King Arthur the Posthumous
- Thread starter Violet Rose Lily
- Start date
@Violet Rose Lily ! Amazing chapter! And wow! Arthur really did take after uncle henry! go bessie!
Full support for that division of inheritence: Charles spain, ferdinand Hre and the italian kingdoms and john burgundy.
And may francis ans henri of navarre get their teeth kicked in
RIP Max
Full support for that division of inheritence: Charles spain, ferdinand Hre and the italian kingdoms and john burgundy.
And may francis ans henri of navarre get their teeth kicked in
RIP Max
I don't normally fall to one side or the other, but in this instance, I would like Francis and Henri of Navarre to fail, and fail hard.
While I get your point, it just worked better for Isabel to be in England when Arthur turned eighteen.
This!
I will look into it. It might take some time.
I'm glad you like the division of inheritance. At little harsh on Henri who just trying to get the rest of Navarre back. Francois will fall eventually.
Alt Battle of Pavia perhaps?
Flashfoward II
"You are a vision of loveliness," Margaret Pole proclaimed. She smiled brightly at the young girl. She had spent the last five years in Portugal, getting the Portuguese Infanta ready for her role as English queen. She had sent regular reports to the Dowager Princess and the Dowager queen of her character and progress. Now like her aunt before her, Isabel had arrived at Dogmersfield, getting ready to start her new life.
Isabel beamed at the compliment. Her brown hair had been tied up behind her garble hood, she wore a sapphire encrusted necklace that matched her eyes. She was garbed in a dark green brocade dress, crafted by the most talented English seamstress. "Do you think the king will like me?" she wondered, inspecting her appearance in the mirror.
"He would be a fool not to," Leonor de Mascarenha remarked, taking care to speak in Portuguese. She glanced suspiciously at the English ladies, not trusting that one might report back their words. The English ladies had been waiting for Isabel when she arrived. They were Katherine Edgcumbe, Elizabeth Chamber, Anne Boleyn, Margaret Horseman, and Madge Stanley. They all treated with nothing but respect. However, until she could be sure that they could be trusted, Isabel's close circle would contain the ladies who sailed over from Portugal with her: Leonor, Elvira de Mendoza, and the Countess of Salisbury.
"Do we know if he is coming here?" Isabel inquired, ignoring Leonor's comment. She knew that Prince Arthur had come to see his bride almost twenty years ago. According to Margaret, it had been love at first sight for them both. Alas, the ember of their romance was cruelty distinguished by the hand of fate before it had truly begun to burn. Isabel prayed history would not repeat.
"There have been no messages from London." Margaret frowned for a moment before quickly smiling again. "Perhaps he is hoping to surprise you."
Before her charge could respond, there was a knock on the door. Isabel nodded to Lady Edgcumbe who was closest. She went over and opened the door. A man wearing the livery of York and Auvergne was standing outside. He bowed lowly, waiting for Isabel to give him leave before he spoke, "Your Majesty, the Duke of York and Auvergne is without. He requests an audience."
Isabel was taken aback. The last she heard, the Duke of York and Auvergne was in France, fighting against the forces of the Duke of Angoulême. Perhaps he had returned for his nephew's wedding. Although she was disappointment it was not her bridegroom, she nodded her ascent.
The Duke of York was everything she had heard. He strode in with an air of importance. He was tall and muscular. His red-gold hair was like a lion's mane. He had a neatly trimmed beard. He had almost a boyish charm about him. He looked much younger than she had expected.
Isabel did not blame her ladies for staring at him with wide eyes, some of them biting their lips as they curtsied lowly. One of them placed her hand over her mouth as if attempting to muffle a giggle. The duke didn't seem to notice them as he strode up to Isabel, dropping down to one knee. "My queen, your portrait does not do your beauty justice." He took her hand and laid a kiss on the back of it.
The Portuguese princess struggled to maintain a serene mask, hoping she was not blushing. She let her hand slip out of his grasp as he rose to his feet. "Your Grace is very kind to say so. I hope you forgive me for saying so, Your Grace, but we weren't expecting you. We thought you were in France."
"What kind of cad would I be, if I missed my own nephew's wedding because of my overblown ego?" he inquired, a slight sardonic edge to his tone.
Isabel raised an eyebrow. That seemed a bit pointed. She had heard of the arguments between her aunt and Duke Henry. Perhaps he was parroting her words.
Henry must have seen her perplexed expression for her chuckled awkwardly. "Just a jest, my queen. I hope you will forgive my nephew. He is busy preparing plans for his progress."
"Oh." Isabel felt her heart sink. She understood that King Arthur planned on taking a long progress, wanting to see more of his kingdom and also to use it as a chance to familiarize them both with their subjects. However, she had hoped that meeting her would be more important to him.
Arthur was a conundrum. His letters were always kind and considerate. He was so very honest and genuine, even during times she had really wished he hadn't been. (Did he think she would thank him for telling her he had conceived a son out of wedlock so she didn't hear it from rumors). But at the same time, his writings always seemed impersonal as if they were not to be man and wife, but merely two strangers who happened to be married. Granted that was what they were, but Isabel hoped it would blossom into a a partnership if not a romance.
"He will of course be here as soon as he can," Henry quickly added, clearly realizing he had upset her. "I assure you that he has been waiting for this day for a long time."
"I suppose I can wait a little longer," Isabel decided, put at ease. "After all, we have a lifetime to get to know each other."
Henry's smile threatened to slip his face. "Precisely, my queen. In the meantime, if you have any questions about the king, do not hesitate to ask."
"Of course, you could just ask him yourself." Out of nowhere, Katherine of Aragon materialized in the doorway, looking unimpressed. "I'm sure he would be most willing to be honest and open with you."
"Mother, you look absolutely stunning," "the Duke of York" greeted her with a sheepish smile like a child caught stealing sweets.
Isabel beamed at the compliment. Her brown hair had been tied up behind her garble hood, she wore a sapphire encrusted necklace that matched her eyes. She was garbed in a dark green brocade dress, crafted by the most talented English seamstress. "Do you think the king will like me?" she wondered, inspecting her appearance in the mirror.
"He would be a fool not to," Leonor de Mascarenha remarked, taking care to speak in Portuguese. She glanced suspiciously at the English ladies, not trusting that one might report back their words. The English ladies had been waiting for Isabel when she arrived. They were Katherine Edgcumbe, Elizabeth Chamber, Anne Boleyn, Margaret Horseman, and Madge Stanley. They all treated with nothing but respect. However, until she could be sure that they could be trusted, Isabel's close circle would contain the ladies who sailed over from Portugal with her: Leonor, Elvira de Mendoza, and the Countess of Salisbury.
"Do we know if he is coming here?" Isabel inquired, ignoring Leonor's comment. She knew that Prince Arthur had come to see his bride almost twenty years ago. According to Margaret, it had been love at first sight for them both. Alas, the ember of their romance was cruelty distinguished by the hand of fate before it had truly begun to burn. Isabel prayed history would not repeat.
"There have been no messages from London." Margaret frowned for a moment before quickly smiling again. "Perhaps he is hoping to surprise you."
Before her charge could respond, there was a knock on the door. Isabel nodded to Lady Edgcumbe who was closest. She went over and opened the door. A man wearing the livery of York and Auvergne was standing outside. He bowed lowly, waiting for Isabel to give him leave before he spoke, "Your Majesty, the Duke of York and Auvergne is without. He requests an audience."
Isabel was taken aback. The last she heard, the Duke of York and Auvergne was in France, fighting against the forces of the Duke of Angoulême. Perhaps he had returned for his nephew's wedding. Although she was disappointment it was not her bridegroom, she nodded her ascent.
The Duke of York was everything she had heard. He strode in with an air of importance. He was tall and muscular. His red-gold hair was like a lion's mane. He had a neatly trimmed beard. He had almost a boyish charm about him. He looked much younger than she had expected.
Isabel did not blame her ladies for staring at him with wide eyes, some of them biting their lips as they curtsied lowly. One of them placed her hand over her mouth as if attempting to muffle a giggle. The duke didn't seem to notice them as he strode up to Isabel, dropping down to one knee. "My queen, your portrait does not do your beauty justice." He took her hand and laid a kiss on the back of it.
The Portuguese princess struggled to maintain a serene mask, hoping she was not blushing. She let her hand slip out of his grasp as he rose to his feet. "Your Grace is very kind to say so. I hope you forgive me for saying so, Your Grace, but we weren't expecting you. We thought you were in France."
"What kind of cad would I be, if I missed my own nephew's wedding because of my overblown ego?" he inquired, a slight sardonic edge to his tone.
Isabel raised an eyebrow. That seemed a bit pointed. She had heard of the arguments between her aunt and Duke Henry. Perhaps he was parroting her words.
Henry must have seen her perplexed expression for her chuckled awkwardly. "Just a jest, my queen. I hope you will forgive my nephew. He is busy preparing plans for his progress."
"Oh." Isabel felt her heart sink. She understood that King Arthur planned on taking a long progress, wanting to see more of his kingdom and also to use it as a chance to familiarize them both with their subjects. However, she had hoped that meeting her would be more important to him.
Arthur was a conundrum. His letters were always kind and considerate. He was so very honest and genuine, even during times she had really wished he hadn't been. (Did he think she would thank him for telling her he had conceived a son out of wedlock so she didn't hear it from rumors). But at the same time, his writings always seemed impersonal as if they were not to be man and wife, but merely two strangers who happened to be married. Granted that was what they were, but Isabel hoped it would blossom into a a partnership if not a romance.
"He will of course be here as soon as he can," Henry quickly added, clearly realizing he had upset her. "I assure you that he has been waiting for this day for a long time."
"I suppose I can wait a little longer," Isabel decided, put at ease. "After all, we have a lifetime to get to know each other."
Henry's smile threatened to slip his face. "Precisely, my queen. In the meantime, if you have any questions about the king, do not hesitate to ask."
"Of course, you could just ask him yourself." Out of nowhere, Katherine of Aragon materialized in the doorway, looking unimpressed. "I'm sure he would be most willing to be honest and open with you."
"Mother, you look absolutely stunning," "the Duke of York" greeted her with a sheepish smile like a child caught stealing sweets.
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Henry made an amazing first impression on the future Queen, great work.
I have a suspicion that so-called Duke of York in this chapter is actually King Arthur.
No, Arthur was using his uncle’s name to meet his bride without her know who he was
Violet wouldn't use EOY if she had the title of Duke of York in quote.
That wasn't really Henry.
She won't.
Bingo. Arthur was hoping that he could get a measure of his wife to be without her knowing who he was. Unfortunately, while the English ladies were willing to keep silent, Katherine was having none of it.
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