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theorist-fox · 2 months ago

Text

Hesitate

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Crossposted on AO3.

Part 1 >> Part 2 >> Part 3

It can also be read as a standalone!

The description you'll read of Simon is heavily based on this fanart by @tiggerriot (give the creator some love!!!) because it has been occupying my mind 24/7. I'm in a chokehold.

Word count: 6k

Summary: Simon loses sight of you for far too long. In that time, he realizes he can't go a day without having you within reach. When you return, he tells you in the only way he knows.

18+

CW: smut (fingering, PinV), but with plot. Tiny angst, fluff. Protective and possessive Simon Riley. Mentions of stabbing and blood. Minor injuries.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

“Quiet.”

He barges in. Because of course he does. There isn’t a piece of flooring in this godforsaken base that hasn’t been violently reclaimed by Ghost’s boots.

Not even in your goddamn room.

Thankfully, you have the reflexes of a trained operative and have moved out of the way in time, otherwise you'd be sporting a wonderful, purple knob in the middle of your forehead. And while there is a certain distaste surging in your chest – the kind that makes your lips pucker and your stomach knot –, you know there is very little you can do to move the mountain that is Ghost.

So, you close the door behind you with an exhausted sigh, as he ventures further into your room.

“Good eve-“

He swivels on his heel as soon as your mouth parts to speak. “Where the fuck ‘ave you been, uh?”

The balaclava on his face does absolutely nothing to hide the hatred sizzling in his eyes. Funny, because you’ve always thought that it was the whole point of the thing – to hide his face. You wonder, sometimes, if he knows just how expressive his eyes are.

Does he know he tells so much more with those than he ever does with words?

Nevertheless, yours are as telling as his own, as they bulge out of your sockets. The odd look you give him is comical, compared to the ire that's practically singeing his clothes.

“Uh,” you stutter. “Deployment?”

He narrows his eyes at you into tiny slits. So tiny you have to squint your eyes yourself to catch a glimpse of his irises.

“Alone?” He asks, clearly skeptical.

To match the distrust in his tone, you tilt your head toward his, brows furrowing in confusion.

“…Yeah?” You reply, and the more you go on the more sarcastic you sound. “We do that, sometimes. Lone ops, recon. Y’know, we’re in the UKSF, in case you, uh – forgot.”

He hums gravelly. A sound that causes his body to straighten up as if the cogs have finally started whirring and working seamlessly once again.

“Don’t get smart, now.” He warns, freezing you with a look.

You pucker your lips and instinctively show him your palms, cheekily replying with an “I would never.”

Wrong move, unfortunately.

You are your worst enemy.

If this conversation goes downhill, you are the one to blame. Schedule a punishing whipping for yourself, later – you better fetch the goddamn cat o’ nine tails.

The movement causes the long sleeve of your loungewear to slip further down your forearm, pooling at your elbow, and exposing a large bruise. A galaxy of greens and mauves in the shape of five fingers and a large palm.

Ghost’s eyes zero on your arm with the rapidity of a hawk. Price has always said it, after all: he only knows one sniper who’s better than Ghost, and she’s a thousand klicks away now. You miss her – Farah would’ve been a lot nicer about this than him.

When his focus returns to you, he doesn’t even have to ask. As you’ve already stated time and time again, he conveys a lot more with his eyes.

And they are absolutely fuming.

You suck in a sharp breath, nodding your head slowly while returning your sleeve where it’s supposed to be. Fucking traitorous piece of cotton that should stick around your wrist.

“Y’know,” you start, your chest all puffed because – well, you ain’t breathing right. Not with Ghost staring you down like you’ve gone and killed the King of England. “I had to sneak in, grab the USB key our contact set up for us, and then – bang, vanish. And I did it, yeah? I was brilliant at it.”

The smile on your face is as fake as the cheerful tone you’re using to dispense this information. It cracks as soon as you see the fabric of the balaclava shift on his jaw.

He’s grinding his molars into dust.

“And?”

You gesture vaguely. Shift your eyes to the ceiling. Tongue your cheek. Try to downplay it. “Well, ‘s nothing really.”

“Sergeant.” He barks. If he had hackles, they’d be dusting the ceiling.

You sigh.

God, how long have you been holding onto that breath? You’re positive it was the air you’ve inhaled, like, ten thousand years ago.

“Someone thought I was acting a bit dodgy and had me pinned to the floor.” You made grabby hands with a cheeky smile, “I have meaty forearms. Plenty to grip.”

Humor is usually the key to lessen the tension that would strangle your and his lungs. Normally, he’d let it go. He’d listlessly smack the back of your head or pinch the flesh of your biceps and call it a day.

Now, sarcasm seems like the last thing you should’ve resorted to. His posture is stiff and straight. The night lamp on your bedside table sheds light against his back, making him look like he's the wolf ready to pounce what it's going to be his dinner.

It makes your blood curdle.

“Yeah, okay.” You huff, digging your fingertips in the back of your neck to release some tension. “Nothing happened. I jabbed him in the throat before he could shout for help and shoved him under a desk. Got myself a proper blood shower.”

Ghost’s eye twitches.

And then he goes silent.

Not the news of the year, of course. He’s always silent. You know he doesn’t get his callsign from that, but you can’t help but find his personality incredibly fitting with the military nickname.

However, this isn’t the usual Simon shut-up-and-sod-off Riley. He’s so still you wonder if he’s breathing. You have half a mind to wave your hand in front of his eyes to check if he’s gone catatonic.

You don’t, of course. Dogs bite.

You sneer, more in concern than anything, and gingerly take a step forward. Initially, your question comes out simply as a sideway tilt of your head paired with a puzzled look – a question mark would be floating above you, if physically possible.

But when that doesn’t seem enough to coax an answer out of him, you blurt out an “Oi.”

His eyes are jaded as they swivel to your face. Always with the heavy-lidded gaze that makes him look like he’d love to be anywhere but where he currently is.

He seems… calmer. You're not sure whether it's a good or a bad thing. You prefer it when he's fuming because, as the saying goes, better the devil you know.

“Off.” He states.

Of course, he prefers syllables to full, clear sentences. Expressions you (or anyone else, really) don’t seem to catch, unfortunately. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve told him that if he wants to have a conversation, he should start stringing words one after the other instead of settling for just one.

“What?” You deadpan. “Off with the bullshit? Off with my head? Words, L.T.”

You don’t seem to have learned from your past mistake of using humor to sneak out of a predicament when Ghost appears to have all hell ready to unleash.

He roughly points at your chest, “The shirt,” and then aims his finger to the floor. “Off.”

Look at you: dumbfounded.

Sure, you two have fucked, occasionally – ever since he’d come to terms with the idea that he could do it without getting into trouble. It’s not like he gives two shits about someone finding out, he just doesn’t want to deal with commanding officers explaining to him why he shouldn’t stick it anywhere he finds fitting. God forbid someone puts him through one of those seminars about relationship policies and how they can disrupt the chain of command.

You splutter, “Wha – Excuse me?”

“Ya heard.” He reiterates. “The shirt. Off.”

You scoff. “You wanna fuck now?”

“Didn’t say tha’, did I?” He says flatly.

“Oh, sorry!” You snark. “Didn’t think there were other reasons why you’d want me to flash my tits.”

“Didn’t say tha’ either.” He deadpans and swipes his index finger in the air again. “Off with the shirt.”

You huff, pinching the bridge of your nose while, stubbornly, still wearing the t-shirt.

“Not in the mood to have sex, honestly,” you explain, trying to stay calm in the face of the implications of the request. “I came back this morning, I’m beat. I need a cuppa and some sleep –“

He switches, then. “Take off that fucking shirt, sergeant.”

You bristle. Anyone would, at that tone.

Suddenly, you’re back to basic training in Pirbright with your wench of a drill instructor calling you a fucking idiot.

Needless to say, you follow through with his order and rip the shirt off with more spite than cooperation. With a big frown on your face, you turn on your heel and start stomping angrily towards the bed.

“Make it quick.” You snap, getting on your knees on the edge of the mattress, ready to get pounded into oblivion.

You’ll like it, eventually, even if you’re not really in the mood.

Ghost fucks you good. It’s undeniable.

You’ve soaked his sheets, his clothes, his mask – he’s that type of good. You won’t tell him though; his ego is already too big. If it grows more, HQ won’t be able to contain it and the whole base will blow up into smithereens.

You’re saving lives, here, by keeping your mouth shut about it.

But he has other plans, it seems.

“The fuck are you doin’.”

It is not, in fact, a question.

You look over your shoulder and find him still standing where you left him, a few paces back.

You quirk a brow, and shoot it back at him, “The fuck are you doing.”

“Why are you bendin’ over.” He states.

"To fuck?" You say, an unsaid obviously lingering in the air.

Something shifts under his mask, as if he’s scowling. “Who said I wanted to fuck?”

You splutter, yet again caught by surprise. “You made me get naked.”

He sighs, sounding exasperated, and approaches you, who is – by the way – still shamefully on all fours on the tiny bed of your quarters.

Suddenly, all that spite sublimates under the heavy, hot weight of embarrassment.

What are you doing, on your knees on the bed, half naked, if he doesn’t want to fuck?

In your defense, while the two of you often spent time chatting about everything and nothing, that happened in public places. Not once has he knocked on your door for a spot of tea and decent conversation.

Regardless, as soon as you manage to stand on your knees, you can feel him right behind you. Scorching fingers of shame crawl up to your neck. You feel your chest warm up, all the way to the apples of your cheeks. Awkwardly, you bring your arms up to cover your breasts.

“Off,” he orders, again.

You swallow dryly, offering an insecure smile. “…With the pants?”

He gives you a glacial look. Your blood freezes in your vessels. You think you might have turned cyanotic.

“Fuckin’ hell – Off the bed.”

Obviously, your feet touch the ground with impeccable speed, because after that display, the least you can do is follow through with his orders before you make a fool of yourself twice in under a minute.

You feel his fingers curl around the top of your head, only allowing the pads to tangle through your hair and touch your scalp. It’s as if he doesn’t really want to touch you, but feels compelled to do so.

He flicks his wrist to give you a sense of the direction he wants you to turn to, and you do, waddling a little on your feet as you slowly twirl.

Your hands are tucked under your biceps, which are currently strangling your ribcage in an attempt to cover as much of your chest as you can with your forearms.

When you’re finally facing him again, you look up at him through your lashes. His eyes, however, are not on your tits as you expect. He’s not even ogling, to be honest – which would be a blow to your ego, if the situation weren’t so… odd.

Your brows are pinched. Your mouth parts only so you can suck in some air and then worry your lip between your teeth.

This is much too intimate than what you’re used to.

You realize, as he studies your body, with that weirdly placed hand on your head, that Ghost has never… seen it.

Or – well, he’s seen it all right, but he’s never looked at it. Your encounters are usually very quick and to the point.

He fucks you.

You come – once or twice. Thrice, if he’s feeling particularly generous.

He comes.

Get yourself a glass o’ water and jog on. ‘M knackered.

Yeah, okay. G’night, prick.

Right back at ya.

That’s it.

Sometimes, you don’t even take off each other’s clothes. Sometimes, he doesn’t even turn on the lights.

Now, his gaze is heavy as he looks at the dip of your waist, then at the fuzz below your belly button and where it leads, until the hem of your slouchy sweatpants that have seen better days. It’s like having lasers pointed at every nook and cranny of you, leaving scorching lines along your profile.

He taps his finger on your forearm, the one without the bruise – a silent request to take your arms off your chest. Your hands are shaking as you comply, but you’re too preoccupied with him to notice.

Ghost seems utterly uninterested at the sight of your tits bouncing down in response to gravity, instead setting his focus on the edges of your ribcage.

He flicks his wrist again, and you slowly turn the other way, giving him your back.

You feel his fingers twitch against your scalp, before a cold fingertip brushes against your right side.

"Here." He states, barely tracing the lines of your ribs.

It's been so long since he's last spoken that you feel goosebumps rise along your neck. God, his voice will never not make your insides churn.

Regardless, you spread your elbows out, lifting your right arm so you can look at where he's pointing. You can't see much, but you definitely feel how the slight movement of your shoulder causes your right side to ache as if the skin were ready to burst at the seams.

“Ow.”

You frown and curiously try again to take a peek at the cause of the pain. After some squirming, you spot the darkening patch of flesh, speckled with purples and yellows.

“Mh,” you muse. “Didn’t know that was there.”

The hand on your head finally abandons it, allowing the muscles on your neck to relax.

You continue, somewhat feeling the need to explain why there is yet another bruise. “When that man saw me, he knocked me onto the floor. Must’ve hit it harder than I thought.”

He hums noncommittally. You could’ve told him the most absurd tale, and he wouldn’t have batted an eye, much too focused on the expanse of your back.

You shrug, then. “’S alright. It’ll pass. It’s just a bruise.”

It’s then that he meets your eyes.

There’s always a sort of veil over his, whenever the air around you both thickens. You wish you had scissors to rip it, sometimes. Or walk to the curtain and take a peek inside.

“What is this?” You gesture at the two of you, looking back at him over your shoulder. “What are you doing?”

He deflects your questions with the same reflexes he uses to dodge bullets, answering instead with a question of his own. “You went to medical?”

Your lips twitch and you have to school your face into more muted frustration.

Your response is a little petty, but you can’t help but give it to him. “No, just a couple of bumps, nothing that needs a trip to the doctor."

He is a looming shadow behind you, encompassing you with dark tendrils that threaten to swallow you whole. He sucks the warmth of the room with the ice embedded in his eyes – it forces you to look away, finding comfort in your own hands cupping your biceps.

You don’t even manage to reach for your t-shirt again, feeling the need to cover yourself up, that he curls an uncharacteristically gentle hand around your jaw.

You stiffen.

He seizes that moment to turn your head, his other fingers already hooked at the hem of his balaclava around the neck. He slides it up and off naturally.

There’s always some sort of solemnity when his face comes into view.

Each groove and bump tell a story of their own, not a single one coming from the same tale, nor the same blade.

He has crow's feet, but he rarely smiles – if ever. There are lines originating from the sides of his nose tipping at each corner of his mouth. They should symbolize happiness carved, but you fear it’s the opposite.

Thick, convoluted scars paint him like rough brush strokes given by an angry hand – bristles of steel, paint of blood.

Teeth peek out from a particularly gruesome injury that has torn the flesh off his upper lip. He constantly looks like he’s scowling at you, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d probably think he was. Would fit the character, and all.

Truth is, Simon rarely cares enough to scowl at anyone. You can either get a cold side glance or a disinterested one – if it’s the former, then you might be in his good graces.

Right now, though, you don’t think he’s giving you either. His eyes are murky; a mud of anger, annoyance, and disappointment. He looks like he hates you with all his might, staring at you as if he could, by sheer force of thought, scoop out the eyes from your sockets.

“You wanna kill me?” You mumble, finding it hard to speak as he holds your jaw between his fingers. “Get in line, mate. There are at least a bunch a’ Russian men and their mothers before you, ever since I shanked their colleague.”

Then, his eyes leave yours to glance at your lips. He must think you haven’t noticed, because he doesn’t bother to hide it. However – and you’ve always found this incredibly interesting – Ghost tends to forget when he’s wearing the mask and when he isn’t.

Each time, it’s like watching a child learning how to rein it in. Or, you know, like that sibling you have to surreptitiously elbow under the table at Christmas dinner when your pissed uncle is going off a tangent regarding the most idiotic, misplaced subject ever known to man.

That’s Ghost right now.

The sibling elbowing him? Simon.

He blinks out of his headspace and then frowns, returning his eyes to yours.

“Don’t need to.” He grunts. “You’re doin’ a fine job by yourself.”

You scoff. “It’s just a bruise.”

His jaw ticks.

“Yeah, but it’s on you.”

It’s said low and bitter, as if he’s had to fight tooth and nail to yank it out of his chest.

You, on the other hand, are stock still in place – not only because of his hand holding you firmly by the jaw, forcing you to look over your shoulder to where he stands, but also because what was that?

You swallow but it's futile because your tongue is stuck to your palate. The air surrounding you crackles. The oxygen is lacking, and your lungs are suffering from it.

You blink. That’s all it takes, and he lands his mouth on you.

Ghost’s kisses are always rough, determined to take your breath away and leave you wondering if you’ll ever say any other name but his own. This one is not much different, but you have to recognize that it is somewhat angrier.

His lips part as if he could swallow you whole, working his tongue against yours and hindering your movements with his fingers holding your face, and a hand over your belly.

You can work with this. This, you know how to behave around. This is charted territory – the hunger, the stress, the need to decompress and find solace in the oasis you offer so generously between your legs.

You know the dance, and so you press your bum against his groin. You weren’t in the mood, like – ten minutes ago. You were a different person back then.

If Ghost now wants to split you in half, you’d hand him the butcher knife.

You’re already turning feverish, lifting your right arm to tangle with his hair, ready to grab and pull and bite and –

He stops you. Palm to your knuckles, guiding it down once more. He doesn’t hold your hand, instead removing his own as though your skin were burning coal.

Not as carefully, though, he snakes under your sweatpants and unceremoniously dips his middle finger inside your cunt.

“Fuck,” you hiss.

You weren’t that wet, and while you're not one to say no to a bit of pain, this has caught you so off guard that you decide to chastise him by nipping at his lower lip.

It’s not much of a punishment, you guess, because his hips jerk to rub himself against you.

You wish to move and take this to the bed, where you can lie down and be his pillow princess. Let him fuck you until his heart's content, because you're tired and you'd love to get used for his pleasure and yours.

But he’s an unmoving statue, boots glued to the floor and hand shackled to your pussy, dipping in relentlessly until your knees buckle under the sheer pressure of his finger buried to the knuckle.

When your hips start undulating to increase the friction – specifically of his palm against your neglected bundle of nerves where your pussy tips – he inserts a second finger, and you positively melt against his chest. It’s then that he releases your lips, allowing you to moan under your breath.

He starts sucking blindly at whatever piece of skin he can find, leaving love bites on the length of your shoulders all the way to your neck. Teeth and tongue and words that escape his lips, while he curls his fingers inside you, drowning your thoughts in frayed growls from his mouth, and raunchy squelches from between your legs. His offhand gets busy and starts toying and pulling at your nipples.

You're being absolutely ravaged; his nails are talons and he wants to rip you apart and eat you inside out after he's prepped you alright. It's juxtaposing - the pleasure, and the crudeness. It's new, but not unwelcome.

“You should’ve told me.” He grunts. You don’t pay it much mind, he usually murmurs a lot during sex, and less than half of the time you catch what he says – the other times, you’re already too stupid to use your senses.

“Should’ve.”

He snaps his finger upward, burying them to the knuckle.

“Told me."

Then rolls his palm against your clit.

"You were being posted."

Finally, he curls his fingers inside, making your legs quiver.

You whimper and your eyes roll back. Is this your punishment? Hell fucking yes, then. You’ll keep your secrets more often.

But alas, you do feel compelled to at least explain and apologize.

“M’sorry,” you breathe, “It was a last-minute thing. Got called the day before.”

Surely, he’ll understand. That’s how deployments work: they give you a timeframe, and you might or might not get the dreaded call. If you do, then you’re off – one day you’re lounging at the beach, the next you’re buried in gore.

No in-between.

You don't want to distract him though. You're so close. If he just – moved a little, maybe? Or allowed you to rest your legs somewhere.

You shift imperceptibly so that you can rub your clit at your preferred pace against his palm. The callouses on the heel of his hand make it somehow even better.

He allows you, meaning that even if you’ve kept the deployment from him, he’s feeling magnanimous.

You roll your head against his shoulder to nuzzle his neck, the tip of your nose tucked behind his lobe. You pant as he fucks you with his fingers, and murmur sweet things about how good he is to you, because he’s being kind and for that he deserves a generous stroke to his ego. You leave open kisses on his neck, his jaw, lapping the sweat off his skin with your tongue – to try and give back some of the pleasure he’s offering you.

When you come, it is with a loud groan muffled in his neck, and he holds you by the waist before you keel over. The orgasm almost stings, since he’s ripped it out of you so quickly and forcefully. It tingles from the tips of your toes, curling against the linoleum, all the way to the knot that finally snaps in your gut.

Only then, when your vision clears and your skin still prickles in goosebumps, do you hear him through the ringing of your ears.

“You don’t understand.” He’s saying, like a prayer repeated gruffly to the skin of your neck.

He doesn’t say it once, he doesn’t say it twice. He repeats it with fervor, and the more it escapes his mouth, the angrier it gets.

You feel the back of your knee being pushed by his own, and you stumble forward on the mattress. You’re confused, still descending from the high of your orgasm, feeling your limbs move under his command and notyours. Trying to find sense in his words.

You don’t understand.

Your ears are cottoned – the orgasm has been that blissful – but you still catch the sound of a zipper being pulled down. Your front is plastered against the mattress, cheek buried in linen of freshly washed sheets.

You don’t have the strength to stand, nor to look behind, so you can solely rely on your hearing, on your touch.

Shallow breaths.

Shuffle of fabric – he’s taking off his shirt.

His hand skims over your back, purposefully avoiding the bruise on your side.

A finger pulls down the sweatpants to your ankles – the air feels cold against your skin, flushed and burning.

Wet fingertips trail down your legs with uncommon reverence, until they reach down and yank the pants off your feet.

The denim of his jeans shifts. A thud – he’s on his knees.

He forces your leg to bend and kisses your ankle. Then the arch of your foot. Your toes, and it makes your cunt flutter around nothing. The actions are paired with a wet, rhythmic sound – he’s touching himself the way you’d touch him.

He has fingered you with such voracity you thought you’d rip in half on his hand, and now he’s on his knees, kissing your feet. He’s switching rapidly – angry, then devoted.

The former you know, but the latter is different. It’s new.

You feel the mattress dip and protest under the additional weight, each of his thighs on either side of yours, keeping your legs flush together.

A hand appears in your vision, gripping the sheets.

You kiss the knuckle on his thumb, and he flicks it gently over your nose.

His chest exudes warmth even if he isn’t properly touching your back. He simply hovers above it, putting his weight on his palm, while his other hand is busy stroking his cock.

You're wet and prepped just how he likes, in fact he slides in easily.

You already came, which means you're hypersensitive – it feels like he's inserting something long and scorching hot inside. Your breath hitches in your throat at the intrusion, and he dips his forehead to your shoulder, leaving an apologetic kiss.

He fucks you slow and deep, dragging backward without ever pulling out. He wants to stay sheathed inside. He wants to bury himself in there, with your velvet walls squeezing him dry. You won’t complain. You’ll keep him snug until he’s sated. Until you are, too.

This dance you know as well, and so you fold your arms behind you, bending your elbows so that he can grip both your forearms with one hand and use them as leverage to rail you until you’re only babbling nonsense.

But he… doesn’t?

He still fucks you, sure, but his hand doesn’t reach for your arms, preferring the sheets instead, and it makes you feel a little neglected, wondering if you're doing something wrong. Sure – you just came, he’s treated you to your nice little post-operation orgasm, and then proceeded to fuck you. So, he must still be into this – into you.

Right?

You thought this could’ve been a nice way to reciprocate, since you know how much he likes to get you to bend as he pleases.

A thank you of sorts.

You reach up with your fingers, tickling his abdomen to make him notice that you’ve prepared yourself for him, arms knotted behind your back like a bow on a present – just in case he’s missed it, you know?

But he reaches down only to guide your arms back to the bed, distending them ahead. He goes to hold one hand but stops, instead digging his palm back into the mattress.

Just when you’re about to protest, lifting your head from the bed, he drags his tongue around the shell of your ear.

You shudder.

"I- I'm not good at this." He grunts as he fucks you slowly, dragging breathy moans out of your lips. "So jus’ listen for once in your goddamn life.”

It’s then that his pace picks up, punching a ragged groan out of your lips at the first abrupt thrust.

He’s either doing it to shut you up, or to make you focus on something else while he speaks. So, maybe, if you’re busy molding your pussy around his cock and rolling your eyes to the back of your head, you won’t hear what he’s saying.

“Lieut –“

“Simon.” He chides loudly. “Fuck – Told you it’s Simon, ‘ere.”

You grip the sheets as your head bobs to the pace he takes. Your breathing is more akin to a wheeze, and your belly flutters each time he hits you just right.

“Simon,” you whimper.

“Yeah,” he croons. “Simon. Good.”

Simon is as breathless as you are, but much more contained.

“Need to know where you are,” he murmurs under his breath. “You got no idea wha’ I –“

He releases a shuddering breath that tickles your ear.

You’re keening and shivering, trying to focus on his words but it seems like he’s trying his best to prevent you from listening, even if he’s the one who’s asked you to.

There’s something rabid in his motions. He bullies his cock as deep as it can reach, his hips brutally slap against your ass. You can feel the fat recoiling, the vibration tipping at the base of your skull. He’s feral and yet it’s so different.

He groans, but it's frustrated more than satisfied.

“You got no fuckin’ idea, do ya?” He mutters the sentence like a curse. “No fuckin’ idea. You – “

You reach for his hand with your own, but he swats it away.

You try again and he nibbles at your ear.

“Don’t." He warns lowly, stilling his motions until he’s hilted all the way inside.

You suck in a breath as he shoves himself until there’s not an inch of space for him to move.

He’s ramrod stiff above you, struggling to keep his chest off your back – denying you of his skin. Of intimacy. Of contact.

You twist your head that much to look at his face and find him staring blankly ahead.

To say it worries you would be an understatement, especially if paired with the puzzling behavior he’s had all evening.

You follow the trajectory of his gaze with your eyes and heartbreakingly discover that he's burning holes in your bruised flesh – the hand of that now-dead man still darkly imprinted on your skin.

Is that why he doesn't touch you? Is that why he's taking pains to not press his weight on your body when he'd usually have you flattened under the whole of him?

You feel yourself falter. “Si-“

“You’re hurt.” he croaks. “I’ll hurt you more.”

You don’t know what staggers you the most: his cock up your cervix making you dizzy, or the hesitance in his voice.

Hesitance.

Simon doesn’t hesitate. He’s not tentative.

He takes.

If he can’t take, he delegates, and whatever he needs eventually will fall into his hand.

You fell into his hand without too much of a fuss. He gave you the impression that you were the one demanding and obtaining, but the truth obviously lies elsewhere.

Simon wanted you, too. He wants you, too.

He gave you the chance to sneak into his office and request an immediate closure to the cat-and-mouse chase. He delegated it to you.

And then he took.

Hesitance, clearly, isn’t in his daily vocabulary.

This dance, you don’t know. You’re out of your zone. You don’t know which steps to take without tripping over his toes and disrupting the music.

He’s unmoving inside of you, catching his breath with his lips on your ear.

“Can’t hurt you.” He breathes, and you have to focus to even catch it.

“You won’t,” you whisper, trying a first step. “I’ll tell you if – “

And it’s the wrong one.

He starts again, pulling out and fiercely slamming back in. Your breathing snaps, palm coming down to slap against the mattress, “Fuck!”

It would feel oh, so good, if you were in the right headspace.

He won’t allow you to talk. He’s begging you, in his contorted ways, to let him speak without judgment. Without the fear of knowing he has dropped the mask too low.

This is his time.

You should’ve shut your mouth, for once, and allowed him to speak. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He asked for one thing.

Jus’ listen for once in your goddamn life.

You purse your lips in a line and nudge your head against his own, a silent way to prompt him to go on.

I’m sorry. I’m listening.

“You got no idea.” He repeats again, but this time his voice cracks – overwhelmed.

He starts his voracious pace that always steals your breath and fucks your brain into a mush.

“I’ve looked for ya, asked ‘round – no one fucking knew. Got told you were off on deployment, and that’s it.”

Each word is as accusatory and irate as the cock he’s drilling inside of you.

“You weren’t comin’ back. One. Two. Three weeks. No fuckin’ sign of ya.” He thrusts in for each week you’ve gone missing, “I was – “

He stops. Inhales sharply. Hesitates, once again.

“Don’t wanna feel tha’ again – don’t put me through that again.”

Suddenly, you can feel everything at once.

Your body perks up.

Vision, hearing, touch, taste, smell – all filled of him.

And it’s not about sex anymore.

It never has been, but how obvious it is now.

You want to hold his hand, but you decide to leave him space.

The hand-shaped bruise on your arm glares at him like a promise he silently made with himself and failed to keep. You won’t make him feel like he broke a thing, because he hasn’t.

If anything, you’ve never felt more whole in your life.

You and Simon have never gone further than physical. You don't know how to soothe a heart so afraid if it belongs to him. So, you do the only thing you’ve learned that manages to get through to him.

You keen and moan and breathe, allowing tiny praises and sinful curses to leave your lips.

Like that – yeah. Shit.

Yes, yes, yes.

Deeper. Please.

His name – not his callsign, not his rank.

Simon, you croon. Simon, Simon, Simon.

You feel the pressure of his come spurting out, flooding your walls like a dam has broken and crushed. His mouth on your ear won’t allow a single sound to pass, but he’s clearly overly affected – you know, by the way his breath comes. As if he’s clinging to life and has found purchase for survival right on your skin.

You want to kiss him, but you leave the choice up to him. You won’t squirm under the press of his forehead against your temple, but your lips are there for him to taste – moist and plump and ready.

Simon’s lashes flutter against your cheekbone as he regains his bearings. Looks at you. His eyes hint at regret – it’s a fraction of a second that has your stomach knot. But then he squashes it down, when he realizes that you saw nothing wrong in his words.

He kisses your cheek, and then your lips. Thankfulness seeps through.

"Don't hide from me again," he murmurs and gingerly hooks his thumb around your pinky. Not touching you yet, not so close to where you’re already aching.

You curl your finger around his own. “I won’t.”

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod #cod mw2 #fanfic #archive of our own #ao3 #ghost x reader #smut #cod smut #x reader

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milswrites · 9 months ago

Text

Hobbies Part 3.

~Azriel X Reader

Summary: In an attempt to keep Azriel away from Elain, Rhys sends him on a sabbatical to the Day Court. With a lot more free time on his hands Azriel needs to find something to keep him occupied. Unfortunately he meets Y/N who has the annoying habit of not staying away. Can she teach him that there’s more to life than he thought?

Grumpy!Azriel X Sunshine!Reader

Series masterlist

Warnings: Tiny bit of angst and sadness. Light injury (nothing too bad)

“Why is it whenever you come to my door you’re always dressed so strangely?”

Azriel has had four blissfully peaceful days since the training session with Y/N . He knew she would turn up again at some point, having promised she’d come back and make him try something new.

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t slightly looking forward to spending time with Y/N again, he just assumed it was due to the fact that life in the Day Court for him was awfully dull. At least he now knew where the training grounds were and found most of his time was now spent there. Still just himself for company, he had now adopted his regular pre-sabbatical training routine and he had even been on a few late night flights, the need to stretch his wings too much to deny.

Azriel would also be lying if he said he wasn’t waiting on Y/N’s arrival at his flat once more. A shadow constantly waiting by his front door, even when he was out of his flat, to ensure that he would always know when she was waiting outside to meet him.

That’s what lead him to where he was now.

He had been outside, busy at the training ground and focussed on practicing a very difficult drill with his daggers, when the small wisp of one of his shadows came flying into the arena causing him to immediately stop what he was doing.

‘She’s here’ it told him ‘she’s waiting for you’.

At once Azriel sheathed his daggers and took off flying. Speeding towards the direction of his flat. Not wanting Y/N to know he had left a shadow at the door, purely with the intention of alerting him of her presence, Azriel squeezed himself through his open window. A window which definitely had not been built with the intention of a large Illyrian male squeezing through it but Azriel would rather suffer through the embarrassment of having to contort his body and drag himself through, rather than be faced with Y/N’s teasing grin at the fact he had been expecting her and rushed back to greet her.

After managing to crawl through his window, landing on the floor with a bang he prayed she didn’t hear, Azriel rushed to the door hoping Y/N was still there and hadn’t left having waited too long for a response.

Taking in a deep breath to try and return his breathing to normal, Azriel opened the door. He was met yet again with Y/N standing there, grin on your face, in another totally ridiculous outfit.

“What do you mean strange?” Y/N whined dramatically, hand placed over her heart as if his words hurt. Of course this wasn’t the case as the smile on her face had transformed into a smirk, clearly she was expecting him to say that, “Clearly you’ve never seen Day Court riding attire before.”

“Riding?! Like horses?!”

“No Azriel, riding like dragons, yes of course we’re riding horses!”

Azriel was now sure Rhysand had sent Y/N to torture him as punishment for what he did. He had never been on a horse and had absolutely no no intention of ever being on one. The small trace of excitement he had at the prospect of Y/N returning to his flat with a new hobby for him to try had completely left his mind. Azriel now in a mood and frankly he was slightly scared by the prospect of him on a horse.

“What a shame, I actually have plans for today” he shrugged mock-sympathetic look on his face as he attempted to pull his door to before Y/N could convince him otherwise. Something he was certain she would be able to do with little more than a smile.

“Hold on batboy,” Y/N chuckled, hand reaching out to grab the door before he could close it, “I did something you like, you’re going to do something I like. Deals the deal.”

“We didn’t make a deal” Azriel tried to reason, eyes focussed down the hallway of the flat so to avoid looking into her wide, begging ones that were no doubt staring at him.

“Yes we did”

“No we didn’t”

“Yes we- oh for mother’s sake Azriel! I thought you Illyrians were meant to be honest males!”

At this Azriel couldn’t help but release a barking laugh, “Sweetheart I don’t know what you think you know about Illyrians but that is most definitely wrong.”

“Oh well just…please Azriel,” as she said this Y/N softly moved one of her hands to rest on Azriel’s arm that was holding onto the door, “it would mean a lot to me.”

Azriel’s gaze flickered to where her hand rested on him, jaw clenching as his felt his control slip.

“Isn’t there something else you want to do?”

There wasn’t. Azriel had given in and now he found himself face to face with an overly skittish horse, clearly not a fan of his large wings. Y/N was already up on her horse, beaming down at Azriel as she waited patiently for him to mount.

Tentatively, he took a step towards the horse Y/N had selected for him to ride, pulling his wings in hoping that it would be less intimidating, the animal immediately shuffled backwards nervously.

“Y/N I don’t think this is a good idea” Azriel said turning towards the woman who was clearly enjoying his discomfort.

Giggling, she hopped off of her horse before walking over to Azriel and grabbing his hand. Not expecting this, Azriel flinched and yanked his hand away from her grip turning his head away from her, not wanting to see her disgust as she took in the mangled state of his hands.

“What are you doing?” He tried to snap at her but the words came out more unsure and shaky.

“Azriel”, Y/N spoke, drawing his eyes back to her kind face, “it’s ok, look.” With that Y/N took his hand again, her hold light as if giving him the chance to pull away again if he wanted to. Trusting her, Azriel exhaled and watched as she brought his scarred hand to his horses side moving it up and down in a gentle stroke, action calming the anxious mare.

Y/N’s hand lingered over his for a while, caught in the moment before she pulled away. Slow enough that Azriel was reassured it was not because of the marred skin of his hands. The back of his hand still tingling from where she had touched him.

“See?” She spoke softly, eyes slightly glazed. Azriel could have sworn he saw her shake her head a little, bringing herself back from wherever her mind had wandered to, before she took a step back away from his body, creating distance between them.

“Do you need help getting on?”

Neglecting a verbal response, Azriel shook his head, hand still pressed to the side of the horse where she had placed it. He knew the logistics over getting on a horse he had just never tried to before. Awkwardly, he placed his foot in the stirrup before pushing himself up and bringing his other leg over so he was sat on the horse. He made sure to lift his wings and spread them out a little to avoid them touching the horses back in fear their unfamiliar presence may cause him to get bucked off.

Azriel was sure of two things. One, he looked like an absolute idiot on this horse and if Cassian could see him now he would never let Azriel live it down. And two, Y/N was enjoying his struggle and obvious distaste for animals a little too much.

As they plodded along a dirt path outside of the city, Azriel kept a miserable eye on Y/N who wasn’t afraid to let out a loud cackle every time he showed any sign of stiffness or discomfort.

“Hanging in all right bat boy?” She grinned as Azriel released a groan, no one ever told him how much riding a horse hurt your backside.

“Is this supposed to be enjoyable? This can’t actually be your hobby” he mumbled, shifting on the back of his horse to try and find some semblance of comfort for his rear.

“It’s not,” Y/N replied, “never actually been on a horse before either, I had to beg Helion to let me borrow these from his stable.”

Her comment made Azriel pull on the reins tightly until his horse came to a stop, Y/N still moving on ahead, “What do you mean you’ve never been on a horse? The whole reason I’m here is because you said we were going to do something you like!”

“Hm no I don’t recall saying that” Y/N turned her head over her shoulder, flashing Azriel a cheeky grin before facing forward once more. He huffed and did his best to get his horse moving again, this taking a few attempts, riding along until he was side by side with Y/N.

“So why are we doing this instead of dress shopping or gossiping over some tea?”

Y/N gasped playfully, “Dear me Azriel, you can’t truly believe my hobbies would be something as mundane as shopping or talking. I never took you for a gossip though, that’s good to know”

“Well you seem to do too much of that” Huffed Azriel under his breath.

“Besides, consider this payback”

“Payback?”

“For training the other day, can’t think I’m going to let you flip me onto the floor and get away with it”

And with that Y/N pulled off into a gallop down the dirt track, flying away from Azriel, her laugh hanging in the air, his heart fluttering at the sound. Competitive spirit stirring, and a weird need to impress Y/N, Azriel urged his horse to move faster in an attempt to outrace Y/N who already had a very large head start.

This wasn’t Azriel’s smartest idea as it wasn’t long before he felt the reins slip from his grasp and the next thing he knew he was falling off the back of his horse with a startled yelp. His body and wings scraping against the ground as he made contact, rolling to a stop, horse running off into the distance.

Groaning, Azriel just laid there, hands on his face in exasperation. The sound of hooves coming closer forced him to sit up, watching a panicked Y/N canter towards him, his horse in tow. She hopped off her own, worry evident in her face, and ran to Azriel.

“Cauldron are you ok?!!” She dropped to her knees, grabbing his face in the palm of her hands and scanning him over for injuries. Azriel brushed her off of him, embarrassed at the events that had transpired.

“If this is your idea of payback it definitely worked, think I ended up a lot worse off than you did though”

Y/N broke out into laughter, a sound so sweet and inviting that Azriel couldn’t help but join along. The two of them sat on the ground, dirt on their clothes, laughing hysterically until tears filled their eyes and they couldn’t breathe anymore.

“Let’s do something a little less high risk next time yeah?” Azriel says when his breath returns to normal, his smile had gone, it left with the last laugh that had escaped his mouth, but his cheeks still sweetly stung from the memory of it all the same.

“You mean you still want to keep hanging out with me?” Y/N was joking, but Azriel could still see the trace of insecurity in her eyes that she had blown her shot, that Azriel wouldn’t want to see her anymore after forcing him along on this disastrous trip. He wanted to comfort her, take her hand and tell her that he wasn’t going anywhere. But it was Azriel’s rogue emotions that brought him to this court in the first place and he wasn’t going to allow them to mess anything else up. Azriel called back his shadows that were swirling around them both playfully, thriving off of the joy they were previously emitting.

Clearing his throat and moving to his feet he answered, “I haven’t completely dismissed that as an option, can’t say I’ve particularly enjoyed anything we’ve done.”

His words had hurt Y/N, Azriel could tell that much, he noticed how her smile had wavered, how her eyebrows knitted together and the spark he so admired in Y/N’s eyes had dimmed. Guilt crawled into Azriel’s chest but he knew it was probably for the best, he’d entertain her visits and activities but he couldn’t allow himself to grow any closer. He knew he wouldn’t be here forever, sure that any week now Rhysand would return calling him back to his duties at the night court and he would go, leaving Y/N behind.

So Azriel looked down at Y/N who was still sat on the floor before, hurt on her face and he turned back to his horse, grabbing the reins and climbing on, “come on, let’s head back.” Y/N nodded, wordlessly picking herself up from the floor, she brushed the dirt from her clothes and hopped onto her horse.

They rode in silence, Azriel wanting nothing more in this moment than for her to start one of her conversations that he once found so unbearably annoying. Even praying that she would start her melodic humming, a sign that he hadn’t hurt her feelings too much. But Y/N didn’t make a sound.

Sighing to himself over the fact that he had found himself caring so much about this woman he barely knew in the space of such a small time, Azriel broke the silence, wanting to reduce the rift he had so suddenly opened between them. “So what do you actually enjoy doing. If not torturing the male species”He lamely attempted a pathetic excuse for a joke, recalling when the atmosphere around them both was lighter and more playful, wishing for it to return.

Without looking at him, Y/N replied quietly, “I don’t get much free time. But when I do I like to bake or sow, I enjoy making dresses.”

In an attempt to make her smile Azriel spoke, “someone who meant a lot to me used to sow, she must have made hundreds of the most beautiful dresses I’ve ever seen. She made one our high lady wore once, it looked like she had sown together pure starlight.” He glanced to his side where Y/N was riding, a wistful smile creeping onto her lips as if she wished she could create something just as magical.

“I don’t think I’ve ever made anything quite like that”

“I’m sure you’re great. Maybe one day you’ll even make something for me?” It may have been a bit presumptuous of Azriel to say, but at the sight of her usual smile finally on her face he was glad he said it. And Azriel quite liked it, the idea of wearing something made by her.

“A dress?” She teased, the stiff atmosphere around them had blown away with the gentle breeze, a comfortable warmth taking its place.

“I would make a dress work if that’s what you made me. You’ve already put me through enough torture I’m sure I could endure a little bit more.”

Y/N snorted, hand flying to her mouth in an attempt to cover the sound but Azriel caught it and swore to himself he would do everything in his power to make sure he was never the reason for Y/N losing her smile again. As they continued along the path that led back to the city, dirt on their clothes and contentment on their faces. Azriel couldn’t wait for what she had planned next… as long as it didn’t actually involve him having to wear a dress.

Part 4

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes: I don’t know much about horses so please don’t come for me if I’ve said something wrong <3

Taglist:

@thelov3lybookworm @minnieoo @going-through-shit @iluvyewman-blog @laughterafter @amysangel @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @darling006 @anuttellaa @serendipityx150 @xxxalicerogersxx @that-one-little-soybean @scatteredstardustt @naturakaashi @aaronwarnerobsessedmylove

(I’m so sorry I couldn’t get some of them to work, and I’m even more sorry if it’s just my awful spelling)

#acotar #azriel x reader #fanfic #acotar imagine #azriel imagine #sarah j maas

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piratefishmama · 1 year ago

Text

Finders Givers | Part 2

“STEVEN MARION HARRINGTON.”

“Not my middle name.” Although Robin had made several valiant attempts in guessing it every time she needed to burst into his office all guns blazing. Which was unfortunately… often. She still hadn’t managed to crack it.

He didn’t actually have a middle name. He wasn’t going to tell her that though, this was funnier.

She slapped a sheaf of papers down onto his desk, a brief flick of the first page told him they were call logs and transcripts “What did you DO?! Claudia’s been getting calls all morning asking about renovations?”

“Okay, so, in my defence. It was Nancy’s idea.” That was his whole defence. It was Nancy’s idea. His idea had been worse.

“Explain.”

“You know, most people in my position don’t have to explain themselves to people who work for them, their people just respect them, and do as they say without argument.” He mused, mostly to himself, but he could see the woman’s eye twitch in annoyance and so he sighed in defeat, it’d only wind up with him having those papers whapped around his head. “Remember the wallet I found?”

“The one that was bumming you out?”

“Yeah! Well, when I went out for a walk, I found the guys work address and—”

“You know we have guys who do that sort of shit for us, right? You can’t be stalking people, Dingus, what the fuck?” That sheaf of papers was dangerously close to hitting him. She’d picked them back up an everything.

“Just listen! He was at work, I didn’t talk to him or anything I’m not stupid, but... his manager made this girl cry so he just decked him, laid him out, one punch an he was down, then he just quit his job, right there, shit was spectacular.” Steve could appreciate a good bit of muscle, could appreciate a scrapper. Plus the guy was hot so, that helped. “Doesn’t look like his photo either, he’s got so much hair, Robs, it’s... wow, he’s just—”

“Ew, I don’t wanna hear about your crush on some random guy, what’s this got to do with these renovations Claudia’s being spammed over?”

“Okay so, guy lost his job.”

“Quit, quit his job.”

“Defending a ladies honour, something I thought you’d appreciate.” She raised a single unimpressed brow “but, I... I was gonna just send him rent money for a few months, y’know, cover a few bills, charity!” His heart was in the right place, his head however, his head was in space.

“That’s not charity that’s stupidity, but go on.”

“That’s what Nance said! Apparently it’d be suspicious if I were to be found sending large amounts of cash in nondescript envelopes to an apartment block notorious for drug activity, so she suggested that since I’m already buying that bar nearby, it’d look less conspicuous if I just... bought the building the guy lives in and claim I was developing it, make it seem like I have an interest in building up local problem areas.” She frowned, silent in her thoughts as she processed.

“... And what about the rent forgiveness?”

“I was gonna pay for his rent, might as well just not have him pay rent, y’know? An it’s gotta be building wide or there’ll be questions, like why is he so special, it’d put him under scrutiny. So Nance suggested putting a stop on rent as we ‘renovate’ as a sort of, we’re disrupting your life so here’s a break for you kinda deal.” Honestly Nancy really was a life saver, he really ought to give her a raise, he’d have been fucked over years ago had he not pulled her into the fold.

“So that means we’re actually going to have to renovate this block then?”

“I mean—”

“Were going to have to renovate this block, Steve. We can’t just forgive the rent forever, that’s bonkers, that would raise eyebrows, and we can’t afford eyebrows being raised at us right now. So you’re going to have to have professionals go in and survey the apartments inside for renovations.” This was now an actual thing he’d have to do.

“Ah well, gives me something to occupy my time with. Also I was thinking—”

“Never a good sign”

“Shut up, I was thinking of putting Argyle in there as a plant, like... the drugs being peddled out of that block are just trash, at least we could get a solid dealer in there and get Argyle out of the Wheelers basement.” He’d only been staying there because Joyce didn’t have a basement and Jonathan didn’t have room for him.

He was Jonathan's friend, and Jonathan came with Nancy, Steve didn’t have any reason to help him out. Now he did! And that reason was getting those poor people better weed.

“Are you not worried that the existing dealers will start shit with him for moving into their turf?”

“They touch him they deal with Hargrove, he's been particularly irritable lately, anything could set him off, pretty sure he’d be jazzed to break a few legs.” Release some of that pent up rage he seemed so good at bottling up in tiny easily burstable bottles. “One visit from that nut job and they’ll settle right down.”

He didn’t like Hargrove, but he had to admit the guy was a useful enforcer. Indebted to Steve too after Jane had taken a nail imbedded baseball bat to his old employers head in a bid to help her friend Max escape the debt her stepdad had racked up with him. Billy had also been freed, being Max’s step brother, left unmoored and in danger of a jail cell.

Steve had taken them both in after getting rid of Creels corpse. It was Hopper’s idea. Billy wouldn’t have survived in jail, too many enemies in there.

“It only takes one hit to hurt Argyle beyond repair though, maybe get rid of the dealers in there already, then give Argyle one of the apartments.”

“See you’re already on board!” And there was the whack round the head with the papers, his sharp objection going ignored.

“Fine, I’m on board, but only because it’s Nancy’s idea.” She was retreating as she spoke “Yours was a trash fire, like, not just one of those little oil barrel fires I mean like a whole dumpster fire. Argyle stays out until it’s safe though, I mean it Steve, I will get Hopper involved.” She opened the door, ready to go.

“You can’t threaten me with my own Chief of Police! That’s so mean!”

“Watch me, dingus. Also you have two people downstairs from your little block purchase wanting more information, do you wanna deal with them or should I?”

“Do you think I could actually spin a good idea to explain this that won’t get immediately reworked by either you or Nance?” She paused, a thoughtful expression on her face that answered his question more than any actual answer would have. “Exactly, you deal with it, you’re better at timelines an stuff anyway.” He was more the big idea guy.

“Yeah but you’re better at people.” It was true, Steve was more the people person out of the two of them. “Fine, I’ll deal with it, and I’ll ask Nance to find some decent contractors to do the work for us. Maybe… drop into my office in like, ten minutes? Considering you let your dick lead you to places I wouldn’t even go with a gun, you should at least make an appearance for these people whose lives you’ve interrupted.”

“Ngghhh fine. Fine. I’ll be there in ten.” And she was out with a tiny salute as her goodbye.

Part 4

#PirateWrites #FindersGiversFiclet #Steddie #Mob Boss Steve Harrington #No Upside Down AU #Shady!Steve #CW: light-hearted stalker vibes

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ifindus · 3 months ago

Note

I’ve never heard of ScotNor before, is there any historical background for the ship? Just curious, they’re a cute couple!

The historical background is a large part of what makes a ship interesting to me, and ScotNor’s history is definitely of great appeal along with their peoples and culture. I’ve touched upon this topic before, but that was probably years ago now, so we’re due for a bit of a refresher! Thanks for the interest 🙏 I’m sure there’s no history I’ve not included in my time line below, but this a summary of what I’ve gathered so far.

Viking Period (→ 1066).

The earliest contact between the nations Norway and Scotland begins in the Viking Age and it presents itself in different manners. Norway is expanding across the islands in the Norwegian Sea and the North Atlantic and gain sovereignty over Shetland, Orkney, and the Hebrides among others. Note that this is almost exclusively Norwegian people – the Danes usually went to England and the Swedes went East. This increased the contact between the two nations, manifesting in settlement, integrating with the locals, and more trade. There were some disagreements and there is still several theories about how violent and early the colonisation of the Scottish islands were, but we find some evidence that their interactions remained mostly peaceful in the certain areas. Norwegian Vikings definitely fought against both Gaels and Picts before they joined forces.

The celtic name Laithlind/Lochlann, is thought to reference Scandinavia – mainly Norway, but might also be the word for the Norwegian areas of Scotland. The word means “land of bog/lakes” and could be related to the Welsh word for Scandinavia; Llychlyn

Norse Period (1066 – 1468).

The Norse Period is the name of a period in Scotland from the end of the Viking Age in the middle of the 11th century to 1468, when the Danish King gives away the last of Norway’s territories on the British Isles to the Scottish King as a dowry. During this period people in the Norwegian occupied areas identifies as Norse and their language evolve from Norse into Norn, which was in some places spoken until the 1800s.

The Battle of Largs was fought between Norway and Scotland in 1263 A battle at both sea and on land with no winner. They fought over the rights to the Western Isles, which the Scottish King had tried to buy since 1240, but had been rejected. The Norwegian King felt threatened and left Norway with a great fleet to negotiate/fight. After failed negotiations and some Norwegian raids a huge storm surprised the fleet and crashed some of the boats and washing them ashore where the crews were attacked by twice as many Scottish forces. The storm hindered any tactical moves as the waves and wind made it impossible to control the ships, but eventually the Norsemen got back on some of the ships and it became a long distance battle, which both sides pulled back from after a while. The Norwegian King died from illness in Orkney later that year and his son negotiated a treaty with the Scottish King where he gave up the islands for money and trading prospects with Scotland.

Margaret Maid of Norway, was the granddaughter of the Scottish King and the daughter of the Norwegian King. Her mother’s marriage to the King of Norway was diplomatic and a move to strengthen the relations between the countries. Her mother dies in childbirth and Margaret Maid of Norway suddenly become heir to the Scottish throne when her grandfather dies, but unfortunately she dies only 7 years old from illness on her way across the sea to claim her throne in 1290.

Originally, Norway was part of the Auld Alliance. With the negotiating skills of a Norwegian diplomat, Norway became part of the Auld Alliance in 1295, a military alliance that lasted until 1560. Norway was a member until 1326. The alliance marked the end to Norwegian expansion in the British Isles and cemented their collaboration. The Auld Alliance said that if one of the parties was attacked by England, the others should help. Norway were to supply Scotland with warships while England and France were at war, but Scotland never paid and Norway never sent any ships as they were still hesitant to make an enemy out of England. It’s seen as a bit of a scam on Norway’s part as they accepted a pre-payment for their help, but the money “disappeared” and Norway would never have been able to provide the amount of ships and warriors they promised.

Then Norway becomes a part of the Kalmar union as a result of the devastating effect the Black Death in 1348 had on the Norwegian Elite, leaving Norway weak and under Danish rule for about 400 years, where the Danish king in 1468 gives away Orkney and Shetland as a pawn for the dowry of his daughter because he did not have the money to pay (this situation was never actually resolved and the isles still could be considered only a pawn).

Norway under Denmark and Scotland under England (1397 – 1814).

Norway entered a union with Denmark and Sweden in 1397 and proceeded to fall further under Denmark’s rule for about 400 years until 1814, while Scotland entered a union of crowns with England in 1603 and then later a personal union in 1707, which still stands. During these periods it is difficult to talk about the interactions of the nations Norway and Scotland as they both fall in the shadow of the more powerful nation running the union, Norwegians often just considered Danes by people from other countries at this time.

The Battle of Kringen in 1612 was a battle between invading Scottish mercenaries hired by the Swedes, and Norwegian farmers. Denmark-Norway was at war with Sweden again and the Swedes had employed help by foreign forces – very common at this time, and Scottish mercenaries were famous. The Scottish forces were to meet up with Swedish forces, and while they traversed the country they robbed and pillaged Norwegian farms. Norwegian farmers organized and staged an ambush on Scots as they passed through steep terrain, trapping them by cutting trees and disrupting them by rolling rocks down the mountainside. They were only armed with spears, axes and scythes, but managed to absolutely devastate the Scottish army. The Norwegian farmers only suffered 6 deaths while the Scots only had 18 out of 300 make it out alive in the end.

The 1800s.

In the 1800s, Norway was become its own country (still in a union with Sweden) and it’s at this time tourism in the country becomes popular in Great Britain, with both Scottish and English Lords travelling to Norway to fish salmon and hunt and experience the nature. In 1886 a Scottish shipping company began to provide Norwegian cruises to look at the fjords along the coast of Norway, maybe one of the first ever boat cruises, which was so popular that they increased the amount of ships the following year. This continued until World War One began.

In 1806 a Norwegian son of a wealthy merchant travelled with one of their trading ships to the Caribbean, but the ship sank by Jamaica. He drifted on the shipwreck for three days before he was rescued by a British ship. The officer who took care of him was son of a wealthy Scottish landowner, and they became enamoured with each other and never left the other’s side after this. They spent the rest of their lives together, travelling between their estates in Norway, their castle in Scotland, and apartments in London, Paris, Rome, and Naples.

Skotthyll is a game that used to be prevalent in my region, and it’s said to be a game invented by Scottish engineers who came to Norway to work on a railroad in the 1860s.

The 1900s.

When Norway became independent from Sweden in 1905, the new king received a letter from the authorities on Shetland stating that “today no ‘foreign’ flag is more familiar or more welcome in our voes and havens than that of Norway, and Shetlanders continue to look upon Norway as their mother-land, and recall with pride and affection the time when their forefathers were under the rule of the Kings of Norway”.

During the First World War, Norway was neutral, but very much involved with the ongoing politics as they wanted to keep trading with both sides, but eventually settled for Great Britain when they decided to commit to buying all the fish Germany normally would have bought. When the Germans began sinking Norwegian ships, it also drove them further onto the side of Great Britain.

During the Second World War Norway was occupied by Germany, and many of those who fled went to Great Britain (as was the case with most of Europe). On Shetland, there was established a Norwegian base of operations where Norwegian sailors and volunteers would carry out missions across the North Sea to Norway. There they would smuggle in weapons and provisions and information to the resistance, as well as helping refugees to escape the country. This was of immense help to Norway during the war. Additionally, a training camp for Norwegians was established in the Scottish highlands, where Norwegians who wanted to fight for their country was stationed and trained for missions by the Allies.

#historical hetalia #hetalia #scotnor #aph norway #aph scotland #hws norway #hws scotland #thanks for the ask! Always love talking about them - thanks for taking an interest 💖 they're the best ship I promise #long post #so glad I had written about this before - this took a lot longer than expected to put together

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haddonfieldwhore · 11 months ago

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welcome to the party - will borgen

will borgen x fem!reader

summary: after will and a few of the kraken help you get away from your ex at a bar, they invite you to celebrate their winter classic win with them

warnings: shitty non descriptive ex bf, drinking, language

word count: around 1.7k i think

“please, just leave me alone,” you sighed for the thousandth time, you ex continuing to pull on your arm, not getting the hint.

“come on, baby. i know you miss me,” he slurred, drunk off his ass; and you had the unfortunate pleasure of running into him when you were just trying to have a good night.

“as if,” you rolled your eyes, pulling your arm from his grip finally.

“i’m gonna get you another drink, maybe you’ll cool down,” he mumbled, and you shook your head.

“don’t waste your money,” you sighed, but he was already off to the bar, not listening to you once again. you looked around the bar, which was pretty crowded; although it was new year’s day, it was a monday, so you hadn’t thought it would be this busy. you knew that a lot of people here were probably celebrating the seattle kraken winning the winter classic earlier, and as your eyes scanned the patrons in the crowd, you noticed a few of the players were actually here. the group of them seemed to be mostly keeping to themselves, although the corner of the room that they occupied grew louder and louder as the night went on, seemingly joining in celebrating with the fans.

hoping to blend in to the crowd and lose your ex, you slowly migrated over to their side of the room, laughing as one of them, a brunette with curly hair stood on a table with the help of some of his friends. not paying attention to where you were going, you felt your body run into something; rather someone, and looked up at the person.

“sorry,” you both muttered, but the tall man smiled down at you, light brown hair peeking out from under a seattle kraken beanie.

“it’s my fault, i should watch where i’m walking,” you admitted while checking over your shoulder to see if your ex had spotted you.

“hey, i also wasn’t looking, so we’ll call it even,” he laughed, his light eyes slightly glossy from drinking. “are you looking for someone?” he asked, and you shook your head.

“more like someone is looking for me-“

“and you don’t want to be found.” he said, putting the pieces together.

“that obvious?” you laughed, and he smiled.

“you can stay over here with us; we won’t let anything happen to you,” he said with a cute smile, gesturing to the table of other kraken players.

“are you sure? i don’t want to intrude; i assume you’re celebrating winning the game earlier?”

“mhm, and it’s not intruding because i invited you,” he smiled, obviously in a good mood still from the game. “did you watch it?” he asked. you felt his hand softly touch your back, respectfully just below your shoulder blades as he steered you back towards his table.

“i saw parts of it - you scored right?”

“i did,” he smiled wide, and you couldn’t stop one from spreading across your face as well.

“congratulations,” you said genuinely as the two of you approached the table, and he pulled a chair out for you sit before taking one next to you.

“i’m will, by the way,” he said, offering his hand for you to shake.

“y/n,” you accepted it, his large hands dwarfing yours as you realized just how tall he was, even sitting down.

“this is gourde-o, tye, matty, yamo, and that’s dunner,” he introduced the others at the table, pointing at the one stood on the table next theirs. “there’s a few more of us around here somewhere.” they all said their hellos, but your smile dropped as your ex finally found you, setting your drink on the table in front of you.

“so this is where you ran off to,” he said. “i was looking everywhere for you baby.”

“i told you not to get me this,” you said, pushing the drink away from yourself. “and don’t call me that, we broke up months ago.”

“you still love me though, i know you do.”

“please just leave. don’t ruin my night because you can’t get over me,” you were getting frustrated, tired of being polite.

“do you even know these guys? are you some kind of groupie now?” he spat, and will tenses next to you.

“i’m just sitting with them, now please just get a cab and go home-“ you lied.

“which one of them are you sleeping with?”

“leave her alone, man,” wills voice came from next to you, and while you appreciated it, you knew your ex was just gonna target him now. while your ex could be a bit of an asshole when he drank, will seemed to be a happy drunk, and that only pissed your ex off more.

“so it’s you then?” he pointed at will, and you shook your head. standing up from your seat, you put your hands on your exes chest, pushing him away from the table.

“get out of here and sleep it off. before you do something you’ll regret,” you pleaded, and he grabbed at your wrist again, but you managed to get your hand away before he could get a hold of tou.

“why, so you can go get passed around by the hockey team? yeah right.”

“dude, let her go,” will appeared next to you, his hand resting on your hip.

“will-“

“get your hands off her,” your ex slurred.

“just leave her alone,” will spoke calmly, seemingly having sobered up a little bit in the last few minutes. he was a head taller than your ex, and despite his cute demeanour, was ten times as intimidating, helped partially by the large scar across his neck. “come on man.” you looked to the side to see a few people watching, while thankfully most people were ignoring the situation; or they were too drunk to notice over the sound of the blaring music. either way, you really hadn’t wanted to cause a scene, especially now with will and the other guys involved. tye and matty were standing behind will as well now, making sure you were okay, and you appreciated it greatly.

your ex took a step back, and will relaxed a bit as well, pulling you behind his body as your ex stared him down, but decided after a quick look at the three hockey players guarding you to give it up. he cursed at you before storming out of the club, and you breathed a sigh of relief.

“thank you,” you said, wrapping your arms around will in a hug, his arms circling around you. “i’m sorry about him.”

“you don’t have to apologize. we’re just glad you’re okay. do you want to come sit with us?” he asked, and you felt relaxed to see him smiling again. you nodded, following him hand in hand back to the table, and quickly shots were placed in both your hands by will’s teammates. will took off his hat, running a hand through his messy hair, clinking his glass against yours before you each downed the liquor.

•

a few hours and a few more drinks later, you found yourself sitting in wills lap as the others had returned to the table and you had quickly run out of seats. his arms held you tight around your waist so you wouldn’t fall. his skin was warm and his face flushed pink from the alcohol, the blush spreading to the tips of his ears. you were sure that you were in a similar state; having lost count of how many drinks you’d had. one look at all of the empty glasses and bottles on the table told you it was a lot. at one point, the guys all had celebratory beers in huge boot shaped glasses, on the house to celebrate the teams win, and you had snapped a photo of will drinking from his earlier.

you found yourself admiring how pretty he was, his light green eyes heavy from the alcohol, but still remained bright and full of excitement as he looked back and forth between his friends throughout conversation. your eyes looked down at the scar across his neck, and you wondered what it was from but didn’t ask, instead using your thumb to wipe away some eyeblack makeup that had been on his cheeks to help with the sun during the outdoor game. once the pigment was gone, you hummed sleepily as you pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“what’s that for?” he giggled happily.

“just another thank you,” you smiled. “and because you’re kinda really cute.”

“kinda really?” he repeated, and you laughed as you stared at eachother, the alcohol making both of you giddy, oblivious to anyone else in the bar as you looked at his green eyes. the room felt like it was spinning slightly, or like you were on a boat out on the ocean, rocking back and forth with the crashing waves. it was kind of fitting, as the guys had shown you pictures of their arrival outfits, having shown up to the game in bright fisherman’s overalls.

“mhm,” you agreed, holding his chin gently in your hand, your noses almost touching from how close you were. his eyes scanned your face, looking at your eyes, then your lips, and back to your eyes again, and your heart skipped a few beats.

“you’re kinda really cute too,” he mumbled, his words jumbling together slightly from intoxication, and he bumped his forehead against yours as you giggled; your stomach beginning to ache slightly from how much you had been laughing tonight.

“get a room, you two,” matty laughed, but neither of you cared, ignoring him as you returned to the present and out of your own little world.

“more shots?” vince suggested, and you and a few others all shook your heads.

“schwartzy said he’s done setting up the after party, if we want to head over to his place,” yamo said, reading a text off his phone. you checked the time on your phone, seeing that it was only 9pm. you didn’t want the night to end, but also didn’t want to overstay your welcome. hanging out at the bar was one thing, but a house party, presumably full of the teams wives and girlfriends seemed like a bit too much; especially when you were far too drunk to make a good first impression.

“do you want to come to a friends place?” will asked you.

“are you sure? isn’t it like a team thing?” you asked.

“kind of,” he admitted, shrugging his shoulders slightly.

“you coming with us?” tye asked you.

“i don’t think i can this time, sorry guys,” you decided, a little nervous about the idea of being at a party with that many strangers, no matter how nice they all had been so far. “but thank you! maybe another time.”

“it’s okay,” will smiled. “can i give you my number so you can’t text me let me when you’ve made it home safe?” he asked, and you nodded with a smile. you exchanged numbers, and called a cab, will and the guys waiting until you got in the car before they left.

you sat in the back of the car, thinking over everything that had happened, from the encounter with your ex to almost kissing will; and wishing you had. you hoped you would see him again, but knowing that he was very busy travelling and also a famous hockey player, you weren’t sure it would happen.

as you stepped inside your apartment, you typed out a quick text to will.

the alcohol was starting to wear off slightly, and you had just enough energy to wash your face and peel your clothes off, throwing on some pyjamas before hopping into bed.

as you scrolled through instagram in bed, your mind drifted to a certain tall brunette. you easily found his instagram from the teams page, thinking he wouldn’t mind if you followed him. you looked through the teams page at all of the pictures from the game, even videos of the goals being scored, including will’s. you’d had a lot of fun with the guys, and found yourself really hoping that the kraken won again soon.

dt: @krakenkrunch

disclaimer: all screenshots, events, and/or interactions depicted in this are a work of fiction. i have no association with any parties mentioned

#will borgen #nhl #nhl fic #nhl imagine #real person fiction #nhl players #seattle kraken #will borgen fic #will borgen x reader #will borgen kraken #seattle kraken fic #seattle #seattle kraken hockey #hockey imagine #hockey fic #hockey player #hockey

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edenityy · 10 days ago

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( chapter twenty-five ! )

"You want me to get on.. that?"

Sunlight pours down on the dock below, shining on the many figures that stand and await to board a luxury liner— the Campania. The ship itself is large and a sight unlike any other, dwarfing those below. However, it causes a certain young lady to shift in discomfort.

Amongst the people that wait are the Barrett family. None of them outwardly show any sign of being impressed, but they can't deny that it's something to behold. This is meant to be a simple family getaway, something to occupy their semi-empty schedules for the month of April.

Unfortunately, one is far from excited after a not-so-well-earned break. With a scrunched nose, Leah stares at the ship, her eyes conveying a faint look of concern. She has never been fond of the idea of sailing—or the ocean in general.

"What is wrong with it?" asks Lucius with an apathetic shrug, his focus constantly flickering to Thomas and Anna who stand behind them and carry their luggage.

Leah fiddles with the gloves on her hand. "It is large—a large ship out on the sea. What if it sinks? What if I die? I don't know what is in the sea, what if a giant animal comes up and bites my head off?" the words fly out of her mouth quickly, spewing any incredulous idea that can cross her mind.

To anyone other than Leah, and perhaps Thomas, the girl sounds ridiculous. She has always been one to overthink, though she often tries to keep the thoughts to herself. One part of her brain nags her constantly, while another is logical and fighting a constant battle with any insane thoughts. Her brain can be quite tiring.

Rolling his eyes with a grin, Daniel gently nudges her shoulder. "You think too much," he says, looking up towards the deck of the ship. "The animal would have to be incredibly large or oddly small and agile to jump that high. The chances of your head getting bitten off are low, you're more likely to drown."

Face curling in annoyance, Leah's lips curl into a smile. "Well aren't you feeling intelligent today?" she asks snarkily, not happy with now being reminded of her inability to swim.

"Yes, very," Daniel gives a prideful nod. "How do you think I got into Weston College?" he gloats and earns a smile from Vivienne.

"Money," says Leah, her voice lacking emotion.

Daniel deadpans before a look of annoyance crosses his face. "You think yourself so hilarious, don't you?" his tongue pokes the side of his cheek.

Shaking her head dismissively, Leah looks ahead of herself and at the many unfamiliar faces surrounding her. "I was not trying to be funny."

Unlike his sister choosing to look away, Daniel stares her down. Despite her blatant insults being common, they never fail to aggravate every single time. He takes a deep breath and opens his mouth to retort, but their father intervenes before either of them can embarrass themselves.

"Don't start arguing," warns Lucius, growing tired of the useless arguments that take place every day just for the two to continue like it never happened.

"We aren't arguing," Leah protests with an eye roll, moving some brown locks out of her face. "We are simply having a conversation. A disagreement, if you will."

Vivienne decides that it's her time to cut in, also tired of her children's constant back and forth. "You are very much arguing! Hush, before you are to draw any attention to yourselves," her voice is firm and her British accent is a stark difference to the other three.

Biting back an insult, Leah resorts to balling her fists and rolling her eyes. She knows her mother cares more about how others see them rather than being annoyed by bickering, 'don't embarrass us' is almost a motto in the Barrett family. Arguing with Daniel is enough, her parents will only tire her out.

Letting an audible sigh slip, Vivienne moves her dress skirt and begins to walk. "People are boarding now, come, before we leave you behind."

'I bet you would,' thinks Leah. She has no doubts that her parents would leave her behind if they could. They only bring her around for the sake of image, what are they to say if someone were to question her absence? The last time that happened, it didn't go as swimmingly as they would have liked.

Nonetheless, she takes a deep breath and follows after her mother, being mindful of her space and trying to not bump into another person. Leah can only hope the ship won't be as crowded as the dock.

═╬

Once aboard, Leah is happy to discover that she does in fact have more space. However, that may be because her family is in the first-class section of the passenger deck. Regardless of the reason, her mood seems to brighten just a bit. 'Perhaps this won't be so bad?'

The Barrett's move around with ease, exploring the deck and the people they will be around for a prolonged period. Outside of Lucius—and Vivienne on a good day—, the family isn't very sociable. A wife who prioritizes reputation and looks, a son who is often at school or lounging at home, and a sheltered daughter who is remarkably mean or oddly sweet. That only leaves a man who engages almost purely in business matters, keeping his close circle small.

One would be surprised that Lucius is as popular among society as he is, unsociable in a period where needless chatting thrives. But, his way of doing business, the items he sells, and even his charm are enough to keep him up so high. He is not so certain about his children though.

Moving with a hardly noticeable skip in her step, Leah walks a few steps ahead of the rest of her family and speaks with her head turned over her shoulder. "Can we see our rooms first? I would like—" her voice is drowned out by another that is much louder.

"Oh, Leah! You're here too?"

Her steps falter at the sound of her name, swiveling her head around before her eyes land on a particular blonde. Elizabeth Midford. Leah's hands drop slightly, rubbing against her corn-yellow dress. 'Please no..'

Leah's smile almost slips but she slaps it back on. As much as Elizabeth drains her, she is too nice to be mean to her like she would anyone else. It's not that Leah hates the girl, but rather, she can't envision handling being around Elizabeth for the entire duration of the trip. That is asking to essentially turn her into a robot by the end.

There isn't a moment to think before Elizabeth is wrapped around her. "This is wonderful! With you and Ciel here, the trip will be even better than I thought!" she squeals directly into Leah's ear but doesn't earn a protest.

"Ciel is here too? How lovely.." Leah's words are quiet, trying to focus on her breathing with Elizabeth's arms wrapped so tightly around her.

The idea of her fiancé is not so well met, at least with Daniel. She can hear his groan and mumbles about how it will ruin the trip, ignoring any attempt of their father trying to silence him. His distaste for the Phantomhive, never explained, is to be expected at this point.

Elizabeth doesn't acknowledge this though, opting to release Leah and take hold of her hands. "You should join us for lunch! My family will love to have you," she says as she skips towards her parents, dragging Leah in the process.

Thankfully the area isn't as crowded as the dock, otherwise, this would be a game of shoving through a crowd rather than having a relatively open space to run about. This doesn't make Leah any more excited than Elizabeth, allowing herself to be dragged with the false smile she mastered plastered on her face.

Her eyes squint the closer they get to the Midford's, the sun shining down into her eyes. Nonetheless, she doesn't complain as their footsteps slow to a stop in front of Elizabeth's parents.

Francis Midford's brow raises in faint surprise, looking up at Leah and then her family who approach from behind. "Ah, Leah. It has been some time," her head nods in a respectful greeting. "I am glad to see you've been well."

"The same to you," responds Leah, looking back in the hopes that her father will take the lead in any conversation.

Answering her prayer, Lucius approaches Alexis and Francis with Vivienne in suit. They immediately engage in conversation and, though formal, the two husbands seem to be enjoying themselves, falling on the topic of family. This leaves the 'children' to their own devices, conversing amongst themselves.

"I can't wait for the activities to start! We can all have so much fun together," Elizabeth is the first to break the silence, smiling up at Daniel.

Daniel fails to return the smile as he is too busy glaring at Ciel, staring him down with a look so intense it could burn a hole through him. The cause of such a look? Unknown. But, this doesn't stop him from openly displaying his dislike for his sister's fiancé.

Trying to not show his discomfit, Ciel quietly shifts on his feet with a clear of his throat, scared of drawing his eyes towards Leah in the case that Daniel does more than give him a dirty look. While Ciel isn't scared of others often, the muscle Daniel has compared to his own lanky form is enough to keep him cautious.

Pulling his eyes away from Ciel for only a moment, Daniel plays along with Elizabeth's words. "Much fun we will have," he nods.

Edward, sensing the off vibe amongst the other two boys, tries to diffuse the situation whilst also getting to finally speak to Leah. "You look lovely in that color," he trains his eyes on her to let her know he's speaking to her, and his face flushes.

Smiling but unresponsive, Leah's eyes flash with a look of dread that the Midford doesn't understand.

Beside her, Daniel's shoulders tense and he slowly drags his eyes over toward Edward, processing the words in his head. While he could have taken it as any passing compliment to his oh-so-beautiful sister, the flush on Edward's face says otherwise. His eyes squint, filled with disdain but before he can say anything, their parents beckon the quintet over.

"We are going to lunch!"

Leah doesn't protest despite her reluctance to eat, making the move to gently shove Daniel along and keep him from lashing out at Ciel or Edward. 'God forbid a man breaths in my direction..' she thinks as she passes Elizabeth. 'One of these days, he is going to embarrass himself.'

She has never understood Daniel's distaste for a man showing interest in her. Perhaps it is protectiveness or maybe just not wanting to share her the closer she gets to marriage age. Whatever the reason, it weighs heavily on her relationship with Ciel—or any man who isn't a relative.

Stuck in her thoughts, Leah is pulled from the world called her head when she notices Sebastian a few feet away. Her posture stills, but she doesn't stop walking. The funeral is still vivid in her mind. The way Sebastian sat up as though it was nothing, the memories of his hauntingly dead eyes when he was found on the floor, the way no one seemed to question it. It makes her feel crazy, something she can only mention to Thomas without the risk of being shut down or sent away to a ward.

The storm in her mind only amplifies, her hand tightening against the back of Daniel's shirt. Standing just beside Sebastian is Snake, the white-haired boy she met at Noah's Ark Circus mere months ago. His hair is slicked back, unlike before when it simply laid atop his head, and he wears the suit of a butler. 'Could Ciel have hired him..?' her head is whirling at the thought.

'Will he tell my parents about the circus? I'll be done for!' Leah's hand drops back to her side. 'I can't let him say anything.. Not only will I never hear the end of it from my parents, but my reputation will be in the gutter!' Her eyes are wide and her pupils are dilated, taking hesitant steps in Snake's direction before his eyes catch hers.

He appears just as surprised as Leah at the sight of each other, almost taking a step back as she approaches. She hardly looks any different than the last time he saw her, staring up at him in the same way she had before. "If you say a word about that circus to my parents, I will have you killed," her voice is no louder than a low whisper.

Not bothering to wait for a reply, Leah sets into a light jog to catch up with the others, falling behind silently. 'Was that the right thing to say?' she can't help but wonder if threatening Snake was the correct move. 'As long as he stays silent, I don't care what I have to say..'

═╬

The sound of cutlery against plates and chatter fill the dining hall of the ship, passengers cheerily enjoying their meal. It's a calm atmosphere, and those in it simply enjoying their time.

The Barrett's and Midford's—as well as Ciel—sit around a circular table covered in a white cloth, their respective servants off to the side.

"It's such a treat that we'll be together for three weeks!" smiles Vivienne, half-focused on cutting the food on her plate.

Francis nods along, a content look on her face. "It is," she takes a sip from her glass. "You'll be with us the whole three weeks?" her head tilts, as though looking for confirmation.

"Yes," Vivienne takes a bite of her food, glancing over towards Leah who is begrudgingly letting Daniel place some of his food on her plate. "Leah will be debuting this season, so we want to enjoy ourselves before we are surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the season!" she gives a lightheaded laugh, but it lacks true feeling.

Hearing the words leave her mother's mouth, Leah glances up from Daniel and her plate to stare incredulously. "Mama, no!" a giggle from Daniel slips past her. "Surely I have another year left?!"

Lucius lowers his gaze when Leah looks at him, trying to not get involved. For years now, both he and Vivienne knew that Leah had an underlying dread at the thought of having to be out in society. It only deepens since she is betrothed, the girl finds no point in socializing at pointless balls when she has no need to search for a potential husband.

"It's merely a year early, Dear," Vivienne shakes her head as casts her gaze toward Ciel. "Besides, I'm sure you and Ciel will be married any year now! It will be less tedious to come out before you get married."

Unable to find a bone in her body willing to fight, Leah groans and succumbs to the inevitable. 'I suppose I can just get it over with now and not have to care later..' She allows Daniel to subtly fuss over her, taking small and hesitant bites of food. Her brother is one of the few people who knows of her struggle with food and as much as he annoys her, she can't deny that she appreciates him in more ways than one.

"Well," Alexis swallows his bite of food before he continues. "I'm certain Leah will be knee-deep in suitors. Elizabeth will be debuting as well, do make sure to spare her some!" his chuckle rings out through the dining hall, the other adults—and Elizabeth—following suit.

'The sooner the better, I guess..' Leah tries to reassure herself, stealing a glance at Ciel who has an almost unnoticeable flush on his cheeks. 'At least I won't be alone,' her eyes lower onto her plate as she takes a bite, her body language full of annoyance.

'She could have at least warned me before the trip.'

═╬

Later that night, moonlight shines through the windows to illuminate the dance floor of the ship. Guests fill the room, everyone's voices being drowned out by the music that flows through their ears. It's the epitome of high society.

Leah stands up against a wall, lost in her thoughts. She adorns a scarlet gown that stands out against her pale skin with a headpiece of jewels to match. Despite her typical distaste for attention, she is unintentionally one of the main views in the room, constantly catching glances from people across the room.

On the far right of the room, she can see Ciel and Elizabeth dancing, her friend having the time of her life with a large smile painting her face. An invisible cloud forms over her head, almost out of jealousy. ‘At least Elizabeth is having fun.’

“Can I—” Edward appears beside her, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “May I have this dance?”

Her head whips to the side at the sudden voice, her demeanor softening when she recognizes the blonde. “Edward..” Leah’s lips curl up into a small smile. “I would enjoy that.”

The Midford’s face flushes at her acceptance, a grin growing on his face. He outstretches his hand, looking at her expectantly. Leah lifts her gloved hand towards his, the material hardly grazing his skin before it’s intercepted.

“A dance?”

With her hand lifted above her head, Daniel interrupts the moment and squeezes himself past Edward with a slightly bothered look. Placing himself between the two, he looks down towards Leah with an exaggerated smile.

“I never thought you would ask!” he begins to drag her off towards the dance floor.

Leah’s previously blank face curls up in annoyance. “I didn’t ask,” she rolls her eyes and glances back towards Edward who looks defeated, mouthing a ‘Sorry..’

Nonetheless, she allows herself to be led through the crowd of people until Daniel finds a suitable spot, immediately taking to the dance. Her hands find his neck, wrapping themselves around it gently as she sways and looks around at the people next to them.

She can’t help but feel bad for Edward. However, she has a faint feeling of relief. Dancing with Edward would mean having to potentially make small talk, Daniel can at least understand her emotional cues.

“You know,” Daniel starts, trying to relieve the underlying tension, “I think Mama and Papa would be thrilled to see that you’re the belle of the ball.”

Mood almost dampening at the mention of her parents, Leah scowls and looks off to the side. “Please.. They only care about you—only notice you and how you’ll take the family name,” she sneers. “They just want to get me out of the house.”

Daniel goes quiet at the mention of their parent's favoritism. He knows how it has affected Leah since she was a child. How he was her primary shoulder to lean on her entire life while knowing he could lean on their parents.

“Well.. Others notice you. That I’m certain of,” he jests, recalling how he’s seen people eyeing Leah all night. “I’m surprised more men haven’t asked you to dance.”

Leah purses her lips, her hand squeezing Daniel’s. “Do you think Ciel notices me..?” she whispers. “I feel like.. he hardly considers me sometimes.”

Jokingly groaning in annoyance, Daniel can’t hide the smile on his face. “Don’t bring him up. If he doesn’t notice you, there are plenty of men who would be glad to take his place. I notice you.”

A small smile grazes Leah’s lips.

“Why don’t you break off that engagement anyway?” asks Daniel, keeping his voice low as they twirl around the room.

“I like him,” Leah pouts. “As conflicted as I can be with him, he isn’t terrible. He offers stability. I won’t have to find a husband during the social season,” she drones.

Daniel snickers. “Ahh, yes. The bare minimum that is expected of a nobleman,” he openly shows his amusement, despite Ciel being mere feet away. “Even I could do better.”

Their feet move to the rhythm of the music, swaying playfully. For once, the siblings have a good time without arguing at least once, twirling past the other nobles that fill the room.

“Mmm, yet which one of us is terrible with women and has never been betrothed?” Leah retorts.

Feigning a gasp of offense, Daniel loosens his grip and lets Leah twirl to the point that she almost trips. “I still have plenty of time to find someone!” this earns a look from his sister.

The music slows to a stop and so do their bodies, signifying the end of the dance. Dropping her hands back to her side, Leah stares up at Daniel with a smile of contentment. Even with her jabs, she has fun when she isn’t in a bad mood.

“May I dance with Edward now, Your Highness?” she asks mockingly, a giggle escaping her.

Sighing in defeat, Daniel tilts his head. “Must you?”

Leah starts to walk away, her brother on her trail. “Edward isn’t some villain just because he complimented me. He’s quite kind,” she eyes the dispelling crowd, trying to find the Midford boy.

“I suppose,” with a roll of his eyes, Daniel reluctantly leaves her side.

Parting ways, the siblings wander off around the room to their desired goals.

═╬

Just three days later, Leah, Ciel, and Elizabeth are roaming around the first-class passenger lounge. It isn’t the first on Leah’s list of thrilling activities, but when Elizabeth invited her, she couldn’t bring herself to deny. There aren’t many options for entertainment that aren’t on a scheduled time—or filled with people older than her. Might as well keep herself happy for the three weeks.

Leah is now in an emerald green dress made of velvet material, an evening gown in her favorite color. If anything, the dress is her favorite out of all of the ones she has owned. Her necklace and earrings match, emerald jewels hanging from her pale skin.

Ahead of her, Elizabeth is dragging Ciel around while Leah sticks closer toward the back. She can feel Sebastian’s gaze on the back of her head but she ignores it, focusing on not losing Elizabeth in the crowd as everything catches her eye.

“Look, look!” says Elizabeth, pointing at slices of cake that sit on a table. “That cake is so cute!”

‘I don’t know how she eats so many sweets.. Do her teeth and stomach not hurt?’ Trying to look past the heads that surround her, Leah almost notices the cake that Elizabeth is talking about before her wrist is grabbed with an oddly tight grip.

Before she knows it, Leah is being dragged away from Ciel by none other than Elizabeth who is determined to grab some of the cake. “We’ll get some for you too, Ciel!” she smiles.

“Elizabeth—”

The Barrett has no time to protest, simply succumbing to being led around like a toy. It’s worthless for her to try and argue with Elizabeth and get her point across without having to turn to yelling, Leah has known her long enough to know that.

“I don’t think I’m in the mood for cake,” sighs Leah, wanting to avoid any food before dinner.

A pout covers Elizabeth’s face. “But it looks so tasty!” she ignores Leah’s words in favor of diving for two plates. “You’ll love it, a little treat. I haven’t seen you touch dessert on this trip yet.”

While Elizabeth’s words are in good faith, Leah can’t help but want to run away. Regardless, she takes a few bites to appease her friend.

Neither girl notices time has passed until Elizabeth casts her place aside, done with her slice. Leah almost places her half-eaten cake down as well before she decides to hold onto it. ‘I shouldn’t waste it yet, someone else might want it..’ she considers finding Anna and giving it to her.

“Can we take the cake back to Ciel now?” asks Leah, wanting to get on with her night.

Remembering the initial objective, Elizabeth nods excitedly. “Come on,” she begins to drag Leah once more. “I think we left him near the staircase?”

Retracing their steps back to the last place they left Ciel, they find themselves near Snake but with no sign of Ciel or Sebastian in sight. Both Leah and Elizabeth’s heads are on a swivel, trying to see if they can see their heads in the crowd—Leah being off more use as the tall one. But, when neither manages to see anything other than the new and strange footman, the two girls frown.

“Where did he go in such little time?!”

#ciel phantomhive #fanfic #black butler x reader #female oc #oc #black butler #sebastian michaelis #elizabeth midford #agni black butler #book of atlantic #snake black butler #grell sutcliff #black butler grell #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji grell

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une-sanz-pluis · 1 year ago

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What's the relationship between Henry V and his wife?

Hey, thank you for this question since it covers a topic I'd been wanting to talk about for awhile. Sorry it took so long to give you an answer. In my defence, I've had a lot on and I wrote a lot (a lot, like nearly 10,000 words a lot) in reply.

Unfortunately, we don't know an awful lot about Catherine de Valois's relationship with Henry V. This is largely because they were only married for just under 2 years and 3 months.* That brief a time tends to leave little evidence behind - it's also one of the reasons we know very little about Catherine's queenship. In spite of the lack of evidence, the relationship has been subject to much speculation, mythologising and (over)interpretation, and it can be hard to drill down through these layers to come to any kind of certainty about how they felt about each other.

There are three main interpretations of the marriage. The first is the romantic. This tends to work with the more romantic legends of both Henry and Catherine, and its roots lie in contemporary narratives, quite likely promoted by Henry himself. The second is that there was some kind of infatuation on Henry's behalf that was followed by disillusionment as he realised Catherine was not who or what he thought she was. The third interpretation argues that Henry was a cruel and abusive husband to Catherine.

I, personally, don't find any of these interpretations particularly convincing. The politics around the marriage suggest that we should be sceptical of the romantic, while the evidence of there being some kind of disillusionment or cruelty in the marriage is... pretty much non-existent; the evidence that is cited has to be heavily interpreted, with at least a pre-existing bias against Henry and/or Catherine in mind (if not a pre-conceived conclusion) to conclude that the marriage was unhappy.

I'm going to start with my own interpretation and then talk more in depth about these interpretations, debunking particular assertions said because there's a lot about them that annoy me.

Evidence, or something like it.

We have very little evidence of Henry or Catherine's personal lives at all and once we also factor in the limited evidence of their relationship, it gets very tricky to discuss this in any meaningful sense. Another issue is that their relationship was both personal and political. What might read as a personal gesture of love has to be understood as also existing in a public, political world. Being publicly seen as part of a functioning, loving marriage was advantageous to both Henry and Catherine's reputations and their rule, whatever they felt about each other privately, and unfortunately, it's the public face that largely survives. I'm going to discuss the public/political side of their marriage first and then turn to what little evidence there is to suggest at their private relationship.

A Partnership

Chroniclers in both England and France report romantic stories about Henry and Catherine. I'll discuss these more further below and the possibility of these being the result of some romantic gloss, but it's enough to say that the chronicles do uniformly give a similar view. The English king was in love and the French princess was beautiful (women very rarely get given any interiority in chronicle accounts). There are no reports of discontent between the couple, no complaints of mistreatment of one by the other.

It is easy to argue that the English chroniclers and those French chroniclers sympathetic to the English occupiers were unlikely to depict Henry V in a bad light but that would not explain the silence of chroniclers sympathetic to the then-Dauphin (the future Charles VII). We even have complaints of Henry's behaviour from French sources but these relate by claim that Charles VI and Isabeau of Bavaria were left to lodge at the Hôtel de St Pol in less grand estate than they were accustomed to while Henry and Catherine lodged at the Lourve in luxury and splendour. Jean de Waurin records:

And on this said day [Whitsun 1422] the King and Queen of England sat grandly and magnificently at table to dine, crowned with their precious diadems. There sat also at other tables in this hall the ecclesiastics, dukes, princes, barons, knights, and noble men, who were all honourably served, each one according to what belonged to his rank. So the king and queen that day held a court grand and rich beyond the French custom; and the people of Paris went in crowds to the castle of the Louvre to see the style and demeanour of the King and Queen of England holding open court and wearing crowns. On the other hand the King and Queen of France held their Court by themselves in their Hotel of St. Pol, but by no means so grandly or plentifully as they were accustomed to do in days gone by. .

I quoted it at length because it also gives a glimpse of how a French chronicler viewed Catherine at the time of her marriage, which as Henry's partner of equal standing (for as much as that was possible for a medieval queen-consort). This sense of partnership is also found in some of the surviving evidence: she received gifts alongside him, accompanied Henry on some ceremonial entries (the exceptions being when she made her own entry or when they made the ceremonial entry into Paris in 1420 where Henry entered with Charles VI and Catherine with Isabeau of Bavaria). It doesn't tell us much about the inner-workings of their relationship but it does tell us that, at least publicly, their marriage was not one where one spouse was drastically unequal to the other, but one where they were partners of equal standing.

As far as we can tell, Henry also gave Catherine the space to establish herself as queen. She was welcomed to England with pageantry that befitted her status and that centred her, not Henry, and took part in a ceremonial entry to Paris in 1422 where she was the centre. He was not present at her coronation - this has, perhaps unsurprisingly, been interpreted as Henry slighting her but it was custom for a king not to attend his wife's coronation unless they were being coronated together, so not to draw attention away from her. It's possible that the parts of their 1421 progress through England where they travelled separately served a similar purpose in allowing Catherine the opportunity to be centred as queen, though practicalities (such as the exorbitant costs of a combined household on progress, a frequent cause of complaint for other medieval kings) were undoubtedly at play too.

On a similar note, we have a letter from Henry seconding Catherine's request that her physician would have a benefice without cure. This isn't anything special or unusual but it does show that Catherine felt she could make these requests and Henry trusted her judgement enough to grant them. In the Calendar of Patent Rolls, we also find that he granted Catherine's confessor £20 yearly and that he pardoned Beatrice, Lady Talbot of a fine in part because of her good service to Catherine - which may suggest Catherine had interceded privately for her, or had spoken to Henry of her service.

Henry also named Catherine as one of the supervisors in his last will, written in June 1421. In the codicils added just days before his death in August 1422, he states:

we wish that our said consort after our death should live and reside with our most beloved son in his office

This, again, is fairly standard stuff since the children of medieval nobility tended to reside with their mother in the nursery until they were around 8 years old. But again, it does indicate that Henry saw Catherine as someone worthy of trust and that he wished for her to live with their son, where she might not be at the centre of the court during the minority, but would develop a close rapport with her son and quite possibly come to wield a great deal of influence as Henry matured and took on more responsibility. It also ensured her a continuing presence in the royal court. The chroniclers depicted Catherine as a prop to support the infant king, carrying him to parliament and so on, which does mean she was present on those occasions at, like Henry VI, at the symbolic centre of them. But this does not necessarily mean that was all she did. Queens were supposed to work behind the scenes.

Another piece of the puzzle may be the coupling of mottoes. At some point in 1420, a red cloth covering for the king's barge was embroidered with Henry's motto of une sanz pluis coupled with a second motto, humblement le requier ('I humbly request it') - this barge covering was said to have been for the "for the king and the queen", while the 1423 inventory of Henry's goods referred to a similar barge covering embroidered with the "mottoes of the king and queen". If they are the same barge covering, humblement le requier may be Catherine's motto or at least connected to her (Henry also had a tunic of white and blue satin embroidered with humblement le requier, which may have meant he was wearing clothes decorated with her motto or in his own motto referring to her). Malcolm Vale argues that these mottoes are a love dedication - a request by Catherine (she humbly requests Henry's fidelity), and Henry's answer (Catherine is Henry's "one" and there will be none other than her). It is likely, as Vale notes, that these are fairly conventional mottoes, gesturing towards courtly love rather than a heartfelt dedication but if Vale is correct in reading them as a "statement and response", they suggest that Henry and Catherine wanted their relationship to be seen as a partnership.

I also wonder if Catherine's motto of humblement le requier (if it was her motto) may have been a broader statement on her queenship, setting up her as an intercessor. We have very few indications of Catherine interceding to Henry - there is a story that she interceded with Henry for the release of James I of Scotland at her coronation feast but given Henry was not present, it's likely this story confused her role in James I's release during the minority of Henry VI - but the motto may be a suggestion that this was the role Henry wanted for his wife. My own gut feeling is that Henry intended to model his marriage with Catherine on that of Edward III's marriage to Philippa of Hainault, a famous intercessor and the woman who was seen as the paragon of medieval queenship.

Everything in this section is pretty typical queenly stuff. It can't tell us about Catherine and Henry's personal relationship but it does show that Catherine's queenship was conventional. There is nothing - nothing at all - that suggests her position was being undermined by Henry. Unless we wish to argue that medieval queenship was effectively a symbolic and utterly powerless role - and there's a whole bunch of queenship studies that says differently - Catherine was or at least intended to be a vital partner in Henry's kingship. That Henry did not live long enough for Catherine to get the chance to exercise this role long enough for a record of it to survive does not mean that she never played that role because he devalued her or refused to let her be a queen in more than name.

Personal Relationship.

There's very little surviving evidence of their personal relationship but there is some evidence that we can tease out that might tell us a bit more about their relationship.

One of these is that two harps were shipped from England to France in October 1420 for their use. This may have formed an entirely conventional gift, since playing musical instruments was a common hobby amongst the nobility. However, we know Henry had a particular interest in music himself - he'd played the harp since a child, purchased another new harp with a set of strings and a case in in September 1421, purchased bags to carry his own recorders and pipes/flutes and was possibly the "Roy Henry" who composed two mass movements. He was also part of a musical family - his mother may have composed music herself, as may his father (who is the other contender as the composer of the Roy Henry movements), while his brothers were patrons of noted composers of the era. So, the fact that two harps were shipped over for their use could indicate that they had a shared interest or Henry was attempting to share his interest with Catherine or introducing her to a hobby that his family prized. We know nothing about whether Catherine had an interest in music or what kind of interest she had to be more precise and of course it could just be a fairly conventional gift.

Another piece of evidence is Henry's will. In the original will, drawn up in June 1421, left Catherine a great deal of moveable goods. From his chapel and altar, he left her all the"gold, silver-gilt and silver treasures and all other ornaments", as well as vestments and books for 20 clerks that would serve Catherine after his death. He also left her all the beds, furnishings, vessels, instruments and possessions of his chamber and hall. He notes two indentures left that specifically detail the items he wishes specifically to be bequeathed to her and states:

we wish our aforesaid most beloved consort to have and enjoy all the aforesaid items bequeathed to her in this way if she should be happy to be satisfied with them as her interest and share of all our moveable goods that can come to her in any way after our demise. Otherwise our said executors should dispose of all the aforesaid items, thus bequeathed to our aforesaid consort, as is said above, as our other goods.

In other words, he's leaving her a lot of stuff, he's got stuff he wants her specifically to have but he's also giving her the freedom to pick and choose what she wants, and if she doesn't want them, they're to be dealt with like his other goods. (n.b. "our most beloved consort" was a standard term of address, it isn't necessarily a statement of his true feelings).

This paragraph also ends with this note:

Item, we bequeath to our same consort a golden cross of ours with a piece of the wood of the Holy Cross, now in her custody, which we were accustomed to wear.

Which suggests that he might have lent this relic to her - one that might have been important to him, given he states he was "accustomed" to wear it - and wishes that it belong to her now. It may have been a gesture of affection that he loaned the relic to her, or it may have been another conventional gift, perhaps given when he left England for France in June 1421, knowing she was pregnant.

Just four days before his death, Henry added codicils to his will. Most of these codicils is concerned with the future - making provisions for his son - but the first codicil concerns itself with more bequests for Catherine, this time fairly specific bequests, and the provision of her dower. While these may have been a fairly standard provision and may reflect Catherine's enhanced status following the birth of a son and heir, it also indicates that he was thinking of her. Interestingly, the fact that this is the first codicil may well indicate that he was thinking of her in his last days, regardless of the fact that she wasn't physically present.

None of this tell us a great deal about what Henry felt for Catherine. Because their lives were heavily politicised, it's impossible to know what was a gesture of genuine affection between the two and what was a politic action that showed the respect of a king for his queen. Determining which was the primary motivation for any of Henry's actions is an exercise in speculation led by our own feelings, not an exercise that finally reveals Henry's.

Catherine's perspective.

Thus far, I've spoken mainly about evidence that hints at Henry's feelings and actions towards his wife, not Catherine's. By and large, the main reason for this is that we simply don't have evidence for her perspective. This isn't unusual; as Ruth Mazo Karras points out, it's rare that the surviving historical evidences any woman's perspective on her marriage.

The closest thing we have to evidence is a letter Agnes Strickland mentions in Lives of the Queens of England from the Norman Conquest:

Early in the same spring [of 1422] Katherine wrote her warlike lord a most loving letter, declaring that she earnestly longed to behold him once more.

However, Strickland does not give a source for her letter and in Letters of the Queens of England, 1100-1547, Anne Crawford says that none of Catherine's letters are known to survive though she (nor anyone else) doesn't mention Strickland's citation of a letter. Having said that, Strickland is nowadays notorious for inventing "facts" about her subjects that are have no basis in truth. So I'm inclined to treat this letter as a bit of romantic fakery, whether by Strickland or by someone else.

Catherine did pay for Henry's tomb but this seems to have been a standard action for a widowed queen and we don't know whether she had any influence on the design and construction of the tomb. She was not buried beside Henry or in the same chapel, but in the Lady Chapel (her tomb was dismantled and her body exhumed in 1502, she is now interred in Henry's chantry chapel), which is very close to the chapel of St. Edward where Henry was buried. We don't know why she chose this burial location, or if she chose it at all.

Given her status as Henry V's widow and queen and the fact that she was footing the bill for his tomb, it seems likely that she had some opportunity to be buried beside him, but it wasn't taken up. It might not have been wholly her choice. There was limited space in St. Edward's chapel (Henry VI struggled to find space for his own tomb, which was never built) and there might have been political issues or propaganda at play. Depending on how quickly she had to make that decision, Catherine may have been considering an uncertain future where she might not remain in England (if her son was to achieve France, if she married a foreign lord). Alternatively, her second marriage may have meant that burial beside Henry was a denial of Owen and their children or, given the heights of Henry's reputation, was no longer something she (or others) felt she "deserved" following her re-marriage. We just don't know.

And that pretty much sums up Catherine's perspective: we just don't know what she felt about Henry.

Success or failure?

Politically and dynastically, I think we can say the marriage was successful - it produced an heir, it promised peace with France and Catherine appears to have been a popular and successful queen-consort in England. It is true that the peace with France never came to fruition or that the birth of more children could have safeguarded Henry VI's reign and the Lancastrian dynasty but... these issues were caused more by the marriage's end than by its actuality, and other factors were at play - not least Henry V's premature death.

Personally? We just don't know. The evidence isn't there. We don't know what Catherine felt about Henry, we know frustratingly very little about her. Henry's actions suggest that he was treating Catherine with the respect her station and status as his wife deserved, that he was using the tropes of courtly love to do so, but we have no idea whether this reflected anything of his own feelings for her.

The Romantic Fairy Tale

The romantic interpretation of their marriage tends to fit in with the more romantic legends of both Henry and Catherine; at its core it is quite simply a fairytale-type of story. He is a handsome warrior king who sweeps the beautiful French princess (most commonly the most beautiful woman in existence) off her feet, she falls instantly in love with the magnanimous conqueror.

It is true that chronicles have fostered a view that the relationship between Catherine and Henry was a romantic one, and this view is perhaps aided by William Shakespeare's depiction of their courtship in Henry V. Although some productions and a great deal of scholarship offer up much darker interpretation of their one scene, a lot of times it is presented as a romantic one - particularly in the filmed versions of the play. As big as a shadow as Shakespeare casts, Catherine's scenes in Henry V are ahistorical, appearing to be Shakespeare's inventions.

Chronicle accounts of Catherine and Henry's relationship need to be viewed with a good deal of cynicism. They could be written to promote certain messages or to flatter patrons (or potential patrons), dedicatees and/or desired readers. Titus Livius Frulovisi reports in the Vita Henrici Quinti that Henry fell in love with Catherine at their first meeting but as Katherine J. Lewis points out, the book was addressed to their son, Henry VI, and the story's inclusion may have been to please him. Frulovisi was also employed by Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, Henry V's brother, and the Vita was intended to lionise Henry V, so these no doubt played a role in its depiction of Henry V's marriage to Catherine. Being a good husband was an ideal of kingship, since the king could be said to be metaphorically married to his kingdom and the way he was perceived to treat his wife could be seen as reflecting his ability to rule well.

There are similar stories of Henry V being greatly pleased when he receives a portrait of Catherine or becoming lovesick upon hearing the report of his ambassadors' meeting with her. In these stories, the moment of "instant love" comes before Henry ever meets her. Those particular stories could be said to be deploying the tropes of courtly romance to gloss over the fact that Henry's intention to marry Catherine was driven by much less emotive reasons. Given one of these stories is contained with the letter of a Venetian merchant who was trying to sell Henry a balas ruby (a red spinel), this may have even been a story deliberately publicised by Henry - perhaps with the intention of making himself look eager for marriage, perhaps to put pressure on the French.

Monstrelet tells us that Henry greeted Catherine "joyously, as if she were an angel of God" upon her arrival in Paris in May 1422. This might be a sign of personal affection for Catherine but there are other factors at play. Given his goals in France and her status as Charles VI's daughter, it'd be especially politic for Henry to greet Catherine affectionately. The fact that this was the first time they'd seen each other after the birth of their son may have also played a role in this greeting.

Henry V does seem to have been especially conscious of the ideals of kingship and trying to behave in line with them. As I've already indicated, his behaviour around Catherine - especially in public - may well have been intended to give the image of himself as a devoted suitor and husband. It doesn't necessarily mean that there was nothing but cold-blooded cynicism in his approach to Catherine but it's pretty clear that Henry had an acute understanding of his image and what was desired of him, and it would be short-sighted not to imagine that this understanding didn't play a role in his relationship with Catherine. The relationship between a king and queen was political just as much as - if not more than - it was personal.

There is little evidence that Henry was moved by any romantic impulse into fast-tracking his marriage to Catherine. During initial negotiations with the French, he asked for a dowry of 2 million crowns and rejected the French's counter of 800,000 crowns. His decision in 1420 to forgo a dowry for Catherine might have been a gesture of love or some other romantic feeling - or it might have been (and is, in my opinion, more likely) a shrewd political move, where Henry avoided taking a dowry that implied his inheritance of the French throne was through his marriage to Catherine rather than in his own right.

At the end of the day, too, they didn't marry because they fell desperately in love. They married for diplomatic reasons, for political reasons and for a peace treaty. It was the politically wise thing to do. It was, after all, a fairly standard marriage within the context of his own family and the medieval and early modern European monarchy. This doesn't mean it was a bad marriage or that there was no possibility of love. But it's not the reason they got married. We have very little evidence of their married life together to know whether any romance did develop.

Infatuation Followed By Disillusionment

This interpretation generally follows a particular narrative where the stories about Henry falling in love with Catherine at their first meeting are true but it's more of an infatuation or crush and as he gets to know Catherine better, he finds himself disillusioned by her and they become estranged. This might happen for a variety of reasons: a realisation that the Treaty of Troyes was not the win he thought it was, the realisation that while she's pretty, she's unintelligent, or the realisation that she's ruled by lust.

There is no real evidence for an estrangement. I believe it draws mainly on the idea that they spent about half of their marriage apart but, personally, I suspect that time was more of a reaction to the military situation in France following the Battle of Baugé and the fact that Catherine was pregnant for the first time (I'll discuss in much more detail below).

Catherine as the femme fatale and the Treaty of Troyes.

There have been reassessments of the Treaty of Troyes that argue far from the disastrous blow to France, put England at a disadvantage. The argument then follows that after Henry's rather slow realisation of this fact, he came to blame Catherine (...somehow) or at least distanced himself from her as a result. I'm... not entirely sure what logic Henry would have used since Catherine appears to have had no role in the actual negotiations and Henry was a 33-year-old man surrounded by the best people to advise him. Frankly, this interpretation seems to be heavily based on the misogynistic narrative of "a pretty young woman bamboozles an older man with her beauty in order to ensnare him in her evil trap otherwise he wouldn't have made such a stupid error" (we find a similar narrative with Margaret of Anjou and the surrender of Maine and Anjou). There are no indications that the Treaty of Troyes came to be viewed as an unfair bargain in England or that Catherine's reputation or relationships suffered as a result.

Catherine as a "dumb blonde".

This view is best surmised by novelist Anne O'Brien who describes historians' typical depiction of Catherine is the "archetypal ‘dumb blonde’", or Anne Crawford who claims:

Katherine had beauty to recommend her but neither the intelligence nor personality to captivate for long a man of Henry V's qualities.

There is no evidence that Catherine was lacking in intelligence, education or personality. Even if she was, she is still deserving of respect and personhood. The idea that Catherine was poorly educated comes from now-debunked claims that Isabeau of Bavaria neglected her children; most likely Catherine was educated to the standard for royal women and knew how to speak both French and English upon her marriage to Henry. It has been suggested that poems like John Lydgate's Temple of Glas and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight could be connected to Catherine, which could, in turn, make her the patron behind them. It's difficult to tell what the evidence to support this interpretation of Catherine is. Largely, it seems to insist on her lack of intelligence on the basis the misogynist claim that she was governed by lust and thus "unwise" and the belief that the absence of evidence on Catherine's life and personality tells us something meaningful about her personality. It does not. Absence of evidence isn't evidence, it is only an absence.

Catherine as a nymphomaniac.

Uncritically accepting the claim that Catherine was "unable to fully control her fleshly passions", this view is often an extension of the "dumb blonde" narrative wherein Henry eventually learns that Catherine is a hollow creature who cares only for lust and pleasure and is repulsed by her. The most extreme example I know of is Denise Giardina's novel, Good King Harry, where Henry first falls in love with Catherine only to discover that Catherine is the young and beautiful version of her monstrously oversexed and monstrous mother, Isabeau of Bavaria. Catherine is neither a virgin on her wedding night nor faithful to Henry, at one time even boasting that he didn't father Henry VI. Giardina's depiction is tied up in the incredibly misogynist depictions of Catherine as a slut or a nymphomaniac.

There is no evidence that Catherine was an adulteress. There were no contemporary claims that she committed adultery or that any of her children were bastards - even when we might imagine that it would be beneficial for these claims to be aired (i.e. if it was plausible that Henry VI wasn't Henry V's son, why didn't Richard, Duke of York claim that? Why didn't Richard III claim Edmund Tudor was a bastard when he was denigrating Henry VII's ancestry and falsely claiming Owen Tudor was a bastard?). The evidence for Catherine being a "slut" are basically a standard antifeminist smear by a chronicler that has been uncritically repeated. We know of only two sexual relationships she had - both of which were with men she married (and she was married to Owen Tudor), her second marriage was made years after being widowed in her early 20s. The view of her as "sluttish" because of her Tudor marriage may reflect moralistic outrage over the fact that Owen was Welsh and of much lower status than Catherine, as well as the possibility that the marriage was perceived as a "profound betrayal of Henry V's memory". There is no evidence that her relationship with Edmund Beaufort was sexual and the idea of Catherine marrying Beaufort may have even originated from the Beauforts, not Catherine. Even if she did have a sexual relationship with Beaufort (which we do not and cannot know), are we really saying that a woman having sex with three men, two of which were her husband and the other she almost married, over the course of a lifetime makes her a slut? Even if Catherine had sex with 58 trillion different people (which she very obviously didn't), we as modern commentators should do better that to uncritically repeat and confirm the misogynistic and slut shaming rhetoric of medieval and early modern writers.

But to come back to the question that this behaviour could have had on her marriage to Henry - well, we have no evidence of this. It is incredibly unlikely that she cuckolded him or had any affairs, and we have no evidence that Henry was repulsed by Catherine liking and wanting sex. It's possible, of course, that there was some kind of sexual incompatibility between them though we don't and can't know that. At the end of the day, there is no evidence to hang a theory on.

A "Cruel" Marriage?

The interpretation that the marriage was a cruel one. Typically, this is hand-in-hand with the revisionist interpretations of Henry (cf. Ian Mortimer, Keith Dockray, A. J. Pollard) that see him as a warmongerer and the worst of the late medieval English kings, utterly unredeemable. This interpretation most commonly features an cold and brutal Henry, often a marital rapist, abusive, neglectful or just not interested in Catherine beyond the getting of heirs.

There is no real evidence that the marriage was an unhappy one, that Henry raped, abused, neglected or otherwise mistreated Catherine. I am aware in saying this, I am making it sound like evidence of any of this would have naturally existed and survived to be picked over; I don't believe this to be the case. Abuse often occurs in secrecy and silence and it is perhaps to be expected that any evidence of historical cases of abuse would be limited and fragmentary, if it survived or even if it existed in the first place. But an absence of evidence is still an absence of evidence. It's not proof, it doesn't provide any support for a theory.

In view of the absence of this evidence, the arguments that the marriage was unhappy or cruel largely heavily interpret (if not over interpret) the few facts of their marriage that we can talk about. These are:

That they spent about half of their marriage apart

Catherine did not attend Henry V's deathbed

The marriage was political and/or the result of a peace treaty.

General unsupported assumptions of their personalities

Catherine was "very young" at their marriage

It took them a while to conceive a child.

But almost all begin with the argument that Shakespeare's depiction of Henry and Catherine in Henry V was unquestionably a romantic one and that Shakespeare (as he always does) has muddied the waters, ensuring that we cannot perceive the truth. To be entirely blunt, if one dips their toe into the scholarship on Shakespeare's Catherine, one very quickly finds that Shakespeare's depiction is far more complicated with its view on Catherine and her relationship with Henry.

They spent about half their marriage apart.

This is usually marshalled into an argument about there being some incompatibility or dislike between the two. That if Henry had really cared for Catherine, he would have been at her side at all times, or at least spent less time away from her (see above for the idea that there was an estrangement).

The extreme brevity of their marriage and the paucity of evidence of their lives makes the time spent apart very difficult to assess clearly. The statistic of "half their marriage was spent apart" seems like a cold, hard fact but we are talking about a marriage that lasted just over two years. We have no idea whether that statistic would have remained the same had Henry V not died in August 1422 and their marriage lasted for longer, or whether that statistic would be the same if England and France had been at peace. Medieval kings and queens often spent time apart - at times, they were even criticised for spending time together because it cost more money to maintain the two separate households as one.

What we do know, however, is that the lengthiest time Catherine and Henry spent apart - from June 1421 to May 1422; a little less than a year - was impacted by two major developments. The Battle of Baugé (22 March 1421) was the first English defeat in France since the hostilities had reignited in 1415 and it was there that Henry's brother and heir, Thomas, Duke of Clarence, died. Clarence was a major commander in Henry's campaigns; the impact of his loss cannot be understated. In addition to any personal grief Henry felt at Clarence's loss (who was the brother he spent most of his childhood with), it is likely that Henry believed that his presence was needed in France, that he needed to step up to cover the loss of Clarence and ensure the fallout of their military defeat was minimal. Given that chronicle accounts depict Henry as trying to attend to military matters despite being ill (an action that quite possibly led to his own death), this seems like a fairly solid bit of speculation. If he was unsparing of his own physical health, even when near death, the idea that he only went on campaign to be cruel to his wife doesn't really stack up. He believed his presence was necessary and went.

The second major development was Catherine's pregnancy. Ironically, Henry VI was probably conceived around the same time as the Battle of Baugé was being fought and it is likely that Henry knew Catherine was pregnant when he returned to France. While queens did sometimes accompany their husbands on campaigns, it is possible that, this being Catherine's first pregnancy and in the uncertain atmosphere after Clarence's death, it was considered too risky for Catherine to return to France with Henry. Henry's time in France was marked by attending sieges, where disease was rife and would risks to the health of both Catherine and their unborn child. Given English concerns that the Treaty of Troyes would undermine English independence, it may have also been considered politically expedient that their first child was born in England, rather than in France (one French chronicle claims Catherine did accompany Henry into France but was sent back to England upon the discovery that she was six months' pregnant). Another possible factor here is how Catherine experienced her pregnancy - she may have had a difficult time with it and the idea of travelling to France utterly unappealing or deemed unwise.

This separation could be said to make up the bulk of their time spent apart and we have two major developments that may have impacted on it. Henry likely felt his continuous presence in France was necessary after Clarence's loss, Catherine may have remained in England for a variety of reasons, not all controllable. Yes, one of those reasons could possibly be a dislike of one spouse by the other or a mutual dislike but it could just have easily been an external factor (and I think the latter more likely, given the lack of contemporary comment). We don't and can't know.

Catherine did not attend Henry's deathbed.

There are a few things to note about this. Firstly, there may have been a fear of contagion. We don't know exactly what Henry died of** to know whether contagion was a valid fear or not, but it's possible it was. Catherine's absence may well have been designed to protect her from illness and death. Secondly, Henry's health seems to have deteriorated rather quickly. John, Duke of Bedford - Henry's brother - was summoned to Henry's deathbed late and "found him worse than he had been told". It is possible that it was not thought Henry was in great danger until it was too late.

Thirdly, less than two months after Henry's death, Charles VI also died. His death seems to have been expected. Catherine was staying with Charles in August 1422 and it's possible that she was there not just because Henry was meant to be on campaign but to attend her father's deathbed. In other words, Catherine (or those around her) may have had to choose between being with her father or husband for their death. And if Henry deteriorated quickly, that choice was may have been made for her. (It may have also been in response to the criticisms of how Charles and Isabeau had been treated, cited earlier).

Fourthly, Henry was sick and dying. Although he's typically discussed as being rational and clear-minded to the very end, he may not have been lucid. David Rundle notes that one of the codicils added to Henry's will while he was dying was "hardly grammatical" and suggests that Henry was "less than lucid". Commonly suggested ailments such as dysentery, dehydration and/or heatstroke could made him feverish and delirious. In other words, he may not have been in a sound mind to summon Catherine or for the lack of summons to be a deliberate slight against her.

And to underscore that point, Henry was dying. To me, when someone is dying, they get to choose, free from recriminations, who they want at their deathbed. We don't have access to Henry's emotions to know his specific motivations, we could just as easily argue that he didn't want Catherine there because he didn't want her to see him to die or in the state he was in. We have the exact same evidence for both. Regardless, Catherine was fit and healthy and Henry was literally dying.

Finally, Katherine J. Lewis makes the point when discussing Catherine's presence at Henry VI's French coronation that while contemporary accounts make no reference to her presence, administrative records place her with Henry VI on the coronation expedition:

It has been argued that she did not accompany Henry [VI] to France, yet while she is not mentioned in chronicles, administrative records indicate that she was with Henry in Rouen at least, if not at the French coronation itself. This is a reminder that Katherine’s absence from narrative sources should not be taken as evidence that she was no longer important.

Perhaps her absence from chronicle accounts of Henry's death do not necessarily mean she was not important or not present at the actual event? It may be worth noting that one of Henry V's biographers, John Strecche, claimed Catherine was present (however, Monstrelet claims she was kept ignorant of Henry's death for some time after).

The marriage was political and/or the result of a peace treaty.

Pretty much every royal medieval marriage was political and quite a few of them were in attempt to put an end to hostilities between nations or hostilities. Yes, Catherine and Henry's marriage was this in this category. It was normal and expected for them. Catherine had first been the subject of marriage negotiations when she was two years old. All of her siblings had married for politics except those who tied very young and Marie, who became a nun.

It doesn't make the marriage automatically cruel or destined to be unhappy. Most couples ended up in a relationship that was workable. Some of the more celebrated loving marriages in the history of English monarchs were political matches to begin with (e.g. Richard II and Anne of Bohemia) and even matches designed to end hostilities (e.g. Henry VII and Elizabeth of York). It is entirely possible that Catherine and Henry could have had a loving, affectionate marriage along those lines.

The idea that there was some family tradition in the Plantagenet royal family about marrying only for love and that Henry callously spat on this tradition, as Ian Mortimer has suggested, is nonsense. Edward III did not marry for love; he married so his mother could get an army to depose his father. If he got to choose his bride from the daughters of his mother's ally, his choice was between a girl close to his own age or a toddler. Richard II did not marry for love, he married as part of a political alliance - and these marriages did, in fact, become loving, or at least strongly affectionate. Henry IV had likely met Joan of Navarre once or twice when he married her. Historians have suggested that some of the "love matches" in the Plantagenet family (e.g. Joan of Kent and Edward of Woodstock, Katherine Swynford and John of Gaunt, Joan of Navarre and Henry IV) may have been had more pragmatic reasoning behind them.

The main arguments for the "arranged marriage" showing Henry's disregard for Catherine are:

the unrealistic demand of 2 million crowns for her dowry and his refusal to countenance Charles VI's counter-offer

that there were other brides he had negotiated marriage with.

Honestly... both are all pretty standard features of marriage negotiations. The marriages of medieval royalty weren't really about them as individuals; it was about getting the best deal. They were about the country, about the political, the financial and the territorial. Henry's unrealistic demand for 2 million crowns as a dowry probably reflected his lack of interest in peace at the time (it should be noted, as Anne Curry does, France also showed a similar lack of interest).

As far as Henry's potential other brides... again, standard. Chaucer's Parlement of Foules has been argued to represent the many suitors vying for Anne of Bohemia's hand; other brides were also considered for her eventual husband. It didn't mean they thought any less of each other. It is not... really true, either, as Ian Mortimer and the novelist Anne O'Brien have claimed, that Henry considered marriage to two of Catherine's sisters before settling on Catherine. That's actually incredibly disingenuous - Henry had been suggested as a prospective husband for both Michelle de Valois and Isabelle de Valois but these matches had been raised by Richard II in 1395, when Henry was 9, and Henry IV in 1400, when Henry was 13, respectively. Henry V had nothing to do with these negotiations beyond the being the subject of them. Possibly, he was more involved in the negotiations for a marriage between himself and an unnamed daughter of Charles VI in 1408, but we don't know this for sure. By the time Henry V acceded in 1413 and gained total control over his own marriage, Catherine had been the subject of marriage negotiations with France since 1409. Nor does Henry's attempt at negotiating marriage between himself and a daughter of John the Fearless, Duke of Burgundy, in 1411 suggest any real disrespect for Catherine; it was simply standard practice.

Personalities.

Another argument that their marriage was a cruel or unhappy one is generally the argument that they possessed certain personalities that were incompatible. Needless to say, the view of Henry as an abusive or cold husband is often tied to the revisionist view of him that tend to read him as monstrous. There isn't the space to go into my feelings about these reassessments but to me, these arguments run to extremes and never come to grips of why Henry was so beloved beyond complaining about "luck" and "Lancastrian propaganda".

We know very little about Henry's personality; very little of his private/personal life survives. We know even less about Catherine's. What we think we know about Catherine's personality comes from the myths about her relationship with Owen Tudor, the posthumous attacks on her as oversexed, and the supposition that her absence from the historical record tells us something important about her personality. None of these are reliable sources; the latter tells us more about the assumptions and biases of historians than they do Catherine. An absence of evidence is just that - an absence - not evidence itself.

(For more about the problems in determining personality in late medieval figures, see the first section in my post on Margaret of Anjou)

The most recent development of this supposed incompatibility is the idea of incompatible sexualities, where Henry is "something of a prig" (or a prude or a misogynist) because he apparently gave up sex with women after his accession to the throne and Catherine was "rather jolly", as Lisa Hilton puts it, because of all those marvellous myths about how she hooked up with Owen Tudor. In both cases, they show the difference between medieval/early modern and modern attitudes towards sex. From a medieval and early modern perspective, a chaste king was a good king as it reflected their capacity for restraint and ability to rule not only their body, but the realm (see here and here), while female sexuality was always suspect. We have very little evidence of their sex life, either together or with other partners. It's possible there was some incompatibility - but there's no real evidence of it and this narrative relies on criticising Henry for living up to contemporary ideals and praising Catherine for the contemporary and historiographical reports of her behaviour that are awash with misogyny and slut-shaming.

Catherine was "very young" at their marriage.

Catherine was born 27 October 1401, meaning she was 18 years old when she married Henry on 2 June 1420. This might seem young to modern eyes - "barely an adult" - but that's to modern eyes, not medieval. 12 was the minimum age of consent for marriage in canonical law though this was not necessarily the age at which most women married or when their marriage was consummated (most waited until later). The evidence suggests that most women married in their late teens or early twenties, though women of the gentry and nobility typically married in their teens or below canonical age - and for these women, that consummation was often delayed to their mid-to-late teens. For a comparative statistic in Catherine's own social class, the average age for the first marriage for English princesses from Edward I to Henry VII was 16.65 according to Kim Philips.

Catherine's age, then, was entirely average for her sex and even a little later than her class and later still within her family. Comparing her to her female relatives shows that Catherine was actually older at her wedding than all but four of her relatives.*** The age at which Catherine gave birth - 20 - was also unexceptional and a far cry from her sister-in-law, Blanche, who gave birth when she was 14 or her daughter-in-law, Margaret Beaufort, who gave birth when she was just 13.

The alarm bells Ian Mortimer rings at the idea of the "pubescent" Catherine marrying Henry is also... incredibly disingenuous. The appeal of her as a bride was not her age but her connections and status as the last unmarried daughter of Charles VI. Judging a marriage on an alternate history is not history or even an argument. It doesn't tell us what actually happened or even what would have happened had this alternate history really taken place. It's true that Catherine was 8 when a marriage with her was first posed in Henry IV's reign and in her pre- and early teens when marriage negotiations appear to have been seriously considered. But she didn't marry Henry then, she married him when she was 18. She was an adult. Even by modern standards, she was an adult.

It is true, too, that Henry V, born 16 September 1386, was 33 and thus 15 years Catherine's senior. This sort of age gap is unexceptional for their own time, particularly because Catherine was an adult when they got married. And, as I've said, we have very little evidence of their relationship to know what role this this age gap played in their marriage, whether Henry was truly a domineering partner as Anne O'Brien claimed.

It took awhile for them to conceive a child.

This one truly boggles the mind.

Henry VI was born on 6 December 1421, which means he was probably conceived in mid-March (possible dates are March 12, 1421 - March 22, 1421). This was around 10 months after Henry V and Catherine had married. We don't know why it took them 10 months to conceive so to presume it tells us something about their relationship or even their sex life is a very limited perspective. Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester never conceived a child with his second wife despite being very into her and very into sex.

There are many reasons why that ten month gap could have occurred. One of the reasons may well be that Henry didn't want to spend any time with Catherine and was snubbing her, though we have no supporting evidence or this. Another reason might be that Catherine did a conceive a child earlier but had a miscarriage. There's no evidence of this, true, but we have very little evidence of specific occurrences of miscarriage. Another reason may be that Catherine and Henry were taking the time to ease into their relationship before they had sex. One or both of them may have had subfertility problems (it might be telling that Catherine only had 3 or 4 children with Owen Tudor, despite being with him for around 10 years, or that in spite of the stories of Henry's wild youth, there are no known illegitimate children for him). And, quite simply, sometimes it can just take that long to conceive a child without there being a particular reason behind it.

We don't know anything about Catherine and Henry's sex life, (obviously; we know precious little about them). But interestingly, those dates for Henry VI's conception? They fall in Lent and a good medieval Catholic wasn't supposed to have sex at all in Lent. If either Henry or Catherine wanted to avoid having sex with each other, they had the perfect excuse to avoid it. This doesn't necessarily mean that they were in love or that they sexually desired one another; there may well have been more pragmatic motivations at play (the desire for an heir, for one). It does tell us, though, that they had sex at a time when one or both of them could have had the perfect reason to opt-out and didn't take it. Perhaps they didn't find each other as repellent as some historians, novelists and commentators think they did.

And, really, I don't think Henry could win the "not an evil abuser" prize with this kind of logic. If Catherine had gotten pregnant immediately after their marriage, it'd be proof Henry saw her as his "broodmare" and cared nothing for her beyond the getting of sons. Instead, the delay in conceiving a child is proof of his disregard of her. It's not really about the evidence, it's about taking a preconceived idea and looking for evidence to support it, even when the evidence could have multiple meanings. I could easily spin both potentials as proof of romance.

What was it like, really?

In some ways, I want to answer this with ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ We just don't know, the evidence isn't there. I know, I know, I took 10,000 words to say "who knows lol".

Their marriage was absolutely a standard medieval royal marriage. It was arranged and political, like the vast majority of medieval royal marriages, and like a not insignificant portion of marriages in the nobility, it was intended to bring an end to (or at least respite from) hostilities. There was nothing particularly nefarious in the idea, anymore than there was for Edward I and Marguerite of France, Edward II and Isabella of France, Henry Vi and Margaret of Anjou, and Henry VII and Elizabeth of York.

What limited evidence for their relationship shows that Henry V treated Catherine with respect and care. It doesn't necessarily mean he loved her or even that he particularly liked her - at the very least, he was aware of that, as his wife and queen, she was due these things and ensured she got them. That doesn't mean he couldn't have liked her, or even loved her, just that a royal marriage was both a political and personal relationship and it's impossible to determine, at this great distance, with the limited surviving evidence, just what was politics and what was personal.

Very likely, he was also aware of the way that his behaviour towards Catherine would impact his public image. Whatever his faults, Henry V was incredibly skilled at public relations. He was adept at giving his people what they wanted, at being their perfect king - and likely knew that he needed to be (seen to be) a good husband to maintain that image. And he wasn't stupid. Catherine was the daughter of Charles VI "le Bien-Aimé"; she was in, a way, France in a way that Henry could never to be. Regardless of what he actually felt for Catherine, he knew that if he wanted to be accepted as regent and later king of France, he could hardly mistreat Catherine. Her mistreatment could easily become a public scandal and a focal point for dissatisfaction - disastrous for an usurper.

We'll never know whether his treatment of Catherine was solely inspired by good politics and image; he may have very well cared for her in her own right. Or he might not. But I really don't see that he would have been callous, abusive or neglectful of her. There is no hint of it in the historical records and it would have been disastrous for his goals in France.

We don't know how Catherine felt about Henry. We have so little evidence about Catherine's life that anything could be true and any claims as to "what she was really like" are disingenuous, whether they're arguing for her victimhood or her love affair or her failure to be the true equal of the "great man" she married.

It speaks to the way that Catherine has primarily been seen as a romantic object that everything in her adult life must be explained by a romantic or emotive relationship instead of seeing her as a woman who was at the centre of the political sphere and who had more in life than romance, sex and men. We don't know that she loved Henry or that he loved her; we don't know that she expected or wanted that from her marriage. But in accepting that, we have no reason to assume that therefore, the marriage was doomed her to deep unhappiness and a cruel husband.

In short, I think their marriage was a standard marriage rather than uniquely cruel. I do not think it was abusive. I think it was respectful and that Henry saw Catherine as his partner. I think their relationship was more likely to have been companionable than antagonistic. I don't think it was romantic, though I can't say we can rule out the possibility that love might have (or could have had) entered into it once they got to know each other.

* They married on 2 June 1420 and Henry died in the very early morning of 31 August 1422. This comes out to 2 years, 2 months and 29 days, not counting 31 August 1422.

** The main consensus on Henry V's death is some kind of gastrointestinal illness, most commonly given as dysentery though it's unlikely to be a single dysentery infection, acquired in December 1421, that killed him. For more detail, see this post.

*** Catherine's mother, Isabeau of Bavaria, was around 15 when she married Charles VI. Of the sisters who married, Isabelle had been just shy of her 7th birthday, Jeanne 4 and Michelle 16. Of Catherine's French sisters-in-law, Margaret of Nevers was 9, Jacqueline of Hainault 14 and Marie of Anjou was 18. Of Catherine's mothers-in-law, Mary de Bohun was probably 10, Joan of Navarre 18. Of Catherine's English sisters-in-law Blanche and Philippa of England were 10 and 12 years old respectively. Of the wives of Catherine's English brothers-in-law, Anne of Burgundy was 19, Jacquetta of Luxembourg was 17, Jacqueline of Hainault 14, Eleanor Cobham around 28 and Margaret Holland around 12. Of Catherine's daughters-in-law (it is not certain that she had a daughter herself and if she did, there is no evidence this daughter ever married), Margaret of Anjou was 15, Margaret Beaufort was 1 or 3 (12 when she married Edmund Tudor), and Katherine Woodville 7 years old or under. In the cases where the marriage produced offspring, we're looking at the women being in her mid-to-late teens when she gave birth to her first child. The two exceptions are Blanche of England (14) and Margaret Beaufort (13). In cases where their first marriage produced no issue (e.g. Anne of Burgundy, Jacquetta of Luxembourg, Eleanor Cobham) we cannot know when the marriage was consummated. Eleanor Cobham, at 28, was the oldest at her marriage but her sexual relationship with her spouse likely predated their marriage by some years. n.b. the ages given are consistent with each woman's first marriage, not the age at which they married into Catherine's family; Jacqueline of Hainault married both Catherine's brother, Jean, and Catherine's brother-in-law, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester, and so is listed twice.

References

Tracy Adams, The Life and Afterlife of Isabeau of Bavaria (John Hopkins University Press 2010) Anne Crawford, Letters of the Queens of England, 1100-1547 (Sutton 1997) Anne Curry, Henry V: From Playboy Prince to Warrior King (Penguin 2015) Anne Curry & Susan Jenkins (eds.), The Funeral Achievements of Henry V at Westminster Abbey (Boydell Press 2022) Geoffrey Hilton, A New Biography of King Henry V: Told by John Strecche Canon of Kenilworth 1426 (2017) Lisa Hilton, Queens Consort: England's Medieval Queens (Phoenix 2008) Katherine J. Lewis, Kingship and Masculinity in Late Medieval England (Routledge 2013) Katherine J. Lewis, “Katherine of Valois: The Vicissitudes of Reputation”, Later Plantagenet and the Wars of the Roses Consorts: Power, Influence, and Dynasty (Palgrave Macmillan 2023) Ruth Mazo Karras, Unmarriages: Women, Men, and Sexual Unions in the Middle Ages (University of Pennsylvania Press 2012) Carolyn King Stephens, The “Pentangle Hypothesis”: A Dating History and Resetting of “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight”', Fifteenth-Century Studies, Vol. 31, 2006 John D. Milner, “The Battle of Baugé, March 1421: Impact and Memory”, History Vol. 91, No. 4, October 2006 J. Allan Mitchell, "Queen Katherine and the Secret of Lydgate's 'Temple of Glas', Medium Ævum, Vol. 77, No. 1, 2008 Ian Mortimer, 1415: Henry V's Year of Glory (Vintage 2010) Kavita Mudan Finn, The Last Plantagenet Consorts: Gender, Genre, and Historiography, 1440-1627 (Palgrave Macmillan 2012) Neil Murphy, "Ceremony and Conflict in Fifteenth-Century France: Lancastrian Ceremonial Entries into French Towns, 1415-1431", Explorations in Renaissance Culture, vol. 30, no. 2, December 2013 Anne O'Brien, blog, The Love Affair That Never Was Maria Pia Pedani, 'Balas Rubies for the King of England (1413-15)', EJOS, V, No. 7, 2002 Kim M. Phillips, Medieval Maidens: Young Qomen and Gender in England, 1270-1540 (Manchester University Press 2003) David Rundle, "Of Republics and Tryants: aspects of quattrocento humanist writings and their reception in England, c. 1400 – c. 1460" (unpublished D.Phil. thesis, University of Oxford, 1997). Agnes Strickland, Lives of the Queens of England from the Norman Conquest, vol. 3 (Lea & Blanchard, 1841) Malcolm Vale, Henry V: The Conscience of a King (Yale University Press 2016)

Novels Mentioned Denise Giardina, Good King Harry (Random House 1999) Anne O'Brien, The Forgotten Queen (Mira Books 2013)

Shakespeare Criticism (selection) Kavita Mudan Finn and Lea Luecking Frost, "“Nothing Hath Begot My Something Grief”: Invisible Queenship in Shakespeare’s Second Tetralogy", The Palgrave Book of Shakespeare's Queens (Palgrave Macmillan 2018) William B. Robison, "The Bard, the Bride, and the Muse Bemused: Katherine of Valois on Film in Shakespeare’s Henry V", The Palgrave Book of Shakespeare's Queens (Palgrave Macmillan 2018)

This post may also be of interest.

#ask #anon #catherine of valois #catherine de valois #henry v #long post #in case the cut fails

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