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ricardian-werewolf · 4 months ago

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Take Me to War.

Chapter 1: If not to heaven, then Hand in Hand to hell.

Gwayne Hightower X Original Female Character. (slow burn, Medieval perceptions of marriage and womanhood)

Sunne in Splendour x House of the Dragon.

Word count: 3.48k words.

AN| This is the first time the author has written for Gwayne Hightower, so please be kind! The author also only has a surface level knowledge of House of the Dragon/Game of Thrones, so please be courteous when making comments or suggestions. The Author is a history student with a special interest in the Wars of the Roses and Ricardian sources, so knowledge of that period will be largely correct.

Summary:

Reeling from the battle of Bosworth Field, fifteen year old Cecily-Anne is a princess without her throne, family, or hope. Forced to play her hand with both hands tied; a seemingly mystical intercession forces her into a world that is shockingly similar to the England she knows, yet also drastically different. It is there as a mere lady in waiting, that she is forced to pick a side in a war that has been played over in her England for decades. It remains to see as to whom will come out from this "Dance of Dragons," unscathed and whole.

Tws: Brutal violence, implied sexual violence, sexism of the medieval period, religious mention, brutality.

Taglist: @lordbettany, @rmelster, @portiaadams, @mihrsuri

If you liked it, please reblog and comment! Every kind word keeps more of them coming!

Blood flecked Cecily-Anne’s face, her skirts and hands. She stared down at her palms, running them together as if she wished to clear the mess. Raising her head, she could only stare in wide-eyed horror as Henry Tudor’s sword drove its tip into her father’s chest. The crunch caused her to flinch visibly. No one had bothered to remove her from the camp, to put her into sanctuary. All of the chaos of the battle had left her here. She was supposed to have only observed the preliminary actions and then been swiftly retired to the nearby Grayfriars priory in Leicester.

But now she stood at the hands of the most likely man next to kill her.

Or wed her. He could wait, for certes. She was only ten-and-five years, not even yet showing signs of womanhood. But to a country teetering blindly towards anarchy, this was the only movement forward to solve so many problems. However, as she shifted uneasily from foot to foot. With her skirts turning soiled with the still-warm blood of her father, Cecily remembered Elizabeth Woodeville’s many daughters. Maybe he would choose one of them, and leave her well enough alone. Maybe clemency would work with this…. Bastard of a prince?

She would refuse to bend her knees and acknowledge him as the god-chosen king. No. The rite of the crown would go to Teddy. Or passing him, Meg. She would need to make arrangements, seek out Johnny and Kathryn. They would need to know of Richard’s death.

Suddenly, a hand clenched around her upper arm and she shrieked, blindly lashing out.

“My lady, please!” A voice hissed. Female, french sounding. Véronique de Crécy. Cecily looked up into the lady-servant’s face and caught the tears forming on her lashes. “Do not cry out. You have been granted the right of sanctuary with the nearby nunnery. They are doing this out of the mercy of your womanhood, Chérie.”

“Mercy?” Cecily hissed as Véronique dragged her from the battlefield. She could only watch silently with doe-wide eyes as her father’s corpse was stripped to the flesh. Then, it was dumped over the back of a steed. “No-” She began to scream, thrashing in her mother’s servant's arms. Another hand clamped over her lips, silencing her.

“Do not make a sound, Princess. Keep very, very quiet.” Francis Lovell hissed. “It is horrific, yes, but this is what Tudor dictates, and we must bend the knee or be slaughtered.” He effortlessly dragged her through the leagues of white-tented campsites to a waiting horse and litter. Mistress Burgh, who had tended to her since infancy, examined her skirts silently.

“By the holy mother-” She began, then looked into Cecily-Anne’s whitened face. “Come, lovely. We must be getting you home.”

“My F-father-” Cecily jerked her head up as she watched the white rose being put to the torch. Suddenly, the fight drained from her and she fell to her knees, the veil of her hennin swimming about her face like gossamer wings. “No, please, No!” She sobbed, wrenching off her hennin and veil with a firm tug. Her hair fell from its pins, spilling about her face.

“What is the meaning of this?” A voice sneered. “I find it most…” Cecily looked up into the face of a man who she would forever remember. Standing over her, clad in plate armour of pure silver with work of ferns and ivy was Thomas Builder, retitled Thomas Melbourne. A minor lord, he had backed her father until the end, and then revealed his hand when Tudor had taken the advantage. His eyes gleamed like emeralds in the watery sunlight shimmering overhead, and he bent down to lift her chin.

“Unfaithful to your late Father, Princess.” His voice was velvety, meant to be soothing. But it merely made Cecily more vicious, more angered. She whacked his hand aside and bared her teeth. She raised her hand, and formed a fist. Her father’s knights who had served him now formed a Testudo around her.

“Ah, princess.” Melbourne sneered again. “These men are traitors. They ought not rush to thy defence.”

“They shall.” Cecily rose on unsteadily feet, but squared her shoulders. The moment of grief within her was pushed down deep inside her, and she shut it away. She would not allow herself to show how much she hurt. He would not see how much she longed to lie down in the blood-splattered grass where her father had fallen, and implore God and his saints to take her too.

Please, Holy Mother, protect me from this man’s aims and evils. She prayed silently, her fingers sliding to the crucifix around her neck. Suddenly, she gasped as Melbourne parted the Testudo around her, ignoring the pike-axes grazing his cheeks. His hand snaked up and grasped hers. His eyes blazed with pure hate, and he grabbed the crucifix in hand. It did not burn him, which Cecily hoped it would. She could only sob as Melbourne yanked the chain forward, dragging Cecily along with it. She was pulled from the safety of her knights and thrown roughly to the ground.

Around her, a cheering and jeering group of Tudors’s soldiers had gathered. At their head was Margaret Beaufort, clad in mourner’s black. Briefly, Cecily was reminded of her mother’s poisoned words against the mother of Tudor. She flashed her teeth again, snatching out a hand to grab something. But her hand was pinned under the black-metal foot of Count Adhemar’s boot.

“There she is.” He crowed as Tudor pushed through his men and raised his visor to regard her. “What a wonderful wife she would make for you, Your grace.”

“You deem him your king?!” Cecily snarled, crying out as Melbourne grabbed her hair and pulled her head back with a sickening crack. Looking up at him from below, Cecily was able to see his lengthened canines, and she shuddered in horror. It seemed as though not only was Tudor ungodly in his mortal affairs, he consorted with demons to win him victories.

She crossed herself, murmuring the lord’s prayer under her breath.

“She should be killed, Henry.” Margaret cried. “If she is not, she is a threat to your legitimacy. Any son she bears and the blood of the Yorks remains stronger than ever.”

“There is still the matter of those two boys. Tell me-” Tudor turned now to Cecily, and stepped over her so that his legs were on either side of her hips. She looked up at him even though she couldn’t look him in the eye. Her breaths came in heavy, rapid gasps as Tudor grabbed her by the chin and lifted her head.

“Did your father kill the princes, girl?”

“No!” Cecily cried instantly.

The smack of his ringed hand to her face made Cecily cry out again. Around her, even some of Tudor’s knights were making murmurs of discontent. No one struck a princess, or made a movement against her. Yet, Cecily knew easily how vulnerable she was. With no strong woman such as her grandmother to speak in her defence, she was powerless. Véronique’s words were as good as naught.

“Then where did he put them?”

“I have no knowledge of where-” Cecily sobbed again as Tudor rained down another blow. She was saved a third as Margaret’s hand reached out and pulled Henry’s fist back. “Please, no. Do not taint your victory with such sin. God will find it distasteful.”

Please, Holy Mother, protect me from this man’s aims and evils.

Tudor glared at his mother and then Cecily. His thumb stroked her thrumming pulse point, and then he spat in her face. “Be glad that my lady mother raised me to be merciful. If I was not, I ought to put you in your place as you deserve, wench.”

Cecily shuddered.

She watched with widened, fear-filled eyes as Tudor’s men departed with their king at the head. Atop Tudor’s head was the crown of King Edward, the very crown that had been affixed to her father’s helmet. A sob burned through her lungs and she pressed her knuckles to her streaming eyes. Wrapped in the spanish silks she had been gifted as part of her engagement to Joanna of Portugal’s younger cousin, Cecily-Anne Isabel Plantagenet knew that without a doubt that she was a marked woman.

As she was helped into the litter by Véronique, Cecily watched as Tudor’s men took down the White Rose of York. Her breath hitched as the Whyte Boar of Gloucester was unpinned from her father’s command tent. His squires who’d survived the battle were lined up in order of age. She watched with wide eyes devoid of all emotion as a barber surgeon and priest went about taking confession. Then, they were beheaded in front of the spot where her father had taken mass just that morn.

The battle of Redmore Plain had lasted a scant few hours, but the impact would fester for weeks. As the wheels of the litter began to turn and Cecily’s few knights fell into step beside the litter, the princess pressed a hand to her mouth and wept without shame. She clung weakly to her mother’s crucifix and the ring on her finger that had been the coronation ring of her father’s. Tudor would forge another ring, another crown; another state.

All of the work her father had done would be ashes and cinders. The North would not go quietly, which brought her some level of comfort. But their refusal to bend the knee would bite them soon enough. Sin had come over England with the miasma of plague, and it would stay thus until either the Tudors were ousted, murdered or ran out of heirs.

Pressing her hand over her eyes again, Cecily sighed deeply.

“Write to Manuel and please inform him that the wedding is…” She waved a hand in front of her face. “Annulled. Ensure the Church knows also. I am certain they will be flooded with requests of dispensations for Tudor and whomever he chooses as his lady wife.” She looked to Véronique, who gave a quiet nod of acknowledgement.

“And you, cherie?”

“I believe I shall take a night in that nunnery you inquired for me. In the morn, we shall see where I am going. Whether it be the Tower Greene or the wilds of Bruges, I shall be excited to know.” swirling the cup of wine handed to her, Cecily drank deeply. Grief and shock had made her caustic. She would not wish to be anything other than that. As she drank more, she turned to debating in her mind how she would subvert Tudor’s wills for her execution.

She should be killed, Henry.

She is a threat to the crown!

Was that same thing not spoken of about her Aunt Elizabeth? The very woman who had seduced her uncle to the bedchamber and made him a father to several children of health and vigour? Had that not been said of her own mother, whose wealth of lands in the north along with Aunt Isabelle set up a bloodless war between her father and mad uncle George? Had the women not birthed two sickly children for both sets of parents? Had fate not delivered her brother to God’s embrace far sooner than expected? Then a scant half-year later her own mother?

Cecily smacked her hand against the wooden screen, and screamed low in her throat. She was well and truly alone, left to shoulder the burdens of a crown cracking more with each passing hour. The lords of London would throw the gates wide to the invaders, burn Crosby Place and Baynard’s to the ground. She would be bereft of a husband to-be, left to rot in a Court that would not place her in a position of honour. She would have to bend the knee to play favour, but her actions a few hours earlier would drive that thought from Tudor’s mind with the swiftness of a spring breeze.

Compline found Cecily-Anne kneeling before the altar of the Blessed Virgin Mary, her mother’s crucifix chain in her fingers. She had always found solace in prayer, not for the religious aspects, but the simple acts of running her fingers through the beads. The easy recitation of her prayers and catechisms soothed her. She always had a list in her mind of who to implore on behalf of the Father for His favour - the poor, sickly, needy. Her family members who suffered more than most came second. As part of her selfless devotion that some saw as frenetic, while others viewed it as a sign of true humility, Cecily wore a long veil and forgoed a prayer kneeler. Her heavy skirts of velvet and stiffened brocade did well enough. The order of Augustinian Canonesses had taken kindly to the young princess and put her at once into sanctuary. As an order of 1337 nuns confined to the limits of the priory’s property, they were over-delighted to have a guest. After supping in her rooms, Cecily had gone with the younger initiates to pray Compline before retiring.

As she turned her face upwards to Mary’s figure with her arms spread out in a gesture of welcome and warmth, Cecily prayed to one woman only.

Her lady mother.

“Maman, I implore you. Please, let me know that I am not in vain to ask for you. Let me know that my pain is not all I shall feel. T-there is no way forward for me that I see. You always spoke to anyone who asked that I could solve my way out of any problem the Lord put before me, and now I find myself without.” Tears dripped down her face and she angrily shook her head, slamming her fist into the floor. The nuns who prayed quietly behind her stilled in their prayers at the sound of her fist.

Cecily shot them a look and made the sign of the cross without breaking eye contact. Her devotion would be unshakable. The chapel at Middleham bore marks of her nails in the soft stone as she had poured out her grief in the days after Ned’s death. Now, she drew her nails once more down the expanse of stone. One scratch for her mother, one for her father, and another for Ned.

“Please, Maman. I beg of you, do something. I cannot live in an England that is without the security of your light, of Father’s judgement. I can only implore the Lord for why he chooses to test me.” She bowed her head again. “I beg that Father is at peace, for some knowledge that he is safe, that he is happy to be reunited with you and Ned again. Please, do not worry for me. I am as well as I can be.” She wiped a tear from her eyes. Yet, they seemed to not stop, even as she forced herself desperately to not cry in the Lord’s house.

“Child…” The Mother Superior murmured. Cecily jerked her head away. She hated to be touched, to be perceived. She brought her hand up, to quieten the woman. The blood froze in her veins suddenly as the Mother Superior grabbed her hand, and then she heard a harsh voice that was her mother’s hiss; Open your eyes!

Cecily’s eyes flew open, and she recoiled. For where the statue of Mary had stood was now a cut. A cut in the space of the room, that through it showed… another space - a field with trees in the distance. It was unheard of. No miracle such as this had ever been written of in a canonical history or court romance. Cecily’s head jerked up and she looked at the Mother Superior.

“D-do you see that?”

“Yes.” The Mother breathed, her hands clammy around Cecily’s. Her skin itched painfully and longed to tug her hand free. Yet Cecily stayed in that woman’s grasp as the Mother pulled herself up from a kneeling position. Cecily’s fingers instinctively closed tight around the crucifix chain and she ran it over her lips.

“Speak to me again, Maman.” She whispered, her lips barely moving.

Go forward. The cut will not hurt you, child.

Cecily shuffled forward, her skirts swishing as she moved. Her skirts, the ones still caked with her father’s blood. The deep blue was stained a runny wine-dark purple and caked in a scent so foul that the other nearby nuns had their noses pinched. In the flickering candlelight, they looked like demons sent from the very brimstone and fires of Hell she feared. Somewhere deep in the back of her mind, Cecily was half conscious of the fact that her mother never called her “Child.” Yet, the grief of so much loss…. Made her feel the exhaustion within her more sharply.

Crossing the nave before the altar, she stared up at the cut with widened eyes, and reached a hand out to touch it. Instead of the pain of burning or the cold of snow on a winter’s night, she felt merely warmth. Through the ugly gash, she could see waving grasses in a stiff breeze, and squinting, making out the forms of men waiting amongst the trees. Some of them were on horses, and she wondered if they could see her. What a shock they’d get!

The cut will not hurt you, child. She remembered her mother’s words spoken just moments before, and looked back at the nuns. They had gathered together in a small grouping at the back of the chapel, and amongst them she saw Véronique gripping Francis Lovell’s hand tight in hers. What stilled her suddenly was the expression on Véronique’s face - pure, unadulterated fear.

Go! Go, and do not look back, child!

Cecily’s head turned to look back at the cut and she stared once more through it, her hand still stretched out in front of her. The crucifix dangling from her hand caught the sunlight filtering through the trees, and she smelled the scent of freshly hay. Distantly, she felt as though she was back at Middleham, playing with Ned and Kathyrn and Johnny. Tears filled her eyes again and she closed them as her mind wandered.

Yes, child. Step through. You are almost home. Just another step-

Cecily could feel the sunlight on her hands; her face, and she turned her palms upwards towards the light and warmth. Yet, suddenly, the sounds of screams filled the air. Looking down, Cecily’s face turned to horror as she stepped not on freshly cut grass but blood-stained earth. An earth-shattering roar split the air as she looked up to the sight of a dragon armed with a rider opening its maw wide. A column of liquid fire flowed from its gaping jaws and set the forest before it ablaze. The men under it, clad in deep green tunics with a silver tower were swiftly enveloped in the flames and a horrific screaming sound met her ears. Throwing her hands over her ears, Cecily turned back to look for the cut.

She found it gone.

“MAMAN!” She screamed. “What is the meaning of this?!”

A test, child. You implored for my judgement.

“A TEST?!” Cecily shrieked.

I am the holy mother, all who worship me are tested in some way or another at some point. This is yours. Take with it what you will.

The warmth she’d felt turned shockingly cold, and Cecily cringed back, fear filling her veins with cold sand. Around her, men screamed, crossed swords and brutally massacred one another. Stumbling blindly, she turned whatever way was quietest, and began to stumble across the battlefield that would later be called Raven’s Rock. As she reached what she hoped was a line of tents consisting of faces who would be willing to listen to her tale, something sharp and long embedded itself in her leg.

The ground tilted dangerously under her, and Cecily’s face smashed into a jagged rock. Atop the rock’s surface she felt soft lichen caress her cheek, and barely had time to fist the crucifix more tightly into her fingers. The next moment, the darkness of injury and exhaustion washed over her with the strength of a tide, and she was dragged into its swell.

Over her head, two soldiers bearing the same uniforms she’d seen earlier discussed what to do with this princess in a tongue she didn’t know. After a few moments more, a knight with ginger hair and emerald green eyes came to survey her chaining up. He took his helmet from a squire and left at once to take up arms against a foe who was merely his sister’s closest friend and the supposed former heir of the Iron Throne. The false Queen Rhaenyra had made war against Alicent Hightower’s chosen son and it was unto this war that Princess Cecily-Anne was dragged unwillingly into. A war that was set to shape a generation and dynasty had merely changed time and space, but the rules were the same - a woman’s place was not upon the battlefield.

End of Chapter 1.

#richard iii #wyn rambles #gwayne hightower #house of the dragon #house of york #gwayne x reader #alicent hightower #helaena #aegon ii #rhaenyra #alicent hotd #henry tudor #the white queen #the white princess #the sunne in splendour

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wardrobeoftime · 3 months ago

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Master Post - A to M

If you notice any show, movie or character missing that I’ve made gifs of, please let me know. Characters are sorted alphabetically by first their last name and then their first name.

Last updated: November 21st, 2024

Aladdin [2019] (Princess Jasmine)

Allerleirauh (Princess Friederike | Princess Lotte)

American Song Contest (2022)

Aschenputtel [2010] (Marie/Aschenputtel)

Aschenputtel [2011] (Annabella | Aschenputtel/Cinderella)

Australia [2008] (Sarah Ashley)

Barbie (Stereotypical Barbie)

Beauty and the Beast [2017] (Madame de Garderobe | Mrs Potts)

Becoming Elizabeth (Amy Robsart | Mary Tudor)

Blood, Sex & Royalty (Anne Boleyn | Mary Boleyn)

Britain’s Bloody Crown (Margaret of Anjou | Margaret Beaufort | Elizabeth Woodville)

Cinderella [2015] (Anastasia Tremaine | Drisella Tremaine | Ella)

Das Adlon (Sonja Schadt)

Die Galoschen des Glücks (Princess Aurora)

Die Kaiserin (Maria Alexandrovna / Marie of Hesse | Elisabeth “Sisi” of Austria | Archduchess Sophie of Austria)

Die Salzprinzessin (Princess Amélie | Princess Eugenia | Princess Isabella)

Die Schöne und das Biest (Elsa)

Disney Live Action (see the individual movies | Extras)

Downton Abbey (Lucy Branson (née Smith) | Cora Crawley | Edith Crawley | Mary Crawley)

Dune: Prophecy (Ynez Corrino)

Dynasty [2017] (Kirby Anders | Fallon Carrington)

Effie Gray [2014] (Euphemia “Effie” Gray)

Elizabeth Duology (Elizabeth I)

Emerald City (Langwidere of Ev)

Emma [2020] (Isabella Knightley | Emma Woodhouse)

Eurovision Song Contest (1970 | 1974 | 1979 | 1980 | 1982 | 1988 | 1991 | 1992 | 1993 | 1995 | 1996 | 1998 | 2003 | 2004 | 2005 | 2006 | 2007 | 2008 | 2009 | 2010 | 2011 | 2012 | 2013 | 2014 | 2015 | 2016 | 2017 | 2018 | 2019 | 2021 | 2022 | 2023 | 2024)

Frauen, die Geschichte machten (Catherine the Great)

Galavant (Madalena)

Good Omens (Aziraphale | Crowley)

Grey’s Anatomy (Lexie Grey | Izzie Stevens)

Hamilton (Angelica Schuyler | Eliza Schuyler Hamilton)

Ku’damm (Helga von Boost)

Legacies (Jo Laughlin | Hope Mikaelson | Elizabeth “Lizzie” Saltzman | Josette “Josie” Saltzman)

Les Misérables [2018] (Cosette | Fantine Thibault)

Little Women [2019] (Amy March | Margaret “Meg” March)

Ludwig II [2012] (Elisabeth “Sisi” of Austria | Ludovika, The Duchess in Bavaria | Sophie in Bavaria)

Maleficent Duology (Princess Aurora | Queen Ingrith of Ulstead)

Märchenperlen (see the individual movies)

Maria Theresia [2017] (Maria Anna of Austria | Empress Maria Theresia | Mademoiselle de Chartres | Elisa Fritz)

Marie Antoinette [2006] (Marie Antoinette | Empress Maria Theresia | Marie Thérèse Louise of Savoy, Princesse de Lamballe | Extras)

Marie Antoinette [2022] (Marie Antoinette)

Mary Queen of Scots [2013] (Mary Stuart)

Maximilian - Das Spiel von Macht und Liebe / Maximilian and Marie de Burgogne (Mary of Burgundy)

My Fair Lady (Eliza Doolittle)

My Lady Jane (Jane Grey)

Go to N-Z

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darkeagleruins · 3 months ago

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Donald Trump is the first racist to have:

Dated a Black woman.

Loaned his personal jet to Nelson Mandela.

Upgraded MLKs birthplace to a national monument.

Posthumously pardoned boxer Jack Johnson.

Kissed the Western wall.

Loved his Jewish grandchildren.

Established an Opportunity & Revitalization Council to restore Black neighborhoods.

Passed criminal justice reform.

Denounced David Duke over 20 years ago.

Granted Alice Johnson clemency.

Declared Jerusalem the capital of Israel.

Moved the American Embassy to Jerusalem from Tel Aviv.

Overseen the lowest Black unemployment in history.

Awarded a medal by NAACP with Muhamad Ali and Rosa Parks.

Made sure HBCUs were protected by permanently funding them.

Made sure Jennifer Hudson had a place to stay when family members were murdered.

Funded black small businesses when no one else would lend start up capital. And Refused repayment!

Paid off a guy's house when he fixed his car tire!

Allowed a homeless lady to stay in Trump tower free of charge.

Started Opportunity Zones in minority communities.

What did I miss?

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anotherhumaninthisworld · 7 months ago

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Out of interest for his wife, we invited [Desmoulins] to stop writing [Le Vieux Cordelier], telling him that he was running the greatest dangers, and that, not being able to dip my pen in blood, I was going to stop writing my journal, Révolutions de Paris. He answered me: “What are you going to do? Maybe you will write our crimes.” Which, indeed, I did. His wife arrived; he told her the subject of my approach against him. She said: “My husband would be a coward to stop his Vieux Cordelier at a time when tyranny has no limits!” “Well, I am sorry, madame,” I said to her, to predict that you yourself will be one of the victims; those who govern respect neither beauty nor kindness.” Leaving her house, I ran to her mother to tell her my fears for her daughter and son-in-law. This lady admitted to me that she could not see without pain the stubbornness of her daughter, and the influence she had over her husband, who had much less character than her.

Biographie universelle et historique des femmes célèbres mortes ou vivantes (1830) by Louis-Marie Prudhomme, volume 2, page 273-274. Prudhomme gets in a huge load of errors throughout the rest of the article (Lucile’s first name, date of birth, marriage and death, the circumstances regarding her arrest as well as Saint-Just attending Louis-le-Grand with Desmoulins and being one of their wedding witnesses) but seeing as he claims it is from he himself this anecdote originates I’m willing to give it a bit more credibility. It also fits nicely with this other anecdote, reported by both Marcellin Matton (in 1834) and Nicolas Villiaume (in 1851) who in their turn had acquired it from Lucile’s mother:

[Guillaume] Brune, afraid of the danger that Camille, his former college friend [sic], was running, came to find him and begged him, for the interest that true republicans had in him, for the love of his parents, for the tenderness of his wife, not to not further irritate the enemies that his satirical and biting wit had made him, to show more moderation in the picture he painted of the misfortunes of the times, and even to cease the publication of his Vieux Cordelier. Camille, who had initially only responded with jokes, began to justify his behavior, as beautiful as it was angry, with reasons to which it was not easy to answer.

”I admit it to you,” Brune said to him, ”I cannot help but admire you; However, be certain that with more moderation you will do real good, while by continuing you give yourself up, you immolate yourself, you lose yourself and you save nothing.”

”Do you believe,” he then replied, ”that they will dare to attack me, declare me a traitor, me and my Vieux Cordelier, and that for having requested a committee of clemency and justice; for wanting to complete and consolidate the work of our revolution? I have all of France om my side. Desenne (that was the name of his bookseller) cannot suffice for the sale of my issues. I am read, heard everywhere.”

”You are also read by Barère who recognizes himself; by Saint-Just, who promised to make you carry your head like Saint Denis.”

”That’s true,” he replied, ”I remember it: it was a very bad joke, and my answer was much better. Have you seen my letter to Dillon? In the approach and posture of Saint-Just, we see that he regards his head as the cornerstone of the republic, and that he carries it on his shoulders with respect like a holy sacrament. Was I wrong, and do you think that for such a good joke he would want to kill me? I only ask him for one favor, and that is to wait until he has given a valid response.”

Madame Desmoulins had invited Brune to family dinner, it was served and they sat down at the table. Camille, gradually warming up, explained to him the bright future he was preparing for his homeland.

”Believe me,” he said to him, ”I am the man of the revolution. When it was necessary, I risked my life for her at the Palais-Royal. At that time they also wanted to make me worry, like you are doing today; but the nation walked with me, and I was at peace. I am still sure, with my Vieux Cordelier, to lead her in my footsteps, to respond to her wishes, to her needs; public opinion will still be my strength.”

”And if it gives your enemies time to strike you?”

”I have ready friends. Have you not heard the eloquent voice of Philippeaux? Danton sleeps: it is the lion's sleep; but he will wake up to defend my cause.”

His friend was far from convinced and repeated the same prayers to him; but Lucille, who at first had shown herself to be very sensitive to Brune's worries and fears, now shares all of Camille's enthusiasm; she notices that this interview has made him hot, she immediately puts a handkerchief on his forehead; gives him a kiss on the cheek and cries: “Let him do it, Brune, let him do it, he must save his country; let him fulfill his mission.” Then she pours her husband and Brune an exquisite chocolate with enchanting grace. When the chocolate had been served, Camille said: edamus et bibamus cras enim muriemur (let us eat and drink for tomorrow we die); while pronouncing these words of death, he affected an air of gaiety and took his child, his little Horace, on his knees. Camille had only supported his thesis because of his wife, whom he did not want to sadden for anything in the world.

#desmoulins #lucile desmoulins #camille desmoulins #frev #louis marie prudhomme #guillaume brune #these anecdotes told way after the fact have become my new thing #sad if lucile indeed was this outspoken/openly supportive of her husband #and then still gets killed for something she didn’t have anything to do with #i mean at least françoise hébert got to badmouth collot and robespierre…

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weepingfoxfury · 7 months ago

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The woman on the radio is still standing in for the man on the radio. The button pressing is going well. The Emerald Isle's entry, Bambi Thug, has their place in the Eurovision final ... the man on the radio and all Emeraldians will be cheering them on on Saturday. 'Everybody's Messing With Fire' is being sung by Clare Teal ... somehow appropriate that today's 'what's this music?' quiz is for Desperate Housewives. The traffic lady came and went with sad reports of refugee tents being moved from the Grand Canal and to avoid the area.

Strange noises from the long box hedge last night. Was feeding the new ghost cat under the car under the watchful eyes of Lady Clemence and Busterson ... all reasonably peaceful ... until ........... a mouse!! Bad time to make your move mousey! Lady Clemence leapt for it, as did Busterson ... then ghost cat swiftly turned, growled, grabbed poor mousey and barrelled through and disappeared into the hedge.

I went to look. Heard familiar unhappy 'this is mine!' noises. Realised Lady Clemence and Busterson were still over by the car looking puzzled. So who was in the hedge arguing over such a tiny meal???

The camera revealed all this morning. There are two ghost cats! One has short legs, the other long and has a limp. Both raid the biscuits left in the shed for Lady Clemence and Busterson. Signor Floyd also helps himself. The shed is now The Cat Cafè. How come I wasn't invited to the opening? Will I find menu requests?

Hmmmm ........ April/May is the time for newcomers ... if only they could tell their tales.

Just aswell none of them like coffee, so my coffee pot is safe. I shall ponder the potential for becoming local crazy cat hooman ... sincerely hope they are just ghost cats and not of the zombie variety! ;-) ...

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wangxianficrecs · 1 year ago

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monsters cannot break her stride by Stratisphyre

monsters cannot break her stride

by Stratisphyre (@stratisphyre)

G, 3k, Wangxian

Summary: The people of Yiling looked determined to avoid meeting his eyes at all costs, for all Lan Xichen was an invited guest of the residents of the Burial Mounds. In the last days of a losing battle, Lan Xichen seeks out the only person potentially capable of helping turn the tides against Wen Ruohan. Kay's comments: Be warned, this story goes hard and doesn't pull punches! A canon-divergence stories where Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji go to Yiling to search out the help of the Yiling Laozu - Jiang Yanli. Previously, she's been part of the Sunshot Campaign already, but withdrew suspiciously after Wei Wuxian's death and has hidden herself in the Burial Mounds with the Dafan Wens since then... I really enjoyed this story, a super creative canon-divergence! I'm usually not one for stories where someone else is the Yiling Laozu, but this one had me hooked from start to finish. Excerpt: "His puppets are nothing to us," Jiang Yanli stated dismissively, forcibly reminding him of the terrible power of her seal. Where it came from, or how she came to possess it, were subjects of greater speculation than any of the choicest morsels of intelligence gleaned from across the battlefield. How had a young lady with poor cultivation and little training gained the knowledge and skill to use such a tool? Even beholding her now, Lan Xichen could find no insight. Time to give up on the facade of equality. "Please, Lady Jiang. We are facing our most desperate hour." The intelligence Meng Yao fed him from Nightless City had dried up, and while he feared for the other man, he was also realistic that the tenuous advantage the information had provided was all that had kept them alive to this point. "I am authorized to make generous arrangements to convince you to return. "The other Sect Leaders have agreed that, should you be willing to join us, we will honour your claim to the Burial Mounds, and offer clemency to all those who reside within." Mingjue had been apoplectic with rage at the proposal, and it had taken every soft word Lan Xichen and Nie Huaisang could muster to calm him. "Sect Leader Jin himself has offered to reinstate your engagement to his son—" "How dare he," Jiang Yanli snapped, hard rage colouring her voice with promises of violence. "He seeks to place me under the control of the Jin?"

pov lan xichen, pov outsider, canon divergence, yiling laozu jiang yanli, dead wei wuxian, fierce corpse wei wuxian, sunshot campaign, negotiations, diplomacy, politics, hopeful ending, angst

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

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queenmarytudor · 3 months ago

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Mary I's Fight For The Throne

18th August - Mary makes her first Royal proclamation

Following Mary's jubilant entry into London, fights instantly break out between the mixed population of Catholics and Protestants. A priest who performs Mass has his chalice and vestments stolen, and "two or three hundred people assembled and made such riot that the mayor had been obliged to go in person to quell the tumult." 1 while on the 15th a "defamatory leaflet was scattered about the streets of the town:

"Noblemen and gentlemen favouring the word of God, take counsel together and join with all your power and your following! Withdraw yourselves from our virtuous Lady, Queen Mary, because Rochester, Walgrave, Inglefield, Weston and Hastings, hardened and detestable papists all, follow the opinions of the said Queen. Fear not, and God will prosper and help our holy design and intent; be assured that they have no great strength now, except two archpapists, Derby and Stourton; Arundel might be mentioned as the third, with the renegades (Sir Edmund) Peckham and (Sir William) Drury, chamberlain, who have no great power. As to the other personages in the country, of whatever condition they may be, they will assuredly prove tractable and conform to our belief, as we have seen by experience during the last seven years. But Winchester, the great devil, must be exorcised and exterminated with his disciples named above, before he can poison the people and wax strong in his religion. Draw near to the Gospels, and your guardian shall be the crown of glory!" 2

Hearing of this, and after already giving the Mayor and alderman of London "a writing to act and provide accordingly, and let it be known in the proper quarter, without making any solemn proclamation", Mary decides she must make an official statement. 3

On the 18th of August Mary makes her first royal proclamation regarding religion:

Her Grace, considering the great troubles and dangers that were brought forth in the past by the diversity of opinions and questioning about religion within the kingdom, and having learnt moreover that since her accession to the throne contentions have sprung up afresh owing to certain rumours and false reports circulated by wicked persons disposed to evil doing, has determined to make her resolve known to her faithful subjects, as follows:

First, her Majesty, being now in possession of her Imperial crown and estate pertaining to it, cannot forsake that faith that the whole world knows her to have followed and practised since her birth; she desires rather, by God's grace, to preserve it until the day of her death; and she desires greatly that her subjects may come to embrace the same faith quietly and with charity, whereby she shall receive great happiness. She makes known to her beloved subjects that out of her goodness and clemency she does not desire to compel anyone to do so for the present, or until by common consent a new determination shall be come to; but she forbids all and sundry of her loving subjects, of every age and condition, under the penalty of the law to stir up tumult or sedition among her people, on the pretext of upholding certain laws of the kingdom made according to the fantasies of men; but rather commands them to live quietly until fresh ordinances be made, because her Majesty desires, and strictly orders and commands, that all shall live in peace and Christian charity. Words of recent introduction, bandied as insults, such as “papist,” “heretic” and so forth, shall be dropped; and all men, by possessing their souls in the fear of God, and by a rightous life and holy deeds, shall truly show their desire to glorify God and His Word, as they profess in their reasonings and disputations to desire it. By these practices, and by honouring God, men shall live without fear and the tranquillity of the kingdom shall be maintained, whence her Grace shall derive great joy and contentment. But if any were to presume to hold conventicles in public or in private, and sow dissension among the people, her Majesty makes it known that she would do her duty in reforming their ways and punishing those who should be guilty of going against her laws.

Moreover, as we see that false rumours and reports are nourished and maintained by certain evilly-disposed persons who take upon themselves, without sufficient authority, to preach and interpret the word of God according to their own mind, in churches and elsewhere, publicly and privately, and by representations, by false printed books of recent composition, in rhymes, ballads and other foolish and unreasonable ways attack the ministers of God and the articles of the Christian religion which they have recently brought into controversy, which books, rhymes and treatises are given out by the printers and booksellers with evil zeal to sell them and make their profit, or rather with greed of unjust gain; her Majesty commands and strictly charges every one of her subjects, of whatever age and condition, that no one shall henceforth, under pretext of sermons or lessons, either in church, publicly or privately, interpret the Scriptures, or teach anything pertaining to religion, except it be in the schools of the university. Neither shall they print any book, treatise, dialogue, rhyme, ballad, comedy or argument except by special, written command of her Majesty, under pain of her displeasure.

Her Majesty strictly commands all and sundry that no one among her subjects shall presume by his own act to punish or rise against those who may go against the law, or against any who may have taken part by word or deed in the past rebellion made by the Duke of Northumberland and his accomplices; neither shall they take their goods nor offend them in their persons by violence or imprisonment or similar acts; but they shall refer them to her Majesty or her officers, so that they may be punished according to the law. Her Majesty does not wish to discourage any man from denouncing or giving information concerning those who may be guilty of the above-named offences against her own person or the members of her Privy Council, so that they may be punished as the law ordains.

Her Majesty enjoins upon all her subjects the observance of the said commands, and decrees that they shall everywhere bend to her will without reserve, and thus avoid her displeasure and the rigour of her wrath, giving her no cause for sorrow; being determined to leave no deed unpunished that may be committed rebelliously against the law, so that there may follow no troubles or disorders, but the laws be carried out to the letter.

Her Majesty hopes that her loving subjects will conduct themselves befittingly; and, in fine, she commands and strictly enjoins upon her mayors, sheriffs, justices, bailiffs, constables and other officers and public administrators to use all diligence in the observance and execution of her will and commands, and to see to it that they who shall wilfully break them be sent to the nearest public prison and kept there until notice be given to her Majesty or her Privy Council of their names and the fault imputed to them, together with their replies on examination; after which they shall receive their punishment according to the law, as an example to the rest. 4

On the same day, at Westminster Hall, John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland is found guilty of treason. After being released following Mary's entry into London, the "Duke of Norfolk, sitting under the cloth of estate, gave judgement". 5

The execution is planned for the 21st, however it is delayed a day once Northumberland recants Protestantism. He "received the holy sacrament, heard mass devoutly and performed all the customary acts of devotion according to the ancient religion, declaring loudly before those who were in the Tower that since he had forsaken God and the Church to follow the new religion he had done no good, and his actions had been unfortunate. He confessed publicly that he had continued in error for three or four years, and went so far as to approve the authority of the Roman Church, using words that avowed the said authority, as we have been told. He did not merely declare what is said above in the Tower, but repeated the same words on the scaffold, loudly, before the people. He recommended them to obey the Queen, whom he called good and virtuous, saying that she had attained the throne miraculously, by reason of her true right by inheritance, and that therein he acknowledged the hand of God." 6

On the 22nd of August "the Duke of Northumberland and Sir John Gates, late Captain of the Guard, and Sir Thomas Palmer, knights, were all three beheaded on the Tower hill, between 8 and 9 of the clock in the forenoon, and after their bodies and heads were carried into the Tower again." 7

Sources:

1. Spanish State Papers, 16th August 1553

2. Spanish State Papers, 16th August 1553

3. Spanish State Papers, 16th August 1553

4. Spanish State Papers, 16th August 1553

5. Wriothesley's Chronicle

6. Spanish State Papers, 27th August 1553

7. Wriothesley's Chronicle

#mary i #mary tudor #tudor #history #mary's fight for the throne

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evenhisfacewasanalias · 3 months ago

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Fragments of Eros (Part 1)

Lady Jane Grey/Guildford Dudley

Rating: Adult

The last of the embers turned to ash, and something brushed her hand. She let out a small cry at the brief touch, the anticipation of claws or teeth that followed. But none did.

Only the feel of a warm circlet of gold slipped around her ring finger by human hands. The sound of a man’s voice, gentle, and not a beast’s.

“With this ring, I thee wed.”

A Cupid and Psyche/(Beauty and the Beast) AU, inspired by and encouraged by schokoleibniz.

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Chapter 1: The Sacrifice

There was once a land with a brilliant and shining Queen. She was the great-granddaughter of the King and eldest of three beautiful daughters. The youngest two were fair and clever, but no more than human praise could do them justice. The eldest, however, though equal in fairness to her sisters, was known above all else for her cleverness of mind, and openness of heart. Indeed, both the nobility and the peasantry praised her as the most learned woman in the kingdom. News had spread throughout all the lands of the coming of a new kind of Queen, and a new kind of Kingdom. But it was not to last.

Still, the brief reign of Lady Jane Grey reverberated throughout the Kingdom. Though the rightful heir had been restored to the throne, support for their learned and tenderhearted former ruler continued to fill the hearts of the Kingdom’s citizens. Especially those to whom her fleeting sovereignty had given hope for the end of the great divisions across the lands.

This disgraceful transference of royal honors to the praise of her usurper had kindled a violent anger in the true Queen Mary. She was the eldest daughter of King Henry VIII, and had been done the grave injustice of being passed over twice for her rightful inheritance. Once, in favor of her invalid younger brother, hurried to his grave by the weight of running the Kingdom - and by the hand of his elder sister. But before King Edward had perished he had ensured that Mary would be passed over once again for some upstart young girl, a mere cousin to the King. In only nine days she had nearly undone all of the great King’s work, granting clemency to the beasts that had infested the lands. Queen Mary would see to it that order was restored to the Kingdom, and that Jane Grey regretted her stolen crown.

Despite the sage counsel of the Duke of Norfolk and her own mother - though the words “sage” and “counsel” seemed alien in conjunction with the person of Lady Frances Grey - Jane Grey had been spared the executioner’s block only to be condemned to a worser fate. Queen Mary seemed to delight in the poetic justice of Jane’s sentence. Jane, who as Queen had shown mercy to the beasts living in exile under her great uncle’s command, was now to be married to their so-called King.

It was Princess Elizabeth who had sparked the idea in Mary for this marriage. Cousin Bess, who had inherited all of the kindness between the two of them, had always been empathetic to Jane’s plight, but she also lived in fear of her sister. Bess’s mother Anne had herself been condemned as a beast and beheaded, and Bess existed under constant threat of sharing her mother’s fate. It was the only reason Jane could imagine she might conspire to enact this plan with her sister. Though perhaps Bess was truly naive enough to believe this ‘marriage’ a mercy.

Jane herself knew that the people the Queen and others of her ilk called beasts were nothing so sinister. In childhood, she had known one of them as a friend. The Greys’ household maid, Susannah, had once helped her to learn about all of the myriad plants and herbs and their curative properties, and Jane had taught her Latin in turn. They had spent every day in each other’s company, sharing in each others’ confidences - but for this one secret she withheld from Jane. Jane only learned of it when her mother had accused Susannah of theft, the sentence for which was hanging, and her friend had been forced to reveal herself. Before Jane’s eyes she had transformed into a hawk and flown away from their home , leaving behind only a fleeting apology to her young friend.

But Jane was not so naive as to think that all who were called beasts were so good and kind as her friend had been. They were just as the men and women whose forms they took, and all of mankind were equally as capable of good as they were of cruelty. Though the beasts were often charged with worshiping false gods, or practicing the dark arts, Jane herself had witnessed those same accusations hang as a pendulum between Catholic and English Churches - both condemning the other while neither was without transgression. Though she could see the good in all, she had also observed how quickly ignorance turned to hate. And so as Queen she had encouraged tolerance as well as justice among her many peoples.

However, as a woman facing the sacrificial altar, she blanched at the thought of being chained to one of these beasts, or to any man - if such a man or beast there was. No, Jane thought, it was much more likely that Mary was taking her out to the forests of Kent to die. Her death would be blamed on the beasts that dwelt there, crushing any support for Jane or her policies. And if there was some strange bridegroom waiting for her? Well, that was simply another kind of death. At best it meant exile for her - from her family and her from her kingdom - and a life of always needing to remain hidden. A marriage between the two carried a sentence of death if they were to be discovered.

Still, her mother and younger sister Katherine were heartened at the news. Her mother, for her life had been spared, and her sister Katherine, for whom it could equally be said that she was relieved and also that she greatly enjoyed weddings. Only her youngest sister Margaret seemed to sense the truth of the matter - that this was not a wedding, but a funeral.

Jane had reason to be grateful at least, that her family was finally allowed within the tower prison that had become her home these last few months, even if it was only to prepare her for the impending nuptials. Her mother had even gone so far as to collect an entire trousseau for her, though Jane could not see how it would be of use to her in any case. She tried to arrange her face into something like a smile as her younger sisters helped her into her wedding attire. The heavy brocade of the gown was woven through with golden branches and flowers, each bud filled with numerous tiny pearls that matched the delicate strands of pearls that encircled her throat and draped down the bodice. Underneath, she wore a nearly translucent chemise, and blushed hotly to think of her mother’s unsolicited advice when it had been given to her - another part of her trousseau she did not see coming to any usage.

Over her pearl-edged cap her mother lay a silken veil, shrouding her vision in an ivory film. All the better not to see what was coming, Jane thought to herself. And all the better she would not have to maintain her brave face for much longer.

But it seemed she would not have to. Jane had never thought she would live to see the day that the indomitable Lady Frances Grey shed a tear for anyone, let alone her intractable eldest daughter. Her own eyes brimmed with unshed moisture, as did her sister Katherine’s. Only Margaret was still young enough not to understand that people of their station do not wail or weep, and her cries more than made up for the silence of the elder three women. They all mourned this parting, knowing that no matter the outcome it would be their last.

Jane begged her mother and sisters not to join her on this journey, preferring to make her farewells where she now stood. She did not wish for them to see whatever fate she met - better that they believed her merely in exile with her bridegroom. She had faced becoming Queen alone, as well as the loss of her crown, her imprisonment. Jane could face this new change in fortune in solitude as well. She steeled her for the lonely ordeal ahead of her.

In the end, none of her relation would be allowed to attend her on her journey. Even Mary, both her cousin and sentencer, elected to remain behind, not wishing to enter the heart of the beasts’ territory, where resentment for her rule could be found among both beast and man alike. Jane knew that Mary was hoping this marriage would quash any sense of rebellion there - either Jane’s blasphemous marriage or the discovery of her mangled corpse would end any hope of her ever again usurping Mary’s crown. But even the possibility of seeing Jane torn apart by wild creatures was not enough to inspire the Queen to put herself at risk. Bess, tenderhearted as she was, was equally forbidden from the journey.

It was Lord Seymour, her former Councilor and Queen Mary’s right hand, who led her down from the tower as if to the gallows. Jane nearly stumbled with each step, her veil restricting her vision but not her awareness of the reality of her situation. She was in no hurry to die.

Entering the courtyard in the early light of the morning, she was assisted into a simple open cart, so very different from the gilded carriage that brought her to the palace. Her trousseau, unsurprisingly, was left behind. A grave procession left the tower walls - herself standing veiled and silent, the Kingsland Guard surrounding her, escorting her through the city as one condemned. A living corpse.

The people of her kingdom knew that to show support to their former queen as she passed was to court injury or death from the Guard. But their silence spoke volumes, their lamentations clear. Very few were there harsh words spoken against her as she was carted through the city, some naming her a pagan queen, some a lover of beasts. Her sentence had brought truth to these words, and she remained composed in facing them.

Harder to ignore were the jeers from the Guard themselves, describing all manner of beasts she would face, in particular their King. The beasts had been around since the beginnings of the lands, and many of them took the shape of animals long since passed from England’s memory - fearsome wolves, giant bears, and other creatures that only existed in legends. But their King was said to be something far more monstrous. Larger than life and shadowed in myths, it was he that kept Kingsland Guard living in fear of their kind. He who ensured their exile had only taken them east to the former seat of the Norman Kings, rather than pushed beyond the shores of England.

Jane’s rational mind knew that the King of the beasts was mere superstition, a dark fairy tale used to scare royalty and peasantry alike of the threat of allowing those who were different within their borders, an excuse for why the Guard were never able to vanquish that threat. The beasts were just as men were, capable of using mind, weapons, and rumour to fight back against their exile. And she knew none among the Guard had ever actually seen the monstrous beast they described. Still the journey was long, and it grew more and more difficult to push this particular fear from her mind.

Jane Grey stood silent and resolute as a statue for the length of her conveyance, small hands gripping at the guardrails as her legs grew weaker at the strain of standing. Heavy clouds darkened the sky such that she could never be sure how much time had passed, though she knew the journey would last nearly the entire day. A light rain fell as they crossed the boundaries of the city, weighing her wedding gown more heavily and soaking her veil until it clung to her face. It was difficult to breathe but she did not once remove it. She would not let them see her fear.

At dusk the funerial wedding procession finally reached their journey’s end, the forests of the aptly named Maidstone. Here, Jane was escorted from the cart by Lord Seymour once again, walking on shaking legs to the clearing of the White Horse Stone near the Pilgrim’s way. The sarsen monument found there was older than their kingdom, older even than written history. It belonged to the pagans that came before them, and was decided upon as the ideal setting for such a profaning of the sacrament of marriage as this.

The stone itself was wide and flat as a table - or as a tomb. A cloth of black velvet was laid across it, lending it a further sepulchral air. Jane was lifted to lay across it, her wrists and ankles bound in rope. She was laid out as if in her grave. Jane felt as a corpse, cold and stiff as she was from her journey. Four torches were lit at each corner, to ward off the coming darkness of night but not the chill of it. The sounds of trumpets rang out as an elegy in the silent forest. Every beast for miles would hear the heralding of the bride.

Even at this Jane had remained uncertain whether the men would simply slit her throat as she lay across the sacrificial altar, or whether they would continue on with this farce. But none of her jailers approached her, and all waited in silence as dark shadows began to gather along the edges of the firelight. Jane could not tell if the looming shadows were man or beast or simply the wild imaginings of her mind. She was aware, however, that the Guard around her now looked outward toward the forest, and no longer toward her.

Only Lord Seymour still watched her, waiting for some sign at which he seemed satisfied to continue. Finding it, he pulled from some hidden place a tattered script, and began a degraded version of the traditional Catholic ceremony.

“Lady Jane Grey, Vis accipere rex bestiarum praesentem in tuum legitimum maritum juxta ritum sanctae matris Ecclesiae? ” Will you accept the King of beasts as your lawful husband according to the rite of the holy mother church?

Lord Seymour faltered on the final words, struck with the realization that he had invoked the Church into this profanity - even he knew the meaning of the words “ sanctae matris Ecclesiae” . But he said no more, awaiting Jane’s response.

Jane struggled to say the words she knew were expected of her. On the one hand, to remain silent meant a quick and near painless death. But to make this vow meant being abandoned to a likely more gruesome fate at the hands of the rogues and wild animals that inhabited these lands - or even simply to die of exposure and slow starvation. Still, there was but the tiniest chance she might find a way to free herself once she was no longer under the watchful eyes of her executioners. Jane’s optimism had always been her fatal flaw. And so she steeled herself to do the unthinkable.

“I will.”

The words came from her lips more strongly than she had thought herself capable.

Lord Seymore stepped forward, pressing into her palm an unadorned golden band. This time, he avoided any mentions of God or blessings.

“ Per anulum hunc: ut, quae eum gestaverit, fidelitatem íntegram suo sponso tenens. ” With this ring: so that she who wears it holds in complete fidelity to her bridegroom.

Jane is glad, at least, there was also no mention of love or obedience in this butchered Latin mass.

She forces out her accordance. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

A second, slightly larger ring, was placed near to her atop the stone. Lord Seymour stepped away from the makeshift altar.

The ceremony was there left incomplete, to be finished by her bridegroom in the absence of any of the so-called faithful - for to complete the ceremony would have resulted in the excommunication of Lord Seymour and all those were present. Jane felt expulsion from the Church was the least of her troubles.

Her jailers swiftly abandoned her to the night. Though she had resented their presence, she found she feared their loss in equal measure. Left alone, she had only her thoughts of impending death and the futility of escape to keep her company.

Still, she had to try. Even not knowing what awaited her outside the halo of firelight around her, she knew she must press on. She fought against the ropes that bound her wrists and ankles, but they only tightened further as she struggled. At the scrape of skin and grinding together of delicate bones, she was forced to halt her efforts.

Jane considered whether she could survive a fall from the sarsen altar. She was uncertain how high the stone rose, and what might be below - whether she would strike soft ground or jagged rock. The shadows cast by the torches surrounding her hid from her what was just below. She would have to wait until sunrise to discover it. If she survived until morning.

And so she waited, trembling in her bonds.

The night grew darker as the moon set far behind the trees. The torches dimmed to embers and smoke. The shadows grew, but Jane could no longer tell them apart through her silken veil. Out in the distance, drifted only the sounds of commonplace creatures - the nightly song of the woodcock and nightingale, the low humming and chirp of insects, the rustling of small animals. No howling of wolves or roaring of bears, no monstrous bellows.

But the silence near the stone was deafening to Jane’s ears. Something waited for her in the shadows. On hushed feet it drew nearer, distinguishable only by how it further blocked the faintness of the stars, and hid the dying embers from her view. Jane lay frozen at the evidence of its size, not knowing whether it was one or many.

The last of the embers turned to ash, and something brushed her hand. She let out a small cry at the brief touch, the anticipation of claws or teeth that followed. But none did.

Only the feel of a warm circlet of gold slipped around her ring finger by human hands. The sound of a man’s voice, gentle, and not a beast’s. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

Jane heard the scrape of the matching ring as it was lifted from its place on the altar, to be placed on the man’s own finger. She felt herself lifted into his arms, pressed warm against the beating of a human heart, and heard the words that would bind them together until death.

“I plight thee my troth.”

#save my lady jane #my lady jane #fanfiction #cupid and psyche #greek mythology #AU #lady jane grey #guildford dudley #my writing #fragments of eros

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xx--ofmanythoughts--xx · 5 months ago

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Rant and spoilers of Season 2, Episode 2

Again, I am NOT a fan of Sara Hess’ writing for this show because she is quite biased and has shown many sides of her that do not make sense or she likes scenes that are just disturbing, even for this series.

I did watch this episode a second time like I did episode 1 and the following are my opinions and mine alone. It is how I feel about the episode, both good and bad.

The cons of the episode:

The first thing I am going to say here is this: The scene with Aemond finding solace in the arms of the woman that r*ped him at the age of 13; and the pouring of the warm milk was a complete ICK moment for me. It was a scene that I cannot deal with because to me, I find it sickening and one that was not needed as in the book, he did not regret what he did BUT as how they are writing how Alicent has no clue as to how to console her own children; I can see why it was done. But Sara Hess is a sick writer, and I am not a fan of hers. ** Now this is something that needs to be said ** After that scene I have read and heard of those body shaming Ewan Mitchell. STOP! Stop judging people for what they look like! I will admit I said mentally that I thought he was too thin, but I quickly moved on and said what I normally say. “Be you, boo!” but the shaming and the judgement has been harsh. Stay in YOUR lane!

Also I will NOT write my Aemond in the brothel! Sorry! I won't do it... I will add certain show items with the book canon and my head-canons but not that one.

I still do not like the fact that they did not go with how Rhaenyra did love her siblings in the book and offered them clemency stating that it was the evils of the small council that were turning them toward the path of war. (Yes, I paraphrased that from the book, but I hope you get the gist.)

I do not like how they are making Alicent try to be some sort of redeemed saint or whatever it is. I would take the “Lady MacBeth” road over this one any day. She is not pious, and she is not the ‘holier than thou’ woman they wish her to be and as Rhaenyra said in season one “it must be exhausting” as Alicent still tries to hide that piety.

CRISTON COLE! Mr. “I won’t be your whore!” to being just that to Alicent and now sending Arryk to kill the “Bitch Queen”! He needs therapy! And he needs to get over the fact of being the “woman scorned”! I will be happy when his fate comes to him because he is one that deserves it!

I am not fond of not seeing Rhaenys that much so far as she does have a big part in this war. I do not understand her lack of screen time.

The pros of the episode:

TOM GLYNN-CARNEY! He is KILLING it as Aegon! The writers have done well with his story! And Tom plays him perfectly! He has Aegon’s personality perfected and the way that he is acting with his fun side last week and now his anger and rage this week; so perfect. *chef’s kiss*

MATT SMITH! He was born to play Daemon and even though Sara Hess does not like the Daemon character, this episode was a very good one as it showed Daemon is still dealing with the same demons he was when his brother was alive. Daemon never wanted the throne but his way of protecting the family or showing love or showing loyalty get skewed because he is chaos, and he can’t control it. When Rhaenyra called him ‘pathetic’; it was a jab into his armor, and it hurt…just when his brother would be disappointed in him; he would feel that pain as he just wanted to be the best or on the same level as the two but never quite can get there. He tries so hard and believes he is doing something right when it comes back to him, and it isn’t as it seemed, and people are disappointed in him. He is doing everything in Rhaenyra’s name but some actions, he believes are right… end up being wrong.

Baela and Jace! It was a short scene, but it was a nice loving scene and the mention of Harwin was quite lovely. It showed why Jace would have made a wonderful King.

I have to say this and it kind of stings but OTTO HIGHTOWER when he put Aegon in place about Viserys putting him on the throne. Even though he lost his position, and, in the book, he lost it not for that but for the fact that the blockade had not been dealt with in time but for him to burn Aegon like that; it was brilliant…Then calling his grandsons PEACOCKS! I was smiling because it is so true.

The battle between brothers! I loved this even though the book was quite different, but they did a wonderful job of this, and it was a love story of twins. They loved each other and could not live without the other so I imagine being on opposite sides had to be hard for them. In the books, the kill each other as Arryk, died almost immediately and it was Erryk who took four days to die, screaming in horrible pain and cursing his brother…the show did quite well with this scene, and it did break my heart to see it played out.

Emma d’Arcy! They are amazing as Rhaenyra! They have embodied the character and I love it!

Now…the scenes with Helaena not being consoled by anyone, Aegon crying alone and his mother walking out to go to have her fun with Crispy and for Aeond to go where he did. As you can see, I did not like the solace in the arms of the abuser but since we do see that Alicent has no clue how to console her children; these scenes make sense. Do I like them?! NO! It was part of the reason why Aemond was the dark, psycho and why Aegon did what he did…Helaena has always been the innocent one. But I am trying to get used to what they are doing to these characters, but I will admit it is hard.

The funeral procession, I was on Aegon’s and Helaena’s side for this one and I must admit I was waiting for the child’s head to fall off the carriage when it became stuck. Which I think would have destroyed Helaena sooner. I know she will become more and more isolated and such in episodes to come, hopefully they will follow that but I think we will see how Alicent is losing control of her children more so.

#HOTD Negative and Positive Spoilers #Do NOT read if you have not seen Episode 2 #✘ hᴀʙɪᴛs bᴇᴇɴ bᴜsᴛɪɴɢ mʏ bᴏɴᴇs : ( ooc )#out of tea

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