The Sunne in Splendour: A War of the Roses Timeline
- Thread starter pandizzy
- Start date
Yeah. I managed to fix it. Thankfully. And I also caught a moment where I accidentally called Cecily Bonville, Eleanor Hastings? You guys need to warn me when this happens!
August 1481.
August 1481. Lisbon, Portugal.
João was in her bed when the news came. After she gave birth to Duarte in the previous year’s December, her husband had been visiting her more and more seeking a third son or another daughter to save the succession. João despised his Viseu relatives, especially Diogo, who would inherit the throne if he failed to produce surviving children.
They had two sons already, and sweet dear Isabel in Heaven, but Ana knew how fragile children were. Her poor mother had produced so many children, so many sons and yet only Ana and Jeanne had lived to adulthood. And now, only Ana produced children of her own. Was that not ironic? Ana was certain.
When João had his pleasure, he moved off of her, sighing as he sat up. Ana shifted in the bed as she watched her husband pull a shift over his head, stretching his lean body with a full-belly groan. João was a twenty-six year old man with dark hair and a full beard, while Ana was only twenty and golden haired. But their hearts were the same.
"Is everything alright?" Ana asked.
João turned to her. "Yes, of course," he said. "Why wouldn't it be?"
"I don't know," Ana said, shrugging. She sat up again and slipped her own shift over her head. "It's just you're quiet. Pensive."
"It's because I'm thinking," he said. João turned away from her, but she could still feel his gaze on her, straining at the corner of his eyes.
"Thinking about what?" Ana asked. He shrugged.
"My father," he said. "They say he is ill. Very ill." João leaned his head back, sighing. "They say he might not see the end of the year."
"Do you wish to go see him?" Ana asked.
"No," said João. It didn't surprise her. After their defeat at the war in Castile, King Afonso had taken his wife and a trusted number of companions to the country, leaving the government in the hands of her husband. João had been training to be king for his entire life and his father's apparent retirement had made it possible.
He sighed again and turned to her. João smiled, his eyes taking a lustful gleam as they moved through her body.
"Come here, wife," he said, pulling her by the waist. Ana giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck so she could kiss him.
Hours later, when they were both truly sated from lovemaking, João stood up to make water. Ana stretched against the bed as she heard her husband pick up a chamber pot, trying not to think about what he was doing.
"When my father is dead, we will have a true coronation," João said. "There hasn't been one in Portugal yet." He shook his head, back turned to her. "All kings rule by the cortes' permission and a rule isn't true without their acclamation. I intend to change that."
"It's treason to speak of the King's death," Ana warned him.
But João didn't seem worried. And when the messenger came, Ana understood why. Afonso V de Portugal was dead and now, João II was king.
--
Prague, Bohemia.
Being pregnant was a terrible thing. Magdalene had no idea how her mother managed to do it eleven times over twelve years. It was no wonder the Queen had told Papa not to visit her bed anymore. Magdalene was only a few months into her state and already, she was exhausted.
The Czech physicians Maximilian employed predicted a birth for late December, four months from then. Magdalene had hardly grown a bump, but her poor feet were swollen beyond belief and she could scarcely discern her toes when she sat down. The physicians said it was because of her small frame. She was fifteen still, but Magdalene had inherited her mother's size. Queen Magdalena was barely 5'2" while Magdalene barely cracked five feet. Because of it, she showed much sooner and much easier. All the elderly women at court said so.
Magdalene thought they liked to humour her and tell her what she wanted to hear. The little queen. She was so young that no one expected her to play a role in politics, and all her affairs of state were held in the bedroom. With her husband. Magdalene blushed just thinking about it. Maximilian was a good husband. He was a king already, he was expected to become Emperor after his father died and he was half a foot taller than her, but seven years older.
He was happy about the pregnancy, as was everyone else. It had been many years since a Queen of Bohemia bore a child and it was a reason for why Maximilian had consummated their union after a year of marriage, when she turned fifteen. Even though Magdalene knew well that he agreed with her parents not to lay with her until she was sixteen. He was desperate for an heir, as was his father.
Maximilian was the Emperor’s only son, his only other child save for the Queen of Hungary. It was of great importance that he have a son as soon as possible to secure the succession and to assure the Prince-Electors that the future emperor was no green boy. But a father, with a son and a wife capable of producing more. A king who was not under his father’s heel.
She supposed that beyond the sickness, which had abated after the first three months, Magdalene almost enjoyed the pampering that her maids were quick to give her. They massaged her swollen legs before bed, gave her rich food to strengthen the child inside her belly and always were quick to brush out her hair for her if she needed to.
So in truth, there were worse fates to be had than a wife and a mother. And a queen. Oh, that last one was the sweetest part of them all.
--
September 1481. Ludlow, Welsh Marches.
"I have a gift for you," said Ned in the early morning. Kathy stirred in the bed, rubbing her sleepy eyes and he sat beside her, stretching his arms forward to hand her the black box.
She sat up, a large smile stretching across her face and Ned held himself back from embracing her. From opening the gift for her, from celebrating prematurely. Kathy gasped when she saw the glittering necklace, biting her lower lip as she beamed.
"Happy birthday," said Ned.
"Oh, it's beautiful!" she said. She placed the box on her lap, taking the necklace between her fingers. "Oh, I love it, Ned. Thank you!" She dropped the necklace and jumped on him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He laughed, supporting her with an arm about her back and didn't hesitate to respond to her kiss when she pressed their mouths together.
He cupped her face, pulling her closer. Kathy was a daughter of the 1st Earl of Cardiff, and the niece of Ned’s old guardian. It was only natural that they grew closer during their shared childhood in Wales, and then, when they weren’t children anymore… Ned broke their kiss and looked at her.
“You’re perfect,” she murmured. Ned shook his head.
“I’m not,” he said. And he really wasn’t. Ned was weak to the sins of the flesh, just as his father was. Thankfully, he was not truly married yet. Blanche, sweet Blanche, was only eleven and not yet called to perform the duties of a wife. It was well within his rights to dally with a girl his age, to learn how to produce children for when the time came to make an heir with the Princess. And Kathy… she was a good person, someone he did not deserve. When they eventually parted ways, and Ned knew they would, he'd pay a hefty dowry for her husband. To make up for his errs.
At least, there had been no child yet. It was a sin to kill the Lord's blessed fruit, and Kathy never said if she had ever suspected of a pregnancy during their weeks together, but Ned took care on his part to avoid it. He knew that his mother had difficulties accepting his half-siblings, their accomplishments. How Arthur already had sons of his own while Ned had to wait for Blanche to grow.
Ned didn't want his own children to suffer the stain of bastardry. Bess had told him about the pain of it, the shadow of her mother's actions hanging over her. And Arthur took care to keep himself loyal to the House of York, while Grace never visited court. She preferred to live in her husband's castle and pop out child after child.
Kathy kissed him again, but Ned had barely kissed her back when they heard it. A knock. Upon the door. Respectful, but demanding, all at once. Ned had scarcely sprung apart from Kathy when the door opened and his secretary stepped inside.
"Forgive me, my prince," said Walter Herbert. His face did not betray a single thought at the semi-naked woman in Ned’s bed, even though she was his sister. He focused his eyes on Ned and only Ned. “A messenger from London arrived during the night.”
“What news does he bring?” Ned asked, standing up. He led Walter away from Kathy, mindful that even though the Herberts did not mind, she was still his little sister and into his antechamber so they could speak in private.
Walter handed him a letter, the seal broken since, as his secretary, he had permission to read his mail. “It’s your father, Ned,” he said, voice informal. “He’s very ill.” Ned held his breath and Walter shook his head. “Your mother bids you to come to London at once.”
O rei está morto, vida longa ao rei!
Glad to see Magnadelene is happy with her lot in life, hope the child is healthy and strong.
Uh-Oh, Ned really's s chip of the old block. It warms my hearth he doesnt hold any animosity towards his half-siblings though.
And Please, live through this Edward, you're the Soldier King, the Victor of the Wars of the Roses!
Glad to see Magnadelene is happy with her lot in life, hope the child is healthy and strong.
Uh-Oh, Ned really's s chip of the old block. It warms my hearth he doesnt hold any animosity towards his half-siblings though.
And Please, live through this Edward, you're the Soldier King, the Victor of the Wars of the Roses!
I was not expecting to read the greatest language in the world on this website.
Me at Ned right now:
It felt appropiate to recieve the new king on his language.
Ned is truly his father's son. In many aspects it would seem, let's hope he inherited his military accumen as well.Me at Ned right now:
Ooh, nice to see that Joao and Ana have seem to have made up over his past affair and that he'll soon be king. Hopefully Madgalene will be happier than her mother as Queen, her personality seems a bit more inviting so she has that going for her at least. Hopefully Ned is able to prevent having too many illegitmate children, but I think no matter what he'll handle it better than his father, even if he is to be King soon.
Let's pray their first son Afonso makes it to be King himself.
Hopefully Magdalene will give her husband a large and healthy brood and will stand tall at his side as Holy Roman Empress.
No doubt Ned will handle it better.
Good for the Perfect Prince graduating to the Perfect King. Magdalena and Maximilian seem to be getting on well, here’s hoping a long and happy marriage for them and plenty of Austrian archdukes and archduchesses to marry off for consolidating alliances. Good on Ned for considering his responsibilities to any future bastards he has and his father’s past ambitious mistresses. Edward IV is bound to be ill considering he’s fathered 18 children. The man is like to die of exhaustion if he keeps going.
Let's hope. We still have no word on the veracity of his illness, only that the Queen thought fit to summon the heir to court.
Well Ned seems to know that it isn't gonna last, so you know it isn't.
October 1481.
October 1481. Westminster Palace, England.
Magdalena wrung her hands together as she paced about the room, her husband’s doctor hanging over him like frightened flies, buzzing together as they strove to reach an accord. They didn’t know exactly the best course of action on how to heal him. He had been bled, leeches were placed over his chest and holy amulets hung over his bed, and yet, nothing seemed to work. His fever burned so hot that she almost wondered why he hadn’t burst into flames yet.
No one spoke the words that remained heavy in the room. It was treason, even if all could see. Edward was very sick, his health practically ruined by his injury in France and the many years of eating and drinking more than he could handle. He was no longer the strapping youth that took the throne from the Lancastrians usurpers, who brought peace to England and years of good harvests. His loss in France was practically forgotten when one remembered the large pay that her brother was made to do so in the name of peace, and the many children that they had produced that could secure the succession. And the union of their son with the last Lancaster heiress to ensure peace in the coming generations.
But he was old, and fat, and a drunkard to boot, more prone to lusting over his mistresses than pondering over affairs of state. Magdalena stopped walking and looked to her husband in bed, to the men working to save his life. She didn’t know how she felt about it; Edward had gained much weight over the years, become bloated with his penchant for wine and was barely recognizable, but still. He was the King. Her husband, the father of her children. He deserved a good care. Even if he had ignored her sometimes, or outright viciously fought over an disagreement that his stubbornness blew out of proportion, she could not deny that they had good years together.
Magdalena looked away, at the altar that she had built in his rooms when it became clear that he was extremely ill. She knelt down and crossed herself, beginning to pray for his health, for his recovery and if his death was in the Lord’s plans, then she prayed for a peaceful passing. For his soul to do so quietly, whenever it came his time to leave this mortal plain. Edward was a good man when he wanted to and Magdalena knew that their children loved him. His death would hurt them greatly.
Tears burned in her eyes before she could stop them. Ned, her gentle firstborn, was just sixteen years of age. Magdalene, fifteen and pregnant with her first child already, the first grandchild born to her father’s legal marriage. Cecily was almost fourteen and they had scheduled her trip to Lotharingia for the end of February, when they could trust the English channel to behave after the winter months. Dickon was thirteen, a boy still. Then there came Catherine, sweet and gentle with a nervous heart at eleven years of age and Mimi, who was a perfectionist and eager to do her duty in her future marriage with the Duke of Rothesay, even if she was too young to marry at just eight. Sweet Ed, six, who lived in Warwick with the Countess and his cousin turned child-bride Maggie, both growing up under the careful eye of Lady Salisbury’s grandmother.
And then came Lionel… He was four. Would he even remember Edward? Magdalena had no memories of the time before she was five, only a hazy and warm feeling about growing up in the small nursery in one of her father’s castles. For some reason, she didn’t think Lionel would ever remember his father. And what a tragedy that would be.
She tried to console herself that their deceased children would be with Edward at least. George, who would be turning ten next February if he had lived; Peggy and Nan, who’d have been trusted to the care of tutors already, learning how to sew, sing and dance. They’d be betrothed, most likely, to a grand prince or king of Europe at their father’s command. They would welcome their father with open arms, she was sure.
Magdalena didn’t know how long she prayed. Only that at some point, when Edward fell into a feverish and restless sleep, she left to go eat and change her old clothes. Her other children were kept far away from the centre of disease, with the Queen having given orders for them to move to Eltham so they wouldn’t see their father sick, and she tried to keep her day busy without them. Without running back into Edward’s sick room to pray more over his bed.
The court moved silently, whispering amongst themselves. Surely, even if she tried not to let anyone save the privy council know, word of Edward’s sickness had already gotten out. They turned to look at her and she knew that they were watching her face for signs of grief, for signs of worry and she thanked her many years of royal training that there was nothing for them to see. Magdalena had dressed herself in a fancy blue gown, with a fashionable hennin towering above and a laced veil trailing behind her.
Even if her husband was dying, she was still a queen and she was going to act like it.
Magdalena had decided to attend another mass when a serving man came running to her, out of breath, bowing deeply when he came close. She recognized him easily; his name was Francis and he had strict orders on what to do after she sent a loyal and discreet rider to Ludlow. “Your Grace,” he said, coming close to whisper in her ear, mindful of her ladies behind her “The Prince of Wales has arrived.” Magdalena nodded and handed him a silver coin.
“Where is he?”
“In the east wing, my queen, as commanded,” he answered and she nodded.
“Very well,” she said and turned to the women behind her, her ladies-in-waiting who’d sooner tell their relatives than obey her loyally. “Leave us for now.” When they left, Magdalena turned back to her servant and said, “Take me there.”
Francis bowed and turned to lead her to the east wing, Magdalena walking next to him. Her heart was racing, because if Edward recovered and he learned that she had sent for Ned, then he could argue that she had committed treason. That she predicted his death and acted accordingly. Even if he was sick, anyone else who knew of Ned’s arrival, could say so. It’s why she had written for Ned to come discreetly, with only a handful of guards to accompany him and keep him safe on the road. Why she had alerted her servants to take Ned to an isolated room and warn her as soon as he arrived, without meeting anyone else on the way there.
As soon as she arrived in the east wing, and entered the apartments carefully selected, Ned turned to her. “Mother!” he breathed out, falling to his knees. Magdalena felt a weight lift itself off her shoulders, relieved.
“My son,” she said and walked to him, offering her hand. He took it and kissed her knuckles respectfully before standing up. Ned was taller than her now, had been for many years in fact, with black hair and grey-blue eyes, but he was as handsome as his father. His face was growing into his age, letting him look more and more mature. Less like a boy and more like a man. It pleased her. “I’m so happy to see you here.” Magdalena embraced him tightly.
“Mother, what is going on?” he asked. “Your letter said my father was ill.” She cupped his cheek.
“He is,” she admitted in a low voice. Magdalena looked around them nervously. Francis had left them alone as soon as they arrived in the room, but she’d be a fool not to think that walls had ears. She turned back to Ned and the next words that left her mouth were in French, “The physicians don’t seem hopeful.”
Ned nodded, face pensive. “How long does he have?” he asked in French as well.
“I don’t know,” Magdalena admitted. “No one does. He might recover or die, as far as I can tell.”
“The physicians haven’t told you anything?”
She shrugged. “They seem scared to say anything in case he recovers and it is said that they talked of his death,” she said. “But their treatment doesn’t seem to go beyond symptom control, as if they are all afraid to accidentally cause the King’s demise.”
Ned nodded, serious. "I want to see him," he said.
Magdalena nodded and took his hand, lacing their fingers together. She didn't hesitate to walk out with him, what needed to be discussed had already been said and Ned had the right to see his father.
She knew that it was inevitable, people would soon learn about his presence in London, but it could all be explained away. Michaelmas had just passed and for the prince to be with his family then was not completely uncommon.
But still, she strove to ignore the eyes upon them all, faces impassive as they held onto each other with linked arms and walked to Edward's room. Surely, some would find out the true reason for Ned's visit, and would discuss it quietly, but how could they speak of it? To suggest that the Queen had called for the heir without the King's permission and to imply she wished to ensure he could take the throne in the case of his father's death was treason as well. It offended the very image of Her Grace, for it spoke of her as someone full of tricks, sneaking around in an attempt to prevent a possible rival from taking advantage of the empty throne. Especially if Ned became king sooner rather than later. A queen was meant to be above reproach and the King's mother was above all other women, save perhaps for the new queen consort. And Blanche was just a little girl.
When they entered the King's apartments, Magdalena saw that the physicians still hovered over Edward, even though he seemed to be sleeping. They raised their heads to see who had arrived, bowing respectfully before the Queen and the prince with wide eyes of surprise, and she dismissed them all with a swift movement of her heavily-ringed hand.
Ned was trembling beside her and she kept her hands on his arms, a steady force beside him. It would surely feel strange to any onlookers, for the Queen was a small and fat woman, while her son was tall and lean, but she didn't care. She helped Ned sit in a chair beside Edward, his clammy hands letting go of her to grasp his father's.
Blue-grey eyes opened weakly. "Edmund?" he whispered, a smile cutting across his face. "Little brother, is that you?"
Ned looked at Magdalena in fear and she squeezed his shoulder. He turned back to the King. "No, father," he said. "It's your son. It's Edward."
"Edward?" The King frowned. "What are you doing here?"
Ned squeezed his hand. "I came to see you, father," he said.
Edward looked around them, confused.
"Is Richard here too?" he asked and Magdalena leaned forward.
"Would you like to see my lord of York, Your Grace?" she asked, voice formal.
"No," Edward mumbled pitfully. "I want Richard. Bring me my lord of Gloucester." He shook his head, almost crying. "Life is too short to be angry at one's brother."
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