This was sweet
I know. Little Maria is such a joy to write. She's adorable!
The Queen is Dead!: Katherine of Aragon dies in 1518
- Thread starter FalconHonour
- Start date
I know. Little Maria is such a joy to write. She's adorable!
Quite. I love little Maria. And I have always been more of a dynastic-orientated person anyway, so... *Shrug*.
If anything, I think a Katherine who's in a position to be more influential on a young Maria, as opposed to the woman in her twenties she was when they met OTL, will make Maria more pragmatic.
Perhaps a happier childhood will make Maria more pragmatic too. Let us not forget otl Mary's life was pretty much an unrelenting pit of misery.
She'll be different this time...
And with role models like Anne and Katherine, turning her into a Protestant would be fun. She has no trauma konga line reasons to the extent she had otl.
Ever since I was a kid despairing about how sad it was that I was born too late for cool things like being kidnapped by Indians or Pirates, I like to see kids end up on 'the other side'. So please, corrupt the Princess.
Not sure whether I will get around to corrupting Maria, but it is certainly on my to-do list to turn at least part of the younger generation Reformist, if not out-and-out Protestant.
Not sure whether I will get around to corrupting Maria, but it is certainly on my to-do list to turn at least part of the younger generation Reformist, if not out-and-out Protestant.
I guess all teenagers rebel against their parents in some way...
Exactly - and Henry strikes me as the kind of father who will struggle to give his heirs any real power, which in the case of Wales and Normandy, fractious regions in their own right, could be an issue...
Ludlow Castle, site of the 'Teenager Rebellion' intent of breaking away from the 'squares' in London...
I like that!
Section LXXXI - August 1521
Greenwich, August 1521
The drum beat twice, startling the chattering courtiers into silence. Every eye in the hall fixated itself on the door as the herald announced, “Her Highness the Princess Mary!”
Maria glanced over her shoulder at her aunt Mary, who nodded encouragingly. Maria put her hand on the arm Lord Hastings offered her and he looked down at her, “Are you ready, Princess?”
He was trying to smile, Maria could tell, but he still made her shiver. When he bared his teeth like that, he reminded her of a wolf, like the ones in the scary stories her nursemaids told her when Lady Bryan and Lady Bury weren’t paying attention.
But she couldn’t be scared, not now. She’d promised Mama she wouldn’t be. Mama had told her time and time again how important it was that she act like a big girl tonight. She couldn’t afford to be scared of Lord Hastings. So she just nodded and took a step forward, feeling Aunt Mary help Meg and Fanny pick up her train as she did so. Just like they’d practised.
She went down the length of the Hall with them behind her and then Lord Hastings helped her kneel down very carefully, carefully enough that she wouldn’t crush her pretty dress of dark blue velvet. Royal blue, the dressmaker had called it. With gold underskirts too.
She felt Lord Hastings leave her side and then Papa’s herald unfurled a scroll and began to read from somewhere above her head.
“Princess Mary, it is His Majesty’s Sovereign Pleasure to create thee, on this, the twenty-second day of August in the eleventh year of his reign, Anno Domini 1521, the Countess of Avranches.”
Maria peeped up at Papa, who smiled at her before lifting a crown set with diamonds, sapphires and amethysts off a cushion and holding it up high so the crowd could see it. he placed it on her head and Maria kept very still, expecting the weight. She’d been warned it would be heavy.
Papa jumped slightly in surprise at how calm she was and then he beamed at her as he held her hands to help her up.
“Arise, My Lady Avranches," he said loudly, before whispering, “Good girl. You’re doing really well,” as he leaned down to kiss her. Leaning back, he continued, “Off you go and find Monsieur Picard.”
“Yes, Papa,” she agreed, turning around and going straight back down the Hall and out of the double doors.
Monsieur Picard was waiting for her right on the other side of them.
“Madame de Orleans,” he greeted her, kissing her hand.
Maria bowed her head ever so slightly, as Lady Bury had taught her to do, “Monsieur Picard,” she answered, pronouncing the unfamiliar name carefully to make sure she didn’t make a mistake.
“Indeed, Your Highness. Shall we go?”
“Naturellement, Monsieur.”
His eyes lit up at her attempt at the French and he slipped a ring with a blue stone on to her finger, then tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.
As they turned to the door, Papa’s herald shouted, “The Duchess of Orleans and His Excellency the French Ambassador!”
Maria nearly jumped, but she knew she couldn’t show she was scared. She’d promised Mama she wouldn’t be frightened.
She lifted her head and looked for Papa at the other end of the hall. She saw him at once and kept her eyes on him as Monsieur Picard led her down towards him.
Mama rose from the dais and took her hands and she came closer, “Greetings, Madame de Orleans,” Mama said, kissing her cheeks gently.
Maria wasn’t sure she liked this bit. She didn’t like being formal with Mama. It was bad enough having to curtsy to her when all she wanted to do was run into her arms for a hug, without all this too. Luckily, Papa was soon beaming down at her as he swept her into his arms and turning her on his hip to face the crowd.
He raised his goblet in the air, “Princess Mary, Duchess of Orleans!” he roared and the crowd roared it back, leaping to their feet in a great cacophony of bench scraping against stone.
Maria couldn’t help smiling, especially when Papa seated her between him and Mama and placed the food on her plate himself, as he would do for any grown-up lady he liked.
He even let her sip at his wine, though she pulled a face at the taste. She’d never understand how grown-ups could like that.
Lionel was in bed in the nursery and she was glad, because he would have spoilt things if he had been there. He would have cried and everyone would have wanted to know what was wrong. There wouldn’t even have been anything wrong. Lionel was just a silly baby who took everyone’s attention. Maria tried not to mind, but she did. That’s why sometimes, like tonight, it was nice to be the centre of attention again. Like she used to be.
Last edited:
I don't think she'd be a normal five-year-old if she wasn't at least a little jealous of her new baby brother....
Thanks. Little Maria is my favourite one to write because she's adorable and sees things the adults don't.
Section LXXXII - August 1521
Chateau d' Amboise, France, 1521
Marguerite knew something was wrong the moment François strode into her rooms.
“What is it, mon frère?”
Instantly, she stood up, dismissed her ladies from the room, took his hands in hers and led him to the nearest chair.
“Henri has named his daughter Countess of Avranches and Duchess of Orleans. He has publicly announced her betrothal to my son.”
“Well, you know what we have to do then,” Marguerite answered smoothly, rubbing his hands soothingly.
Oh, inwardly she was seething at the King of England for forcing her brother’s hand like this, but, as her mother had so sternly reminded her a few weeks earlier, the time for her own tantrums was past. It had passed the moment little Francois had died. François needed her to stand by him, now more than ever.
With that in mind, she managed to meet his hollow gaze with a near-impassive one of her own.
“We have to formally announce it to the Court.”
“Yes. And we have to tell Henri.”
“Henri? Marguerite, he won’t understand what this means! He’s only a babe! Scarcely more than two!”
“Nonetheless, he has a right to know that he will be married. His nurses need to know too. It will affect the way they treat him.”
“It will?” François blinked in surprise and Marguerite scoffed. For an instant, she was the imperious, semi-omniscient older sister that she had once been during their childhood at Amboise.
“Do you know nothing of how domestic and foreign policy affects the nursery? Of course it will. Viens!”
She pulled François to his feet and made him follow her through the rabbit warren of their palace to the children’s rooms.
Upon entering, she made sure to embrace all the children before calling to Henri, "Henri, Viens. Your father has something he wants to tell you.”
“Yes, Aunt Mar’reet,” Henri lisped, toddling over to her. she took him on her lap and then looked up at François expectantly.
To her brother’s credit, he did his duty, sinking to his knees and placing his hands on his son’s shoulders.
“I need you to listen very carefully, Henri. I’ve just had news from England.”
“England?”
“Oui. You’re to marry the Princess Mary.”
“Pwincess Mawy?”
François was about to nod, in fact, was too far through the movement to stop when Henri continued, “The Bad King ‘augh’er?”
Marguerite surreptitiously removed Henri from her lap, at the same time trying to send her brother a warning glance, one he was too blind to notice.
Which meant he was utterly astounded when his two year old son suddenly flung himself to the ground, kicking and screaming.
“Non! Non! NON! No marry Bad Pwincess! Hate HATE!”
Marguerite knew she shouldn’t laugh, knew she was only encouraging her nephew, but she couldn’t help it. François looked so helpless in the face of his son’s stormy passion and little Henri was mirroring her own former feelings so exactly.
Instead of chastising Henri, therefore, she looked up at her brother and raised her voice so as to be heard above the child’s drumming heels and raucous screams.
“Well, at least the boy’s a patriot.”
The bite in her tone was unmistakeable.
She dropped a steely half-curtsy and swept from the nursery without waiting to be dismissed, leaving her brother behind her, white-faced and staring impotently down at his uncontrollably raging son.