The Sunne in Splendour: A War of the Roses Timeline
- Thread starter pandizzy
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Yeah, i gave her the title of her last otl husband. I'll fix it when i get home.
March 1465.
March 1465. Eltham Palace, England.
Edward came to see her the night before her confinement.
It was late and she was wearing only her nightgown, brown hair braided down her back. Her swollen belly protruded forward and as she walked to welcome him, her stomach reached him first. Madeleine was ready for sleep before he arrived and there was awkwardness in her limbs as she gave him a clumsy curtsy.
He motioned for her to seat before the lit fireplace and she did so, placing her two hands on the arms of her chair. Edward sat before her and smiled, or at least tried to, though he was unable to look at her in the eye. She sighed and placed a hand on her burgeoning belly, feeling the child’s movements within her.
“I hope you are well,” said Edward after an awkward silence, “I know the movement from Windsor to here was difficult for you.”
Madeleine nodded. Edward had insisted she give birth where his ancestor, Philippa of Clarence, was born, as he derived his claim to the throne from her line and saw fit to use the small house as a birthing centre for his dynasty. At such a late stage in her pregnancy, her move from Windsor Castle had been strenuous on her body and there was a fear in her that she would not be able to complete the short journey between the royal residences. Fortunately, her son remained calm throughout everything and though she had retched many times on the path, she arrived safely in Eltham.
“I’m fine, thank you,” she said, “The Prince was very well behaved.”
Edward smiled, his face half engulfed in shadows. Madeleine knew her husband was a handsome man because many people at court told her so. He hadn’t just the Countess as his mistress and often entertained other women in his chambers. Sometimes, Madeleine could not help but think that Gaston would not shame her such, longing for the days that she had been his beloved wife. It should be his child in her belly, not this… philanderer’s.
“I believe I have decided on a name for him,” said her husband, bringing her attention away from her thoughts. When he did not speak anything else, Madeleine leaned forward, urging him to continue with her eyes, “Edward. Both for myself and my ancestor, Edward III, who saw a golden and long reign.”
Madeleine smiled. She liked the name, despite everything. “Edward of Eltham,” she said, “Quite the ring to it.”
“Yes,” he answered, “Proper name for a Prince of Wales, I’d wager. Edward, Earl of Chester and one day, Edward V of England.” She smiled again and Edward too grinned, shy and boyish, happy. He paused and for a second, he looked thoughtful, turning away from her. She saw his profile, his long aquiline nose and his smooth lips.
He looked troubled. Or rather, like his own thoughts troubled him. Madeleine hesitated before she asked, “Is something wrong, Your Grace?”
Edward looked at her like she was a stranger and then, “No, it’s nothing. I was merely thinking of my father.” He sighed, as if being relieved of something, and relaxed his shoulders, which were near in height with his ears.
For a long moment, nobody said anything. Even the child inside of her quietened his kicks, as if listening in, trying to gauge whether this would turn into an argument or a normal conversation. Madeleine sighed and said, “They killed him. At Wakefield.” She did not specify who ‘they’ were.
“Yes,” Edward said, “They killed him. He and my little brother, Edmund. Afterwards, Marguerite de Anjou had their heads put on spikes, with my father wearing a paper crown for daring to claim the throne.” He tightened his hands into fists, “I will make her pay for it.”
“How old was Edmund?” she asked, not daring to let him explore his rage for their cousin.
“Just seventeen,” he answered, “Sometimes, I wonder if he thought of me when they took him. If he thought of our father. When we were growing up, Edmund and I were very close. We shared our tutors, our masters at arms. Our mother used to say that she had three sons because we often seemed to be the same person.” He smiled as a memory crossed his eyes, “One time, we sneaked some bottles of wine from our father’s cellar and hid in a servant’s quarters. I was fourteen and he, thirteen. We didn’t know how to drink and when my father’s men found us, we were so drunk we could barely walk. Mother was so furious, though my father found it very funny.” Edward shook his head, “I told Edmund I would always protect him, but I was not there when he needed me the most. Maybe things would have gone differently if I had been at Wakefield. Maybe we would have won.”
“Maybe,” she said, “But it only pains the heart to wonder about the past. What is done is done. It pleased the Lord to call Edmund from this world, just as it pleases Him to give us this new child. Life and death are often intertwined together in an endless cycle. What can we do except accept what is given to us?”
Edward smiled. “My faith has been tested many times, but yours is constant.” He shook his head, “You still mourn your first husband. How can you do it? How can you walk unbothered by the pain that is certainly within you?”
“If I let myself give way to the pain, there will be no end to it,” she said, “I’d turn a mess into a disaster and what then? Shall I be the mourning widow, scourging myself while straining against God’s decision? He made me the Queen of England and I accept his decision loyally because He has a great deal of faith in me. He would not have given me such a trial otherwise.”
He looked at her as if she was a stranger to him and he was looking at her for the first time in his life. Edward stood up and walked to her, leaning down to press a silent kiss against her forehead. “I promise I will be a better husband to you,” he said, “Once this son is born and the Lancasters are dealt with, you will not see your life in England as a trial anymore.”
Then he left.
--
April 1465. Eltham Palace, England.
Her pains started a week before Easter, right after she broke her fast. Under the eagle eyes of her ladies and midwife, she walked by her room only in her shift, a hand to her lower back as she attempted to diminish her discomfort even by a little. Hours pass before her waters finally break, leaking down her legs in a slow and disgusting trickle and she was moved to the birthing chair. It is then that her mother-in-law arrived with her daughters in tow, Margaret wide-eyed as she saw what surely awaited her in the future.
“Quickly,” said Duchess Cecily, “Bring ale to dull the Queen’s pain.” Elizabeth, ever the thoughtful and sweet sister, ran to put herself by Madeleine’s side, allowing her to hold her hand as an attendant ran off to obey the King’s mother. “You there, bring boiling water from the kitchens and clean linen. Has Edward been awakened? He should be aware that his son is soon to come to the world.”
Someone pressed a cold cloth to the back of Madeleine’s neck and she grunted as another wave of pain hit her. Her mother-in-law continued to order the people about and labour continued to progress slowly. At a moment, she got up and started to walk around the room again, her hair wet with sweat.
She drank the ale offered, but it did nothing to her pain. Madeleine felt everything as she dropped herself down on the bed, tired, and pulled on the white ribbons attached to the bedposts. The pain was ever-present, never truly leaving her, and she whispered Latin prayers under her breath.
Suffering in the childbed was the price women had to pay for Eve’s wickedness, but she did not care about that. She prayed for safe delivery, for a son and for her to survive it all. She prayed and, after what felt like another hour, the midwife helped her part her thighs and told her she was ready to push.
Madeleine told herself she would not scream as she gave birth, and scream she did not, though she grunted and cried as the child crowned and slid out of her in a gush of fluids.
The cry that came was hearty and strong, a sign of healthy lungs. Two midwives worked to clean the child and she raised her head weakly, “What is it?”
Duchess Cecily looked on proudly as she said, “A boy. It’s a perfect boy.”
It's a boy! This is certainly good news for Edward and Madeleine.
Or Edmund.
Yeah, my first idea was to make them have a fight, but that didn't interest me enough, so I made them see eye to eye.
I mean, Edward's already been chosen and there is a chance for them to have more boys, who will need names of their own.
True, but it’s not impossible for him to change his mind last minute. His Grandson, was similar in the way that he couldn’t make up his mind on naming his son, Henry of Edward.
Deleted member 147978
Maybe William and Thomas for any younger sons, or perhaps Charles after Magdalena's father?
