#and the. beginnings of 'doubt' in the kingmaker himself

[finnitesimal]

think there's something. In the conversion of the temple to a cyberpunk lab. gods seeking studying humans' progress and innovation. Divine right of kings to a mortal kingmaker

..

[asotin]

tobirama might be madara and other thoughts tobirama doesn't want to have

(i tried to organize this and not to get too repetitive or go on a huge tangent about the details of hashirama and tobirama’s strained sibling relationship beyond the way they tie into tobirama and madara, but it’s a ~3k monster and i am but a simple nerd)

ftr i don’t think that everything here is the correct interpretation of what was happening, but i do think it's how tobirama saw things

to get to why tobirama is shit scared of madara, i think you have to begin with when they’re kids and look at his relationship with hashirama because that’s where the seeds of bad choices to come are planted

1.

tobirama prioritizes hashirama. he can think for himself and doesn’t completely follow hashirama’s directions, but lbr he works within the framework of the things hashirama wants and builds. if hashirama had changed his mind and decided that peace was unattainable, tobirama wouldn’t have left him to start a village on his own. he would have stayed with his brother and kept fighting

madara and hashirama being pulled apart started all the shit, but it was tobirama and izuna who tattled and made that happen

why was tobirama following hashirama in the first place? because butsuma told him to? fuck no. he followed hashirama for the same reason izuna followed madara: his brother has been sneaking off without telling him. hashirama is keeping secrets, even from tobirama

you know what makes you feel like shit? guilt

tobirama made hashirama miserable because he did what he was supposed to do and told butsuma about hashirama’s secret friend (read: he did what a jealous kid does and tattled)

from the start of their friendship, hashirama chose madara. he had to stick with tobirama because they’re brothers, but hashirama wanted madara to be in his life because he liked madara

sure, hashirama chose to die before he chose to kill tobirama but what if those hadn’t been the options? what if madara had told hashirama to choose between madara and tobirama?

both of their younger brothers get killed by madara’s family, but hashirama won’t stop talking about his friend who he should have killed but won’t

tobirama killed izuna like he was supposed to but hashirama won’t kill madara

you know what else feels really bad? the possibility that the brother you love and built your life around might hate you but you can’t be sure one way or the other

hashirama is ready to abandon everything for madara, but he doesn’t really acknowledge tobirama. one of the things tobirama is known for- being a sensor- only comes up later, when hashirama mocks him for not noticing that orochimaru has hashirama’s cells. it's sort of brotherly ribbing but because he's never been shown doing that before or joking with anyone other than madara, it feels more barbed than it normally would

hashirama in general kind of ignores tobirama until they butt heads

maybe it's because there isn't a parallel character to tobirama, but tobirama’s scale of someone’s worth is based on hashirama being at the top, while hashirama doesn't think about tobirama at all outside one moment in the flashback where he thinks about wanting to keep his brothers safe

hashirama, who trusted a stranger because he was playing in a river, doesn’t think much of tobirama, and that’s where the fear starts

why doesn’t hashirama like him? what isn't tobirama seeing?

why can’t hashirama forgive tobirama for telling butsuma?

why was it wrong for tobirama to kill izuna when izuna would have killed him?

madara, who wanted to build konoha and loved hashirama (even if you read it as platonic, if they don’t love each other, what the fuck is up between them bc that relationship wasn’t built on superficial trauma bonding), can be forgiven for turning against the village

why is what tobirama did worse than what madara did?

why does hashirama get so fucked up about madara even though madara tried to kill him, but he gets mad at tobirama for being wary of the people who’ve been trying to kill them (and who they’ve been trying to kill) for generations?

the fear of being replaced by madara is already there, and it only grows as hashirama mourns himself into an early death bc he wouldn’t have done that over tobirama

now add to that what happened when madara turned against konoha. more accurately, what didn’t happen

i’m repeating myself here but if tobirama and hashirama had worked together (if hashirama had called for him to help because tobirama has no business hopping into a throwdown between hashirama and madara and he knew it), they could have subdued madara without killing him (technically madara didn’t die, because izanagi or w/e but they didn't know that). hashirama didn’t want to kill madara. he explicitly, specifically did not want to kill madara and only did after madara pushed him into it

so why didn’t hashirama ask for tobirama’s help? if he’s at the point where he’d kill anyone who threatened the village (which i don’t reeeeeally buy as true bc it feels a lot more like something hashirama told himself to make killing madara less, you know, devastating) wouldn’t he prioritize stopping madara as soon as possible? he never showed any doubt in tobirama’s abilities, so if he wasn’t scared of his brother getting killed, why wouldn’t he call tobirama up?

because he doesn’t trust tobirama

hashirama doesn’t distrust other people. he wants to be friends with anyone. madara was attempting to stir up an insurrection, and hashirama still tried to keep him in the village. but he won’t rely on tobirama

so the fear expands

you know what tobirama doesn’t have? friends. a romantic interest. anything for himself as he grows that isn’t wrapped up in hashirama

this man likes rules. that was how he imagined the ideal ninja world. people make agreements and abide by them

if the founders era is an analog to the sengoku period ie the end of the muromachi period, which it is, then it’s worth noting that at this point in its history, real world japan was transitioning from the system of multiple heirs to a single heir. that wasn’t necessarily the oldest, but when one of your kids is a fucking brick shithouse with a kekkei genkai that’s never occurred before but rebellious and the other one is a genius who would be willing to follow through on your family’s blood feud but a) is loyal to his brother and b) has the charisma of a clammy handshake, who are you picking?

no way did tobirama expect to be made heir and imo he wouldn’t have wanted to be. hashirama is good at being the emotional leader and rallying people bc they like him. tobirama isn’t that interested in being the powerful one bc he’s more of a kingmaker

but you know it occurred to him that butsuma should want him to be the heir. hashirama isn’t exactly reliable and he sure doesn’t want to kill uchihas. tobirama would and he’d do it well

even the he doesn’t actually want the role, when you’re like 16 and your brother who you think is naive and lbr incompetent gets picked- something nobody does bc tobirama is, you know, a dick- it’s going to feel significant

so the fear grows more. he doesn’t want to be the head of the clan, but if he’s the one who could carry out butsuma’s plans, why is he still the second choice?

2.

speaking of butsuma and childhood trauma, it’s kind of interesting that tobirama winds up dealing with uchihas the same way he defused butsuma, philosophically

in terms of their behavior, to a traumatized kid who never made any uchiha friends, uchihas could resemble a certain senju, you know?

volatile, self-prioritizing, self-cannibalizing (fighting within the clan, not literal flesh eating), powerful by standing on the backs of others (no way was fugaku the first to think 'i'll show my kid what mass death looks like and that will make him strong.' the sharingan awakens through painful experiences, and uchihas are even more obsessively devoted to their clan than tobirama is to his. but paradoxically, they were ready to double down on inbreeding and blinding themselves to use izanagi, so they wouldn't be above deliberately exacerbating the trauma their kids couldn’t escape anyway for the sake of getting an edge)

to an adult tobirama, the uchihas sure could seem like a clan of butsumas, huh

how did tobirama deal with butsuma? he got in between him and hashirama. and how did butsuma react? he left to cool down (but i’d bet he never really repented, esp bc hitting hashirama wasn’t surprising to any of them)

what does tobirama do with the uchihas? he gets in between them and konoha. if they’re angry with him, they aren’t angry at konoha. he gives them something else to focus on- and tobirama likes rules, so it isn’t that much of a reach to say he’d think that being trusted to be the people keeping the peace was actually an honor- and relocates them. now they can cool off (but their fundamental nature will never really change)

i definitely don’t think most of that is conscious, but you know. he didn’t trust his father and if that’s who he relates the uchihas to, that’s fertile ground for another type of fear

butsuma was fine letting tobirama’s brothers die. what’s to stop the uchihas from letting konoha die?

konoha is entrusted to tobirama. again, though, he isn’t hashirama’s first choice

now he’s afraid of the village falling apart because of madara and his family (read: because tobirama can’t keep them in line) and hashirama’s dream will die because of tobirama

3.

you know what’s a bad idea? fucking around with corpses. you know what else is a bad idea? war crimes. you know what tobirama’s got a lot of? bad ideas

tobirama is intelligent and more concerned with the end result than the way to get there. he has a backwards idea of what protecting people means and a brutal approach to making peace. he loves hashirama (not like madara does but still, you know. he does love his brother)

the major difference between tobirama and madara is the sharingan, which should put madara in a separate class, but the thing is, tobirama is butsuma’s son

you awaken the sharingan by getting hurt. you’re butsuma’s son by learning to do the hurting

there’s a persistent fear that can grow with that knowledge, which i think tobirama wrestled with until he decided it doesn't actually matter- except for the fact that it would matter to hashirama. coupled with the fear that hashirama sees butsuma in tobirama and that’s why he won’t trust tobirama, that isn’t something tobirama could think his way out of

he might be doing the same thing butsuma did, causing harm for nothing

that fear is further compounded by the knowledge that madara would have destroyed everything and tobirama could do the same. without hashirama to argue with him, tobirama can do what he thinks is right. he knows more about making systems that last than hashirama did, so he’s going to put structures into place that will make sure the village survives

the thing is though, tobirama is well aware that madara isn't cruel for the hell of it. he says flat out that madara is dangerous because he loves so much; that intense love got twisted without madara wanting it to be (more below). he let it happen, but he didn’t just choose it

madara isn't just dangerous because he's strong. he's dangerous because he's the only person even hashirama can't just push around and he's personally invested in what he's doing. he believes that what he’s doing is right; he’s invested in being right

he’s following logic. it isn’t good logic by any stretch, but he isn’t just causing chaos just to cause chaos

tobirama follows logic, too. it’s better than madara’s logic because almost anything would be

he’s living his life for the purpose of maintaining hashirama’s dream. tobirama wanted peace, too, but he doesn’t call konoha his dream. konoha is hashirama’s dream. konoha is hashirama's village. tobirama is just trying to make it work

after all, he told butsuma and killed izuna. the least he owes hashirama is the village he wanted. not fun how hashirama would but run better because tobirama knows better

and lbr tobirama is also the second choice for the villagers. constantly standing in hashirama's shadow and feeling the distance between how loved hashirama was and how distantly appreciative the villagers are of tobirama could perhaps be alienating

4.

tobirama can’t protect konoha from madara because he knows he couldn’t beat madara on his own. hashirama and madara know that, too. everybody knows that if it came down to it, a fight between madara and tobirama would go in madara’s favor

madara has the same attitude but about the inevitability of people hurting each other

tobirama can’t control madara. madara can’t control people

the only way to be safe around something you can’t control is to destroy it

tobirama understands madara better than he understands hashirama. hashirama’s dream is impossible. it’s based on thinking people are better than they are. madara isn't right, but he isn't entirely not right

madara was the biggest threat to konoha, and because tobirama isn’t hashirama, he can’t do anything about that except, as the time between hashirama’s and his own grows, understand madara better

5.

this isn’t canonical but it isn’t non-canonical and i think it works so it's going in

tobirama’s palette swap happened because he found out how/why uchihas’ get the sharingan and in his child soldier brain that doesn’t know anything about genetics (but maybe did???), it seemed like a very sound idea to, you know, try to traumatize himself into developing a sharingan as a senju

but he has the wrong ¼ alien’s blood so he doesn’t get the handy dandy cursed eyeballs. what does he get?

obviously, he got his iconic look, tumblr user asotin. you just mentioned the palette swap

i did, and he definitely got his new style. but he got more than that

specifically: a terrifying insight into what uchihas have to feel when they awaken the sharingan. bc he didn’t get the eye upgrade but he did fuck himself up enough to flood his chakra system with pain and turn his eyes red (sadness makes you pale ig? he’s a nerd so maybe he just stayed inside and didn’t eat well. idk and that part is just to enhance how much more he looks like an uchiha than hashirama, who got the ‘be careful who you call ugly in middle school’ bonus)

the amount of emotional distress it took to get there? the shit he had to make himself watch? the things he had to make himself do?

if an uchiha feels that kind of pain just to form the basic sharingan, which isn’t as fucked up as the mangekyo, then please consider how that would feel to a kid whose coping mechanism is repressing

6.

there are rules about what you do in war and in society. tobirama likes rules. tobirama thinks rules will keep peace

so how could he justify violating almost all the rules to make edo tensei? i would like to propose that it isn’t just hypocrisy or machiavellianism taken to an extreme that made it acceptable to him to do everything that must have entailed. i propose that it’s all the fears above and a trauma response that everybody and their grandma knows now but they probably didn’t in the ninja sengoku period:

if you think i’m bad, i may as well be

in his conscious mind, tobirama isn’t bad. he’s necessary. the whole time he’s hokage, he’s doing what needs to be done

in trying to do what a good brother would do, in accepting that there’s something about him that’s malfunctioning, in accepting that his brother will never approve of him, tobirama accidentally became the worst parts of madara

madara did what he did out of love for other people. he’s got the mangekyo and a dead brother. tobirama knows what it’s like to get the first sharingan. how much worse must it feel to get the mangekyo?

tobirama is dispassionate and logical. he isn’t an uchiha. he values kagami and the other, unnamed uchihas who could overcome the curse of hatred, but that's also a condemnation of himself

tobirama couldn't overcome his own hatred. he’s worse than they are, and he knows he is

everything tobirama tried to do better, he made worse. his legacy, the students who carried on his work, nearly destroyed konoha

if hashirama had been forced to choose between tobirama and madara, it would have been better if hashirama had chosen madara. everyone is thinking that

madara betrayed hashirama because he loved so much it turned him against hashirama

tobirama betrayed hashirama because he didn’t have enough love, and every time he’s looked at madara, he’s seen his own inadequacy

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

Hi love! with so much speculation about Jon Snow taking the Iron Throne, what are the steps he would need to take in order to be King? Is there any scenario where it would be possible without Daenery's support? Thanks!

anon asked:

What are your thoughts on people claiming Jon has a better claim to the iron throne than Dany? If this was a war of succession, then he would… but it’s a war of conquest. Whoever wins gets the crown, not whoever deserves it more.

Answering both of you at once since they’re variations of the same question. First of all, Jon only has a better claim to the throne than Dany if he is legitimate,* if Rhaegar and Lyanna were married and if it was a legitimate marriage. Despite what the show did, neither of those two things may be true in the books. And I presume both of you know better than to ask me about the show.

*This is not counting the facts of Aerys’s disinheritance of Rhaegar’s children in favor of Viserys (who later claimed Dany as his heir), or the whole issue of the precedent against women having any claim to the throne, which Elio says may not apply anyway. Succession is complicated.

Nevertheless, whether Jon has a better claim to the throne or not… well… second of all, Jon has to want the Iron Throne, has to want to rule Westeros, and has to want to fight for it. I genuinely can’t think of any reason the Jon we know would want any of that. (The Jon that comes back from the dead may not exactly be the Jon we know, though.) I have a very hard time thinking of Jon, raised as a Stark (bastard), believing Ned was his father, desperately wanting to be thought of as a true Stark, to deny that part of himself so much that he rejects it entirely in favor of fighting to be a Targaryen instead. Honestly, the only reason I could see him (the Jon I know at least) doing that would be altruistically: to step out of the way of his Stark siblings/cousins’ right to Winterfell, or because he’s acclaimed (the people really want him to be king and he can’t deny them), or because he genuinely thinks he’s the only/best one left to lead Westeros’s rebuilding after the apocalypse. (But then I don’t always expect him to survive the apocalypse; and if he does I figure he’ll be a co-ruler anyway.)

So. If Jon did want to take the Iron Throne as sole ruler (or king with a mere queen consort rather than co-regent), and if he were looking to be acclaimed by those invested in the continuity of the Targaryen dynasty (as opposed to just right of conquest, by which anyone can grab anything really if they beat up everybody else trying for it), what would he need to do?

He would need to prove his legitimacy. Documents (of marriage, of annulment if applicable), witnesses. (Visions of the past are probably not legally admissible.)

He would need support, those lords who would be acclaiming him. Probably a good majority of the Great Lords of Westeros. (The outcomes of the Great Councils were far more than a supermajority, apparently.) Robert was acclaimed by 3 Great Lords (Stark, Arryn, Tully; 4 if you count himself) as well as most of their bannermen at the Trident, and after the Trident by another (Greyjoy) and after the Sack by another (Lannister), and then 2 more (Tyrell, Martell) eventually submitted to him. Jon would need something similar, as would anyone trying to take the throne. Bend the knee, bitches.

In order to get this support, force of arms is really helpful to encourage the lords to kneel with their decisions. A dragon or three, say, a couple of armies.

Would Dany’s support be important? Well, her disagreement could really fuck things up, so heck yeah she’s important. (A scenario where she would not be important is if she’s died or for some reason never comes to Westeros.**) Consider Young Griff/Aegon, and the question of whether he’s legitimate or a pretender – he was supposed to go to Dany to tell her who he was and ask her to marry him, since she was a well-known true and legitimate Targaryen, and her support and approval of his status would win over those doubting lords of Westeros. And her dragons, too. (Note Tyrion convinced Aegon that he could conquer first and win Dany later with his conquering as a bride-gift, but we’ll have to see how that works out.) If Dany is giving a dragon to Jon, as well as an army or two, that is also extremely helpful support.

After all this, Jon would need to be anointed by the High Septon to really get all the people on his side. Sure, he could crown himself (as Aegon the Conqueror initially did), but the Faith of the Seven is still the most popular religion in Westeros and Aegon counted his rule from the day the High Septon crowned and anointed him in Oldtown. Difficulties: Jon worships the Old Gods only; Jon may be resurrected by R’hllor, a foreign god the Faith considers demonic (Jon coming back from the dead at all is kinda creepy lbr); and of course the above questions of legitimacy etc. Another major difficulty: between KL possibly blowing up and Oldtown also likely coming under sorcerous fire, will there even be a High Septon after the apocalypse? Well, if needs be, anointing can wait.

**Another potential scenario where Dany’s support is not important would be a wild AU where Ned Stark doesn’t promise Lyanna to keep Jon safe and secret and unknowing of his heritage, and instead ambitiously makes himself a kingmaker. This would require Ned to be a completely different person as well as his relationship with Robert to be completely different (never any friendship to begin with? a break caused by the Sack that is never healed?), as well as a completely different history that’s not ASOIAF, but presumably neither Dany or Viserys (young, exiled, without friends) would be that necessary for Ned to make Jon a king should he so wish.

I think that covers most of the issues and required steps. Any further questions, just let me know.

[beyondmistland]

Dance Rewrite: The Kingmaker

Black Rivermen hounded Ser Criston Cole as he led thirty-six hundred men south of the Gods Eye in an effort to link up with Lord Hightower, poisoning wells, slaughtering livestock, torching crops, and worst of all, killing outriders as well as foragers. Thus, the march of the Green army slowed to a crawl, the days turning into a week and the weeks into a month, at which point disease began to spread through their ranks like wildfire but for every man who died screaming two more disappeared. If the Kingmaker wished to keep his host intact he would need a victory and time was not on his side. On the fifth night of the fifth moon Ser Criston Cole prayed to each of the Seven for success. Thirty-two hundred men did the same.  (Another six slipped away under cover of darkness. That being said, only one of them would survive the coming battles. Ser Lucifer Lothston. The Red Bat of King's Landing.) Nine days later, the gods gave their answer. As the Green column passed through the village of Crossed Elms three deserters came back with grim tidings. Lord Manfryd Mooton was marching up the Kingsroad with an army of three thousand men to confront them. Worse, a much greater host composed of levies from Lord Harroway's Town, Saltpans, and Darry was even then marching down the banks of the Trident to take them in the rear. Sensing an opportunity Ser Criston praised the gods before then bursting into laughter at this stroke of luck. Using the high hills of the eastern Riverlands to screen their advance, the Greens made a forced march to Sow's Horn, where they fell upon the advance elements of Lord Mooton's army as it was fording the Blackburn, slaying a thousand men for the price of two hundred in what Maesters call the Battle of the Confluence.  (A dozen lords and twice as many knights were captured. None of them were spared. Not even Justin Hayford, who was then only a squire of two-and-ten. When Manly Hogg asked for justice with his dying breath the Kingmaker swore to honor his request.) No cheers were heard in the Green camp that evening. The field had been theirs that day by the grace of the Seven. Whether or not they would triumph again on the morrow was a question most of them feared the answer to. There was no room for doubt or despair in the mind of the Lord Commander though. When Ser Criston told his men they were turning around at sunrise a third of them tried to mutiny before being convinced by the Kingmaker to lay down their arms.  (If the chronicles are to be believed the leader of this rebellion was Ser Lucifer Lothston.) Any hope of surprising their foe was thwarted by spies and broken men however. Thus, the Blacks were able to fortify their position atop a hill west of Maidenpool.  (Forty ships left the Vale of Arryn...Their task?...Teach Lord Borros the meaning of fire and blood...Two thousand men took the High Road...They were attacked by wildlings...Fifty men were killed...Sixty more the following day...) Upon arriving Ser Criston did not press for an all-out attack as expected. Instead, he ordered his weary men to get some sleep once they had ringed the camp with a makeshift palisade. The Riverlords did not rest well on the other hand. All throughout the night a few hand-picked men lit bonfires around the base of the hill at different hours, their clamor masking the Green advance to the rear of the incline, where King Aegon's loyalists pitched their tents in truth. At sunrise a sudden squall broke loose, blinding the Blacks to the true threat behind them. A Stormlander by birth, Ser Criston was quickly reminded of Argilac the Arrogant and his mistakes. Bringing his lords together for a council the Kingmaker laid out his plan of attack but alas it was not well-received. Led by Ser Lucifer Lothston, the Green chivalry mounted a vigorous protest until Ser Criston shocked all in attendance by personally killing his own prized warhorse, saying "today we fight as one or we die as one". Humbled by the example of the Lord Commander, the king's knights all agreed to do as they were told with the exception of Ser Lucifer Lothston, who was chained and fettered for his continual defiance. Having dealt with the waspish Red Bat Ser Criston lined up his men two ranks deep, at which point he led the first charge himself, his sword coated in wildfire as green as Queen Alicent's dress at the Anniversary Tourney of 111 AC.  (The wildfire was supplied by Wisdom Aenar, who wished to test his new formula first-hand.) Alas for the Kingmaker the Blacks were more prepared than before thanks to Ser Lucifer Lothston giving away the ruse with his blistering dissent. Though now they knew Ser Criston's true position the Blacks were blinded by wind and rain to such a degree that they failed to see the Greens climbing up the hill before it was too late. As the lines came together both sides lost all sense of cohesion, turning what should have otherwise been a one-sided affair into an awful slog. By the time the weather cleared forty-five hundred men lay dead upon the muddy hill, making this engagement one of the worst battles of the Dance.  (A third of the slain belonged to King Aegon, the rest to Queen Rhaenyra.) Indeed, when the survivors saw how many crows had come to dine that evening many of them began to wonder if it was the beginning of the end for Westeros. Thus did that bloody affray earn its name. The Battle at the Hill of Death. That night the sky was lit by a corpse-fueled bonfire containing Lord Androw Butterwell, Ser Jason Cox, Ser Quincy Hawick, Lord Leowyn Corbray, Ser Lyle Lothston, Lord Samwell Bracken, Lord Jonos Buckwell, Ser Jaime Stokeworth, and countless more.  (Ser Lyle Lothston was the younger twin brother of Ser Lucifer Lothston and his opposite in almost every way, hence his title "the Blue Bat".) To the shock of his men Ser Criston prayed for their fallen foes as well, saying "in death all children of the Seven are alike". For two days the Greens camped in the ashen mud, fifteen hundred-odd men nourishing themselves on either enemy provisions or what remained of their own supplies.  (During this time four men were killed by Ser Lucifer, who went mad with grief upon hearing of his twin brother's death in battle, forcing the Kingmaker to leave him behind when morning broke.) On the third day they began to journey south in search of Lord Hightower again. Four nights later the Greens came upon a fresh host commanded by the Knight of Stoney Sept and his good-brother, Lord Shawney. Being the first one to recover his wits, Ser Criston held an advantage and he did not fail to use it. The thunderous charge of the Green vanguard swept away all opposition, killing two hundred for the price of fifty. Thus did the Battle of the Queensroad prove to be yet another victory for the Lord Commander. However, his triumph was woefully incomplete due to low spirits and poor visibility. Nonetheless, it was in the Kingmaker's own words, "a success worthy of Aegon himself". Though Ser Colin made off with five hundred men Lord Shawney was captured in the confusion alongside a dozen of his personal guard. When brought before the Lord Commander some called for his head. A few suggested he be tortured till he spoke. Only one asked the Kingmaker to show mercy. Ser Criston kept his own views to himself. Thanking everyone for their counsel, the Kingmaker finally dismissed his lords and knights. What words then passed between Ser Criston and Lord Shawney remain unknown to this day. That being said, we can infer the thrust of their discussion from Lord Shawney's fate. On the third day of the sixth moon a dozen Rivermen knelt before the Kingmaker and announced their loyalty to King Aegon II.  (The thirteenth man was beheaded once it became obvious he would not renounce his allegiance to Queen Rhaenyra.) As the camp burst into cheers the Lord Commander summoned all his lords and knights for yet another council. Thanks to Lord Shawney the Greens were now aware of the threat they faced. The Blacks were gathering swords along the Lesser Fork of the Blackwater. Their goal? The defense of Bitterbridge and Tumbleton, both of which would soon be under attack by Lord Hightower. According to Lord Shawney they already possessed twenty-two hundred men.  (Half of them were levies but he was not aware of this.) To make matters worse bypassing them was not an option either. The Greens despaired...Until a Dornish sellsword spoke up. "The gods have prepared for us a fine slaughter" said Yoren Yronwood, the Bloodroyal's seventh son. Lord Chelsted was not amused. "Have you gone mad ser?!" "Have you misplaced your manhood" the young knight replied contemptuously. Lord Chelsted refused to answer the insult. His good-brother was of a different mind however.  (Bernarr Blount was by all accounts a proud and prickly man unlike his half-sister's soft-spoken spouse.) Speechless with rage, the old man jerked to his feet and drew a knife but before he could move so much as an inch Lord Shawney intervened, saying "he is the only one with a solution!" "I don't bloody care" the Knight of Quills roared. "Then leave" snapped Ser Criston. The old man sat down, gritting his teeth. Now that order had been restored it was time for the Dornishman to reveal his plan for victory. Two hundred men would accompany Lord Shawney to the rebel camp. Once there they would sow conflict and confusion whilst feigning loyalty. Finally, they would kill the sentries and hoist King Aegon's sigil.  (To this end all the men would wear Black surcoats. To tell friend from foe they would wear blue ribbons.) "Only the Dornish would come up with such a scheme" said Otho Bracken.  (The first major battle of the Dance took place near the Teats in 129 AC. The Lord of Stone Hedge at the time was Tytos the Terrible, a sour man who could field more heavy cavalry than the Tullys and Strongs combined. When Lord Tytos charged the Blackwood infantry he outpaced his host. Surrounded by a dozen enemies, Tytos Bracken was then slain by Roger Blackwood, Lord Lucas's youngest brother. All his men began to flee as the banners fell one by one. His heirs took refuge inside a millhouse until Prince Daemon set the whole structure on fire. Thus did the Battle of the Burning Mill come to a fiery conclusion. Flushed with victory, Lord Lucas marched on the Stone Hedge. Prince Daemon had no patience for a siege however. This forced Lord Lucas to take the Stone Hedge by storm. As a result, both sides took horrific casualties.) "I am Dornish" said Yoren Yronwood. "Alas you are" replied the Riverman. The sellsword bared his teeth. "Do you wish to die my lord? Because I would love to keep Lady Bracken's bed warm should she become a widow." "That's enough" said Ser Criston. Yoren looked the Lord Commander in the eye. "If you say so...Stormlander." Ser Criston was not impressed. "You are dismissed...Dornishman." The sellsword walked out of the tent, at which point Lord Chelsted asked for Ser Criston's decision. Before the Kingmaker could speak Otho Bracken interjected. "The Warrior would hang his head in shame were we to go through with the Dornishman's plan!" "I agree" said Gulian Rosby. "I agree as well" said Titus Thorne. "Shame" shouted Morgan Lothston. For a moment chaos reigned as men banged on the table, their voices loud and incoherent. When the Kingmaker stood up they all fell silent. "My brother is a Septon" Ser Criston began slowly. "And he once said to me that each of the Seven embodies all of the Seven." "What in the Seven Hells does that mean" requested Otho Bracken. "It means we're going to pray to the bloody Stranger" said Guy Rivers. Lord Bracken looked at his half-brother, aghast. "Please tell me you're not serious." "I am." The Bastard of Bracken pointed at Ser Criston. "Him too I reckon." The Kingmaker threatened to smile, his eyes bright with mischief. "Go tend to your arms and horses." Once Ser Criston and his squire were alone they began to pray. "Tomorrow there will be blood" said the Lord Commander. His squire began to weep. Out of fear or grief none could say. To the Kingmaker's surprise there was little need for improvisation. Thus did the Battle of the Banner prove to be lopsided butchery...With one exception. Ser Colin rallied two hundred men and formed a shield wall. Though pinned between river and foe they threw back no less than five charges before breaking. As a result, the Greens lost four hundred men and the Blacks thrice that many.  (The following men joined the Seven that day: Lord Shawney, Lord Vance, Lord Paege, Lord Wayn, Lord Lychester, Addam Ryger, Duncan Hightower, Ser Colin, Ser Axl Terrick, and Joss Hill, the one-eyed Bastard of Kayce.) Four thousand men had left King's Landing to fight for Aegon II. Now they numbered less than ten hundred. "Another victory and we shall be undone I fear" said Otho Bracken the following day. Lord Chelsted nodded grimly. "We must find Lord Hightower." "And if we don't" asked his good-brother. "Then we all get on our knees and kiss the fat whore's ugly ass" quipped the Dornishman. "It won't come to that" said Ser Criston. "How do you know" spat Morgan Lothston.  (He was the offspring of Ser Lucifer...Or Ser Lyle.) Ser Criston arched an eyebrow. "Tumbleton is only a moon's ride away—" "And our cause is just" blurted Wat of Pennytree, a boy born with eyes each of a different color. "Yes. There is that too I suppose" the Kingmaker said with a smile. "Willis, bring me my horse." As the Greens approached Tumbleton they passed by a stony ridge. What did they see atop its incline? An army seven times their size. To deny his men an inglorious death Ser Criston chose diplomacy. "Name your champion" the Kingmaker told Ser Garibald Grey. "Do you take me for a fool" asked the Knight of Misty Moor. Ser Criston hid his rancor. "Is that your answer?" "Yes." "I see. How about you Lord Dustin?" Roddy (the Ruin) gave him a sorry smile. "To cross blades with the Lord Commander would be suicide...Even for the likes of me." "I understand. How about you Longleaf the Lionslayer?" Ser Pate did not reply. For the first time Ser Criston felt despair. "Must it end this way" he said ever so softly. "Yes" sighed the savage Lord of Barrowton. The Kingmaker bowed his head. "May the Seven have mercy on all of us then." He began to turn his horse around, at which point the trap was sprung. A bolt pierced Ser Criston's eye. He fell to the ground with a howl. Half his men lost heart, including Ser Gulian Rosby, who was the first to throw down his sword and flee. Lord Dustin blew his war-horn as the Blacks then fell upon Aegon II's army. By dusk only a hundred of the king's men still drew breath. Small wonder the survivors called it "a butcher's ball".  (Forty men led by Mordred Hill countercharged the Blacks in an effort to rescue the Lord Commander.)  (His squire kept the peace banner flying until both his arms and legs were cut off. Thus perished Willis Wendwater.)  (According to the singers Ser Criston ate his own eye.)  (The Kingmaker was stabbed in the back by one of the following people: Ser Lucifer Lothston, Yoren Yronwood, Sabitha Vypren, Black Trombo, Silas Stout.)  (It was the third day of the seventh moon.)  (Ser Criston was eight-and-forty, his squire sixteen.)

As always, share, comment, and critique.

[theageofchivalry]

Edward Iv and Isabella of Catille

During the early part of Edward the Fourth’s reign, the new King’s marriage prospects were of big importance to the nobility of England, including Richard, Earl of Warwick, known in history as the “Kingmaker.” Reputable historians such as Paul Murray Kendall believed that Edward was only a “titular King, a puppet,” and behind the the curtain Warwick called all the shots, that he was in fact the “true ruler of England” during the first ten years of the reign. But the fact is that Edward was very much in charge of the government, and was active in every part of the Kingdom. This King had a mind of his own. He was certainly a great military strategist, leader in war, and a valiant knight himself, he also had an intuitive sense of what was best for England; he knew already how to govern; he brought a degree of peace and stable administration England had not known in years, thanks to the return of all those captains knights and regular soldiers when came back rapidly after the final defeat of the English by the French, concluding the Hundred years’ War, and leaving the English only with Calais and its pale.… . So it was that England was no longer a “massive power” in Europe, and most countries weren’t particularly interested in treaties with the unstable and assaulted government of Henry VI and his Queen, Margaret of Anjou. But with the advent of the original Sun King, Edward IV, and war between potential Royal Houses and many of the former soldiers, left, so it seemed to them, to highway robbery: these were swooped up by the contending Houses to fight for their cause (I don’t thing there was as yet conscription in England; these highway robbers–and robber barons along with their knights and followers, were itching to fight, and neither side had much difficulty recruiting troops); as a result, particularly at the Battle of Towton, the greater part of the Lancastrian leaders and followers were smashed by Edwards own right arm and the massive following he had, and so this was the beginning of the end of the political and social strife that had tormented England and made it a, perhaps, comparatively weak nation under a weak King and a ruthless, angry Queen.… . Since the Battle of Towton made Edward (not Warwick) pretty-much secure as the English leader, and unity among the people of both Houses was beginning, once-Lancastrian nobles and knights coming to London, the faithful city of Edward, to offer their allegiance to the new King, it didn’t take long for other nations to recognize the growing influence of Edward and the knights, nobles and followers of the new Royal House of York; and suddenly Edward became the most elegible, most desirable bachelor among Kings and Princes in Western Europe, and Warwick, thinking somehow that he controlled the English government “from the saddle,” as Kenndall said, though actually the English rule was in Edward’d hands, in London at Westminster Palace, the very center of political happenings, while Warwick assisted Edward, perhaps in military matters, putting down little uprisings and helping Edward establish his rule in every part of England, his own vanity leading him to think he was in fact acting on his own behalf. As the “apparent grand vezier” of England Warwick naturally thought he should be in charge of foreign policy, and right now this centered on the King’s marriage.… . One very likely candite was Isabella of Castille, a beautiful and sought after Princess herself with a WHOLE lot to offer besides good looks: the massive Kingdom in Spain, Castille, and this match would be, at least, advantageous to the English King’s influence, power and wealth, ossibly making him the leader of Western European politics, outshining the French Spider King. Before Edward of England married Elizabeth Woodville, the daughter of Earl Rivers and the widow of a knight, all of whom were Lancastrian in heritage but now became ardent Yorkists, –before Edward married Elizabeth Woodville-Grey, making her now Elizabeth Woodville-Plantagenet, Queen-Consort of England, for love (a very romantic scene–maybe the most romantic–in English history)–in 1464, and a few weeks later, Edward not revealing his marriage for awhile for reasons best known to himself, as well as awhile before, English diplomats arrived in the Spanish nation of Castille to discuss a possible marriage of their King to Isabella. I’m not certain, but I think Kendall is right in his “Warwick the Kingmaker” when he says Warwick leaned to a French marriage alliance, so he probably was not involved in this diplomatic mission; I also doubt Edward was involved, he peferring to make such decisions himself (in fact he may already made his decision before the ambassadorial–or pseudo-ambassadorial –nobles, arrived in Spain for audiences with the Castillian Private Counselors, then the Princess herself: these men arrived on their own behalf, and though they did not have the King’s explicit approval, Edward may not have been unhappy with them; he thinking it was a routine procedure and his Privy Council in fact gave the credentials. The Royal Council of Castille knew of Edward’s success in quieting significantly the political conflicts in England, as well as to a large extent the social unrest, a good number of the soldierly disreputables who knew of nothing but war, were taken in and fought for one side or the other, with, alas, a good number of them killed–though I like to think Edward would have preferred at least the men who fought on the Yorkist side be recruited for future expeditions, too busy doing what they loved, not being annihilated or lessened through death but also not attacking decent folk on the highway, or in their villages.… . Keeping all this in mind the Castillian Royal Council, though not yet giving any sanction or approval of the proposed match, yet thought Edward a viable enough candiate for Isabella, so they were granted an audience. What has just preceded is a surmise of what happened upon the noblemen’s entry into Castille, though it is possible that they'ed have to go through the Castilian Royal Council, stating their business, presenting their credentials, all the formalities, including by now Edward’s well-known, indeed even by now legendary good looks, and how their son would one day be King of England and Castille. Of course, other advantages to Castille were discussed, among them trad agreements increasing the wealth of both Kingdoms. So, having received permission, the English nobles, whose names unfortunately, I don’t know, were invited to the private apartments of Isabella to discuss this arrangement… . . After going over everything involving the advantages of a Castillian alliance with England, the leader of this somewhat doubtfully-Royal delegation from the English, I like to think, have presented Isabella with a locket, possibly in the shape of a heart, bearing the best-likeness known they had in their power gained access to, of Edward the Fourth as was available at this time; and it revealed the young monarch at age 21, with his long chestnut hair, very comely, handsom features accompanied with a placid, confident appearance. This was a “headshot” of the King: he wore the blue, ermine cloak of Kings, and a beautiful crown, and she was able to see a bit of the silken, blue robe the King wore under his Royal robes.  The picture was too small for Edward’s arms and hands to be seen, but the orb with the Cross painted mimiaturely yet precisely on the left side of Edward’s shoulder, and the golden scepter on his right, Isabella saw a man who was a true-born King, perfect for one in appearance. THEN she noticed his handsome–beautiful–face and obviously gentle appearance. Isabella was in fact so taken with the locket and the man whose portrait it bore that she unabashedly held it on her heart and thanked the Englishman profusely for “introducing ” her to the King of England, even though it was in words and a painting, and expressed her interest in pursuing a marriage-alliance with England. Naturally, definitely not having the authority to do this, the English nobility and knighthood that made up this diplomatic ensemble could conclude nothing now; they said they would be back with “more authoritative ambassadors, directly from the King’s Private Counselors,” to discuss further matters. And so they were dismissed, after having promised to return; and Isabella was shot through the heart, the subject of love at first sight.… . [To be cont.]

[lady-plantagenet]

A Bygone Era - Chapter 4

A fictionalised account of the life of Isabel Neville told through the eyes of those who knew her and herself.

Points of view written so far include Anne Beauchamp, Anne Neville, George Duke of Clarence and Isabel Neville herself

25th April 1469

High up and far-removed from the soothing slosh of a now fully thawed thames and the bustle of the city street’s mercers, sat the kingmaker’s women. The mahogany panels of the solar were warmed by ribbons of newborn saffron light. It now piercing through the stained glass windows threw a rainbow at the gold-adorned hems of the ladies’ gowns, setting them alight like embers. Queen Elizabeth sat above them all on a heavy dark chair propped upon the highest dias Isabel had ever seen. She was like a Heléne on her throne at Troy now gladly rinsed of her previous marriage to Sparta. The lovely curves of her rosy cheeks were raised in concentration as she led them all in the honourable practice of sewing shirts for the peasantry.

Isabel smirked at how much straighter her stitches were and how much nimbler her fingers worked through the countless linen shirts. Her mother from whom she had inherited her craft had, like her, finished ten, little Anne six and the Queen four. Perchance, it is true what they say about lineage and the gifts that come with it.

Besides her was sat the queen’s sister Anne, now Viscountess Bourchier, soon to be Countess of Essex, but never to truly be Isabel’s cousin-in-law. Not nearly as lovely as the Woodville Queen, but the way her long fingers would strum the strings of the psaltrey, was so light that the air seemed filled with each delicate twang.

The queen’s other lady, the flaxen-haired Elizabeth Tilney sat at the fringes of the queen’s entourage: far removed from Isabel’s mother, sister and the grandiose ‘proud Cis’. The room division’s resembled battle lines and that did not elude Isabel. She let out a dry cough, which she attempted to stifle behind her emerald sleeve in vain.

‘Milady Isabel’ started the queen causing her to arch an eyebrow at the masked daggers that lay beneath Elizabeth’s modulated voice. ‘You seem weary child, The way you danced at the St George’s day festivities! - oh - it is no surprise that your body may not have recovered’

Oh but how I danced. Isabel could remember that night still: the jolly minstrels, the helmeted cockentric clad in the blue and murrey livery of the house of York astride the pig and George’s invariably bright smile when portraying St George in the pageantries with a makeshift lead crown on his head.

Isabel felt a blush threaten to surface on her cheeks. Feeling the sudden wish to abscond to her chambers and immerse herself in her romances and think on George, graciously excused herself.

As she made for the end of the solar she caught sight of her mother’s drawn faded face. Rumours of her father’s clandestine affinity for Lancaster have seen a wane in his power at court. The future would scatter Isabel and Anne onto either side of this war depending on who they marry, but their mother’s rise and fall ran with her husband’s, for whom she now had only miscarriages to contribute. From the door Isabel once more dipped her head slightly as a special gesture meant only for her mother to which she responded with unmoving eyes.

Isabel’s moods now also greyed such that she forgot all about George and the pagentries and she felt the disquiet for her family’s fortunes grasp around her throat. Nevertheless, she counted herself fortunate to be free from the queen’s presence. That woman’s beguiling black eyes had done more damage to the House of Neville, then she could have ever herself known nor contemplated. That serpent. For all her foreigness to courtly power, it is for certes she who stands betwixt George and I.

Isabel took to hating her as organically as a fish to water. Little Anne however remained in awe of her loveliness and would often try to emulate her gestures and walk, probably believing that on account of similar colouring, someone would mistake her for the Queen. I was not as impressionable and naïve when I was her age, was I?

She made for the open hallway leading her to the wing where her provisional bedchamber was situated. The short trimmed grass enclosed within square shapes was a far cry from the phantasmagoria of the windswept scenes at Middleham or even Warwick castle. The Earl had always allowed the vines to grow onto the battlements and towers like in an Arthurian legend, their terre verte arms asserting their dominance over the grey stone like a snake would its prey.

‘Nostalgic, darling?’ Asked a young voice

Isabel spun around so quickly that the emerald of her skirts and the crimson of the long silk of her henin whirled around her thin frame as if in protection.

‘George! You half-frightened me!’ gasped Isabel

‘Are you indeed so surprised to find someone about court before vespers?’ he replied sardonically

‘No... no’ said Isabel regaining her composition ‘I was merely lost in thought’

‘On what may I ask?’

‘Thoughts too many to count on both hands’ she said feeling a sense of unwarranted nervousness creep into her voice, ‘mainly on when we are to marry. It has been many years past and I feel that if father cannot procure this, it only comes to show the King loves him no longer’

‘Oh how impatient you are!’ he chuckled

‘At ten and eight, how could I not be? Have you any notion of how it feels to know of all those since girlhood married and with children of their own?’ All those far plainer and less landed than I.

George gave her a look which no matter how endearing it may have appeared to him struck her as condescending.

‘Come here my haughty Isabel’ he said playfully gesturing to the stone bench behind them ‘Edward knows that I mean to have you and I will have it no other way. I have made my intentions clearer than a spring pond’

Though still appearing unappeased in the strain of her eyebrows, Isabel’s felt her body naturally turn towards his while she obeyed and sat. ‘It is that Rivers woman is it not? Casting her net over-‘

George placed his hand, on the small of her back bringing her closer, which they both knew was the most ardent gesture he could offer without making his cousinly preference for her visible. Little good it did them as the other half of the court that did not whisper of the Earl’s Lancastrian sympathies, rightly believed them secretly promised in a dangerous alliance. ‘Come now, as much as I am wrought to ever defend her or her kin, I must say that your father’s enmity over her has made you also overestimate her’

‘Do you truly believe my judgment to be wrong?’ demanded Isabel inquisitively ‘I have seen her over the past months. The Duchess of Bedford must have imparted to her all her craft’.

‘He has loathed her since that affair with Sir Hugh and how she spurned him thinking herself above in rank to his retainer. Who though a knight of Jerusalem, had not the courage to even ask for her hand himself. It was first father who had written to her and then yours.’

‘I thought it was because the Queen's father, then a mere knight, dared to summon father to Rochester believing him guilty of piracy and then having the nerve in refusing to relinquish his command of Calais, until the troops had been paid their - in arrears - dues.’

‘Oh but how much you do know!’

‘Father tells me all of this.’ smiled Isabel ‘I am his heiress after all.’ The future Countess of Warwick... like mother I shall be. How god wanted me to be powerful that he had me placed into a line where titles to pass to women like they do to men.

‘I see then. Would my lady care for a stroll around the herber garden?’ Asked George offering his hand, no doubt wanting to draw her somewhere more remote where he can freely confide.

Isabel knew she was expected to be in her room but begrudgingly accepted the offer nonetheless... She clung onto his peach satined arm as if he were leading her into a banquet. Feeling the slipperiness of the sumptuous material with each readjustment of her fingers. She started fearing that her nails would leave cuts into the material.

They dallied about the quadrangles pretending to be attentive to the spicy mix of violet hyssop and gentle-hued sage. Both their minds were elsewhere. They claimed their seats but this time on a bench so much smaller than the last, that George found himself blanketed by the thick skirts of Isabel’s Burgundian gown.

Isabel plucked a part of the Betony behind them. Its fuschia so bright it seemed to her that it did not belong in the same world as the fortress of Westminster with its sad colours and hoare-white walls whose winter spirit seemed to melt with each striking of the sun. ‘There George, I have just the plant for your humours’.

‘You believe me to have violent blood, you contemptuous girl?’ he said amicably responding to her coyness.

‘There never was a day I doubted it. Tempestuous, you were always’ she said softly with a twinge of longing for their schooldays

‘Then you ought to be my calming force. But now that I see how testy you be, I am beginning to question my belief!’ he teased holding a sage up to her eyes and finding it comparatively lacking in colour.

Isabel’s eyes peered at his back in amazement - at how they appeared to be constantly shifting in between honey and hazel. I may have the sea’s green in mine, but he has all its capriciousness. Oh how I mean to be married to him. Queen or mere Duchess, it matters not now. How noble he looks with his new black velvet cap - though a crown would suit better. She thought back to the tableaux of him as St George at the banquet. The delay in marriage had given her ample opportunity to grow accustomed to her role in George’s ambitions and for the past year she found she too yearned for their outcome. In being schooled in Latin and matters constitutional and equitable, she found a welcome addition to her otherwise stale instruction in religion and manors.

‘Now sweetling, tell me of your father’s plans. What was that business with Wenlock in Calais?’ prodded George

‘That I was not privy to’ answered Isabel quietly ‘But perhaps it is time you told me of what you and father mean to do with that Robin fellow. His name was circulating around Middleham before we left a fortnight ago.’

‘A mere decoy, my love. It is John Conyers, a kinsman of yours by marriage’ replied George ‘Would you keep a secret?’

It just now dawned on her how easily George is like to surrender information just to prove himself the more informed. Isabel nodded quickly, ‘Oh yes! Jesus wept, I thought I would go mad trying to wade through your and father’s spider mesh ‘till I could decipher your strategy!’

‘Well, We have borrowed some money from the city to raise men and we will march north to Edgecote’ whispered George jubilantly ‘with troops raining down on him from Yorkshire and us from the south. Edward will be entrapped like a lamb in its pen. With that simpleton Robin of Holderness dealt with, Edward would immediately assume that our Robin of Redesdale be of Lancaster as well’ George’s already large eyes clearly brightened at the prospect of schooling the kingmaker’s daughter in strategy. With a voice that bordered on too loud he continued, ‘-and deal with him himself thinking Captain Margaret begins this plot. Did you know he always secretly feared her’

Isabel nodded slowly in comprehension. ‘If you have taken to drawing arms against your brother, then pray tell: how may we secure permission to wed?’

‘Why we need only god for that, do we not? And that we have for the dispensation has been given by his Holiness’ announced George smuggly to a hushing Isabel who was now nervously peering around for any sign of life that would betray this conversation to her newfound enemies. Reassurance and bliss showed on her face when he added, ‘and we shall finally be married, in a couple months time but in Calais. And no one, not even Edward can move against it’

New dissensions brewed and strangely in a room which populated with the tight-lipped smiles of the barons’ wives, and the handsomest King and Queen that England had ever seen, seemed dyspathetic to such.

After being privy to what she believed to be the full extent of her formidable father and George’s plan, she felt an unfathomable anxiousness follow her with every step she took at court. She may have felt so uneasy, that even her raven hair felt heavy and tangling under the protection of the confining heart-shaped henin, but she was resolved to prove herself a true lady of good virtue.

I am kingmaker’s daughter and need to also mask my knowledge of treason, in every empty smile and curtesy, however dishonest that act may be, she thought to herself, while approaching the dias. The naïve Felice was now once more at war with the heiress of four great houses.

In the same azure gown she wore before vespers, Elizabeth the Queen minced onto the dias in a manner whose imperiousity, Isabel conceded, was greatly aggravated by her own dislike. Therefore, she was half-surprised to see it was indeed the king, who with a booming proclamation declared court reopened.

‘Ah- if only it had been you there beside the king. A more apt mediator to soothe our differences could never have existed’ cautiously joked her father, one step behind her. You mean to say I would have better filled the throne that you built.

‘Oh but father, surely you could not fault me for that, I was not yet ten and still with the nurses, when you - he was crowned’ said Isabel

‘The fault would be of none but mine. It did not occur to me until the last of your dear mother’s miscarriages that I would have no son. Had I realised how god feared the coming into this world of a son born of people as we are, insatiable and limitless, who would soon make half of our native land but the manor of one man, I would have made certain that if the blood of our lines must pass into new houses, it would have been that of royal. Nine years past he would have denied me nothing.’

The Earl’s tone was tender, causing a smile that revealed some of the lines and folds of one on the brink of advanced age. The way the rich red folds of his overgrown fell, however, revealed the body of a younger man still lean and strong. He amiably caressed the arm of his favourite daughter, the warmth of his hand cooled by the pale jewels resting on each finger. To all around them it would appear as if a plot were being hatched between the Neville clan, such smiles were commonplace for Isabel and foreign to all else. It was particularly that which made Isabel reciprocate.

‘But father, what of George?’ She queried with amusement still in her voice ‘I could not be more pleased with such an arrangement, not even if it were with the King himself’.

She spared him a glance. He who towered above all men unrepentant, shared the same kingly beauty as George: a small rosebud mouth, retrousse nose and high forehead. However, where George’s hair hung in châtain curls streaked with gold and some copper, Edward’s hair was straight, dark and fashioned under a velvet cap like she so often saw sported by his emulative brother of Gloucester. Where George’s eyes were large, round and revealed much, his were were her father’s Neville brown cunning eyes, sharp, alert and intelligent.

Edward of York’s large frame, voice and person did nothing to diminish the impossible elegance of his every movement and friendly countenance. In spite of Isabel’s penchant for prettiness in men that naturally exalted George in her eyes, she could see that Edward was rightfully considered the handsomest and born to be king, and begrudgingly Isabel accepted that, on looks alone, Elizabeth seemed to as well.

‘Yes, Clarence has all the superficial signifiers of his house: gallantry, bravery and chilvalry. I believe him to be a protector of the old ways and what is true and good. I also think him more inclined to listen to counsel than his brothers. But, dear daughter, you mistake me for your uncle of Montagu. It is he who is a soldier and I, a diplomat, have little interest in bloodshed and moreseo where it concerns one who I once thought of as a brother’ her father added sadly ‘Alas, you, Clarence and I are Nevilles and we do not shirk from our obligations to England’

‘I mean to say, I do not dutifully come to the Clarence as a wife’, she plead redressing her indescrete use of his Christian name. A habit that she should resign in the annals of her childhood, when becoming Queen ‘It is no resignation for me. Truly father if you’d know how lonely I felt after sister Margaret left to marry that knight, with naught but mother and books to keep me company... But whenever at court, Clarence provides me with a companionship I am so joyous and gracious of, that I feel loved by him as I merit. He is comely, charming, witty and oh so very learned’. To her chagrin Isabel noticed herself nervously fiddling with the rings upon her pale dainty fingers. When shall the day come where I no longer have to switch in between fingers George’s emerald ring? I so yearn to proudly present it to all.

‘A curse on that learning I say’ muttered the Earl ‘his love for poesies has yielded upon us a man full of scruples, fears and doubts. I daresay the only flaws he shares with his brother of Gloucester. But where Gloucester with the cold craft strange for one so young harnesses them into a shield, Clarence lets himself be swepped up in the chaos of his own wary premonitions and acts rashly.’ The Earl’s ominous speech was interrupted by the slight chuckle he had to himself, bringing his fingers up to his temple as if in a headache, he continued in a light incredulous tone that confused even Isabel in its interspersion of fatherly affection and judgment, ‘My, had you been there to witness how he demanded for your hand in marriage - he strode into the privy council and made his request in a manner so defiant, it was as if the king had already refused him before!’

Read the rest of the chapter and all those before it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22268239/chapters/55672000

[expressandadmirable]

We Can Make the World Stop

It had started innocently enough. Given that moments of privacy on their journey were few and far between, Lux decided to make peace with her companions' close proximity and find activities they could all do together. If they were fated to be constantly in each other's business, she reasoned, they might as well find ways to make it enjoyable. Part of her even hoped a group hobby might bring them closer, allow them to work out some of the tensions that occasionally cropped up between them. She lived ever in hope.

At first, the search proved difficult. Meditation was by necessity a solitary act, chess was designed for two, sparring and dancing happened in pairs or small groups, and tea parties only interested a few. The one thing everyone did know, she discovered, was how to play poker.

On the third night of one of their longer voyages, around the heavy table in the Platinum Dawn's galley, they gathered. Lux provided the cards; party coin was swiftly declared off-limits, for everyone's well-being, and Sol produced the pouch of shells and sea glass she and Lux usually used as chips. The Drow dealt, and they began.

The game that night was the first of many, and as the cards and chips skittered across the table, the Heroes of Light learned much of their companions.

Sporting tiny spectacles to allow him to properly see the cards, Grummer was, perhaps, the most "average" when it came to poker. He won on occasion and lost more frequently, but neither outcome ruffled him overmuch. More than the game itself, he enjoyed spending time with his sworn allies, finding it akin to gathering around the campfires in his mercenary days. Sometimes his mind wandered, wrapped up in memory; when he snapped back to reality, he invariably bet too high and bluffed too hard and folded shortly after.

Lux was no expert, but she had been learning from her time spent playing against her Drow, and with every hand her skills improved. Preferring to fold gracefully rather than bluff her way to victory, she spent much of her time analysing her friends, learning their tells and calling their bluffs. Had she taken to the game years ago she might have become an unbeatable player, but the people at the table knew how to read the truth of her, and she knew when she had been well and truly bested.

As was often the case in his life, Wilhelm continually allowed his cockiness to get the best of him. The game was a chance for his shell of awkward professor to crack, revealing the flamboyant, exciteable socialite they all knew lay within. It was no secret when his hand was strong, as his bets instantly soared, accompanied by a tellingly self-satisfied smirk that was swiftly and decisively called. When he did manage to win, he surprised even himself.

Morgan, honest to a fault even in a game of deception, nearly always lost. During the first night she caught herself accidentally counting cards; while she could have used it to her advantage, she immediately admitted it to her friends and changed her style of play to assuage the guilt. She believed almost every bluff, conceding with little provocation, and even when her cards were strong, her myriad tells revealed her hand long before she lay it on the table. It never saddened her to lose, however; as long as everyone showed each other kindness and gave in to laughter, she was content.

A stone-faced soldier with centuries of experience, Sol quickly proved herself the master player. It was often difficult to tell how seriously she took the game, until her stoic expression curved into a smirk and she shot a dry comeback across the table. Her tells were few and her bets steady, and her pile of shells grew higher and higher as each game progressed. After a significant look and a psychic suggestion from her Tiefling, she eased her desire for victory in favour of giving each of the others a chance to shine -- every once in awhile, at least.

Maergrahn, it seemed, was absolutely dedicated to being the wild card. His bets were bizarre and his bluffs hard to call, and whenever he lost, he made up a new rule to explain how he had actually won. Wearing one shoe meant it was an Opposite Hand Game and his two pair was the victor. A trio of eights was dubbed a Royal Fizbin and was the kingmaker of hands. In the beginning, Morgan accepted his claims without question; once she realised she had been had, she spent her games watching him over her cards with narrowed eyes. He whistled innocently and continued to invent.

When they played in the galley, they were often joined by Osaid the Sage and Bikke Blackhand, allies in their quest and members of their crew. Feldon was needed topside to steer the ship, which he did not mind; he had little interest in games fuelled by lying and deception. Sending Bikke to play in his place had, in fact, been his idea, and the marid was beyond thrilled to be included in the pastime. The polar opposite of Wilhelm, Bikke thrived on the excitement of betting a weak hand, challenging as often as he could and repeatedly pushing all the way to a call. He never won. Osaid, by comparison, gave even Sol a run for her money, jovially and long-windedly bluffing his way into many a victory.

With each passing game, Maergrahn's list of rules became longer and more convoluted. Some rules were modified situationally and some were abandoned altogether in favour of even stranger stipulations. While no-one but him officially followed them, his absolute devotion made them difficult to ignore. Sol casually followed them on the occasions they benefitted her, raising more than a few eyebrows, and she reminded the players rather testily that her paladinic vows were vastly different than Feldon’s. Not to be outdone, Wilhelm began to use as many as he could remember and contributed new ones when he forgot. Morgan and Grummer, confused and aggravated respectively, tried valiantly to continue playing unmodified poker. Lux merely shook her head.

By the time they reached land, the games were becoming hopelessly intricate. Tucked within the safety of their magical dome, each evening included at least one post-dinner hand, and each hand made less sense than the last. Far from the long glances and subtle cues of standard poker, Mutant Poker was a raucous affair involving wild hand gestures, staring contests, card tricks and threats of competitive dance to settle disputes. Lux was not even entirely sure what they were playing could still rightly be called poker, but her friends were (mostly) laughing, and that was enough. The game was less important.

Upon their return to the Platinum Dawn, Maergrahn proudly declared he had taken his rules and invented his own, separate card game. Dubious but willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, the others agreed to play. If Mutant Poker was confusing, Dwarven Hamhoonery was a pure, unadulterated hallucination.

Sol was the first to realise Maergrahn was making the rules up as he went along. Rather than pointing it out, she began to do the same, inventing a series of rules that only applied to those over two hundred years old or to Lord Generals. In response, Lux dubbed each person a General of something-or-other, which Sol accepted as valid because Lux was clearly the Queen. By the third game, there were no longer cards involved. By the fourth, it more closely resembled charades than anything even remotely involving strategy. By the fifth, General Grummer of the Scarab nearly overturned the galley’s heavy table, roaring that what had once been a game had turned to nothing but yelling and manic flailing. Hopping nimbly onto the table (much to Queen Lux’s horror), General Maergrahn of the Fancy Feet crowned Grummer the Ultimate Supreme Champion Hamhooner and announced the tournament had concluded for the evening.

The next night, they returned to poker.

Watching the darkening sky from the stern of the ship, Lux had to laugh. Even as the Heroes of Light endeavoured to break the grand cycle, they had created new, smaller ones that were all their own. Maergrahn would never stop inventing rules, Sol and Wilhelm would never stop attempting to memorise and use them, Morgan and Grummer would never stop protesting, and the rounds of classic poker would mutate and deteriorate into anarchy once again. Of all the loops they were fated to be stuck in, she had not expected a card game to be one of them.

It had worked, though, she mused. They argued and they fumed and they pointed fingers and very nearly flipped tables, but not one person had abandoned the game. They were finally coming together, six disparate people learning slowly to coexist. They were more than friends. They were becoming family.

A gentle hand at the small of her back. The game’s about to begin, Sol informed her. Was she coming? Lux nodded and smiled. Just a minute to finish her cigarette. She wouldn’t miss game time for the world.

[eurekamagdoteu-blog]

So: Just Who Are The DUP?

A Young Arlene Foster.Photo by The Belfast Telegraph.

Lindsay Heenan

British politics is not what it used to be. A once stable and often monotonous political system has been shaken to its core in recent years, with resignations, referendums and leadership elections rendering the United Kingdom a fractured state in flux. For students of political science, Britain has rarely been as exciting; yet for Brits themselves, politics has rarely been so worrying.

 With little doubt, the shock decision of the British electorate to leave the EU was the biggest accelerant in this new era of British politics. Described by many as a plunge into the dark, the referendum result unearthed a number of questions that didn’t immediately demand answers before June 23rd 2016 - including the time of the next General Election. Despite denying the need to call a General Election upon her ascension to Number 10, Theresa May’s 2017 U-turn brought Britain back to the polls earlier this year, in order to secure the mandate that her naysayers said she lacked. Predicted a colossal majority over Jeremy Corbyn’s Labour Party, May actually managed to lose 13 seats in the Commons, a fact that left her with a variety of unpleasant decisions to make. Who’d of thought that Northern Ireland’s Democratic Unionist Party would become the kingmakers of the commons amongst all this uncertainty? 

 As a Northern Irish citizen, I can absolutely acknowledge the lack of understanding around the DUP, or further still, what the situation in Northern Ireland actually is. My aim however, is to try and make sense of who the DUP are, what they stand for, and what Theresa May’s new reality means for the UK as a whole, as well as Northern Ireland itself. 

 Just Who Are the DUP?

 If I’m being honest with myself, I’m not even sure where to begin with this. But let’s try it out. The Democratic Unionist Party was founded by Reverend Ian Paisley at the height of ‘The Troubles’ in 1971. The firebrand preacher established the party on the principle of staunch allegiance to the United Kingdom - totally abhorrent of any sort of Dublin influence in Northern Irish affairs. This was perhaps best demonstrated by Paisley’s charisma-fuelled ‘Never’ speech in protest of Margaret Thatcher’s signing of the Anglo-Irish Agreement - a video I thoroughly recommend finding on YouTube. 

 Since its inception, the DUP has always offered a somewhat more radical form of ‘unionism’ in Northern Ireland. In 1998, they refused to enter the new Northern Irish government established by the Good Friday Agreement, on the grounds that they would not share power with Sinn Fein, the political wing of the IRA. This move would skyrocket their support among those who could not yet bear the thought of convicted murderers, who despite having not served full sentences, were being elected to public office. Ironically, when they became the largest party in the country in 2006, Paisley and the DUP would change their views on this matter, and indeed entered into government with the ‘bloodthirsty monsters’ (Paisley) of Sinn Fein. Paisley himself would serve as First Minister alongside IRA top gun (perhaps ‘top bomb’ would be more appropriate) Martin McGuinness. Paisley dramatically softened his stance on Irish Nationalism and Catholicism during this time, but it would not be enough for the DUP’s ‘modernisers’, who ousted him from the party in 2008. 

 What Do They Believe? 

 To get a grip with what the DUP stand for today, it’s important to clear up the misconceptions spread by British tabloids that no doubt clogged our Facebook feeds in the days following the General Election. The reality of the DUP is that, as far as Northern Ireland goes, they really are not that shocking of a phenomenon. Outside of our London bubble, there are without doubt areas of the UK which some may refer to as, well, a little more rustic. There is perhaps no area a better example of this than Northern Ireland - we did go through a thirty-year civil war after all. 

 A proudly Christian party, in what remains a strongly Christian country, the DUP uphold the views of the Protestant tradition in Northern Ireland - and are popular for doing so. Their support mostly stems from rural church-goers and working class Protestants in larger towns and cities like Belfast and Derry. The former sympathise with their hardline stance on issues like gay marriage and abortion (which both remain illegal in Northern Ireland), while the latter see them as the only party protecting their right to fly Union Jacks from every lamppost available, and march on the roads as much as possible during Northern Ireland’s 10 annual sunny days. With Sinn Fein’s support growing among Catholics in Northern Ireland, it would be political suicide for the DUP to alienate either of these core support groups. Thus, their stance on key issues only hardens. The party remains as firm today on many issues as it did during the Paisley years. They reject calls by people in the North to have a referendum on the border. They do not agree with the legalisation of gay marriage, abortion, or recreational drugs. They deny notions of Darwinist evolution and climate change. While this may seem like a shocking set of beliefs outside of my country’s borders, a high percentage of the population have a keen fondness for the DUP’s offerings. 

 The party’s stance on gay marriage and abortion have undoubtedly resulted in them getting plastered with homophobic and sexist labels - which to me feels overzealous. It would be wrong to label the whole support base of the party as homophobes and misogynists on account of their religious beliefs on social issues. But this does not mean the DUP are not deserving of these labels. The leadership continues to stand behind members of the party who have clear homophobic and sexist, not to mention racist, Islamophobic, and sectarian, beliefs. Here are some standouts: 

 ‘There can be no viler act, apart from homosexuality and sodomy, than sexually abusing innocent children’ - Iris Robinson, former MP, on child sex abuse

‘Would I trust them to go down to the shops for me, yes I would’ - Peter Robinson, former First Minister, on distrust of Muslims

 ‘I don’t care about CO2 emissions, to be quite truthful’ - Sammy Wilson, MP, on climate change 

 ‘Her most important job will remain that of a wife, a mother, a daughter’ - Edwin Poots, MLA, on Arlene Foster becoming First Minister

 ‘Save Ulster from sodomy!’ - Ian Paisley’s slogan during protests against legalising homosexuality

 Clearly, then not a very forward thinking party. These people are certainly part of the DUP’s old guard- but the fact that the party continues to give these individuals power and air-time speaks volumes. 

So What Does Confidence & Supply Mean For Us?

 So what will the deal between May’s Conservatives and Foster’s DUP mean going forward? For Northern Ireland, this really has the potential for good things. An injection of £1 billion to one of the poorest regions of the UK is all the more valuable considering we are currently lacking a government, and looks to be lacking one for the foreseeable future. Despite opposition from many in England, Scotland and Wales, Northern Ireland is the region in most desperate need of investment to education and infrastructure. Though I have much distaste for the DUP, I’m excited for the prospects this deal brings for Northern Ireland, both economically and politically - perhaps this forgotten province shall finally gain some politically clout. For the UK as a whole, the deal will actually do very little. A ‘Confidence & Supply’ deal looks almost nothing like the Conservative’s coalition formed with the Liberal Democrats in 2010. The DUP’s ability to shape policy going forward will be highly limited, with May’s main concern in shaking their hands being the passage of budgets and the avoidance of Motions of No Confidence. Despite unrest even among Tory ranks of the DUP’s record on LGBT rights, it’s unlikely that we’ll see any sort of homophobic legislation rolled out UK-wide. 

 A general election nobody predicted left us with a result that similar numbers foresaw. The DUP became the kingmakers in May’s government’s most desperate times, giving the six counties of Ulster levels of media attention last seen when bomb-strapped cars lined the streets of Belfast. In the end, Northern Ireland remains a poisoned chalice - it is in neither the interest of the United Kingdom, nor of the Republic of Ireland, to control this region. An economic liability and a desperately divided state, the future is uncertain for Northern Ireland - the present however, looks rather promising.

[nonshedders]

Plot Spoilers Abound!

Shakespeare?!

The History Plays!?

You can't be serious?!

I am.  Write about that which you love, they say.  Well, I just love these plays.  They were, to the playhouse patrons of Elizabethan and Jacobean London, the HBO and Netflix dramas  of their day. They were, first and foremost, commercial works, aimed to generate a profit. They were fictionalised dramas; adopting themes, developing characters, and scripted carefully to entertain, provoke and manipulate their audiences. And, loosely - very loosely - they were based on the origins and consequences of the conflict between the Houses of Lancaster and York.

And so, if we imagine that boxed-sets were available at the 17th Century Globe Theatre, the back wrapper may have read something like this:

King Richard II is an indecisive, self-centred, adult-child, who ascended the throne at the age of ten.  Feted by the Court since childhood, Richard has grown to adulthood with an overdeveloped sense of entitlement, and no concept of self-discipline.  A disappointment to the great promise of his lineage, Richard has surrounded himself by sycophants, and squandered his personal wealth, leading to increased taxes on his subjects.  He is resented by the commons, and disrespected by the nobility.

When Richard's powerful and wealthy uncle, John the Duke of Lancaster, (John of Gaunt), dies, Richard seizes Gaunt's immense wealth for himself.  Gaunt's eldest son and heir, Henry Bolingbroke, already harbours reason for enmity towards the King.  Bolingbroke had been banished from England by the King prior to his father's death.  And now, driven by that enmity and a strong sense of injustice, he plans to return to England and claim back his rightful inheritance.  

Bolingbroke is everything Richard is not.  He is greatly admired by the commons, and deeply respected by the nobility.  And Bolingbroke, being also directly descended from Edward III, has a claim to the throne.

Bolingbroke's original intent, to simply claim back his Dukedom, is tested by the despair with which he views Richard's England, and also by Bolingbroke's immense popularity with Richard's subjects.  He claims his Dukedom - and then the throne; usurping Richard and ascending as King Henry IV.

Although popularly acclaimed as King, divisions and resentment remain in the Kingdom, and Richard's death has not only stained Henry's reputation, but eroded his own certainty in his divine right as King.  Meanwhile, King Henry's eldest son, Prince Hal, has a reputation as a wastrel and an associate of men of disrepute, most particularly the scoundrel, John Falstaff.  Upon who does Prince Hal model himself:  his father the King, or his de-facto father, Falstaff?

Dissension turns to rebellion in the north, and Henry is challenged by the Duke of Northumberland and his son, Henry Percy (Hotspur).  King Henry openly bemoans the cruel fate which sees Northumberland blessed with such a heroic and worthy son as Hotspur, while the King sees "riot and dishonour stain the brow" of his young Harry.  Prince Hal and Hotspur meet in battle at Shrewsbury, where Hotspur is slain.  King Henry IV retains his kingdom, but loses his health, and goes to his death doubting the capacity of his heir, Prince Hal - now King Henry V.  Falstaff, expecting great favour from the new King, is coldly rebuffed by his now regal former associate:  "I know thee not, old man ... Presume not that I am the thing I was".

And indeed, he is not.  King Henry V is the warrior King, who hammers the French into submission at Hafluer, before leading the exhausted and vastly out-numbered English forces in a famous speech,  and to a famous victory, against the French at Agincourt.  When he firmly establishes himself as the undisputed monarch of England and France, English supremacy seems assured.  Yet King Henry's reign is ended by illness at a young age, and the crown passes to his infant son, King Henry VI.

England, again, experiences a minority monarch, and the nobles jostle for dominance.  France seizes the opportunity to reassert its own sovereignty, assisted by the self-proclaimed agent of Heaven, Joan la Pucelle (Joan of Arc).  The loss of territory in France inflames the divisions in the English court, a situation perfectly described by Lord Exeter:  "'Tis much when sceptres are in children's hands; But more when envy breeds unkind division; There comes the rain, there begins confusion."

The Duke of Suffolk, having seen the power wielded by the Lord Protector, Gloucester, plans to undo the Protector and seize control of the throne.  He does so by wooing Margaret of Anjou to adopt the roles of wife of King Henry, as well as mistress of Suffolk.  Thus, in his own words:  "Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the king; But I will rule both her, the king and realm."

Suffolk's manipulation of the King riles Richard, Duke of York, who openly proclaims his right to the throne; claiming that his direct lineage would be kings, but for the usurpation by King Henry's grandfather.  York is supported by the Earl of Warwick, "the Kingmaker", and thus the kingdom, again, falls into dissension and rebellion.  The weak King is coerced into formal recognition of Richard of York as his heir, effectively disinheriting the King's own son.  Queen Margaret is outraged, and spurs her supporters within the House of Lancaster into open civil war with the Yorkists.  When the forces of Queen Margaret cruelly taunt and murder Richard, Duke of York, the Yorkists are provoked to their own righteous outrage, and the die is cast in the fight for supremacy between the houses of Lancaster and York, now led by Richard's eldest son, Edward of York.  King Henry is captured and imprisoned in the Tower.  Margaret and her son, Prince Edward, flee to France.  The Yorkists prevail, and Edward of York succeeds as King Edward IV.

But Edward's hasty and secret marriage to Margaret Woodville causes dissension within his own house, most disastrously with Warwick, who hears of the marriage whilst in France negotiating the marriage of Edward to the sister of the French Queen.  So aggrieved is Warwick by this betrayal, that he abandons all allegiance to the House of York and swears to aid Queen Margaret in her quest to have her son recognised as the King of England.

Margaret, Warwick and Edward of Lancaster return to England to garner forces to overthrow King Edward IV.  At the Battle of Tewkesbury the future of the House of Lancaster is extinguished when Edward of York and his brothers, George, Duke of Clarence and Richard, Duke of Gloucester, take their revenge for the murder of their father by slaying Prince Edward of Lancaster before his mother's eyes.

York is victorious.  The winter of discontent is made summer.

But the evil and misshapen Richard, Duke of Gloucester, has clearly stated his ambition.  "I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown."  And so, King Edward IV is undermined by the duplicitous "support" of his younger brother.  When King Edward falls ill and dies, his teenage son is briefly proclaimed King Edward V, but before any coronation can be arranged, Gloucester, assisted by his "second self", The Duke of Buckingham, manages to discredit, murder or disappear all claimants between the throne and himself, finally emerging as King Richard III.

Once King Richard has achieved his ambition, his great affection and reliance for Buckingham is replaced by disdain.  Buckingham switches allegiance to Henry Tudor, Earl of Richmond, a direct descendent of John of Gaunt and claimant of the throne of England.  Meanwhile, Richard, in a bid to reinforce his royal credentials, poisons his wife and sets his sights on his niece, Elizabeth of York, the heir of the former King Edward.  But before the betrothal can be realised, rebellion boils over in the form of an invasion by Richmond.  They eventually meet in the Battle of Bosworth Field.  

The night before the battle, Richard is visited, and clearly distressed, by the ghosts of those who have died in his quest for the crown:  "Shadows tonight have struck more terror to the soul of Richard, than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers".  

During the battle, King Richard is unhorsed, then slain by Richmond, who is subsequently crowned King Henry VII.  The first act of the new king is to proclaim a pardon to the defeated soldiers, declaring, "We will unite the white rose with the red: smile heaven upon this fair conjunction, that hath long frowned upon their enmity".