STEADFAST. @stewahrt - Tumblr Blog

( elizabeth of lancaster ♕ devrim lingnau ♕ 29 ♕ queen of scotland ) ⸻welcome ELIZABETH OF LANCASTER. you hail from ENGLAND and have been risen to the position of a QUEEN. you are a member of the house of STEWART and will go down in history as the STEADFAST. though you are PROUD & RESENTFUL, you are blessed with being OBSERVANT and DUTIFUL.

written by lu ( she / they ).

DOSSIER ⸻ WANTED DYNAMICS

you can find my little discord tl;dr under the cut ( it also complements what's in the dossier page ).

#⸻ intro #fwintro #it's barely done ... there's a timeline ... i just want this out of my drafts ... don't judge me please ...

writeswiftly

closed starter for @stewahrt

Isabel had never been Scotland’s most skilled rider, but if she’d learned anything over the years, it was that horses listen when spoken to. They might not have a clue what is said, but their ability to recognize tone was nothing to scoff at. And so, she had developed a tendency to speak quietly to horses before riding them, gentle hands soothing through their manes in a way she hoped they appreciated. She went through the same process now, whispering quiet words of comfort to the brilliant white Camarillo she’d been given at the stables. “We’re going to do well today, you and I,” she told the animal, smiling softly when it nuzzled against her gloved fingers. “You must trust me, and I will return the favor.”

With that, she pulled herself up into the sidesaddle, pausing momentarily to ensure her legs were in the proper position – with the lower pommel curved carefully over the top of her left thigh – and that her skirts would not be entirely ruined by the endeavor. It was a frustrating business, riding this way, and she wouldn’t bother with it at all if only she were home. “I can’t understand why men are allowed to straddle a horse, while we – who are supposed to be the weaker sex – must hang off the side, praying for our lives,” she told Lizzie, comfortable enough with her sister-in-law to voice her complaint. “But needs must, I suppose. I wouldn’t want any potential suitors to spot me riding another way and decide I am an unworthy match.”

Truthfully, she would want that. Any man silly enough to cast aside a potential alliance with her country over the way she rode a horse was no man she wanted to be tied to for eternity. But James had been clear about his hopes for her during this summit – she wouldn’t risk ruining his plans now, after so many years working alongside him for the better of Scotland.

stewahrt

the warmth of elizabeth's smile rivals the morning sun as her blue eyes take in the dark brown palfrey ⸻ he does not compare to her sweet moonlight but his coat shines just as brightly, softer than many of the noble thorns around the french court. still, it is her sister-in-law's company that causes all worries to leave elizabeth's mind this time, at least for a little bit. the scottish queen's smile turns to meet isabel, watching the princess with the horse. for a heartbeat, elizabeth finds herself wishing she could protect isabel from what she knows is a world that will wear that kindness down. "i think the horse will like you so much, it will refuse to take anyone else out for a ride."

a chuckle passes her lips after she props herself up on her own horse's saddle ( sharing much of the complaints that leave isabel's lips ) and elizabeth takes the reigns before sighing dramatically at the reality of things. "i wish i had something else to tell you other than that is just how things are, i suppose." much like how men are allowed to take mistresses and their wives are treated very differently if they take lovers themselves. "though, any potential suitors that would take that as enough reason to deny your hand would not be worthy of it in the first place, wouldn't you agree?"

elizabeth gets her horse right next to isabel's, just so her next words are for her sister-in-law's ears only and no one else's. "though, as your queen," elizabeth starts, eager to just ride away and find solace somewhere away from court before being submitted to all of it once again, "i am inclined to demand that you ride as you want once we are out of sight." she tilts her head, giving isabel a playful look. "shall we go?"

#⸻ thread #⸻ event #⸻ with isabel stewart

flowerytale

Clarice Lispector, from “That’s Where I’m Going”, Soulstorm: Stories (tr. Alexis Levitin)

#⸻ musing

lilpieceofmyworld

#⸻ musing

anneboleynqueen

Claire Foy as Anne Boleyn in Wolf Hall (2015)

#⸻ musing #guess who she is looking at </3

thunpreparcd

status open location hotel saint-pol

The colour blue engulfs them, each wall and floor is lined with the carpet of French Royal blood, every corner glittering with wall hangings or bunches of forget-me-nots, bluebells and irises pinched into pouches to keep the smell of the Seine away. To someone more attuned to the ocean, perhaps one would think of the coast as the colour follows your person around the stone laden Hotel Saint-Pol — but Philip, born to the valleys of Aachen, had rarely ever been lucky enough to see the sea first hand. Indeed, though he had come to follow his father or lead squadrons within the Reichasarmee, his travels had never quite lead him to the coast — of which, within the Holy Roman Empire’s control, were few and far between unless you were to travel Southwards towards Italy, where tensions grew against the burning Kingdom of Naples.

“It is quite something —,” he remarked in French, then finding himself somewhat thankful for the tutor who had pressed upon the young Prince that if one was to succeed to his father’s own throne, that one was to learn the languages of Europa without hesitation. “They evidently know how to express such splendour to the rest of us — though I wonder if this is merely the surface with little substance. What do you think?” He asked, turning to another wanderer of those halls

stewahrt

queenly as she walks, elizabeth still finds herself searching for the solace of silence amongst the organised chaos of the french celebration. brought up in chaos herself ( more silent, deadlier chaos that threatens her family still ), it comes as no puzzling matter to realise that the married scot might prefer a few moments away from it all ( surely, less whispers of a mistress to meet her ears ⸻ a curse she prays to rid herself of, by way of a filled womb or any other ). the tall halls in which she finds herself don a colour not too different from the gaze that follows their trail, taking in every intricacy.

a spoken familiar tongue catches her attention ( one of many her parents made sure she learned ) and she smiles at the words. it is quite something. "tell me ⸻ would it be smarter or just unexpected if they decided to reign in their show of splendour?" there is a fine line between humility and weakness, hubris and grandeur and many blue bloods spend their life trying to walk it. blue eyes study her company for a few heartbeats before looking at their surroundings again. "i think, lacking substance or not, you cannot deny the beauty around us and how distracting it is." a diplomatic answer, she supposes. "what do you think?"