Maid of Norway, Queen of Scotland: A Plantagenet Britain Timeline
- Thread starter pandizzy
- Start date
Imagine having nothing better to do than try and one up a child half your age lol.
"Ten Things Her Highness Queen Yolande Told This Child! The Exact Words She Said Will Shock You!"
if Internet ads were a thing back then
She would be worried about her future position when Edward longshanks dead and keep in mind the life expendancy then was not very good
But Henry III, Edward II and Edward III lived very long lives for the time reaching their 60s and and their is the possibility that Edward ii and Richard II
Could have lived a lot longer than otl
In France Philip iV dead at age 45 due to a stroke so he could live longer or still be killed of
Yolanda would need to have Cordell relations at least with Edward ii I wonder if she gives Edward sons would their names be Edmund, Henry or Richard
I don't know if he would name a son after one of his dead sons
But Henry III, Edward II and Edward III lived very long lives for the time reaching their 60s and and their is the possibility that Edward ii and Richard II
Could have lived a lot longer than otl
In France Philip iV dead at age 45 due to a stroke so he could live longer or still be killed of
Yolanda would need to have Cordell relations at least with Edward ii I wonder if she gives Edward sons would their names be Edmund, Henry or Richard
I don't know if he would name a son after one of his dead sons
Chapter XVII - Into the Capital
November 1293. London, England.
A light snow was falling upon the crowd as the streets were opened and the procession rode through the city without a care in the world. Anyone who was anyone in London came out to see it, the children leaning over the windows as they waved happily to the knights that rode.
They could see the King, riding on a black stallion, with clothes of imperial purple and a golden crown that caught the weak sunlight as he moved. The King may have been an older man, but to the people, he looked exactly how a ruler should look like. He was strong and fearsome, a warrior that had gone on Crusade and promised to go again.
His little son rode just beside him, on a white stallion that seemed even more striking than the King's mount. The boy was just nine, with a shock of golden hair hidden under the coronet of the Prince of Wales, but very handsome. It was the hope of the country that he become the very image of his father, both in character and face. Or perhaps even to surpass him.
Behind the two royal men, or one man and one boy, came the queens, sitting in a shared open litter decorated with gold and silver accents. Yolande of Aragon looked beautiful in her cloth-of-gold dress with red velvet, a pretty crown over her veil whilst the little Queen Margaret was in a gown of cloth-of-silver with blue velvet, waving happily at the people that she passed through.
The Queen of England had just had a daughter that remained in Windsor Castle with her nurse, until she was considered old enough to be sent to a royal nursery of her own. She was to be raised by a trusted governess and attendants, as it was considered improper for a royal lady, no matter how far down the succession she was, to be housed in the same castle as her parents. Little Constance of Windsor, thus, was to be cared for away from her mother, who’d surely be trusted to give her more siblings in the coming years to join her in the nursery.
But the people didn’t think about that at the moment. They only looked at the two beauties that crossed through the city, waving happily. “God save the Queens!” the people shouted. “Yolande! Margaret!”
They arrived at Westminster to a thunder of applause and the King dismounted expertly, before walking to the litter to take his queen’s hand. The example forced young Édouard to do the same, running to catch up, though the courtiers had little eyes for him. Instead, they looked at their king and queen, who were smiling at each other whilst they walked into the castle.
A woman stepped forward. She was tall and lean, with a small coronet over her head as befitted her station and she curtsied shallowly to her father and stepmother. Joan of Acre was as beautiful as her mother, and just as ambitious as her older sister, though she failed to have her father promise her to a king like Eleanor did. Perhaps, it was because, unlike the new Queen of Aragon, Joan had been raised and thoroughly spoiled by her grandmother, the Dowager Queen of Castile.
Although she had just had a daughter named Margaret, Joan was able to be churched earlier than usual so as to continue in her duties as the Keeper of London, as her father had named her just before he left.
“Father,” said Joan, opening her arms to embrace her king. Edward held her tightly, kissing his child on both cheeks. “I bring to you good news. A messenger has just come from Aragon.” The Queen of England, who hailed from such Iberian kingdom, stepped forward. “The Queen of Aragon has been delivered of a healthy baby boy. The child was named Eduardo, in your honour, my king.” The people clapped in joy as she looked at her stepmother as she spoke, arching her eyebrows just so and Queen Yolande smiled as Joan smirked.
“Such a blessing,” said Yolande. “The familial bonds of the two kingdoms are even stronger.” It seemed for the people that the two women stared at each other as one might stare at an oncoming enemy army, with eyes like daggers and teeth like fangs. Though the King didn’t seem to notice. “I’ll be sure to write my brother and congratulate him on his new heir.”
Joan said nothing, but the poison in her gaze was clear to all. Much like her sisters Eleanor and Elizabeth, she did not like her stepmother, who was younger than she, but she had the misfortune of marrying an English noble. Thus, she and Yolande were fated to battle. Sooner or later.
Edward I of England very much smiled his daughters, and they were very close because my daughter spent more time in the court of their father's also Edward, for one of his daughters destroyed their jewellery in a fit of rage, and he ended up paying for the jewellery and apologising.
I do believe it was Joan.
They are all very much daddy girls.
I do believe it was Joan.
They are all very much daddy girls.
So the rivalry between daddy’s girls and the evil stepmother continues. Can’t wait for the cattiness!
Edouard is adorable though. Good to see him trying his best with Margaret
Edouard is adorable though. Good to see him trying his best with Margaret
Here's to hoping that they take up so much of each other's attention that Edouard and Margaret can escape their notice for the most part
Agreed. Let Yolande fight with Joan if she must tussle with someone, rather then little Margaret.
Yep, more opportunities and time for margaret and little ned to bond!
Hmmm I suspect Yolande will come out on top, she certainly has more to hopefully offer Edward...
Jesus, what is it with Yolande and having issues with everyone around her? Good lord.
Chapter XVIII - Christmastide
December 1293. King's Langley Palace, England.
“Look at her,” Joan said, nursing a goblet of wine. “She wears bigger diamonds than Mother did.”
She was talking, of course, about the Queen of England, who happily danced with Humphrey de Bohun, the 3rd Earl of Hereford. She was a doe-eyed, simpering little fool, who seemed to have lost all the weight from her pregnancy in the four months she gave birth and Joan hated her. It wasn’t just because this Aragonese witch had deemed herself high enough to sit in her mother’s seat, but also because, well, it was clear to all that she knew how to manipulate the King and the Prince. And Joan hated to see her father and little brother so enthralled with someone unworthy of their attentions.
Oh, she was pretty enough, it couldn't be denied, and her father and brother were both kings in their own right, but she so hated to see the woman in her mother's place. She didn't know why her father had wished to remarry at all — her mother had given him plenty of heirs. And if he had to take a new wife to strengthen his line, why could it not be with someone more deserving?
“I don’t understand what Father sees in her,” said Mary with her nun’s habit, having come to court to celebrate Christmas. Although a papal order prohibited nuns from travelling, as a King’s daughter, Mary felt free to come and go as she pleased. “She is pretty, and fertile, yes, but there are other pretty girls that can give him children.
“She’s not even the eldest daughter.” Joan could forgive her father for remarrying if he had chosen some great heiress or another, but Queen Yolande had an older sister. And many brothers. It was improbable that she would ever inherit Aragon.
The Queen finished her dancing with a respectful curtsy to her partner before walking back flimsily to sit next to her husband. Joan was older than her by an entire year, Eleanor even more, and she hated the sight of the immature girl sitting next to her father. Drinking wine without any respect for her bearers.
“If she has a son,” Mary began, “Then he will come before you and Eleanor in the line of succession.”
“Don't speak such words,” Joan admonished her little sister. “Édouard will have sons with his Scottish thistle and we won't ever have to worry about that.”
Mary said nothing, but her eyes went to Yolande, who was whispering in their father's ear. Whatever she was saying was making the King laugh, the boisterous laugh that they had not seen since their mother died and her heart raced. She did not like what she saw at all.
For her part, Yolande observed her stepdaughters discreetly. Elizabeth was dancing with her intended, whilst Mary and Joan sulked together in a corner of the room. Margaret had already left for Brabant, thank the Lord, and Eleanor was in Aragon with her baby. Yolande and her husband had been asked to be their godparents, for which they sent a proxy to act in their stead. And gifts, of course.
She looked at her husband and smiled softly at him. Edward thought her to be one of the most beautiful women in all the world and he took her hand in his, twisting a ring around her thumb.
“What are you thinking?” he asked. In the year since they'd been married, he considered himself to be quite adept at reading her expressions. Her gentle eyes, her smirks and her pouts. And he knew when there was something that bothered her.
“Your daughters refused my invitation for luncheon tomorrow,” she exclaimed and Edward sighed. He had heard plenty about his wife and his daughters. “It's an insult to me. Why can't you see that?”
“My daughters are bored women with little to do beyond the bearing of children and the creation of gossip,” he told her. “Their actions are below a queen's concerns.”
“But--” He silenced her with only a look and Yolande turned away, as if to pretend it hadn’t happened.
“Dance with the French ambassador,” he told her. “I mean to meet with him before the year is over.” She still didn’t look at him and Edward squeezed her hand to gather her attention. “Do you want your daughter to be Queen of France or not?”
“The King knows I do,” she answered, turning her eyes to look at him. “And the King knows he has his most loyal and true servant in me.”
“Do I?” Edward asked. He gestured at the approaching ambassador with his chin. “Go.”
She stood up with a radiant smile at the ambassador, as if nothing was wrong. Edward watched her go silently.
Edward entered the room just as a lady began to step out, her eyes widening as she took sight of him. The Aragonese woman curtsied deeply, moving her gaze down to his feet whilst he looked at the silver platter on her hands. The same platter that held a singular folded and sealed letter, the wax bearing the coat of arms of his wife.
He looked at the writing desk inside Yolande’s rooms, the same place his queen sat by. She waved away her other ladies with a heavily-ringed hand, even the one that was presently removing the pins from her veil to reveal her dark hair, and they went, leaving the two of them alone. Edward looked back at Yolande.
“Who are you writing?” he asked her.
Yolande didn't look him in the eye when she answered, “My brother, the King of Aragon.”
Edward pursed his mouth. She was angry then, offended that he didn’t care enough about his daughters ignoring her. He looked away at the made bed ready for her to sleep in, her nightgown displayed faithfully over the expensive coverings. Edward looked back at Yolande and stepped forward until he was right behind her.
“I’m sorry,” he told her. “For what my daughters have done.” Carefully, he began to remove the pins holding her veil in place and she sighed beautifully, closing her eyes as more and more of her dark hair was revealed. It was braided and pinned up around her head and he removed those pins as well, letting her hair fall over her elegant shoulders. “What have you written to your brother?”
She sighed again. “Alfonso is weak. He lets his nobles and wife rule him, going against God's law.” She shook her head. “When our father died, my sister and I swore we'd keep Aragon safe through our marriages, but it would certainly be much easier if Alfonso was not king.”
He placed his hands over her shoulders.
“Are you trying to advise your brother, then?”
She tilted her head up to look at him, frowning slightly. “Should I not do so, my love?” she asked. “It’s a woman’s duty to serve the men in her life as best as she can manage.”
“If you have so much advice to give,” Edward began, “Perhaps you should offer them to your husband instead.”
She smiled at him, a soft and gentle smile, as if she had never thought before to be an advisor to her lord and husband. Edward kissed her and quickly began to undress her.