Don’t listen to him, please your readers and let France burn.
The Sunne in Splendour: A War of the Roses Timeline
- Thread starter pandizzy
- Start date
I have no desire in me to just do something just to please others.
Then do it because the House of York are the protagonists of this TL.
Also to avenge the loss of our European lands and the Anglo-Portuguese Alliance (Thank you Margaret, when Louis dies don't come begging us to support your Regency).
Most importantly, Magdalena of England demands the promised dowry of Madelaine de Valois (which includes the Duchy of Normandy and I think? Anjou as well but not sure)
Most importantly, Magdalena of England demands the promised dowry of Madelaine de Valois (which includes the Duchy of Normandy and I think? Anjou as well but not sure)
You mean princess magdalene? All she cares about is her betrothed and a future imperial crown on her head.
July 1478.
July 1478. Westminster Palace, England.
Thump thump thump.
His feet hit the floor with muffled thuds, covered by fine leather in the shape of fashionable crakows. As he walked, people moved away from his path and Ned could not keep from being slightly embarrassed by it.
He was used to it in Ludlow, where those who bowed and curtsied to him were servants and companions that had been in his life for years, but to see strangers treat him as if he was something else, even if he was this something else, was discerning. He walked through the corridors calmly, even though all he wanted was to return to Wales before anyone could see how flushed his cheeks were.
It had been years since he last set foot in the capital, since he saw any member of his family or the many courtiers that preferred not to make the trek to Ludlow. He thought he was around ten years old then, a celebration of some sort, maybe when one of his siblings was born, though he could not recall. Either way, he knew he had changed. It was practically impossible for a boy of his age not to change during the passage of time, but Ned was still rather surprised by the incredulity in their eyes. They curtsied and made bows to him, as the Prince of Wales, but their faces were not full of familiarity, like they were if his mother had been the one to walk through. Instead, they looked at him as if he were a stranger, and he practically was, judging by their wide eyes of surprise at how much he had grown.
It made Ned wonder how his mother would react when she saw him. He was taller now, more like a man than a boy, with his hair reaching his shoulders in straight strands of brown, practically black, hair. There was still some boyish innocence to him, which the true men in and around his way were quick to notice, with his ruddy round cheeks being the most obvious sign, but he was well on his way to manhood. On his next birthday, Ned would be considered officially of Canon age, even if Parliament had named his mother to rule as regent in case his father died before he turned eighteen.
But that didn’t matter. He was thirteen now. Practically, an adult. Sir Richard Herbert, his guardian at Ludlow, had officially assigned a groom to care for his facial hair once a week last season and that was an extremely exciting thing. Ned knew other men usually shaved every other day, but once a week was already a good start. He was a man, even if he wasn’t fourteen yet.
And he hoped his mother would see it. She always treated him kindly whenever they saw each other, kissing his face and hands as she moaned about how much he had grown. Ned hoped she would see that he was no longer the little boy they placed on her breast thirteen years before, but rather, someone who would bring a golden age to England.
He took a deep breath and looked at Sir Richard. His guardian walked beside him, ready to give the Queen his reports about Ned’s growth and education with a serious gaze, but when he looked down and his eyes met Ned’s, Sir Richard winked at him. The Prince looked forward again, still walking and he felt much better. More relieved.
Even if his mother called him a little boy, even if people treated him as if he was someone other than Ned Plantagenet, he would be fine.
The guards positioned at the doors to his mother’s chambers allowed him to enter even before he could request it. Ned paused for a brief moment, wondering whether they had been warned of his coming or were told to always allow his passage, since he was the Prince of Wales.
But he continued walking before anyone could notice his musings. Ned knew there were more important things to do than ponder what sort of orders her guards had received. In fact, the orders didn’t matter to him, only to the guards and their superior. And maybe to his mother, but Ned didn’t think there was ever a moment where she needed to worry about her own guards ever since she came to England. His mother was loved, he knew it. When he was travelling down the Thames by barge, the people shouted out her name alongside his and his father’s.
Thus, he simply walked through, more concerned with seeing his mother than thinking about what sort of orders her guards had received.
He entered her antechamber, removed from her bedchambers by heavy wood-panelled walls and the first thing he saw was his mother’s ladies removing themselves from his path as he walked in. There were many present, at least twenty as far as he could see, giving him deep curtsies as befitting the royalty. Ned didn't concern himself with them, much preferring to look for his mother.
And his eyes found her quickly. She was sitting under a red canopy with cloth-of-gold, wearing a simple blue and brown dress with jewels of amber and a tall white headdress. His heart raced with a deep and childish longing for her embrace, his entire body itching for motherly love that only grew when she raised her head to look at him.
Her blue eyes sparkled and a large smile broke across her face. "My Edward," she breathed out.
From his place by the door, Ned quickly removed his hat to bow to her, seeing his companions do the same before he walked forward. When he was by the steps leading to her carved seat, he bowed once more.
"Lady Mother, I beg for your blessing on this saintly day," he said, still looking down. The day was July 3rd, the feast day of St Thomas the Apostle and Ned was well aware of keeping his voice calm and words concise at that moment.
"I give my blessing freely," his mother answered.
She offered him her hand and Ned did not hesitate to take it, kissing her knuckles and the ring on her index finger. His mother had small hands that felt childlike between his long fingers. Ned flushed.
Were his hands always so large? Maybe not. As he grew into manhood, it seemed to him that his hands and feet grew before the rest of his body. Perhaps, it was simply a trick upon his eyes, from having gone so long without seeing his mother that he forgot the difference between them.
"How I have missed you, Ned. Look how much you have grown," she said with a breathless smile. His mother stood up and climbed down the steps to stand next to him, bringing her hands up to touch his face. She stroked his cheeks, rubbing the tears that were sliding down his cheeks with her thumbs.
It was at that moment that Ned was finally able to see how small his mother was. He was at least half a foot taller than her, and she was just five foot two in her best days, stretching on her feet to look bigger. She had always been small; Ned remembered seeing her next to his father, who was practically a giant, and how tiny she'd look.
Once, he heard Uncle George joke that it was a miracle his mother could still walk the day after his father visited her bedchambers. Ned was too young to understand it at the time, but now, just the memory of it made his cheeks flush.
"My Edward," she murmured, tracing her fingers through his face as if she wanted to commit it to memory. "How are you? Well? Studying?"
Ned nodded and Sir Richard behind him stepped forward to speak. "All his tutors have nothing but praises to say about the Prince, Your Grace," he said. "Edward excels in Latin and French and he has a good head for numbers."
"Really?" His mother turned to look at Sir Richard, but her hands remained on Ned, sliding down to grasp his fingers. "And history? Geography? I believe I also instructed for tutors to be found for politics. My son must be good with diplomacy."
As Richard sang his praises, Ned bowed his head, feeling embarrassed that they were talking about him in front of him. His cheeks were still burning and he stepped forward, placing a gentle and bold hand on his mother’s shoulder.
“Mother,” he murmured, dragging the attention back to him, “If I may ask, where are my brothers and sisters? I so long to see them.”
His mother smiled. Her children were always a point of pride to her.
“Ed arrived yesterday,” she murmured. Ned nodded. His brother Edmund was a ward to the Countess of Warwick, as he was betrothed to her granddaughter, the Countess of Salisbury. “We are expecting Dickon next week, but the girls are all here.” Her eyes were full of wisdom as she turned to him, adjusting the lapel of his collar. “Blanche is here as well.”
Ned nodded, though he felt all blood run out of his face. Blanche of Lancaster, his wife. His eight-year-old child bride. Just the idea of it made him feel ill, but Father had made him. She had a claim to the throne and it would unite the lines of York and Lancaster, ending all conflict. It was a sensible union, but Ned much preferred to be married to someone closer to him in age.
Even Dickon was closer to her in age than him! And he was only the fourth child of their parents.
Blanche was too young. She was pretty, yes, there was no other child more beautiful than her, but she was still a child. It would take another ten years before Ned could even consider her as his wife.
“Lionel is here, however,” his mother continued, not noticing his thoughts. “Your little brother. Would you like to meet him?”
Ned nodded, smiling. He had never seen his youngest brother, not even travelling to London when he was named the Duke of Bedford soon after his birth. His mother had not been pleased by it, that was once George’s title, but George had been dead for many years. He was excited to finally see him. Ned loved all his siblings.
“Please,” he murmured.
Ned seems like a sweet, sensible boy. Hopefully he will do well as king with Blanche by his side.
Well, Ned has been raised to be a sweet and sensible boy. His mother really doesn't want him to be like his namesake.
Ten years, Ned? Really? More like seven at the most, I suspect. Or even four/five. Your father married your brother of York off at 4 years old OTL and this match is about securing peace in England. He's not going to wait a minute longer than he has to to wed you to Blanche, even if you don't consummate the marriage for a couple of years.
But it's nice to see our Prince of Wales growing up and beginning to take his responsibilities seriously. Lovely chapter.
I think you're forgetting that Ned and Blanche are already married.
Fair, but I still think that ten years is stretching it from Ned. He must know that his father will want him and Blanche to start a family as quickly as possible...
Yes, I do not think they will wait until Blanche is 18 for them to consummate the marriage.
Ned amd Blanche are the ones who have to be comfortable with their ages to consummate it. Edward 4th cant do shit about it.
He can certainly pressure them and arrange a consumption ceremony. Heck, he could even stay in the bedroom, like Francis I did with Henri II and Catherine de Medici. I do not see why Ned or Blanche would want to wait that long anyways, especially since they both seem intelligent enough to understand the necessity of an heir to both the Houses of York and Lancaster.
Let's focus on Ned being a nice guy, respectful of his wife's age for the moment, who wants to be taken seriously as a grownup and is doing his best to prove himself.
I for one am very excited for the reign of Edward V.
Please don't kill him.
I for one am very excited for the reign of Edward V.
Please don't kill him.