rosalinesrevolt

[rosalinesrevolt]

name/*contested title: Rosaline Agalwood, Queen of Nothos and the Noble Islands, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protectress of the Realm  age: 24 fc: Adelaide Kane

family background:

paternal:

HOUSE AGALWOOD has ruled over the land known as THE WOODLANDS since its inception. Legend tells of a founding King, HARLON AGALWOOD, who people from the Woodlands claim was among the first men to set foot in the realm. Harlon was said to be a woodsmith capable of building most anything from tree trunks, and is credited with building boats which brought the first men to Nothos. The more pious among the Woodsmen claim that Harlon was a prophet chosen by the gods to lead the first people to a fertile paradise. His story varies amongst those who tell it, but those of House Agalwood speak of a man who led a fleet of wanderers in search of new land and settled upon the region which would become known as The Woodlands. Though some of Harlon’s followers moved on to find land of their own in the strange new world -- allegedly leading to the development of the other principle houses of the realm -- Harlon was content with the place the Gods had brought him to, and made his home there. 

House Agalwood’s motto is “WITHOUT MASTERS.” Their sigil is a green field blazoned with a golden bear. The main branch of House Agalwood, who were Kings of the Woodlands -- and then Kings of Nothos -- style this bear with a crown atop its head. The Agalwoods were said to be kind rulers who coexisted peacefully with their neighbors in the Dustlands and Noble Islands. It would be the Kingdom of the Woodlands, led by Harlon’s descendant DARRON AGALWOOD, who would ultimately unite the realm against a foreign enemy’s conquest of Nothos. Following this WAR FOR NOTHOS, Darron Agalwood was ushered in as the first King of the realm -- save for The Red Narrows, which remained resistant to unification. 

It is said that Harlon Agalwood himself built up the castle that Agalwood Kings would rule from for generations: BEAR’S DEN, so-called for the animals which dwelled in the area. The wood-walled castle has been built up since the time of Harlon, and is now regarded as more of a royal residence and hunting retreat to serve as an alternative to their seat in THE HIGHLANDS. It was Darron Agalwood who determined that his royal dwelling would be built in the then-desolate Highlands, and he commissioned the building of KINGSHALL, a sprawling estate centered in the now-populous city of DARRONDALE. In honor of their first home, the Agalwoods continue to sit upon the throne forged by Harlon Agalwood in their new keep: THE BEAR CLAW CHAIR, known more commonly as THE CLAW. Their most recent King is ALEXANDER AGALWOOD, the fourth King of Nothos and the great-grandson of Darron.

maternal: 

HOUSE ROWAN has held domain over THE PEAKS from their seat of DRIFTPEAKE for several generations after decades of internal warring. 

QUEEN JADIS ROWAN was a daughter of House Rowan and wife to Alexander Agalwood for eighteen years. Her elder brother is RODRIK ROWAN, who took on the mantle of Lord of the Peaks following the death of their father. Though Jadis and Alexander were married as a result of an arrangement between their fathers, they did go on to find a companionship and love with one another. Jadis was a woman with a large heart, and was well-received by the realm. Unfortunately, she was frail and ill health frequently. She struggled to carry a child to term, and was pregnant six times before successfully delivering Rosaline. Her first born child was a son who did not live more than a few days, and the five which followed were miscarried or stillborn. Rosaline’s birth was considered a gift from the gods, and she had limited interaction with the world until she’d reached the age of two, when her mother felt confident she would live. 

For the remaining years of the Queen’s life, she oscillated between tentative health and debilitating sickness. She died not long after her daughter’s thirteenth year, but not before bidding her husband to marry again for the benefit of the realm. 

character background:

Rosaline was gifted with the indulgent life of both princess and heir apparent. As a good-natured and easy-to-please child, she became a cherished figure by much of the noble class of the realm. Despite this, she was always keenly aware of the prayers for princes which were often alluded to by the councilors which surrounded her father. She did her best throughout her youth and adolescence to reach the standards of heir set up by those who aided her father in ruling Nothos, but nonetheless retained some concerns about her aptness to rule. Her mother and father assuaged those worries where they could, and after Jadis’ death Alexander cemented his daughter’s role as future ruler of the realm.

After a mourning period which stretched some months past a traditional year, her father agreed to a proposed match with CECILY COLDWATER, the daughter of the Lord of THE WETLANDS. Though Rosaline still grieved the loss of her mother, she was open to the idea of her father finding a new wife -- both for the good of the country and to aid in his loneliness. She was welcoming to the new consort of the realm. Despite their courteousness with one another, an emotional bond was slow to form between consort and heir. Nonetheless, Rose did take some happiness from the way Cecily seemed to command court life. This alleviated some of the burden from Rosaline’s shoulders, who was freed into leisure time with companions such as WILLIAM NORWYN. As she shifted into her adolescence, a friendship shifted into a budding romance which was quickly stamped out.

Throughout Rosaline’s adolescence, an expectancy was put on her to be married – but all the prospective arrangements made kept falling through. Rosaline quietly suspected the Queen consort -- who was struggling to carry a child -- to be behind the failures. Unbeknownst to Rosaline, it was her father’s hand; and his assurance that she be kept in Kingshall and groomed as the future ruler of the realm. 

When Rosaline was twenty, Cecily delivered a healthy baby boy – named Alexander, after his father. In an action that was shocking for Cecily the boy was named heir presumptive. Rosaline retained her status as heir, and young Alex became her heir. This marked the breakdown of the relationship between Cecily and Rose, and negatively impacted the relationship between Cecily and King Alexander. Rose had a sisterly affection towards her much younger half-brother, but he was largely kept separated from her due to Cecily’s unhappiness. This public splitting amongst the family led to a divisiveness in the court: those who followed the King’s rule and decision to keep Rose heir, and those who quietly began to favor the male heir.

personality traits:

+: kind, clever, conscientious +/-: progressive, determined, emotional -:  cautious, self-critical, single-minded

strengths: thoughtful, focused weaknesses: insecure, soft-hearted

[rosalinesrevolt]

[rosalinesrevolt]

[rosalinesrevolt]

exordium.

In written history, the death of a benevolent king was said to be met with the cacophonous sounds of mourning bells intertwined with the wails of weeping supporters stretching across the ruler’s lands. Throughout Rosaline’s education on the kings of old, the stories of all righteous despots ended in such a manner. It had become such a common ending to the tales of former kings that she’d made something of a game of it as a child; finishing the stories before her tutors could do so and earning disapproving expressions and swift chastising. 

The stories went on to claim that the bells would ring even for kings who had been considered cruel or unjust -- though rather than tolling the sound of mourning it was a cheerful ring to alert the masses that they were freed of the man’s grip. Even so, the sound was reported to be deafening. 

On the night the Good King Alexander Agalwood met his death, the realm resonated with a purposeful silence; and under its deceptive protection treason bloomed. 

The once hale and hearty king had fallen upon seemingly inexplicable illness when the climate had faded from winter to spring. The healers had explained that winter took longer to leave the bones as one aged, but Rose had taken their words as flowery nonsense to cover up their lack of an understanding into their ruler’s plague. Alexander seemed to vacillate between sudden wellness and wicked illness randomly for weeks. One day he would sit his throne and rule his land -- assuring all who looked on him that he had conquered the affliction -- and on the next he’d be relegated to bed to be bled by the healers. Towards the end of it, he’d become largely confined to his bedchambers; with councilors instead sitting the throne to hold court. 

On one occasion, Rosaline had found Cecily holding court in their place. The young heiress thought little of it at the time; her attention had been fixated on Alexander. 

Though he did not regain his physical strength, the King remained resilient until the end. 

Despite encouragement from his wife and others to surrender the power of the realm over to his councilors and recover in peace, he was steadfast in his role. While he did not sit his throne, he brought his duties quite literally into the bedchamber: his bed became his seat at the table, and his councilors gathered round to discuss matters of state. The only sign he gave that he saw his end near was when he asked that Rose sit in the meetings alongside them, and encouraged her to answer the questions posed by the lords of the council. Similarly, whilst in private Alexander’s promises of recovery that he’d made to Rosaline changed -- where one day he spoke of returning to his throne, on the next he mused on her capability to take the seat for herself. 

In the evenings, the royal family would take their dinner in the King’s bedchamber. They continued to do so even when Alexander lost his desire to eat. When the evening meal had finished and the young prince was led to bed, it became commonplace for Cecily and Rosaline to take their turns speaking with the King in private before returning to their own bedchambers. While Rose’s talks with her father turned to him imparting pieces of wisdom to rule, the princess had an idea of the conversations that went on between Cecily and the King. 

How can you set aside your only son? She could imagine the Queen’s indignation and desperation -- how her sweet croons could turn to irate hisses the longer she was denied. How can you steal away his birthright? How can you let your name die -- for her?

In her loneliest moments, Rosaline wondered the same. 

Rose’s final moments with her father were not particularly different from the moments she had spent with him before. It did not seem that Alexander was prepared to die; though his growing frailty had aged him beyond his years and made him appear almost foreign to his family. Even his voice had gone softer, weakened from the havoc wrought by coughing fits. 

They discussed matters of state out of necessity, and they reminisced on fond memories out of a different kind of necessity. On the last evening, he spoke about her youth and her mother. Rose had been careful not to laugh too loudly while he did -- it enticed him to laugh along, which induced the coughing, and ended their time together abruptly. With Cecily’s knock insistent upon the door every quarter-hour to be let in, the heiress was in no hurry to abandon her place at her father’s side. So she sat as near as she could to his bedside, held his hand, and listened to him speak with a warm smile playing on her lips. 

A gentle pause fell into their conversation, and with it he gestured to the letter sat on his bedside table. Taking his direction, Rose plucked it from the table and read over it while he began to speak: “I wrote to Lord Acton to request that he take on Alexander as his ward. He should be in the Woodlands. Those will be his people, and they should know him.” 

Rose read over the response from the castellan of their family keep, and looked up to meet her father’s eye. “He’s accepted,” she began, the smile on her lips thinning. “Has Cecily?”

“She opposes it, as is to be expected. But I hope, now that we have Acton’s response, that she will see it is for the best.” Looking to his daughter, he ventured with a smile: “and if she cannot, perhaps you can help her to see it.” 

“Me?” Rose asked incredulously, the question coming in tandem with another one of Cecily’s knocks at the door of the chambers. As if suddenly fearful she could hear them, she leaned closer and dropped her voice as she spoke to her father. “If she would not heed your word, why would she so much as consider my opinion?”

“From me, she sees it as an order. From you, it is different. You love him, and you love our home. That matters.” Again, the knock came -- this time more insistent. With an apologetic smile on his lips, he nodded towards the door; a gesture to be on her away and to allow the Queen in. “Your brother needs you to act in his best interest, even if his mother won’t. Think on it.” 

Putting the letter into her father’s hand as she dropped a kiss to his cheek, she nodded her head. “I will.”

It was not yet dawn when Rosaline was suddenly awoken by the jostles of her handmaiden, who urged her awake with frantic whispers. “Your Grace -- Rosaline -- the King is dead.”

“Dead?” She echoed, her voice hoarse as she sat awake in bed. Bleary-eyed and confused, she looked to the window that stood open nearby. The still-dark world outside the room was silent.  She strained her ears to listen for the sounds of bells, but was met with a chilling stillness. She could hear little more than the pounding of her heart in her ears. “When?” 

“Hours ago, maybe,” Elsie answered, busying herself with pulling a dress for Rosaline to change into. Moving the garments onto the bed, she pulled the shocked princess from her spot and encouraged her to stand so that she could be dressed. “Something’s happened -- the Queen has gathered with lords in the throne room.”

Rose had allowed Elsie to dress her, but was restless in her efforts to get to the throne room. Her handmaiden had little information to pass on save for the facts that her father had died some few hours earlier, and in the time since there had been something of an effort to keep the news from spreading. Elsie had been roused by servants who had overheard Cecily’s handmaidens whispering about the King’s demise; but feared coming to Rosaline’s chambers directly. The knowledge she’d gleaned regarding Cecily gathering lords in the throne room had also been gleaned from the servants, though Elsie could not say why they’d gathered. As Rosaline left the chamber with Elsie in tow, the handmaiden suggested that perhaps they’d gathered to mourn the King.

Though Rose had agreed with the theory aloud, a weight like a stone sat in her gut.

When the Princess -- Queen, rather -- entered the throne room, she could do little more than bite the inside of her cheek in response to the sight that greeted her. She could see several Lords of the Council gathered, and in the gallery stood wives and other loiterers. Before the throne stood a line of knights. Cecily sat on her father’s throne, resplendent despite the fact that the sun had only just started to rise. Little Alexander sat in the chair beside her where Cecily herself had once sat; and as Rosaline approached the throne she could see that his face was swollen and tear-stained. The knights holding their place before the throne did not relent as she approached, and she remained at the distance they permitted. 

The stone in her gut seemed to swell to a boulder.

“Your Grace,” Rosaline began, “I have been told that my father died in the evening.” 

Cecily appeared to peer down her nose at Rosaline, and nodded her head once. "The King passed in his sleep. I am told by the healers that it was as painless a death as he might have been afforded.” She seemed to think for a moment, and then added: “it is a tragedy. I feel a great sadness for your loss.” 

“And I am sorry for the loss of your husband,” she answered in kind. Rosaline clenched her teeth after the words left her lips, feeling how her gut clenched uncomfortably. She turned her eyes onto Alex, who seemed to nod in and out of sleep. She surmised that he’d likely been roused from his sleep by his mother. When she looked back to Cecily, Rosaline did her best to draw herself to her full height. She could feel the eyes of the Lords at her back. 

“I would thank you to remove yourself from my throne.” When Cecily neither responded nor moved from her seat, Rosaline turned her head to find Lord Ethan Taurin, her father’s advisor. “Lord Taurin, I ask you to gather the remainder of the court so that I may be crowned.” Again, she was met with silence. His gave averted. Coward, she thought.

“We have already crowned our King,” Cecily spoke at last. "Your brother has taken up his rightful position. And until he is of age, I will serve as regent.” 

“Rightful position?” Rose echoed, her voice raising with indignation. “All who stand here know that it was the King’s will that I take the crown after him!” She turned to look to the court, and pressed the point: “you would all reject your King’s will?” 

Her words seemed to stir something amongst the small court gathered -- she could hear whispers in the gallery, and watched as some among the line of knights stood before Cecily and Alex seemed to lose their stance. “This is a time of mourning, this is a time to remember the wishes of our King --”

"-- our King is here,” Cecily cut in, her voice rising above Rosaline’s. “King Alexander is gone, and may the gods give him rest. Alexander, the second of his name, is King now -- and all who would argue against his claim would be traitors to the crown.” Her words appeared to quell the whispers, and the Queen regent turned a stony gaze back onto her step-daughter. “You are distressed  and grief-stricken from the loss of your father. Your callousness will be forgiven.” The elder woman sat back in the throne then, adding: “you will be forgiven after you have sworn fealty to your brother. Until you are ready to do so, you will be remanded to your chambers. Ser Darren, Ser Ronnel: escort the princess to her rooms.” 

[rosalinesrevolt]

[rosalinesrevolt]

dutyandvalor‌: 

HIS PRINCESS WASN’T THE ONLY ONE STARTLED.

It was almost funny to him how the use of propriety, something both he and his father observed but sometimes found rather ridiculous, was the thing keeping him at ease here, in Rose’s court and, more importantly, her presence. Without such etiquette, William might’ve just been standing there losing himself more and more to the Princess’s gaze. For all his training, nothing at all had prepared him for this moment save for his wildest, most heartfelt dreams. And even those didn’t seem to compare to the real thing, which he was facing now. Surprisingly, he gave nothing away, but it was taking a lot for him not to just stand there and shake nervously.

When she rambled about her stepmother, the Queen, he tried to appear knowledgeable and looked almost funny doing so. It wasn’t for a lack of interest or disrespect, but he was at a bit of a disadvantage considering he hardly knew Rose’s stepmother, and could never foresee the future that awaited the two of them once the King was no longer with them. Still, dutifully, he stood near her, but not too near, and took in the surroundings that, despite his years of absence, he knew to look much different than he remembered. Almost gaudy, if he were to think about it hard enough. Certainly above and beyond her own father’s tastes.

    ❝ Compensating, perhaps? ❞         Briefly breaking decorum, he looked to her with a playful glance.

It wasn’t like him to joke that way about those he served, especially when he was inside their Court, but the way he read Rose’s tone made him feel like he had the okay to do so, especially since he was basically agreeing with her. His privilege in no way compared to hers, but his was nothing to sneer at when compared to the majority of the kingdom’s population. Suddenly, he felt weak again as he remembered that her humbler disposition was one of the many things he had fallen in love with as a child. He should’ve known that all of these feelings would just come flooding back like this. Deep down, William probably hoped they would.

    ❝ Or just different tastes — ❞         He added, attempting to move himself back into good form.

The smile on Rose’s face -- impossible to miss from the moment she’d caught him in her sight, and now seemingly a permanent fixture -- had grown perceptibly wider at his suggestion that the Queen might be compensating via her expensive decorating and celebrating. There were few in the capital who’d make such a bold claim, save for perhaps a handful of handmaids who sometimes whispered at night when serving as pillow-friends. (Even that had stopped after a point -- Rosaline had an inkling that some of her girls might’ve been in the employ of her stepmother after a night of some idle gossip had led to a week of Cecily behaving particularly frigid towards her.) Her shoulders moved in a silent mirth, as she maintained her posture insofar as to prevent audible laughter. It was easier to hold back when she saw him making an effort to save face with his follow-up comment. 

“Different tastes to be sure,” she replied with a nod. “The Queen works very hard to show us all how best to be regal.” Cecily had once stressed that the lion’s share of holding the position of regent or consort was accomplished by looking the part. She’d touted that line whilst running up several bills, as if it was a steel-coated defense. “If they call my father Good King Alexander, surely they will at least call my brother Finely Dressed Alexander.” 

A southron nobleman interrupted at that point, intruding upon the conversation callously to (apparently) reintroduce himself as a Lord Mavrock Vorgrove of a deep southern seat she vaguely recalled from lessons by the name of Lucidus Stronghold. He had little to say save for the usual congratulations on the birth of young prince -- congratulations which Rosaline had made a habit of swiftly accepting with a word of thanks and a deflection that the words were owed to Cecily rather than to herself -- and Rosaline accepted the empty conversation he offered briefly before dismissing him through a veil of wishing him an enjoyable time amongst other guests.

When he parted amicably, Rosaline was once-more cognizant of the vastness of the event and of the room. Their reintroduction had briefly allowed her to neglect the bodies around them -- she was now keenly aware that doing so would be impossible. She would need to attend to her responsibilities regarding properly associating with the high and low nobles alike. Rose expected that Will might need to do some of the same, for the benefit of his own family and region. 

Still, she was reluctant to move away. 

“I’m happy that you came,” she said finally -- for fear that if she didn’t say it and walked away, he might not know how earnestly she meant it. Her wide smile softened, and she added: “you look so grown up, Will.” 

christening.

[rosalinesrevolt]

dutyandvalor‌:  

SUDBURY WASN’T MUCH OF A TOWN PER SE.    IT WAS MORE LIKE PILES OF STONE AND WOOD.

Such places, despite his father’s standing and their estates in the North, were not unfamiliar to William. They were nobility, but barely so. Frequenting such places was sometimes a matter of necessity. His father knew better than him, but William was neither impressed nor disappointed when he and his Queen approached. For a moment, he did wonder what Rose thought. This was her idea after all. You could see what William assumed was the inn in the distance, which was just as much a pile of stone and wood as everything else ahead of them. It just seemed to stand a bit taller. Calling it unassuming would’ve been a compliment, but he knew it would do, especially since they’d only be there a single night.

   ❝ The bed probably won’t be very comfortable. ❞       His gaze on her was soft as he remained forthright.          ❝ But at least it’ll be a bed, ❞ he added, comfortingly.

The sky was blue and cloudless as he rode ahead, slow and steady while appreciating the last moments he’d have with this particular horse. William knew he was tired, and he didn’t like the idea of leaving such a horse there, but it was necessary to continue on. By now, the Imposter back at the capital probably knew what kind of horses to look for. So, too, would the men she’d sent after them. William’s main worry now, among many others, was whether or not they were being watched, or whether Cecily’s men had come and gone. Or worse, whether they’d come and left a spy or two just in case. That thought, that almost certainty made him want to reach for the sword at his side.

   ❝ Remember, ❞ he started, gently.       ❝ Let me do all the talking, ❞ he said, firmly.

The main street was hardly a street at all, but it was wide and occupied with few people seemingly unconcerned with new travelers. There was a man sweeping on one side, a woman scolding her two children on the other. Any worthwhile noise he could hear was coming from ahead, at the inn that was waiting for them. William assumed, he hoped that everyone else just happened to be out on the farms or in the small, nearby forest. He eyed what was a small, but not vacant stable. He could hear the horses, but couldn’t see them. He’d have to survey them later. He had coins, but he knew a trade might be in order. He was riding a Royal horse after all. Days of heavy riding had hardly marred its natural beauty.

   ❝ Make sure you keep that hood up. ❞       Rose’s diminutive size would do them no favors.

Rose had spent very little of her life outside of the capital. There had been sparse occasions which had caused for travel: sometimes a noble friend of her father’s would die of some disease or battle wound, and it was expected that she travel in the royal retinue to attend the services. Though the rotting corpses of her father’s companions could hardly wait for them, more often than not the royal caravan drew the attention of villagers from wherever they went. The towns they traveled through became the sites of impromptu parades, and she could remember leaning out windows to wave to those calling her name and catching the flowers they tossed to her. From those memories, she thought of nearly any town she traveled to as being beautiful and charming in their own ways. Everything about them was alit with color and warmth.

Sudbury was decidedly gray. She could not remember if she’d ever passed through the town on one of those journeys with her father, but she was certain she would’ve recalled the unfortunate appearance of the village. The houses were made of bland colors of gray and brown, and the people who meandered about on the streets were dressed similarly. Even their pallor seemed grayish under the clear blue sky, and Rose found herself wondering if they had always looked that way, or if something had happened to make them seem so bleak. As she looked onto the building that was sure to be the aforementioned inn, she felt confident that a great deal of comfort would not be found there. That point was further driven by William’s insistence that the bed they were seeking would be uncomfortable. 

She wore a tired smile as she responded: “but it will be better than sleeping in the dirt, I think.”

Rose only needed to convince herself of that. A bed, even one made from poor materials, would be better than rocks and dirt -- it would be better than being left outside to the nighttime chill and the threat of their pursuers lingering in the trees with hunting dogs on their scent. 

She nodded at his reminder to not speak. While she might’ve thought there was nothing to give away with her voice, she did not intend to throw him from the plan he’d agreed to -- it’d been troublesome enough to get him to assent to the night spent in the village in the first place. “I won’t say a word,” she answered. 

She tugged up the large hood over her head once more, and sighed quietly as it rested nearly over her eyes. She’d be glad to be rid of it when the time came -- the thing was tattered and massive on her frame, and in the days past it’d come to smell like the horse she was riding. Then again, perhaps it was not only the hood. 

“See if they’ll have water drawn to wash with?”

vanishing point.

[rosalinesrevolt]

dutyandvalor‌:  

WILLIAM WAS NOT A TALL MAN —    — BUT HE WAS STRONG AND SKILLED.

He’d learned his duty, his valor, and his skills of tracking and war from his father, the greatest knight that may have ever existed in those lands, if not the world. Yet all it took was a smile from her to make him feel the weight of something, some feeling he hadn’t felt for many years. Some feeling he’d thought about day and night when they were first separated before finally choosing to walk down his rightful path. It was enough to make him topple over. With nothing but a smile, Rose could bring him to his knees. It had been the same when they were children and he was both shocked, and yet not shocked at all to find that she still had such a power.

   ❝ Likewise, Your Highness, ❞ he said, confidently.       Well, almost. His voice did end up cracking a little.

Subtly, he bowed his head, trying to keep in good decorum. It was a simple gesture that helped hide the complicated thoughts and memories in his head. Up until it was time to travel to the capital, he’d done his best to forget, to brush off whatever childlike romance there’d been aside, as a fantasy gone, if not forgotten. But his heart had gotten the best of him, even though his own father had done his best to instill in him a sound mind over beating heart. Until he saw her again, he’d done his part living the way his father had intended. But seeing a lost love seemed to make all of his father’s practical tutelage go away.

   The fact that she was the princess didn’t matter.

   ❝ I’ve missed you, ❞ he thought, but didn’t say.       William was worried she no longer felt the same.

It had all been a children’s fantasy. An impractical, impossible fairy tale. They thought they were safe, secluded and hidden by the trees and the sounds of the breeze through the leaves. They had gone there, escaped to that place by the stream before. No longer a boy, not yet a man, he waited for his moment, even dreaded it, but worked up the courage to do what he knew he was not meant to. He kissed her. More importantly, she kissed him back. It was terrible to remember that such an act, such a beautiful memory, could also be what eventually kept them apart. But it didn’t matter. It had happened and it was still vivid in his head.

   ❝ It’s good to be back in the capital — ❞       William’s words came out a little rushed.          As if he were struggling with what to say.

It was a little bit startling, to see how much he’d changed since she’d last seen him. 

It wasn’t to say that he looked bad or wrong -- but instead, he looked very much like he’d grown up since she’d last seen him. (And contrary to looking bad, Rose found that he looked handsome in his more adult form.) He looked less like a boy and more like a man, and Rose found that she was suddenly self-conscious and doubting if she looked the same. She’d been considered a woman for years -- but now she was unsure if that title had been correctly given.

Her lips pulled into a bemused smile when he referred to her by her title. The formality was expected, and at such an event it would be wrong of her to ask him to do otherwise. But she preferred to hear her name from him, and she was eager to speak when he mentioned it being good to return to the capital. 

“It’s so foreign now, isn’t it? Even to me -- and I’ve watched it all happen.” 

Her father had preferred humbler decor. Perhaps humble had still been too strong a word to refer to the finery and privilege they had admittedly always lived in, but Rose had remembered a different home before Cecily. Things had just been simpler. This had been a point of contention for her stepmother and new Queen, who had insisted that their court had become a mockery to others who lived in more grandiosity. She could still recall how the woman would bemoan that they did not have more jeweled and ornate decorations, or that the palace did not glitter with gold. When Rose had once stated that her mother had liked the capital just as it was, Cecily had countered: your mother was too sickly to get out of bed, let alone to make the changes she likely wanted, sweet girl. As had become typical of her father, he bent easily to her will where these cosmetic changes of the capital were concerned. 

“The Queen wanted to be sure that all manner of man, from all walks of life, knows how splendid her son is with these festivities.” Her brows raised gently, a subtle tease at the Queen who presided over the celebrations. “Of course, he’s too young to attend all but the Christening himself. I suppose we’ll have to tell him how wonderful it was when he’s gotten older.”

christening.

[rosalinesrevolt]

i am learning to sharpen my teeth and rule kingdoms, instead.

Arlen C., from “a letter from medusa,” unmythologize  (via lifeinpoetry (via stevetrevorwrites)

[rosalinesrevolt]

[rosalinesrevolt]

dutyandvalor‌:  

WILLIAM HAD YET TO UNSHEATHE HIS SWORD —    — BUT HE’D BEEN TEMPTED A HANDFUL OF TIMES.

Even if the original plan was mostly succeeding, things weren’t exactly going smoothly. William had never accepted any sort of comfort, but he had felt good about their head start. But it didn’t last as long as he’d hoped. By the next evening, he and Rose were being tracked, down to their very location, thanks to very skilled dogs. What little time they were afforded to rest, which was more her resting than him, was cut short time and time again. He didn’t like the idea of riding with their horses just as exhausted as they were, if not more so, but it was a matter of life and death. William had wanted to just keep riding over the paths that would hide their presence, but hiding had become necessary, and he held tight to the handle of his sword while they waited for many dogs and their many guardsmen to pass them.

   No matter what, there was never a moment for comfort.

When the two of them happened upon a man and his son fishing, William had wondered if it was a trap. Instincts told him no, but he’d remained vigilant. Rose, on the other hand, had listened to the man tell his son about an inn not too far away. From that point on, she was in his ear about it. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t agree with her ideas, or disrespected them in any way, it was more about the plan, however haphazard, that he and his father had come up with. Time was no doubt important, especially when their distance from the pretender’s soldiers was questionable. Secondary plans had been discussed with his father, but always in the hope that things wouldn’t come to that. But Rose’s logic was sound. Their horses were tired. They were tired. They just couldn’t continue like this.

   And still, he was stubborn and didn’t relent easily.

Even though he tried not to do it often, William brooded for a moment as he considered this new path that Rose wanted, and the path they were currently on. An inn meant people. People that might’ve been talked to by other guardsmen, to keep an eye out for the two of them. Warned, to be sure, with some silky or more obvious threat. An inn also meant rest, and an opportunity for a change of clothes, new horses, and time to think. Perhaps time to consider doubling back just to see if they could confuse the men after them. Time didn’t permit it, but it could be a necessary maneuver to make. But it was hard to think about when they were constantly on the move. So, because he found it difficult to deny her anything, he had nodded and acquiesced. William knew it was on him if this ended up being a mistake.

   ❝ Just one night, ❞ he said, trying to be firm.       Of course, he could only be so firm with Rose.          ❝ But we have to be on the move by first light. ❞

It irked Rose, to say the least, that she felt so entirely removed from the plan that she was at the very center of. She understood, logically, that much of what was happening fell out of her area of expertise. She’d been schooled in politics, and had become a halfway-decent tactician as a result of it. But she did not understand warring well, for the lack of it in her father’s benevolent rule. She did not understand senseless cruelty or an eagerness to be violent. She did not understand people like Cecily and their stock -- their motives, their minds, or their rationales. She strove to veer to the side of trust and belief in underlying goodness, which was now demonstrated to have been to her own detriment. She understood the good sense of putting her fate into the hands of those that did.

But it made her feel far removed from the Queen she claimed to rightfully be.

She understood the risks involved with her request -- she knew that it could somehow be a trap, or that staying in one place for even a few hours at once could provide the guards giving them chase the time they needed to hunt them down. But she felt inclined to place some manner of trust in the nonoffending father-and-son, and what she believed to be a friendly piece of advice to a pair of travelers. 

When he agreed, she felt her shoulders sag with relief -- and an audible sigh pierced the air.

“One night,” she echoed in agreement. That would be plenty of time to see to it that their horses were exchanged for a rested pair, to eat a hot meal, and to potentially find their way into cleaner clothes. More than anything, she looked forward to some kind of bed. She’d striven to not offer any complaints on their journey, but she couldn’t deny that the lack of amenities took its toll. It was difficult to go from the life of a princess to hiding in the woods at all hours. 

“I won’t even speak to anyone, if I can help it.”

vanishing point.

[rosalinesrevolt]

dutyandvalor‌:  

WILLIAM HAD BEEN JUBILANT THE WHOLE WAY —    — MUCH TO THE SLIGHT CHAGRIN OF HIS FATHER.

The older man knew why, and had felt like voicing some warning or concern on many occasions throughout the trip. In the end, he stuck with giving his son certain looks that told him everything he was thinking. It didn’t stop the excitement he noticed in his son, but at least his thoughts were out there and somewhat acknowledged, voiced or not.

The trip itself had been smooth and ahead of their expected pace. The weather had been more than agreeable, which was a rarity considering the distance father and son had to travel just to get to the capital, which was the farthest a city could be from the Windsor’s northern lands. Still, despite the pace, both men had been looking forward to getting to their quarters, which was reserved for them at the behest of the King. The King’s invitation had come many weeks ago. It had not been a surprise to William’s father, who kept correspondence with the King, one of his oldest friends, quite often. The King had detailed all the preparations his second wife had been making. Even complained about the cost. But it was a surprise to William, who was never privy to the correspondence. He’d been excited ever since.

It was when the castle could be seen from a distance that the older Windsor noticed the urge in his son to ride faster, which the father didn’t allow. By then, he’d resigned himself to his son’s elation and approached it more as an amused father rather than a strict one. He’d only be firm if William gave him a reason to be.

Once the two men were within the city walls and had gotten to their special apartments, father and son were free to relax, if only for a while. William had been quick to remark about how the capital seemed almost twice the size it was the last time he’d seen it. William’s father seemed less impressed, but only because he’d already known about the progress thanks to many of his other correspondence with the King. Alexander had seemed more enthusiastic about that since those were under his orders, not his young wife’s. He and William had only met Helene once. Both father and son had agreed that it would be interesting to see for themselves how the King and his wife interacted. William’s father, especially, who knew more than most about the King’s intimate thoughts about his second marriage.

William had only been afforded about an hour to rest before he was forced by his father to the baths. One of the King’s attendants, of which there were probably many, saw to the preparation of their garments, which had been bundled up with the rest of their belongings the whole trip. It was a miracle they’d remained clean the whole time.

William was under no illusions about what was expected of him here. He knew the etiquette. It had been a number of years, but he remembered his manners and his place. None of that did a thing to calm his nerves. He’d been looking forward to this day since he’d heard about it. To be honest, he’d been looking forward to it for years. It was rare that a day went by where he didn’t think about the trouble he and her had gotten into the last time he was here. The consequences had been heartbreaking, but William had never regretted it. And on the day they had ridden out, he’d seen the way she was looking at him and he knew that she didn’t regret it, either. Besides, you never forget your first kiss. Or the dozens of other kisses that had followed before they had to return to her castle.

The memories had always been there, but seemed to get more vivid during the trip. Princess or not, she’d always been the prettiest girl he’d ever known. He didn’t doubt she still was. That all only served to make him more anxious while he dressed and proceeded to check himself in the mirror over and over again. He wanted to impress.

By the time he and his father had made it into the hall and were announced, William had moved and adjusted his tabard several times. The sleeves of his padded jacket, too. His attire wasn’t too unlike his normal wardrobe, save for the material being a bit richer and cleaner than what he was accustomed to. He didn’t look too out of place, even while dressed a little older than he was. He was a man now, though. His hair was growing, his beard wasn’t full, but was there. He liked how he looked. So, too, did some of the women in that very hall. But he only had eyes for one. He’d heard her announced, but hadn’t gotten a chance to find her with the crowd in his way. He was anxious to look for her, and would’ve if he wasn’t getting his ear talked off by a friend of his father’s. It wasn’t in William to be rude, especially to an older knight, but he was just about ready to jump away from that conversation.

   Then he heard a familiar voice and spun around.       As always, Rose seemed to take his breath away.          ❝ You know how us Northerners are, Your Highness. ❞             William was trying, and failing to keep his smile in check.

Rosaline was curious about all the things that she’d missed in the years that had elapsed. There’d been a time where Rose had felt like she’d known everything about him -- and in turn, she thought he’d known everything about her.  When he’d first been gone, she’d toyed with the idea of writing to him so as to keep up with all she would miss with his absence. Her father had gently curbed that desire until she’d moved on -- he’d told her that it was time William went off to follow his path, and she hers. When she received no letters either, Rose suspected the elder Windsor had done the same, or William hadn’t wanted to write her. 

Now, she knew almost nothing of the ongoings of his life. She was not certain if the same could be said for what he knew of her -- her business was much more public, after all. She wondered if he’d heard anything of the building voices of councillors and noblemen who attested that with the birth of a son, it was only right that the inheritance of the throne be dictated properly to the male heir. There were even whispers by some that it would be during the festivities to come following the christening that the younger Alex would be announced to the gathered masses as the next king. Those convincing whispers -- combined with her father’s silence on the subject -- made even Rose question the legitimacy of it. 

All those thoughts and theories seemed to fall to the wayside, however, when he turned and greeted her.

They had been adolescents when they’d last seen one another -- teetering on the edge of childhood into adulthood. He was a man now, and she found herself wondering if she still looked too much like a girl. 

“I have some notions,” she finally answered. Her lips, which she’d tried to settle into something neutral, twitched despite her efforts to edge into a smile. “But I fear time has spoiled any true memory of it.” 

She tried for only a moment longer to contain herself behind the charade of poise, before the wide smile that’d been struggling to free itself broke across her lips.

“It’s good to see you.”

christening.

[rosalinesrevolt]

christening.

Although celebrations had never been lacking within the castle’s walls, Cecily brought with her a certain grandeur that hadn’t existed prior to her ascension to the queenship. When she had first come into their lives, Rose had thought it was very exciting -- but the years had dried up that excitement to a more subdued bemusement. Just smile and go along with it, her father had once told her. It makes her happy. 

It wasn’t to say that she disliked the festivities -- only that they were all a bit much, and it seemed to her that Cecily found a way to make herself the star of each and every one. She’d even held a large tourney to honor Helene when she was still fresh into her rule as Queen, and had spent the bulk of it mixed between comparing herself to the late queen, and crying loudly into a handkerchief whilst bemoaning that she’d never known the woman. The whole thing had become almost comical, to the point Rosaline had been reduced to laughter rather than somberness at the purpose of the event. 

Rosaline knew that Cecily had been plotting the christening for her son seemingly from the very moment that she had discovered she was with child. The festivities had been delayed until little Alex had reached his first year, so as to heighten the chance that the child was strong and would live on. (It would have been an embarrassment to have such a spectacle for a newborn, only to declare that he’d died in the night of some infant-fever some few weeks later.) Rosaline had wagered that this delayed time had also given Cecily the time to spend extravagantly, plan every last detail, and see to it that everyone had ample time to plan their arrivals. Rosaline was expecting it to all be ostentatious, and perhaps at times insufferable. Still, it wouldn’t all be bad -- she was happy for her father, who was prideful of his long-awaited son. And she was eager to see some familiar faces whose attendance had been prompted by the event. 

Among these faces -- and perhaps first among them -- was William, who she’d not seen in what felt like ages. (She was aware of why that was, but pretended not to be -- she didn’t pay any credence to the supposed concerns that had created that wedge in the first place.) She’d watched the procession of arriving visitors closely from one of the windows of her solar, and listened idly as her lady’s maids strove to impress her by rattling off the names of the various families that were arriving. When the name Windsor was heard, Rose seemed to brighten for a moment -- before reining herself in and commenting: “we ought to go down now, don’t you think?”

Despite any desire to enter the hall discreetly, Rose bore the required introduction of her presence with poise and a smile. She mingled as needed whilst in search of more desired company, and paused when her maid Elsie caught her shoulder and gestured just ahead of her. 

“Some manners,” Rose led with, a grin on her lips as she charged forward, “to leave me to the business of finding you -- do knights need no courtesies?”

[rosalinesrevolt]

vanishing point.

It had been days since they had fled the capital in the night, and Rosaline was still waiting for some sense of safety to settle into her bones. As the distance between their position and the castle grew and the feeling continuously evaded her, she became convinced that safety might not reach her until she was within the confines of her Uncle’s region -- and even then, perhaps not. Perhaps it would remain just out of her grasp until this thing had been ended, and Cecily was dealt with. Rosaline still did not know what that would look like. At some moments, she imagined Cecily hanging in the same spot where she’d sent Lord Acton to die. In others, she thought that it would make her no better, to have her brother’s mother murdered. She thought most frequently of Alex, and of her promise to her father that she would keep him safe. She mentioned almost none of this to William -- the complicated back-and-forth of her subconscious seemed irrelevant when posed against the danger of their endeavor.

Though they’d woven confusingly through the forested region, it seemed that the dogs sent after them by the pretender did not remain far behind. Twice since they’d fled, the calls of guardsmen and the footfalls of horses and hounds had been close enough behind them that they could be clearly heard. As they’d hid and waited for them to pass, Rose could hear them calling out: you’re not safe out here, your grace. This is no place to die. Come with us. It’s safer.

On one of these occasions, she was certain that someone had seen them. Rose had thought she’d heard someone call out the description of the horse she rode -- but she hadn’t been certain, and days of sleeplessness combined with fear did not make her impressions reliable. Still, she didn’t forget what she’d thought she’d seen or heard. She felt considerably less at ease than she had when they’d started off, and was wary of holding onto the garments they wore and the horses they rode. When they came across a man and his son fishing at one of the springs they’d stopped at to give their horses a rest, she’d listened intently as he described an inn a half-day’s ride away. It seemed to Rose that it was the opportunity they needed. 

William didn’t seem to agree -- but it did not dissuade her from addressing it as they rode. 

“They know our horses -- and if they don’t know them, their dogs do. And besides, ours are slowing every hour. The pauses we’ve given them aren’t enough. They’ll become a burden to us soon.” She didn’t like the thought of abandoning the horses in some stable for favor of a newer pair -- but she could tell that her own was growing sluggish beneath her. The animals were relegated to far more time within the stables, and were unused to the sudden conditions put upon them. Not unlike herself. “And we should find new clothes, too -- they may have caught onto that.”

“We can’t keep going like this,” Rose pressed “ -- or at least, I can’t.”

[rosalinesrevolt]

[rosalinesrevolt]

Jenna Coleman as Lydia Wickham in Death Comes to Pemberley

[rosalinesrevolt]

dutyandvalor‌:

AS THE DISTANCE CLOSED, WILLIAM COULD SEE IT —

    — THE WIND RUSTLING THE GROUNDS PAST THE WALLS.

He could almost feel the breeze himself, unimpeded by the the high walls that he and Rose were closing in on. As tempting as it was, he wouldn’t let his eagerness get the best of him. Not when those guards were drawing closer as they continued to ride near their path. That on several brief but notable levels he was a battle-tested knight was no solace at all. It had been remarked upon that he was good at killing, at battle. That was a testament to his father, the greatest knight their kingdom had ever known. Truth be told, William was very good at it. Scarily so. But he also took no pleasure in it. He didn’t count his kills nor mark them anywhere the way the more boisterous warriors might. He did his duty, he served his kingdom, and he tended to the lands that such loyalty had afforded his family over centuries of servitude.

    But this was no longer the kingdom that he knew.         And it wouldn’t be until he did his duty once more.

William remained alert as they finally rode past the guards, still indulging in the flirtatious whims of those prostitutes. As he’d ordered, Rose had turned her head away and she was completely unrecognizable. Were it not for her feet, one could easily mistake that second horse as carrying William’s other belongings instead of an actual person. Soon, those guards were behind them and the open gate was just ahead. Logic kept William from exclaiming how easy this all seemed. Like his father’s voice came into his head to remind him that this was just the beginning. There would be no ease to any of this. Not if their enemy discovered their ruse quickly. That, on top of his nerves, kept him quiet even while his heart pounded in his chest. He wouldn’t be surprised if Rose could actually hear it.

    ❝ When we get through, stay on this pace. ❞         ❝ Stay on it until we reach the forest ahead. ❞

The forest wasn’t far, but it wasn’t terribly close, either. It had to look convincing for the guards surely making the rounds at the top of the wall. The forest would give them ample cover once they reached it and they would ride like their lives depended on it for as long as they could. All night, if need be. The main rode went around the trees, but that road was far more populated. It didn’t even matter that it was night. You were far more likely to cross paths with someone on the main road than you were through the trees, which was usually filled with vagrants, if anyone at all. William hadn’t told Rose yet, but they wouldn’t be long on that trail, either. Once they were deep enough, he had every intention of changing their course and going through the lesser seen parts of the forest, where it’d be hard to track them.

    Finally, they passed underneath the portcullis.         The heavy breath he let out was hard to ignore.

Rose held her breath as they rode past the guardsmen -- as if in some vain hope that if they did not hear her, they would not notice her -- and did not release it until they were some distance away and the discomfort from holding it became too pronounced. Even then, she released it only in a low hiss -- unwilling to draw attention to herself when their position was still too precarious. (When it would become somewhat safe again, Rosaline couldn’t say. She knew it would not be for some time still.) She did not dare look back as they continued to make their way through the gate and beyond the city’s limits, despite how desperately she wanted to check over her shoulder to ensure that they were not being followed. After several lengthy, painfully uncomfortable moments, she righted herself atop the horse to look forward. She still struggled to see from beneath the heavy cloak, but she could make out the treeline of their destination. 

As they forged on, Rose was struck with a heaviness in the pit of her stomach. It was a terrible feeling to abandon the city in the dead of night, and to surrender it unto the mercy of the false queen. It was terrible to have turned her back onto the common people and the highborn alike, some of whom she knew to be risking their positions and necks within the city’s walls for her cause. She thought of Elsie, wasting away what would be her last hours of freedom from within the tower’s cell -- she also thought for the first time of William’s father, who she suspected to have had some involvement with Acton and the plan they currently embarked on. 

She told herself that she was leaving now to make an unwinnable fight tip in her favor. With Cecily at the helm, she stood no chance in reclaiming her title -- she would sooner be sent to the gallows with some false crime above her head. With the aid of her Uncle, and with the aid of whomever would fight in her name when she returned, they would retake the throne and right the wrongs that had been done to all involved.

In the meantime, she knew how it looked and how it would be proclaimed for any who would listen: she’d run away like a child, left others in her stead to fight her battles, and had abandoned the very people she claimed to have the right to rule over. It was a harsh sentence to overcome -- and it would take a particular, concerted effort to convince herself that there was no grain of truth in it. 

When they at last reached the forest and her mare slowed, Rosaline shook off the heavy hood and allowed herself to finally look back on the city she was leaving behind. At some point during the trek, a few stray tears had slid down her cheeks -- whether it be from the wind against her eyes or the heaviness of the evening, she could not say with any certainty. She turned her head to look solemnly at William. 

“You saved my life tonight. I suspect it may not be the last time you will.”