Right about now, the only thing that can distract the Plantagenets from their internal war is a foreign enemy... and their chosen foes, the French, are currently being ruled by a boy king.
The Sunne in Splendour: A War of the Roses Timeline
- Thread starter pandizzy
- Start date
I'm honestly not too certain on what I want to do with Columbus, so not yet, unfortunately.
Damn, I hope that Madgalena is able to talk Dickon and Ned into treating one another better in the future, perhaps being a husband will cause Dickon to forget Blanche in time.
I think the POD for preventing that without serious ASBs pre-dates the POD of this timeline because you've got to butterfly away the entire Age of Discovery.
Now, it might not be Columbus working for the Catholic Monarchs of Castille and Aragon that might discover the New World . It could be Columbus working for another Kingdom - Portugal, France, England, Lotharingia - he was shopping around for Royal patrons as early as the 1480s. Or it could be another explorer other than Columbus - John Cabot, who in OTL mounted his own expedition sponsored by England in 1498 for example was already shopping around for patrons possibly to find a Northwest passage to China, and this England, if it can avoid another generation of civil war, would likely have a Crown whose finances are stronger and hence are more appealing patrons.
The incentive to find a shorter route to China was already there, and if the Caribbean wasn't discovered first, it's possible the first European explorers to reach the New World comes from the explorers sponsored by the English crown trying to find the North-west passage to China, and hence landing at Newfoundland first. Remember, Columbus thought the world was smaller than it was and China was closer westwards, which was why he sailed at tropical latitudes towards the New World. Most explorers proposing to reach China from sailing west around the time passage were proposing the North-west passage, because they already knew the circumference of the planet and hence distance to Asia was shorter at higher latitutdes.
A big POD would be John Cabot not going to Spain after fleeing Venice as a debtor in 1488, but running away even further to England, because his creditors did try to have him extradited from Valencia.
We are already in 1482, and Columbus already has made his first proposal to reach the East Indies by sailing west by this time. If this has not been butterflied away, he is now on the hunt for a patron to sponsor his voyage, and a much richer English Crown, and merchant classes because of a generation of relative regime stability means he might just show up in London soon looking for sponsors once or if the Portuguese rejects his proposal... or maybe he might try his luck in the Kingdom of Lotharingia. Though we might have to wait till 1485, since Columbus was making trading voyages through newly discovered Portuguese trade routes to West Africa then, gaining familiarity with the sailing conditions of the Atlantic Ocean at this point of OTL.
Of course the English being the first to discover the New World becomes much less likely, if the next generation of Plantangent-Yorkists devours themselves in Civil war again by the late 1480s.
At the very latest, the New World likely would be reached by Europeans by the late 1490s or early 1500s, because the Portuguese were already making wider and wider turns further west into the Atlantic by taking advantage of equatorial tradewinds, in their quest to reach India by looping around Africa. They would have eventually ran into Brazil, especially once they inevitably find the passage to India around the Cape of Good Hope.
Last edited:
Yeah, there were already European fishermen sailing as far as Newfoudland before Columbus crossed the Atlantic OTL. There's this 1514 charter in Beauport abbey in Brittany that mentions that fishermen who fished in Brittany, Iceland and Newfoundland had been paying the monks a tithe for about 60 years, so they must have reached North America in the 1450s or even earlier if they didn't pay the tithe immediately.
February 1484.
Chapter first posted on my patreon on 03/24.
Sometimes, Blanche missed Richard like a lost limb. Something that wasn't there anymore, but should be. Something that was taken from her, after one too many fights with the King caused Richard's return to his lands in the north. He sent letters to her, letters that were read and delivered to her with broken seals, and she responded in kind.
She described the white roses growing in the southern garden, the dew that collected in her bedroom's window every morning. Her mother's travels to Scotland to see her brother, her return. For his part, he told her about stags and the priest that served him with his lisp, and the way he pronounced King Edward as King Edvard. It made her laugh, how eloquently he could tell a story until her laugh turned into sobs as she remembered her own longing for him.
Dickon was fifteen now, but Blanche hadn't seen him for over a year. She tried to imagine how he looked now. Tall and dark-haired, with blue eyes and an easy smile. His brother was still trying to settle his marriage with the Portuguese infanta, though with everything that was going on in Spain, it was no wonder he was having a difficulty with it. The King of Portugal was attempting to curb his nobility's influence and he wouldn't be happy with his cousin marrying into foreign royalty.
For her part, Blanche was not much changed. She was thirteen, just under 5'6" as she had been for years. Her hair remained as bright a red as ever, with sky-blue eyes. She knew some people thought her pretty, and her mother and Lady Richmond even called her beautiful, but she often wondered whether the King, or Richard thought the same.
Though, in truth, Blanche knew that the King’s opinion didn’t matter to her as much as his brother’s. Edward had a new mistress, someone he met after he grew tired of Kathy Herbert. Blanche didn't know her name, only that she wasn't noble and that some members of the court were angry at her influence with the king. Her ladies talked about it, when they thought she couldn't hear them. And even if she could, would they truly care? She was the Queen of England, crowned and blessed, but she wouldn't be a wife in truth before her fifteenth birthday.
And if she were to be honest, then Blanche would say that she would never love Edward like she loved Richard. They were so different. The King was melancholic and serious, couldn't abide to be wrong. He did what he thought was right, what was allowed to him by the law. He had few friends that he trusted with his whole heart, a great departure from his all-loving father. And Richard was charming, always smiling. He could make her laugh like no one else, could read her face as well as any book.
Blanche knew such thoughts were treasonous. No one could suspect she was fond of anyone except her lord and husband, for such a feeling might jeopardise the entire succession. It was her duty to bear a son for Edward, a son with the blood of Lancaster and York. A rose, with white and red blooming petals.
The Lord chose her to be Edward's wife, not Richard's. She would have to hold her tongue and kill her love for him, it was the only way.
Her fingers moved delicately over the white Harpsichord keys, playing a song that her music teacher taught her. Lady Richmond sewed by her side, calmly going through the motions to fill up her days. The Queen’s household was usually a boring environment, without the pagentries and masques that were held at court, which explained why her ladies often invented reasons to visit their relatives in the king’s palace. But Lady Richmond was almost always present, save for the few times a year she would take to see her son and his growing family.
At thirteen, Blanche had hardly any need for a governess, so she named Lady Richmond as her principal lady-in-waiting, just for a reason to keep her close. The woman had been with her since she was a little girl of five, and she would be heartbroken to send her away. Since the King’s cousin was married to her son, and Lady Richmond was loyal to the Yorks beyond her familial ties to the Lancaster, the King accepted her decision quite easily.
When she finished her music, Lady Richmond smiled. “That was lovely, Your Grace,” she said softly and Blanche smiled too, her cheeks growing pink with the praise.
"I've been thinking about writing a piece myself," Blanche conmented. "But I don't know if I have the talent for it."
"The Queen ought to try it anyway," she said. "How else would you know if you can or not to do something?" Blanche nodded. She supposed it made sense, at least in the most basic form. "It's important for a young mind to be encouraged with musical pursuits."
"My mother says I have the mind of an elderly woman," Blanche commented. It was because she didn't like to visit her husband so often, to attend the celebrations for his birthday, or for the accomplishments of his younger brothers and sisters. Her mother didn’t like it. She wanted everyone to see her, their queen, and be dazzled by her beauty.
Lady Richmond clicked her tongue. "Your lady mother was hardly fifteen when you were born," she murmured. "With all due respect, sometimes I fear her mind has been frozen in time on that day."
"Maybe," said Blanche. She did feel oddly more mature than her mother, some days. It was a strange feeling to have, certainly. As if she were the parent and Lady Lancaster, her child. But she wouldn't say it was because of her birth. Sometimes, she seemed unable to mature beyond the day she lost her beloved husband.
A knock echoed against the door and one of her ladies entered, Mistress Elizabeth Tilney. Her eldest son Thomas was married to Anne de Mowbray and held, as her husband, all of the Norfolk lands in the palm of his hand, even though he was just eleven years of age. His father was Lady Norfolk's guardian too.
"My lady," said Mistress Howard, "There is a messenger from the court without."
"Let him come inside," Blanche murmured, turning back to her harpsichord. She began to play a new song, wanting to hide how her fingers trembled in nerves, as if Edward had listened in to her thoughts and now sent someone to fetch her. She heard the door opening and closing, the heavy steps of a man entering.
Blanche looked up and saw the muddied face of a strange man, the heavy riding clothes and the mud that dripped down to her floors. She cringed before she could stop herself, nodding at him to start speaking.
"My lady, it is my great sorrow to announce that the Duke of Gloucester has perished," he murmured. Blanche finally noticed the black clothes underneath his mud and her fingers stopped, the final note ringing out. "The King and his family will be travelling to Gloucester to pay their respects within the week. The Queen's presence is expected."
The King and his family. Blanche knew exactly what that meant. And she didn't like it.
February 1484. Greenwich Palace, England.
Sometimes, Blanche missed Richard like a lost limb. Something that wasn't there anymore, but should be. Something that was taken from her, after one too many fights with the King caused Richard's return to his lands in the north. He sent letters to her, letters that were read and delivered to her with broken seals, and she responded in kind.
She described the white roses growing in the southern garden, the dew that collected in her bedroom's window every morning. Her mother's travels to Scotland to see her brother, her return. For his part, he told her about stags and the priest that served him with his lisp, and the way he pronounced King Edward as King Edvard. It made her laugh, how eloquently he could tell a story until her laugh turned into sobs as she remembered her own longing for him.
Dickon was fifteen now, but Blanche hadn't seen him for over a year. She tried to imagine how he looked now. Tall and dark-haired, with blue eyes and an easy smile. His brother was still trying to settle his marriage with the Portuguese infanta, though with everything that was going on in Spain, it was no wonder he was having a difficulty with it. The King of Portugal was attempting to curb his nobility's influence and he wouldn't be happy with his cousin marrying into foreign royalty.
For her part, Blanche was not much changed. She was thirteen, just under 5'6" as she had been for years. Her hair remained as bright a red as ever, with sky-blue eyes. She knew some people thought her pretty, and her mother and Lady Richmond even called her beautiful, but she often wondered whether the King, or Richard thought the same.
Though, in truth, Blanche knew that the King’s opinion didn’t matter to her as much as his brother’s. Edward had a new mistress, someone he met after he grew tired of Kathy Herbert. Blanche didn't know her name, only that she wasn't noble and that some members of the court were angry at her influence with the king. Her ladies talked about it, when they thought she couldn't hear them. And even if she could, would they truly care? She was the Queen of England, crowned and blessed, but she wouldn't be a wife in truth before her fifteenth birthday.
And if she were to be honest, then Blanche would say that she would never love Edward like she loved Richard. They were so different. The King was melancholic and serious, couldn't abide to be wrong. He did what he thought was right, what was allowed to him by the law. He had few friends that he trusted with his whole heart, a great departure from his all-loving father. And Richard was charming, always smiling. He could make her laugh like no one else, could read her face as well as any book.
Blanche knew such thoughts were treasonous. No one could suspect she was fond of anyone except her lord and husband, for such a feeling might jeopardise the entire succession. It was her duty to bear a son for Edward, a son with the blood of Lancaster and York. A rose, with white and red blooming petals.
The Lord chose her to be Edward's wife, not Richard's. She would have to hold her tongue and kill her love for him, it was the only way.
Her fingers moved delicately over the white Harpsichord keys, playing a song that her music teacher taught her. Lady Richmond sewed by her side, calmly going through the motions to fill up her days. The Queen’s household was usually a boring environment, without the pagentries and masques that were held at court, which explained why her ladies often invented reasons to visit their relatives in the king’s palace. But Lady Richmond was almost always present, save for the few times a year she would take to see her son and his growing family.
At thirteen, Blanche had hardly any need for a governess, so she named Lady Richmond as her principal lady-in-waiting, just for a reason to keep her close. The woman had been with her since she was a little girl of five, and she would be heartbroken to send her away. Since the King’s cousin was married to her son, and Lady Richmond was loyal to the Yorks beyond her familial ties to the Lancaster, the King accepted her decision quite easily.
When she finished her music, Lady Richmond smiled. “That was lovely, Your Grace,” she said softly and Blanche smiled too, her cheeks growing pink with the praise.
"I've been thinking about writing a piece myself," Blanche conmented. "But I don't know if I have the talent for it."
"The Queen ought to try it anyway," she said. "How else would you know if you can or not to do something?" Blanche nodded. She supposed it made sense, at least in the most basic form. "It's important for a young mind to be encouraged with musical pursuits."
"My mother says I have the mind of an elderly woman," Blanche commented. It was because she didn't like to visit her husband so often, to attend the celebrations for his birthday, or for the accomplishments of his younger brothers and sisters. Her mother didn’t like it. She wanted everyone to see her, their queen, and be dazzled by her beauty.
Lady Richmond clicked her tongue. "Your lady mother was hardly fifteen when you were born," she murmured. "With all due respect, sometimes I fear her mind has been frozen in time on that day."
"Maybe," said Blanche. She did feel oddly more mature than her mother, some days. It was a strange feeling to have, certainly. As if she were the parent and Lady Lancaster, her child. But she wouldn't say it was because of her birth. Sometimes, she seemed unable to mature beyond the day she lost her beloved husband.
A knock echoed against the door and one of her ladies entered, Mistress Elizabeth Tilney. Her eldest son Thomas was married to Anne de Mowbray and held, as her husband, all of the Norfolk lands in the palm of his hand, even though he was just eleven years of age. His father was Lady Norfolk's guardian too.
"My lady," said Mistress Howard, "There is a messenger from the court without."
"Let him come inside," Blanche murmured, turning back to her harpsichord. She began to play a new song, wanting to hide how her fingers trembled in nerves, as if Edward had listened in to her thoughts and now sent someone to fetch her. She heard the door opening and closing, the heavy steps of a man entering.
Blanche looked up and saw the muddied face of a strange man, the heavy riding clothes and the mud that dripped down to her floors. She cringed before she could stop herself, nodding at him to start speaking.
"My lady, it is my great sorrow to announce that the Duke of Gloucester has perished," he murmured. Blanche finally noticed the black clothes underneath his mud and her fingers stopped, the final note ringing out. "The King and his family will be travelling to Gloucester to pay their respects within the week. The Queen's presence is expected."
The King and his family. Blanche knew exactly what that meant. And she didn't like it.