* HOWLING !

phillipa grey, marchioness dorset. new steel, wild windblown curls, & bright rubies.

[jewelcvt-blog]

@dutifulxalistair

          she’d paced and paced in her chamber, nervous beyond belief— and, more annoyingly, nervous beyond reason. there was no real grounds, no solid logic to excuse the twisting of her stomach. she had faced foe after foe on dueling grounds, had traveled far and wide in search of nothing and had found so much. and this was far from new. she had been married before, had marched herself down the damn aisle if only to spite the people who had said she would never be married.

          but now, twisting a garnet ring around her finger, pacing and cursing herself, phillipa felt a wave of nerves cresting yet again. she’d been bathed and dressed, primped and preened over for half the morning. she knew what she had to do— but it was hard to do it, all the same.

          one hand lashed out, grabbing the door frame as she stilled and steeled herself. phillipa forced herself to slow down, to breathe.

          but it was hard to stay still, and soon she was whirling for the door, flinging it open and preparing to march out into the great beyond.

[jewelcvt-blog]

alcxandraparr‌:

“And you.” She felt she could breathe a small sigh of relief knowing that she was in friendly company - something that she felt sorely lacking in the face of her husband’s near consistent displeasure of late. “I wish I had the talent for exercise as you take it. I think the sword is not for me, though, if I am honest with you.”

Naturally she was charmed by the young boy’s bashful bow, offering him a curtsy in return. “Yes, I think you entirely right, Lady Dorset.” She straightened and watched the boy head off toward the others, her smile widening noticeably. “Wonderful. I have been starved for the company of proper women. My dear sister is entirely occupied of late.” She nodded, brushing back a loose bit of dark hair that was peeking out under her hood. “Henry, yes - though we call him Harry, between us. He is very well. Big and strong. The nurse wrote me just a few days ago, told me he is very well at home. Nathaniel too.” Her smile took on a sad tinge, but she tried not to linger on the ache in her chest from how she missed her boys. “They do a great justice to my family, just as your child do your own.” 

She smoothed her skirt, brushing away a small bit of dust as if the motion might quell her anxiety. “What news is there from your side of the world? Surely it is far more intriguing than my own.”

          phillipa had never found it odd that mothers sent their children away to be raised and educated— it had been the same for her, as both child and mother. it was only recently that she had called her children from their aunt’s side to hers at court. after the savage battle in court for her birthright and her son’s childhood, a wedge had been driven between phillipa and her children’s aunt. as much as it pained her, she had made a decision— then made another, then another, consequences spited and damned, all to keep her three young children by her side. she could no longer trust those who used to raise her children. she sighed through her nose, watching her daughters poke at each other with the abandoned wooden swords.

          but she smiled all the same as alexandra told her of her newest son. a twinkle was brought to her own eye again as her friend asked of her own life. “well,” she began, “i think it would shock you to know, but— i am to be a bride again.” phillipa’s breath paused, waiting for the other woman’s reaction.

[jewelcvt-blog]

blessed image: buff mom phillipa, flexing, with one twin hanging off an arm like they’re on the monkey bars.

[jewelcvt-blog]

mistressxliya‌:

She met the scrutiny with a level gaze, not one to try play the innocent maid. No one ever wanted to believe it, so it was far better to play the part of a coy woman, one that was much more believable and closer to the truth. The truth hid lies so much more effectively. “Are you certain he does not take after you? You seemed to know exactly what you were doing. I find myself envying you. I’ve never lifted a sword other than to hand it to my brother.” As always, the thought of Carlos brought a true smile to her lips, although it was no different from every other smile she gave. 

Liya laughed softly, shaking her head. “No, my lady. I am not married, and even for me, it’d be such a scandal to have a child out of wedlock. But I like children. They have such an honest way of looking at the world, it’s rather endearing.” Children deserved to be protected in the way she never had. If she never bore a child, she would accept that grief, as it’d mean that she would not condemn anyone the way she’d been condemned. The prison would end with her. 

          phillipa barked a laugh. that— now, that was something amusing. “indeed, a child, any child, is honest, brutally so, until they are taught otherwise.” a lingering chuckle. this woman had a strange sort of honestly about her. it intrigued phillipa— and she had never been one to shy away from questions; either asking or answering them. it was a childhood trait, and it had grown with her, though tainted with cynicism as she aged.

          “i would suppose common supersition would say that daughters take after their fathers, and sons their mothers—” a glance backwards at her son, now attempting to take the largest bite of an apple his small mouth could manage— “but i would argue my son inherited equal amounts of his personality from both of us. my daughters, though...they take after their grandmothers, as far as i can tell.” phillipa turned back to the woman. “i am phillipa, lady dorset. are you newly arrived to england, madame?”

[jewelcvt-blog]

BY GOD’S GRACE...

On June the 4th, in the year of our Lord 1538, by the Grace of God, the Right Honourable, the Earl of Cumberland, Alistair Clifford announced his engagement to the Most Honourable, the Marchioness of Dorset, Phillipa Grey. May their union be blessed.

                                                                                      ...A HOLY UNION

[jewelcvt-blog]

alcxandraparr‌:

“It was my own fault, Lady Dorset. There is nothing to forgive - I ought to have watched my step.” Despite the jostling interruption, Alexandra found she could not bring herself to even be annoyed with Phillipa or her son. She had come to know them well in the past years, and though she had seen Phillipa very little of late, hers was company Alexandra enjoyed. It seemed that she had a fondness for those who were outspoken, even if she herself was not - she could number many such women amongst those she might call friend, and of course her sister too.

“I should think this young man will be the brightest knight at court before any of us know it.” She offered the little boy a smile before turning again to his mother. “I actually wondered if you might want to take tea with me and my ladies, but I won’t impose myself upon you if you find yourself too busy with your pupil.”

          phillipa shielded her eyes against the light— both the sun and lady pembroke were bright and golden, near-blinding in the afternoon light. her other hand was perched on her waist, clutching at the plain practice sword. “lady pembroke!” phillipa exclaimed, more than happy to see a friendly face. “it is good to see you so well.”

          phillipa nudged thomas, urging him to greet her friend. his tiny bow was dear and charming, and though she thought he would be much more rambunctious at his age (as she was, as her husband was), she still felt her heart swell with pride. “a knight he shall be, and a lord besides—” she knelt down, pinched her son’s round cheeks with joy, “and he shall do us all proud.” she handed her wooden sword to her son, hilt-first, and nudged him towards his nursemaid and sisters. she sanded her hands together, considering. “i think i shall join you and yours for tea, my lady— but you must tell me of your youngest. henry, if i am not mistaken?”

[jewelcvt-blog]

mistressxliya‌:

Liya had many secrets, and her basic skills at self defense were one of them. When she had left Ethiopia, she had only known how to use a small dagger, but when away from the prying eyes and wagging tongues that could condemn them, Carlos had taught her. He was a warrior, his training starting very young, and he’d wanted to be sure she could protect herself if he was not there to do so. 

But the woman who was teaching her child excelled at swordplay, Liya feeling a twinge of jealousy. She loved to learn, but such an activity would never be allowed for her. She already had so much set against her in life, she could not be seen to break tradition and fight like a man. Some rules she had to follow, at least in public. 

The one consolation was that, with the little she did know being so secret, if the time came that someone did try to hurt her, they would be unprepared for her to fight back. 

The boy falling into her made her take a few steps back in surprise, eyes wide. “Oh, is he alright?” She offered up, hand settling onto her heart as if it were racing. “No, no, nothing to apologise for. I should have been paying more attention.” Her words were sincere. She was supposed to be much more cautious, never let anything catch her off her guard. 

          phillipa had seen her, circling, as some did when they saw phillipa and thomas cross swords. she had marked the woman’s eagle eye, sharp when she tried to hide it. phillipa now returned the scrutiny, now much more brazen about it. many things marked this woman as a foreigner, the strongest being her rich accent. aragonese, phillipa thought. or perhaps portuguese, and mixed with something else too. it had been some time since she had travelled the continent— she missed it, but it was carefully preserved, like colourful leaves pressed in a book.

          but the woman’s dark, wide eyes were what captured phillipa— entrancing, as if there was something far deeper, darker hidden in them. but for now, they seemed to create a picture of shock on her face. still with one hand clamped on her son’s shoulder, she said, “he’s as hardy as an ox— he takes after his father that way. i swear, sometimes the man felt no pain.” she released her son, nudging him back towards his sisters and nurse, all now watching her. she snorted. “rascals, all three of them.” turning back to the woman, she eyed her with the same sharpness as she did before. “are you a mother, madam?”

[jewelcvt-blog]

          “up, cross down— good, like that— parry, then thrust— no, keep your elbow in, you’re off balance like that,” phillipa coached. it was not an unusual sight to see phillipa grey practicing swordplay, but her partner was remarkable, different from all her usual companions. her young son, thomas, stood across from her, eyes wide and brow furrowed as phillipa taught him how to fence. her twins sat with their nurse, nibbling away at honeycakes, watching their brother. they’d learn too, someday, perhaps when they could stand still and stop wiggling around like worms. both mother and child held wooden practice swords with ease, a sight phillipa was quite proud of. thomas was certainly her son— the speed of his limbs and his learning certainly came from her.

          phillipa was fully grown, and quicker, though, and frequently underestimated her own strength. with another blow, thomas did block it, but sheer force knocked him back, stumbling back into someone’s legs. phillipa rushed foreward to catch him, scooping him up in one breath and an apology ready in the next. “it seems our lessons have been too enthusiastic— forgive us.”

[jewelcvt-blog]

1536 - 1538; the time jump

          — in the past two years, phillipa grey has been leading what she hopes is a changed life.           her father, ailing in his old age, finally passed away. there was now a battle to be fought, not with her familiar swords and fists, but within the legal court itself. phillipa fought to inherit her father’s title, rather than her son. she wanted to spare her son, to let him grow up as a child, not be introduced to the nobility as one of them at such a young age. phillipa was shortly crowned as the marchioness of dorset, winning her battle but losing much of what she held dear: her freedom.           however, phillipa has decided: she must now be more involved in her children’s life. while her son and her twin daughters are still being fostered by her in-laws, phillipa spends much more time with them. her son thomas is now eight years old, having recently celebrated his birthday, and her daughters eliza and beth are now six. they are the last remnants of her late beloved husband, and though she has finally let him go, she must embrace her new life. children, phillipa has decided, are not so bad, once they can walk and talk on their own.            but being the marquess of dorset, a member of the peerage, and a direct decendant of elizabeth woodville, phillipa is still expected to live a life at court, with factions and divisions and people just waiting on her to make a single misstep.           she cannot allow that, now more than ever with all this new dissent brewing. phillipa couldn’t care less over whom the king wishes to marry, but some small part of her wishes him the happiness that she had known in her own marriage. phillipa now has much more on the line. but she is a woman of incredible strength and bravery, and if nothing else, she knows how to win.

[jewelcvt-blog]

alcxandraparr‌:

Alexandra found the woman almost curious, the longer they spoke to one another. She was clearly outspoken, in a way Alex could only envy, were it not on such dangerous topics as these. It was no easy thing, to speak the way Phillipa did, and so she admired her, quietly thoughtful herself.

“They say such things are surely heresy.” She commented, though her tone gave away, surely, that she disagreed. “Followers of Luther or Tyndale might share such leanings.” She paused again, trying to think of the best way that she might approach the woman’s words without speaking out of turn. “Is scripture not meant for the pulpit, as it has been for centuries?”

           phillipa snorted. she gave little regard to who stood or sat where— if it wasn’t such a social calamity, she’d sit in the back of the chapel, or not at all. though there were lines she could not, would not cross, she would force herself to participate in the whole of it, the ceremony and symphony. it was the one thing in court that she could not spite. “followers of luther can read the bible for themselves, if they can read at all. i hear his translation has been edited to support his doctrine.”

[jewelcvt-blog]

dutifulxalistair‌:

Pity was something he didn’t know how to handle. Anything that was beyond the surface, he had always buried deep, living in the moment. Arthur had been the more sincere of the two, and Alistair didn’t know how to live like that. A light squeeze of her hand was the best he could do. She had faced grief, he knew that, but he still couldn’t make himself say just how much he missed his brother. 

Instead, he joked. “You mean to say that the old gossipy ladies had nothing to say about me? I’m truly hurt. I thought they were fond of me.” 

While it had been a secret at first, when Arthur was simply injured and not dying, that had been to stop the family from being perceived as weak. Such a thing in court would always be turned against them, he knew that. But he was surprised that word hadn’t eventually made its way here after Arthur’s funeral. A twinge of bitterness filled him. Had Arthur really meant so little that his death was unimportant? 

          something about how he held himself— his air of irreverence, his callousness, irked her. anger slowly began to creep back into her countenance, frustration encouraging its advance. she let his hands fall from hers. 

          instead of giving him more words that he would tease and make light of, she smacked him lightly— on his shoulder, and not enough to move him, but actions spoke louder than words. “forget them— i’m fond of you, you fool.” she couldn’t think of what to say next, instead waiting on alistair to make up his mind: whether he would be sincere, or turn another phrase into something useless, flighty. phillipa was not created with eloquence or wit on her tongue, but strength and spite rested there instead. she shrugged, a little helplessness mixed in with her irreverence. “well— then you must do your brother proud.”

[jewelcvt-blog]

elizabethsblount‌:

    A delicate, graceful greyhound was married to Phillipa’s side; her love lorn, expressive eyes, attached onto her face; while the Mistress of the Hounds sustained a rarity of a smile. She could not count Phillipa as a lady of spiteful venom, who deterred from sunny expressions as a mode of attack; while Elizabeth flitted towards the sun, she coaxed much from the mystery of the dark. Her skirts draped across the floor, making each step into the private quarters a slow march - she felt prone to laughter, approaching her companion like a courtier counselling a queen. “It will take a great exercise of control to bend to your wish, but I shall always work to do what pleases you - Phillipa.” 

     Entreated to sit beside her friend, Bessie’s attention was much drawn to the warm display of affection granted to the canines; spread in a pretty imitation of a portrait, seeking to capture the dignity of a lady and her pack. Phillipa denied the court its set conventions for a woman; but endeavored into displays of warmth, that suited her own designs. The capacity within her sex to possess such complexities would serve to humble Bessie for all her days. “I am glad to have erred on the side of caution; the other words I wished to lavish over you, would have sent you crumbling to the floor in true disbelief. My children would be dismayed if I gave them such sweetness.” 

          flashing elizabeth her sharpest, brightest grin, phillipa said, “either you underestimate me, or you know me too well— the former is cruel, and unlike you, and the latter makes me shudder. the element of surprise is always most useful.” phillipa had no intention on surprising elizabeth any time soon, and she had no doubt that the countess would not spoil phillipa’s image by spreading rumours of things like courtly grace. she had a carefully curated reputation of being a bastard in anything but name, after all.

          she astutely avoided all mention of children, not thinking of her own. instead she asked, bluntly and directly, “i suppose the common greeting in these past weeks have been to ask of the king— you have finer graces than i, bess, you must have heard something. i have been bullied into finding out what i can by my comrades. have you heard much, if anything?”

[jewelcvt-blog]

follower-of-hecate‌:

Cassandra was busy in her physician’s room, looking over different ingredients and several different orders she had received. It had been a quiet afternoon for her with only a few people coming in for a check up or or for a quick fix sort of a thing. So she had been alone with her thoughts much longer than she had been for a while. Her mind swam with different spells and concoctions that her mother had taught her; she just always had to wait to make sure the stars were right. She heard her door open just as she was adding some lavender to her mortar. “Just give me one moment”. 

          phillipa was limping, worse than usual. it wasn’t that she had brawled too hard, or sprained an ankle riding— though she wished she was. she had shooed away any page or maid that offered to help her, mood souring more and more with each half-step that she took. it had taken a painfully long walk to reach her preferred healer’s chamber, but she had made it, legs and aching. she wasn’t about to pause, even as cassandra called for patience. 

          “take your time,” phillipa wheezed, throwing herself onto a chaise, “but i’m sitting down anyways.”

[jewelcvt-blog]

dutifulxalistair‌:

Being back at court brought back old feelings. Alistair was torn between who he had once been and who he was now, and he didn’t know which to act like. The cautious looks of those who remembered his past antics made that wolf’s grin come out to play, but there were those who looked at him with pity, and that reminder did nothing to ease the constant ache that the loss of Arthur had caused. 

He was no longer a whole man, but he would pretend to be. He had to both be Alistair and Arthur now, that was what was needed. 

A punch to his shoulder had him half reaching for a weapon before he realised who it had been. At first, that smile raced across his face, lighting up his eyes, but before he could tease her, like he had always teased everyone, her concern brought him crashing down once more, the smile becoming forced. 

The one good thing about those pitying looks was that he didn’t have to say anything. “I have been at home this past year, getting used to my new position as Earl of Cumberland.” He could feel no guilt over the way he had left. His family had always been his priority, and hearing that Arthur had been hurt had been enough to send him racing home. 

          she saw the smile on his face, how it changed and gathered tarnish as quickly as she could blink. earl of cumberland echoed through her skull, resonant and dreadful in its implication. phillipa’s anger soured in the pit of her stomach. phillipa took alistair’s hand and shook her head, now looking regretful.

          “i understand,” she said simply. it was what she had done, too, after the death of her own husband, her beloved. she had chased grief away where she could not run from it, and run from it she had. germany, italy, bohemia, france, amsterdam. all of them had distracted her well enough, for a time, before she was recalled to england for her mother’s funeral.

          “i understand, alistair, i do. i promise,” she said in earnest. she squeezed the hand she held. “but why couldn’t you have sent word? to someone else, at least one person, if not to all of us?”

[jewelcvt-blog]

ursula-pole‌:

Ursula looked right into the woman’s eyes to show she wasn’t scared of her, no matter how much she towered above her. Her mother had taught her well. But her defiant stance softened slightly when the woman opposite her also backed down. At the woman’s she looked over at a bench by the wall before nodding, “I think I will stay, to at least have some entertainment while I find what I’m looking for,” she replied before making her way over to the bench where she knew she wouldn’t find her clothes once again in the way. 

          phillipa inclined her head, watching the woman go. with one hand on the hilt of her blade, she cocked an eyebrow at her sparring partner, eager to resume their match. she glanced around the room, seeing inquisitive looks from her usual companions, and shrugged. this wasn’t an invitation to join their ranks; rather a simple occupation of the same space. after all, it was the least she could do as a gentlewoman after poking a hole in the lady’s garments. the thought made her snort as she lifted her blade and began her duel again.

fin.

[jewelcvt-blog]

@dutifulxalistair

          the season of lent had only begun to build up phillipa’s restless energy. missives from her father concerning her son’s inheritance had only built upon phillipa’s frustrations. she had stalked around court in a gentlewoman’s skirts expected of her station, yet had still strapped her rapier between her kirtle and gown, and a small dagger tucked into her girdle. more than once had she silently thanked sumptuary laws— the less she had to put on, the happier she was. truth be told, the support and warmth of a gown wasn’t all too bad, but phillipa did truly despise the sleeves, how they hung and dragged and flapped, like some ridiculous bird’s wings.

          how she gnashed her teeth, how she frowned, how she glared and snarled at any underling that tried to approach her! phillipa found it beyond difficult to retain pleasantries to those above her— or to control her reaction when she saw an intimately familiar face.

          she was less than an arm’s reach from alistair when she raised her fist and knocked it into alistair’s shoulder, tempering the blow more than she would have liked. “bastard!” she hissed. she turned to face him, reached out and shoved him, wishing she could yell. “where on god’s great green earth have you been?” despite her anger, concern laced her voice, wormed its way onto her face. “what happened? no one’s seen fit to tell me a single thing!”

[angelstills]

The Girl King (2015)