The Sunne in Splendour: A War of the Roses Timeline
- Thread starter pandizzy
- Start date
Oh, say for Edmund, since both Richard and Edward are already attached?
I know Edward is married to Blanche, but who is Richard attached to? Did I miss something?
You most certainly did. He's currently betrothed to the youngest sister of the Duke of Viseu, Infanta Beatriz (Manuel of Viseu was born a woman)
February 1476.
February 1476. On the road to Exeter, England.
Her lady's maid was quietly knitting as their carriage rocked from side to side on the bumpy road. Annie Holland had her head leaning against the window, observing the wild countryside of her mother's lands. It rained heavily the previous night and many trees were taken down by lightning, but most of the debris had been cleared already. This allowed her coach to travel rather calmly down the path, despite the many troublesome bumps.
Annie closed her eyes for a moment. She was tired, and somewhat sleepy, since they had been traveling for the better part of a day. Still, she did not allow herself to fall asleep. They'd soon arrive at her mother's castle and she wanted to sleep in her own bed, without interruptions and after a warm meal from Cook Theresa.
After all, this may be the last time she spent at Exeter for a long while. Annie had left the capital with the goal of returning home to arrange her affairs and things for her marriage to Harri, which would be held in two months' time. After the wedding, Annie was probably going to live in the Beaufort lands with her Duke, at least for the first year or so. Although she would be named Countess of Huntingdon, and of Exeter when her mother passed, she would also be Duchess of Somerset and a dukedom always came before an earldom.
So, Annie opened her eyes and continued staring out the window. After a moment, however, the action quickly became boring and she frowned as she scooted away. Annie turned to Mary, her lady's maid, who was still patiently knitting. Her long needles clicked together as she hummed low on her throat, brown hair tied under a dark cap.
"I do hope it won't rain tomorrow," Annie murmured. "I'd love to go riding."
Mary tsked lowly. "With the way things are going, my lady, I dare say it will." She shook her head. "Rain in Britannia is as guaranteed as bread in the morning."
Annie laughed, but quickly sobered up.
"It has been raining so much," she whispered, almost awed at the fine water drops falling on her window. "Why do you think that is?"
"The rain comes to clean England of her filth," Mary responded, the tic-tic-tic of her needles echoing her words. "The Wars have taken too much from us and the rain comes to wash away all that pain and sorrow."
Annie nodded. She supposed that made sense. Everything did look better after a good rainy day, though it had the disadvantage of ruining crops, tearing down trees and homes with sufficient force. Her mother had her tutors educate her extensively in her future role as an English landowner and Annie liked to think she understood perfectly how when it came to weather, it was never good when something came in excess. Sun, snow, rain. Perfectly adequate conditions, that’s what her mother always said allowed crops to grow. And crops grown kept the people fed and the fed people were happy people.
“I hope it doesn’t rain on my wedding day,” Annie murmured. Her aunt Elizabeth had said rain on a wedding day was bad fortune for the engaged couple. It meant there would be many tears throughout their life together, because the Heavens themselves were crying their sorrow for the union.
“God willing, your wedding day shall be as sunny as your disposition, my lady,” said Mary with a smile. Annie smiled as well, but didn’t say anything, simply turning around.
It took another hour for anything to change during their travel. Annie was utterly distracted with a book of poems Harri had given her. The author had compiled many works from the legends of other writers, including some that had been partially lost over the ages like the work Merlin by Robert de Boron. It was written in Old French, and though Annie thought she was quite fluent in the language, she had to read the text many times to understand it completely.
Because of her distraction, Annie was unable to truly understand what was going on when it had already happened. At first, there was a whizzing sound and she swatted away at the air around her, thinking there was some sort of insect flying about. Then their carriage quickly rolled to a stop, her body bending forward and back because of the sudden moment, and Mary let go of her needles to look out a now open window. Annie raised her eyes and frowned, setting her book aside.
“Why have we stopped?” asked Annie. Her heart started hammering inside of her chest. She remembered the ambush they had suffered on the road to Kings Langley, the thought that either she or any member of her family was going to die. Most of them had lived, though, beyond Baby George and their attackers, and William Boleyn had been knighted for his valour and courage in saving the Queen and the children, but still. Fear was not something one could easily forget.
The voice that came was not from the driver, however. It was a voice familiar, but very unexpected. “It’s your lord uncle, Annie,” said the Duke of Clarence. “Come out here. Let us talk.”
Mary moved as if to open the door, but Annie stopped her with a hand. “Wait,” she whispered. “I think there is something wrong.”
“It’s your uncle, my lady,” said Mary, blinking confusedly.
Annie hissed at her, “Precisely. It’s my uncle, on my mother’s lands and without warning or foresight of him meeting us.” She stopped for a moment, chewing on her lower lip. “Stay here. I will talk to him alone.”
“But, my lady…” Mary made as if to stop her, but Annie merely raised a hand, already gathering her skirts in the other fist to leave.
“Stay here,” she said, “And if anything happens, you must inform my mother.”
Mary seemed hesitant over the matter, but she said nothing. With a long last look at her maid, she left the carriage, stepping over the muddy soil as she walked around the grotesque construction to look at her grotesque uncle.
Uncle George was on a horse, with fifty men also riding behind him. Annie saw her driver holding tightly to the reins of his horses, who were neighing discontentedly as they rub their hooves on the ground. At first, nothing seemed wrong. The beasts were rather calm, if frustrated, and her escort had a faraway look in his eyes. Almost, distracted.
Then, Annie stepped forward even more and what she had thought was a light-coloured branch in the back of her field of vision was, instead, an arrow protruding from the neck of the driver. Blood gurgled down the deep wound, dark as wine, and she shrieked.
Annie turned to her uncle, tears burning her eyes. “What have you done?”
George Plantagenet only smiled. “It’s not what I have done, but what I will do,” he said, almost calmly. Too calmly for the likes of him, “And what you will give me.”
He turned to the men beside him, faces hidden by their helms. It was at this moment that Annie realized they were all wearing armour, as if they had been expecting a battle, but found instead a young girl and her escort.
“Grab her,” said the Duke of Clarence, “And kill the lady’s maid in the carriage. I will have no witnesses that can tell the bastard about this before we are safe in the de Clare lands.”
Annie took hold of her skirts and started running in the other direction, shouting out for Mary to escape as well, but her dress was too long and impractical, her shoes too proper for the uneven soil underneath her and she didn’t get very far before large gauntlet-covered hands grabbed her arms. She shrieked and shouted, kicking, and pain bloomed in her cheek, the taste of blood filling up her mouth.
Annie brought a hand to her left cheek, already feeling the rough skin born from the slap. She merely looked at the man that hit her, shocked.
“Come now, little girl,” he said in a gruff accent. “Don’t make me hit you again. You have a wedding to attend and every bride must look beautiful on her wedding day.”
Last edited:
NO. NO NO NO NO NO.
Not Annie Holland. Poor little thing, oh my God
I was ready for George to die a painful death a few posts ago but now I would like to volunteer to give it to him.
Not Annie Holland. Poor little thing, oh my God
I was ready for George to die a painful death a few posts ago but now I would like to volunteer to give it to him.
The line has been crossed, it has to be said, of things Edward will let George get away with because of brotherly love.
Honestly since I only had this idea earlier this week, probably not seen it coming.
They are related within the forbidding degree of consanguinity and he doesn't have the King's permission, so you can draw your own conclusions.
That doesn't mean he's not going to TRY...
My first reaction to this chapter was 'oh fuck', and I don't swear easily, so that should tell you what I thought of this. And I second @BriarRose We knew George was desperate to marry an heiress and Anne Mowbray was far too young. We should have thought of Annie...
