A new king and his queen (Closed)

[Pogue]

Roger La Plagenet sat back in the hard wooden throne, shifting his shoulders from side to side as he tried to find a comfortable position as he half listened to the congratulatory speech. He couldn't remember where the rotund delegate was from, one of the allied countries, but after the six or seventh speech lauding his late father and praising his unexpected ascendancy to the throne, Roger was barely paying attention, his mind wandering as he thought of the turbulent past few weeks.

His hand reached up, his fingers tracing along the rim of the heavy iron circlet, the crown of the heir apparent as he wondered at the twist of fate that was raising him to be the next king. He was the youngest son in a late King Richard, his four surviving brothers all better educated, better suited to rule than he was, and he couldn't understand why his father had picked him, had passed over the sons that had been groomed to be king all their lives to select the one member of the family least suited to sit on the throne. King Richard had been a wise man, a good king, but a distant and cold father. Roger had barely knew the man, usually seeing him only at official dinners and state functions, his father's attention always on the state of the nation rather than his studious youngest son. Roger had been studying military history, deciding whether he should write a book about 1st century cavalry tactics when he had received the word of his father's terminal illness. He had expressed his regrets while sending his congratulations to whichever of his elder brothers were chosen to succeed their father, not really thinking too much about it until Jeremiah, the royal chamberlain had come to his chambers, the heavy iron circlet that signaled the next king cradled on a velvet cushion in his hands.

Roger had thought Jeremiah mad, that perhaps his old tutor had become confused as he presented the heir apparent's crown to him. He was the youngest son, he had never studied state craft and diplomacy like his brothers, the idea of him ascending to the throne almost ludicrous while his father lived. It was only after several minutes of conversation that Roger finally accepted the situation, reluctantly taking the heavy circlet and placing it on his brow where it would stay until his official coronation. That had been a fortnight ago, two weeks of hectic scrambling, of planning and organizing by the palace staff that had left Roger with plenty of time to ponder the weighty question that Jeremiah had posed to him that evening in his chambers. "Now that you will be king, sire," the old man had asked, his eyes red with emotion, his usual chipper attitude subdued by the loss of the king who he had always considered a friend, "who shall be your queen?"

Roger had felt overwhelmed, had avoided the question as he tried to adjust to the sudden changes in his life, being suddenly thrust into a role he felt unprepared for and then being asked to choose his wife was too much for him. He'd spent the first few days avoiding Jeremiah, knowing that the old politician would inquire if he'd made his choice, reminding him that they had a limited time to notify his intended bride before the coronation. Roger knew his choice was important, that his marriage was now a political issue, that he had to choose a woman that would strengthen the throne, would help the nation. He knew his father's marriage to a daughter of a neighboring kingdom had brought them much needed trade, had provided safer borders, but had also led to mutterings amongst the people about being ruled by foreigners. Roger felt that he had to choose someone native to his land, someone that people loved and supported even if they didn't know her that well. He'd made his decision the previous night and was now waiting until this meeting with the delegates of the neighboring lands ended to inform Jeremiah of his choice.

Four hours later, Roger was nearly asleep, that he couldn't find a comfortable position in the hard throne was the only thing keeping him awake as he listened to yet another speech filled with praise and reminiscences of his father. He almost missed the end of the speech, startling to attention as he noticed that everyone in the room was looking at him expectantly. "Thank you, thank you all very much," Roger smiled as he stood, bowing slightly to the gathered diplomats as they too rose to their feet. Several returned his bow before filing out of the audience chamber.

"Finally," Roger sighed moving away from the throne to sit in one of the more comfortable, better padded seats in the gallery. "I thought that would never end," he confided with a gentle smile as he looked up to see Jeremiah silently approaching. "Hopefully, they're not always that boring."

"Actually I thought that they were rather engaging today, sire," Jeremiah assured the young man with a wry grin, "you should listen to Lord Andrea when he starts discussing farm tariffs."

"Lord preserve me," Roger replied with a short laugh.

"Sire, have you made your choice?" Jeremiah asked delicately after a few seconds had passed, afraid of irritating his former pupil with his incessant question regarding his queen.

"I have, Jeremiah," Roger assured the old man, watching him carefully as he told him, "I choose Gwyndolyn La Plagenet as my bride and queen."

"Very good, sire," the old Chamberlain nodded, his years of being in politics helping him to mask any shock he felt, his expression not changing at all as the young king to be named his own sister to be his queen. "I will have her summoned to the palace. She should be here by the morning," the old man assured the new ruler, bowing slightly before turning and resuming his duties. The old politician wondered briefly how this announcement would be received by the Lords and nobles of the land, many of them secretly hoping that Roger would choose one of their daughters for his bride.

 

[LeDamsel91]

Gwyn liked her life at the convent. Loved it even. She was isolated from court, away from the life of her mother. Her father, the now dead king, had married her mother, his second wife, for the sole means of procurring a wife from a foreign country to open up trade. The fact that she had been born was only a testament to the fact of her father's virility. She had been an accident and a daughter. What good was she to the empire except to be married off to some foreign dignitary. She had procurred her father for a life of chastity as she had been brought up in the convent after her mother's death when she had been three. Instead of growing up knowing courtly gossip and being sought after by lords and princes, she had grown up tending gardens, learning to dance, how to read and write, mathematics, science, languages. SHe could speak English, French, German, Gaelic, Italian and Portugese. All fluently. She was mindful of herbs, and knew how to cook and run a household and though she was a novice nun, she desperately wished to recite her vows and become a bride of Christ.Unfortunately, her father had died before he could respond to her request. Now her fate laid in the hand of one of her half brothers. Men she had never truly known. After all, she had been only three when she had come to the convent.

Wearing a simple wool gown, her blonde hair braided in a simple plait, she was on hand and knee, digging up root vegetables. She was not like most princesses. her hands bore callouses, and she was not about the latest fashions and mindless gossip. She was practical and smart. Much more clever than the average seventeen year old lass. As she tended to the garden, she heard the distinct sound of horses and turned her head towared the front gate, seeing a whole procession of horses and knights. And then she saw the family crest of her father. Meaning whichever brother had ascended the throne had sent for her. Her heart sank and she quickly finished with her chore and got up from her place on the ground, running the basket to the kitchen before watching as a man entered the abbess' quarters. Biting her bottom lip, she slowly approached the door to the abess' quarters, listening in.

"...has told me to retrieve his sister. The matter to be discussed with her highness on the way back to the palace. A private matter," the man was saying in a gruff tone. She frowned. what could be so important that she had to return? And why couldn't the man tell her abbess? But then, the abbess was hardly of noble blood. And she was not part of the nobles class and so she might not be privy to information.

"I see," the abbess said, her voice sounding grave. "Princess Gwyndolyn was wishing to take her vows to the church...Is that a possibility?" she asked. Gwyn bit her bottom lip and heard the man shift and clear her throat.

"Nay...she will not be returning to the convent," he said. Frowning, Gwyn burst through the door and saw the gray haired soldier turn to look at her. She frowned. "I'm going to the palace to marry aren't I?" she demanded.

The man gave a curt nod. She closed her eyes. "Who?" she asked. "A prince, or some Lord's son?" she aksed softly. Not wanting to marry at all. This was absurd. Why did she have to marry anyone at all?

"That information will be explained on the road back to the palace. Men have already gathered your things. Say your goodbyes. By the king's orders, you will return home immediately," he said simply. Gwyn stiffened and then gave a diplomatic nod before turning to the abbess. She gave her a hug, being really only close to the woman who had raised her like a mother. She gave a kiss to her cheek, promising to return and then slowly turned, walking to the group of horses and then entering the carriage put aside for her. After sinking down on the seat, she closed her blue eyes and held in any emotional tears that pricked her eyes, the watched as a man entered the coach and it started to move. She said nothing at first, and instead watched him. He looked uncomfortable and she only meant to make it worse. "What is it that the King wants? Who am I marrying?" she asked.

"Well," the man said. "You will be marrying the king...your half brother King Roger..."

As a young woman that thought herself strong of mind, she fainted when she heard the news.

-----

The following evening, after being dolled up in a gown that she had never thought of wearing, as it was cinched to tight to her slender waist and the cut was such that it showed off the cleavage of her breasts. Instead of gray or black, it was a beautiful blue with white lacing and ribbons. Aye it was pretty. And her hair was coiled and coiffed in the latest style with a silver circlet laying on her brow with a sapphire glinting in the middle that matched her eyes. Led to a chamber, she walked inside, seeing her brother. The man who also wanted to marry her and held her tongue till after the introductions and the servant left. Once alone, she glared.

"I am not marrying you. You are my brother. Cousins may marry cousins but I will not degrade myself and marry you. Despite having a different mother, the same man fathered us and I'm not going to share a bed or a marriage with you...King or not, I refuse your suit," she said plainly, arms crossed, looking as regal as any queen or princess despite the fact that she had not been brought up as a normal royal.

 

[Pogue]

Roger watched the entourage as it entered the palace, the carriage surrounded by guards as the soldiers escorted his sister, the queen to be, back from the convent. He remembered Gwyndolyn as a small child, a sweet little girl with whom he had played occasionally before she'd been sent to the convent following her mother's death. He remembered her golden hair and large blue eyes that had always regarded him with a certain mature curiosity as they played, perhaps the young girl wondering why her brother, several years older would choose to spend time with her. He had felt bad for her when their father had sent her away, sending her to the convent for an education and also because she reminded him too much of his late wife. He'd visited her a few times in those first years that she lived with the nuns, the time he got to spend with her growing increasingly strained as the distance between them grew, the paths of their lives diverging. The last time he'd seen her was on her sixth birthday, a stiff and formal meeting between the young girl and her pre-teen brother, neither one of them having any real connection to the other.

He had heard that she had grown up an educated and beautiful young woman, devoted to the church and determined to take her vows to become a nun, a plan that he had ruined when he summoned her. He had chosen her not simply because of some gentle childhood memories, of some familial desire, but for what he believed to be solid political reasons. His choice would no doubt shock some of the nobles, rumors were bound to fly as quickly as people could talk, but he had chosen her not for her rumored beauty but to bolster his own power. He needed a wife that had blood ties to their neighbors but was also of their people, he must marry a woman who was as connected to the people of their own land as she was to their allies. After many hours of careful consideration, of weighing and judging every woman of noble birth that he could think of, Roger had finally chosen his half sister as the only candidate that didn't have some black mark, some rival political affiliation that might weaken his rule.

"Have her taken to my mother's chambers," he instructed Jeremiah, knowing that the suite of rooms had already been cleaned and prepared for her arrival. Gwyndolyn would stay in those chambers until the ceremony crowning him king was complete, their marriage made law by his assumption of the crown. "Have some maids assigned to her, let her rest for the day. I'll meet her tomorrow evening," he concluded, wondering what kind of woman his sister would turn out to be, what sort of wife he'd chosen for himself.

The next evening, Roger was once more seated on the hard uncomfortable throne as he half listened to a report on the wedding plans, the details of the celebration boring him as the pompous official appointed to planning the royal wedding recounted how many flowers, how many doves, how many cakes were being prepared. He was wondering if the man would tell him how many grains of rice they had procured for the celebration when Jeremiah approached his side, leaning down to whisper in his ear. "The princess Gwyndolyn is here," the old politician told the new king quietly.

"Very good," Roger nodded to this Chamberlain as he raised his hand, the wedding planner falling reluctantly silent as he began to talk about rice. "I'm sorry to interrupt but I'll ask you all to excuse me, my future wife is here and I'm eager to meet her. Thank you for all your hard work," he added, waving his hand dismissively as he sat up, squaring his shoulders as the servants filed out, readying himself to meet his sister once more.

Roger had heard the rumors floating among the palace servants of his sister's beauty but he was still shocked as the lovely young woman was led into the chamber, her golden hair pulled up and coiffed in the latest fashion, the luxurious gown highlighting her slim waist and ample cleavage as she was introduced to him. Roger waved his hand, signaling for the servant to leave them as he regarded the beautiful young woman that was his sister as she stood before him. He was just opening his mouth to greet her when she spoke, protesting against their marriage, refusing his suit in a clear challenge of his authority.

"Well said," Roger nodded his head, a smile crossing his face as she stood there, arms crossed in a regal attitude that defied her religious upbringing. She couldn't know this but her refusal, her challenge of his right only piqued his interest in her more. "I heard you were as intelligent as you were beautiful," Roger complimented her as he leaned back, regarding his sister carefully. He could still see the small child that he remembered playing with in her face, her graceful features more mature but that same serious expression was still there as she regarded him. "And while I accept your protests, your refusal means nothing. We are to be married," he assured her simply, "it is my wish and therefore law. I need you as my wife, Gwyn, and so you shall be my wife. It really is that simple," he assured her. "You don't have a choice, my dear. This is what your king requires of you."

 

[LeDamsel91]

Gwyn fisted her hands and lowered them to her sides. "It is wrong for us to marry. And to lay with one another as man and wife...its a sin against God to do so. It's cleary written in Leviticus that a man should not lay with his sister...I do not want to be damned to hell because of you," she said simply. She could tell he was not going to relent. She had already been measured for a wedding gown and told of what would happen on her wedding day. As fast as things were progressing it would only be matter of two or three weeks and she'd be his wife. Shaking her head, she turned from him. "I can't...you'll have to drag me to the alter and force the words from my mouth," she said staunchly and took a deep breath, walking to the window and gazing out at the courtyard below. Everyone was involved in their activities. Maids carried baskets of laundry, knights were in the training yard practicing, their pages and squires carrying buckets of water or holding the spare weapons on the side lines. Carts were coming and going and courtiers were flocking all over the place. It was close to the evening meal and she was hungry but she wasn't certain she wanted to be seen in public knowing that everyone would know she was marrying her half brother. She did not know him intimately. In fact he was a perfect stranger. And there were not many signs of them being related. She took after her mother with her fair hair and blue eyes and pale skin that despite all her years as a novice, had never taken sun or browned. She'd always worn hats outside in the garden and all nuns were required to wear the long sleeved and high necked gowns, novice or nun alike.

She was out of her element in this gown, surrounded by all these people in their beautiful clothes, their heads full of vanity. She had been taught to not be vain and to be thankful for everything God gave her. She had never looked at herself in a mirror, never paid much mind to clothes she wore, and now she was in the thick of society where looks and status were considered most important. She had felt like an equal to the novices and now she was supposed to act superior to everyone as a Princess and soon to be Queen. She considered running but she was supposed to honor the head of the family. It was all so conflicting inside of her. He was the man in charge because their father was dead. She was supposed to honor his children. but to know that to honor him she had to marry him, her brother, it made her sick. She looked down at her intertwined hands and took a deep breath, closing her eyes.

"I'm intelligent because I studied hard and was taught well...as for beauty it doesn't matter if I am or not. I never put much stock in my looks...this is wrong...all wrong..." She dropped her hands, looking at him then approaching him slowly. "You can't...really expect me to do this. You can't expect me to sleep in the same bed as you and bear you children. Please...please...let me go back to the convent. I....I am much better suited there than I am here...I've never been surrounded by courtiers, I know...how to be a Queen or a Lady but I don't wish to be...please...If I must ask this one thing of you, let me return to the convent. It is my home and my life. Let me become a nun...please," she whispered softly.

 

[Pogue]

Roger knew his words were not what she'd wanted to hear, watching his younger sister as she lowered her hands to her sides, her fists clenched slightly as she reminded him that their marriage was considered a sin in the eyes of God and the church. "Perhaps," he admitted, realizing that her knowledge of the bible far outstripped his own. He'd never shown much interest in religion, attending services only on special occasions and holidays, whereas his younger sister had been studying the bible, ready to devote herself to God, and become a bride of Christ. "The Archbishop will officiate at our wedding, he has granted us an indulgence," he assured her as she stated that she didn't want to be damned to hell. He didn't add that he thought the amount of money and land that he'd had to grant to the church for the indulgence amounted to little more than highway robbery on the behalf of the greedy and rather suspect Archbishop.

Roger ran his hand through his short dark beard as he watched Gwyn move to the window, looking down into the courtyard, obviously deep in thought as she pondered their future together. He knew she had a strong moral sense of responsibility, that she'd do what was right, what was demanded of her. His eyes ran over her body as she stood at the window, admiring her slender waist and graceful back as he admitted to himself that her beauty certainly enhanced his desire for her to be his bride. He'd made his decision based solely on political reasons but to have be a desirable young woman certainly sweetened the pot for him. She resembled her mother strongly, her fair skin and golden hair a stark contrast to Roger's own swarthy complexion and dark hair. Roger took after his own mother, he remembered her dark hair and hazel eyes fondly, but he had his father's powerful build. He and Gwyn couldn't have looked less like siblings, the only faint family resemblance being in the shape of their chin.

He listened carefully to his sister as she tried to reason with him, pleading with him to let her return to the convent, to resume her life of peaceful contemplation. "I'm sorry, Gwyn," Roger told her softly, reaching out to gently take her hand, "but I need you, the kingdom needs, and as a princess you must do your duty for the nation. This isn't some passing whim of mine, not some cruel joke, but a necessity for the good our nation," he assured her. "The very fact that you've never been around courtiers, haven't experienced court intrigues, is one of the main reasons I need you. Every other woman of noble blood, even some as young as six or seven, are engaged in some courtly intrigue, some political power play that could spell disaster for our country if I chose them as my bride. I need a woman of noble birth, with ties of blood both to our country and the ruling families of our allies, who isn't involved in some political scheme, to be my queen. If you can name one other woman now, I'll release you from your duty. Give me her name and I'll send you back to your beloved convent," he promised her, "but if you cannot, then I will ask that you submit to my wishes and honor your duties as a princess of this nation."

 

[LeDamsel91]

Gwyn's face fell and she looked down. She could name no woman. Wasn't that unfortunate? She closed her eyes, withdrawing her hand and then nodding softly. "If I have no other choice," she whispered softly. She supposed the indulgence would help and she would make sure any children she had with this man also had their own indulgences for she did not want children born of incest going to hell. If he had an indulgence, he probably already had papal dispensation. If the pope had agreed to the union, then she had no choice but to do this. Taking a deep breath, she lifted herself up and then sank down on the chair across from him. She ran her fingers together nervously and then looked to him. "I suppose I can't change what is going to happen to me, but I would ask that if I am to be your wife, you allow me more freedom to make decisions for this country. I do not wish to be only a brood mare for you to give you children and an arm ornament. I want to help this country thrive...I was educated well and that education can benefit this country we will both rule...I know a woman's place is not by her husband's side but that is where I wish to be..."

She trailed off. "If I cannot do what I truly wish, would you at least grant me this?" she asked him. "I would rather be a bride of Christ and a nun. But because I cannot, I humbly ask that if I am to be a Queen, I be a queen and not a woman who only organizes court dances and visits, and who lays in bed to get with child...I want to attend meetings with you regarding the welfare of the country.I would prefer it if I were an advisor on your council..." She trailed off and then looked down, fisting the gown between her fingers as a servant knocked and bowed, saying dinner was ready to be served before leaving just as quickly. She sighed and then looked back at her half-brother. Awaiting his answer.

 

[Pogue]

Roger frowned as his sister withdrew her hand from his, her eyes closing in a moment of disappointment as she finally seemed to concede that she had no other choice. He could see her resigning herself to her fate, her dreams of a life spent in service to God falling apart as he called on her to do her duty for the nation, to honor his wishes as King.

He listened as she spoke, making her request to be more than the usual queen, a smile slowly crossing his face as she detailed what she wanted, delighted in how she saw her role as his wife. He knew many of the Lords and nobles would object to her presence, to her being granted any position of power, but this was one of the reasons he had chosen her. Her education and her natural intelligence could only benefit him and the country. He knew he would make enemies, men who feared change, who clung desperately to tradition would argue against her being allowed into their meetings, even if only in an advisory role, but their impending marriage was already making waves. His choice of his own half-sister as his bride had sent shockwaves through the parliament, the council of nobles, many of them secretly hoping to marry off their daughters to the King to be, had become truculent, debating every idea or suggestion that Roger offered up to them. He was just opening his mouth to agree, to assure her that he would share the power of the crown with her when one of the kitchen servants knocked, announcing that their dinner was ready to be served.

"Come, let us eat," Roger suggested rather than answer her as he stood up, offering her his hand. "I've asked for a private dinner tonight, just the two of us," he informed her, "I'm tiring of having to listen to forty or fifty politicians at every meal. They seem to think that whenever I'm in the room they can ply me with their offers and deals. Come, Gwyn, I think we have much to discuss," he assured her with a warm smile, rather enjoying the discovery that his younger sister and future bride was an intelligent and beautiful young woman.

 

[LeDamsel91]

Gwyn nodded, noting that he hadn't answered her question but decided it was best not to pester him. She walked with him to a small solar where a fire was already lit and a table of food was set up as well as a game table near the fire with a chess board and a deck of cards for playing whist or peaknuckle or something to that effect. She slowly sank down at the table, looking at the array of food set before them. Roasted quail, quail eggs, rice, a bit of gravy, fish, fruits, vegetables, roasted potatoes. It was all a veritable robust feast. She'd never seen so much rich food in her life. Servants cut at the meat and laid some on her plate and then wine was poured but she asked for spiced apple cider instead. Slowly, she took a bite of the quail and chewed slowly. Not wanting to appear the glutton. She probably wouldn't eat all that much.

"Do you always eat like this?" she asked curiously, not trying to sound rude. She was used to eating fish most days, and porrige. Nothing so robust and fullsome as all this. Simple fare. Not grand meals such as this. She took a sip of her cider and then sat it down again.

 

[Pogue]

Roger enjoyed the sensation of having the beautiful young woman on his arm as they walked along the short corridor to the small solar, one of the few truly private rooms in the palace and his primary sanctuary from the hordes of politicians and courtiers who seemed to follow him everywhere he went. He held the chair for his sister as she was seated, something that a king normally wouldn't do, protocol calling for everyone to remain standing until he was seated. He noticed the servants exchanging a few glances, as if they were shocked at his behavior or they found something truly amusing in seeing their sovereign waiting on his wife to be. He took his seat, waiting for the servants to cut the meat and pour the wine before waving them away with an imperious gesture, finding himself anxious to be alone with his sister, his queen, once more.

"The palace chef seems to think that every meal should be a banquet," Roger shrugged as Gwyn inquired about the meal, wondering at its luxuriousness as she sipped at her cider. "I've mentioned to him that I do not necessarily require seven courses at every meal but he seems determined to fatten me up to our father's stature before my coronation," he confided to her wryly, seeing a faint glint of disapproval in her blue eyes as she sipped at her cider.

"Although, I must confess that I'm beginning to find myself enjoying the abundant luxuries that a King may indulge in," Roger added as he ate some of the quail, noting that the chef had spiced it slightly heavier tonight.