The Sunne in Splendour: A War of the Roses Timeline
- Thread starter pandizzy
- Start date
Yeah that's fair, I just think the Valois would also be concerned at the prospect of the Habsurgs gaining more land too
Has Casimir IV died early ITTL? Also, glad to see that Anne is healthy but I’m worried that ttl may be in for a smallpox epidemic…
August 1476.
August 1476. Château Royal de Blois, France.
The disease swept across Europe without any delay, uncaring of who it hit or affected. It reached France in less than three months after the newest bout of smallpox first appeared in Poland, brought by merchants and peasants fleeing the cloud of infection. For their safety, the royal family left Paris and the court was dismissed. Queen Margaret and her children were sent away to Blois and the King rode even further away to Gascogne with only a handful of trusted servants and advisors to tend to him.
It was a royal command and the entire Christian world clutched their throats, fearful of losing their lives or the lives of their loved ones to the disease that had killed so many in the past.
As the carriage rolled to a stop, Margaret of York could feel every bone in her back, her entire being aching after so many hours in the same position with her large pregnant belly pending her forward. She was tired, exhausted, deprived of volition to do anything but yawn.
However, her children did not seem to share her exhaustion. In fact, they were the total opposite. Charles and Louis, her older sons, ran out as soon as the door was open, unable to wait for a helping hand. After being cooped up for hours, with not even the game of 'Find a white horse' alleviating their need for entertainment, they were eager to play and run in the château of their younger years.
Charles was six and he walked with the strength and valour of his age, long dark hair flowing with the wind. Louis, three, ran behind him and four-year-old Margot, ever the little princess, waited for one of the knights accompanying them to offer her a hand out of the carriage before she too ran behind her brothers. Philippe, however, was just two and he was sleeping in the arms of his nursemaid, too exhausted by the heat and the trip to go play as well. The nursemaid waited for Margaret to climb out of the carriage before she too left.
The Queen of France waddled forward, her belly pending forward. She was just two days before her confinement when news of a village in the border with Burgundy falling to the disease came and Louis, still weak from his latest stroke, ordered her to leave. It was for her safety, she knew it was, and yet she did not enjoy leaving the centre of power. Leaving her husband.
And she was not feeling well. It was bound to happen after so many hours in a carriage, travelling across France with a child ready to be born deep in her womb. Margaret ignored the warm greetings of the steward and led herself to the royal apartments, kicking her shoes off as soon as she was able.
Her feet were swollen and she untied her coat, shrugging it off. A maid came to help her remove her outer gown and when she was just in her kirtle, feeling much freer and more at ease in her own skin, Margaret sent her away. She sat at the bed, putting her aching feet up as she leaned her back against the many pillows.
She was so tired and exhausted that it didn't take long for her to sleep a dreamless sleep, her covers kicked off to stop her from dying in the suffocating heat of August.
Their stay in Blois would be long.
--
Tower Hill, England.
It was raining on that cold morning, a slight drizzle falling over him that seemed to promise something more over the following hours. John Neville walked down the road to his death with his head held high, as dignified as he could possibly be.
In truth, John was scared. Terrified. He did not wish to die, he had hoped his treason would be forgotten with George's death, but the man had given him one final gift. He condemned him. He killed him.
When he climbed up the scaffold, John tried to remain calm. He had told Isabel not to attend the last time he was able to see her. He told her to take the children to her father's house. Edward had promised him they would be left unharmed and George would remain Earl of Worcester, with half of the Neville fortune entitled to him in return for John's cooperation.
The other half would go to the crown, of course, but George could remain comfortable for the rest of his life. He'd marry Bess Plantagenet, it was a foregone decision, but he could lead a good life. There was still time for the Nevilles to ascend even higher in the world. If anything, the Nevilles still had time.
John stared at the crowd before him. Serious faces with slight wrinkles between their brows, wanting this entire spectacle to be over before the rain got worse so they could return to their lives and their dry homes.
"Good people of London," he began. John coughed, nervous wrecks tying his throat into knots. "Good people of London, I have come here to die, for I have grievously sinned against the King, my sovereign lord and yours." Perhaps he ought to die with a show of defiance, to curse Edward and the world, but he couldn't. The image of Isabel and his daughters clinging to each other as he was arrested stopped him. They were still alive and he couldn't risk them. "I pray for the King to forgive me and mine, for he has been to me the gentlest and most loving kin. Hopefully, by my death, I atone for the mistakes I have made."
He took another deep breath. His hands were shaking, his skin cold and clammy. Freezing tendrils of fear wrapped around his heart.
"I ask only that you pray for my soul," he continued, "To judge me kindly. Now, I take my leave of this world and of you, without cause of fear or nerves."
With a final nod at them, John knelt.
Oh no I really hope most of the characters here are unscathed from the smallpox! And damn, John at least went out with grace, knowing that his family is safe, and perhaps if his son proves himself to be very loyal, he may be rewarded one day..
November 1476.
November 1476. Greenwich Palace, England.
The child was beautiful, with a perfect little nose and round rosy cheeks. She peacefully slept in her mother's arms, stomach heavy with milk, tightly swaddled in white and blue. Edward sat beside Isabella as she brought their daughter to him, carefully moving so as not to rouse her.
He took the baby in his arms, experienced hands supporting her soft hand and back. She shifted slightly, whining at the back of her throat before she settled back on his lap. There was a tuft of dark hair covering the back of her head and when she blinked her eyes open, Edward saw their deep green colour.
“She is beautiful,” he murmured, touching her soft cheek with his knuckles as gently as he could. Isabella nodded, taking a deep gulping breath.
“She is, isn’t she?” said the Dowager Countess with a mournful tone. "The most beautiful girl in the entire world."
Edward nod. The girl was more beautiful than any other of his children. Perhaps not as much as Bess, of course, but twelve long years had passed since his illegitimate daughter was born and he could scarcely remember her face so soon after birth.
"She needs a name," the King said, mulling it over.
"She does," Isabella responded with a smile that was at odds with the silver tears sliding down her face. "Eleanor, for our ancestor, Leonor de Castilla." Isabella's mother was Anabella Stewart, who was the daughter of Joan Beaufort. She too was a descendant of Edward III and those that came before him.
"Eleanor," said Edward as he nodded, savouring the name in his head. "I like it. Lady Eleanor Plantagenet." Baby Eleanor let out a soft and gentle sigh, her rosebud of a mouth parting to allow the air out in what seemed like an almost smile and Edward chuckled. "I think she likes it."
"Of course, she does," said Isabella, adjusting herself so she could sit up. "It's a beautiful name for a beautiful girl, isn't that right, Nell?"
Edward held his breath when Isabella touched his neck with her hand, leaning her head against his. Nose to cheek, forehead to temple. He could hear the sobs rocking her body, feel the slight wrinkle between her brows and Edward wondered what was the cause of her sorrow.
"We are a family now," Isabella whispered as Nell fell into a deep sleep in his arms, perfectly content. The words hit him carefully and Edward said nothing. He couldn't say anything. "I love you."
"I love you too," said Edward. He touched her cheek, her lips and their mouths met. "I love you too and I shall care for you both."
They kiss again, almost forgetting about everything else in the world driving them apart. Almost.
--
December 1476. Palace of Westminster, England.
By the end of the year, the pandemic of smallpox had reached nearly every corner of the known world. The War of Castilian Succession was temporarily won when Queen Juana contracted the disease and the Portuguese army stationed in Galicia was ravaged by it, events that were used by King Ferdinand in his propaganda - much aided by the printing press, recently arrived to Iberia. Queen Isabella and her two children fled the disease to her childhood home in Arévalo while their father used his diplomatic abilities to convince everyone of importance about his enormous victories over their enemies.
Edward, however, was not so foolish to believe and when the council voiced their opinions to support one of the two queens, he decided to ignore them. It would be better to consider someone else for the time, another alliance to be made, another friendship with another monarch.
The deaths of King Vladislaus and Grand Duke Aleksander weakened the Jagiellons considerably, who were now left scrambling for heirs. Jan Olbracht was seventeen and his two younger brothers, Zygmunt and Fryderyk were still underage. It was a race to produce the next heir, since their father was perhaps one of the first of the Jagiellonian line to perish of the disease three years previously and was unable to have more children with his wife.
Edward considered it thoughtfully. Jan Olbracht was now King of Poland and Grand Duke of Lithuania both. Only seventeen, still moldable and certainly able to be influenced by someone older and more experienced. Someone like Edward.
He had no daughters available. Of course, there was Peggy and Nan, but they were babies. Peggy was just two and Nan, not even a year. Both beauties, to be sure, but unable to produce their own children for another thirteen year in the least. Especially considering how reluctant Magdalena was in sending Magdalene to her husband in two years, since by becoming King of Bohemia, Maximilian of Austria's situation had changed and he was able to demand his bride far earlier than what was agreed. He could not imagine she would be pleased to send their younger girls to husbands before their twelfth birthday and even then, with much fighting.
No, they would not do. Jan Olbracht needed a wife immediately, who could produce a son within the year, but who? Not for the first time, Edward cursed the death of his little sister. Had Ursula lived, she would have been perfect for the role of Queen of Poland, but she didn't survive past her first years. It had to be someone else.
He had no nieces available. Annie was already married and Elizabeth de la Pole was just eight. Easily replaced by another power who could offer someone already able to bear heirs.
The idea came to him slowly, with weird leaps. He was merely thinking about his wife when he remembered she still wrote to the Navarrese royal family, especially to Infanta Leonor, her former mother-in-law. Leonor was a daughter of King Juan of Aragon and Queen Zuria of Navarre with eleven children by a French husband. Surely, she had some daughters available, isn't that right? Daughters who could be suggested by the English as someone to please all parties, such as the Aragonese, the French.
Edward stood up as the name Marguerite came to his mind. She had been rejected by the Duke of Brittany in favor of Maria of Burgundy and was around eighteen years old. With her age and her mother's fertility behind her, it would be extremely foolish to reject her.
He would have Magdalena suggest the idea and when Marguerite produced a son to her Polish husband, Nan or his Margaret could very well be his blushing bride.
Although he had been thinking about it, Edward failed to consider many aspects of the world at that moment. The disease of smallpox had not yet reached England. Life was good.
It would not last.
Last edited:
Well, that sounds ominous!
But little Nell sounds so cute! I loved the family moment!
Awww, welcome little Nell, I hope that she lives a long life, with anything she could ever want.. Edward has quite the clever plan, I hope that it just doesn't backfire on him., and I wonder how Magdalena would feel about it all?
Nell is gonna be quite the controversial character, I believe. Not in the least because I basically created her just because I wanted a certain someone to marry into semi-Royalty.
And I can't really see Magdalena not approving this. I mean, Marguerite is her sister-in-law from her first marriage and we all know how fondly she remembers her first marriage. Marguerite marrying a king such as the king of poland can't displease her entirely.
I feel like there’s a big death coming. Maybe even Magdalene or perhaps Edward or Richard.
Anyways, crafty Edward using magdalene’s navarrese connections!
Anyways, crafty Edward using magdalene’s navarrese connections!