#regentofscots

[nxtawitch]

@regentofscots​ || cont’d 

“What if I do not learn quick enough?”  Mæja protested with her concerns, heaving the tangle of ropes over her left shoulder.  Her eyes darting between their people and everything she tried to decipher hidden in Gisela’s eyes.  A softness when she caught them.  “Will they wish me no more than a root cut from a tree, trampled underfoot?  Once I have done some good, or some bad.  No use for me.”  She wasn’t one of them, after all.  Not by blood as some of the others, earning her merit by her skills out at sea and her place in the life of the woman in front of her.  She heard the whispers at night of her names.  Nightmare of her uncles’ voice boiling somewhere beyond the horizon.  Where else did she have to go?  No court would seek the daughter of the disgraced.  “I am strong, but even a rock battered by waves will get worn to nothing over time.”

Those were the same concerns Gisela had, though she had no one to voice them to. Her men were loyal as long as she paid them and kept their families safe, but she was well aware that were she to show weakness or allow her search for a different fate to distract her, they would trickle away to other lords. Such was life in the Danelaw. “You will learn quickly, because you must.” Gisela said with the gravity truth. Mæja had to even more than she, because the Frankish woman did not have the same man in her peoples’ memory to provide her with a foundation. Nor did she have a leash on the Bishop. She leaned on the rudder, adjusting their route ever so slightly. Navigating had been the hardest to learn, not born on the whale road as the others. Through to womanhood, she had been tethered to solid ground. She looked to Mæja, the warmth of a hearth within her eyes. “And that could take centuries. We’re lucky to not have so long. Besides,” A soft, reassuring smile graces her lips, “You’re not learning this on your own.” 

[xqueenofscots]

The news was kept from Mary for over two weeks, until 28 June, at which point, understandably, she fell into a severe depression. The news was broken to her by her uncle Charles, Cardinal of Lorraine, who had also been the brother of the dead queen regent, and 'she [Mary] passed from one agony to another.' The Venetian ambassador wrote to the doge, 'Your serenity may imagine the regret of these Guise lords, her majesty's brothers, as also of the most Christian Queen who lover her mother incredibly, and much more than daughters usually love their mothers.

Roderick Graham, The Life of Mary Queen of Scots, An Accidental Tragedy. 

@regentofscots

and... “ After Mary’s own death one of her most prized possessions was found to be a miniature of her mother.”

[khruseosold]

I’m trading pain for pain, I hope you don’t mind. <3 // @regentofscots

Profound and ever so ingrained it was after these weeks of habitual presence; the ache grated a heart and mind alike, every singular time she captured his attention and vision as a whole. She was a rose, was she not? His rose, soft, divine, yet withstanding and immune to nature’s wither altogether. Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots, she was all truth he knew or ever had to know; the ease to his troubles, the strength he craved and unknowingly to herself, his conscience in dark hours as these. His wish were that she relented, ceased in her unforgiving interrogations— yet he’d known no opportunity to grant her it either, he never would, not with this. His unfathomable deed for France, for all others  of his family; it’d been his own, yet the consequences could be weighed on all those he’d done it for; the end of his reign and life  could not know or mean the end of theirs. Such a prospect was equally unfathomable, and there was no way to tell her of such a reality— such withhold was the only protection he, himself, could offer; and one other.

The liquid swirled within the chalice at his continuous rotation of it, every motion, in this moment, surely a clear representation of his heart’s trouble to any who’d bear to look and take in. And yet, despite perfectly aware of this, his choice of company had him find his place, precise and ever intended, beside one Marie de’ Guise. One sip served as prelude to another, “She is strong,” A smile was offered amidst his pause, though the next found quietude, barely audible, as if an absent-minded whisper, “—so, very strong.” Physically, emotionally, mentally strong, and ever headstrong. The temporary lightening of countenance and poster faltered in slight, a gaze calling its reverence of his love to halt and instead lowered to his side, briefly towards his company before it lowered to his chalice, weighing his choice of words, “I need her in Scotland.”

[threecardtrick]

He’s never been one to look down upon a woman in power. It is as their relationship has progressed that he’s gotten more of a chance to see her in her element and even more so to be able to actually discuss important topics among themselves. Even with Marie’s beauty and patient demeanor, she was not some fragile flower unable to scold a nobleman who had gotten out of line. She’d looked so regal, so striking, that he’d been able to keep from staring. He’s able to duck away before the nobleman noticed, but it had certainly put him a mood for the remainder of the day. Until he was able to get her alone. His hand catches her, raising it to his lips and pressing a chaste kiss to it. “You are so very magnificent.”

[nobleconsort]

@regentofscots

|| “God, I envy you. I am forever tied to the Emperor, even in death, i am his,”    Huan scoffed, clearly annoyed with the former Emperor. Normally she would be much more careful about things like this. Such words could be considered treasonous to those who might wish her harm, but It was clear Marie was not one of them. Despite being a stranger only a few days ago, Huan could see she was admirable. The Dowager was fond of Marie in that regard.

  She chuckled a bit and took a scoop of the desert before Marie could get to it. And least they have similar sweet tooths, or so it would seem. “How many children you you have, Marie?”

CONT FROM [ X ] && @regentofscots

[il-divino]

regentofscots started following you

Michelangelo hovered over his desk, scribbling and scratching out his words furiously. As he did, he heard a sound in his doorway. Another one?

“If you’ve come for a commission, I am too busy. Come back in a month.”

[idiosynchronics]

          the embrace was reciprocated with a restraint catherine resented, her title and status still too new to be quite adopted, but the stiffness of her posture was made up for with the smile and then the gentle laugh marie’s compliments and observations garnered. “i’m not unlike a novelty.” the latest queen, the latest wife. for how long? they had to make what they could of her as quickly as possible for who knew when henry would start showing signs of disinterest.

“it would be a great honour.” in spite of what was at stake and of the strong, underlying differences still standing between their countries, catherine held their guest in great esteem. “i think you are about to suffer the same fate,” she commented, her gaze sweeping over the crowd. “the outcome of your visit is feeding all sorts of rumours.” and that couldn’t be avoided, as much as it irked her. not only marie was a foreigner bordering on being regarded as an enemy but she was a woman - one with too much power for the tastes of many.

@regentofscots  /  ctnd.

[inmydrcams]

❝ hello darling, welcome home. ❞ (for Mary!)

             It takes her a moment to register the voice. And only another moment to drop her bag and run to her mother.  ❝ Maman! ❞  She holds on tight, as tight as she possibly can, as if the other woman is gonna disappear if she dare to let go for even a second.  ❝ I have missed you so much. ❞  The french slips easily out of her tongue now that her mother is here. It’s not been even 24h since she facetimed her mother being a sobbing mess and she’s here. Henry was cheating, she broke off the engagement, everyone else was right about him being trash and how she shouldn’t marry him. And now she doesn’t want to deal with the fallout, wants to just keep going to work and living her life. She tried taking off the engagement ring but it only lasted till the first ‘where’s your ring?’ ‘Oh silly me, I forgot to put it back on’. Now it’s a weight on her finger as she tries to figure out her next step.  ❝ I’m so sorry I didn’t listen, I should’ve listened. ❞ She’s not crying this time, at least not how she did on the phone, if you asked her she’d say she has no more tears left to cry ( it’s probably a lie ).

          ❝ You shoudn’t have come. ❞  Yes, she should.

@regentofscots

[theredconqueror]

He can slip in and out of bodies at will. Replace a man altogether if he so chose, to put a particular plan into action. He has a couple of personas that he’s personally crafted that he slid into when he needs. Well-off lords who have enough money and land to be able to mingle at court, but not so much that his daily presence is required and nor that it was necessary for him to marry. He’s not going to spend his time doing such a tedious thing.  He loved parties. You never knew what someone might do at a party. They were a diplomatic disaster waiting to happen. Of course, that wasn’t to say only at royal courts did important things happen. In taverns and houses all over were there plans and people that could have great ramifications on the future. But the reason he attended this particular ball was much simpler than that. It’s because of her. Or rather, her outfit. He’s heard she’ll be dressing up as well, him. He’s right there in their damn favourite book and he’s always passed over for Lucifer. What the fuck was Lucifer doing these days? Nothing.  His own outfit of choice is a less literal person: he is fire. Clothes of a red-orange, with a fine layer on top that seem to float, which gave it that dimension of appearing like a flickering flame. He can’t pick to show up as one of his brothers or he’d never hear the end of it. He’s an Italian lord, foregoing a French identity so as not to get tripped up easily. It felt like her family was over all of France.  He’d been watching her from across the room for a little while now, finally deciding to make his move when the giggling ladies she’d been conversing moved on (likely to find a dance partner). “Your outfit is very original,” he commented, and even with the slight accent he sounded oh so charming. “But do you not feel as if you tempt wrath?” A smile hinging on a smirk. He very much desired to know the answer.

[nxtawitch]

“ a few grains should help you sleep, but only a few, and not every night.”

reign season one episode three starters

“You speak with knowledge, Mæja.” The Dane replied, her eyes naturally flitting to the lovely woman as she did. The word held far more weight in her culture, her practice, than it likely did in Lothairingia, so Gisela hoped that, as their time had passed, her frank had come to understand what she meant. Knowledge was key in magic, and magic was a tool many men would kill others to possess. Leaning lightly on the steering board to adjust their course, she watched the whale-road pass. Salt watered her eyes and dried in her air, but the Wyrdvefr, her largest ship, seemed to barely kiss the top of the sea even laden with treasures. It was the closest she’d ever get to flight, and a broad grin crossed her face. She must have cut a funny figure to others, a captain half the size of her crew, in baggy men’s clothes and a hauberk in desperate need of tailoring, as it had been crafted for her father’s bulk, instead of her lean grace, but Gisela never felt freer of the cursed fate she’d been alotted than she did in her ships. 

“It’s not reaching sleep that is the problem,” Gisela continued after a moment, turning the ship east: towards home, “It is staying asleep.” The face of the man she’d once thought fated to return her brother had yet to fade, and he would bring her demise. And children, blessings from the gods all of them. Yet, Caer Ligualid needed her more than a man needed his wife. Her smile shifted into a sly one, with mischief gleaming in wine-dark eyes. “I know of another way for you to keep me asleep.” 

[xqueenofscots]

❝Parce que chaque jour j'ai pensé à toi.❞(Because, every single day I’ve thought about you.)

of the many letters that mary received, none ever gave her such joy as the ones she received from her mother. no matter the news she would have to send, or even just words of love and advice, they were precious to her. no matter the distance or cultures that separated them, mary never felt distant from her. she took her time in replying, enjoying the peace and privacy afforded her to tell her mother about her life in france. she was thriving, full of life, france being the very home that was perfect for her. this is truly my home now, mother. she would write back in french, the language so fluent now it felt native to her. i feel secure here, i feel i belong. they had welcomed her in, treated her like one of their own, for surely she was, to be their future queen. but though her letters were full of this happiness, the sadness also lingered. a longing to be together, the point of which she never forgot to mention. i never stop thinking of you, mother. i hope you will be proud of me. for everything she did, she only ever hoped to make her proud.

@regentofscots 

[sohelish]

“I heard that you might like this,” Marie presented the other woman with a vase shaped like a fish, much to the amusement of her other ladies who tried to hold back their laughter. In the mouth of the vase was a rolled up letter saying: ‘Dinna laugh, an’ dinna smile, but hunt the gowk another mile’.

@regentofscots  

April Fools’.

‘I did not know we were to prepare presents—’

Awkwardly she picked up the vase, not entirely sure how she was supposed to accept such an odd gift gracefully and with a straight face for that matter. Helen tried her best but, naturally, failed to hold back her mimics if only due to the element of surprise alone, causing further laughter and whispering among those watching the exchange when she started staring inside the vase because she’d spotted the letter.

She caused even more of a stir when she chose to balance the thing in one hand– which looked like a rather risky stunt on its own– in order to pull out the intended message, open and read it. Strangely she did not drop a thing.

More so, upon reading the message she couldn’t hold back a very improper laugh, the one that comes with a hefty snort. Probably the only reason why everyone around wasn’t more shocked was that they’d come to terms with the idea that even though her respectable father did his best - a man could not have possibly raised a proper lady all by himself, poor thing.

Was she to confess, however, that she actually did like the whole bit? The ugly vase, putting her hand inside it? Wouldn’t that be a scandalous thing to admit—

‘It is… beautiful, Your Grace.’

[threecardtrick]

regentofscots:

    She brought him on one of her private visits to the chapel, hoping he would like the view she often admired: the sun lowering behind the stained glass windows, summoning the quieter hours of the evening.  His words were carefully considered, her right hand covering the cross around her neck.  She rose, abandoning the pew as she finally gave him a response.  “I love as I am loved, as I wish to be loved.”  Some of her people would always see her as a tyrant, but still she would persist, touch every heart she could reach.

    Marie approached the altar, running her fingers over the cloth covering its gold surface.  How many men bent and kissed their holiness away, she wondered, in these very fibers?  Woman of the church lacked the same intimacy.  Oh, but she was no Abbess like her sisters, she was much more now as the mother of a Queen.  “Every monarch basks in the illusion that we are anointed by God,” she turned to Thomas, then back to the windows.  “But even then I am only His servant.”

It had not seemed possible for there to exist someone so good, so kind. Wolsey, for all his positive qualities, had been far from a perfect Christian, but Thomas had nonetheless loved him dearer than his own father. But Marie? She was a saint, an angel in human form. She loved and forgave and it did not seem possible that so much light and purity could exist in one soul. His own soul had been blacked long ago, sin upon sin being added to it. Which was his most terrible sin? Which had sealed his soul off from entrance to heaven? He accompanied Marie at times to her chapel, though not always, figuring she would usually like to prefer to be alone, or he would spend it bored in silence, or worse, his mind would consume him, and he would avoid going back to church for a period for time. Being here... felt suffocating. Faced with his wife, and the person he had not been, could never been, could never be. His hand movement mirrored hers, but of course there is no cross to find, but it felt like there was a noose around it,  as if he was searching to find God’s hand. “How can you bear to keep my company, knowing what have I done? What I am?” The words are insistent, though they are not entirely aimed at her. At God, at himself? He remembered More’s words: Why would you want to make another breach in the walls of Christendom? “All the damage that I have done to Christianity... out of pride and wrath.”

[nobleconsort]

regentofscots replied to your post: Anyone over 5′10 and huan fuckin’ loses it

Marie, a giant: Hi :)

LOSIN IT 

[twistedfortune]

❝Though hope is frail, it’s hard to kill.❞ (Giles)

prince of egypt starters

“And I hope that’s not an accusation.” Though his gaze showed no signs of backing down, the effect was softened slightly by a smile. Loyalty to his mistress carried only so far, and didn’t prevent admiration of worthy opponents. Besides, where he disagreed with the queen’s plans, it might be best if they were not to succeed. “What is the greatest of your wishes? I can make no promises and we cannot get everything we want in this life, but England is open to some accommodation.” And on a very personal note, the baron would prefer peace to more war.

[deoscuridad]

“We all carry our sins.”

“We are like Atlas in that respect, carrying the weight of our actions upon our shoulders...” and even though absolution by the church gave the facade that all was forgiven, it often felt like the opposite was true. The memories would forever be lodged deep within the crevices of his mind. History itself was a great burden for anyone to carry, and here he was carrying decades upon decades of it. “I suppose we are given a reprieve from time to time - confession- but they stack up again far more quickly than one would have thought.”