edmcndd

[edmcndd]

despite the confidence that edmund had wielded so easily during the brief courtship they had entertained, maintained throughout the proceedings in that tiny church, and polished for his conversation with william - edmund was out of his element now that it was just the two of them. he was not taught like his sisters how to prepare for a life of marriage, no lessons on the expectations of the nights that succeeded a ceremony of matrimony, nor was he entirely certain the desires that katharine possessed now. for he knew what she desired for her children, for the entirety of her life, the power and comfortability that she sought out now that they were married and beside one another, but he couldn't help but wonder what did she truly desire? the sharp tongue of flirt had come to pass in this moment, there was no hidden meanings or pretense to find here, no chasing a flush on her cheeks or toeing an invisible line of modesty. the carefully constructed acts that edmund hid behind were now laid bare, stood before katharine as a man who was on the brink of losing it all, and blinking a bit owlishly at her as the realization set in that perhaps he should've waited, called upon her more formally. his eyes drifted lower than her flushed face for a moment, tracing the bare skin that was revealed now before his eyes snapped back to her soft gaze, clearing his throat. 

her fingers clutched his sleeve, catching his heart in a way that edmund had not been privy to aside from the comfort of one other soul, and it emboldened him to leave his fingers along her cheek, shifting his hand to cup her cheek as if she were a delicate piece of porcelain. his lips quirked into a frown at the implication that he would simply toss katharine aside now that the winds had shifted from his favor, as if he was a spineless sort of man who cared little for her reputation or the tendrils that he himself had secured between them. a scoff left his lips as he shook his head gently. " i swear that i have no desire to unburden us from one another, despite my selfish belief that you may be safer without me on your arm. when i pledged myself to your cause, to you, i meant every word of it," he spoke, as he shifted to place himself on his knees before her, ignoring the cold seeping into his bones from the stone. " we shall be strong together, and aside from the executioner's blade against my neck, nothing shall tear us apart. tomorrow, i will find a woodsman with enough lumber to warm the rooms, the maids will sweep out the cobwebs, and we shall begin this new journey together. as one. i promise you that, katharine." a tiny laugh escaped him at the mention of the chill, murmuring slightly in agreement. " perhaps, i may aid in protecting you from the chill this evening? i am quite adept at staying warm ... may i kiss you, katharine?"

Katharine’s falcon-gaze followed his movements closely, watching as he stalked across the space like a lion, exhausted from the hunt.  The Duchess (for still she clung to the higher-ranking of her titles, though she was now, by right, Countess Percy) was stupefied by his very presence, blinking furiously to ensure it was not merely a trick of a weary woman’s eyes.  Her late lord husband had seldom pierced the veil between his world and hers; they lived – and slept – in separate quarters, as custom dictated and an embittered union ensured, his sphere one of battling and politics, and hers an exclusively female one, womb-like, barred to the outside.  Wreathing her arms around her lithe middle, Katharine nodded, eyes still glued to his quiet creeping: the genius with which he roused the fire, so laughably similar to the heat he stoked in countless women’s bellies.  But how long had it been, wondered she, since a man had entered her chambers and kindled her own desire? Since a gentleman’s gaze had alighted on her undressed figure – standing slight, without her armour of velvet and robes of cloth-of-gold – and with her long, dark hair cascading like a brook over her shoulders.  Not since…  not since Henry had relinquished all hope for a son and ergo, vanished from her bed; theirs had become a partnership in his later years, all semblances of a true marriage, as God intended it to be, evaporating.   No passion; no lust; and certainly no great love.

Fingering the gilded embroidery woven in the collars of her linen shift, the Duchess glanced to the window, to the wizened branches scratching at the wintry-misted encasement.  ‘I am surprised to receive you, my lord, at this hour.’  Katharine tightened her lips.  ‘But not displeased.’  It was, after all, now his conjugal right to command her; men, Kings in fact, could dissolve unions such as theirs if their wives did not prove biddable and buxom in the bedroom.  Tilting her head to glance at Ned, near enough that she could smell the cinnamon on his teeth, watch as the flicker of the hearth illuminated the groves of his face – those blue, bluer than blue, eyes; his sharp, angular brow bone, belying the boyishness of his gaze, of his lips, the wolfish slant to his grin; those teeth, white squares glinting in the low-light, cutting across her flesh, housing a tongue that so exquisitely... Katharine paused, filling her lungs with a gulp of incense-infused air.

‘Certainly it is not what you hoped for, either,’ Katharine scoffed, reaching for him, clutching the sleeve of his robe with steady hands, eyes imploring.  ‘But I am content to make the best of it, my lord.  I would not… I would not desire to annul it, if that is what you’ve come to bid of me.’  Breath husked, whistled, betwixt her teeth as he touched her cheek; his fingers molten-hot against the coolness of her flesh, as icy and smooth as a marble bust, dredged up from the ruins of Alexandria.  ‘I only ask that if God has moved your mind, my lord, that you would think of my honour and resolve to remain by my side.  For better or for worse… I believe we might be stronger together than we are apart – like the woven vines on our great houses.  If we survive the night, that is. This chill might be the death of us yet.’

[edmcndd]

Hi I was wondering if you’d want a wife character maybe with an Aurora Ruffino fc??

no thank you! happily married.

[edmcndd]

the lack of noise in the halls of chelsea place felt near suffocating to edmund, staring at the faded canopy above his bed, it'd been kind of the staff to place him in this room, but he found himself morbidly wondering what daughter may have claimed it before his stay - or perhaps, the late lord had once laid in this same spot. maybe he too had wondered about his marriage to katharine, of the impending future that seemed vastly uncertain - his mind drifted towards if the other man had also had a love he left behind to marry such a woman. the thought disgusted him and edmund found himself rising from the bed, not bothering to grab a covering before he took to the halls. in their banishment, no guests had rode with them to chelsea place so he knew it to be empty this late in the evening, the servants long gone to their own to rest for the evening. the stones were cold against the bottom of his feet, yet edmund allowed them to carry them towards the chambers that katharine had informed him of previously when they had first arrived. 

soon enough, edmund pushed the creaky door open, his shadow blocking out near all the light from the corridor behind him. for a moment, he paused, flushing uncharastically at the sight of katharine without a thousand layers and delicately pinned back hair. she was still beautiful, perhaps more so, with her curls curtaining her face, the cold bringing a rosiness to her cheeks that many a maiden tried to echo in the halls of hampton with rouge. after a beat of uncomfortable silence, edmund cleared his throat and nodded swiftly. " yes, it is chilling," he agreed, moving towards the fireplace to fumble with it, calling upon the tricks that his father had taught him - for the winters were harsh in northumberland, till it roared a bit more to life. " i shall attempt to fetch us more logs in the morning, certainly there's a lumberman who desires for a full coin purse for his family." with a sigh, edmund rose and faced her again, still acutely aware of the undress they both stood in. he supposed it was not unusual not that they were wed. " you ... look beautiful, katharine. i apologize that you are forced to succumb to such a cruel perch with me, this is ... far from the dream that i promised you." he said softly, a hand reaching up to brush a bit of hair from her cheek. 

@edmcndd

It was late in the evening, and there was not a sound throughout the house – not even the floorboards creaked, and the wolves in the nearby forest had released nary a growl as dusk dissolved into pitch-blackness.  The Duchess’ servants had long taken abed, and the hearth was nearly extinguished, with only a singular pair of charred logs continuing to flicker, emitting the occasional spark of embers that licked against the mouth of the fireplace.  When the Grey women were lodged at Court, Chelsea Place was all but deserted, a solemn cathedral – Katharine employed a modest staff to watch over the home, to bleach the linens and dust the draperies – but when the Duchess and her new husband had come thundering up the road to take sanctuary, the servants had filed out into the lawns in packs, willing to catch a mere glimpse of their mistress and new master.  But even still, there was scarcely enough firewood to keep Kate’s chamber warm and cheery.  Ned would fix it, she knew, with his endless Percy coin-purse; but the icy freeze felt throughout her rooms felt symbolic, in a way, of the lengths she’d fallen in the matter of mere hours. 

King William’s repudiation of her husband was a bitter cup to drink from – that ginger fool – but fleeing from court with a husband more than fifteen years her junior was an even greater sting to her pride.  But Katharine had made her bed and as she cut her gaze – eyelids weighted with fatigue – to the glowing coals of the fire, its fading heat and dimming luster, she knew that she must now lie in it. Finding that she could no longer bear the chill, Kate rose from her chair by the mantle and bundled herself in a furred robe, trimmed with cloth-of-gold, before creeping toward the edge of the oak four-poster that dominated her chamber and drawing back the curtains that enclosed it.  No sooner had she begun to crawl into bed did a rap sound against the door, prompting the Duchess’ brow to furrow in confusion.  ‘Bessie?’  Called she, figuring it was her lady’s maid who beckoned.  ‘Pray tell, good woman, did you find another log to burn?’

But as the door creaked ajar, and Ned’s lofty, broad-shouldered figure shadowed the threshold, Kate immediately stood ; regaining the posture, aplomb, and steeliness for which the Duchess was lauded.  ‘Oh.’  Freeing her face of the chestnut-ringlets stuck to her cheeks, the Earl’s winter-bride remarked, ‘couldn’t sleep?  ‘Tis frightfully cold for November… one must wonder what horrors the deep-winter will bring.’

[edmcndd]

there in an unmarked enevlope that is delivered to richard boleyn the morning after edmund marries katharine brandon, it carries no notable signature on the outside, yet it is delivered by a trusted percy page boy. the last sentence is underlined a dozen times.| @richardofrochford

myne owne hertis rote ,

i pray that you read this before you break fast this morn, before your mother or father may whisper insidious rumors into your ears and taint your vision of me. i fear that in this moment, i have no effusive, doting language to offer you - i married another, i declared her my wife before god, and a witness. there is no way to make beautiful the betrayal that i have hurled against you, but i beg you to read my words & deign the truth that lies within them. 

fate has colored me a naive man to ever believe that a world may exist where we are together, solely with one another & no one else stuck in the midst of it all. to believe that i shall not be doomed to watch you marry another, to love her as you once loved me, to give her children that shall carry your smile and laughter - the very things that i have grown to love so tenderly? the thought leaves me restless most nights, yet i have foolishly sworn you to the same fate, we are lovers entangled as we sink to the depths of the merciless sea. 

richard, you remain my purpose, my guiding light, & the reason for my very being. there is never another that shall walk this mortal realm who will ever steal away this duty from you, and for that i lay myself at your feet. i am your humble, devout disciple, helplessly in love with every breath that you take. 

you are mine, i am yours. 

 - p. 

[edmcndd]

edmund had not been entirely naïve to the consequences that would come from marrying katharine, he'd purposely withheld said information from his own kin till he left this morn to call upon william, but he was also aware that he desired no faithful marriage to a woman of his own age. a girl with little brain and doe eyes that would weep if he were to wander from their marriage bed, and there did not exist a world where edmund was not at the beck and call of richard boleyn. katharine allowed him this privilege, she afforded him a powerful connection that would aid in his desire to claim northumberland from a hedonistic father and uncle, and her daughters were to wed wealthy and powerful, albeit amelia aside. edmund had made a calculated move, attaching himself more thoroughly to the greys, and he did it with the vain belief that this would not be his undoing. that william knew him to be a lover first, that a whim of his heart was not a far cry from edmund's true personality. now though, as edmund stood before william, it was clear that he near did not recognize this flash of fury. that this was a different man from the boy he'd been raised alongside, that he'd swim naked in the river with, or play tennis with to pass time as they hid from nagging mothers. this man was the young boleyn king, full of bloodlust and righteous tudor fury, that for a moment edmund saw beyond the façade he'd carefully constructed to protect his own, self indulgent image of william. he saw a glimpse of the monster that pippa whispered in his ear, and if they had been alone - edmund would've pleaded his case, willfully taunted and jested till william laughed and easily forgave him, with a swat to the head and a promise of a child soon. " you are my lord and master, and i shall flaggetate myself upon your request, my grace. there is nothing but pure, christian love in my heart for you. i shall pray that you are forgiveful," he declared, bowing once more before he left. the first and only time that william had sent edmund away before, the doors closing behind him that echoed in the grandeur of the drafty hall.

Katharine Brandon.  That frail old woman’s very name launched a cannon to the King’s gut, blinding him with white-hot, tingling fury as its shrapnel flickered and seared across his skin.  Ned, his own kinsman, would dare to marry a woman of royal blood without his King – his friend’s – blessing?  Damn him.  He knew well that William would never sanction such a union; not one that inched the Greys ever closer to the throne, and certainly not one that robbed the crown of Ned’s valuable bachelorhood, a trump-card to be used in the baiting of noble treaties.  ‘I gave you no permission to marry that woman, Percy.’  Lifting to his feet with movements deceptively leisurely, Wills’ measured gaze raked over the lord.  ‘Nor would I ever.  You have sinned against me, Percy.’  Ned’s utterance, splintering through the deafening silence, wiped Wills' countenance clear of its sardonic calm. Rage billowed about him; his voice rising, shaking with betrayal. ‘I am your LORD AND MASTER, not your BROTHER.' Then, in a solemn, steady voice, he declared: 'worse than a bastard – you are a traitor, Edmund Percy, like your father and your aunt before you. Leave us.’

[edmcndd]

the draft nearly sent a shiver down edmund's spine, and he was far too aware of the eyes of james cecil on him, the old man had never been truly a threat to edmund's person - for he was far less intimidating at times then walsingham, and he'd been pleasant with edmund on the few meetings that he had attended thus far as a council member. yet, edmund knew that he was treading a dangerous line, one that a lesser man would lose his neck over - one that john seymour would certainly not survive if he'd come to stand in this same position. " i fear that i do not jest, my heart has been claimed and i am a man, anew," he paused, swallowing thickly as he felt the weight of the rest of their audience. " i wed katharine brandon, yesterday. when the sun was low in the sky, i bound our souls together in your name," he announced, voice loud and proud as he stared at william, eyes full of a genuine sort of desperation. searching for that loved that they shared, for forgiveness that he needed. " i did not desire to wait a moment to inform you, brother, i would've rode as soon as it was done if the storm had not kept me away."

An ominous howl of wind rattled against the windowpanes, followed by a cool draft swirling around the room – the thought crossed his mind that Grandfather Henry had made it as dismal and comfortless as possible to dissuade petitioners before their turns came to sink beneath the throne, squires and pages and petty lords eager to pledge their loyalty to the Tudors.  William watched silently as Ned valiantly swept across the room, crossing the Turkish-carpets – a gift, from the French King – with elegant strides, the humble supplication to follow taking the King by surprise. ‘Ned.’  His brother’s name exuded his lips in a surprisingly quiet, clear breath.  ‘You jest, surely.’  But who was laughing?  A voice from within nagged.  Cupping his chin, the King sent a discreet glance in James Cecil’s direction – looming in the shadows, his chief statesman, who would perhaps politely remind him that Ned had never been lauded for extraordinary shrewdness – and swallowed hard, shaking away the rage inching within him as he coolly prompted,  ‘you act as if I should know this woman’s identity.  Some pretty virgin to line the mantelpiece, I suspect? Get out with it.’

[edmcndd]

it was an odd sensation for edmund to be approaching william so formally, awaiting his audience as if he was another measly little lord, come to beg and plead at the king's feet for a scrap of land or permission to wed his daughter to another lord's maiden. as if they had not mere weeks before laughed together as edmund made jests of them, whispering mirthfully in william's ear, sitting on a delicate but significant  metaphorical throne that granted him safety typically from any wrath of his brother's. when he is called upon, the page announcing him by full title, edmund held in the cringe at the reminder that he was still an earl - something he sought to rectify once this had all come to pass. " my king," he greeted with a  full bow, entirely of pomp and parade, with a wide grin on his face, one that mimicked thoroughly the assumed expression that william gave him. this was why edmund had reassured katharine that her presence would not be needed, for they were brothers, edmund loved william as much as any man could love his kin, and there would be little anger held between the pair. " worry not, i bring you a far more tender sort of dispute, brother. i come to plead for your forgiveness, for i have been entrapped in some wayward woes of a racing heart, and have taken a bride shortly after our return from dover." 

@edmcndd

Sunlight leaked through the grand velvet drapes of the Presence Chamber, infusing the oak-paneled space with a sort of scarlet glow, bewitchingly bathing Wills’ cheeks in the high-colour of rubies. Though splendidly furnished and warmed with an enormous hearth, the throne room – where, as the name implied, the King’s damask-padded throne was mounted on a risen dais – was one of his least favourite places to be, the world over. Indeed, he found the whole business of receiving his courtiers' woes wearying. With days neatly marked out by hours of prayer, feasting, preening, hunting, and the receiving of audiences, the minor inconveniences and serene hear-hears his subjects brought to him proved rather irksome than otherwise, a practice he sought to reform in the regnal years to come.

Following a lengthy, garrulous plea heard from Sir Tilney, the King felt a great urge for wine grip at him. As Ned Percy entered, lowering into a graceful bow before the throne, a servant pushed a cup into Wills’ palm, a wish fulfilled. ‘Lord Percy.’ Mildly surprised to see Ned prostrated before him – for he’d always encouraged the Earl to air his grievances in private company – Wills’ brows waggled tauntingly, expectantly. Had his friend come to rescue him from inertia, come to wrest him from this tedious affair and spar him on the tennis court? Teasingly, the King entreated, ‘what great calamities do you bring us, brother? Witches in Northumberland? Barbarians in Sussex? If forced to adjudge another land dispute, I'll die an early death.’ A wave of hollow laughter rippled amongst the vacant-eyed servants clustered around the King, standing like Norman towers beside each of his shoulders.

[edmcndd]

𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍, 𝐂𝐎𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐑 / 𝐀 𝐍𝐄𝐃𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀.

written by: di & sunny featuring: edmund percy, katharine brandon, and john seymour (a captive witness).

Though it was strangely out of Katharine Brandon’s character to inch a toe outside of formality, one could argue it was woven in her very blood to marry thus: in secret, without one’s sovereign blessing the union, and with only the ancient chapel walls, the man beside her, and the milky-eyed priest before them soaking up the soft-utterance of her vows. It had been her mother’s fate, and before her, a great-grandmother’s – Elizabeth Woodville.  

What, then, could stop a woman whose bones were borne from indiscretion and treachery from taking matrimonial fate into her own hands?

The journey had taken little more than a day, with their swift-footed and silver-tongued excuse from court proving far more arduous than the trip itself.  The dense, leafy forests of England shaded their breakneck pilgrimage toward the North, where the Old Faith flourished still, where the trees had withered hoar-white with frost, berries and saplings dripping with crystalline icicles: a daunting harbinger of winter’s premature arrival. 

As morning broke across England, the air crisp and pine-scented, Katharine breathed in the sight of the stone chapel, slumping into the near-frozen ground, and carefully slipped her hand into Edmund’s as she alighted from her snow-white gelding.

Some might argue that Edmund attempting to undermine his own father’s hand by marrying in secret was in line with the reputation of a Howard, for he carried the same blood as his mother and grandfather. Destined to concoct dangerous plans to raise himself and those around him to higher status, for it had been whispered to him since birth that he was meant for grandeur, even if at times it felt a curse to be borne a son to a mother who wanted a daughter to make queen.

Every movement previously made had been designed by others in Edmund’s life, calculated so that he may play puppet in hands under the guise of love, only to be freed by the nature of genuine love. The affection born between him and Richard granted him the ability to desire for a life that allowed them to love freer, or the brotherly bond that was bred with William – one that afforded him an unseen position in life, a fresh path.

And now, Katherine, who listened to Edmund’s heartfelt request, an indecent sort of proposal, had given him her faith and trust. 

The cold was harsh, seeping through the layers of clothing that he had donned this morning, shades of deep, romantic violet that he’d chosen in hopes of impressing his companion. Edmund’s hand helped her down from the horse, eyes sweeping over the quaint stone chapel, a far cry from anything he foresaw himself marrying in before. Yet, ever a romantic, he could see the tendrils wrapping around of the tale he’d weave when it came time to inform others. Ill-fated lovers, meant to never be together unless they took fortune into their own two hands. He prayed Richard may forgive him for this treason against his own heart, and for God to protect them from the wrath it would surely draw from the rest of the court. 

Head turned once more to her, words stolen by the appearance of John Seymour, a man that a few weeks ago he thought little of, till Katherine had informed him that she trusted him enough to bear witness to their union – even if Edmund felt repugnant still at the prospect of owing the man anything. With her hand safely ensnared in Edmund’s larger one, Katharine’s eyes too snapped to the sound of snow crushing beneath hooves, the violent bursts of ivory air blowing out of a stallion’s nose. Her chill-purpled lips formed into a perfect ‘o.’ 

Jack, her son-in-law, had come; he would bear witness to their union, giving it weight in the eyes of both God and man; his debt to her repaid. The picture of grace, the Duchess extended a silent smile in thanks, releasing her velvet cloak and allowing the chestnut river of brown hair to cascade down her snow-fluttered gown.

With a softer grin directed at Katharine, Edmund then motioned with his head for them to proceed onward into the chapel, where inside waited the priest that he’d sent for. An old, slowly decaying man, with bony hands and eyes that barely recognized the pair before him. A devout man of the Catholic faith, who survived the Henrician rule and would likely survive the rule of his son as well, sworn to allow no slip of his tongue about the traitorous proceedings that would carry out today. Edmund could not help but admire the beauty that Katherine exuded beside him, the strength with which she carried herself, finding no tremble in her frame as they faced the treacherous future that would soon await them. 

But where Edmund may have been treading into uncharted, shark-infested waters, the Duchess found herself in far more familiar territory. She had been married already once prior, and had primed her eldest daughter, Phillipa, extensively in her path to the altar, familiar with each trick of etiquette and ceremonial custom that was to follow. Still, she blinked with caution before the atavistic priest, whose blinded eyes leered back at her drippingly, before bequeathing to him a small pouch ringing with precious coins – the only indication that the couple standing before him hailed from noble stock – waiting for another gummy smile to pink across the his cheeks before proceeding. 

‘Shall we?’  Kate murmured to Ned, her voice uncommonly soft as she peeled off her leather gloves and exposed her rosy fingertips to the air. For the first time in nearly two decades, her ring finger was unencumbered by Henry Grey’s opal-studded heirloom, with only a bleached circle around the knuckle left in its wake; she’d buried it in the frozen grounds they’d flown through en route to the chapel, Ned and Kate, neck-and-neck.

The Duchess’ ringless hands sought warmth in the soft velvet of her cloak as she moved to stand facing her betrothed, and the priest began to hum the holy ordinances of matrimony to which Katharine had once pledged herself unto for all eternity, her mind reciting the vows she would soon once more utter. Catching a sliver of white out of the tail of her gaze, she instinctively bent forth to brush her fingers across Edmund’s chest, pressing the dusting of snow scattered across the sapphire-fabric of his doublet into nothingness, a moist stain, pursing her mouth into a tight-lipped smile.  

It wouldn’t be Ned Percy if he didn’t arrive at his own nuptials in disarray, after all.  

A whiff of fond affection struck Edmund at the simple motion, a faint yet genuine smile that overtook his features as he regarded her with a chin tilted downward, focus pulled entirely from the priest as he spoke to them. The Earl found himself barely listening to the lengthy words that spilled from the old man, thoughts drawn to Katharine and her alone, wondering if in another life what words he may have gifted to her on their wedding day so that she felt cherished. Would he wax poetic about the curve of her lips, the sharp edges of her smile, or the siren call of her voice when it wrapped around his name? Certainly not, for all physical compliments paled in comparison to the woman that stood before now, they were shallow, hollow phrases that would fail to encompass every piece of Katharine that Edmund had grown to admire. 

To not acknowledge her strength, the steady line of her shoulders against the constant storm that waged against her since girlhood, witty eyes that had raised a flock of headstrong daughters that bowed to no man in this life or the next; it was a cardinal sin to look at all that Katharine Brandon was and name her merely beautiful. 

Enraptured by thought, there was a lull from the priest, his tow-head turned to look at Edmund as if he was waiting for his acknowledgement. He nodded his head quickly, pulling his eyes from Katharine to do so, before that cerulean gaze returned to her face once more as they prepared to repeat the words that the man spoke. Edmund prayed that the lord did not allow his tongue to falter as he pledged a life to her in this chapel. 

“I, Edmund, take thee to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do us part, and thereto I plight thee my troth.” 

His words rang out steady, confident, the words heavy with the weight of the truth within them; piercing eyes that bore into her, a silent vow hidden within that he would provide for her what others had been unable to. The silent pledge of a devotion that rang beyond a simple love affair.

Katharine’s chest untightened as she released a long-withheld breath – the dazed, unconcerned look in Edmund’s eyes vanishing as he announced his vows, a sigh of relief rattling out from her lungs. Sharing a discreet, sidelong glance with John, the Duchess gave a curt nod, with aplomb reciting her own oath.  “I take thee, Edmund, to my wedded husband,” Katharine uttered, followed by the same vow as the Earl’s and the time-honoured promise to – ‘be bonny and buxom in bed and board’ – though her lips curled around the phrase with certain animosity.  “Till death do us part.” 

Her son-in-law, John, shuffled eagerly forth to provide the rings, which Katharine firstly allowed Edmund to slip onto her finger, eyes feasting over the pair of gilded bands admiringly, entwined with sprigs of ivy splashed with roses. She then gingerly retrieved her husband’s ring and slid it onto his digit, her hands folding over his, thick gold bands clinking merrily to their union. “I did not have time to have it engraved.” She found her words convulsing with laughter – nervous, pitchy twittering – recognizing what was yet to come for the new couple; not merely the joining of their body, flesh and soul, but the fallout that was certainly to ensue at court.

Katharine prayed it was not their very necks that would suffer their folly – nor her daughters. “Perhaps next year.”

She then cut her eyes across his, the corners of her lips creasing as she clutched fast to the sleeve of Edmund’s jacket, the trembling of her fingers pulsing through the snow-lined wool.  It was well done, now. In the eyes of God, and John Seymour, Lord Hertford, in this frozen little chapel, they were married. “Husband Edmund.  Father Ralph.  Our good and dear son, John.  What say we take our breakfast at the inn, now?  I believe we have a marriage to drink to.” 

And as her smile met his – this time genuine, as untarnished as the bands that graced their fingers – Katharine felt a trickle of happiness warm her royal blood.

Fin.

[edmcndd]

CHARACTER UPDATE

upon returning with the royal party from dover, it was declared that EDMUND PERCY now sits on the king's council as a privy council member.

[edmcndd]

somewhere in the universe, there existed a realm in which edmund had married phillipa - where he had arrived at her family's estate to demand a hand in marriage. the press of her lips to his all those years ago had set them aflame, two comets plummeting rapidly to the harsh crush of the earth, entangled with lust and pledges of fierce love and devotion. in another life, they burned together, vividly bright and fierce, rather than the self immolation that edmund doomed himself to now. pippa remained on a gilded throne, yet there remained no room for edmund beside her, even if he was too blind and foolish to see it. a god required none but follower, one who will play sacrificial lamb so that they may rise in power. his brow was heavy with metaphorical blood as he kneeled at her feet, as his manhood stirred with some indescribable desire. as if by joining their bodies he may be able to grasp a claim to her in his hands, like a dying man clutching sand, trickling through the gaps in his fingers. every compliment from her delicate, plump lips felt like hymns. pippa was his ruin disguised beautifully as his salvation, and edmund was narcissus gazing upon his own reflection in the river. for seeing a reflection where there lay only still, tepid, water. 

hands rooted in her skirts, clasping her figure beneath, wide fingers barely kept restrained away from her thighs. from the precious apex of her divinity. the source that which edmund could never touch. the grip tightened as he feasted on her demands, mind racing at the implication. the realization that flood his senses. pippa did not see only his demons, she saw the devil himself and wished for him to uproot the man from his unsteady throne. the words were honeyed, full of grace and holiness, but edmund could see the glimmers underneath - the blood that was called for. his demons bore the face of father, uncle, but hers? they carried a crown, the one he named brother. " you wish for me to become wolf inside his den? to betray the brother who has created me a place in his kingdom. pips," he started, though the words caught in his throat entirely. the whispers that followed william's father, the ones that they heard as children, the questionable nature of it all. was it possible that william may one day order axe to edmund? or to his sisters? the ones that he so desperately desired to protect. and pippa. if william ordered pippa to die, would edmund remain coward as he watched her blood spill along the stones? would edmund toss himself at william's feet and beg clemency for other man's wife? face the repercussions for such a treasonous action. the idea seem unfathomable. yet, as edmund gazed up at pippa, the look of desperation and hope that he believed he saw on her features, it made his stomach twist. there laid two paths before edmund, both ended in the death of someone he loved, and he felt paralyzed with indecision. 

remember who loves you, ned. pippa had comforted him when his grandfather was ordered death, allowed his shoulders to shake without question and brushed along to him the hope that one day life may be different. then, she had remained his conviction and steadfast, now edmund sought to return the favor.  " if you ask this of me, i cannot refuse. i will not sign your death warrant with my cowardly indifference," he spoke, rising to his feet once more. now, edmund towered over her, a hand reaching forward to cup her cheek tenderly. there was a fire within his gaze, a heat that alit further by the suggestion of unburdening himself in her. " name me orpheus, allow me to aid in your efforts, and i shall return to you." as if compelled by some force, edmund ducked his head lower to press a kiss to her lips. as if binding them both to this fate, for there was no justice that may be claimed for a stolen kiss, not when they were discussing the call of death for the man who ruled them all. 

was  it  any  wonder  that  her  affections  were  not  the  slow  return  of  the  tide  but  the  all – consuming  heat  of  a  forest  fire  when  edmund  percy  had  been  the  first  to  brush  against  the  gates  of  her  heart  ?  even  after  the  years  had  dulled  her  love  for  him  into  a  flickering  candlelight  in  comparison  to  the  steadily  burning  hearth  that  was  her  marriage,  his  devotion  had  influenced  the  demands  that  she  made  of  those  around  her  to  surrender  themselves  completely  into  her  hands  if  they  truly  did  care  for  her  ─  it  was  a  frightening  stipulation  and  one  that  not  many  had  risen  to  challenge  and  that  was  because  of  him,  knelt  now  at  her  feet  like  she  was  the  altar  and  her  knees  were  the  pew  upon  which  his  hands  were  clasped  together  in  ardent  prayer.  the  warmth  of  his  touch  seeped  through  the  fabrics  of  her  skirts  like  a  branding  iron,  desperation  for  her  guidance  pouring  from  his  upturned  gaze  and  philippa  felt  her  stomach  twist  at  the  sight,  pleasure  and  power  coupling  to  form  a  heady  blend  that  had  her  head  spinning  from  the  intensity  of  the  feelings  that  he  evoked.  edmund  had  always  been  so  obedient  even  when  she  had  been  bold  enough  to  twist  his  ear  and  scold  him  for  being  so  reckless  with  his  worship,  acquiescing  to  her  commands  with  a  mischievous  glint  to  his  gaze  and  a  quick  press  of  his  mouth  against  her  hand  but  there  was  no  such  impishness  today  ─  only  an  anger  that  provoked  her  own  ire  on  his  behalf.  ❝  my  darling  boy  …  how  will  i  ever  let  you  out  of  my  sight  if  i  cannot  cease  worrying  for  you  ?  ❞

was  he  destined  to  forever  be  just  a  boy  in  her  mind  ?  philippa  was  quite  aware  of  his  desires,  potent  with  masculinity  to  claim  her  as  his  own,  the  woman  that  had  slipped  from  his  grasp  all  those  years  ago,  but  she  was  not  certain  if  in  having  her,  she  would  lose  him,  and  so  kept  him  at  a  distance  even  as  she  drew  his  face  to  rest  upon  her  knees,  fingers  gently  combing  through  his  thick  locks  as  she  had  once  wished  to  do.  she  could  not  look  at  him  and  see  the  pain,  the  hunger,  the  anger  and  the  idolization  ─  in  seizing  his  heart  for  her  own,  she  had  cursed  herself  into  becoming  a  figurehead  for  him  as  she  was  for  so  many  others  and  a  small  part  of  her  that  longed  for  the  comfort  of  their  easy  friendship  wept  at  the  lost.  she  would  need  to  be  unflinching  now,  a  rock  upon  which  he  could  cling  to  during  the  storm  and  he  could  never  know  her  own  weaknesses,  not  as  he  once  did.  ❝  hush  now  …  hush  …  i  know  your  heart,  ned.  it  beats  as  one  with  mine  …  it  beats  with  anger  and  with  fear  but  we  must  be  clever  about  this.  ❞

how  easy  it  was  to  delude  herself  into  thinking  that  he  spoke  of  george  boleyn  and  of  their  young  king  ─  philippa  knew  him  better,  knew  him  enough  to  know  that  it  was  likely  his  father  who  was  the  subject  of  his  vitriol  and  who  evoked  such  despair  in  him  but  she  was  only  a  woman,  exhausted  with  the  weight  on  her  shoulders,  and  it  was  so  comforting  to  think  that  their  enemies  were  one  and  the  same.  ❝  you  must  do  as  your  sister  has  done  and  endear  yourself  to  the  king  …  support  him,  ned,  but  do  not  forget  who  supports  you.  it  will  be  a  difficult  path  but  they  will  not  hesitate  to  kill you  …  to  kill  me  to  secure  their  control.  we  are  not  their  friends,  no  matter  how  gently  we  are  treated  and  you  must  remember  that.  remember  who  loves  you,  ned.  ❞  did  she  love  him  ?  yes,  but  perhaps  not  in  the  way  that  he  had  hoped  and  deserved  to  be  loved.  ❝  he  will  never  trust  me  but  he  might  trust  you  …  do  as  you  have  always  done  and  then  come  back  to  me.  let  me  share  your  truths  …  unburden  yourself  in  me.  ❞

[edmcndd]

a devilish grin took root in his sharp features, directed at richard as the viscount caught up to him once more. he rested back against the saddle as he watched the other dismount, eyes following the movement with a lazy, heated gaze. " if i asked you to unseat him in my honor, would you?" he asked curiously, a barely concealed selfish desire in those seashore colored eyes. " it'd be quite a delight to see the foolish look on his face when you tossed him entirely off his horse." with a hearty laugh, edmund dismounted as well, both feet smacking into the ground as he entertained briefly what token of luck he may bestow on the other man, for he'd never excelled at needlework or flower arranging as his sisters may have. 

" you are a deceptively charming man," edmund teased, hands tugging off the leather satchel that he'd carefully tied to the animal, rifling through as he attempted to recall the things that he had previously shoved into the thing. " a bevvy of treats, some little cakes, an apple or two, a delicious looking plum that we may share," he rattled off, though his fingers plucked the plum, having already entertained a few sinful thoughts of licking the juice from the corners of richard's mouth. the earl held the aforementioned fruit in the air between them, palm up as he offered it to richard. "  take the first bite. consider this my token - a fresh plum, plucked with great affection from under the nose of kent's most prudent cooks. done gallantly so that you may feast from the fruits that you deserve, my heart." heavy with challenge was his gaze, tongue flickering to wet his lips.

The autumn wind, this close to the edge of English soil, was cold, and yet Richard scarcely felt it, invigorated there in the sunlight. The feeling was aided, in no small part, by the company he kept. A month on from Edmund's proclamations, and Richard had not yet decided his own feelings. Nonetheless, he relished the closeness they shared, the intimate secret beneath the noses of esteemed courtiers, the body and mind both gifted to him so eagerly.

"I have no doubt that he does," Richard remarked, amusement written on his face. "But by my estimation, he seems overly confident. I feel quite certain that I could unseat him, if given the opportunity to oppose him." Glancing over at Edmund, he grinned. "Your favour would certainly be welcome. A token for luck. If not on my lance, then close to my heart." It amused him to think of the surprise that the court might have if he were to receive the favor for all to see, to imagine Edmund bestowing it upon him as if in some romantic tale.

The thoughts distracted him momentarily, but just enough for him to lag behind as the Earl's horse shot ahead of his own. He called out in teasing protest and urged his own onward, though admittedly held back; allowing Edmund to claim the victory in their little race. He slowed upon reaching the sunny patch, breathless as he searched his face. "You flush so prettily in the cold air," he teased, shifting to dismount from his horse. "Tell me, my dear Lord Percy, what have you snagged for us?"

[edmcndd]

Euripides (Tr. Anne Carson) / @wholeheartedsuggestions / Jenny Slate / Euripides again

[edmcndd]

a letter from sibella percy to @edmcndd, dated october 1559

dearest brother,

i am writing to you to alert you that i am to travel with the king's council to florence. we are to discover what substance, if there is any, there may be to the medicis' claim of edward seymour's return. i find it surprising that none of the kingsmen speak italian— and yet, upon further reflection it is actually not a surprise at all.

surprise or not, they require a translator, or at least someone familiar with the city. i have only spoken to his majesty once in my lifetime. so you must be able to imagine my surprise when urgent summons arrived at the door of our apartments. i do not know if this is your doing, or isobel's. perhaps the king remembered my travels in the little bit that i told him. any way, i am honored to be trusted with such an undertaking.

we leave early in the morning and will depart from dover to the continent. i wonder if i might see you before we set sail. the last time we spoke the tenderness was stolen from the air. i am sorry for asking such difficult and impossible things of you, when i know you are doing the best you can to support and lead our family.

unfortunately i imagine the council wishes to withdraw from england covertly, so as not to invite suspicion from the surrounding kingdoms of our movements. so perhaps we shall not see each other until my return. please pray for me, as i know that you already do, so that god may watch over me and protect me. i will do the same for you and isobel. send her my love.

your devoted sister,

[edmcndd]

" you speak as if i care for any of them aside from richard," edmund retorted back, that playful grin on his face as he teased. there would never be a world in which he'd ever confess in william the pullings of his heart, nor the devotion he pledged for the other man's cousin - not because edmund believed william harbored any ill ideals, rather because there remained no vocabulary that would befit such a conversation. the two had never shared such idealistic visions before, nor declarations of love that they may possess for another - two men far too bound within their own upbringings that left little room for fantasies that carried such grandeur. at the mention of felipe, edmund snorted and scrunched his nose in mild distaste. " i find it utterly baffling that he is yet old enough to be quite a menace, certainly you did not take him up on it? you wound win, but what glory is there in wrestling a boy uncapable of even growing an inch of hair on his face?"

nearly every movement of william was noted to edmund, as if he'd had a few decades nearly to pick up on the small mannerisms that the man favored. the tell tale sign of a grin that did not reach his eyes, years ago he may have gently prodded till the other revealed his worries or cast aside edmund with a grumble that would slip into an easy sort of laugh. now, edmund played into the duty he possessed as william's friend by remaining silent on the evident dark cloud that was cast over the man. to slowly bleed meaningless chatter into the nipping november air, till william eased a bit of tension from his shoulders or dared to speak aloud the nameless entity that haunted his familiar eyes. though edmund imagined it carried the name edward.  

the request to speak of politics was a bit newer to edmund, their conversations often tactfully evading any heavy weight of politics that may have placed them on oppossing spectrums. not that edmund had any courage to voice against william in politics, nor had they truly had time often to sit and chatter about the beliefs of court. edmund tended to remain in the grey area of william's life and circle, he desired no hand in his council nor any attempts to garner more favor by kissing the feet of this man. no, edmund remained by william's side with a steadfast, loyal, faithful adoration for the man. one that existed with little fear, for even after the death of his aunt, edmund saw little reason to place blame towards william - certainly not when they dared to call one another brother still.

his shoulders straightened, with a warm half smile on his lips. " we are no longer afforded the luxury of conversation without politics on occasion, what a pity it is," he jested half heartedly. still, he took a step closer towards william, sacrificial lamb laying down at the altar. " my ear shall always be yours before any others, you know this. tell me, brother, what is it that you must ask? what has darkened your ever radiant heart so deeply?"

Edmund Percy was more brother than friend; more shoulder than subject.  Much like his father’s relationship with Charles Brandon (whose granddaughters now publicly craved his throne), William’s fondness for the man was open, unforced.  There was, to his privy, no office Ned desired; no title, except perhaps that which his father might pass onto him in death, he lusted for; no riches or lands he sought to obtain by virtue of Wills’ friendship, a passport into power.  It was the love and affection of his King, his brethren, that compelled him to loyalty: a loyalty that, since the very kindling of their companionship, had proven unswerving.  It was doubtlessly due to their close kinship that Edmund had escaped his aunt’s execution unscathed. He suffered only by affiliation of Elizabeth Talbot’s name, but never at the brute end of Wills’ scrutiny.  The King wondered, not for the first time, if the insidiousness of court would ever harden Ned, sway or compel him to rise against his sovereign, to repudiate his steadfastness.  Would vanity and ambition take him?  Pluck him from the nucleus of King William’s inner sanctum like a fallen chess piece?

Wills thought not; for though he was wise and well-learned and benefited from the amethyst blood of the aristocracy, Ned had never championed the sort of immortal glory that men such as the Lord Privy Seal obtained with ease. William knew – and, perhaps to an extent, Ned knew it himself – that if Percy ever decided to make himself an enemy of the crown, of the King, William would have no choice but to slash his neck as swiftly as he’d done Elizabeth; only this time, the strike of the blade and the gush of lifeblood would not be so noble.  If not for the charms of Isobel, Ned’s own sister, Elizabeth’s execution may have well been as public as that milksop Seymour girl, a spectacle rife with bloodthirsty hecklers, rushing to dip their linens into Elizabeth’s drippings. Yet the more he thought of the way Isobel's flattery had blatantly coaxed him into clemency, Wills' abdomen clenched, his thigh flexing to suppress the certain urges he felt – felt powerfully – toward her.

‘What cousin?’  Wills asks, jerking his head up, the look of hardened concentration in his eyes dissolving.  Long fingers brush against the incipient bristles of stubble sprouting across the cleft of his chin; not yet the fulsome beard his father sported, entwined with threads of Tudor red-gold, but enough to cast a russet shadow over the King’s angular jaw, and growing thicker yet.  ‘I have approximately three Roman legions of them, at court and abroad, so you’ll have to be specific.  Ah, Richard.  I would’ve bet my coin on Felipe.  The little fool has asked to wrestle with me.  Wrestle, Ned.’  Wills’ lips lifted into a smile as he emphasized his words – though the grin he wore did not yet creep into the black cauldron of his gaze.  Thank God above, Ned was too obedient to ask the source of his consternation. ‘If Rich cannot unseat him, then he can at least out-talk him.  The man is a master of flattery.’

He removes his hand from his jaw, settles it flat against the muscled ridge of his thigh.  The canvas tent fluttered about them, snuffing out a candle, as the November breeze whined on.  ‘As much as I hate to talk politics with you, Ned, there’s been something I’ve been meaning to ask.’  The King’s dark, bejeweled gaze levels evenly over Ned, clean scything his face.  ‘Brother to brother?’

[edmcndd]

closed starter for @boleynsrex ( dover delegation ) ! 

the history of their families had mattered very little to edmund or william in their boyhood, faithful companions that seemed to have endless mischief and grew around each other as saplings did. their roots remained briefly entwined with one another, even as william soared to status and heights that edmund was never fated to follow to. if he was a less complicated man, edmund would've rejoiced in the knowledge that a catholic england seemed destined to return, perhaps if the man who stood in the way was not the same one that edmund still considered a brother of sorts. despite the blood that now rested at william's feet, like a slowly creeping shoreline, edmund saw him still as the same cheeky friend who chased skirts with him, or gambled with him as if they were peasant boys. this was not the visage of enemy as pippa so greatly wished him to see, it was william. as it always had been to edmund. 

once things had settled at dover a bit, only a miniscule amount, edmund had sought out william privately. the first time in awhile they had been granted such a luxury, mostly afforded with the vacany of his council in the castle, for which edmund was grateful. " wills," he greeted, smile full of mirth, as if he wished to greet the burden of william's potential half brother with humor to aide his friend in moving past it all. " your cousin informed me that he intends to joust in the tournament," he drawled, taking a comfortable sort of position against the wall as he regarded the other. " shall we gamble on how swiftly richard is tossed from his horse? i believe he may outride the spaniards, but there's a large scottish contender riding that i am certain will unseat him." a tilt of his head, a silent look in his eyes that beckoned william to unload what ever thought darkened his brow now. 

[edmcndd]

a letter left carried from dover castle by rider back to hampton court, it is mixed with a bevy of letters sent back home so as to not be considered too odd. it is delivered by page boy's hand to katherine brandon - grey, enclosed within the enevolope is a cut stem of lavender. a few words remain underlined for emphasis, or perhaps another intended meaning. | @katharined

the spectre haunting mine dreams , 

how foolish it is of me to believe i shall miss your company within dover, while i remain plagued each night by the soft touch of your hand against mine skin. there remains no vision i may conjure that compares truly to the beat of your strong, faithful heart nor the intoxicating flush of your pale cheeks. a man may search endlessly throughout the fields of kent and find not even a poor replacement for your soul. 

i have enclosed a gift and while lacking in grandeur i hope you may see it for the worth that it truly holds. i believe it to be one of the last blossoms in dover before the frost comes nipping to plunge it under a harsh, unforgiving sort of blanket. it called to me on my walk this morn, as if compelled to cut it's stem and share in it's beauty that reminded me so fiercely of you. a beautiful flower, weathering the harsh, english winters to blossom anew in the spring. 

while you are not present to gift me a favor, i humbly request you send one. so that i may hold it close to my heart as i ride in your honor, perhaps unseating a spanish prince for you. 

humbly, dutifuly, yours, 

 - e.p.

[edmcndd]

closed event starter for  @richardofrochford ( dover delegation ) !

while court back home remained locked in a tentative state of in between, edmund would be a fool to to pretend that he was not reveling in the jaunt to dover castle, if only because it granted a semblance of misguided fragile peace. there was no looming walsingham to question his actions, though he prayed nightly for the safety of his youngest sister, that she may return to them in one piece again. the amount of eyes elsewhere meant that it also afforded a bit of safety to edmund to indulge in a sinful desire, richard boleyn. his eyes basked in the glory that was richard, the sun casting a radiant near halo around the other man as they rode alongside one another, far from others that may have listened too closely to his words or the way his eyes lingered.

" i've heard the whispers that the spanish prince intends to claim himself glory in the joust," he spoke, lazily riding as they got further from the castle. " will you steal it from him?" there's a mischievous grin on edmund's face, drawing his horse closer to richard's. " if you ask sweetly, i may bestow a token of my favor upon you. perhaps jauntily tie it upon your lance?" with a soft laugh, edmund tugged his horse away once more so that they did not trot over one another. " shall we carry on riding, i believe there is a patch of sunlight just ahead, we can unpack the food we took from the kitchens and feast." edmund did not wait to hear an answer from richard before he shot ahead, laugh following after him as he ordered his horse to ride faster so that he may beat richard.