HELL IS EMPTY

HELL IS EMPTY & ALL THE DEVILS ARE HERE. –– EDWARD SEYMOUR DUKE OF SOMERSET & LORD PROTECTOR OF ENGLAND. KNIGHT OF THE GARTER, VISCOUNT BEAUCHAMP OF HACHE, AND 1ST EARL OF HERTFORD. apart of tudorhqs. viewer discretion advised.

[edwardscymour]

dutifulxalistair‌:

It had been a year since he had been in court. A year since Arthur had died. The thought of it still stung. The two brothers had been as different as day and night, but they had shared an unbreakable bond, or so he’d thought. Death had proven him wrong. Old habits had him riding out alone, arriving at Hampton Court before anyone could have been warned that he was coming. There was a time that warning could have been very useful. He’d always tried to see how close to the line of trouble he could get without crossing it. He’d found himself on that line more times than he could count, and it had been Arthur who had always pulled him back. Not anymore. Now he had too many responsibilities to cause trouble, and no one to restrain him. Still, a glimmer of the man he’d once been crossed his face as he swung himself off his horse. “Did they miss me, hmm?” He asked his horse before noticing he wasn’t as alone as he’d thought. “What do you think? They missed me, right?” 

                         ––   The Duke of Somerset’s return had incidentally fallen in unison with that of Alistair Clifford – recently elevated to the Earl of Cumberland, so he’d heard upon the grapevine. The earldom of Cumberland was not one to be trifled with; nay, not even Edward would dare to poke the sleeping bear who’s allies included the Howards of Norfolk and the Brandons of Suffolk. As Edward himself understood it, the conditions of Alistair’s rise to fame were... unfortunate, as it were. The death of a brother, the loss of a kin. It was best to tread lightly and so, despite every fibre of his being that urged him to don a decisively nettled expression, Somerset brushed away the comment made to the earl’s stallion and folded his hands neatly behind his spine. “ Do you ask the beast or I, my lord? You might receive entirely different responses should you answer ‘both’. ”

[edwardscymour]

@dukecfnorfolk liked for a starter !

                          –––   The royal gathering ended in terse silence. Despite his youthfulness, the king was a great arbiter in matters of state, and when tensions rose between the representatives of factions in the court he could easily put the dispute to rest with a wisdom unseen since the early glimpses of his grandfather’s reign. In his absence, unrest unraveled within the privy council and Edward, as displeased as any to quit the session without any true resolution, squared his shoulders and migrated toward the Duke of Norfolk. The ancient nobleman was a likely enemy, should he decide to pursue such a route, and yet Seymour was inclined to believe that his worth lied in his unlikely alliance. “My Lord Norfolk,” he broached tastefully, the ghost of a grin touching the corners of his mouth, “am I correct in presuming that the events of this council have disturbed you as greatly as they have disturbed me?” 

[edwardscymour]

@alastrinie

                                  The table was arranged ornately without a single detail of opulence discarded or overlooked. Filigreed invitations had all been filled, Lord Berkshire’s popularity making itself known as the upper crust of court, nobles and gentry alike, gathered for the occasion of the Viscount’s annual Hampton reception. Seated beside his wife and glad to bear witness to her hosting abilities, Edward glanced down the table at its ginger array of guest – ever cautious not to disturb the crown with such a gathering of ‘powerful’ aristocrats – making note of the arrival of several well-known nobles. Somerset bent his neck slightly to accomodate the chatter and whispered into his wife’s ear, ❛ I was not aware that Berkshire’s sick-bed nurse had become his wife. ❜

The night ensued without so much as a hitch, in spite of the titters that abounded regarding to Berkshire’s marital indiscretion; yet although the atmosphere was most pleasant Somerset was eager to see the evening draw to a close and relished in the luxury of bidding adieu. Even more so, the duke felt as though an exonerated man when, the duchess in tow, he stepped into the sumptuous comfort of the Seymour’s Hampton apartments and was instantaneously greeted by the cheery blazing of the hearth. ❛ I’ve arranged for a basin and ewer to be prepared if your grace desires it. There is a chill tonight, and I would not see you catch cold as a result of a night I would have willingly forgone were Lord Berkshire not a bosom friend of yours. ❜

[edwardscymour]

nicholaseymour‌:

     “Would that be so bad?” Was Nicholas’ voice always so cold? Surely there was once a time where it carried warmth, jovial splendor that wrapped the vocal cords in velvet. Not this day, where clouds hung thickly over Hampton court–hung thickly over his heart.

      “I didn’t come to play cards, brother,” He sat back in a sturdy, oak chair, but didn’t relax, one hand’s nails digging into the finely carved arm, “Sit down, Edward. Do me the courtesy.” 

                                  ❛  Certainly. We should not wish for the king’s bed to grow cold.  ❜  Grimly, Edward set his sights unto his youngest brother; blue eyes flickering with thinly veiled malice as they did so whilst the overcast skies pouring in from the window illuminated the depths of his irises. If there was a transformation occurring within his brother, Somerset was blind to it – it was his duty to keep a thumb over all his siblings, and it was with Nicholas that he failed the most spectacularly. Obliging him, the duke lowered into a seat in no certain hurry, leisurely drawing one leg atop the other.  ❛ If you have not come to play cards,  why did you come? You failed to appear when I summoned you this past week; I presumed you were drowned in the depths of an alehouse.❜

[edwardscymour]

mariedelorraine‌:

     “As terrible as I imagine the charges may be…I cannot help but have some mercy for them,” she spoke, hearing the Englishman as she drifted towards the windows herself.  Marie felt a great sympathy towards all people, for she had a big heart and lent her prayers to all who needed them.  Yet she could also endure many things, even the brutality of watching life be taken in front of her eyes–aligned with her courage, her country’s great love of justice, and her father and brother’s careers in the military.  “But you will not see the French run, at least, I can assure of that.”  Her gaze wandered to the cards in his hand, sparking some curiosity as she watched him shuffle them.  “What were you playing, Your Grace?”

                                   ❛  So long as mercy does not triumph over justice, I see no harm in the sentiment, Your Grace. You are honourable to say so.  ❜  Knights were known for their gallant nature and displays of mercy, and yet despite being a knight of the garter himself Somerset’s beliefs were a far cry from gallant of merciful; perhaps their very antithesis, indeed. Whilst condemning the oft lenient hand of the law,  he promoted a vehement system of retribution that ridded society of all blights such as he who currently awaited execution.  ❛  I trust we shall not, my lady. It would be a great shame indeed to see our noble brothers’ spur once more. Indeed, perhaps they are the lucky few; there are few countries so close to my chest as France. Primero; do you know if it?  ❜

[edwardscymour]

                               –––––         ❛ I have heard some talk of boredom around court – though it would appear that we are in luck. ❜   Somerset shuffled a polished deck of cards within his hands as he strolled laxly toward the windows overlooking – rather serendipitous in aptness – the cobblestone courtyard where executions were often held. ❛ I am told the charges articled to the impending execution are both lengthy and peculiar. If they do not amuse the court, then they will at least divert. Let us pray they do not send our foreign guests with tails betwixt their legs. ❜ 

[edwardscymour]

ofbedford‌:

The court was, in and of itself, a puzzle not even the brightest would be able to solve, not fully. It was an interwoven web of intrigue, power, and politics. Margery still wasn’t quite used to it but she would learn; she would learn and she would conquer. People underestimated her and Margery knew that. She wasn’t a big player just yet but she sure as hell wasn’t going to be treated like a pawn. 

Despite all of that, however, there is no doubt the palace was beautiful, perhaps even a bit too big for the new Duchess for it seemed like wherever she went, the feeling of being lost was still present inside of her mind, even after weeks of staying there. Sitting down, enjoying her own company and a plate of citrus pastries, the Duchess enjoyed the flavorful snacks. 

Holding a segment of a pastry in her hand, Margery let her eyes inspect it as she tasted another bite in her mouth, letting her taste buds dance with the flavor. “The bakers certainly know what they are doing when it comes to citrus pastries, do they not?” The Lady spoke, to whoever wanted to hear. 

                              The Seymour scion had only recently been apprised of the Bedfords return to court. Although it was the duke who wielded political influence, the effect his return might hold over Hampton was a mere footnote in comparison to the talk his wife had stirred – beyond her fashion and eloquence, such topics of conversation most ladies of court warranted, she was noted for being an upstart in her own right. Suo jure. Edward was only mildly surprised by the blandness of her commentary; as his own wife would pay testament to, it would behoove any lady to behave imperturbable until she could stake her claim, noble or nay. Edward shifted his sharpened gaze to the dark-tressed duchess, brows raising loftily into the slope of his forehead.  ❛ We have the king’s grandfather to thank for that, your grace. It is said that His Majesty was so enthralled with the cuisine of Burgundy during his exile there..., ❜  Somerset paused, fondling the trinket between his fingertips before returning it to the silver platter with a slight ding, ❛ that upon his coronation he summoned all cooks of the realm to relocate to his court. Well, that is how the legend goes–anyway. They are delectable, are they not? ❜

[edwardscymour]

CLAW’S MUSES + INCORRECT QUOTES.

[edwardscymour]

alastrinie‌:

     Her domain with Edward in Somerset sat like a ripened peach in her mind, a sweet, decadent memory that smelled of long summers and vast forest paths. In Somerset, the staff was rather adapted to the offbeat twists and turns of the Duke and Duchess’ marriage. So much so, that Edward dragging her into her bedroom by the long, golden locks that crowned her head might have seemed like another Sunday, perhaps, or Alastrine returning home with thickets and branches caught in her dress, or no dress at all, soaked to the nines in lake water. She was, as her staff affectionately dubbed, the queen of Lake Wimbleball.

     But poor, sour Meredith, who was not a native member of the Somerset household, nearly dropped dead at the sight of Edward’s thunderous beckoning of Alastrine’s company, her shouting, and his ravishing, in turn. It was all she could do to stifle her laugh as the old crumpet rushed from the room, heavy skirts shuttering wildly with her animosity. Edward was right. She’d never quite looked at either of them the same, after that.

     “Oh?” Alastrine’s lips softened into a smile, hazel eyes tracing the slant of his jaw, the downcast flicker of his eyes. Was it a symptom of her pregnancy, perhaps, that the place in her chest carved out for her husband harbored something softer now, something homely? A sensation that made her want to hold his arm for the sake of holding it, not just to snake a hand down his thigh–though, most assuredly, she wanted both.

     She walked forth, the soft, blue fabric of a newly tailored dress clinging most comfortably to her shape, “Fortunate that you’ve found me first, given that I would have jumped on your steed myself before you left without this.”

     The Duchess took her husband’s wrist, heavy and warm in her grasp, and wrapped a embroidered cut of the softest velvet around it, tying it where his pulse throbbed. Edward’s mother (dear woman, that Margery, given how rotten her children could be) had sent along a chest of babe’s goods after hearing the buzzing news of Alastrine’s condition. What better thing to forge a favor from than the blanket that held his, and their child’s, name in bold thread? She pressed a thumb to the soft flesh of his palm, “And how fortunate, still, that no matter how you play, you have already won. Kiss me goodbye, won’t you?”

                                In unison with his wife’s uncommonly gentle touch, the sinuous roadmap of veins winding through Somerset’s wrist promptly leapt. He had once been a man utterly indifferent to such sensations – indeed, his first wife had driven herself mad attempting to bury his natural insouciance, willing her husband to return her love; if only a fraction of that which she bore him.  On the contrary, Alastrine understood  implicitly  that his chief desire was to integrate himself into the king’s inner sanctum  –  and to remain apart of it until mortality willed him from court. To not only triumph in the political hemisphere,  in serving crown and country,  but to climb higher, achieve  greater  than those who paved the path before him.  Although he suspected it had come between them once or twice,  his wife had never vocally begrudged him his dearth of pleasure;  his indifference toward love,  and the incongruity that existed between their desires;  she was not Constance,  and had never begged for their hearts and mind to converge,  never implored him to love her like a pathetic fool. 

–––––- Perhaps Alastrine knew where Constance hadn’t that to all other vices he was immune, but she too understood that she could not  compete  with his duty.  The one thing that meant the world to him – the only thing that would ever mean  anything  to him.

Fair brows knitted inward as he spared a moment to glance at the favor she bestowed him,  a band of velvet latticework unfurling within her palm like a scroll,  before she enfettered his wrist with it ––– knotting it in place where it would be seen under the glint of lemon-polished armor,  where the rendition of their union would be made public upon the tiltyard,  and where he himself would be forced to bear witness to it.  ❛ Edward, ❜  Somerset mused aloud,  reciting his son’s name,  ❛ you have become matronly,  Alastrine.  It becomes you. ❜  His mouth creased into a noncommittal grin as his hand moved to the whetted edge of her jaw,  prying her chin upward,  savoring in the delight that crossed her countenance.  ❛ You will cheer me on from the stands, yes ? And will you behave a fool if I am unseated, sweetheart ? ❜   His head canted laxly as he brought his lips to hers in a chaste caress,  a gentle meeting of man and wife,  his tongue gently parting the seam of her mouth. 

[paperfists]

Robert Henstridge in season 4 of The Royals

You weren’t expecting that move, were you, Father? You were wrong about me – admit it. I’m so much more than you ever thought I could be.

[edwardscymour]

alastrinie‌:

     “Edward,” Alastrine was surprised to see her husband enter her chambers of his own accord–in the middle of the day, that is. Was it not her that sought him out when sunlight beamed through thick clouds, bombarding into his study, unlocking his door? She had no preference for her purposes. No time of day, no rhyme, no reason.

     Perhaps he was afraid–afraid she would grow faint near a window and, in turn, topple through. Or maybe down a flight of stairs, off her steed, even. And he’d come to see if her head was still, indeed, on her shoulders. She hoped this confounded weakness would cease as her stomach swelled–but, was Edward afraid? The thought was an interesting one. Perhaps a pleasing one. 

     “Merry Saint Valentines, Lord Somerset,” She waved off a nearby lady, near ancient in age, who in turn, bowed, and stalked off, giving Edward a wary look. Alastrine bit back a smile, “You’d do well to avoid Meredith’s alluring gaze, Edward. I need no blood on my hands on such an affectionate holiday.” 

@edwardscymour

                                There was never more cause to celebrate, save for the coronation of the boy-king, in recent months than for the occasion of the Duchess of Somerset being with child. Alastrine’s celebrity had advanced the Seymours almost as greatly as Nicholas’ military success had, granting them foothold into fashionable societies, and yet – in a development that had caught him completely unawares – it was their unborn child who had softened Edward’s reputation, improved it. His tenants viewed him as a family man, his peers as being elder, wiser, for simply having fulfilled his conjugal rights –––– for simply having rutted with his wife. Whilst his nature hadn’t changed between then and now, his name had, and his adversaries now stood about like loose sails luffing in the wind, attempting to anticipate the duke’s next act. 

Knuckles rasped against the dark-oak door leading into Alastrine’s chamber before he glided within – his presence announced by the click of his boots. Arms crossed, bent like a mathematician’s askew triangle, he leaned his frame against the door as a bemused smirk curved upon his lips. He marveled at the rapid growth of his wife’s abdomen ; within the span of days the middling proof that a child was unfurling within her womb had metastasized, and with each movement made the duchess was now led by the swell of her stomach. Her cheeks rosier, her skin softer, tongue sweeter –––– there was now no denying her condition and in that he took the greatest of pride. Edward swallowed dryly. By next autumn he may well be the father to the future Duke of Somerset, his successor –– the thought, after years of childlessness in the span of two marriages, was unfathomable. The eyes of court had been upon him for sometime, and yet now, the certification of Seymour’s virility and the glue between himself and his wife was never more credible.

❛ Poor woman. Likely scarred from the night I dragged you in here by nothing but your hair. ❜ He glanced about his wife’s chambers ; the space sunlit and spacious, brimming with recently-procured dresses, tailored to her altered frame and ideal for a fortnight of celebrations. He did so relish it when his wife was dressed to the nines, the most resplendent in any crowd. The heel of Edward’s boot scuffed against the hardwood floor, and his face lowered –– as if sheepishly. ❛ I have heard a rumor. ❜ He cleared his throat, ❛ Now that we are to be parents, we are expected to observe some sort of decorum during the events this week. I thought I would say my goodbyes here, in private, before the joust begins. ❜

[edwardscymour]

phillipofwarwick‌:

“And to think I learned my arts of brown-nosing at your supreme tutelage; sadly, I never seemed to conquer the sour expression you have mastered. Perhaps however, the unfortunate upturning of your nose is a consequence of birth and not learned behavior. ” He spoke calmly, without the slightest change of intonation in his baritone voice. Phillip had grown accustomed to, and welcomed gleefully, the opportunity to volley with Edward. For as very much they were two distinct men - marble to sleek oak, skirt chasing and home making - they were bound to one another in commonalities of noble duties. And in true confession, Phillip enjoyed his visits with Edward a great deal. For every sneer across his face, he awarded Phillip the chance to jest in return. “Surely your precious time can be pried from your hands, if only to entertain the whims of a beloved friend. In the most gracious fashion, I cleared my timetables as to make allowances for you affinity to speak at great length.” Phillip had no grand plans laid out for that day which required cancellation, but he refused Edward the pleasure of knowing he was lounging freely. The strength of their camaraderie seemed to lie in the absence of true vulnerability. Uncontrollable. The very trait that elicited such a primal attraction in Phillip revolted Edward to his core. Warwick failed to find this fact surprising, choosing instead to garner great amusement from it. “The Lady of Somerset seems to be an indomitable character - whatever shall you do ? I confess my Joanna to be such of the same; we are bound to the whims of blond femme fatales.” A touch of a smile seized Phillip’s face, featuring a dazzling display of crisp white teeth. He awaited the hour at night where he would lay beside Joanna, relaying this conversation into the shell of her ear. 

 Folding his hands across Edward’s desk, he shed all emotion in order to shift the conversation in the direction of its true purpose; Henry. “The only advice I should seek is from my priest, and I am hardly in the mood to entertain the notion of ghosts and spirits. I do however, wish to hear your opinion on the King - his desires, mistrusts, opinions. So as to better fall into line behind you.”

                     ✣  –  “I should think it a consequence of learned behavior, my lord – such things may be improved, whereas, I fear, the Warwick’s unfortunate chins will remain apart of them indelibly. Oh, to be a bloody Habsburg in this day and age,” Somerset taunted with the rise of a hearty laugh within the cavern of his lungs. The linen of his shirt parting slightly, he leaned forth to clink the metallic tumbler lodged within his hands against Warwick’s brimful chalice –– and as frothy ale surged up and out of the rim of their goblets, the rubies embedded within their heirlooms glimmered in the glow of the hearth; an unremitting reminder of the duty and birthright that linked the two dukes, cut from the sale cloth of resplendent nobility, in undoubted kindredness. “Oh, come now, Phillip. Neither of us shall deny that it is you who enjoys the sound of his own voice – why else would you have sought out my company if not to hearken to your request?” 

With that, Edward shifted his mountain of documents aside, out of sight and out of mind, and glided gracefully toward the chair opposite Warwick. The rough-hewn pad of his fingertips grazed together as he lowered onto a velvet cushion, eliciting a swift yet strident snap that summoned a steward lingering within the hallway to scuttle in with a hasty bow and provide another decanter of ale for the two gentlemen. “There are... certain ways to bring such women to heel, Phillip. I will not bore you with the details –– for I am sure you have explored similar avenues in your marriage, and Alastrine does not care for the advertising of her marriage in court. She would prefer a quiet matrimony. Somerset beckons both she and I, and yet our duties lie here in London. I do hope your return to court was not as begrudging.” 

Warwick’s query caused Edward’s brows to make for his hairline –– the action was not borne from surprise, nay, but rather from consideration. After all, Somerset had long since presumed that the call was not purely a social occasion. There were machinations afoot, plots and webs of lies rooting in the underbelly of court, and whether discreetly or overtly Edward’s name seemed to be linked to all of them – whether it was he who sponsored them, or he who liquidated them in the name of the crown. If there was one man, other than Cromwell, to seek out in such a perilous time – it was the Duke of Somerset. His unremitting loyalty to the crown commended himself to the forefront of English affairs, as did his natural acumen in the political hemisphere. “Do you wish to hear my polished spiel – or my true thoughts? Above all, you must know the new king is not easily reasoned with; he is a young man, eager to cement his name in our lengthy history. And I may tell you personally that the Yorks, and consequently the Mountbattens, are not high in favor.”

[edwardscymour]

juandemendoza‌:

He could not determine whether his words had caused offense or merely created some inner reflection in Somerset, but he was too distracted by what might be going on outside. His mind reeled with anxious possibilities - so much so that he was almost truly relieved when Seymour pushed the decanter toward him and he reluctantly picked it up to fill a glass and sip sparsely. Indeed, it was warm by now, but it provided at  least some small comfort in terms of a distraction. 

Draining a full glass of the wine, he stood, pensive as he crossed to the window of Somerset’s office, looking out as if it might provide some insight into the goings on outside the door - though of course it didn’t. “…Yes. I think perhaps that would be best. I am very much able to continue.” He cleared his throat, looking back at Edward as his anxieties debated, turning his thoughts back to the matter at hand. It would be best, he thought, to keep his focus narrowed, his thoughts away from worries over anything beyond the door. “Her beauty commends her greatly. She bears a strong resemblance to her lady mother, golden and rosy in one. I think she is very much like an English beauty. She is flush with youth, I think. A lover of sport and entertainments where Maria is more involved in matters of intellect.” He found himself pacing as he spoke, sparing the Duke a glance as he came to pause. “I am sure you understand the His Majesty the Emperor is eager that both of the infantas are given a fair regard. Both of them have such merits that I would bore you should I start to list them.”

Again he looked toward the closed door, mind wandering for a moment to the Emperor - the man’s safety out of his control even if he had been right at his side, but the tone of the King’s guards has been such that Juan could not shake his worry away as it began to crop up again, his distraction undoubtedly visible. It was this distraction that caused him to speak abruptly - his usual care not given to his words as he tried to bring himself back to the matter at hand. “I am of the understanding that you yourself would prefer the King take a French bride.”

                      ✣  –  Ears pricked with heedful regard, Edward nodded occasionally to the ambassador’s rather circumspect description of the two foreign princesses – prudent in portraying them in a light that would appeal to a man of Somerset’s influential station. The duke had met the two women Juan lauded only briefly – witnessing but a glimmering shard of their characters upon their introduction to court, although truth be told his attention had been halved by the commanding presence of their lord father, the Holy Roman Emperor, on whom all eyes of the English court seemed to be fixed. 

The dual illustrations sang the praises of both women ( where perhaps, Edward considered, there was little to admire with the exception of superlative breeding ) and painted Spain itself in a glowing light – a recommendation most vital to the Epicureanism of continental Europe. In the intonation of the ambassador’s admiration, Juana and Maria commended themselves to the throne of England in no meagre inch – and yet Somerset continued to long for a happy medium between the two foreign prospects. A paragon of leisure and beauty that embodied itself in Juana, coupled with an intellect that did not seek to overpower the king’s, such in the case of Maria. “‘Fairness’ is a concept rare to surge within a ruler, Señor Mendoza. Does the emperor lament that one daughter shall rise whilst the other falls, or perhaps, more grimly, that neither will triumph?” Edward chuckled laxly in response to the ambassador’s remark, “indeed, let us save the praising of such exquisite creatures to the poets and bards of court.” 

Sampling the lukewarm brew swirling within his gilded chalice, Somerset noted the continuous shifting of the ambassador’s eyes to the door before nervously returning to the duke. It unnerved him, no doubt – an iliminable reminder of the bedlam that raged outside the sanctity of his quarters, reinforcing the persistent weight upon his shoulders in ensuring his wife’s safety and the well-being of the son she carried. His hands fisted, clenched until his knuckles grew white, and the force of his unease inspired him to find his footing at once and to glide toward the window in one swift movement. “I desire what the king desires, sir. If it is a French bride he sets his heart upon, I would be pleased to oblige his will. You know better than any of us what it means to comply to our masters. I understand it is not only the Emperor you bend knee to; you are a man of great faith, are you not?” 

[edwardscymour]

elizabethxseymour‌:

With her sons both asleep with her ladies watching them, and Greggory at a meeting, Elizabeth decided to take a walk around the castle. She’d spent some time there before she got married, and it was quite a surprise to find that it felt so different walking around the halls now. Being an unattached noble woman at court always carried risks with it, and there had been many times when she would walk around, half-afraid of what was around the next corner. But now that she was happily married, she had the protection that her husband’s name gave her, and Elizabeth found comfort knowing that he was in the castle, never too far away. 

As she turned the corner, going into a different hallway, instead of something worrisome she saw the silhouette of someone entirely familiar. It was a pleasant surprise to see that her brother Edward was there, when she did not know he was at court at all. “Brother,” she greeted him, smiling as she rushed to his side and gave him a hug. She understood that he might have possibly preferred her to bow before him in a more polite way, but he was her brother and above all court ceremonials, she was happy to see him after so long. 

@edwardscymour

                      The clime was too unusually clement to waste the day indoors as the duke was wont to do, tending to every friction that splintered in court and roused within his own duchy –– but on this particular morn Edward had ventured to the courtyard; a spacious swath of verdant fields delegated to festivals and tournaments, dancing and jousting. It was there that he unsheathed his archery bow, stowed away for the duration of winter, whilst being indulged with copious vaults of ale and the dulcet lute of courtly musicians. Several hours had unknowingly passed, and his hands had begun to grow cold as the sun dipped behind a thicket of forests that encompassed Hampton Court, compelling Somerset and the fellow lords and ladies who joined him in such athletic pursuits to adjourn for the evening and return to the sanctity and warmth of court’s nucleus. 

He treaded the well-known paths weaving around the castle in returning to his chambers, eager to lower his body into a tepid basin to relieve his bone of all aches; midwinter’s chill had dawned upon him quite unforeseeably, as the winds that lapped at the murky surface of the Thames swept upon Hampton and her inhabitants most fiercely. Enveloped by the heat pervading through the corridors of court, Edward breathed a sigh of relief ––– an oath that coincided with the presence of his eldest sister before him, eagerly moving to his side and wreathing her arms around his waist. “Lady Cromwell,” Somerset breathed, a hand raising to rest against the plaited laces of her bodice, “what on earth are you doing alone? Have your ladies abandoned you at last?” 

[edwardscymour]

maryofengland‌:

how great it felt to be in astonishing company once more, feeling rather comfortable with the wit of the english than anywhere else being the moment given. “ oh please!. ——- “ mary spoke. wanting to roll her eyes but could barely contain a getting a good laugh out of it. “ they are quite strong, i doubt you’d be able to make it to the third glass without slurring your words. —- “ the somerset’s were a great addition to the english court, she did not know a day were they were not present at their feet or would go to lengths just like these. “ it seems loyalty shall be rewarded with honor of my own. “

                  “You underestimate our ability to hold our drinks, madame. In any case, I doubt there are few among us who would be able to drink his highness under the table ––– our tastes are less refined, naturally.” Edward spoke for the lower-crusts of the English court; a people entirely dependent upon the barley of weakened ale. His chin sharply heightened in response to the Princess’ quip, as a tongue darted out the moisten the seam of his mouth. “Your honor is held in high regard, I only hope you do not think it a prerequisite to my invitation –––––– ‘tis our pleasure to host, as we once had with your late father.”

[edwardscymour]

juandemendoza‌:

He had not been in England long - a few weeks at the most. But it was long enough to begin to pick out the faces of those who held the most sway in this new court. Edward Seymour ranked high among them - that was no surprise. He had heard about the man from Chapuys’s reports before he had ever set foot on English soil - his ambitions were plain for anyone in England to see, and Juan understood this now more than ever, having gotten to know the man first hand. 

So Seymour had seemed the perfect next step in trying to extol the virtues of the infantas. He had to act with due diligence, reach as far as he could. He knew he could not let down the Emperor and let the young lady from Cleves have the advantage she already did, having arrived at court before Maria and Juana had. He had somehow managed to talk Seymour into a meeting, leaving the dinner early in order to facilitate. That was where it all went to Hell, it seemed.

Not due to the meeting itself, of course - that had gotten quite well, even if he could sense he was pressing the limits of his companion’s patience. No, the trouble came with the clamor in the hallway that turned to being locked into Edward Seymour’s office with no outlet, something which left Juan frustrated - particularly with the news of a death having drifted in from the halls.

He was at a loss for words, surprised when Seymour filled in the silence with a suggestion of continuing their conversation. He hesitated a moment, and then spoke. “…Yes. Juana. She is a great beauty. She has her share of intellect too, but it is her charm that makes her winsome.” He huffed a distracted sound. “…This has turned into… quite the night. God have mercy. You are taking this quite lightly.”

                           Taking it lightly. Edward’s upper-lip ensnared itself into a paradox of a smile in response to Juan’s commentary, his mouth lifting to facilitate the grin that sounded low within his throat; that guttural, humorless sound a wolf whistles just before its attack. Had Edward Seymour ever taken anything lightly? Had he never ground an issue so strenuously between his jaws that it did not produce a pearl? His features were impassive enough to uphold the ambassador’s presumption, just as the earths’ crust was swept up in summer winds whilst its innards smoldered into an inferno to rival hell itself. He glanced into Juan’s direction and nudged the decanter of wine toward him. It was no doubt lukewarm by now, but it would settle any remnants of anxieties, oozing a welcome heat through the system. Quiet descended, and his fingertips steepling against the oak table before him was the only harbinger of the duke’s nerves as he rose his chin in response. “Drink,” Edward clipped, “there is no reason to brood ––– let us reserve such for the bastard responsible for this ordeal, lest we count ourself among the collateral damage from sheer nerves alone.” 

Edward leant back into his seat as best he could; his spine scarcely gracing the back of the chair, his knees folded outward. Despite his ostensible laxness, he remained alert and vigilant, cautious of both the hallway and the man seated before him. He had concluded, some time ago, that Juan’s appearance was encased in an impression of truthfulness ––––– he knew this because its presence was easier to detect than its absence. More, Wolsey, Cromwell... he scarcely had to wonder why the Emperor kept this man in particular under his wing, and why he planted him in England. If there was any foreigner to whom Henry would provide warm reception, it was one from his mother’s own birthplace. “Do you wish to continue, Señor Mendoza? I regret that our earlier meeting was interrupted by the king’s guards, although I would not begrudge you if your senses were too broadsided to persist. I believe Juana’s beauty commends her––and her age, sir?” 

[edwardscymour]

maryofengland‌:

“ but do not go to extremes. ” it wasn’t often these days that she laughed but he managed to get her to chuckle just lightly at his words. “ i will be most delighted to eat the finest our cousine can offer. — surely my husband will be pleased to join you and your wife as much as do i. i will let him know. as soon as he can spare a moment for his wive. — ”

                   “I am dismayed that you would think my household one of immoderation ––––– the Spanish wine must have gone to our heads sooner than anticipated,” Somerset sparred in return, his voice wry and chockfull of taunting. ‘Twas no easy feat to hold the ear of the future Queen of Spain, and so Edward relished in the ability to speak candidly, even if his words were well-rehearsed in antecedence. “I would be entirely at your service, madam. Our Spanish allies are most essential to England, and I do not take the honor lightly – nor will Lady Somerset, of that I am certain.”