Ooo very exciting! Can’t wait to see how things go now that Margaret is in england
Maid of Norway, Queen of Scotland: A Plantagenet Britain Timeline
- Thread starter pandizzy
- Start date
The Queen is in England! I hope her and young Edouard get along! Maybe they'll have some good times smirking at how the adults want to spend all their time plotting and scheming...
Another great chapter! Margaret is precious and must be protected at all costs! I hope her and Prince Edward get along well!
God the wait is killing me lol, I want the two to meet already lol. I’m curious as to how Prince Edward will react and what King Edward is thinking and planning.
God the wait is killing me lol, I want the two to meet already lol. I’m curious as to how Prince Edward will react and what King Edward is thinking and planning.
You'll have to wait more. I haven't written a word of this in around two weeks. Next week, the final chapter I had will be posted here and then it's off to waiting again.
Noooo!!! You're as bad as wcv215 with his epic Byzantine TL. I had to wait on a cliffhanger right after the whole situation with Romanos the Mad. 🤣
Oh nooo! How long does that mean!
Just curious not trying to be pressuring, legitimately just curious on the time scale tning. Absolutely want you to focus on writing and take your time and all as that allows the best quality to come out and you should take all the time you need!
Big mood, as the youths say.
I am lurking the thread and wanted to just pop in and mention how I'm very much enjoying this timeline.
It's more because I'm focusing on writing a chapter for my ASOIAF au on ao3 and they're always super long.
What is it about in regards to plot is it the same style as your Plantagenets stories
Chapter XIII - A Summer's Poem
thank you to @FriendlyGhost for the poem!
Elsbeth was expected to sit with her husband’s family at the dinner. And Mary Bruce was not welcome at the high seats, possibly because, unlike Margaret, she was not a queen. Then there was Christina Bruce, now Comyn, who was ill with some kind of fever, which was why they had to stop at Alnwick, where they were now being feasted by the Percy family.
A servant placed a platter of pork before her. Margaret waited a moment before one of her attendants cut up the meat, picking up her goblet of water. She had food tasters, to be certain that her food was not poisoned, and she had to wait for them to give their approval. As they did, she began to dig into the meat and a young man in the employ of the Percies stood up, extending his goblet forward.
“Let us raise our cups to the gracious lady Margaret,” he said. “Now Queen of Scots. Tomorrow, Queen of England.” The people clapped excitedly, though some, most of whom were English, looked around them nervously. They were thankful that Queen Yolande was not present for she would not enjoy such a comment if she were to hear it.
Another man, this one taller and skinnier, stood up as well. “I have a poem,” he declared. “For our darling Lady Margaret.” Margaret herself adjusted in her seat, excited at the idea. No one had ever written poems for her before, as far as she knew.
The man smiled and began to say, in a soft and bell-like voice, much similar to a song, ’t was on a summer evening,
When all the leaves were green,
Then came the Maid of Scots to us,
To be Lord Edward’s queen.
The delight her coming did import,
Is far too great for me to tell,
As came she to her Lord consort,
We all did fall under her spell.
As his fair queen he did espy,
Lord Edward gladly welcomed she,
“Welcome! Welcome!” was heard his cry,
Receiving her most generously.
More courtly maiden there was none,
A gleaming mantle she did wear,
Her diadem with splendour shone,
Never saw we queen so fair.
That gracious girl, so fair, so small,
So beautiful, so seeming slight,
Royally clad, with gems and all,
Adorned with many pearls bright.
Her features pale as ivory shone,
Her shoulders, all unbound, lay light,
Like burnished gold her tresses on,
That gleams anew in day’s sunlight.
Her gorgeous dress and its decor,
Its pearls and silver gleaming bright,
I judge no tongue e'er found before
Words to describe that glorious sight.
The people clapped excitedly when he finished and Margaret smiled, wondering if this was how England would always be.
The water was warm and sweet-smelling, tinged with oils and herbs to assist her in her work. Edward sighed and closed his eyes, the people moving fluidly around them, as Yolande worked despite the belly, accepting the sponge offered by a servant. Her hands were kind as they rubbed his feet, washing them thoroughly.
The King opened his eyes again and gestured for the advisor to step closer. The man did so with a formal bow, hands clasped at his front. “The Queen of Scots has entered into York this past week and we may expect her in London before October comes, for the planned celebrations.”
Edward nodded. “Inform my son’s guardian that the Prince is to wear his best clothes to the first official meeting,” he said. “He will not meet his wife dressed in a pauper’s garments.” The King hummed sarcastically as Yolande took out a small blade to trim his nails. Her stomach was large and protruding forward, a sign that he ought to have insisted in his refusal for the ceremony, even though Yolande wanted to. “He will like that. He has always been too focused on fashion and jewels.”
Before the advisor could respond, Yolande snorted and Edward looked at her.
“You don’t agree?” he questioned with a hint of acidity in his voice. Yolande raised her dark blue eyes to look at him and smiled sweetly, setting the blade aside. Edward placed his feet back at the bowl full of water, even as his wife sat back on her heels.
“The Prince is merely a sensitive boy,” said his wife. “He strives to please you and wear the dignities afforded to him as future King of Scots.”
“If he wished to please me, he’d do better,” said Edward. It was hard to be proud of Édouard. The boy had more water on his head than sense. It was why he insisted on remarrying, on fathering a new child so quickly. To have a second son that could be trusted with the duties of government if Édouard was found lacking. “He prefers poetry over swordplay.”
“He lost his mother,” said Yolande. “I beg of you, husband, to be kinder to him. He only needs more opportunities, more patience.”
Edward made a face. “Your womanly heart is generous, I’ll admit.” A servant handed a towel to his wife and she gestured for him to place them in her lap, where she could dry them gently.
“Perhaps the Prince will be more encouraged to be the perfect son when he sees the Scots,” said the queen. “To see them peaking in the abilities that he lacks will surely encourage him to do better.”
“Perhaps,” said Edward. He had to admit that the idea was likely. “We’ll have to see, of course.” The idea was for them to meet in the outskirts of London, with the little queen bringing a retinue of foreign attendants as his own mother did in her time. There would be a private, rather informal meeting for the standards of the time, so neither Édouard nor the Queen would feel cornered and uneasy.
He hoped they would like each other. If they didn’t, life would be much harder for both of them.
August 1293. Alnwick, England.
Elsbeth was expected to sit with her husband’s family at the dinner. And Mary Bruce was not welcome at the high seats, possibly because, unlike Margaret, she was not a queen. Then there was Christina Bruce, now Comyn, who was ill with some kind of fever, which was why they had to stop at Alnwick, where they were now being feasted by the Percy family.
A servant placed a platter of pork before her. Margaret waited a moment before one of her attendants cut up the meat, picking up her goblet of water. She had food tasters, to be certain that her food was not poisoned, and she had to wait for them to give their approval. As they did, she began to dig into the meat and a young man in the employ of the Percies stood up, extending his goblet forward.
“Let us raise our cups to the gracious lady Margaret,” he said. “Now Queen of Scots. Tomorrow, Queen of England.” The people clapped excitedly, though some, most of whom were English, looked around them nervously. They were thankful that Queen Yolande was not present for she would not enjoy such a comment if she were to hear it.
Another man, this one taller and skinnier, stood up as well. “I have a poem,” he declared. “For our darling Lady Margaret.” Margaret herself adjusted in her seat, excited at the idea. No one had ever written poems for her before, as far as she knew.
The man smiled and began to say, in a soft and bell-like voice, much similar to a song, ’t was on a summer evening,
When all the leaves were green,
Then came the Maid of Scots to us,
To be Lord Edward’s queen.
The delight her coming did import,
Is far too great for me to tell,
As came she to her Lord consort,
We all did fall under her spell.
As his fair queen he did espy,
Lord Edward gladly welcomed she,
“Welcome! Welcome!” was heard his cry,
Receiving her most generously.
More courtly maiden there was none,
A gleaming mantle she did wear,
Her diadem with splendour shone,
Never saw we queen so fair.
That gracious girl, so fair, so small,
So beautiful, so seeming slight,
Royally clad, with gems and all,
Adorned with many pearls bright.
Her features pale as ivory shone,
Her shoulders, all unbound, lay light,
Like burnished gold her tresses on,
That gleams anew in day’s sunlight.
Her gorgeous dress and its decor,
Its pearls and silver gleaming bright,
I judge no tongue e'er found before
Words to describe that glorious sight.
The people clapped excitedly when he finished and Margaret smiled, wondering if this was how England would always be.
Windsor Castle, England.
The water was warm and sweet-smelling, tinged with oils and herbs to assist her in her work. Edward sighed and closed his eyes, the people moving fluidly around them, as Yolande worked despite the belly, accepting the sponge offered by a servant. Her hands were kind as they rubbed his feet, washing them thoroughly.
The King opened his eyes again and gestured for the advisor to step closer. The man did so with a formal bow, hands clasped at his front. “The Queen of Scots has entered into York this past week and we may expect her in London before October comes, for the planned celebrations.”
Edward nodded. “Inform my son’s guardian that the Prince is to wear his best clothes to the first official meeting,” he said. “He will not meet his wife dressed in a pauper’s garments.” The King hummed sarcastically as Yolande took out a small blade to trim his nails. Her stomach was large and protruding forward, a sign that he ought to have insisted in his refusal for the ceremony, even though Yolande wanted to. “He will like that. He has always been too focused on fashion and jewels.”
Before the advisor could respond, Yolande snorted and Edward looked at her.
“You don’t agree?” he questioned with a hint of acidity in his voice. Yolande raised her dark blue eyes to look at him and smiled sweetly, setting the blade aside. Edward placed his feet back at the bowl full of water, even as his wife sat back on her heels.
“The Prince is merely a sensitive boy,” said his wife. “He strives to please you and wear the dignities afforded to him as future King of Scots.”
“If he wished to please me, he’d do better,” said Edward. It was hard to be proud of Édouard. The boy had more water on his head than sense. It was why he insisted on remarrying, on fathering a new child so quickly. To have a second son that could be trusted with the duties of government if Édouard was found lacking. “He prefers poetry over swordplay.”
“He lost his mother,” said Yolande. “I beg of you, husband, to be kinder to him. He only needs more opportunities, more patience.”
Edward made a face. “Your womanly heart is generous, I’ll admit.” A servant handed a towel to his wife and she gestured for him to place them in her lap, where she could dry them gently.
“Perhaps the Prince will be more encouraged to be the perfect son when he sees the Scots,” said the queen. “To see them peaking in the abilities that he lacks will surely encourage him to do better.”
“Perhaps,” said Edward. He had to admit that the idea was likely. “We’ll have to see, of course.” The idea was for them to meet in the outskirts of London, with the little queen bringing a retinue of foreign attendants as his own mother did in her time. There would be a private, rather informal meeting for the standards of the time, so neither Édouard nor the Queen would feel cornered and uneasy.
He hoped they would like each other. If they didn’t, life would be much harder for both of them.
Huh, Yolande is actually talking some sense into Edward sr. when it comes to Ed jr. - Maybe there is hope for family harmony between her and the kids after all
It doesn't seem emotionless at all - maybe the emotion's less obvious than in other chapters, but it's still there. I enjoyed it (and not just because of the poem
).Congratulations on your upcoming graduation.