THRONE BOUND; prelude
A UNION. ONE THAT CAN ONLY STRENGTHEN OR WEAKEN THE THRONE.
pairings: king hal x fem!reader
warnings: arranged marriage, death, political insights
a/n: this will be a series from the post I had earlier teased 'the tailor girl' and this is the prologue I hope you enjoy it! Reblogs and feedback is very much appreciated!
One
The Will of King Henry IV, First of His Name
To Be Read and Executed Upon the Event of My Passing
In the Name of God, Amen.
I, Henry of Bolingbroke, First of My Name, King of England, Sovereign Lord of the Isles, and Protector of the Realm, being of sound mind and body, do hereby declare this my last will and testament, that it may be carried out in full accordance with the law of God and the statutes of this kingdom.
First, I commend my soul to the Almighty, trusting in His infinite wisdom to judge me as both king and man. May the weight of my deeds, both noble and cruel, be measured fairly on the scales of eternity.
To my son and heir, Henry of Monmouth, known as Hal, I bequeath the throne, the scepter, and the kingdom of England. May he wear the crown with strength and wisdom, ruling over this land with honor and justice.
To my loyal councilors, who have served me with unwavering loyalty, I entrust the guidance of my son, Henry of Monmouth, in his reign. Let them continue to support him as they did for me, aiding him in the duties of kingship.
To the Church, I dedicate lands and wealth for the care of our souls and the furtherance of God’s will upon this earth. The relationship between crown and church must remain sacred, especially in these tumultuous times.
And lastly, to my son Henry of Monmouth,
I leave a final decree. On the Feast of St. George in the Year 1412, an agreement was forged between this crown and the noble house of Fairmont, sealed by blood and bound by honor. Despite the fall of Lord Alaric Fairmont’s house, despite his descent into debauchery and ruin, the contract between our families remains intact.
You, my son, are bound to marry (name) Fairmont, daughter of Lord Alaric Fairmont. It is a union forged not out of love or whim, but for the stability of this kingdom. Let it be known, that the fall of her family’s house shall not dissolve the contract, for a king’s word, once given, is unbreakable.
You may wish for a different bride, one of higher birth or nobler blood, but the kingdom’s future is tied to this union. Thus, I command you, Hal, my son, to wed (name) Fairmont and unite our houses.
May God bless this union, for the future of our crown and our kingdom.
Signed this day, in the Year of Our Lord 1418, by my own hand,
Henry of Bolingbroke, First of His Name, King of England
The will lay open on the desk like a predator, its contents baring their teeth with every line. Hal’s gaze had been fixed on it for so long that the words had begun to blur, the black ink swimming against the yellowed parchment. His temples throbbed, and yet he could not look away.
The study was cold, despite the fire burning in the massive hearth. The high, arched windows let in shafts of dying sunlight, but the golden rays did nothing to warm the room. The scent of aged wood and leather mixed with the faint tang of smoke from the fireplace, creating an atmosphere both rich and oppressive.
Hal stood at the centre of it all, his figure tense and unyielding. He paced like a caged animal, his boots clicking against the polished floor, the fur lined mantle of his cloak sweeping behind him with each sharp turn.
"Why now?" he muttered to himself, his voice low and venomous. "Why did he have to tether me to this… to her?"
He stopped pacing abruptly and turned toward the desk, where the will waited, silent and damning. His father’s words still echoed in his mind, a relentless specter. You will wed her, Hal. You will honor this contract.
Hal clenched his fists, his nails biting into the leather of his gloves. His jaw tightened, his teeth grinding as he fought the urge to shout, to lash out at the unfairness of it all.
He could see his father now, clear as day, seated in the very chair that now sat empty behind the desk. He had been a man of iron—cold, unyielding, and immovable. Hal had hated him as much as he had respected him, and now, with the old king dead and buried, that hatred seemed to burn brighter than ever.
"You couldn’t even leave me in peace," Hal spat, his voice rising. He slammed his fist onto the desk, the sound reverberating through the room. The inkpot wobbled precariously, threatening to spill, but Hal barely noticed.
For a moment, he stood still, his chest heaving as he tried to wrestle his emotions back under control. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. But the words on the will remained etched in his mind.
His bethroed.
He knew little of her, only that she was the daughter of a disgraced nobleman—a drunkard and a gambler who had squandered his wealth and reputation. Her name had been little more than a distant whisper in court gossip, a relic of a house that had long since fallen into obscurity.
And now, she was to be his bride.
The thought sent a fresh wave of anger coursing through him. What kind of woman would she be? A simpering fool, eager to please? Or worse, a resentful, bitter creature, forced into this union just as he was?
"Henslowe," Hal barked suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
The older steward, who had been standing quietly in the shadows near the door, stepped forward. His expression was calm, unreadable, as always, but there was a flicker of concern in his eyes.
"Yes, Your Majesty?"
"Send for her," Hal commanded, his tone sharp. "Eleanor Fairmont. Summon her to court immediately."
Henslowe nodded, bowing slightly. "As you wish, Your Majesty."
Hal hesitated for a moment, his jaw working as he considered his next words. "And have the maids prepare chambers for her. Something… appropriate."
"Of course," Henslowe replied.
"And the tailors," Hal added, his voice quieter now but no less commanding. "Have them craft a gown for her. Pink. With lace. Something…" He trailed off, struggling to find the words. "Something worthy of a queen."
The steward bowed again and left the room, his footsteps fading into the distance.
Hal turned back to the desk, his hands gripping the edge tightly. The fire crackled behind him, its warmth doing little to soothe the cold knot of anger and resignation in his chest.
For a long moment, he simply stood there, staring at the will. His mind raced, filled with thoughts of duty, of legacy, of a future that was no longer his own. He thought of his father, of the weight of the crown, of the woman who was now hurtling toward his castle in a carriage she likely never thought she would see.
The room seemed to grow darker as the sun dipped below the horizon, the firelight casting long, flickering shadows across the walls. Hal’s reflection shimmered faintly in the polished surface of the desk—a lone figure, surrounded by opulence and burdened by the weight of kingship.
"Damned old man," he muttered under his breath, his voice raw.
And yet, even as the anger boiled within him, there was a flicker of something else—a quiet, unspoken fear.
What kind of queen would she be?
The question lingered in his mind, unanswered, as the fire crackled on.
@deadgirlrin @futuristicmiracleballoon @marvellover98 @evangelinesecondacc @matilde-333 @ilovefamousmen11 @confusionmeisss @sensationalstardust @gwenstacyspiderman @ludarg15 @libralovegood @mdzz1e @neznamstvarno @that-one-heartstopper-nerd @tchalamss @wailingp03ts @red-432 @taliavelazquez1234 @vithmein @urdeftonesgrrrl
(rest that wanted to be tagged I apologise but it wouldn't let me tag you!)
