The Sunne in Splendour: A War of the Roses Timeline

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EdwardRex

EdwardRex

How is it possible to be so emotionally attached to a fictional character born seconds ago? Here’s to hoping Lionel grows up to be as strong as his namesake. Great chapter, had me at the edge of my seat.
 
pandizzy

pandizzy

EdwardRex said:
How is it possible to be so emotionally attached to a fictional character born seconds ago? Here’s to hoping Lionel grows up to be as strong as his namesake. Great chapter, had me at the edge of my seat.
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I don't know if Lionel will be physically strong, but I actually have greater plans for his individual plotline than his older brothers with the exception of our Prince of Wales Nedward :)
 

ofyork

pandizzy said:
August 1477. Windsor Castle, England.​

It was a normal day in the Queen’s confinement, windows shuttered to not allow any light in and trapping them all in suffocating heat. Magdalena spent most of her days only in her nightgown, fanning herself with the help of the ladies that came with her. She was almost permanently covered in sweat, her belly heavy and big, cooking her from the inside like an oven lit up in her stomach.

Thus, when her pains began in the morning, Magdalena felt nothing but relief. It was a strange feeling, even when the women began to move around her in order to prepare everything for her to give birth. She was in pain, of course, but there was also a resolute awareness in her. She was thirty-four, or close enough to it that it practically didn’t matter, and this was her eleventh child. Her last child.

She couldn’t do it anymore. Of this, Magdalena was sure. She was a woman that had lost much. She lost a husband, a father, a mother, brothers and sisters. When George died, she had told her that it was the Lord’s will, but Peggy and Nan were clearly a sign for her to stop. She couldn’t risk her life for the benefit of others, produce a child and heir for a husband that had not shared more than ten words with her since Peggy and Nan… Since they… Magdalena could not do it anymore.

It was late evening when she was ready to push, her eyes burning with exhaustion and need to sleep. Her cousin, Gabrielle the Countess of Cardiff was with her, though Jeanne had stayed in her husband’s earldom of Wiltshire to have her seventh child. Lady Hastings and Lady Richmond were not present, as was Lady Warwick, all three of whom were busy with rearing the children entrusted to their care. The women around her were, save for Gabrielle, almost completely different than when she had Ned, twelve years before. Wide-eyed maidens, without experience in the birthing bed who were there to find husbands for themselves and advance their families in court.

Gabrielle rubbed her forehead gently and Lady Rivers was holding her hand as the midwife knelt between her legs. Magdalena was sitting in the birthing chair, the wife of Sir William Boleyn pulling her hair back as someone else fanned the nape of her neck.

"I can see the head," said the midwife, rubbing her knee. "You're doing great, Your Grace." Magdalena nodded and when her stomach began to cramp again, she began to push. It was practically second nature to her now, knowing when to push and when to stop to take deep breaths in. There was something in her that almost enjoyed it, the last time she would ever do this, as if trying to savor it.

It took an hour, or maybe two, before it ended. Magdalena was so focused on pushing, so unaware of what went on around her that she felt the afterbirth slide out with the baby as well. Pressure eased all around her, the pain ending almost at once and she opened her eyes weakly.

The last time she had produced a child, it was for Nan. Nan was large, and would have grown to be very tall if she lived, everyone said so. Magdalena held her breath as she sagged against the chair, looking up as the midwife rubbed the child's chest.

"It's a boy," Lady Rivers said quietly and Magdalena couldn't think, couldn't feel, because she had realized the baby wasn't crying.

"Come, little one," the midwife said. One of her assistants produced a bowl of warm water and she cleaned the child in it, hoping it would rouse him. "Come on, little one. Breath."

"Where is his cry?" Magdalena whispered. "Why isn't he crying?"

"It's alright, Your Grace," Lady Rivers responded, touching her elbows. "Let's get you to bed."

"No!" Magdalena pushed her away. She took a deep breath, feeling the knot in her throat grow and grow until she could barely think. Her face was flushed with the exertion, the pain, the grief and she looked at the little boy that everyone seemed to tell her was dead. "Let me… Let me hold him, please."

She didn't know why she was saying please. Magdalena was the queen, the wife of their monarch and should have been obeyed without question, but tears bubbled in her eyes and she couldn't do anything but try and hold them back.

The midwife wrapped the child in linen and Magdalena offered her arms to take him in. He was still, quiet and her heart felt like it was breaking into two.

Then, something changed. It was subtle at first, just a slight rush against the cheek she pressed to his forehead. Magdalena first thought it was her own expression, cringing without her command, and ignored it. But there was a cry, first weak, and then, at last, growing stronger. Lungs, frozen in time, thawing and opening up to take the first gulps of breath in. A face, once dead, flush with life.

"Mon Dieu," she heard Gabrielle breath out and Magdalena looked at the boy between her arms, unable to speak. "It's a miracle."

Magdalena didn't hear it. She looked at the boy that cried ferociously now, the tuft of blonde hair that seemed to fan out around him like a great yellow mane. The lion of England.

"Lionel," she whispered. "His name will be Lionel."
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Oh, it truly is a miracle. I love that. Lionel, the Twice-Born.
 
August 1477.
  • Index
    • pandizzy

    pandizzy

    August 1477. Windsor Castle, England.​

    Lionel was an easy and calm baby, never crying for anything beyond wanting a feed or a change. He was content to spend his days in the arms of his wet nurse or his mother, dozing off peacefully against their warmth. It was a delight to have him, to see his little chest rise and fall in rhythmic motions.

    For some reason, he reminded her of his eldest brother, the twelve-year-old Prince of Wales. They didn't look at all, as Lionel had the blonde locks of his father and Aunt Margaret, whereas Ned had dark hair and the pale complexion of Marie of Anjou, but their behaviour was very similar. Ned had been an easy child as well, unlike Dickon who liked to cry and scream at any moment, seeking eternal attention. George was easy too, though he didn't like being held unless he was sick. It was a balm to her wounded soul, seeing Lionel so happy and content at being in her arms.

    Magdalena was still in her confinement and she ordered that his crib be moved to her rooms, so she could be with him at any and every moment. It was such a joy just to hold him, bathe him near the hearth and change his clothing. She was so eager to see him grow that she even chose the food for his wet nurse. Magdalena was certain that if she ate something that was too complex, it would affect the milk she produced.

    But Lionel was thriving. He was handsome, with luscious blonde curls and dark green eyes that seemed likely to change as he grew. At that moment, she was holding him near the hearth, sat on a wooden armchair, furs all around them to keep warm. Though August was usually a warm month, that day was unseasonably cold and Magdalena was unwilling to suffer any second for it. And he had to be kept warm, so as to not grow sick and die.

    Lionel had just eaten and he was half-asleep, eyes heavy-lidded as he settled in her arms. He looked content and relaxed, with a small pout on his smacking lips. Magdalena chuckled, running a finger down his round and flushed cheek in awe. He was healthy, he was strong. He'd live. By God's will, he would live.

    She was so distracted that she did not notice the door opening until it had clicked shut, heavy steps coming to her. Magdalena raised her head and looked behind her, seeing that it was her husband who came her way.

    Edward seemed serious, though relaxed, wearing somewhat light clothes despite the cold. Magdalena sighed and turned her gaze away from him, to Lionel who had fallen asleep without care in her arms.

    Her husband stepped beside her. "I must speak to you," he said.

    "Can it be at another time?" Magdalena asked. "I'm quite busy at the moment."

    "No, it has to be now," Edward answered. He stepped closer and closer until he was right beside her. "Lionel hasn't been baptized yet and he must be."

    "Please, lower your tone," Magdalena hissed. "Our son must sleep."

    "Children are like that," Edward said, though more careful with his volume. "Wake up, then fall asleep again."

    Magdalena sighed and stood up shakily, bringing one hand back to support her. Edward twisted his mouth and extended an arm to try and help, touching her elbow gently, but she shook him off rather violently. As he looked at her, Magdalena crossed the room and placed Lionel in his small cot. He fidgeted for just a moment before he settled back, calm.

    She turned to him. "What do you want?"

    Edward gestured to the door. "Can we speak outside?"

    Magdalena shook her head, still kneeling by Lionel.

    "I won't leave him," she murmured. "Lionel needs me to stay close."

    "Does he?" Edward said. "Or are you the one who needs to watch over him to soothe your hysteria?"

    She didn't say anything. Magdalena placed a hand inside the cot, rubbing a thumb over Lionel's forehead. Precious, lovely Lionel, who shall be given his older brother's dukedom as if one child gained can replace another lost.

    She heard the steps of Edward, coming even closer and felt his fingers at the back of her neck, stroking up her hairline.

    "You're pale," he murmured, softly. "When your confinement is finished, you ought to move to the south. I shall go with you, if you'd like."

    Magdalena looked at him.

    "Do you really think there is anything you can do to fix this?" she said. When her words left her mouth, she regretted them, but a queen can't injure her prestige and apologize, so she didn't. Magdalena turned her eyes away from him, back to Lionel and she sighed. "You may return to the Countess of Erroll, Edward. Return to your women, to your wine, to your boars."

    Edward removed his hand from her neck.

    "What are you saying?" he asked.

    "What do you think I'm saying?" she said, turning to him. "Lionel will be our last."

    He stepped back.

    "You are my wife," he said. "You have duties to perform."

    "I have given you five sons already, four still living, not to mention our loving daughters," Magdalena responded. "Be thankful for them."

    "Magdalena…"

    She took a deep breath, certain she would continue to regret her coming words. "We will see each other at official occasions," she said with a calm and steady voice. "I will continue to perform my duties as Queen of England, but I am no longer your wife, Edward."
     
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    • Awkwardvulture

    Awkwardvulture

    Awww, well I do think that some time to cool off will help the two get along better, Edward has plenty of heirs after all, and little Lionel seems destined for great things!
     
    happy35

    happy35

    I don’t blame her! I mean she lost two children and Edward is off spreading his seed and siring new ones! I know it must hurt and I surprise she can even LOOK at Edward without punching him in the face!
     
    pandizzy

    pandizzy

    EdwardRex said:
    Lionel is growing well, It seems. Perhaps taking a break from school other is the best thing for Magdalene and Edward.
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    Maybe. It's known of course that loss of a child is one of the most common things that leads to divorce. They can't get a divorce but you know the picture.
     
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