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what do you say in a moment like this?; Tag: Dearest, sweetest Catherine
Topic Started: Jan 13 2011, 12:10 PM (223 Views)
John Dudley
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January 15, 1512

Since Lady Grey told John, he just sat at his desk, his fingers curled against his mouth. His blue eyes stared sullenly into the distance, and if his chest were not rising or falling, one might think he had expired. Catherine's child, their child, would never live. John would never get to see him grow up, never get to see him walk, have a conversation with him, or teach him how to fire a crossbow. John would never be able to see him marry and he would never succeed John as the Earl of Warwick. There was so much more lost this day other than a child, and John never knew he could feel so wretched.

And dear Catherine, oh dear Catherine... John swallowed hard. What had she done to deserve such things? Today she had lost her friend and her child, the past week must have been nothing but a torment on her. Why this too? Why punish her for some unknown sin even further? What could John do for her? How could he help her through such a thing? And, furthermore, what if... what if there was some complication, some lingering risk that could kill his wife? John moved in what must have been the first time in hours and his hands reach up to cradle his head.

"My Lord..." John looked up to see one of the women who had lingered after Lady Grey and Judith had left. She approached him meekly. "Lady Warwick is asking for you." John swallowed hard and simply nodded. He could not lose himself to sorrow in a time like this. He needed to be strong, he needed to be the strong husband that Catherine deserved. The man stood slowly, his eyes hooded and his movements slow. With a steadying breath, he slowly walked to his and Catherine's bed chamber.

The sun had sank in the mean time, and their bedchamber was dim. There was a flickering fire in the fireplace and few candles to accompany it. When John entered, he could feel a heavy emptiness in the room, and there was his darling wife in their bed. Upon seeing her, John felt like weeping, but he could not. His lips were pressed in a thin line, and he swallowed his emotion before walking to the bedside. "Oh, my Catherine." John breathed, kneeling beside the bed to take her hand. He pressed it between his own and kissed it. He didn't know what to say; what could he say? His hands tightened around Catherine's, and he spoke softly, but sincerely. "All that matters is that you're well." His hands rubbed hers, ending in a squeeze as John looked at his beautiful wife who had been so tortured by the world as of late.
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Catherine Willoughby
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vérité sans peur
She couldn't explain why she wanted John with her. She really couldn't. Perhaps it was because Catherine was not thinking rationally. She wasn't thinking much at all, except all the questions that had run through her mind repeatedly through out this most horrific day. Why was God punishing her? What had she done that was so very sinful that He would do this to her? Would John hate her? In a moment of lucidity as she stared at the wall, her tear-stained face a picture of anguish, she wanted her husband to come to her, even though men were not allowed, because she needed to say one simple thing to him. It might ease the burden on her heart. Even if it didn't, it was something she instinctively knew she needed to say to him.

Hearing the door creak and heavy footsteps that could only belong to him, Catherine did not move, curled up with blanket upon blanket over her for the chill she felt despite the stuffy, warm room. She did not move when he came to the bed, she did not move when she heard his voice speak her name; she did not move even when he took her hand. She was like a frail little puppet to be moved when someone else wished, with no movements of her own.

Instantly, she wanted to retort to him that no, she was not well. The one thing she was supposed to give him--a child, a son and heir--she had not done. It had been taken away from her by an angry, judging God surely because she was a horrible sinner, guilty of the worst punishment a woman could face. It was not that she had wanted to be a mother; it was that she could not do what was her duty to do, that it had been taken from her with such brute force. To Catherine, being unable to do her duty, to do what was expected of her, was emotionally painful, someone so caught up in responsibility and doing what she had to, not necessarily what she wished or felt. Maybe then she had been all wrong.

"I am so sorry," she managed to say, unmoving, still as she whispered her sad apology. The tears welled up in her bloodshot eyes again. Catherine didn't bother to hide it in her voice. She was not trying to sound strong. She was afraid and sad. For once, she would accept it. Crying all her worries out onto him had momentarily freed her from the fear she held in the Tower. Being honest instead of being stubborn in her refusal to show any emotion that could be a sign of weakness was the best policy. Catherine had no strength for false words and faces, not today. Perhaps never again. "I-- I must have done something-- God must be punishing me for something. I am so sorry." In a barely audible murmur through the tears, she repeated: "I am so sorry."

(OH GOD THE EMO MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP)
[align=center]"I must shape my own coat according to my cloth, but it will not be after the fashion of this world but fit for me."

Catherine is in 2 threads.
[/align]
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John Dudley
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John's eyes shut slowly as Catherine spoke, his head inclining towards the floor. It wasn't her fault, she could not do anything about this. For such a thing to happen was surely anyone else's fault but hers. Gardiner, for one, for throwing her into the Tower, for tormenting her so acutely when she was in such a delicate condition. That bastard dared call himself a man of God! But now was not the time for anger.

Thick tears clogged Catherine's voice, and John clutched her hand as she spoke in teary apology. it was not her fault, it was not her fault! John climbed into bed, kicking his shoes off of him as he did. It was silly to think that Catherine might care if his shoes came into bed with him, but he kicked them off nonetheless. Still holding his wife's hand, John laid down beside his wife, curling his body around hers, and resting their hands over her stomach. "It is not your fault, it is not your fault." He whispered into his ear, a lump forming in his throat. He swallowed, trying to break it, but it didn't work.

Slowly, both of his arms encircled her, and his own eyes became wet. Catherine was evidently suffering more than he, he could not imagine how much more torment one could feel. "We will have other children. That doesn't... that doesn't make this hurt any less..." His voice petered out, but John cleared his throat once before continuing. "You did not do anything wrong. You could not have. You're the best woman I could ever know. And this is just... Something we're going to have to get through. Together." John kissed her head tenderly. He didn't know what else he could say, what other succor he could provide. "I'm not leaving you until you want me to. We're going to get through this together."
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Catherine Willoughby
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"Perhaps not," whispered Catherine, "yet I feel as if it is. I cannot even do this for you." She remembered Sally Fleet's words, suddenly: that if such a thing happened, the churchmen were wrong. It was not a woman's fault. These things happened. But it did not make it any easier. It did not suddenly lift the burden of guilt. Perhaps in time, it would make it easier to bear; but she didn't see it now.

For what seemed like ages, she said nothing. When he climbed into bed with her and wrapped his arms around her, Catherine did not move, but there was something immeasurably sweet in how he was so earnest, his words so anguished as if he could take all the pain away from her and bring it onto himself. She wondered, briefly, how he was feeling, if he was as despondent as she. It was strange to her, even after breaking down into frightened tears in the Tower, worrying so about him, while at the same time, she worried for herself. But she was not going to keep it hidden away, not any longer. If she was hurting, then, he needed to know it. When he rested his hand over hers she clutched it, like a drowning woman. She needed him. Too bad it had taken her this long, that it had taken this horrible day, to understand that.

Guilt rested firmly in her heart. Not just guilt, but overwhelming sadness unlike anything she had felt before, for not only was she mourning this baby, she was mourning Anne Askew. Queen Margaret. Even her mother. One death, and then the loss of the child, brought it all back to her. Events she had not mourned, people dear to her she had not come to terms with losing, it was all bubbling up to the surface and she couldn't help but just let it happen. Catherine had been a master at burying things deep down inside of her. She had an image to maintain, especially here at court, but now it was gone and she didn't even know what to care about anymore. She had not been strong; she had been a fool to think so. The proud young lady had been like a lost child, in desperate need of someone to take her hand and care for her, but she hadn't even let her husband do that, so firm in her belief that she could take care of herself where no one else could, for it was all she knew.

With all of that settling in her mind, somewhere amongst the grief and the guilt, Catherine knew truly how wrong she had been. Through teary eyes that focused on the wall, she saw with sudden clarity--despite everything--how she needed to be. She could be weak and sad, because now she trusted John to be the one to hold her up when she needed it. And it took all this to make her realize it. How wrong. How stupid. How stubborn. How typical of her, believing she was always so very right when she was not at all.

"I thought when the Queen died, it was the worst day of my life," she whispered, voice no longer choked with tears. They were drying. Enough tears. "She was as a sister to me. Then my mother. I was so alone. And now Anne, who was as a mother to me. No one knows that. And now that they are gone, I have no one but you." Yes, Catherine had friends, but there was no easy intimacy with Judith or Elizabeth or Renna that she had with Queen Margaret who had known her since she was a girl; with the deaths of those close to her in less than a year, she had closed off even further, when she needed someone the most. That was when John entered her life. She could say all she wanted about business, and Norfolk's influence, but he cheered her when no one else could or did, finding his way somehow into the hard heart of a suspicious young woman who wanted nothing to do with love, because it only destroyed you.

But it didn't. It just made you stronger.

"I am so sorry. And not just for this..." She took a breath. Catherine was going to be honest and even if he scoffed, it needed to be said. "For not being kind to you; for dismissing you; for raging at you when I had no reason for it; for being a poor wife to you, when you are all I have."

(CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT FTW ALSO LESS EMO FTW)
[align=center]"I must shape my own coat according to my cloth, but it will not be after the fashion of this world but fit for me."

Catherine is in 2 threads.
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John Dudley
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As Catherine lamented that she could not give a child to John (at least at this moment), John suddenly felt a wave of fury fill his heart. Yes, children were important, but were not their mothers as important as they? Catherine was all John needed right now, she had been all that she had ever needed, and how dare influences of others matter so much upon her when she had lost her child! Catherine was not a woman for John to use as breeding stock, Catherine was his wife, and John would never, ever cut her value to him simply because of things that were beyond her control! He squeezed her hand tighter, kissing her right before her ear. "We'll try again, but we must make you well first. Without you, I am nothing, no matter what happens." He whispered.

When Catherine clutched his hands, John was suddenly stricken with how small her hands seemed compared to his. He gulped air for no reason, his eyes closing. Part of him wanted to weep right there with his wife. She seemed so fragile at the moment, and John was slightly afraid of what this would mean for them in the future. He didn't want to resent her at all, and he knew he wouldn't, but he was afraid what she might think of him. He didn't have to bear the experience of losing a child that was growing inside of him. He didn't want to lose his wife along with his child. And so he just held her, praying it was the right thing to do, praying that when this passed, everything would be as it had before.

John listened silently when finally, after what seemed like weeks of silence, Catherine began to speak. He had not know her when she served Queen Margaret, or when he mother had passed. How he fervently wished he could have been there now! He continued to speak, his hands pressed against hers and his body curled around her own as though to support and protect her from a physical threat. Somewhere in the back of his mind, John knew his muscles were becoming stiff, but he did not give an ounce of care to them. "You will always have me." His voice was a sincere whisper, not lacking any facetious tone. "And I pray I will be enough."

It was now that John realized that while his wife was a woman, she was younger than him in years as well as temperament. Her mother, God rest her soul, must have tried to protect her, and upon her death, Catherine was left utterly exposed to the world. Being her husband, John now had to protect her, and he had taken the opportunity too lightly, often acting as though he was the one junior in years. Judith was correct to hit him when he wept like a babe at the Tower, that became more plain and clear as the days wore on. He must be a husband that was worthy of Catherine.

And then her apology, a new and different apology, left John quiet in thought for a moment. "I know I tend to be ridiculous; any time where you were unkind was well-deserved. You are the only wife I shall ever had; I want to be a strong man for you, but I have not been." Gently and hesitantly, John turned her face to look at him. "We are certainly all the other has. And we will be there for each other, through this, through better times, and through our whole lives. Whatever happens, whatever either of us might do, of this I am certain: it will never be enough to make me want to stop loving you or being your husband."
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Catherine Willoughby
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The pain and the guilt, still both very acute, seemed only bearable now that John was here with her. She opened her mouth, but Catherine shut it when she realized what she was going to say was something she already had: I'm sorry. He did not need to hear it again. Would it truly help her to repeat it? No. It would not assuage the feeling that no matter what her rational brain told her, she had done something wrong and she was being punished for it by having gone through such a day. Lucky thing was she was in one piece. Perhaps her heart wasn't, but those things were mended; not easily but slowly and with patience, soreness always there, yet not so dreadful as time went on.

Maybe, she wondered, that all of this--all of it, every last horrid moment of it--had a purpose. That it was all for a reason. For Catherine to recognize that she could not go on as she had been for the past year and longer, relying only on herself; for John to be more of who she needed him to be, so she did not have to feel so alone. Earlier, when she had asked for him, even though there had been others sitting helplessly watching her for there was nothing she could do, she felt so very alone. It was not an unfamiliar feeling; when she was surrounded at court, she still felt solitary. Sometimes, it was well enough. Other times, like these, when she at last recognized she needed him, she simply could not stand it. She needed someone. What a sad way to have such a revelation.

Catherine kept quiet, finding not only she had nothing to say, but she wanted to--for once, without interruption--listen to what he had to say. Quite a feat for her, when such emotions were involved, staying silent and paying attention to what someone else was saying to her. She did not protest his words, the sort of thing she usually would have rolled her eyes about. She didn't have the energy for it, and besides, it seemed like these sentimental things John was saying to her were different. Instead of ridiculous they sounded sincere. It came through her head to thank him (but for what?). For once she bit her tongue and nodded, not really wanting to look at him when he leaned over to take her chin in his hand. Her eyes avoided his. More tears wanted to escape; she just knew meeting his gaze, coupled with the words he said, along with the rest of the turmoil floating about in her mind, she would start crying again. She didn't want that.

Her lips pursed. Her jaw set. Catherine studiously looked away, nodding dumbly, the tears welled up behind her eyes. It will never be enough to make me want to stop loving you or being your husband floated into her ears. Once so composed, she was unable to keep a tight reign on the skill she had refined for so long. Finally meeting his eyes, she nodded a tiny nod and again, the tears flowed. Was this all she would do? Feel so very unlike herself, unable to control any sort of reaction, unable to keep anything in, weeping at the slightest provocation? She was not sobbing, far from it; she was just unable to keep her emotions hidden, at least, not from him any longer.

"Will you stay here with me?" Catherine's voice was small like a child's, barely above a whisper, knowing she did not need to ask, but wanting to anyway, to hear that he wouldn't leave. She could not abide by the rules of confinement; being alone would, she thought, be too dangerous for her fragile mind.
(THIS IS CRAP BUT I'M TIRED BUT WHATEVER HERE IS A POST.) :(
[align=center]"I must shape my own coat according to my cloth, but it will not be after the fashion of this world but fit for me."

Catherine is in 2 threads.
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John Dudley
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John had thought that he had known what it took to be a man. He certainly had enough experience behind it. For his entire life, he had hunted, he had wrestled, he had done things that would earn him manly repute. And when he had married, he had not only married a beautiful woman, but a wealthy baroness. He loved her very much, and he thought he met her needs -- But at this moment, John realized he had been wrong.

He had merely been a boy playing the part of a man, despite the fact that he was no longer a vigorous youth. No, he had been playing a husband, and while it was with the best intentions, he had been viciously cheating the wife who he professed such deep and abiding love for. John now knew what it meant to be a husband, to be a man -- it was to remain strong while the person whom you loved above all else in the world shattered before you. And then one would try to pick up the pieces, loving them every bit as they had before and continuing to do so. It didn't matter if John was cut along the way -- all that mattered was that he strengthen Catherine.

Finally, finally John's wife looked at him, and she spoke. Her voice was but a sapling of the mighty oak it had once been -- meek, like a child. It felt as though someone wearing a frozen iron gauntlet squeezed John's heart. "Of course I will." He whispered, reaching up to tuck a brown curl away from her face. "I will not leave your side for a moment." All worldly bothers like eating or attending to finances left John's will. They had been vacant from his mind for some time.

If the entire palace had burned down around them, if the Second Coming had finally taken place, John would not find any reason to leave his wife's side. He was there for her, he was there because he loved her. He cared not for the petty worries of man or the stupid appearances one should conform to at court. John Dudley belonged to his wife with his entire heart and soul, and as she bid him, he would do until his last breath left his body.

[align=center]CLOSED[/align]
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