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thevelaryons · 2 months ago

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There are many different accounts in Fire and Blood raising questions about the paternal status of Laenor “father of five” Velaryon.

WITH MARILDA:

And Seasmoke, who had once borne Laenor Velaryon, took onto his back a boy of ten-and-five known as Addam of Hull, whose origins remain a matter of dispute amongst historians to this day.

They had his look, it was true, and Ser Laenor had been known to visit the shipyard in Hull from time to time. Nonetheless, many on Dragonstone and Driftmark were skeptical of Marilda’s claim, for Laenor Velaryon’s disinterest in women was well remembered.

It should not surprise us, therefore, that Grand Maester Munkun and Septon Eustace both dutifully assert Ser Laenor’s parentage…but Mushroom, as ever, dissents. In his Testimony, the fool puts forth the notion that “the little mice” had been sired not by the Sea Snake’s son, but by the Sea Snake himself. Lord Corlys did not share Ser Laenor’s erotic predispositions, he points out, and the Hull shipyards were like unto a second home to him, whereas his son visited them less frequently.

In this instance, it must be said, the tale told by the fool seems more likely than the versions offered by septon and maester. Many and more at Queen Rhaenyra’s court must surely have suspected the same. If so, they held their tongues.

Ser Willis Fell declared mournfully, “and now she has tied herself to Lord Corlys’s upjumped bastard. A snake for a sire, a mouse for a mother…is this to be our prince consort?”

WITH RHAENYRA:

Ser Laenor returned to Driftmark thereafter, leaving many to wonder if his marriage had ever been consummated. The princess remained at court, surrounded by her friends and admirers. Ser Criston Cole was not amongst them, having gone over entirely to the queen’s party, the greens, but the massive and redoubtable Breakbones (or Brokenbones, as Mushroom had it) filled his place, becoming the foremost of the blacks, ever at Rhaenyra’s side at feast and ball and hunt. Her husband raised no objections. Ser Laenor preferred the comforts of High Tide, where he soon found a new favorite in a household knight named Ser Qarl Correy.

Thereafter, though he joined his wife for important court events where his presence was expected, Ser Laenor spent most of his days apart from the princess. Septon Eustace says they shared a bed no more than a dozen times. Mushroom concurs, but adds that Qarl Correy oft shared that bed as well; it aroused the princess to watch the men disporting with one another, he tells us, and from time to time the two would include her in their pleasures. Yet Mushroom contradicts himself, for elsewhere in his Testimony he claims that the princess would leave her husband with his lover on such nights, and seek her own solace in the arms of Harwin Strong.

Whatever the truth of these tales, it was soon announced that the princess was with child. Born in the waning days of 114 AC, the boy was a large, strapping lad, with brown hair, brown eyes, and a pug nose. (Ser Laenor had the aquiline nose, silver-white hair, and purple eyes that bespoke his Valyrian blood.) Laenor’s wish to name the child Joffrey was overruled by his father, Lord Corlys. Instead the child was given a traditional Velaryon name: Jacaerys (friends and brothers would call him Jace).

Meanwhile, back in Westeros, Princess Rhaenyra had given birth to a second son late in the year 115 AC. The child was named Lucerys (Luke for short). Septon Eustace tells us that both Ser Laenor and Ser Harwin were at Rhaenyra’s bedside for his birth. Like his brother, Jace, Luke had brown eyes and a healthy head of brown hair, rather than the silver-gilt hair of Targaryen princelings.

In 117 AC, on Dragonstone, Princess Rhaenyra bore yet another son. Ser Laenor was at last permitted to name a child after his fallen friend, Ser Joffrey Lonmouth. Joffrey Velaryon was as big and red-faced and healthy as his brothers, but like them he had brown eyes, brown hair, and features that some at court called “common.” The whispering began again. Amongst the greens, it was an article of faith that the father of Rhaenyra’s sons was not her husband, Laenor, but her champion, Harwin Strong. Mushroom says as much in his Testimony and Grand Maester Mellos hints at it, whilst Septon Eustace raises the rumors only to dismiss them.

When pressed by the king, Prince Aemond said it was his brother Aegon who had told him they were Strongs, and Prince Aegon said only, “Everyone knows. Just look at them.”

Lord Corlys also had half a dozen nephews, however, and the eldest of them, Ser Vaemond Velaryon, protested that the inheritance by rights should pass to him…on the grounds that Rhaenyra’s sons were bastards sired by Harwin Strong.

Thus perished Joffrey Velaryon, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne, the last of Queen Rhaenyra’s sons by Laenor Velaryon…or the last of her bastards by Ser Harwin Strong, depending on which truth one chooses to believe.

BONUS INTERVIEW BY GRRM:

“Rhaenyra’s relationship with Harwin Strong…she had three children by him, but we never see them get together for the first time or kiss. We never have a scene where they first slept together. We don’t know exactly what has happened and how he felt about that and how Laenor felt about him. There’s a whole story there. There’s at least a novella and maybe a novel, but we simply did not have the time to tell it. And it did not fit the format of my history book. But it’s a story and I would love to do that.”

The author’s statement here does confirm that in both book and show canon, Laenor is not the father of Rhaenyra’s sons. The true identity of the father of Marilda’s sons does still remain ambiguous in the book.

#asoiaf #house of the dragon #laenor velaryon #marilda of hull #addam velaryon #addam of hull #alyn velaryon #alyn of hull #rhaenyra targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #lucerys velaryon #joffrey velaryon #corlys velaryon #harwin strong #meta #it would be actually funny if corlys beat the cheating allegations

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wetgeliscasualinterval · 4 months ago

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Disporting with a Shadow (2015) by Paul Clipson

#Paul Clipson #film #cinema #movie #movie stills #film frames #cinematography #films #movies #experimental film #avant garde film

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ardenrosegarden · 2 months ago

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With her husband badly wounded and Perceval’s two elder brothers both slain on the very day they were made knights, Perceval’s mother hopes to keep him from the world of knightly combat. The first time he utters the word knight she falls in a faint. Chivalric biography is even less reticent about the realities of knightly warfare. The Chandos Herald, writing the life of the Black Prince late in the fourteenth century, tells his readers how his master’s host behaved between the Seine and the Somme during their invasion: "the English to disport themselves put everything to fire and flame. There they made many a widowed lady and many a poor child orphan". It is helpful to remember that this passage appears in a laudatory life, setting forth the prowess and piety of Edward, the Black Prince, son of Edward III. Nearly two centuries earlier, the biographer of William Marshal, it is true, pictured William, during the burning of Le Mans, helping a woman drag her possessions from her flaming home; William nearly suffocated on the smoke which entered his helmet. But the action was scarcely typical of the times or even of the hero’s life. The biography tells us that the mature William advised Henry II to delude the French king into thinking he had disbanded his army, but then to carry devastation into French territory. Of warfare between Henry II and his sons, the biographer observed that many places in his day still showed the scars of that war. These scars, in other words, had yet to heal after forty years. * * Unvarnished accounts of devastation also appear prominently in the fifteenth-century biography of Don Pero Niño

-Richard W. Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence in Medieval Europe

#knighthood #but mostly for the henry ii and son drama causing so much damage that you can literally see it 40 years later. bro.#twelfth century #fourteenth century #fifteenth century

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caenith · 2 years ago

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Strongest of limb, and greatest in deeds of prowess, is Tulkas, who is surnamed Poldorea, the Valiant. He is unclothed in his disport, which is much in wrestling; and he rides no steed, for he can outrun all things that go on feet, and he is tireless. His hair and beard are golden, and his flesh ruddy; his weapons are his hands. He recks little of either past or future, and is of small avail as a counsellor, but a hardy friend. He has great love for Fionwe son of Manwe. His wife is Nessa, sister of Orome, who is lissom of limb and fleet of foot, and dances in Valinor upon lawns of never-fading green.

This description of Tulkas is everything to me.

Running around naked? Checked. A great potential for Tulkas/Eonwe ship? Also checked.

#tolkien #the history of middle earth #the lost road and other writings

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bohemian-nights · 2 years ago

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Almost all the reasons Daemyra stans hate Dattles are the same reasons they should hate their own ship.

Similarities between Daemyra and Dattles.

They both have cheating. (Daemon is married to Rhea Royce when he starts to pursue Rhaenyra. Despite this a lot of Daemyra stans like to use the excuse that at that point in time Daemon and Rhea were having “problems.” When Daemon starts to pursue Nettles he is married to Rhaenyra but just like Rhea, he and Rhaenyra are having “problems.”)

They both have an age-gap. (While the age-gap between Daemon and Rhaenyra is less than the age gap between Daemon and Nettles, but we must remember however that when Daemon first meets Nettles she is by Westeros standards an adult, whereas Rhaenyra wasn't.)

Children

Then there are some who say they don’t like Dattles because Daemon had children specifically with Rhaenyra during when all of this was going down. These children being Aegon III and Viserys II. This troubles people because they worry how that would affect Aegon and Viserys's view of what a healthy relationship let alone a marriage should look like.

But the same people neglect the fact that (at least show wise) not only do Daemon and Rhaenyra's actions (Rhaenyra having an affair with Harwin while being married to Laenor, Daemon being at the very least a emotionally unavailable husband to Laena and a neglectful parent to Baela and Rhaena ) but also their marriage (them getting married so quickly after the death of their respective marriage mates and in Rhaenyra’s case also her lover) could have very well given Jace, Luke, Baela and Rhaena an unhealthy view of what a healthy relationship should look like.

Grooming

Rhaenyra and Daemon:

He gave her pearls and silks and books and a jade tiara said once to have belonged to the Empress of Leng, read poems to her, dined with her, hawked with her, sailed with her, entertained her by making mock of the greens at court, the "lickspittles" fawning over Queen Alicent and her children.

Eustace, the less salacious of the two, writes that Prince Daemon seduced his niece the princess and claimed her maidenhood. When the lovers were discovered abed together by Ser Arryk Cargyll of the Kingsguard and brought before the king, Rhaenyra insisted she was in love with her uncle and pleaded with her father for leave to marry him. King Viserys would not hear of it, however, and reminded his daughter that Prince Daemon already had a wife.

"When he looks at you, he sees the little girl you were, not the woman you've become," Daemon told his niece, "but I can teach you how to make him see you as a woman."

He began by giving her kissing lessons, if Mushroom can be believed. From there the prince went on to show his niece how best to touch a man to bring him pleasure, an exercise that sometimes involved Mushroom himself and his alleged enormous member.

Daemon taught the girl to disrobe enticingly, suckled at her teats to make them larger and more sensitive, and flew with her on dragonback to lonely rocks in Blackwater Bay, where they could disport naked all day unobserved, and the princess could practice the art of pleasuring a man with her mouth. At night he would smuggle her from her rooms dressed as a page boy and take her secretly to brothels on the Street of Silk, where the princess could observe men and women in the act of love and learn more of these "womanly arts" from the harlots of King's Landing.

Viserys at first refused to believe a word of it, until Prince Daemon confirmed the tale was true. "Give the girl to me to wife," he purportedly told his brother. "Who else would take her now?" Instead King Viserys sent him into exile, never to return to the Seven Kingdoms on pain of death.

Nettles and Daemon:

Maester Norren writes that "the prince and his bastard girl" supped together every night, broke their fast together every morning, slept in adjoining bedchambers, that the prince "doted upon the brown girl as a man might dote upon his daughter," instructing her in "common courtesies" and how to dress and sit and brush her hair, that he made gifts to her of "an ivory-handled hairbrush, a silvered looking glass, a cloak of rich brown velvet bordered in satin, a pair of riding boots of leather soft as butter." The prince taught the girl to wash, Norren says, and the maidservants who fetched their bath water said he oft shared a tub with her, "soaping her back or washing the dragon stink from her hair, both of them as naked as their namedays.”

To which his brother answered, "It may be we shall be destroyed whatever choice we make. The prince is more than fond of this brown child, and his dragon is close at hand. A wise lord would kill them both, lest the prince burn Maidenpool in his wroth."

All we know is that the maester, a young man of two-and-twenty, found Prince Daemon and the girl Nettles at their supper that night, and showed them the queen's letter.

"Weary after a long day of fruitless flight, they were sharing a simple meal of boiled beef and beets when I entered, talking softly with each other, of what I cannot say. The prince greeted me politely, but as he read I saw the joy go from his eyes, and a sadness descended upon him, like a weight too heavy to be borne. When the girl asked what was in the letter, he said,

'A queen's words, a whore's work.' Then he drew his sword and asked if Lord Mooton's men were waiting outside to take them captive. 'I came alone,' I told him, then foreswore myself, declaring falsely that neither his lordship nor any other man of Maidenpool knew what was written on the parchment. 'Forgive me, My Prince,' I said. 'I have broken my maester's vows.' Prince Daemon sheathed his sword, saying, You are a bad maester, but a good man,' after which he bade me leave them, commanding me to 'speak no word of this to lord nor love until the morrow.’ ”

No word of farewell was spoken betwixt man and maid, but as Sheepstealer beat his leathery brown wings and climbed into the dawn sky, Caraxes raised his head and gave a scream that shattered every window in Jonquil's Tower. High above the town, Nettles turned her dragon toward the Bay of Crabs, and vanished in the morning mists, never to be seen again at court or castle.

That Prince Daemon died as well we cannot doubt. His remains were never found, but there are queer currents in that lake, and hungry fish as well. The singers tell us that the old prince survived the fall and afterward made his way back to the girl Nettles, to spend the remainder of his days at her side.

+Bonus

[As to the girl Nettles, "She is a common thing, with the stink of sorcery upon her," the queen declared. "My prince would ne'er lay with such a low creature. You need only look at her to know she has no drop of dragon's blood in her. It was with spells that she bound a dragon to her, and she has done the same with my lord husband." So long as he was in the girl's thrall, Prince Daemon could not be relied upon, Her Grace went on. Therefore, let a command be sent at once to Maidenpool, but only for the eves of Lord Mooton. "Let him take her at table or abed and strike her head off. Only then shall my prince be freed."]

—Rhaenyra about Nettles.

Conclusion

Personally whether or not someone ships either of these couples is up to them. I however can’t stand a hypocrite, and I’ve noticed that’s what a large percentage of Daemyra stans are especially when it comes not only to Dettles but Nettles as a whole.

And I especially as a black woman, can’t stand the misogynoir that I've seen Team Black (and Green) display when it’s comes specifically to the black/blackish women in House of the Dragon.

This was eloquently put 🙌🏽 I’ve got nothing to add except my praise, I love how you have shouted out Team Green's antics cause they also b!tch and moan about how it makes Daemon a villain(and not all the other crap he’s done) to choose Nettles over his psychotic racist wife.

I too didn’t really care about Dumbnyra, its stans, and its sympathizers until they started going off on a hate campaign against Daemon and Nettles.

Very unserious bunch of racist morons who think they can get away with calling Black/Blackish women the n-word:

Yes, that was directed at Laena, but it's only a matter of time before Team I don't want Nettles to be on the show, and if she is on the show don't let her be a Negro, goes calling Netty the n-word too for “ruining” their Appalachian mountain realness ship.

Or throwing a temper tantrum because a canon character, who despite their best efforts to ignore her existence or bash her, is all but confirmed to be in the show:

Don’t get me started on Team Green who are populated by white feminists who believe themselves to be morally superior when in reality they are just as racist as Team Dumbnyra or bust when it comes to Nettles and her relationship with Daemon:

(The irony is not lost to me how they point out Rhaenyra’s racism then proceed to treat Nettles like a toddler or sometimes even defend Rhaenyra’s racism because she’s a woman🤪 Black women shouldn’t be in romantic relationships in their minds)

Or those upset because they can’t use Nettles (like how they wanted to because in their mind she’s only there to show how evil Daemon is to their white sister) to dunk on Daemon:

I can't take these people seriously when they complain about Dattles and label it problematic while they ignore their ships problems.

Alysmond(still love you, but I’ll drag some of the white and non-Black fans who are suspect), Rhaicent, Helaemond(aka Hellmanns), and Dumbnyra are all equally if not more problematic than Dattles.

(I have a mini rant on this in my drafts that I’ll post this weekend).

Their anti-Black misogynoir is clouding their views on Daemon and Nettles.

#well said 👏🏽#nettles #netty #daemon targaryen #daemon x nettles #bnask #bnasks #bncommentary #dattles #dettles #hotd spoilers #fandom misogynoir

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horizon-verizon · 10 months ago

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Jaehaerys I vs Daemon // Braxton Beesbury vs Aemond Targaryen

some time ago, I responded to an ask that said:

I feel like i am in the minority in team black spaces who liked that Aemond lost control of Vhaegar and killed luke because to me this provides a good explanation how Aemond despite having the largest dragon still lose against his 50yr uncle with a much smaller dragon. Because he is that incompetent in controlling a dragon lmao

I want to remind people of something they don't know about older men and young men (both or one being of superior fighting skill) fighting each other in context to Daemon's final battle with Aemond.

Jaehaerys and Braxton Beesbury also fought each other in a trial by combat after Jaehaerys gave him the "choice" between that and mutilating/castrating him, as punishment for "disporting" with Saera at the brothel the Blue Pearl ("Policy, Progeny, & Pain"):

and this was Daemon & Caraxes taking advantage of Aemond's weaknesses, and in particular his lack of an eye. and Caraxes making sure he stays connected to Vhagar so Daemon can do his thing "Rhaenyra Triumphant"):

Ironically, both men stab a young boy through the face, the text specifically using words related to eyesight or eyes: "blind side" vs "visor of his helm"//"laid Blackfyre's point against his eye".

Aemond was 20, Braxton was 19; Jaehaerys, like Daemon, was 49. Jaehaerys beat Braxton by essentially tiring him out and using his rashness of youth against him. Plus his own rage at Braxton "despoiling" Saera. By contrast, Daemon fought to protect all his remaining family members form Aemond and Vhagar being the biggest threat to Rhaenyra (besides Aegon's fewer followers/Larys Strong's manipulations/the KLers' fear).

Yes, in ASoIaF, "old" men & "smaller" or presumably weaker dragons can disable or kill an opponent whose strengths might be their weakness simultaneously.

#character comparison #jaehaerys i #daemon targaryen #aemond targaryen #braxton beesbury #fire and blood characters #fire and blood #fandom critical #daemon's death #aemond's death

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afiananvandot · 2 months ago

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List I filled with songs I know. The person I got it from said they “got it from pinterest, who got it from tumblr”. dang.

1. A song with a color in the title: “green is not green (yellow) - version” by Pole

2. A song with a number in the title: Sem 3 by Lusine

3. A song that reminds me of summertime: “Surf’s Up!…Nevermind.” by Fever the Ghost

4. A song that reminds me of someone I would rather forget about: Pete Standing Alone by Boards of Canada

5. A song that needs to be played LOUD: Helikopter by Plastikman

6. A song that makes me want to dance: Miles Runs the Voodoo Town by Miles Davis

7. A song to drive to: Augmatic Disport by Autechre

8. A song about drugs or alcohol: I Love Acid by Luke Vibert

9. A song that makes me happy: Catkin and Teasel by µ-ziq

10. A song that makes me sad: Teeth by Kristin Hersch

11. A song that I never get tired of: Moog City (It’s a minecraft song) by C418

12. A song from my preteen years: Plastic Beach by Gorillaz

13. One of my favourite 80s songs: Just an Illusion by Imagination

14. A song that I would love played at my wedding: Squarepusher Theme by Squarepusher

15. A song that is a cover by another artist: Like Someone in Love by Jimmy van Heusen (Cover by Björk)

16. One of my favourite classical songs: Kyrie by Mozart

17. A song that I would sing a duet to in karaoke: Big Time Sensuality by Björk

18. A song from the year I was born: Pferd by Pole

19. A song that makes me feel about life: Enjoy Your Worries, You May Never Have Them Again by The Books

20. A song that has many meanings to me: Everything In Its Right Place by Radiohead

21. A favourite song with a person’s name in the title: Gonna Dig Up Alec Guinness by Lemon Demon

22. A song that moves me forward: You Can’t Go Home Again by DJ Shadow

23. A song that I think everybody should listen to: Chao by Lusine

24. A song by a band I wish were still together: Disco Hospital by Coil

25. A song by an artist no longer living: Stop by J Dilla

26. A song that makes me want to fall in love: Betty by Clark

27. A song that breaks my heart: Ivory by Jack Stauber

28. A song by an artist whose voice I love: Such A Shame by Talk Talk

29. A song that I remember from my childhood: Gangnam Style

30. A song that reminds me of myself: My Sound by Squarepusher

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gayhawkelatehomicide · 12 days ago

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Untitled Fallen London Fic

Writing about Them!

I really should give this a title at some point, but it's not finished so I don't have to figure that out yet. It's going to be... Kinda long, because there's no world where this pair of incredibly suspicious, closed-off people from very different walks of life just fall into each other's arms on first contact. Here's the beginning of their story anyway.

Chapter 1: In which we meet our two principals.

A ship steams into Wolfstack Docks, her engine running on fumes. She actually coasts the last few feet to the wharf on sheer momentum and her Steely-Eyed Captain’s strength of will, thudding against the barnacle-encrusted stone and jolting hard enough to send the crew stumbling. All except for the captain, that is. He stands at the wheel of his beloved Saint Dymphna with nary a wobble as the last of the fuel runs out, he loses power steering, and she collides with the pier at what must be nearly three knots.

An officer, a cheerful looking gentleperson with singed and powder-stained clothes, rappels down the side of the ship with a heavy-duty dock line in their free hand and secures her to the pier before she can float away again. Several members of the somewhat underfed crew fix the spring lines, lower the gangway, and begin to unload her. While many of them look longingly towards the pubs and eateries which line the docks, no one slopes off to get a meal in. Not under the captain’s gaze.

The Saint Dymphna herself is a sight to see: a Maenad class frigate, she is 128 meters from stem to stern and weighs in at a little more than 9,000 long tons. Her deck and forward guns (easily the best-maintained part of the ship) gleam wickedly in the reflected lights of the city. She’s clearly seen some trouble on her most recent voyage, patched as she is in several places with what appear to be chunks of lifeberg carapace. Whoever the ship’s mechanic is must be an incredible artificer, because she remains obviously seaworthy despite no fewer than three lorn-fluke spines embedded in her aft starboard hull. The Steely-Eyed Captain, having assured himself that his ship is appropriately docked, strides down the gangplank to oversee the offloading.

He checks the gazetteer he keeps in an inner pocket of his heavy wool coat. Within this invaluable volume is a wealth of information about the far-flung corners of the Unterzee including routes to every major port of call, most every island, and many of the zubmarine docking points scattered in the deepest reaches of the darkness. Additionally, there are notes on the dispositions and disportments of various potentates and persons of interest in these far-flung locales, their goals and requests, and the rewards they’re offering for assistance. (Or, in the case of the Khanate, the rewards they aren't offering for assistance they certainly did not ask for.) The captain’s to-do list is on the last page. Currently, it has three entries.

The first should be obvious to anyone looking at the state of the Saint Dymphna: A trip to London’s finest drydock for refit and repair (while the crew eat and carouse on the docks, frittering away their pay, which is just large enough to tide them over for a few weeks, after which they’ll come crawling back for more. As it should be.) He’ll have to check in with the Admiralty’s Survey Office for permission first, but he’s fairly certain that the files he has tucked away in his many pockets will gain him enough favor for a steep discount on repair costs.

The second item on his list is to hire more crew members. When he left London, the ship had been only slightly undermanned (provided you count the clay men stoking the engine as crew). Then there had been the incident with the Lovely Deviless in the Iron Republic, who made off with two of the deck hands. And then had come that brush with the Republican Dreadnaught on the way south to Port Carnelian where they’d lost the cook’s assistant. Poor fool was in the wrong corner of the hold when a flensing shot came through and cut him near in half. Then the run-ins with the local fauna, including an angler crab that pulled off some of the hasty hull-patches they’d had to make during their last visit to Anthe, and the lorn-fluke between Carnelian and the Grand Geode. Those had taken the rear gunner and another unfortunate deck hand, respectively. And, of course, the trip to the surface had cost him three of the weaker-willed crewmen who succumbed to the bright beauty of the light up there. The last leg back to London had been slow and harrowing with so few hands on deck. It’s time to hire some more.

The third and final task he must complete before he leaves London again is the sale of his substantial cargo. In the Saint Dymphna’s hold—in fact, currently being rolled, craned, and hauled out onto the dock—are forty caskets of sapphires, fresh from the mines of Port Carnelian; twenty crates of sphinxstone chipped from the Salt Lions; two colossal fluke cores bound for the Alarming Scholar, here in London, and the Curator, the next time they sail for Venderblight; and exactly seven samples of stygian ivory for the Merchant Venturer. This piece of cargo, the Steely-Eyed Captain places into a sturdy leather bag and slings over his shoulder.

Lieutenant Augustine Moore of the Saint Dymphna, now on dry land where his name is more important than his captaincy (to most, at least), eyes the collection of hopeful looking dockers assembling at the landward end of the wharf. Several of them slink away from his scrutiny, but a few meet his speculative gaze. These, he motions forward as he approaches them.

“Any of you boys—” he scans the motley crew and amends his language, doffing his cap to the singular woman present, “and lady, my apologies. Ma’am. Any of you folks looking for some work? My cargo needs hauling to the Bazaar and to those ministry men over there.” He indicates the black-clad Special Constables with a tilt of his chin. A few of the dockers shoot frightened looks in that direction, but to their credit, none bolt.

The lady is the first to speak up. She’s as filthy and tattered as the rest of them, but her accent is pure Veilgarden. Interesting. “Fifty pence a crate and forty pence a barrel.”

It’s nearly a fair deal. Moore grumbles a bit for the sake of appearances, but he shakes her hand after only a few rounds of indignant haggling. One mustn’t let the dockers take advantage. They’ll work for thirty five pence per container of cargo, shape notwithstanding. The young men immediately set to work helping the Saint Dymphna’s crew unload and package the cargo for transportation through London, but the Ragged Lady hangs back with Moore for a few words.

“Thanks for your honesty, captain,” she commends him in a quiet voice. “My brothers and I have been having a hell of a time getting work for fair pay, on account of me being a girl and all.”

“I see no reason a girl shouldn’t be paid the same for the same work,” Moore asserts simply. “There are individuals with tentacles running ‘round London. Besides, the women on my crew are just as competent as the rest—more so, from time to time.”

Case in point, Maybe’s Rival disembarks just in time to save a poorly-balanced stack of sphinxstone crates from toppling onto the Irrepressible Cannoneer’s fool head. Right behind her is the Brisk Campaigner, who sees the disorganized rabble and immediately takes charge of the packaging operation. The Presbyterate Adventuress comes down the gangway last, her bundle of dueling weapons and personal effects under one arm, and laughs at the Cannoneer while they stumble through an expression of gratitude. Moore doesn’t blame them for their stuttering: Maybe has that effect on people.

“Thanks all the same,” the Ragged Lady smiles warmly. “If you ever need a hand, I’m your man. Well, almost.”

Moore permits himself an austere simile in response to her humor, and she joins her “brothers” at work. When his first officer shoots a questioning look in his direction, Moore flashes a few hand signals to let her know the specifics of the agreement. The Merciless Modiste offers a sharp nod before turning to bark orders at her new underlings. All is well, and all manner of things shall be well.

***

Hours later, having relieved himself of cargo and intelligence both, Lieutenant Moore is headed back to his ship to oversee her transference to the admiralty's drydocks. As he reaches the wharf, an unfamiliar shape chugs up to the docking point across from the Saint Dymphna. The new arrival is an elegant ship nearly two-thirds the size of the frigate, painted a smooth and eye-catching sapphire hue so bright it borders on violant. Moore's experienced eye tells him she isn't built for fighting, but any ship on the Zee needs durability and firepower if she intends to arrive at her destination, and this one has both in abundance. The scars of battle are well-hidden in the paint, and the deck and aft weapons are politely covered, but she's obviously survived her share of incidents.

The beautiful new arrival's gangway lowers as Moore reaches the Saint Dymphna, and a servant comes down it rolling a deep blue carpet open all the way to the pier. Another, this one with a pail of cleaning supplies, scurries out to begin clearing the worst of the grime from the stones of the wharf. It's impossible to see the deck from here, but Moore can hear the sound of a singularly skilled string quartet winding down the end of a performance. He shakes his head at the extravagances of the well-to-do.

The crew of dockers led by the Ragged Lady are scattered around the end of the pier near Dymphna's mooring point, dangling their feet dangerously near the waters of the Zee or propped up on empty barrels, passing dark bottles around, waiting to be paid. Moore produces a newly heavy purse from an inner pocket (no sense wearing your money on a belt where it can be stolen) and jingles it lightly to get their attention. The Ragged Lady herself hops up from her slapdash crate-throne to retrieve her company's due.

Moore is in the process of counting out the appropriate quantity of coin when the society people begin to disembark from the Sapphire Pleasure Yacht. He takes a moment to indulge in a bit of working class solidarity by marveling at the handsome coats and time pieces of the gentlemen while the Ragged Lady admires the shoes and frocks worn by the women. After a gaggle of well-dressed personages spill out onto the dock and begin to disperse, one final person appears at the top of the gangway.

Wearing a gown made of golden parabola linen (Moore recognizes it after transporting enough of the stuff) which gleams like Aestival's sun seen through Zee fog, this individual pauses at the edge of the deck to speak with someone still on board. Augustine Moore is not usually the sort of man who puts much stock in the fashion choices of society people, considering them beautiful but frivolous at best and downright wasteful at worst, but he cannot help but see the purpose in every line of this person's figure.

The large sapphire earrings and necklace, obviously a signifier of wealth and Carnelian affiliation, gleam in the reflected light of the gown to create a dazzling effect which must be disorienting in conversation. The pair of gold and blue heeled boots visible beneath the hem of the dress as the person begins to descend the gangway seem to move with them, steadying their steps and preventing any embarrassing stumbles. Moore recognizes them as arguably-living Moray Heels: far out of his own price range, but the kind of thing a sensible (and enormously wealthy) zeefarer with a keen eye for fashion might wear.

The brass and amber ring, prominently the only adornment on the stranger's hands, seems to whisper of hidden things even at this distance. Moore has seen enough devil-craft in his trips to the Iron Republic to spot it at twenty meters. That's certainly what the ring is. And atop their impeccably styled hair sits a coronet of chitin and bone and nevercold brass which fills the air around them with an unquestionable aura of authority. They are, without a doubt, the most arresting beauty Lieutenant Moore has ever laid eyes on.

"Who is that?" he breathes, barely able to tear his attention from the stranger long enough to ask.

The Ragged Lady giggles, not even bothering to clap a hand over her mouth to hide it. "That'd be Their Inestimable Ladyship. Just returning from another stint as Governor of Port Carnelian for the season, I'd bet."

"Don't you mean The Social Season?" one of her scruffy brothers calls, in the tone of a child poking at a familiar debate to get a rise out of someone.

"No, and I'm not having this argument with you again," she snaps over her shoulder at the interlocutor. She turns back to Moore with the amused twinkle still in her eyes. "All of the tun should be coming back into town soon, but Their Ladyship is always a little early to make sure everything is ready."

"You know they did a turn or three down here on the docks?" The Scruffy Interlocutor puts in from his spot by the edge of the water. "I heard they rapped some neddy men but good in the last strike. Took that nasty bone knife they keep in their boot and put one of Feducci's best outta commission too, a couple seasons back. Ain't seen that Captain Vendrick fella around since he was rantin' about them killing his love in a permanent sorta way."

"I heard they came up from nothin'. Came from some back alley in Spite or somesuch, tricked and fought and worked their way into the Singing Mandrake and then all the way to the Shuttered Palace," another member of the troupe, this one a solidly built boy right on the cusp of manhood, adds.

"I hear," a spindly youth barely too old to be an urchin pipes up in the story-telling spirit that seems to have taken hold of the gang, "they was born 'n raised right here on the docks, and them court twits still ain't realized!" He chortles with glee at the supposed foolishness of the high society.

After the laughter runs its course through the rest of the crew, a myopic boy with a nasal voice and thick glasses adds his two cents. "I hear they're running expeditions in the Forgotten Quarter and funding projects in the University. I hear they're starting an orphanage out of their old townhouse, and they've made friends with the rats under the Blind Helmsman."

"I hear they've got one foot in the Brass Embassy and the other in Saint Fiacres, and they've been seen out on the town with two different devils, and the Bishop of Southwark. I hear they're in bed with-" This last liberty, from the Grinning Prevaricator dangling upside down on one of the taught spring lines, draws an interruption before it can be fully taken.

"Oh hush, all of you," the Ragged Lady cuts them off with a sharp slash of her hand. She watches Their Ladyship reach the end of the gangway and stop to help the servant begin rolling the blue carpet back up. There's something almost… wistful, there in her eyes. "Everybody knows Their Inestimable Ladyship came down from the surface. They were a poet and a writer and a terrible scandal, then cleaned it all up after a trip or two to the Tomb Colonies. They got right with the Church and the fancy folks, and now they're the Poet Laureate of all London and sometime-governor of Port Carnelian."

The others have all fallen silent as their Ragged Lady speaks, whether out of respect or because they know where that wistful look comes from, Moore can't determine. She tells the story with the simple conviction of one who knows her information is accurate, insofar as it goes, and none of her gang of brothers chooses to push her on it. Moore wishes any of his brothers had ever showed him the same courtesy, but more than that he's fascinated by the stories and the person at the center of them. He burns with curiosity about Their Inestimable Ladyship (and how does the Ragged Lady know so much about them, anyway?), but he's not stupid. He knows better than to seek more tales here, where his questioning might get back to the object of his interest. Maybe the Scholar or the Venturer will know more…

Meanwhile, across the dock, Their Ladyship has finished assisting the servant (who gives them a smile somewhere in the dangerous grey-zone between "grateful" and "utterly smitten") and is overseeing the unloading of baggage. For an individual dressed as spectacularly as they are, obviously wealthy and unafraid of showing it, they seem more interested in the lives and health of their staff than any other socialite Moore can think of offhand. At one point, they actually relieve a struggling servant from work, then go up into the docks for a moment. Moore thinks perhaps they intend to head off to their next appointment, leaving the crew short handed, but they shortly reappear with two extra helpers. Fascinating behavior.

He must investigate. Drydock temporarily forgotten (the Modiste will handle it), Moore pays the Ragged Lady and marches back into London in search of more information.

#fallen london #sunless seas #my writing #my ocs #oc x oc #Their Inestimable Ladyship #The Steely-Eyed Captain

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catalinadearagonsblog · 2 years ago

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Elizabeth of York and Katherine of Aragon

In 1501, Queen Elizabeth would help organize the wedding of her eldest son, Prince Arthur, and Katherine of Aragon.On October 2, the Spanish princess at last arrived in England, coming ashore at Plymouth after a stormy voyage. Ladies and officials had been appointed “to give their attendance upon the princess at her landing,” summoned by letters sent by the Queen herself. When Katherine set out on her journey eastward to London, she received a rapturous welcome from the people who flocked to see her on the way. Elizabeth must have been delighted to hear that her son’s bride was pretty and golden-haired, with a pleasing dignity. Preparations for the coming wedding advanced briskly.

On November 12, as all the bells of London rang out, banners fluttered from windows, crowds packed the streets, music sounded from every side, and the conduits ran with free wine, Katherine made her formal entry into the City. She was greeted by a series of lavish pageants in the Burgundian style as she passed along the processional route; all were designed to underline the success of the Tudor dynasty in obtaining such a highborn princess for the heir to the throne. The King, the Queen, Prince Arthur, Lady Margaret Beaufort and many other notables watched the procession from the windows of the home of a haberdasher in Cornhill. It was from her window that Elizabeth glimpsed her new daughter-in-law for the first time, as Katherine’s procession passed below; looking out, she would have seen a young girl riding “a great mule richly trapped after the manner of Spain,” flanked by Prince Henry and the papal legate, and wearing “rich apparel” in the Spanish mode:

“a little hat fashioned like a cardinal’s hat of pretty braid with a lace of gold to stay it, her hair hanging down about her shoulders, which is fair auburn, and a coif between her head and her hat of a carnation color.”

Arthur and Katherine were married on November 14 at Old St.Paul’s Cathedral in London. Katherine was now second lady in the land after the Queen. Afterward the Prince and Princess of Wales were conducted in a grand procession led by Prince Henry to the Bishop’s Palace, where a great feast was prepared.The previous afternoon and evening Katherine had been spent at the recently rebuilt royal residence of Baynard’s Castle, on the riverside, getting to know her mother-in-law. During her audience, Katherine and Elizabeth both spoke in Latin.They enjoyed themselves with pleasant and goodly communication, dancing and disports. Already Elizabeth had begun the process of preparing her successor for the role she would one day occupy, and probably Katherine was glad to have the guidance of a kindly mother-in-law who could initiate her into realities and mysteries of English court life. After the wedding, Elizabeth and Katherine shared days of celebrations with tournaments, disguisings and pageants.

The plan therefore was for Katherine to remain in London, under the tutelage of her mother-in-law (not forgetting her dominating grandmother-in-law), while Arthur was to be allowed to continue his growing-up undisturbed by the distractions of a wife, in the Marches of Wales at Ludlow Castle. But this plan was not carried out. Instead, Katherine and Arthur left together for Ludlow on December 21. Less than five months after their wedding, at the end of March 1502, Arthur and Katherine both fell ill. It took several weeks for her to recover from her illness. However, Arthur died on 2 April at the age of fifteen. He was buried in Worcester Cathedral. The news of Arthur’s death caused Henry VII to break down in grief, as much in fear for his dynasty as mourning for his son. Elizabeth comforted him, telling him that he was the only child of his mother but had survived to become King, that God had left him with a son and two daughters, and that they were both young enough to have more children.

In addition to Elizabeth’s other burdens, she was concerned for her daughter-in-law, and seems to have felt—as the Spanish sovereigns would when they heard the news of Arthur’s death— that Katherine of Aragon “must be removed without loss of time from the unhealthy place where she is now.” To this end Queen Elizabeth had sent an escort to bring the bereft and isolated young widow back to London, as soon as she was well enough to travel, and herself provided a black velvet litter, with valances and fringes also of black made by her own tailor, to convey her convalescent daughter-in-law. In this mournful equipage Katherine was brought to Richmond Palace. When she reached Richmond, she was conducted at once to the Queen, with whom she shared a mutual sorrow. After a short stay with the King and Queen, Katherine was given the choice of two residences: Durham House, the Bishop of Durham’s palace on London’s Strand, and Croydon Palace, the Archbishop of Canterbury’s residence in Surrey. Katherine chose Croydon and, by 4 May, was lodging there.

Late in May, Elizabeth of York sent Edward Calvert, her page, to Croydon, possibly to check on the Princess’s health, and perhaps discreetly to ask her servants if there were signs of any pregnancy. During the months Katherine stayed at Croydon, her future remained under discussion and her stay must have been shadowed by sorrow and anxiety. If Katherine had conceived a child by Arthur, the baby would be the new heir to the English throne and her union with Prince Henry would contravene canon law. Doña Elvira, her duenna, was adamant that the marriage had not even been consummated and wrote to Queen Isabel insisting that the Princess remained a virgin. Katherine was not pregnant with Arthur’s child. With her future still uncertain, Katherine has moved to Durham House.

In September Elizabeth sent Katherine books. In October sixteen oarsmen rowed her barge to the Durham House steps.They took Katherine the short distance to the Court of Westminster, where she seems to have stayed several weeks.The kindness offered by Elizabeth of York dried up abruptly ten months after Arthur’s death.The Queen had immediately got pregnant.The baby was a girl named Katherine, who died shortly after her birth. Succumbing to a post partum infection, Elizabeth died nine days later. It was her 37th birthday. Protocol suggests it is unlikely that Katherine attended the solemn funeral, where Elizabeth’s full-length effigy lay upon a coffin draped with black velvet and topped by a white gold cross. With Elizabeth’s death Katherine would have lost an ally, an alternative mother figure, and witnessed the effects of grief upon the king and his son Henry. Now the whole court was in mourning again.

Sources:

Elizabeth of York: A Tudor Queen and Her World by Alison Weir

The Six Wives of Henry VIII by Antonia Fraser

Catherine of Aragon: Henry’s Spanish Queen by Giles Tremlett

The Six Wives and Many Mistresses of Henry VIII: The Women’s Stories by Amy Licence

#catherine of aragon #katherine of aragon #catalina de aragon #elizabeth of york #arthur tudor #henry VII #tudor #trastamara #english history

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