#keeping up with the Plantagenets

[lordbettany]

A Plantagenet Christmas - Moodboard???

[valhallaimcomin]

The Very Best (And Absolute Worst) Of The Medieval English Monarchy | Ki...

Here's a short documentary for those who wish to keep up with ✨️the royal drama✨️

[imthemuthafuckingcricket]

Delightful to read official decrees from Eleanor to leave the nuns money alone

[queenaboleyna]

the white queen really made jacquetta of luxembourg the 15th century kris jenner

[gwenllian-in-the-abbey]

Do you think Rhaenyra would have killed her siblings or it was mere paranoia on Alicent's side? The book doesn't provide a solid answer for this, and in the show it's clear that Rhaenyra would never harm her siblings.

Hi anon, I kind of went into it in this post, and although that ask was about Jace vs. Aegon III, I think the principle remains the same. In short, no, I don't think it was paranoia, but to understand why, we have to understand why Rhaenyra's brothers pose a particular threat to the stability of Rhaenyra (of Jace's) rule. Keep in mind, this isn't a moral failing specific to Rhaenyra, but simply a byproduct of the conditions of her inheritance.

I don't think Rhaenyra would have wanted to kill her siblings (or their kids), or even have planned to kill her siblings, but I also think that ultimately what she wanted wouldn't matter very much. All it would take would be someone wishing to rise in her esteem claiming that Aegon was fermenting rebellion, perhaps producing a forged letter as evidence, or an eyewitness who would swear that he had been secretly meeting with former greens. Could she risk it? Her brothers are weapons that can always be used against her. And at some point, it would be out of her control. Rhaenyra won't live forever, nor will Daemon, and when Jace attempts to take the throne, with no less than 7 legitimate male claimants alive who would have a claim ahead of him, there are bound to be challengers. The Blackfyre rebellion began with much flimsier pretexts.

We have real life examples of this. Henry VII intended to keep the remaining Plantagenets alive when he took the throne, as long as they stayed loyal. After all, they were his wife's family members, and killing them off would not be a good look. But the remaining Plantagenets would always be a threat to the Tudors. Ten year old Edward Plantagenet, the son of George of Clarence, was imprisoned in the Tower of London for 14 years before he was executed in 1499 for a supposed connection to Perkin Warbeck's scheme. Henry VII finally took action at least in part because he was negotiating a betrothal between his heir and the daughter of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella. The Spanish monarchs did not want their daughter marrying a man whose succession could be challenged, and so Edward, the strongest claimant at that point, had to go. Henry VII's son, Henry VIII, increasingly worried about the stability of his own succession, became vulnerable to the whisperings of opportunists looking to rise in the king's esteem and eliminate their own political enemies. At this point, the remaining Plantagenet claimants became a source of paranoia, justified or not. The arrest and execution of Margaret Pole, the niece of Edward IV and Richard III, was based upon a tunic found in her home that supposedly represented her support for her son's claim to the throne and the restoration of the Catholic church in England. The tunic was almost certainly planted by Henry VIII's chief minister, the protestant Thomas Cromwell, the same man who orchestrated Henry's divorce from Catherine of Aragon (yes, the same princess whose hand Edward Plantagenet had died to secure). And Henry VIII liked Margaret, she'd been the governess to his daughter, and though they had their ups and downs, he certainly didn't hate her. Still, when her son was put forward as a rival claimant and she was accused of supporting him, she had to go too. And of course, going backwards a bit, there are famously the princes in the tower, Edward and Richard, sons of King Edward IV, who despite having been officially declared bastards (a law, you see, was not enough), were still enough of a threat to the throne that they were (most likely) murdered, whether by Richard III or one of his associates. Mere rumors that those boys still lived sparked rebellions during the reign of Henry VII.

And you can say well, there's a difference, surely, in that Rhaenyra is the rightful queen, and these other people were not? But "rightful" is not some inherent state of being, it's dependent upon who is in power. Every person who sits the throne believes themself to be the rightful king or queen. But Rhaenyra in particular gained her position because her father exercised his power and declared her heir in defiance of the expected order of inheritance, contradicting the very decision that made him king in the first place. After Viserys dies though, for all intents and purposes his wishes cease to matter. He is no longer king, and lacks any mechanism by which to enforce his wishes from beyond the grave. At that point, people will choose to support one claimant or another, based upon their own concerns (dragon math, precedent, oaths, promises made by one or the other, existing family bond) and to consider Rhaenyra or Aegon (or any other claimant down the road) the rightful king/queen. Rhaenyra's security upon the throne, like the position of Henry VII or Richard III, is inherently weaker because she comes to the throne through unconventional means. All it takes is a plague year, a famine, or a foreign invasion for any random group of lords to decide that the true king Aegon/Aemond/Jaehaerys/Maelor should be on the throne and that they should start a rebellion in his name. If Rhaenyra feels insecure in her rule, or in Jace's ability to peacefully inherit after her, it only makes sense to eliminate any potential rivals, and her brothers and their children will always be a threat, no matter her original intentions. Even if Rhaenyra keeps her word and does not harm her family, her brothers and their line pose a threat to Jace and his line as long as both lines exist.

So Alicent is not being paranoid at all, she's being realistic. If Viserys were to disinherit Rhaenyra, or were Rhaenyra to accept the peace terms and give up her claim, she would become simply another sister, but Aegon can never be just another brother to Queen Rhaenyra because in the eyes of some, he will always be a potential rallying point for dissenters, and if not him then his brothers, or his children, whether they want to be or not. That's the point Alicent is making. It's not a reflection on Rhaenyra's character, it's just that if it came down to a choice between securing her reign/Jace's succession, and the lives of her potential political rivals, it's not difficult to guess what Rhaenyra would choose.

[calisources]

𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐀 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎.

All sentences are taken from different books from Phillipa Gregory, specially her series about the historical fiction setting of the war of roses and the tudors era. Change names, locations, pronouns and nouns as you see fit for your own liking. Some of these have slight foul language or involve insuation of sexual situations. Please beware. This is part two. (part one).

You are my joy. You are worth tens of thousands.

The art of happiness is being content with what you have.

Bless you my daughter, and may you remain pure in heart and get your desires.

I want my husband to love me with a passion, like in a troubadour tale, like a knight.

Ah, my dear, you are a good wife. You are my beauty. You are my only love.

Another husband, another new house, another new country, but I never belong anywhere and I never own anything in my own right.

Life is long, and if a woman survives, she can take her pleasures one way or another.

My advice to you, as you go to your husband, is never to trust him and never love him more than he loves you.

This is a generation of men accustomed to warfare, inured to danger and familiar with cruelty.

Last time I danced in these rooms it was the Christmas feast and I was wearing a dress of silk.

I have the Sight, I should have seen it all, but some things are too dark to forsee. 

When a country is at war, cousin against cousin, brother against brother, no boy is safe.

People always make up stories about princesses. It comes to us with the crown.

Good God, I could take you in my arms right now.

There is no one who loves peace more than a soldier.

A troubadour to a distant mistress.

Every woman should marry for her own advantage since her husband will represent her.

The castle will seem very quiet and strange without you here.

We may be of the same family, but that is the very reason why we are not friends, for we are rivals for the throne. 

Her confidence is extraordinary, her impertinence unforgivable, her words terribly true.

I believe that to be a free woman is to be both passionate and intelligent; and I am a free woman at last.

She doesn't realize yet though men go to war it is the women who suffer--perhaps more than anyone.

They are a couple in love, and anyone but a fool would see it is simply that, nothing more- and certainly nothing less.

We are Plantagenets - we dine on a diet of betrayal and heartbreak.

One little boy, and he a bastard.

The queen sees me coming, turns toward us and waits, with a killer's patience, for me to reach the chancel steps.

I am the daughter of a water goddess. I am a woman with water in her veins and power in her breeding.

I am not defeated by a boy with a newly won crown, and no man will ever walk away from me certain that he won’t walk back.

Compared with the rest of us she was silver, while we were pewter, a common mixture of lead and tin.

I was born to be Queen of England and mother of the next King of England. I have to fulfill my destiny, it is my God-given destiny.

I will stand up and speak in my own voice and no man will ever silence me again.

Affection is not important to you, nor to me. You want power Margaret, power and wealth; and so do I. 

A woman of sense would marry only for the improvement of her family. Only a lustful fool dreams every night of a marriage of love.

All this is always for nothing.

Her heart has to break and her spirit has to break if she is to be any use to her family.

Your son is heir to an enormous fortune and name. Someone would be bound to bid for you him and take him as his ward.

Your son is heir to an enormous fortune and name. Someone would be bound to bid for you him and take him as his ward.

It's not an easy dance she's leading.

Bed, Wife.

You look as if you would eat me up.

I cannot think how to sate my desire for you. I think I will have to keep you prisoner here and eat you up in little cutlets, day after day.

But you would not get out till you were with child.

It is easier to take a country into war than to bring it to live at peace.

When you are still and thoughtful you are as lovely as the statues they are carving in Italy.

Jane had gone to pray for the dead queen, Anne would dance on her grave.

I have a longing for you, Lady Elizabeth Grey, that I have never felt for any woman before.

Come to me, I beg you, come to me. It could be my last wish. Will you come to me tonight?

I cannot be your mistress. I would rather die than dishonor my name. I cannot bring that shame on my family.

This is my marriage, and I want my wife in my bed.

Learning is an ornament to a good woman, not a distraction.

I would rather see you dead at my feet than dishonored.

What if the king is killed in battle?

I have loved you honorably as a knight should do his lady, and I have loved you passionately as a man might a woman.

I am not defeated by a boy with a newly won crown.

It's not magic. It's what any slut does if she has her wits about her.

He was such a happy boy, and happiness is not memorable.

I have a right to you, as your betrothed husband.

He has to marry a princess.

You have married a man who is going to die in his bed, preferably after making love to the most beautiful woman in England.

I will make sure that the most beautiful woman in your eyes is always me.

If you hate a woman, the first thing you destroy is her reputation.

Don't waste your courage on hating him. Keep yourself to yourself. And keep up your courage.

Where have I offended you?

And now I want love. Lust is no good for me. I want love. His love.

She can be pious, she can be learned, she can be witty and wise and beautiful.

And swore that whatever the obstacles before me, I should be Queen of England.

My chamber. Come at once.

It seems that we have to be married.

So now we are going to consummate our betrothal.

Let’s dance for the Queen of the May!

My mother does not need your good opinion.

If I burned them, I became as one of those who think that ideas are dangerous and should be destroyed.

From the moment she could talk she had been taught to guard her tongue.

I gave my womanhood to you. Tell me, in what way have I offended you? What have I ever done which was displeasing?

But don’t run too fast. Remember he has to catch you.

Nobody in this world will ever call me Mrs. Fool.

You can always tell a pretty girl by the way she walks. A pretty girl walks like she owns the world.

I thought that our marriage vows had moved your heart. I thought that you were resting your head on my shoulder for affection. Fool that I am.

I adore your hair, I like to see it loose.

 I am as envious of her as she is of me. But I have seen her rise and rise.

Because I dare not look at you, because if I did, every man and woman at court would sell at that in my eyes.

Because I can't sleep for thinking of you. Because I burn up with desire for you.

You’re a girl from the House of Lancaster. You cannot fall in love with the heir to the House of York unless he is king victorious.

Child, you cannot change a king, you can only make him laugh.

What will happen when I am old and I can dance no more?

She seems not to have a seat of her own but she must borrow mine.

The queen is right. The queen is always right.

I’m not a girl, afraid of the unknown, I am a woman; I can face fear, I can walk towards it.

And we hardly ever speak of her. It is as if we cannot bring ourselves to speak of her as dead.

A lady will find her defenders. The men around you will speak for you if needs be.

She can speak three languages, but she can tell the truth in none of them.

She never thought when she overthrew a queen that thereafter all queens would be unsteady.

What if I don’t want an unwilling bridegroom, a pretender to the crown, who won his throne through disloyalty and betrayal?

His is a rule of terror. He makes us afraid of imaginary enemies so we don’t guard ourselves against him and against our government.

[signiorbenedickofpadua]

Anachronistic Greetings

by SigniorBenedickofPadua — Read on AO3

Pairing: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling Rating: Mature Words: 2900 Tags: Sleep Deprivation, Accidental Kissing, Professor Hob Gadling, First Kiss, Getting Together, Dream Sex, Middle English. Counter Sex, or counter-foreplay to be precise, Accidental Confession, Daydreaming, Feelings Revealed by Daydreaming

Summary:

Hob is sleep deprived. That's fine, it happens, he's used to it. It's just that when you're 600-something the centuries can start to blend together a bit when you're tired. Enough so, apparently, that when Dream pops by for a visit, Hob's muddled brain decides to greet him with a "Salve!" and a kiss on the lips like it's still 1389 and he's greeting any old friend and not the cosmic being he's secretly in love with in the year of our Lord 2023. It's a good thing Dream is understanding. Very understanding.

Hob stared down at the kitchen table he was sitting at, resting his head in his hands as he absently followed the pattern of the wood grain with unseeing eyes, mind occupied with thoughts of absolutely nothing at all. He could have been sitting there for anything between seconds and hours for all he knew when he suddenly blinked and realised that he had entered the kitchen to get something to eat. Probably. He was fairly sure he hadn’t eaten yet.

He shook his head, forcing himself to snap out of it and come back to the then and there. He had just gotten home from work, and he was going to have dinner. Right. Yes. Only problem was he hadn’t quite got to that point before spacing out and forgetting what he was doing due to the fact that he hadn’t slept a wink last night. He’d had to stay up late marking essays, after which his brain had just refused to shut off and stop thinking about Middle English syntax for long enough for him to fall asleep.

Actually, come to think of it, that was two nights ago. Had he been awake all of last night too? He thought he might have been, having been too tired to fall asleep because the human body was bloody stupid like that. He attributed the fact that he hadn’t simply collapsed in front of his students while lecturing to his experience marching for days without proper rest back when he was constantly fighting for or against one Plantagenet king or another. But just because his body had kept going through the day didn’t mean his brain had followed at the same pace.

He felt a little bad for his students, to be honest, because he doubted his lectures had been up to his usual standards. At one point, if he remembered correctly, he had slipped into Middle French for several sentences before realising it, and, while talking about how the printing press had contributed to standardising the vocabulary of the English language, he was pretty sure he had used the pronouns “I” and “we” a few too many times to be entirely advisable for someone who was keen on keeping their immortality a secret.

He blinked again. Food. Right. He’d gotten distracted thinking about why he was distracted in the first place. Maybe he should just give up and go straight to bed, to catch up. Or maybe he’d better stay awake and go to bed at a normal time so as not to fuck up his sleep schedule even more by going to sleep at five in the afternoon. Hm. Dinner first. Then decisions.

He had just gotten up from his chair with the intention of opening the fridge to see what his options were when he heard a knock on his front door. Seconds later, he heard it opening. Hob instinctively reached for a sword which no longer hung at his hip before realising that a burglar probably wouldn’t bother knocking before breaking in, and that he had, in fact, forgotten to lock the door behind him when he got home.

The door closed behind his visitor, and he heard a familiar voice call, “Hob?”

Ah, of course. Who else would just waltz into his flat without waiting to be let in? He supposed he should be grateful Dream had learned to knock at all instead of just travelling by sand straight to Hob’s living room as he had often done back when the two of them had first started spending time together outside their centennial appointments. A wide smile spread across his face as he made his way into the hallway and laid eyes on his old friend. Sleep deprivation or not, Dream was always welcome.

“Salve, my freend,” he greeted him, laying his hands on Dream’s shoulders and standing on tiptoes to reach up and plant a kiss on his lips. “Wel y-mette.” He turned and headed back towards the kitchen. “I was just going to figure out dinner. Can I get you anything?”

There was no response, but Hob hadn’t really expected much of one. Asking Dream if he wanted something to eat or drink was mostly just a habitual courtesy — he knew he rarely indulged in such things in the waking world. He opened the fridge and looked over its contents with his own needs in mind as he waited for Dream to catch up and join him in the kitchen, which took longer than expected. Settling on some leftover stew, he removed the tupperware from the fridge and wandered over to the breadbox on the counter, cursing when he realised he was out of trencher bread. Wait. No. Why the fuck would he use a trencher? He had plates nowadays. Christ, he needed to sleep.

“Is this style of greeting coming back into fashion?” he heard Dream ask from the doorway, and he tore his eyes from the breadbox he had been blindly staring at for just a bit too long to look up at his friend.

“Hm? What greeting?”

Dream raised an eyebrow. “You do not usually kiss me when I enter your home.”

If Hob’s brain had been moving slowly before, now it froze completely. “Kiss? I didn’t—” His short-term memory finally caught up with him and he felt suddenly faint. “Oh, God… I’m— Fuck, I’m sorry, Dream.” The ice-cold fear that had gripped his heart was somewhat lessened by the fact that Dream looked mildly amused rather than offended, and he buried his rapidly flushing face in his hands. “Christ, I didn’t mean to— Sorry, I’m really out of it today and I think my brain has been stuck in the wrong century the entire day. I was going for a friendly greeting and apparently chose something that would’ve been appropriate six hundred years ago — before, you know, kissing on the mouth like that had the, uh, intimate connotations it has today.”

“I am aware of the greeting customs of humans, past and present,” Dream said, and when Hob dared to look up again, he could see the corner of his friend’s mouth twitch slightly, “I was merely taken aback by the anachronism.”

Hob took that as confirmation that he was forgiven for his slip-up, and he allowed himself a slightly nervous chuckle to lighten the mood, trying very hard to push back the thought that he had actually kissed Dream. He now knew what those lips felt like against his own, after having fantasised about it for ages. And this is how he found out? Through an absent-mindedly archaic greeting that was over in a second? Fucking hell, Gadling, get a grip. He needed to invest in sleeping pills after this, to prevent anything like it to ever happen again.

“Well, still. Sorry. Wouldn’t have been appropriate even if this had been the 14th century, would it? We’re hardly equals — you know, with you being a literal king and all. Someone like me should have kissed the hem of your coat, or the ground at your feet, or something like that.”

Dream took a step closer to where Hob was leaning back against the counter. “You are not my subject, Hob Gadling. You are my friend. I would rather have you kiss me like an equal.”

And wasn’t that a thought? Hob tried to remind himself that Dream’s words were on the subject of platonic greetings in a historical context, but he was finding it very, very hard not to imagine him saying the same thing in a modern context — as an invitation. His eyes dropped down to Dream’s plump lips, which looked so much softer when turned up in fond amusement than when pursed in annoyance or fury. Quite against his conscious efforts not to, he recalled the way they had parted slightly in surprise when he had covered them with his own and how they had not been as cool as he had previously imagined them, but pleasantly warm and lush. He imagined they would feel even more so if Dream initiated a kiss instead of being surprised by one. Especially if he abandoned the platonic pretence and kissed Hob the way he had dreamt of for far longer than he cared to admit.

Dream’s lips moved, saying something that Hob didn’t quite register, but which at least made him realise that he had been staring rather rudely.

“Hm?” he said again, tearing his eyes away to meet Dream’s. They were darker and closer to him than they had been before. “Sorry, what?”

“You are sleep deprived,” Dream stated simply.

“How did you know?”

“I am Dream of the Endless. I know.” He stepped even closer to Hob, almost crowding him against the counter. “And, being half asleep as you are, your daydreams are far more vivid and harder to ignore than usual.”

“What— Oh.” Oh no… “Fuck, I’m sorry—”

“No need to apologise,” Dream murmured. He was practically hovering over Hob at this point. “Unless…you did not mean it?”

His nose brushed lightly against Hob’s, and Hob forgot how to breathe. “Mean what?” he managed to squeeze out, dizzy with proximity to his oldest friend.

This close he could smell him. He could feel Dream’s breath (which he did not strictly need) dance over his lips when he spoke again, a low rumble which reverberated through Hob’s entire body and lit a fire in his belly.

“Do you wish me to stop?” Dream clarified, and there could be no question as to his meaning. Not when his body made contact with Hob’s, pressing him up against the counter, gently but insistently.

“No,” Hob breathed, half suspecting that he had, in fact, fallen asleep at the kitchen table and that this was a dream. But he had been friends with Dream long enough to be able to tell the difference between dreaming and waking, as well as how to tell if his friend was actually there in his dreams. As unlikely as this was, his feet were firmly planted in the Waking, even if his mind was at risk of straying dangerously close to the Dreaming in his current state. “No, I don’t.”

“Very well.” Dream’s voice was halfway between a purr and a growl as he surged forward, closing the remaining distance to slot their lips and bodies together.

Hob had been right. There was a world of difference between giving Dream a little peck on the mouth and being kissed by him in earnest. To say that sparks flew would be an understatement. It was more akin to being consumed but a wildfire, burning hot and fierce. Gone was the reserved stiffness his friend often exhibited in public. Now he sank his hands into Hob’s hair with passionate abandon and licked into his mouth like a man dying of thirst hoping to catch every last drop of water in his cup. He pressed himself close to Hob, slipping a knee between his legs and rolling his hips experimentally, obviously pleased when it wrung a moan out of Hob.

Hob’s hands flew up to Dream’s hips, finding their way beneath his stupid, elegant coat which he still hadn’t removed. He clutched at the fabric of his shirt, using it to pull his friend even closer, marvelling at the solidity of his thin body as he splayed a hand over his ribs and moved it in a caress around to his back. He could count every knob in his spine by touch, yes, but the muscles surrounding it were strong and firm and they danced beneath his hand as Dream reached down and lifted Hob onto the countertop like he weighed absolutely nothing — and fuck, if that wasn’t a turn on…

Hob retaliated by wrapping his legs around Dream’s lithe form and groaned when his friend rutted up against him. He was reasonably sure that Dream must have made himself taller than he’d been a moment ago for their groins to still be at the same height, but he had a hard time focusing on that when it felt so damn good to have Dream’s obvious erection rub against his own, even through far too many layers of clothes. 

“Fuck, Dream…” he gasped when Dream, a good while later, broke the kiss to instead mouth at the side of his neck, then up to nip at a sensitive earlobe, all while slipping his hands under the hem of his shirt to palm at longing skin. “Are you… Ah! Do you want to take this to the bedroom?”

He was proud of himself for managing the question without his voice trembling. Despite the fact that Dream had initiated this whole thing and was clearly as excited about it as Hob was, he still felt the half-irrational fear that any sudden moves or potentially offending propositions might send his friend running like he had the last time Hob had dared presume too much.

Dream hummed against the spot where Hob’s ear connected to his jaw and dragged his fingernails lightly down his back, sending a shiver down his spine. “A sensible idea. You are weary and need to rest.”

“Not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Nevertheless, I think perhaps you ought to get some sleep. I can feel you yearning for the Dreaming, in mind and body alike.”

“For its ruler, maybe. I may be a bit tired, but I’d rather continue this than try and fail to go to sleep right now.”

He would never admit it, but a pang of anxiety shot through him at the thought of interrupting this at this point. He needed them to see it through, and to talk about it afterwards to figure out what the hell it meant. If they stopped now, if Dream left… Would they have the courage to bring it up the next time they saw each other, or would they dance around it for a few more centuries? He wasn’t sure he could bear that.

Dream pulled back enough to meet Hob’s eyes. His lips were red and puffy and sported an amused smile. “Hob, I shall join you in the Dreaming, naturally. I too am quite keen to finish what we have started.” He punctuated this with a roll of his hips which chased Hob’s fears away to make room for arousal. “As for falling asleep — there are certain benefits to keeping the King of Dreams as one’s lover. It will not prove an obstacle.”

Hob hardly heard anything he said after the word lover, which bounced around in his head like an intoxicating echo. “Well, then… Bringe me to bedde, louer myn,” he murmured, lifting a hand to push a strand of Dream’s wild hair behind his ear. It was just as soft as it looked.

His lover smiled and whispered, “Slepe, thanne, my biloued.”

Dream bent his head to place a gentle kiss on Hob’s forehead, and suddenly it was nigh on impossible to keep his eyes open. The last thing Hob was conscious of before sleep claimed him was his head slumping forward to rest on Dream’s shoulder. Then everything went dark and fuzzy.

***

When Hob next opened his eyes, he knew he was dreaming. He found himself in a room he did not recognise, but he knew it belonged to the Palace of the Dreaming. It was unclear whether he knew it because he recognised the stone the walls were built from, or the style of the lofty stained-glass windows, or because of the way you just knew things sometimes when you dreamt, but it hardly mattered. What mattered was that he was lucid, that he was in a bed, that he was naked beneath the sheets, and that Dream stood before him by the side of the bed, dressed only in a diaphanous black robe which was seemingly woven from pure shadow.

“Hello, Hob,” Dream rumbled, voice impossibly deep and sonorous here in his natural habitat. His eyes gleamed with starlight as he looked down at Hob.

“Please tell me I’m not currently asleep in a heap on my kitchen floor,” was what Hob managed to say after suppressing the urge to just whine and rip that horribly teasing robe off of Dream’s body.

“Of course not. I carried you to bed. The point was to ensure you got some restful sleep, which the floor is hardly suited for.”

“Oh, that’s the point of this, is it?” Hob asked with a breathless laugh, running his eyes down the neckline of the robe, which plunged dangerously low.

Dream smirked. “Among other things.” He placed a knee on the bed, and then, in an unnaturally smooth movement, he was seated across Hob’s hips, their bodies separated only by the gossamer fabric of the robe and the silky satin of the sheets.

“And what were those, again? Would you care to remind me?” Hob teased, reaching out to slide his hands up slim but powerful thighs.

“It would be my pleasure.”

That night, as Hob would later reflect, put every wet dream he’d had in his very long life to shame. The next morning, he woke up well-rested but starving, with a distinctly uncomfortable situation in his pants and a tupperware container full of spoiled stew waiting for him in the kitchen. That didn’t matter much, however, when he also woke up to find the King of Dreams in his bed.

[lordbettany]

Lmao!! Well, I smoked a lot and can swear on my future husband's grave that Edward would bring up old family dramas, George would get 100% more paranoid once he stops coughing, and Richard would be so proud of himself doing big boy stuff with his big brothers.

nightmare blunt rotation

[m1male2]

Sainte-Chapelle, the jewel of the Gothic.

Louis IX of France nicknamed the Saint, son of Blanca de Castilla (in turn daughter of Alfonso VIII and Eleanor de Plantagenet) and Louis VIII, has been considered the ideal of the medieval Christian monarch, a very devout king who dedicated his life to prayer, charity and asceticism... in addition to being the last European king to participate in the last two crusades: the Seventh between 1248 and 1254 and the Eighth in 1270, he took Saint Louis to Tunis and there he would die of the plague at the age of 56 and 40 of reign. In 1297 he will be canonized by Pope Boniface VIII.

His devotion and religiosity led him to acquire numerous relics and among them the coveted crown of thorns of Christ. Brought to France from Constantinople, Louis IX decided to organize a sacred place to keep and protect the holy collection. Thus in 1242 the construction of the Sainte-Chapelle would begin, which was consecrated in 1248. Little is known about the authorship of the chapel, it has been attributed to Pierre de Montreuil, master of the radiant Gothic and main architect of the reign of Saint Louis.

The enclosure was conceived as a reliquary or jewelry box where to deposit the precious and holy relics of the Passion of Christ. The chapel is 36 m long, 17 m wide and over 42 m high.

Its walls covered with precious stained glass windows, 15 in total, have representations, among other themes, of the Old Testament as well as the transfer of the crown of thorns to Paris.

These large openings filter the light, causing it to break down into different colors, symbolizing divine power and turning the place into a sacred and spiritual space. It is a large glass urn whose slender ribbed vaults, 20 m high, rise as if bringing us closer to God. In 1630 it went up in flames, a great fire destroyed it to a large extent and during the French Revolution its relics were stolen and many destroyed by the revolutionaries. Some were saved and are now kept in the treasury of Notre Dame Cathedral. In the S. XIX was the object of an extraordinary restoration, but preserving the spirit, fidelity and medieval beauty that it had in its origin.

[lordbettany]

The Plantagenet Crime Family - Moodboard I

[qqueenofhades]

Hello, Hilary! After finishing my studies I was burned out and lost my love for the Middle Ages, but I feel it coming back lately and I'm trying to rekindle it as best as I can. I'm already reading a couple of books, a series of articles, and listening to The Medieval Podcast, but I was wondering if you could recommend other historians to follow in tumblr that talk about the period. I tried to go through the general tags but oh my god. Oh my god they're so bad? I was expecting to find bs and stereotypes but not to this level what do you mean peasant women got married when they were TWELVE I-- No. No, I can't keep searching there, I'll have a conniption, xD Anyway, thank you in advance, I've been enjoying myself greatly going through your Richard the Lionheart tag, I do love me some early Plantagenets 💖

Aha, the only Tumblr historian of the medieval period that I can 100% vouch for (as in close irl friends, have gone to conferences and traveled across Europe on Archive Hunts together, worked together/professionally collaborated, edited/read the other's stuff, contributed to the same collections/journals, bitched and moaned about the Academic Horrors) is @oldshrewsburyian. I have definitely seen some good posts on the topic go by on my dash, but they're not from people I follow and/or can personally vet for, so I am hesitant to recommend sight unseen. That is because, as you say, Tumblr is uh... really not the place for doing history, especially medieval history, and much of what passes for it is basically cliches, stereotypes, wild assumptions, and other such misinformation, willful and otherwise.

There are certainly some other history-adjacent folks that I follow, or who work academically on the premodern period; @margridarnauds does medieval Celtic literature, for example. I also have some historians who follow ME and who pop up in my asks or notifications, but much to my shame, I'm blanking on them. So yes, in the name of making sure that I know the credentials of people that I recommend here, I will have to say this is all I can think of for now, but Historians of Tumblr, please feel free to self-promote in the comments (and note if you work on the medieval period, since that's what our friend here is asking for specifically).

Good luck!

[medievalandfantasymelee]

THE HOT MEDIEVAL & FANTASY MEN MELEE

QUALIFYING ROUND: 95th Tilt

Will Scarlett, BBC’s Robin Hood (2006-2009)

VS.

George Plantagenet, Duke of Clarence The White Queen (2013)

Propaganda

Will Scarlett, BBC’s Robin Hood (2006-2009)

Portrayed by: Harry Lloyd

“YOU know Harry Lloyd as Viserys Targaryen and Every Other Shitheel in Every British-cast Show Ever, but I will forever know him as Mr. Herbert pocket in Great Expectations, and as Will Scarlett--both of whom stand as testament to the fact that Harry Lloyd can play characters that aren't shit-rags every once in a damn while. And OKAY, so he doesn't necessarily live up to the legacy of the "gaily feathered bird" like other Will Scarletts, but he's got OTHER virtues. He's SMART. He's PRETTY. He's got a little bit of the BROODING. He's got the knowing of woodcrafts: he can get you in and out of anywhere you wanna go and he can carve you things. He's a voice of reason, he has a plan when Robin doesn’t, and a dry wit--maybe a stick in the mud sometimes, but that's O-KAY, he's CUTEEE.”

George Plantagenet, Duke of Clarence The White Queen (2013)

Portrayed by: David Oakes

“The ideal scheming medieval nobleman, constantly trying to steal the crown from his brother, and his plots ultimately come to nothing. Which is very sexy of him. Snide, arrogant, bitchy, messy, chaotic. Betrays the king multiple times and just keeps getting forgiven and welcomed back to court inexplicably through sheer dumb luck— to commit even more treason. Everything you could ever want in a man.”

Additional Propaganda Under the Cut

Additional Propaganda

For Will Scarlett:

(+ bonus Allan-A-Dale)

For George, Duke of Clarence:

"(excerpt from above propaganda): Ultimately gets executed via drowning in a giant barrel of wine. Iconic, frankly."

[fideidefenswhore]

Do you think Henry VIII's childhood had a significant impact on his psychological development as an adult?

'Psychological' is not really something we can diagnose from remove; but more reasonably, yeah, I think his childhood set up his...what is a broader, less diagnostic term... emotional blueprint (perhaps even setting up his 'relationship' with God, as he would have understood it)? I think the impact of the death of his elder brother (it's generally argued he wouldn't have felt grief for this because they hadn't been raised together, the extent and intimacy of their interactions was more like cousins than what we think of as usual for siblings, but regardless of how well he 'knew' him, of course this was impactful insofar as it shaped his life by making him heir) and mother within the same year is generally underrated.

He was in the public eye at a very young age, his various ennoblements were granted to counter Warbeck's claim, one can presume that his admiration of Henry V might even have began here (Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports had been Henry V's title as Prince of Wales, Henry VIII will later, mainly, keep this specific title in his family in a pattern that denotes the violent flux of Henrician factional politics: Edward Guildford is his father's appointment, but once he dies, the title goes to his brother-in-law, George Boleyn, after Rochford's execution it's granted to his natural son, Henry Fitzroy, there's an interim exception where it goes to Thomas Cheney, but afterwards it goes to Henry's uncle, Arthur Plantagenet, until his arrest...thereafter it's in a joint office with Cheney again, and Henry's brother-in-law, Thomas Seymour, presumably as a reward for his military services); but there's this succession of threat, ennoblement, threat, sanctuary, reprisal of execution(s) for the threat(s) (and also executions for dynastic security, such as that of Edward Plantagenet, prior to the arrival of his future sister-in-law/wife), threat (in the vulnerability of the succession, once Arthur dies), followed with the death of his mother...

So all this was inevitably going to shape him to believe that there was nothing more important in the world than the Tudor succession, and specifically in his own children (in his more idealistic, optimistic beginning, sons) being the ones to inherit the throne. Why else would God have chosen his father to win Bosworth, why else would God's choice have been Henry instead of Arthur as King, if he doesn't have surviving sons by his first wife, it must have been because his choice in her as the mother of his heirs was contrary to God's will, if he doesn't have surviving sons by his second wife, it must have been because of the same reason (and by Anne, it's possibly compacted by CTE, but I think there was also an element of...by this marriage, it's about his seventh child, that has been miscarried or been stillborn, the severity of her downfall and the observation of 'you never saw prince nor man who made greater show of his horns or bore them more pleasantly' can be attributed to the comfort he might have felt in the extent of the 'depravity' suggesting that her miscarriages had been the children of other men, not his own...tied in with his allegation that Anne had been trying to poison Fitzroy and Mary, again there's ties into the protection of his succession being the general thrust behind these actions, and if it has to be protected by means of violence, well, that was in the marrow from the start...)

[cbk1000]

Hey, what are you into right now (movies, books, series)? Or even not right now, but in the past, outside of Merlin? I feel you have wicked taste, and I’m desperate for a new hyperfixation. Please, some recs if you have them!

Hey, anon! Sorry; I spaced on answering this.

I don't generally watch a lot of movies or TV shows, because I prefer reading. TV is generally for when I want to shut my brain off and just be entertained, so I wouldn't call a lot of what I do watch good. But if you haven't seen them yet, Our Flag Means Death and Sense8 are both really good shows. Both were pretty popular on tumblr at one point or another, so you may have already seen them, but if not, I really recommend giving them a go. Also, this is dated now, but it still holds up as a sitcom: I've spent most of my recovery rewatching Frasier, which I saw as a kid when it was first airing in the 90s. Ditto Third Rock from the Sun, which still makes me laugh, no matter how many times I've seen it.

This is a video game, but I've been playing an RPG set in medieval Bohemia that's really scratching my nerd itch; it's called Kingdom Come. It's very immersive and has been keeping me company the last couple of weeks while I get to the point in my recovery where I feel well enough to do more than lay in bed staring at my tablet, but am not quite yet a fully functioning human.

As for books, I'm finishing up a historical mystery series, 'Brother Cadfael' by Ellis Peters, set in medieval England during The Anarchy. I've thoroughly enjoyed it and am sad to have only one book left.

I just started rereading 'The Wolf Hall' trilogy by Hilary Mantel, which follows the rise and fall of Thomas Cromwell during Henry VIII's reign. I found the trilogy very gripping and difficult to put down my first time through, and though I've only just started the first book again, it's having the same effect, even though I just read it a couple of years ago. Definitely check out a preview of this first, though; I love Mantel's unique style, but I know a lot of readers find it difficult.

I read 'Shadowplay' by Joseph O'Connor a couple of years ago and really enjoyed it. This follows Bram Stoker during his time as a manager at a London theatre, his struggles with his writing (he didn't really find commercial success until after his death), and the experiences that led to 'Dracula.'

For the last couple of years I've been making my way through most of Guy Gavriel Kay's work, which I recommend if you like poetic, historically-inspired fantasy. I started with 'A Brightness Long Ago', but I recommend picking whatever time period that interests you personally (the Sarantine duology, for instance, is set in an analogue of the Byzantine Empire; 'A Brightness Long Ago' evokes Renaissance Italy, and then 'Under Heaven' and its companion 'River of Stars' imperial China).

Ditto with Terry Pratchett and his Discworld, a hilarious satirical fantasy series. I started with 'Guards Guards' and read the City Watch books and then moved on to the books featuring the witches. Special shout-out to his 'Nation', which is not a Discworld book, but is one of the best novels I've read in years.

I've also been immersed in Arthurian literature and heaps of non-fiction about the Plantagenet reign for the last few years. My favourite work of Arthuriana is probably 'Idylls of the King' by Tennyson. It's gorgeous and haunting. 'The Plantagenets' by Dan Jones is a good, accessible introduction to that period of history if you're at all inclined to non-fiction. He's a historian, but it's not a stodgy, academic text.

I hope there's something here for you!

[ladymorghul]

i wonder what aegon iii would have done with both jaehaera and jaehaerys had they both lived at the end. would he sent them away? would he keep jaehaerys lowkey locked up like edward plantagenet but less of a cell and more of a room like they did with alicent?

[wonder-worker]

"Scholars have re-evaluated the patronage role of Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine. Examining surviving works from the Plantagenet court, specific evidence of their commissioning is limited. Especially in the case of literary production in Anglo-Norman, Karen Broadhurst has shown that, of the various texts generally held up as part of the cultural production patronised by Henry II, only two were unequivocally commissioned by him: Wace’s Roman de Rou (1160–1170) and Benoît de Saint Maure’s Chronique des Ducs de Normandie (1170–1180), while the other texts can instead be seen as indicating authors’ presumptions about the king’s interests. As far as Eleanor is concerned, there is no evidence directly linking her to systematic advocacy of literature in French, and her influence on the writing of courtly romances cannot be demonstrated. Further developing Karen Broadhurst’s studies on French literature, John Gillingham has reviewed historians’ enthusiastic view of Henry II’s interest in history. Of the various historical works in Latin, the only text that seems to have been directly commissioned by Henry II turns out to be De Majoratu et Senescalcia Franciae, composed in 1158 by Hugh de Claye. Moreover, during the reign of Henry II, many authors—including Richard fitzNigel, Peter of Blois, John of Marmoutier, Gerald of Wales, and Robert of Torigni—proposed historical works to the court but received little atten tion from the king. Gillingham’s analysis recognises that the production of historical works was the expression of the court’s tastes rather than indicating the influence of royal patronage.

A survey of direct patronage by Henry II confirms the king’s inclination for realpolitik as also applied in the field of literary production. The historiographical works commissioned by Henry II were written in the f irst period of his reign, while he was consolidating the bases of his authority over the vast space he was to rule. The works of Wace and Benoit recount the story of the Anglo-Norman kingdom, justifying why an Angevin such as Henry II would have been crowned king. The choice of Anglo-Norman as the language in which to compose these texts was well suited to pursuing this aim in that it enabled the texts to reach an audience of Anglo-Norman nobility directly rather than remaining solely within ecclesiastical circles. The history written by Hugh de Claye recounts how the king of France Louis VI supposedly gave the Counts of Anjou the title of Seneschal of France, reinforcing the Angevin position in Maine and Normandy before Henry II’s expedition to Brittany.

As noted by Ian Short, although the English king and queen cannot be demonstrated to have directly influenced production as patrons through texts dedicated to them, they can still be seen to have exerted influence if we consider the movement of literati who became involved with their courts. To evaluate the motivations of this flock of authors, we must keep in mind that the texts scholars have held up to argue that Henry II’s court was complementary to the king often date from 1170 onwards as well, and as such they are subsequent to the consolidation of his reign and the beginning of conflict with his sons. For royal courtiers, proclaiming the authority of the king of England was another way to assert their own roles. Each author’s principal concern was his own position just as the king’s main concern was his royal authority, and this explains why their works, although not commissioned by the king, did find a favourable reception. Martin Aurell has provided a comprehensive overview of the cultural production of Henry II’s court as a literary transposition of the policies pursued by the English king, showing that the courtiers who theo rised about royal power in England were the same men who participated in the administrative machine of the kingdom and created the specific Angevin courtly culture and its legitimising narratives. The construction of the political ethic of kingdom administration and the construction of the related ideology was thus carried out by the same men and in the same period, starting from 1170 when Henry II’s rule was first contested and then reinforced by his victories."

-Fabrizio De Falco, Authors, Factions, and Courts in Angevin England: A Literature of Personal Ambition (12th–13th Century)