Maid of Norway, Queen of Scotland: A Plantagenet Britain Timeline
- Thread starter pandizzy
- Start date
If Cussot is pronounced like cosset (which it totally could be because English is a bonkers language) I guess that could kinda be okay? I feel like there’s a pun there about how Constance is cosseted.
Good for you. It's great to read a TL which doesn't descend into battle-battle-battle-short_aside_about_something_else-battle-battle... There are ways of referring to wars in TLs without having to do that, and I'm confident, based on your writing so far, that you're going to give us a masterclass in how to do so. I'll keep following with interest, even if I don't comment very often (sorry).
I'm gonna write something on Barbarossa. You get your crusade that way.
Ottoman Empire was found in c. 1299. But Europe, not including East Roman Empire, was not too worried about them at the time. While there was at least one crusade against Ottoman Empire, which was after OTL Edward III's time, the whole Europe didn't get serious with Ottoman Empire until after East Roman Empire fell for the final time in 1453, well over a century after the OTL deaths of Edward I and Edward II.
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I think it is a good thing for TLs not to always have a stereotypical format, so like a completely personal and far less battle focused TL is healthy overall.
Like I fully understand not writing battles in detail if they're hard (I find them hard too ngl) You gotta just respect the author in terms of style
I hate writing battles. Battles and coronations are my absolute least favourite types of scenes to write.I think it is a good thing for TLs not to always have a stereotypical format, so like a completely personal and far less battle focused TL is healthy overall.
Like I fully understand not writing battles in detail if they're hard (I find them hard too ngl) You gotta just respect the author in terms of style
I nearly didn't include it and I was absolutely miserable the whole time.
Great to hearI am feeling better now that it's done and behind me
Chapter XXXI - Proposals
February 1295. On the border between England and Scotland.
Margaret observed the fast movements of Elsbeth’s hands, switching and mixing the little present between her enclosed fists. Her lady, who recently turned fourteen, had long-fingered hands, and healthy olive skin, which hid the truth underneath. The Queen twisted her lips in concentration and, when Elsbeth appeared to be finished, she pointed at the right hand.
The young countess turned over her hand and opened her fingers, revealing that there was nothing nestled in her palm. A second later, she opened her other hand, revealing the small glass marble they were playing with.
“Fiddlesticks!” Margaret exclaimed. Seated next to her, Lady Egidia cleaned her throat, still embroidering the edge of a handkerchief to pass the time during the carriage ride. The little queen looked at her governess in disbelief. “I didn’t say it!”
“If you use another word in its place, then you are thinking of the curse,” Egidia pointed out. During the journey, Margaret had learned terrible words from the lesser men in William Wallace’s ranks and the governess was determined to stamp the habit out of her. “Don’t exclaim at all. A queen doesn’t show her surprise, even at a game.”
“But Elsbeth is very good,” Margaret said with a smile. “I’m always surprised at how easily she hides the marble.”
“I know well of Lady Carrick’s many abilities, my lady,” Egidia Stewart answered. “For four years, I have been in charge of her body and her education.”
“The trick is to use the curve of your knuckle,” Elsbeth said in an eager voice. Mary Bruce rolled her eyes, defiant and unladylike as always.
“It’s my turn,” said the young girl, a red curl escaping the confines of her veil. Elsbeth laughed at her sister-in-law and gave her the marble. Margaret watched in focus as her friend and lady hid the marble between her fists, moving them wildly to try and confuse.
“Elsbeth is good,” Margaret murmured, “But Mary is too rash. And her ego is too big.”
“No, it’s not!” Mary exclaimed, flushing as red as a rose. At the moment of her distraction, Margaret saw the glint of the marble shoved between her fingers. She pointed at the left hand and Mary grunted. “You’ve done it again.”
Before Margaret could even speak, her governess clicked her tongue, “Mary Bruce is not egotistical, but she gets easily riled at the perception of an insult towards her person.” She looked at Mary. “My sweet girl, you must calm yourself. Why should your friend call you so, if not to win this silly game?”
Elsbeth and Mary Bruce were sitting together, while Margaret sat by her governess. She leaned her head over Egidia Stewart’s bony shoulder and smiled.
“Last night, Christina told Mary that their father has arranged a marriage for her,” Margaret whispered. “Surely, he told you who it was, didn’t he?” Lord Annandale had gone to England months before to find a husband for Mary, as his deceased wife had asked him to arrange a match for her with an English lord. If he had made a decision, as Christina said, he would tell his daughter’s governess, to be sure that she was being prepared properly for the match.
Egidia laughed and poked Margaret at her nose. “Mary Bruce is as rash as Elsbeth is delicate, but you, my lady, you are manipulative,” said the governess. “I would bet all my jewels that you were the one to suggest to ask me about this, because you thought I couldn’t refuse your request. Since you are my queen, after all.”
Margaret pouted. She had promised Mary to see it done, to ask about the intended husband and have his name in hand for nightly prayers and sweet dreams.
“Who is it?” she asked. “We won’t say anything.” She looked at Elsbeth and Mary, who were looking eagerly at Egidia. “Why should myself and Elsbeth know whom we will marry, but Mary cannot?”
Egidia pressed her mouth together in a thin, white line.
“Lord Annandale will be very disappointed if he hears that his daughter knows of her intended before he was able to tell her himself,” she murmured. “I suppose I could whisper a name. Just one. As long as my charges remain very quiet and act surprised when he announces the betrothal at the welcome feast in Edinburgh.”
“Oh, we will be very quiet!” Margaret promised. “We won’t say anything!”
“I can act surprised,” Mary promised. “My brother Robert said I always act the fool.”
Egidia smiled and turned her head slightly, while cupping the Queen’s to whisper in a name. Margaret giggled in delight as her governess leaned back and Elsbeth and Mary looked at her in expectation. The little queen leaned forward and gestured for her older friend to lean in, so she could also whisper the name, unable to hide her own smile. Mary, the intended bride, would be the last to hear of it,
Elsbeth’s face was washed with delight before she turned to whisper in Mary’s ear as well, giggling at the end of her words. “Edmund Fitzalan.”
To her, had there ever been a sweeter name?
The three young girls fell into a fit of giggles so strong they barely even noticed that the carriage had stopped until William Wallace opened the door and offered her a hand. Margaret felt her heart seize in delight as she stepped out, recognizing the faces of the men that came to greet her easily.
“My queen, you are in Scotland now,” said Sir William Douglas, falling to his knees. “Welcome home.”
She smiled.
Arcachon, Gascony.
Édouard watched from his horse as his father’s men walked out of their ships in marching order, his eyes concentrated. They had brought around fifteen hundred men to Gascony, and left another fifteen in Flanders. There was hope for additional men from Aragon and support amongst the populace since they had already been under English control for a hundred years, but he couldn’t say if it would happen. People could act very differently from what was expected of them.
“I heard the King of France has married his sister Marguerite to the Count of Bar,” his father said. He cursed lowly. “I should’ve acted with him first.”
“The King had no daughters to marry Count Henri,” said William de Grandison. He was close enough with the King to speak in such a way with him, almost comfortingly.
“I can offer other girls,” his father answered, almost petulantly. Édouard chewed his lower lip nervously. “Or make more daughters.”
“Should I write the letter summoning the Queen, then?” William asked. His father merely looked at him before smiling, shaking his head.
“No need,” he said. “If Henri can make peace with Queen Jeanne and marry Mademoiselle Marguerite, I suppose I can win this war before the end of the year and return to England to father more children.” He looked behind him, at Édouard and sighed. “I suppose it will be years before I see a male-line grandchild born. Édouard is only ten and in a month, his bride will be twelve. Children can’t produce more children.”
“The years pass quickly,” William murmured. “Soon enough, this war will be over and we can all return home and father children.”
“Do you really think it will take years to win this war, William?” King Edward asked.
“I prefer to sin as overcautious than disappoint you by saying it will take months and see it stretch into years, my king,” William answered. His words made the King smile again.
“We’ll crush that overly-ambitious king and return home soon, William,” he said. “We’ll have our revenge for Edmund.” William had served many years under the Earl of Lancaster, and knew him well. Perhaps, after the King and his wife, he was one of the most affected by his murder. “I shall return to Yolande and you to your Sybill. In the end, we will prevail.”
“God willing,” William murmured.
The King looked back at Édouard again. “It will be difficult to bring a child along with us as we ride into the country,” he murmured. “Sometimes, I wonder if a King is capable of regret.”
“Perhaps, it will be easier if we bring along a companion for the young prince, to keep him company in the moments unfit for innocent eyes,” William de Grandison suggested. His father looked at him.
“Do you have one in mind?” the King asked.
“Arnaud de Gabaston has a boy around the Prince’s age,” William said. “Piers, I think is his name.”
The King smirked. “Well, we are already in Gascony, are we not?” he asked. “Send out a rider to fetch this Piers. If he is anything like his father, he will be a great example to my son.”
Édouard felt a smile curl up his mouth at the promise of a friend. He hadn’t had one in quite a long time.
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Edmund Fitzalan, 2nd Earl of Arundel - Wikipedia
VV (rip) when I asked if he thought Edmund could marry a Scottish lady, he said "Yeah. Mary Bruce would be a good candidate" without me mentioning her by name, so you know he approves, wherever he is now.