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| la mélodie du cœur; tag: Mary Talbot | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Nov 20 2010, 08:51 PM (414 Views) | |
| Henry Percy | Nov 20 2010, 08:51 PM Post #1 |
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December 1511 ((It'd be cool to listen to the music as you read this)) The pain of the initial rejection had since then dulled into numb melancholy. Henry promised himself he would be careful, to watch his neck, for Anne. He would gladly do something stupid enough to take his own life, if only for a moment more in Anne’s sweet embrace. However, he had promised, both himself and Anne that he would live on, would try to be happy, if only it would make Anne happy. He had to live with his life. Live with the idea that he was living now to die. He had known, even before, that taking away Anne would be like an amputation, that a piece of him would be gone, the most vital piece. He was nothing now, only an empty shell, like the Chinese porcelain that was brought by the Italians. Beautiful on the outside, and yet so cold and hollow within. He sat near the window, playing carefully his lute. The melody was numb, like the coldness within him, but there was always that hint of sweet melancholy that fostered beneath. The deft movements of his long sinewy fingers along the strings of the lute was precise, impeccable in their agility, and elegant in their movement. It was the playing of years of practise, honed by constant drilling, so that the melody came out quite practised and a bit unnatural. However, that was made up for by the cold melancholy that filtered through and the look of subtle pain on the players face. Henry was suffering from the inside, torn to pieces, but his music was as calm as it once was, his hand held steady against the lute resting on his leg. The glint of the sun reached in from the winter sky and shone on Henry’s hair, turning its colours an autumn tint of gold. The paleness of his skin was a result of countless nights of sleeplessness, of kneeling at the altar in prayer, hoping against hope for a miracle. So concentrated on his lute was he that he did not hear the footsteps enter the room. He had been alone in the gallery, others on a hunt by the King. Surrounded by the statues of ancient antiquity, surrounded by a half naked Venus and a hunting Adonis, Henry’s face was pale as marble, and would have seemed carved except for the dexterous movements of his fingers, the gentle incline of his head as he played. Fallen into disgrace and trapped in a court that disgusted him, Henry could not help but lose himself in music. |
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| Mary Talbot | Nov 21 2010, 08:56 PM Post #2 |
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Mary's life was slowly elevating itself to a place that made her no longer wish to flee from court. She found that Christmastide was a blessing and found herself deposed to going often to the chapel to thank God for letting her escape her unfortunate circumstance. She felt as though she had suffered through the trials He had deemed for her bravely, despite cloistering herself away from the world, and pleased Him. She had ventured out every now and then, she reasoned with herself, so she hadn't been completely secluded. Currently, she was wandering around aimlessly after one of those routine visits to the Chapel. Her ears pricked as she passed the gallery; a sad-sounding tune was wafting toward her. It tugged at her heart and made her wonder who would play such a heartbreaking song. It made her think of those times she had only just been reflecting on. It was a siren call, if there ever was one. She would have been hard pressed to carry on even if she had wanted to. She walked into the gallery, hoping the click of her heels wouldn't disturb the musician. She desperately wanted to see who it was. But, as she caught sight of him, her heart kicked and wrenched. It was Henry Percy, bathed in ethereal light, and the sight of him made her ill. Her interest, though, was piqued. Why would he, a man so in love with a temptress such as Anne Boleyn, be playing this song? "My lord Percy, that is such a lovely song." she said quietly. "I don't understand why someone with a great wealth of love would play it, though. Has something happened to Mistress Anne?" |
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| Henry Percy | Nov 25 2010, 09:50 AM Post #3 |
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The music was blissful, and Henry felt his cut up heart slowly beat again from the tune. Slowly, his hand moved across the lute, and his voice hummed the deep low melody of the pavan. Was he happy there, sitting beside the statues that reflected absolute beauty? His face seemed a mirror image of that futile ideal, the classical Greek kouros, the beardless athletic youth that was so well represented by the pagan idol Apollo. It was an unconscious illusion wrapped around the safety bubble surrounding Henry, lovingly wrought by a skilled artist, an artist who had perhaps devoted his whole life to the perfection of forms. However, the illusion was shattered, easily, by the sound of a voice. The playing stopped mid beat, breaking off anticlimactically into an eerie silence. From beneath his gold lashes, Henry raised his eyes to see a form as golden as his, with hair a tint lighter, and beauty that would rival that of Venus. The woman that had been destined at birth to be his, should Henry never had struggled against his fate. Yet, Henry felt nothing but emptiness as his eyes met hers, nothing but that little beat of kindness that he showed to every woman not his own. He supposed he could relate now, and to lose a loved one based on forces that Henry could not control, and so his heart felt a quickening of kindness, but all that was beneath the numbness of emotion that was ever pervasive. He could not feel anymore. He could not love. ”I thank you, Lady Mary.” A small smile followed as he put the lute beside him, letting it rest gently upon his shin. ”Mistress Anne is very well.” He couldn’t help but wince at the mention of Anne’s name. For a moment the numbness turned into torrents of pain, but only for a fraction of a second, before it settled back into unfeeling. Then, shaking his head slightly, he turned away to gaze upon the statue of Venus, trying to avoid what he needed to say, needed to discuss with the lady Mary. It was inevitable, perhaps she had heard it already. Her father’s will was made up. The heir to Northumberland would join in hands with the daughter of Shrewsbury. That much was not going to change. "My father has written." Biting his lip, he had to collect himself before he could go on. ”We are to marry in January.” |
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| Mary Talbot | Nov 29 2010, 09:00 PM Post #4 |
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Incredulity wrote itself sharply over Mary's face and her eyes went wide as a frightened doe. After all he had said and done, he was going to marry her with nary a complaint now? She doubted that strongly; he would treat her with a cool kindness that would irritate her to no end. Deep down, she had known all along that the Earl of Northumberland would show his hand and not allow his son to marry Anne. Months ago, before their run-in at the chapel, she would have welcomed this news with open arms and delighted in the prepations for their impending wedding. Now this was not what she wished for. Now this was the last thing she desired. "I should think not." she replied, calm. "You do not wish to marry me and I do not wish to marry someone who treats me as you have. Write to your father and make your intention to marry Mistress Anne clear. Surely the Duke of Norfolk could find some way to soften your father to it? Do the Howards not wish to align themselves with the Percys now?" In the beginning, all she had seen when she looked at Anne Boleyn was a rival for Henry's love, the complete opposite of what she was. She was an immovable force, promising that even if she did not become his wife, she would be his mistress. She must still feel the same now, Mary supposed, but now that didn't seem as horrible to her now. Though she still loved this man before her, she had hardened her heart toward him. What self-respecting woman wouldn't after the pain he had caused her? "I suppose you think now that she could be your mistress and you have a mind to keep me somewhere in the country so that you can be together without me. Out of sight, out of mind?" She appraised him, hardening more, though the sight of his pain was making her waver. "Well, I will not have it. I will not subject myself to such a thing. I know happiness now and it is certainly not at your hands. At your hands, I have suffered. I will not return to that place. I deserve better. I have done you no wrong." |
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| Henry Percy | Nov 29 2010, 09:37 PM Post #5 |
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There was time for Henry to blink, to recollect, and recoil in surprise. He was somehow glad, and hurt, that Mary no longer loved him. Perhaps he was asking for it all along. He was glad, because he would not give her the pain of unrequited love, that even while married, Henry and Mary could lead separate lives. Yet, there was that certain vanity inside him that desired for his wife to love him. He didn’t deserve it. Henry acknowledged that easily. He didn’t deserve anything but hatred from Mary for what he had done to her. His own conscience gnawed at pieces of him like a crow, tearing pieces of him away. Now that he didn’t have Anne’s soothing voice to calm his wracked nerves, Henry felt the brunt of God’s wrath more acutely than before. Getting up, as propriety dictated, and offering Mary a deep bow and his seat, he retained the soft, calm smile on his lips, almost trying too hard to pretend that he wasn’t hollow inside. ”No Lady Mary, we have appealed to the highest court, the King, and yet my father prevails.” The uncrowned king of the north indeed, the Earl led a court fit for kings, and ruled the north with an iron fist. Not even the Nevilles could compete with the Earl’s search for eternal power and immorality on a piece of paper, a painting, in the whispered voices of Northumberland. Henry thought his father would be known as the Earl of Bigots and he the fool, but nevertheless, he was to marry Mary Talbot. If he was insulted or outraged at the suggested of Anne becoming Henry’s whore, he did not show it. He dared not think it. The mere idea would drive him mad. It was sinful, and such sin would surely guarantee him a place beside the last leper in Hell, eternally singed by the demon fires of Satan. He could not give in to such temptation. He could not shame Anne in that way. To Henry, Anne was as pure and virtuous as the Madonna herself, with a mind and a biting wit to match. To Henry, Anne was perfect and Henry would never sully that perfection even if it meant his own death. And Henry could never do that to Mary. If he would marry, then he would be a good husband and try to live a life of virtue with his wife. A simple life, a good life. He wanted to disown all associations with the House of Percy. He wanted to move to Dunstanburgh or Prudhoe castle, away from his beloved Alnwick, away from all that connected him to his family. He wanted all the gold and the nobility to go away. ”I will contrive to be a good husband, Lady Mary. You shall never want of anything from me. I will be faithful, attentive and kind. You are free do do as you wish. I will never reprimand you or force you into my household. I shall try to make you happy, Lady Mary, because I know that you are worthy of such.” It was not Mary’s fault that Henry cannot have his Anne, truly, but it was a bitter pill to swallow for Henry not to hate Mary. Those words he said were honest, but perhaps the feeling behind them were not. Henry felt the need to add, in a bout of blunt honesty. ”Yet, Lady Mary, I cannot love you. You deserve love from a husband, but I cannot give it. For that, I am truly sorry.” It would be harsh of him not to expect Lady Mary to find consolation from someone else, not when Henry had done it first. Sinking into a deep bow, Henry’s voice was resigned, already one weary with too demanding a life, affected by the injudicious decisions. |
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| Mary Talbot | Nov 30 2010, 11:45 PM Post #6 |
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No part of Mary liked the sight or sound of Henry's resignation. In fact, it made her sick to her stomach. He likely thought she had no more affection or love left for him because of her words, so he wouldn't think that her barely repaired heart would be cut by them. They agreed that she deserved more and had done nothing but existed. She supposed he would be more than pleased if she dropped dead right then and there. Then he could happily have his Anne and be happy for the rest of his life. It was after this thought that what he'd said sunk in. He meant to be a puppet husband in a way. He would act the part and nothing more. That was no basis for a marriage. She didn't want him to be accomodating, while the rest of him hated her for standing in his way. She certainly didn't like the idea of bringing unsuspecting children into that. She knew there were many arranged marriages like that where children were produced and had happy lives, but it still didn't set well with her. "To make me truly happy would be to love me, my lord Percy." she murmured. "Or it would have been if you had not treated me as one might treat a leper. It is clear to me that while you seem as though you will try to make this arrangement as pleasant as possible, I see unhappiness and pain everywhere. Marrying me would be going against yourself. My eyes cannot escape it when I look at you." Now she thought of the men who appeared to truly enjoy her company; Charles Turner and Edward Stanley. They made her feel valued in one way or another. In them, she saw no signs of wishing to be elsewhere. In Henry, it seemed to radiate off him and force her away with sheer desire. "How are we to have a frutiful marriage that will allow me to bear you sons?" She gazed down at his fair head, remembering how she thought that the two of them seemed to be made for each other. Really, all the things she had once believed came flooding back now and eroded the walls she'd built against them. "How am I to be happy when, underneath it all, you would love for the ground to open up and swallow me?" Tears sprang to her eyes, slipping down her cheeks. "I do not see how I can even venture to be happy and give you what a man needs most knowing all of that. I am not emotionless, Henry. You must see that I am a flesh and blood woman. Do you not? Do you just think I am a tool used by your father to make you suffer? Is that why you spoke so harshly before?" She needed to know these things desperately. As they were expected to proceed into marriage, she felt these questions deserved answers. Perhaps they would overwhelm him, but she didn't care. She had been pushed into an abyss of despair during their last meeting, so it only seemed fair that he had pressure on him this time. |
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| Henry Percy | Dec 1 2010, 12:09 AM Post #7 |
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That was the one thing Henry could not do. He could try, but he knew that it would ultimately end in failure. It was not that Henry found Mary so repulsive that no feeling of love could ever spring up from that passionate heart of his, but that he was no longer capable of love. Not for Mary Talbot, not for anyone. If the Virgin Mary herself descended from the heavens and gave Henry her love, Henry could not return it. Anne had taken from him his entire faculty of love, and he could not use it anymore on anyone else. Henry was now destined for a loveless life, with a woman that he pitied. Pity was not a reason for love, still less a reason for marriage, but Henry was incapable of conjuring up any further feeling. ”I’m sorry, Lady Mary. Truly. I cannot imagine greater pain than that I have inflicted unto you. I will try to make it up to you, always, forever. I will be, if not happy, then content with this marriage, or I will try. Yet, I cannot love you. Not because you are you, but because I am no longer capable of such feeling. It is through no fault of your own, but my simple inability, inadequacy. I am a heathen, Lady Mary. You are far too good to be loved by a heathen.” It hurt him that he hurt Mary. That all he ever presented to her was this image of pain and suffering. It was everything he was, every moment there was a glaring emptiness in him that he could never fill. He had tried to do it with wine, but that was only temporary, only to make the gap bigger. Sinking deeper into alcoholism, into an invalid, he no longer had the will to try to be something he was not. He was tired to pretending. He did it for a living. Now, perhaps, at last, he could retire. ”I do not require such service from you. You are free to love as you choose, to do as you choose.” It was more than anyone had ever given a wife, but Henry thought it was a fair trade. Perhaps one day, Henry may come to appreciate Lady Mary as a stronghold against which all his inadequacies would be filled, but now, all he could think about was the absence of a heart. Drawing in a deep breath, he ran a hand self consciously through his golden hair, ”You mustn’t think such things of me. I want you to be happy, Lady Mary. Even as my wife, I want you to be happy. You may do what you like. I give you freedom.” Please don’t love me, don’t fall in love with me. the thought rang desperately through his mind. He couldn’t stand to give the same hurt that the absence of Anne had inflicted on him. He couldn’t stand the idea that he was unable to fulfill Mary’s needs, her desires, because it simply wasn’t in him. ”How can I believe that?” Henry argued, his voice soft, but his eyes bright with wide-eyed voracity, ”How can I even think that!” He reached up to grab Mary’s hand, instinctive, with no meaning associated with it. ”Do you want me to love you then? I cannot. Do not force me. I cannot change how I feel. I will be as I have always tried to be. A good and faithful husband. I cannot deceive you with false witness of love. Such deception is unworthy of your good character.” Tears were almost welling in his eyes, threatening to pour over. The lute had fallen unceremoniously on the ground, breaking a string with a sharp bounce. Henry’s hand shook as he held Mary’s, loose, almost asking her if this pretension of love was what she would prefer. |
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| Anne Bourchier | Dec 1 2010, 12:29 AM Post #8 |
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Her free hand collided with his cheek before she even knew it had. Once she had realized it, she offered no apologies. She merely yanked her hand from his grasp and stepped back, regarding him all the while trying to stop herself from crying. You have wasted enough tears on this man. He does not deserve any more of them. her inner voice told her. Do not cry. It was all she could do to keep herself from letting forth another torrent of tears, repeating Do not cry over and over in her mind. He kept saying he would give her the freedom to do as she liked, but she felt something slither around her and clasp her to him. If she was as good as he said, why would she seek someone outside their marriage? "You are a coward." she spat out. "I understand that you are mourning the loss of Mistress Anne, but you could find happiness again if you wanted to. I locked myself away after our fight in the chapel and found a way to be happy again. I have discovered I am not as undesirable as you make me feel. I also found that, even though I too thought I could not love another, I could." She appraised him again and shook her head, looking away. "You could do the same if you allowed yourself. Or, at the very least, you could try rather than rolling over like a kicked dog." she proceeded, unable to stop. "Do not unman yourself. (( Realized too late I posted under the wrong account. Oh well. )) |
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| Henry Percy | Dec 1 2010, 07:46 AM Post #9 |
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The slap was so welcome to Henry. So deserved. Any other lord would have recoiled in anger, retaliated at the very idea that a woman had the audacity to slap a noble, but not Henry, never Henry. He would rather she hate him with all the forces of the planet than offer her love to him. It forced him to search in his heart for something he had not. The simple knowledge that she loved him still, as it was perhaps obvious to him, was proof that Henry did no deserve her. He would give her anything she asked, anything but that one thing. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t. He couldn’t make Mary see it. He wanted her to slap him, to kick him, to maim him, mutilate him perhaps, so he could forget what he was and what he had become. The stinging on his porcelain cheeks burned red, and reminded Henry of his scar there. The scar that he carried for all to see as a symbol of his disobedience to his father. A symbol of the defiance that was beaten out of him. Coward. Henry knew he was that. He felt like one on so many planes. As a son, he was kept under lock and chain by his brute of a father, as a scholar, he opposed ruthless killing, as a lover, he could not marry the other half of his soul. There were so many ways that he could be called a coward, but never before in this context. Henry didn’t quite know how to make of it, how to react, so he stood here, hair falling onto his face, covering his eyes, listening and feeling each word. So Mary Talbot had found another. Henry was satisfied. Perhaps she no longer loved him. If that was true, then Henry was glad for her. He didn’t feel that he deserved to be loved. Yet, if that was what Mary wanted, then he would tell her that he would try. Henry knew, instinctively, that it was a mission doomed to failure from the start, but Henry would try. ”I will try to find happiness in our marriage, if that is what you wish.” His voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper. He didn’t tell her that he thought it could never happen, didn’t tell her why, didn’t even know how to articulate it. How could she be made to understand that Henry had found the other half of his soul, only to have it crudely ripped from him the moment tried to rejoin it? That was something that Henry would take to the grave, the violent feelings. ”I will try to love you.” The very words, once said, made the emptiness of Henry’s heart scream in protest. How could Henry love her, or even pretend that he might one day? It was foolhardy and stupid. He had no more the faculty of love. Deceit was a grave sin. |
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| Mary Talbot | Dec 1 2010, 11:08 PM Post #10 |
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She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, but she ignored the vague pain and looked at the man before her. She knew he didn't mean what he said. For him, all possibility of love had left when he could not have his beloved. He might not think she could see or understand that, but she did. She also knew he would never love her, even if the capacity to love did return to him. Their union would be forever tainted by the ghost of Anne Boleyn and that made Mary sick to her stomach. "If you cannot love me, do not love me." she told him, clipped. "Far be it for me to demand that of you. How could I, anyway, knowing your true feelings on me? Do you not hate all of what I am and represent? How dare I even think of it? But be warned, Henry. I will want to give you children one day or another." This would be the only thing she asked of him. She didn't want to slip into her former self and cry at his feet, begging to be loved. After all, that was a part of herself she never wished to revisit. Her time in seclusion had given her the leisure to realize that it wouldn't to do cry for love you would never have and she wasn't about to do it. "Be as you said; faithful, attentive and courteous. I will ask only for that and children. It is a wife's duty to give her husband sons. It would please me to do that for you, even though you hate me so." |
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| Henry Percy | Dec 2 2010, 10:02 AM Post #11 |
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He had gotten what he wanted, but it didn’t feel at all like a victory. Rather, it felt petty, as if he had somehow cheated her out of something. Henry couldn’t shake the guilt of deceit from his conscience, couldn’t shake the fact that he could not love Mary even though she deserved love from him. Once upon a time, Henry had been focused on learning. He could have been a scholar, a musician, a translator, so much more than what he was now, and yet it all came crashing down upon him. Ruined, simply because he wanted a life that could not be his, that he dared search for happiness in the bleak world of pageantry and petty quarrels. He would not do so again. He had not the will, or the power anymore. Instead, he would fade away into nothingness, a pious Lord guarding a dangerous border, serving a King he was bound by oath to obey, and his minister. It wasn’t that he hated Mary Talbot. Far from it. Henry admired her and respected her. He respected the sacredness of all souls, the inviolability that God had instilled upon all his children. It was with this feeling that Henry faced Mary Talbot, the same way he faced everyone, with the naïve idealism that was so endearing to the realists at court. He had not believed that anyone was inherently evil, he had naively believed that all things could be achieved through the love for God, and yet, now, he wasn’t so sure what to believe anymore. Retreating to his own world, he found himself ever more suspecting that he was a sinner, a man that God hated, and was therefore destined to burn in the levels of Hell. ”Lady Mary, you are mistaken. I do not hate you. I am offended by my Percy relations, but do I not carry such putrid things myself? You are one of God’s children. How can I hate a soul created by the Lord?” He could not find it in himself to hate. How could Henry feel what he had not? The nobility he carried within him, that most of court carried, was what damned him. He felt that it was sordid, a petty excuse derived from the well-meant words of God. "I cannot love you but I will care for you, Lady Mary, this I pledge before God." He was afraid of his family, of what it had become. In the annals of the House of Percy, they were once an altruistic, proud clan descended from the followers of William the Conqueror himself and traced their roots back to Charlemagne, but now, they had become vile loathsome creatures who spent and drank, unhappily suffering in their madness. ”As you wish, my lady. I will accommodate you.” The least romantic words perhaps said to a woman wishing to bear his children. Henry lowered into a bow, his hair still falling over his cheek, hiding the red mark on the pale skin. ”I will do my best to please you, my wife.” |
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| Mary Talbot | Dec 8 2010, 12:37 AM Post #12 |
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Suddenly, everything came into sharp clarity for Mary; Henry Percy was too innocent, clearly ignorant in the ways of the world that she had learnt. Of course he would fold when someone he wanted was barred to him. He didn't seem to understand that nothing in life ever fell into place perfectly. All he had seen was him and Anne Boleyn. Aside from that, he had seen her as someone who would keep them apart. It was in that, no matter what he said, she knew he would never love her. Before she would have done anything to be the one in his eyes, but now she couldn't see what she had seen - saw - in him. "If that is what you wish." she said quietly, clasping her hands at her chest. "I do not mean to shove you into something you do not wish for. I will make one last bid and ask my father to take me off the table. Perhaps then your father would see that Mistress Anne is the only option." Despite what he said about loving all of God's children, she knew that if he didn't hate her, he resented her. In truth, suggesting what she did and carrying on with it was a bid to have herself somewhere in his affections. She would never admit it, even to herself, but that was what it was. |
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| Henry Percy | Dec 14 2010, 10:51 AM Post #13 |
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A pledge before God for Henry, even done without the presence of a priest, was sacred oath. He would strive to take care of Mary, both monetarily and emotionally, and while he could not feel for her any of the tremulous feelings that he had felt for Anne, he would strive to be affectionate. She was a sweet girl, a girl who deserved more than a sinner like him, and yet this was what he was reduced to, nothing but a heathen in the name of God. Shaking his head in melancholy, Henry took Mary’s hand and gently caressed it with his lips. ”You will be my wife, Lady Mary. Neither my father nor yours have any inclination to change it. The House of Percy shall be joined with the House of Talbot” Those words had such a lasting thought. The two aristocratic houses of England with any hint of romance to the name, people that happily traced their heritage to the Norman conquest and the House of Plantagenet. Any sort of bond like that would only preserve the snobbery of his nobility, any children produced by them would carry the fetid seeds of insanity that preserved the House of Percy. ”The Cardinal’s word is law.” He was reminded of his abrasive words, those words that could put his head on the chopping block. He had declared that the Cardinal was more powerful than the King of England himself. Such treason he uttered in his moment of desperation he knew was going to catch up to him. It was generous of the good Cardinal to let it go, or perhaps he did not want to save Henry by letting him die young, still trapped in the hollow romances of his youth. |
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| Mary Talbot | Dec 17 2010, 08:46 PM Post #14 |
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Pressing her lips together, it was all Mary could do to keep from pulling her hand out of his reach. She felt that perhaps she should really be rejoicing. It was what she'd wanted all along, wasn't it? She wanted to be this man's wife, his countess, didn't she? She didn't know if any of this was true anymore; a seed had taken root in her min and sprouting into flourishing doubt. It couldn't be contained; would her father really doom her to a marriage such as this? She supposed he would. Together, the Percy and Talbot families would be a force to be reckoned with in the North. "Such words would have pleased me, but I fear you are a few months too late." Her tone was glacial. "Do you know what I did after the last time we met? I expect not for you were entranced by your beloved's dark eyes. I tell you now, Henry, that I will find a way out of this marriage if it is the last thing that I do. I do not want to be joined to you for eternity, not after you trampled carelessly on my heart." She pulled her hand away and turned sharply on her heel. A letter to her father, the powerful Earl of Shrewsbury, was in order. She didn't care what the Cardinal said. She would not be trapped in a marriage where she was only going to be seen as the obstacle that kept him from true love. She deserved better, even Henry himself seemed to know that. Perhaps she could give him points there, but it wasn't going to do much for what he'd done already. |
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| Henry Percy | Dec 21 2010, 07:19 PM Post #15 |
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What should he do? What would he do? He wanted little part in this marriage, but was threatened by his father that should Northumberland hear any more about it, then Henry Percy would lose the inheritance. Oh God, Henry wouldn’t lose that too, the thing he had been groomed to receive from the earliest of days. He had lost his soul and his heart, and his father was threatening to take from him Alnwick, the only material happiness he could hope for. It would not be enough to render him truly happy (perhaps he was being too selfish, asking for too much), but it would perhaps save him from absolute melancholy. Taking her shoulders, he spun Mary around rather roughly, but not hard enough to hurt her. He was panicking now, his brain unthinking, taken over by impulse, by dreaded adrenaline. In a hurried blunt moment, he reached down and. Kissed her. It was not a kiss meant for lovers, a kiss meant for anything at all. It was out of pure desperation, and Henry’s eyes were squeezed shut, almost as if afraid of what he would see. He didn’t know what he was doing, or why he was doing it. His mind had stopped functioning already. Then, slowly his senses and his conscience returned to him. Slowly, it all came back flooding in an overwhelming wave. Henry took a step back, horrified at what he had done and yet unsure of Mary’s reaction. He had reached too far, compromised a woman and now he had hell to pay for it. ”I’m sorry.” |
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10:54 AM Jul 11