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@hoskuld-blog
“By the Gods, min modige storebror, you’ve finally grown a beard. I can’t even see your sweet baby face anymore. Now, this is a sight worth the travels.”
“Hardly, sister — you know I had a beard before I could even walk,” he teases, regarding the woman just a moment longer before pulling her into a warm, familial hug. “It is good to see you. It has been far too long, Astrid.”
A feeble attempt was made on Etta’s behalf to compose herself as her husband spoke of his optimism, every inch of her wishing that by some miracle she could turn and great him with that shared enthusiasm – alas it was not meant to be. Whilst Hoskuld spoke of his delight in finding Rome far more hospitable than he had anticipated, Etta found it to be a den of vipers, camouflaged to mimic those whom she cherished the most. His questions nor the concern lacing his warming tone did not fall upon deaf ears, though she appeared mute to the answers ; parched lips opened as though to speak, but closed once again as little more than a wimper emitted.
It was a feeling of helplessness which Etta despised and the self-pitying longing for god himself to end her misery, which accompanied the sensation did little to sate her woes. “ I - I cannot even begin to fathom how to breach such a subject with you.” The Queen began, her utterance lacking the usual certainty and confidence which aided her daily colloquialisms. “ You — My dearest husband, the one whom I admit all too and still I find myself hesitant.”
Still hesitant? The Dane blanches, his imagination wreaking havoc as he waits for further explanation. He has seen enough horrors that his mind needs little assistance in concocting whatever terror may have brought his wife to such a state. What could possibly be so grievous that her tongue remains caught in her throat, unwilling — or unable? — to divulge the source of her heartache? Surely, she had not been attacked again, as she had on their way back from William’s coronation? No, this is a castle, not an empty, open road; someone would have been alerted, and he would have been fetched. Had harm befallen one of their children? No, surely his wife would have found him, would not have waited until he returned to their room.
“Etta...” he broaches slowly, approaching his wife with the same caution a man may approach a wounded, frantic creature. “Then speak plainly, my love. You need not mince words with me. Whatever it is that weighs so heavily upon your heart, it is my duty to relieve you of it.”
‘—— And now what do you propose I do with this?’
“Release the poor creature if it pleases you, my lord. Just because we are destined to be cloistered in this place does not mean it must share in our fate. Though one must wonder how such an animal came into your possession.”
Alessia’s cheeks reddened at the revelation of her companion’s identity. She felt foolish for a moment, as if she should have known of the man next to her. But how was I to know? I have been taught nothing of mine own blood, whether it be names or faces. “Forgive my ignorance, Your Maj–Hoskuld. I fear I have made myself to be a fool.”
“I have wanted for very little in my life but my desire to meet my mother’s family has been instilled in my person since I was old enough to understand death and its finality. If it is not a trouble to you, would you tell me of Etta and your children? Nothing woul please me more.”
“Not at all, my lady. No more foolish than I for not immediately recognizing you.” After all, how could she possibly know the countenances of her extended family, when her father has kept her so cloistered since her mother’s passing? Such reasons for doing so are still utterly lost upon him.
“’Tis no trouble at all. You will have a great many cousins to meet — seven in total, though the task of assembling them all in one place is nigh impossible. And your aunt...she has suffered such misfortune, but in her strength has recovered wondrously. In fact, it is my earnest belief that the sight of you will only help her further in that regard.”
“I have heard so many rumors of Rome’s great architectural beauty, but I’m having trouble seeing it. Is this the beauty I’m supposed to be impressed by? It’s hardly worth the travels.”
“And here I thought you had traveled all this way to see ME, dear sister, and not the architecture of this hellishly humid city.”
Preparing to retire for the evening had become rather burdensome for Etta of late, not so much the monotonous chore of removing her various garments and baubles, they were a mere inconvenience of her status. It was more the concluding of day which had recently became more of a haunting image, than the sweet release it had once been - nightmares plagued her often and intuition told her that tonight would be terrorised during slumber. The argument earlier with William still resounded heavily within, the pain his words had impacted were stinging as though salt had been rubbed into the raw lesion.
It was still weighing heavily upon her mind - the threats especially and the prospect of her husbands imminent return, his inevitable questions as too why her eyes were rimmed with an irritating redness, were all conspiring again Etta that evening. The solitude doing so little to swerve her thoughts and fears, which were all, or so it seemed, coming to fruition.
@hoskuld
“You were RIGHT, wife,” the Danish king announces as he bursts into their shared chambers, a jubilant feeling of mirth carrying him on quick feet, his strides strong as the heavy door shuts behind him. “This holy city is serving us well.” In such a short span of time so much has transpired and, barring any quarrels with his wife’s brother, most all of it has been pleasant — the crowned heads of Europe all convened in one locale seeking the alliances that will return their realms to the prosperity enjoyed before the accursed sickness blighted their lands. “Many here do not overlook our kingdom’s value; we will find easy friends in this place.”
It is then that he turns and finally affixes his gaze upon his beloved wife, ready to inquire after her thoughts on the matter. But any such words fall silent before they can be spoken when he catches a glimpse of her sullen expression, his own countenance becoming one of utter perplexity. “Etta...what is wrong? What troubles you, min elskede?— Have you been crying?”
Rumour has it that message from your wife was actually Henri in a blonde wig.
"A hole is a hole.”— Gem, August 22, 2016
rumour has it...your a fabby husband *totally anon*
I wonder who this could be from
Rumour has it you have a wandering eye
“PLEASE. Have you seen my wife? What cause do my eyes have to wander?”
Rumour has it your wife has been to Sweden. And by that I mean her brother's bed. Those pretty blonde-haired babes of yours might be a little too close on the family tree, cuckold.
“You imply a great many things with this, the most EGREGIOUS being that my wife’s brother could talk any woman into his chambers, let alone her.”
Send “Rumour has it...” and a rumour about my muse in my ask!
My muse will then react to it being spread.
@imperialxlucius / @devicusduke / @hoskuld / @ettaofsweden / @solacoronam / @ofluxembourg
“Yes, that is right,” she said, a queer feeling suddenly coming over her. Of the many people she had met in the midst of the celebration, all had been curious about the emperor’s sole heir and the Danish king was clearly no exception. However, behind his pale blue eyes lay something more than casual interest. It was almost as if some revelation had come over him.
“Have you had the chance to make his acquaintance?”
“On occasion, in the past,” the older man replies, his words carrying an undercurrent of uncertainty. He had always expected such a meeting to proceed…differently. He had at least expected his wife to be there, or even William’s irksome company. Such as it is, the Danish king has managed to stumble upon his previously unknown niece. “Your mother, Cornelia…she was my wife’s sister.” Unsure of how to proceed, he breaks the momentary pause with a small smile, offering, “It is nice to finally meet you. My wife has spoken fondly of having the opportunity to know better her only niece. It will do her heart good to know that you’ve made the journey here with your father.”
Harald could not deny his fathers words, women were a law unto themselves and despite the Danish maiden’s whom set themselves apart from the gentility of the southern blooms, they too held complexities which dumbfounded the young prince, though as his father confirmed, Harald was not lonesome in his bewilderment. “ I can not argue with you there, father.” The young man was not oblivious to the peculiar aspect of he parents marriage, or a least branded peculiar by other examples he had seen thus far in Rome. Though different in many aspects of their characters, his parents shared one fundamental similarity - their love for one another, and as nauseating as it made him as a young child, as a man now, he saw the real value of their affections towards one another and it would be something he would strive towards in his own inevitable marriage.
A chuckle rippled, husky in it’s tone and familial to his father’s; his words upon the temperaments of Norsemen strummed an ironic chord within Harald, “ you say that, but I seldom recall another man whom is as gentle as you.” It was not meant as an insult, for his father was truly a fearsome man, one of the greatest warriors from an age of hostile relations between Denmark and his Mother’s homeland, a time that preceded his birth, but the stories had been bountiful. Though whilst Harald could appreciate his father’s valour in battle and the unsuspecting gentleness which had ensued his marriage to his enemy, he himself longed for a chance to prove himself in a similar way. Harald deeply suspected that he could never follow in his father’s example of familial life until the thirst of battle had been quenched.
“ At least you are with us now and on our return journey you shall have all of our company.” His expression brightened at the mention of the mead his father had brought, “ then I suggest we keep it’s existence between just us, I know I wouldn’t last long If my brother was to learn of it.” He chuckled recalling the memory of finding his youngest brother Nikolaj rather worse for wear after discovering his father’s private reserve with a friend. However, Harald’s mood quickly shifted at the mention of his Uncle and glancing at his father, he looked at him almost pleadingly. “ My Mother asks too much sometimes.” That wasn’t a fair statement, his mother was a good and gentle-hearted woman but this also irked him from time to time - her insatiable appetite for peace. “ What does she expect us to do, father? Simply ignore all he has done, or rather lack of? His very presence is an insult to my mother and her refusal to see things is not only causing whispers about herself but about us too father. We should seek retribution and we should do it now before the reputation of Denmark is forever discredited.”
The very hint of a smile passes across his face at the kindhearted comment, one that would have carried a far different meaning had it not fallen from the lips of his own son. “Or perhaps your mother and myself simply sired a number of especially thick-skinned children.” Yet in spite of his teasing response, he won’t dare deny that his son’s words do matter. His own upbringing had been devoid of paternal affection, and while it can certainly be said that he over-indulged his own children, such an accusation is far preferable to that of an absent father and stranger to his family. To know that such efforts are recognized and appreciated by those that he raised is worth far more than any material possession.
Yet such pleasantries are not to last. Difficult discussions need to be had and, as his heir, Harald must be made privy to their contents. He shares in his son’s entreating look, knowing well how such a request must sit upon the younger man’s conscience. If he himself had not like it, then his son must be even more agitated at the thought of breaking bread with his uncle. “Very well, then,” Hoskuld replies, indulging in his son’s ire for a brief moment. But rather than fuel his passionate anger, his father instead wishes to guide him through his thoughts, to show him that such declarations may seem fitting and glorious in theory, but are not always practical when put into practice.
“You wish to seek retribution, as well do I. And I know you well enough to know what your idea of such vengeance will come upon the blade of a sword. Tell me how you plan to go about financing and executing such a venture, and how you will deal with the fallout, should any of Sweden’s allies come to her aid.”
She nodded as she listened, eager to hear more about this stranger from leagues away. “I had not yet been born by the time the horror subsided but even as a child, I felt the aftermath. It left scars of the deepest kind but it is clear from these jubilations that our futures are like to be bright.” She offered the child and her father a smile and folded her hands in her lap. “Alessia, of the Holy Roman Empire,” she replied, dipping her head respectfully.
“It is a pleasure, Your Majesty.”
The girl’s words give the Danish king pause, the rim of his chalice hovering just before his parted lips. He recalls his wife’s words, her forewarning that her late sister’s daughter would be among those who had convened upon Rome. “Of the Holy Roman Empire?” he echoes, lowering the cup as a thoroughly inquisitive expression overtakes his visage. Has Etta yet spoken to her, or is their niece still to be a young shadow without a face? “You are the daughter of Lucius, then? The Holy Roman Emperor?”
The little princess adored her father. She had always been daddy’s little girl since the day she had escaped her mother’s womb. She had many fond memories of sitting upon his lap as a child and listening to him recount his many battle stories. Those were the days she longed for whilst in Rome. Those were much simpler times. Now, she had responsibilities and a future to ensure. Una wanted so desperately to please both her parents and ensure that Denmark would thrive. While she had not been actively seeking out a betrothal, the girl was not brainless. She knew it was probable that she would be leaving Rome with a fiance, and while the thought terrified her, she refused to think about it often until the problem would arise. Una patted the empty space beside her, beckoning the king to join her. “Far, look. A Grand Prince was ever so kind and allowed me to borrow this. It’s an astronomy book. You must read with me. I’ll even show you where some of the constellations reside. ‘Tis a perfect night to do so.”
“A Grand Prince?” He is inclined to feel hopeful, though an instinctive disposition towards being paternally protective combats that sensation. So his daughter his become acquainted with a prince, so much so that they are sharing personal possessions. “And who might this young man be?” the Dane queries, eyebrows arching in an inquisitive manner that conveys to his daughter the expectation that she will answer his inquiry satisfactorily. “Indeed, the night is plenty clear for it. Show me what this book says, and I will show you the ones I learned as a boy. Though the stars look a bit different here in the south, I’m sure I can still manage it."
