In which Montjoy is having the time of his life, and Constable d’Albret is having a bad bout of thalassaphobia.
A southerly wind filled the sails, whipping foam from the crests of waves and making the pennants snap in the sun. Montjoy, chief herald to the King, held onto a shroud as he leaned out over the railing, watching as the ship’s motion carried him high enough to see to the horizon before dropping him down in the watery valleys.
“Careful, my lord! You don’t want to fall in!” The ship’s mate laughed as he said it. Montjoy stepped back, smiling.
“Well enough, it would ruin the trip. And such a fine day for sailing!”
“You been to sea often, my lord?” The ship was well underway; the mate could spare a few minutes for conversation.
“Often enough to wish it more often. It’s a fine day when the king’s business takes me to sea!”
“The truth, my lord, the very truth.”
The ship pitched, bringing the split-second thrill of weightlessness. Montjoy grinned ear to ear, gazing up into the cloudless sky. The very air seemed to flash like cut crystal. The mate moved off, busy with his duties, and Montjoy turned to go belowdecks. There were still a handful of dispatches to get ready, and he should rehearse his address before arrival...
The cabin door banged as he opened it, causing the squire seated inside to jump.
“Oh, hello Tetine, just coming to get my writing kit-”
Tetine shook his head, motioning to be quiet. Further back in the gloom, someone groaned.
“My lord Constable?” Montjoy blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust.
“What.” Charles d’Albret sat on his berth, clutching the edge of the cot in a white-knuckled grip. He was pale beneath his tan, his dark hair disheveled. Montjoy started; he had walked onto the ship that morning, in good health and apparently good spirits.
“Are—are you all right, my lord?”
“No.” D’Albret’s voice was hoarse; his normally genial manner had evaporated. A sour smell hung in the air, along with the smells of brine and bilge. Montjoy was about to ask what was wrong when the ship’s deck tilted, sending them rushing down the long slide between waves. D’Albret clamped his mouth shut and seized a bucket, retching.
“Oh.”
“Turnips—why, for the love of God—I didn’t eat turnips, I don’t even like them-” The Constable clung to his bucket, sweaty and shivering. Tetine crossed the cabin and gingerly took it to empty, handing him a basin in its place. Montjoy watched, pityingly.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“If you’re feeling charitable-” d’Albret paused, gagging, but nothing came up. “-you can find a cudgel and beat me about the head until I’m senseless. Or you can stop asking me stupid questions.”
Montjoy retrieved his dispatch bag from atop the rest of his luggage. “You know, my lord, the weather’s fine today. Some fresh air and sunlight would do you wonders.”
The ship pitched again and d’Albret clutched at the frame of his berth. “Guillaume—you are my friend, so I say this with the utmost affection: piss off.”
Montjoy met Tetine on the way out. The young man looked exhausted already, and slightly ill himself.
“It’ll be alright shortly, just give it a few hours.” Montjoy tried to be encouraging. The squire shook his head.
“He’ll be like that until we land. It’s always the same. Some men just weren’t born for the sea.”
-------
The sun was beginning its westward descent as Montjoy sat on the deck, finishing a letter. A noise behind him made him look up.
“Lord Constable!” He hastened to his feet. D’Albret stood on deck, leaning heavily on Tetine. “You look better already. The fresh air really does help.”
“Wanted to- I owe you an apology, Guillaume, I shouldn’t have been short with you. I’m never quite-” He broke off, clapped a hand to his mouth, and rushed to the rail. As soon as he leaned over it, though, the little remaining color drained from his face. He staggered back, wide-eyed and stiff-legged, until he reached the mast and clung to it.
“Tetine!” he barked, voice somewhat higher than usual. “A hand here!”
Montjoy was closer, and moved to steady him. “What was it?”
“The watery depths of hell, trying to swallow us all up.” D’Albret spoke low and desperate, a man grappling with his own terror. “I made a mistake coming up here. On my life, Poseidon’s got it out for me!”
“You weren’t going to fall in.”
“You don’t know that, not in this bloody gale.”
Montjoy spared a look at the clear, sunny sky, and didn’t bring it up. “Let’s go belowdecks, my lord.”
Once out of the elements, d’Albret seemed to master himself. He braced himself against the bulkhead, slowly getting his breathing under control. Montjoy regarded him cautiously.
“I thought you could swim.”
“I can swim—in ponds, not in this damned abyss!” He leaned on the herald, still shaking. “Every time I have to travel by ship—I’d throw myself in the sea if the king asked me to, but I could never stomach a ship! Have to go up and make a damn fool of myself, no less-”
“Everyone gets seasick, my lord.”
D’Albret raised his eyes, wearily, pointedly. At last he shook his head. “I’ll not be myself until I have solid ground under my feet, I’m afraid.”
“Let’s get you to bed.” Montjoy offered a supporting arm.
“I don’t want to vomit on you.”
“I don’t think you have anything left to bring up.”
“I’m going to owe you a hundred apologies by the time we make landfall.”
“My lord, you don’t even owe me one now.” He deposited d’Albret, week-kneed, onto the cot. “Besides, the ship’s master says we’re making good time. We should arrive before noon tomorrow.”
D’Albret took the herald’s hand fondly. “I hope I didn’t ruin this trip for you, lad. I saw how happy you were when we left harbor.”
“Nothing can ruin my joy at being on the sea.” Montjoy pressed d’Albret’s hand, then let it go to pull a blanket over him. As an afterthought, he set the empty basin close by. “I only wish you could share in some part of it.”
“Looks like you’ve got it covered for both of us, Guillaume.” The Constable managed a weak chuckle, and for a moment he seemed almost himself. Then the ship rocked again and he choked, half sitting up and reaching for the basin. Finally, he relaxed, slumping back with an exasperated sigh. “For now, I’ll content myself with that.”
Colt as a character because there’s so much to work with. But if I wanted one LI irl, I’d like a Ben Park. That guy is grade A bring-home-to-mommy and impress-your-nosy-aunts boyfriend material.
13. Least favorite ending of any book?
Distant shores. Fuck the DS ending. All my homies hate the DS ending.
18. If you could change something about a book, what would it be?
I don’t rly care about most books enough to think about changing stuff. But I would have liked it if our ILITW friends mourned us?? Just a little bit??? A few tears??? Maybe a muffled sob???? Idk 😔
fem!Mountjoy for the 3 headcannons thing, if you still want to do it and no one's asked for her yet? :D
No one has asked yet, but even if someone had, I’m always up for fem!Montjoy!
- She is the middle child in her family (thanks to @princess-of-france!) and she had a happy childhood, which made it all the harder when she had to leave to take over her father’s job as herald.
- Montjoy and the Constable have been best friends for so long they don’t really remember a time when they didn’t have each other.
- For some reason I imagine her going to a place that serves smoothies every time she’s in a particular city (maybe London, you guys have smoothies right?) and gets the largest size (which, since she’s tiny, is about 1/3 her body size).
1415 CE is, of course, a very important year (and one that is very close to my heart) and it seems only right that I honor that number with this particular set of responses. <3
“Then call we this the field of Agincourt, fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus...” (H5, 4.7)
❤️ why I love this character
Because Montjoie always comes back. Always. There’s always one more appearance, one more appeal, one more heady confrontation. Henry just can’t shake him off, and Montjoie just can’t leave the king well enough alone. They are the ever-attracting North and South poles of a magnet.
💙 why I hate this character
He only has 53 canonical lines of text in the First Folio.
That is not nearly enough for my angst-loving soul, Will!
⁉️ what initially drew me to this character
The fact that he shifts seamlessly from prose to verse the moment he realizes King Henry is addressing him in iambic pentameter. Talk about smooth.
Also, he wastes no time in taking Henry’s sassy cue and using “thee/thou” (which is to say: informal) pronouns with the KING OF ENGLAND, which is such a complete boss-bitch move, I can’t even—
💕 who do I think this character is in love with (if anyone) and why
I mean, he fights his way to Henry’s side in the middle of monstrously bloody battle against his own countrymen just to beg the king to exercise his empathy, if he has any, and to cease fighting.
That’s just...not a herald’s job. There are retreat horns for that.
And yet...
👨👩👧👦 what do I think this character’s feelings about their family are
I think Montjoie’s family IS the French army.
I get the impression from the text of the Folio that he’s a bit like the Constable: he’s been in the army for at least a decade, his whole life is wrapped up in the military, and he has little in the way of a personal life outside his royal duties.
I tend to think Montjoie was raised by moral, upstanding, hardworking Frenchpeople...probably minor nobility, or some such. But he wasn’t the eldest son, so inheritance was never really on the table. And he found his calling and true vocation in serving as messenger/herald for King Charles.
It suits him to serve France as a peace-sower, rather than as a warrior. Killing people is just not one of Montjoie’s interests or skills.
🕰 what do I think this character enjoys doing in their free time
I think Montjoie is a voracious reader. French, English, and Latin. Like, dozens of books a year. How else do you explain the easy phasing in and out of English verse?
👿 who does this character hate more than anyone else
Montjoie reaaaallly doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who “hates” people. I mean...dislike people? Sure. Distrust people? Comes with the job. But hatred? Actual loathing? That just doesn’t seem like a ready-made emotion for a guy whose literal job entails seeking peaceful accordance with enemy forces.
(That said, I’m sure he agrees with the Constable that the Dauphin can be ridiculous at times.)
🌈 what is their relationship like with their romantic partner(s)
If his romantic partner is Henry, then I’d say their relationship is the Facebook Fraternity Brother Profile definition of the phrase, “It’s complicated.”
🌕 happy headcanon
Montjoie and the Constable are longtime friends and they enjoy playing chess together over fine brandy. (Montjoie nearly always wins.)
🌑 sad headcanon
Montjoie leaves the white rook from his chess set on the grave of Charles d’Albret, after he’s buried. It was always d’Albret’s favorite piece in the game.
📂 random/obscure headcanon
Montjoie has an exceptional memory, and he’s memorized the birthdays of every single child of King Charles and Queen Isabel (including all the ones who passed away). The royal children love him for this and look forward to hearing his well-wishes on their special days, year in and year out.
(When he goes to wish the golden-haired Princess Catherine a happy 14th birthday, however, Montjoie can’t help but break down in tears. It’s only been 48 hours, after all. And she’s so young. So innocent. And now her fate is sealed. And his king is irrevocably gone.)
📱favorite/personal modern interpretation
The world needs more fem!Montjoies. That’s all I’m going to say.
📺 favorite film interpretation
??? This is the same problem I had with Hotspur. Not enough films.
I do think it’s worth noting that Jessica Ko was SUBLIME in Rosa Joshi’s minimalistic, monochromatic production of Henry V, however.
(Oregon Shakespeare Festival // 2018 season)
🎻 a song I associate with this character
“Incomplete” by James Bay
📕 my ideal epilogue for this character (if they survived)
Ideally? His friends would’ve survived Azincourt. Especially the Constable.
However, although it’s probably treasonous to say so, I can’t un-wish Henry’s victory in that battle because it’s too endemic to why I love him and Henry V (the play) in the first place.
“The day is yours.”
I mean, wow.
My life was over the day I read those words for the first time. The rest of my life will be haunted by them.
📗 what I think would’ve happened to this character if they HAD survived
