his name during his absence and in case he fell in battle. In the latter, Caterina was to hold the reins of government until Lulu came of age, as their son was not even four yet. It pleased her greatly that her husband trusted her so much and was aware of her intelligence and political skills enough to know she would do a fine job ruling Milan for many years.

    It would sadden her greatly to lose her husband. Caterina had grown more than fond of her Milanese Duke since they were first married and hardly if ever had they spent any time apart, except for the days of war when he had to lead the men. Even then, though, their frequent letters assuaged the anxiety in her heart and stomach, filling her with excitement until the day he returned.

    Giovanni, her husband’s illegitimate half-brother, smiled. He had stayed behind to offer her support in the regency, as he was no military man, though Caterina thought he intended to wait for her to show a sign of weakness to take power away from her. His father had taken Milan from his nephew and though Giovanni was a bastard, he might have similar ideas in regard to her Ludovico and Massimiliano.

    “The Duke has written letters to inform that his forces, along with Spanish troops, have taken Modena and Mantua,” said her brother-in-law. “The ruling families have fled to France, where they seek the support of King Francis.”

    Caterina nodded. “They have surely lost soldiers to hold the two territories,” she murmured, eyes going to the map in the table before her. The aged councillors before her nodded, agreeing. “Is there a possibility we may send reinforcements before they arrive in Ferrara?”

    Eustace Chapuys, who had entered her brother’s service after the death of his old master in May, offered her a paper. He was the Imperial ambassador to Milan, advising her in matters that pertained to Charles and the House of Austria. Caterina read the report, detailing a number of 500 men that could be raised around the duchy to replenish her husband’s army.

    The child inside her moved and she placed a hand back on her belly, calming the boy down. Francesco’s gift before he left, a child she planned to name either after him if it were a boy, or after Empress Bianca Maria, her grandfather’s last wife.

    “It’s worth to remember that we may need the remaining men to protect Milan in the Duke’s absence, Your Highness,” said Giovanni, shooting dagger at Eustace, who had been talking in French about something regarding her husband and brother’s need for ever-more men.

    Caterina nodded. “You speak truthfully, brother,” she said. Caterina twisted her lips, thinking. “What of Florence? And Rome? Is His Holiness still in Castel Sant’Angelo?”

    “Oui, Your Highness,” said Eustace. “The Pope remains in Sant’Angelo until he agrees to the Emperor’s demands for a council to solve the protestant problem as well as to crown him Holy Roman Emperor. More else, I hear Imperial forces have taken Florence and Firenze in the name of the Duke of Milan last month.”

    Gasps were heard throughout the room as well as excited claps from the councillors, celebrating such a large victory over the Pope and their enemies. Caterina waited until they were done before she turned back to Eustace, nodding at him.

    “And the duchessina?” she asked, referring to Catherine de’ Medici, the sole remaining heir of Lorenzo the Magnificent’s eldest son. “Does she live?”

    “She does,” said Eustace. Caterina nodded. “I hear the Imperial forces hold her now in Palazzo Medici Ricciardi, awaiting His Majesty’s orders on what to do with her and the other members of the House of Medici.”

    “Write to my brother,” said Caterina, “And inform him that I wish for Catherine to be brought to Milan, so that she may wed my son, Ludovico Sforza.” Catherine was only eight and Ludovico, not even four, but they could be wed and grow up together until they are both old enough to produce children. It would help with the transition of power and prevent anyone from the church from annulling the marriage, especially if Catherine were under Caterina’s thumb.

    Eustace Chapuys nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.”

    --

    Coimbra, Portugal. 13th of August, 1527.​

    His men met in the middle of the night, gathered together in one of his holdings to discuss what needed to be said. Jorge de Lencastre, Duke of Coimbra and sole surviving son of João II of Portugal had an anxious ache low in his stomach as he observed the members of the Order of Santiago and the few still loyal to him that belonged to the Order of Aviz.

    "Senhores," he murmured after everyone had a glass of wine. Jorge looked at every person present, which included his two oldest sons João and Afonso, "It has become clear now that Portugal has lost sight of what is truly important." He chuckled. "Forgive me, not Portugal, but his King. João de Avis has allowed himself to be influenced by his wife, who wishes for nothing more than to see our proud land relegated to a Habsburg province under the rule of her brother."

    Lopo de Almeida, Count of Abrante stepped forward in the tight darkened room. "With the birth of Infante Filipe, the Queen has managed to convince the King to accept a betrothal between their eldest daughter and her nephew, the Prince of Asturias."

    Gasps rose through the room. Jorge exchanged a look with his son.

    "This would put the Spanish Habsburgs in the line of succession to the throne," Lopo continued. "Joana is the eldest daughter and with the death of Infanta Maria, the eldest surviving child. If her brothers die, she will be first in line to inherit Portugal and its dominions."

    "We can't let that happen," said D. Afonso de Ataíde, lord of the lands of Atouguia, who'd been stolen of his rightful title of Count. Jorge had already promised him the full privileges of it when he rose to power. "But what can we do?"

    "It's clear now," said Jorge's son João, the Marquis of Torres Novas. "Portugal must have a new king that can ensure his independence and sovereignty in Iberia." He whipped out his sword, pointing the tip of the blade to Jorge. "My father is the son of King João II and had justice been done, he would have succeeded the Perfect Prince. I say we see him crowned and accepted as King Jorge I."

    Silence took the room and Jorge's throat tightened, fearful of what could happen if he were to be denied. What they did was treason and if anyone were to bring word of this meeting to João…

    "Viva el-Rei!" shouted Afonso de Ataíde.

    It was the encouragement needed and soon enough, all were shouting their blessings. Jorge felt his chest puff up, thinking about his poor dear father and what he might be thinking now, seeing him high in heaven.

    "It won't be easy," he said. "It may take years for our plans to come to fruition. We must all be patient."

    "He who has waited thirty years can wait even more," said Lopo de Almeida. He licked his lips nervously and came closer, fingers itching close to the surface of the long table that stood between them. "The King and his sons must be removed, as do the royal brothers. How will we move forward about this?"

    "The Infantes Afonso and Henrique have taken holy vows," said Jorge's second son, another Afonso. Jorge looked at his son, surprised by hearing him speak. Normally, he was so quiet, so observant that to find him believing something to be worth speaking was nearly a miracle. "Duarte is a boy, only twelve and he can be removed easily."

    Jorge nodded. "This leaves us Luís and Fernando to be dealt with," he said. Luís was the Duke of Beja, but still unmarried with no sign of wishing to put an end to his bachelorhood. Fernando, on the other hand, had been betrothed to Guiomar Coutinho, a rich heiress. Jorge and his sons had tried to stop that from happening, but they failed.

    João de Lencastre stepped forward. "I shall deal with Fernando," he said. "He and I have business to deal with together."

    "Luís is an idiot," said Lopo. "He begs the King to be allowed to travel through the world and to lead men in battle. He, along with the Queen, are the leaders of a party at court that pushes for Portugal to join the war in Italy."

    "He will bring about his own end," said Afonso de Ataíde. "The royal sisters have not stepped foot in Portugal in years and no man wishes for foreigners to rule over Lisbon." Jorge nodded. "Also, although Isabella has had surviving issue with the King of England, Beatrice has failed to produce a living son for her Savoyard husband and we can very well deal with the Tudors."

    "And the King?" asked Jorge. "How will we kill him?"

    "Kill the Queen," said Afonso de Lencastre, voice sombre. "The King loves her dearly. Her death would weaken him and leave an opening for us to strike. It would also stop her from producing more children that could thwart our plans."

    Jorge nodded. "And his sons?"

    Lopo de Almeida made a face full of agony. "Infante Afonso is not even five yet and he is the eldest boy," said the Count. "Who are we if we would resort to murdering babes in their sleep?"

    "Don't be a coward," said Afonso de Ataíde. "History will understand."

    "What of the present? What of the Lord high above us?"

    "Is it more honourable to let these babies live so that thousands die in the oncoming war?" asked Afonso de Lencastre. "They are innocent now, what in the future? Afonso is already betrothed to Infanta María de Austria. Do you think she will show herself any differently than her aunt?"

    Lopo chewed on his lower lip, nodding. "Very well," he said. "I believe we must kill the Infantes before the Queen. Her Majesty was left devastated by the death of Infanta Maria. With the loss of her sons, she might very well kill herself without needing our help."

    "And the two Infantas?" asked António Furtado de Mendonça, Jorge's maternal uncle. Due to his age, he was sitting down, holding tightly to a cane. "Joana and Manuela. What shall be done with them?"

    Jorge looked at Afonso and João, his two sons and the two looked back at them. "You both shall marry them," he announced. "Let no man say your heirs lack legitimate descent from the House of Aviz."

    Afonso and João nodded, serious.

    Jorge looked back at his followers. "Senhores," he started, "When they write the history of my reign, they shall say it began today."

    João de Lencastre raised his goblet of wine. "Viva el-Rei!"

    "Viva!" the room echoed.
     
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    • Awkwardvulture

    Awkwardvulture

    Ooh, Florence may be secure, which will allow the Sforza to dominate Italy, with, of course, help from the Caterina de Medici...

    Oh my, shit's about to go down in Portugal. I really hope that the Lencastre fails in this scheme, it's such a devastating plot, no matter if they succeed or fail, much blood will be spilled.
     

    TheBookwormBoy

    pandizzy said:
    Milan, Duchy of Milan. 1st of August, 1527.​
    “What news do we have from the Duke and the war?” Caterina asked in the early morning meeting, one hand on her large belly and the other holding a paper detailing finances and the complicated forms of collecting taxes all throughout the duchy.

    Francesco had left her to rule as regent in his name during his absence and in case he fell in battle. In the latter, Caterina was to hold the reins of government until Lulu came of age, as their son was not even four yet. It pleased her greatly that her husband trusted her so much and was aware of her intelligence and political skills enough to know she would do a fine job ruling Milan for many years.

    It would sadden her greatly to lose her husband. Caterina had grown more than fond of her Milanese Duke since they were first married and hardly if ever had they spent any time apart, except for the days of war when he had to lead the men. Even then, though, their frequent letters assuaged the anxiety in her heart and stomach, filling her with excitement until the day he returned.

    Giovanni, her husband’s illegitimate half-brother, smiled. He had stayed behind to offer her support in the regency, as he was no military man, though Caterina thought he intended to wait for her to show a sign of weakness to take power away from her. His father had taken Milan from his nephew and though Giovanni was a bastard, he might have similar ideas in regard to her Ludovico and Massimiliano.

    “The Duke has written letters to inform that his forces, along with Spanish troops, have taken Modena and Mantua,” said her brother-in-law. “The ruling families have fled to France, where they seek the support of King Francis.”

    Caterina nodded. “They have surely lost soldiers to hold the two territories,” she murmured, eyes going to the map in the table before her. The aged councillors before her nodded, agreeing. “Is there a possibility we may send reinforcements before they arrive in Ferrara?”

    Eustace Chapuys, who had entered her brother’s service after the death of his old master in May, offered her a paper. He was the Imperial ambassador to Milan, advising her in matters that pertained to Charles and the House of Austria. Caterina read the report, detailing a number of 500 men that could be raised around the duchy to replenish her husband’s army.

    The child inside her moved and she placed a hand back on her belly, calming the boy down. Francesco’s gift before he left, a child she planned to name either after him if it were a boy, or after Empress Bianca Maria, her grandfather’s last wife.

    “It’s worth to remember that we may need the remaining men to protect Milan in the Duke’s absence, Your Highness,” said Giovanni, shooting dagger at Eustace, who had been talking in French about something regarding her husband and brother’s need for ever-more men.

    Caterina nodded. “You speak truthfully, brother,” she said. Caterina twisted her lips, thinking. “What of Florence? And Rome? Is His Holiness still in Castel Sant’Angelo?”

    “Oui, Your Highness,” said Eustace. “The Pope remains in Sant’Angelo until he agrees to the Emperor’s demands for a council to solve the protestant problem as well as to crown him Holy Roman Emperor. More else, I hear Imperial forces have taken Florence and Firenze in the name of the Duke of Milan last month.”

    Gasps were heard throughout the room as well as excited claps from the councillors, celebrating such a large victory over the Pope and their enemies. Caterina waited until they were done before she turned back to Eustace, nodding at him.

    “And the duchessina?” she asked, referring to Catherine de’ Medici, the sole remaining heir of Lorenzo the Magnificent’s eldest son. “Does she live?”

    “She does,” said Eustace. Caterina nodded. “I hear the Imperial forces hold her now in Palazzo Medici Ricciardi, awaiting His Majesty’s orders on what to do with her and the other members of the House of Medici.”

    “Write to my brother,” said Caterina, “And inform him that I wish for Catherine to be brought to Milan, so that she may wed my son, Ludovico Sforza.” Catherine was only eight and Ludovico, not even four, but they could be wed and grow up together until they are both old enough to produce children. It would help with the transition of power and prevent anyone from the church from annulling the marriage, especially if Catherine were under Caterina’s thumb.

    Eustace Chapuys nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.”
    Click to expand...
    Love Caterina living her best life in Milan and Giovanni had better stay in his lane and let Caterina rule or he’s gonna get an imperial boot so far up his ass.
    pandizzy said:
    "It's clear now," said Jorge's son João, the Marquis of Torres Novas. "Portugal must have a new king that can ensure his independence and sovereignty in Iberia." He whipped out his sword, pointing the tip of the blade to Jorge. "My father is the son of King João II and had justice been done, he would have succeeded the Perfect Prince. I say we see him crowned and accepted as King Jorge I."

    Silence took the room and Jorge's throat tightened, fearful of what could happen if he were to be denied. What they did was treason and if anyone were to bring word of this meeting to João…

    "Viva el-Rei!" shouted Afonso de Ataíde.

    It was the encouragement needed and soon enough, all were shouting their blessings. Jorge felt his chest puff up, thinking about his poor dear father and what he might be thinking now, seeing him high in heaven.

    "It won't be easy," he said. "It may take years for our plans to come to fruition. We must all be patient."

    "He who has waited thirty years can wait even more," said Lopo de Almeida. He licked his lips nervously and came closer, fingers itching close to the surface of the long table that stood between them. "The King and his sons must be removed, as do the royal brothers. How will we move forward about this?"

    "The Infantes Afonso and Henrique have taken holy vows," said Jorge's second son, another Afonso. Jorge looked at his son, surprised by hearing him speak. Normally, he was so quiet, so observant that to find him believing something to be worth speaking was nearly a miracle. "Duarte is a boy, only twelve and he can be removed easily."

    Jorge nodded. "This leaves us Luís and Fernando to be dealt with," he said. Luís was the Duke of Beja, but still unmarried with no sign of wishing to put an end to his bachelorhood. Fernando, on the other hand, had been betrothed to Guiomar Coutinho, a rich heiress. Jorge and his sons had tried to stop that from happening, but they failed.

    João de Lencastre stepped forward. "I shall deal with Fernando," he said. "He and I have business to deal with together."

    "Luís is an idiot," said Lopo. "He begs the King to be allowed to travel through the world and to lead men in battle. He, along with the Queen, are the leaders of a party at court that pushes for Portugal to join the war in Italy."

    "He will bring about his own end," said Afonso de Ataíde. "The royal sisters have not stepped foot in Portugal in years and no man wishes for foreigners to rule over Lisbon." Jorge nodded. "Also, although Isabella has had surviving issue with the King of England, Beatrice has failed to produce a living son for her Savoyard husband and we can very well deal with the Tudors."

    "And the King?" asked Jorge. "How will we kill him?"

    "Kill the Queen," said Afonso de Lencastre, voice sombre. "The King loves her dearly. Her death would weaken him and leave an opening for us to strike. It would also stop her from producing more children that could thwart our plans."

    Jorge nodded. "And his sons?"

    Lopo de Almeida made a face full of agony. "Infante Afonso is not even five yet and he is the eldest boy," said the Count. "Who are we if we would resort to murdering babes in their sleep?"

    "Don't be a coward," said Afonso de Ataíde. "History will understand."

    "What of the present? What of the Lord high above us?"

    "Is it more honourable to let these babies live so that thousands die in the oncoming war?" asked Afonso de Lencastre. "They are innocent now, what in the future? Afonso is already betrothed to Infanta María de Austria. Do you think she will show herself any differently than her aunt?"

    Lopo chewed on his lower lip, nodding. "Very well," he said. "I believe we must kill the Infantes before the Queen. Her Majesty was left devastated by the death of Infanta Maria. With the loss of her sons, she might very well kill herself without needing our help."

    "And the two Infantas?" asked António Furtado de Mendonça, Jorge's maternal uncle. Due to his age, he was sitting down, holding tightly to a cane. "Joana and Manuela. What shall be done with them?"

    Jorge looked at Afonso and João, his two sons and the two looked back at them. "You both shall marry them," he announced. "Let no man say your heirs lack legitimate descent from the House of Aviz."

    Afonso and João nodded, serious.

    Jorge looked back at his followers. "Senhores," he started, "When they write the history of my reign, they shall say it began today."

    João de Lencastre raised his goblet of wine. "Viva el-Rei!"

    "Viva!" the room echoed.
    Click to expand...
    Well, a lot of people making idiotic choices to defy the Habsburgs here. Can’t wait to see these guys hang after they’re eviscerated for attempting/succeeding in murdering Eleanor of Austria, the Holy Roman Emperor and King of Spain’s oldest sister.
     
    pandizzy

    pandizzy

    TheBookwormBoy said:
    Well, a lot of people making idiotic choices to defy the Habsburgs here. Can’t wait to see these guys hang after they’re eviscerated for attempting/succeeding in murdering Eleanor of Austria, the Holy Roman Emperor and King of Spain’s oldest sister. How exactly do they think this will work?
    Click to expand...
    No one said they were smart.
     

    Historymaster

    pandizzy said:
    Milan, Duchy of Milan. 1st of August, 1527.​

    “What news do we have from the Duke and the war?” Caterina asked in the early morning meeting, one hand on her large belly and the other holding a paper detailing finances and the complicated forms of collecting taxes all throughout the duchy.

    Francesco had left her to rule as regent in his name during his absence and in case he fell in battle. In the latter, Caterina was to hold the reins of government until Lulu came of age, as their son was not even four yet. It pleased her greatly that her husband trusted her so much and was aware of her intelligence and political skills enough to know she would do a fine job ruling Milan for many years.

    It would sadden her greatly to lose her husband. Caterina had grown more than fond of her Milanese Duke since they were first married and hardly if ever had they spent any time apart, except for the days of war when he had to lead the men. Even then, though, their frequent letters assuaged the anxiety in her heart and stomach, filling her with excitement until the day he returned.

    Giovanni, her husband’s illegitimate half-brother, smiled. He had stayed behind to offer her support in the regency, as he was no military man, though Caterina thought he intended to wait for her to show a sign of weakness to take power away from her. His father had taken Milan from his nephew and though Giovanni was a bastard, he might have similar ideas in regard to her Ludovico and Massimiliano.

    “The Duke has written letters to inform that his forces, along with Spanish troops, have taken Modena and Mantua,” said her brother-in-law. “The ruling families have fled to France, where they seek the support of King Francis.”

    Caterina nodded. “They have surely lost soldiers to hold the two territories,” she murmured, eyes going to the map in the table before her. The aged councillors before her nodded, agreeing. “Is there a possibility we may send reinforcements before they arrive in Ferrara?”

    Eustace Chapuys, who had entered her brother’s service after the death of his old master in May, offered her a paper. He was the Imperial ambassador to Milan, advising her in matters that pertained to Charles and the House of Austria. Caterina read the report, detailing a number of 500 men that could be raised around the duchy to replenish her husband’s army.

    The child inside her moved and she placed a hand back on her belly, calming the boy down. Francesco’s gift before he left, a child she planned to name either after him if it were a boy, or after Empress Bianca Maria, her grandfather’s last wife.

    “It’s worth to remember that we may need the remaining men to protect Milan in the Duke’s absence, Your Highness,” said Giovanni, shooting dagger at Eustace, who had been talking in French about something regarding her husband and brother’s need for ever-more men.

    Caterina nodded. “You speak truthfully, brother,” she said. Caterina twisted her lips, thinking. “What of Florence? And Rome? Is His Holiness still in Castel Sant’Angelo?”

    “Oui, Your Highness,” said Eustace. “The Pope remains in Sant’Angelo until he agrees to the Emperor’s demands for a council to solve the protestant problem as well as to crown him Holy Roman Emperor. More else, I hear Imperial forces have taken Florence and Firenze in the name of the Duke of Milan last month.”

    Gasps were heard throughout the room as well as excited claps from the councillors, celebrating such a large victory over the Pope and their enemies. Caterina waited until they were done before she turned back to Eustace, nodding at him.

    “And the duchessina?” she asked, referring to Catherine de’ Medici, the sole remaining heir of Lorenzo the Magnificent’s eldest son. “Does she live?”

    “She does,” said Eustace. Caterina nodded. “I hear the Imperial forces hold her now in Palazzo Medici Ricciardi, awaiting His Majesty’s orders on what to do with her and the other members of the House of Medici.”

    “Write to my brother,” said Caterina, “And inform him that I wish for Catherine to be brought to Milan, so that she may wed my son, Ludovico Sforza.” Catherine was only eight and Ludovico, not even four, but they could be wed and grow up together until they are both old enough to produce children. It would help with the transition of power and prevent anyone from the church from annulling the marriage, especially if Catherine were under Caterina’s thumb.

    Eustace Chapuys nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.”

    --

    Coimbra, Portugal. 13th of August, 1527.​

    His men met in the middle of the night, gathered together in one of his holdings to discuss what needed to be said. Jorge de Lencastre, Duke of Coimbra and sole surviving son of João II of Portugal had an anxious ache low in his stomach as he observed the members of the Order of Santiago and the few still loyal to him that belonged to the Order of Aviz.

    "Senhores," he murmured after everyone had a glass of wine. Jorge looked at every person present, which included his two oldest sons João and Afonso, "It has become clear now that Portugal has lost sight of what is truly important." He chuckled. "Forgive me, not Portugal, but his King. João de Avis has allowed himself to be influenced by his wife, who wishes for nothing more than to see our proud land relegated to a Habsburg province under the rule of her brother."

    Lopo de Almeida, Count of Abrante stepped forward in the tight darkened room. "With the birth of Infante Filipe, the Queen has managed to convince the King to accept a betrothal between their eldest daughter and her nephew, the Prince of Asturias."

    Gasps rose through the room. Jorge exchanged a look with his son.

    "This would put the Spanish Habsburgs in the line of succession to the throne," Lopo continued. "Joana is the eldest daughter and with the death of Infanta Maria, the eldest surviving child. If her brothers die, she will be first in line to inherit Portugal and its dominions."

    "We can't let that happen," said D. Afonso de Ataíde, lord of the lands of Atouguia, who'd been stolen of his rightful title of Count. Jorge had already promised him the full privileges of it when he rose to power. "But what can we do?"

    "It's clear now," said Jorge's son João, the Marquis of Torres Novas. "Portugal must have a new king that can ensure his independence and sovereignty in Iberia." He whipped out his sword, pointing the tip of the blade to Jorge. "My father is the son of King João II and had justice been done, he would have succeeded the Perfect Prince. I say we see him crowned and accepted as King Jorge I."

    Silence took the room and Jorge's throat tightened, fearful of what could happen if he were to be denied. What they did was treason and if anyone were to bring word of this meeting to João…

    "Viva el-Rei!" shouted Afonso de Ataíde.

    It was the encouragement needed and soon enough, all were shouting their blessings. Jorge felt his chest puff up, thinking about his poor dear father and what he might be thinking now, seeing him high in heaven.

    "It won't be easy," he said. "It may take years for our plans to come to fruition. We must all be patient."

    "He who has waited thirty years can wait even more," said Lopo de Almeida. He licked his lips nervously and came closer, fingers itching close to the surface of the long table that stood between them. "The King and his sons must be removed, as do the royal brothers. How will we move forward about this?"

    "The Infantes Afonso and Henrique have taken holy vows," said Jorge's second son, another Afonso. Jorge looked at his son, surprised by hearing him speak. Normally, he was so quiet, so observant that to find him believing something to be worth speaking was nearly a miracle. "Duarte is a boy, only twelve and he can be removed easily."

    Jorge nodded. "This leaves us Luís and Fernando to be dealt with," he said. Luís was the Duke of Beja, but still unmarried with no sign of wishing to put an end to his bachelorhood. Fernando, on the other hand, had been betrothed to Guiomar Coutinho, a rich heiress. Jorge and his sons had tried to stop that from happening, but they failed.

    João de Lencastre stepped forward. "I shall deal with Fernando," he said. "He and I have business to deal with together."

    "Luís is an idiot," said Lopo. "He begs the King to be allowed to travel through the world and to lead men in battle. He, along with the Queen, are the leaders of a party at court that pushes for Portugal to join the war in Italy."

    "He will bring about his own end," said Afonso de Ataíde. "The royal sisters have not stepped foot in Portugal in years and no man wishes for foreigners to rule over Lisbon." Jorge nodded. "Also, although Isabella has had surviving issue with the King of England, Beatrice has failed to produce a living son for her Savoyard husband and we can very well deal with the Tudors."

    "And the King?" asked Jorge. "How will we kill him?"

    "Kill the Queen," said Afonso de Lencastre, voice sombre. "The King loves her dearly. Her death would weaken him and leave an opening for us to strike. It would also stop her from producing more children that could thwart our plans."

    Jorge nodded. "And his sons?"

    Lopo de Almeida made a face full of agony. "Infante Afonso is not even five yet and he is the eldest boy," said the Count. "Who are we if we would resort to murdering babes in their sleep?"

    "Don't be a coward," said Afonso de Ataíde. "History will understand."

    "What of the present? What of the Lord high above us?"

    "Is it more honourable to let these babies live so that thousands die in the oncoming war?" asked Afonso de Lencastre. "They are innocent now, what in the future? Afonso is already betrothed to Infanta María de Austria. Do you think she will show herself any differently than her aunt?"

    Lopo chewed on his lower lip, nodding. "Very well," he said. "I believe we must kill the Infantes before the Queen. Her Majesty was left devastated by the death of Infanta Maria. With the loss of her sons, she might very well kill herself without needing our help."

    "And the two Infantas?" asked António Furtado de Mendonça, Jorge's maternal uncle. Due to his age, he was sitting down, holding tightly to a cane. "Joana and Manuela. What shall be done with them?"

    Jorge looked at Afonso and João, his two sons and the two looked back at them. "You both shall marry them," he announced. "Let no man say your heirs lack legitimate descent from the House of Aviz."

    Afonso and João nodded, serious.

    Jorge looked back at his followers. "Senhores," he started, "When they write the history of my reign, they shall say it began today."

    João de Lencastre raised his goblet of wine. "Viva el-Rei!"

    "Viva!" the room echoed.
    Click to expand...
    They are planning to kill babies; I hope Joao exterminates them as the vermins they are.
     

    ofyork

    pandizzy said:
    Westminster Palace, England. 27th of June, 1527.​

    Henry felt her stare on him throughout the celebrations for the birth of Princess Elizabeth, her lovely blue eyes focused on him mercilessly. He wanted to laugh at her bold demeanour, though every time he attempted to look back at her, to meet her eyes with his and beckon her closer, Mistress Seymour looked away with a small smile on her lips.

    She was toying with him, the little minx, and it only served to inflame his desires even more. The girl, who was around sixteen if Anthony was to be trusted, wore a gown of green brocade, her strawberry-blonde hair hidden under a golden French hood with just the utmost peak to give him a taste of what he could see later. Her plump breasts seemed ready to slip out from under her bodice, stuffed tightly in a dress that was certainly too small for her, and he often had to bring a goblet close to his mouth to hide the lick of his lips.

    He did not dance, though he very much wanted to. Instead, Henry preferred to watch her, observe her as she passed from partner to partner. First, Charles Brandon, then Nick Carew and, at last, Henry Norris. The King thought she was trying to make him jealous, smiling brightly at every man that pulled her to the floor and it worked. He was furiously jealous, green with envy, burning up at the sight of her giving her attention to other men.

    It felt like an eternity before at last, she met his eyes, mouth slightly parted. Elizabeth Seymour’s pink mouth curled into a slow smile and she dipped into a low curtsy, turning slowly so the hood of her headwear caught on her shoulder. It gave him a perfect glance at the back of her neck and the utmost part of her shoulder, pale skin perfectly unblemished. She left the great hall with one last look to him, eyes inviting.

    Henry felt a low pull on his groin and stood up almost on instinct, without much thought. The song stopped around him and everyone turned to look at him, eyes wide as if fearing his displeasure. He raised his cup of wine.

    “To my new daughter and the Queen, who rests in her confinement on Placentia,” he toasted. His guests raised their cups and toasted, echoing ‘To the Queen!’ with joyful voices. Henry took a long swig of his cup before letting it fall back against the table. “I shall retire, but the celebrations must continue! I will not see the Princess Elizabeth receive anything less than a proper welcome.”

    He left the high table, the people parting to let him through. “Good night!” he called out, good-naturedly as he left, feeling the heated gaze of his sister on his back.

    “Good night, Your Majesty!” the people responded in unison, the songs already starting once again and the people falling back into the steps of the complicated dances. Henry left it all behind, steps eager as he followed the trail of Elizabeth’s perfume, far too eager for a man of his age and standing. She made him feel young though! Young and rejuvenated, as if he were once again that rosy-cheeked lad that came to the throne nearly twenty years before.

    He found her on the turn of a corner, back against the wall. “Your Majesty,” said Elizabeth Seymour, dipping into a curtsy. He touched her hand, convincing her to stand up, though her eyes were kept focused on the floor between them.

    “I could feel your stare throughout the night, you brazen maid,” he admonished, stroking her hand softly as he did so, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. Elizabeth shuddered and he observed the goosebumps that rose on the exposed skin of her wrist. “Do you know not the etiquette of a court? Must I teach you?”

    “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” she murmured, “But the King is so handsome, I could not contain myself.” Elizabeth raised her gaze to him, looking at Henry under her pale blonde eyelashes. “What may I do to make it up to you, Sire?”

    “I think I have an idea,” he whispered, wrapping his fingers around the back of her neck and pulling her close. He pressed their mouths together, tongues tangled, and he felt the taste of wine and roasted venison that had been served on the feast. The hand on her neck stayed in place, thumb rubbing the turn of her jaw, while the one on her arm, he slid upwards.

    His fingers pressed to the swell of her breast and he cupped the fleshy mound through the fabric, tasting and swallowing down her sighs of pleasure. When they parted, Elizabeth was flushed, eyes veiled with desire.

    She licked her lips, which were swollen and red from his biting kiss. “Come, Sire,” she whispered. “My rooms are this way.”

    --

    Prague Castle, Bohemia. 7th of July, 1527.​

    After he saw Anna and the new baby, after he had his private secretary draw up the announcement papers and set up the organization for the child to be baptized in the oncoming days, Ferdinand sat at his writing desk, breathing hard. He shuddered with each movement of his chest, fingers trembling as he picked up a quill and a blank sheet of paper.

    He stared at the paper, willing the words to flow through him and into the ink before, at last, he began to write:

    To the Duke of Württemberg,

    By the time this letter reaches you, you will probably have already heard the news, but I wished for you to know it by my own hand. The Queen has given birth to a new daughter, a girl we have decided to name Anna after both her mother and the Empress, her aunt. The child is healthy and likely to live, according to the midwife and the physician that attended to my wife during the labour.

    I would be most pleased if you would accept being the godfather of my daughter, as it is my intention to one day send her to Stuttgart. I hear Duchess Johanna is with child again. I give you my congratulations, my lord, for children are one of life’s greatest blessings. I know that very well, having now three of my own. If the baby were to be born a boy, it would please me greatly to betroth the two children, which would deepen the familial bonds between our two houses. I know the Emperor would also approve of it, especially considering it would not be as difficult to find a dispensation for the match, since they would not be closely related.

    If it pleases you, Georg, I would much enjoy receiving you in Prague, or anywhere you would like, to settle the betrothal when our heirs are older and healthier. It would be very advantageous because we can speak openly with each other, and we would also be able to look at the future spouses of our respective children. That is, if you have a boy.

    Ferdinand closed his eyes and sighed. He sounded like an idiot.

    I know I would be very happy to see you again, as would the Queen, who always speaks fondly of you, as you once did her. Because of the affection between us, I await your letter with much anticipation.

    Yours sincerely,

    Ferdinand R
    Click to expand...
    I hate him
     

    ofyork

    pandizzy said:
    Milan, Duchy of Milan. 1st of August, 1527.​

    “What news do we have from the Duke and the war?” Caterina asked in the early morning meeting, one hand on her large belly and the other holding a paper detailing finances and the complicated forms of collecting taxes all throughout the duchy.

    Francesco had left her to rule as regent in his name during his absence and in case he fell in battle. In the latter, Caterina was to hold the reins of government until Lulu came of age, as their son was not even four yet. It pleased her greatly that her husband trusted her so much and was aware of her intelligence and political skills enough to know she would do a fine job ruling Milan for many years.

    It would sadden her greatly to lose her husband. Caterina had grown more than fond of her Milanese Duke since they were first married and hardly if ever had they spent any time apart, except for the days of war when he had to lead the men. Even then, though, their frequent letters assuaged the anxiety in her heart and stomach, filling her with excitement until the day he returned.

    Giovanni, her husband’s illegitimate half-brother, smiled. He had stayed behind to offer her support in the regency, as he was no military man, though Caterina thought he intended to wait for her to show a sign of weakness to take power away from her. His father had taken Milan from his nephew and though Giovanni was a bastard, he might have similar ideas in regard to her Ludovico and Massimiliano.

    “The Duke has written letters to inform that his forces, along with Spanish troops, have taken Modena and Mantua,” said her brother-in-law. “The ruling families have fled to France, where they seek the support of King Francis.”

    Caterina nodded. “They have surely lost soldiers to hold the two territories,” she murmured, eyes going to the map in the table before her. The aged councillors before her nodded, agreeing. “Is there a possibility we may send reinforcements before they arrive in Ferrara?”

    Eustace Chapuys, who had entered her brother’s service after the death of his old master in May, offered her a paper. He was the Imperial ambassador to Milan, advising her in matters that pertained to Charles and the House of Austria. Caterina read the report, detailing a number of 500 men that could be raised around the duchy to replenish her husband’s army.

    The child inside her moved and she placed a hand back on her belly, calming the boy down. Francesco’s gift before he left, a child she planned to name either after him if it were a boy, or after Empress Bianca Maria, her grandfather’s last wife.

    “It’s worth to remember that we may need the remaining men to protect Milan in the Duke’s absence, Your Highness,” said Giovanni, shooting dagger at Eustace, who had been talking in French about something regarding her husband and brother’s need for ever-more men.

    Caterina nodded. “You speak truthfully, brother,” she said. Caterina twisted her lips, thinking. “What of Florence? And Rome? Is His Holiness still in Castel Sant’Angelo?”

    “Oui, Your Highness,” said Eustace. “The Pope remains in Sant’Angelo until he agrees to the Emperor’s demands for a council to solve the protestant problem as well as to crown him Holy Roman Emperor. More else, I hear Imperial forces have taken Florence and Firenze in the name of the Duke of Milan last month.”

    Gasps were heard throughout the room as well as excited claps from the councillors, celebrating such a large victory over the Pope and their enemies. Caterina waited until they were done before she turned back to Eustace, nodding at him.

    “And the duchessina?” she asked, referring to Catherine de’ Medici, the sole remaining heir of Lorenzo the Magnificent’s eldest son. “Does she live?”

    “She does,” said Eustace. Caterina nodded. “I hear the Imperial forces hold her now in Palazzo Medici Ricciardi, awaiting His Majesty’s orders on what to do with her and the other members of the House of Medici.”

    “Write to my brother,” said Caterina, “And inform him that I wish for Catherine to be brought to Milan, so that she may wed my son, Ludovico Sforza.” Catherine was only eight and Ludovico, not even four, but they could be wed and grow up together until they are both old enough to produce children. It would help with the transition of power and prevent anyone from the church from annulling the marriage, especially if Catherine were under Caterina’s thumb.

    Eustace Chapuys nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.”

    --

    Coimbra, Portugal. 13th of August, 1527.​

    His men met in the middle of the night, gathered together in one of his holdings to discuss what needed to be said. Jorge de Lencastre, Duke of Coimbra and sole surviving son of João II of Portugal had an anxious ache low in his stomach as he observed the members of the Order of Santiago and the few still loyal to him that belonged to the Order of Aviz.

    "Senhores," he murmured after everyone had a glass of wine. Jorge looked at every person present, which included his two oldest sons João and Afonso, "It has become clear now that Portugal has lost sight of what is truly important." He chuckled. "Forgive me, not Portugal, but his King. João de Avis has allowed himself to be influenced by his wife, who wishes for nothing more than to see our proud land relegated to a Habsburg province under the rule of her brother."

    Lopo de Almeida, Count of Abrante stepped forward in the tight darkened room. "With the birth of Infante Filipe, the Queen has managed to convince the King to accept a betrothal between their eldest daughter and her nephew, the Prince of Asturias."

    Gasps rose through the room. Jorge exchanged a look with his son.

    "This would put the Spanish Habsburgs in the line of succession to the throne," Lopo continued. "Joana is the eldest daughter and with the death of Infanta Maria, the eldest surviving child. If her brothers die, she will be first in line to inherit Portugal and its dominions."

    "We can't let that happen," said D. Afonso de Ataíde, lord of the lands of Atouguia, who'd been stolen of his rightful title of Count. Jorge had already promised him the full privileges of it when he rose to power. "But what can we do?"

    "It's clear now," said Jorge's son João, the Marquis of Torres Novas. "Portugal must have a new king that can ensure his independence and sovereignty in Iberia." He whipped out his sword, pointing the tip of the blade to Jorge. "My father is the son of King João II and had justice been done, he would have succeeded the Perfect Prince. I say we see him crowned and accepted as King Jorge I."

    Silence took the room and Jorge's throat tightened, fearful of what could happen if he were to be denied. What they did was treason and if anyone were to bring word of this meeting to João…

    "Viva el-Rei!" shouted Afonso de Ataíde.

    It was the encouragement needed and soon enough, all were shouting their blessings. Jorge felt his chest puff up, thinking about his poor dear father and what he might be thinking now, seeing him high in heaven.

    "It won't be easy," he said. "It may take years for our plans to come to fruition. We must all be patient."

    "He who has waited thirty years can wait even more," said Lopo de Almeida. He licked his lips nervously and came closer, fingers itching close to the surface of the long table that stood between them. "The King and his sons must be removed, as do the royal brothers. How will we move forward about this?"

    "The Infantes Afonso and Henrique have taken holy vows," said Jorge's second son, another Afonso. Jorge looked at his son, surprised by hearing him speak. Normally, he was so quiet, so observant that to find him believing something to be worth speaking was nearly a miracle. "Duarte is a boy, only twelve and he can be removed easily."

    Jorge nodded. "This leaves us Luís and Fernando to be dealt with," he said. Luís was the Duke of Beja, but still unmarried with no sign of wishing to put an end to his bachelorhood. Fernando, on the other hand, had been betrothed to Guiomar Coutinho, a rich heiress. Jorge and his sons had tried to stop that from happening, but they failed.

    João de Lencastre stepped forward. "I shall deal with Fernando," he said. "He and I have business to deal with together."

    "Luís is an idiot," said Lopo. "He begs the King to be allowed to travel through the world and to lead men in battle. He, along with the Queen, are the leaders of a party at court that pushes for Portugal to join the war in Italy."

    "He will bring about his own end," said Afonso de Ataíde. "The royal sisters have not stepped foot in Portugal in years and no man wishes for foreigners to rule over Lisbon." Jorge nodded. "Also, although Isabella has had surviving issue with the King of England, Beatrice has failed to produce a living son for her Savoyard husband and we can very well deal with the Tudors."

    "And the King?" asked Jorge. "How will we kill him?"

    "Kill the Queen," said Afonso de Lencastre, voice sombre. "The King loves her dearly. Her death would weaken him and leave an opening for us to strike. It would also stop her from producing more children that could thwart our plans."

    Jorge nodded. "And his sons?"

    Lopo de Almeida made a face full of agony. "Infante Afonso is not even five yet and he is the eldest boy," said the Count. "Who are we if we would resort to murdering babes in their sleep?"

    "Don't be a coward," said Afonso de Ataíde. "History will understand."

    "What of the present? What of the Lord high above us?"

    "Is it more honourable to let these babies live so that thousands die in the oncoming war?" asked Afonso de Lencastre. "They are innocent now, what in the future? Afonso is already betrothed to Infanta María de Austria. Do you think she will show herself any differently than her aunt?"

    Lopo chewed on his lower lip, nodding. "Very well," he said. "I believe we must kill the Infantes before the Queen. Her Majesty was left devastated by the death of Infanta Maria. With the loss of her sons, she might very well kill herself without needing our help."

    "And the two Infantas?" asked António Furtado de Mendonça, Jorge's maternal uncle. Due to his age, he was sitting down, holding tightly to a cane. "Joana and Manuela. What shall be done with them?"

    Jorge looked at Afonso and João, his two sons and the two looked back at them. "You both shall marry them," he announced. "Let no man say your heirs lack legitimate descent from the House of Aviz."

    Afonso and João nodded, serious.

    Jorge looked back at his followers. "Senhores," he started, "When they write the history of my reign, they shall say it began today."

    João de Lencastre raised his goblet of wine. "Viva el-Rei!"

    "Viva!" the room echoed.
    Click to expand...
    Oh wow suddenly Henry Tudor looks so much better in comparison.
     
    Family Tree - Aviz
  • Index
    • pandizzy

    pandizzy

    Just so everyone remembers the ages of these children.

    King João III of Portugal (June 1502-) m. Leonor of Austria (November 1498 -)
    1. Maria of Portugal (1519-1523)
    2. Joana of Portugal (1520-) b. Felipe, Prince of Asturias (April 1523-)
    3. Afonso, Prince of Portugal (August 1522-) b. María of Austria (April 1524-)
    4. Miguel of Portugal (November 1523-)
    5. Manuela of Portugal (April 1526-)
    6. Filipe of Portugal (August 1527-)
     
    Last edited:
  • Index
    • pandizzy

    pandizzy

    pandizzy said:
    Just so everyone remembers the ages of these children.

    King João III of Portugal (June 1502-) m. Leonor of Austria (November 1498 -)
    1. Maria of Portugal (1519-1523)
    2. Joana of Portugal (1520-)
    3. Afonso, Prince of Portugal (August 1522-)
    4. Miguel of Portugal (November 1523-)
    5. Manuela of Portugal (April 1526-)
    6. Filipe of Portugal (August 1527-)
    Click to expand...
    Fuck, i forgot to add the betrothals
     
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