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Sons of a Traitor; AA
Topic Started: Oct 7 2011, 09:44 AM (571 Views)
John Dudley
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August, 1510
Dorset


Why had he done it? Why wouldn't he have done it? When John Dudley's father, an adviser to the late King Henry VII, had the eye of suspicion turned on him for the financial crisis, why wouldn't his eldest son speak up as to what he knew? It wasn't much, but John had seen the richly gilt furniture, the extravagant tapestries, the jewels that clung to his mother's neck that, by all rights, the Dudleys should have never been able to afford. And yet, every time Edmund Dudley had visited his wife and children in Dorset, he brought with him items exhibiting wealth far beyond their means. As a child, John had paid no mind to it, but when his father finally brought him to court, the young man eventually put the pieces together. But he could do nothing but remain silent.

Until the King passed, at least. And then questions were asked, and they needed answers. To be perfectly honest, John had no overabundance of love for his father. Perhaps that's why he spoke up to the new king, offering what he had seen for so many years as evidence against his father. Whether it was the deciding factor, John couldn't say, but it had certainly helped. And now, as John sat at his father's trial earlier that day, the evidence had tipped the scales against him. John could still hear the verdict echoing in his ears: "Guilty." Execution would be Edmund Dudley's reward.

As though in a haze, John made it to the home of the Dudleys as soon as the verdict was passed. He had only been accompanied by his man Cuthbert, and that must have been how John refrained from losing his way or falling from his horse. He felt strangely empty -- his father was going to die, partly from his hand and John... John had to tell his family.

Cuthbert and his master left their tired horses in the stable and headed for the house. Cuthbert said something about carrying a letter from the King for John, but the bearded man waved it away for now. The King... The King could wait until John told his family what would become of their husband and father.

"Mother? Elizabeth? Andrew, Jerome!" John called out as soon as he and Cuthbert had entered the house. It was rather abrupt and perhaps even a tad rude, but they had to know, they had to know so that John could... move on with what this meant.
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Andrew Dudley
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Andrew had only just gotten back from the city only hours ago after another good night. He may or may not have found another young woman he could please, because to Andrew it was all about pleasing the ladies. He never and would ever rape anyone in his life, because where was the fun in that? There was none, so he always made sure the women he went to bed with were very eager to see what Andrew could do to them. Because there were always…other ways in pleasing a woman and Andrew tried to learn them all. This of course was very easy for him to complete when both he and the woman of this night were well past drunk, and Andrew was always seen with a drink in his hand. He loved the good times, and why should he bother being proper when his lovely dear brother inherited it all!

Why did John have to be so serious anyway? He was hardly any fun nowadays, one point he used to when they were young, but John did the only thing Andrew and Jerome probably could never do; he grew up. Andrew never wanted to grow up, what was the point, he didn’t even like the thought of getting older, and that is probably why he drank so much, so he can forget about the world and just have his fun! He tried his best to hide his antics from their parents, especially their mother, but that is why they had John, because after all he got everything, he would want to kiss everyone’s arse.

Andrew was still in bed when he heard his brother call out, and he just groaned and rolled back over, buried his face under the pillows and tried to ignore his annoying brother. Should cut back on the wine he says, and the women…or at least one. Bah! John didn’t understand you couldn’t have just one and not the other! He couldn’t ignore Jerry though, barged into his room as if he expected Andrew to ignore their brother’s beckoning call. John should have known it too, Andrew wasn’t just going to jump and down and bend over backwards for him, he could go to Hell! Because that’s how Andrew felt now, oh the headache and whatever John had to say was sure to make it worse. But Jerry was persistent and Andrew was allowed himself to be dragged out of bed and somehow managed to put something on that resembled clothes before making his way down to not listen to what John wanted to tell them, because he was sure that he would fall asleep just like nearly every other time.

Their mother he was sure gave him a disapproving look, but he just sighed and rolled his eyes, as he tempted to tame the mess of hair atop his head. He was given some water and bread by his favourite servant and gave her a wink for her troubles; he found a chair and slumped into it, drinking his water and eating his bread. Jerome and their mother were a little more serious for the matter, but Andrew was not, he just wanted to go back to bed until the sun vanished and he could go out hunting for the next woman he fancied. “So what is it, did you finally find a woman to…” Andrew paused and eyed his mother, before deciding against what he had been about to say, instead he said. “To marry? I wouldn’t think it was possible.” But John was already betrothed wasn’t he, to Jane Guildford. Perhaps that is why Andrew was angry at the world, why did John get to have her; she had been his friend not John’s. John was too stuck up to mess about outside, too proper. He sighed and motioned John to go on before popping another piece of bread in his mouth and didn’t bother swallowing before he spoke again. “Well go on I have things to do.” Like sleep.
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John Dudley
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It felt like there was a huge stone embedded in John's chest as his family gathered. Mother and Elizabeth showed first, and Jerome flitted through once, bounding upstairs. Lady Dudley insisted upon moving them to a more proper room to receive her son home from court, and as she fretted over her eldest son, John's heart felt as though the stone was crushing it. His mother's husband, his father... He had aided in condemning him to death.

But, something nagged inside John's head, [/i] you only told the truth, it's his own doing![/i] John clung to this, clung to it with every fiber of his being. He did it because it was right, not because he felt as though his father cared not overly much for his family in Dorset, not because he felt he had been brought to court as a bauble. It was right for him to do this.

Finally, Andrew came in, his hair obviously betraying the fact he had been abed, and John felt so... angry the way he carelessly flopped into a chair, gnawing on a piece of bread and slurping water, acting like this was an immense inconvenience. Where had he been while John was condemning their father? Whoring, doubtlessly, being nothing -- Nothing!

A glare was the only thing that meant Andrew's words, and John tried to shake it off. He would not be irked by Andrew when he had news such as this to give his family... He never thought that he would ever undertake something this difficult. "Mother, Lizzie, Jerry... Andrew." A sigh escaped his lips. The eldest Dudley was never one for flourished words, and it would be so today. He just had to say it. "Father was arrested under suspicion of stealing from the crown. I didn't write," Because I wanted to make sure he was condemned before I did that, "Because things were moving very swiftly, and father..." His blue eyes moved to his mother's face, a mask of grim shock. God, this was hard. "He's been sentenced to death for treason." And there it was. Not the whole truth, perhaps, but all they needed to know, at least for now.
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Andrew Dudley
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Andrew paid little mind to the glare he received from his dear older brother. Why should Andrew drop everything and come running when John beckoned him, he was no dog. Hell, John’s dogs received more respect that his own brother! So why should Andrew make it so easy for him, John already had everything, she why should he have his respect too? And it seemed typical that he would be addressed last. Always last, as if he didn’t deserve being mentioned. It mattered not though; because Andrew didn’t think whatever John had to say was unimportant. If whatever news he had to say bored Andrew, he would up and leave. But never in Andrew’s right mind did he expect to hear this type of news.

He shot up out of his chair; it toppled over and crashed to the floor. Andrew though ignored it, his bread and water discarded as they too fell to the floor at his feet. “What? What? What? Andrew couldn’t believe his ears. What the hell was this nonsense and to think John waited until after their father was condemned to die to tell everyone. “You selfish fucking prick! What gives you the right to only just tell us now?” He paused, not caring that he was making a scene and using such language in front of his mother and sister. And then a strange notion dawned on him. What if this had been John’s plan? He got greedy and couldn’t wait until their father was dead so he could inherit what was rightfully his. He charged his brother, believing that when the oldest was the threat to the family, it was up to him the second-born to do something about it. He shoved him roughly, not caring in the least that John could most certainly win in a fight between them, but Andrew didn’t care he was just so angry! “You! You made sure of it didn’t you! You wanted our father dead so you could steal his riches, and you thought I was worthless, I would never betray our father!”

Andrew shoved him backwards again. “It’s you who should die not him! What happened to you John, did you become the King’s bitch?” Yes that had to be it, because what son would stand by and do nothing while their own father was condemned to death! “You’re a worthless prick, John! You don’t deserve to be a part of this family!” Ironic how John would say the same for Andrew, but the way Andrew felt and what he did to put such jealousy out of his mind was all John’s doing anyway. John doing nothing and not telling them sooner about their father only proved to Andrew that he was a selfish greedy prick. And with all the built up anger, he threw a fist towards John’s face, having every intention to beat the shit out of him for once. The brother, the man, who had everything and even condemning their father to die, was still the favourite one and Andrew hated it.
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John Dudley
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What John had expected, he wasn't certain. Crying, silence, angry glares, certainly... But not this. Like a wildling, Andrew was out of his chair, shouting with fervor and rage that made John astonished wasn't accompanied by spittle. John's focus had been on his mother's distraught face, but Andrew drew all eyes to him. His elder brother thought he probably preferred it that way, no matter how much of an ass he was proving himself to be.

John did not quail beneath his brother's anger. He stood, resolute and unbending as Andrew raved. "There would be no need to worry all of you if he was found innocent." John lied, his face placid and calm though one of his fists curled in anger. "And I see that Father must have thought something along the same lines." Precious Father would, of course, be so selfless, wouldn't he? After all, all of his selfless acts brought him to where he is today! His spite for the man who was even now in the Tower would not be drowned in Andrew's venom.

If their mother didn't die from the shock of her husbands soon-to-be death, she would certainly die from the way Andrew was acting. John braced himself against his brother, placing his hands on Andrew's shoulders to stop him from colliding with him. "Jerry," John plead, diverting his gaze to his baby brother for only a moment. After all, he was now the one who would have to be responsible for his family, "Take Mother and Elizabeth, please, before Andrew kills them with his tongue." Icy blue eyes looked back to the middle brother, full of nothing but contempt even as the rest of his face was eerily calm.

Andrew's accusations which were, in all truth, precisely correct, turned John's placid mask into one of anger. His lips curled into a snarl, and John lashed back at his brother as he backpedaled a few steps due to Andrew's second shove, this one catching the elder man off guard. "How dare you say such things about me? Who are you to say such things? And obviously you're an imbecile if you think His Majesty would even leave me something to inherit because of our father's treachery!"

Andrew's words, his accusations, his incessant blathering about things he didn't even know filled John with rage that their father had never kindled. "Am I? Am I?!" John demanded with a roar that sent spittle flying. If he had been more possessed of his faculties, he would have checked to see that his mother and sister were out of the room (Jerome had accommodated John's request after the first shove), but John didn't care now. Someone had to put Andrew into place.

The fist came flying and John jerked back, but not enough. Andrew's fist caught him in the lip, and in that moment John tasted the metallic zing of blood inside his mouth as his teeth made a mess of thing, and it was then that John became pissed. He lunged at his brother, intent on tackling him to the floor if he could. "You think our father was so precious? You think he was a better man than me?! I'm not the one who was such an idiot as to steal from Henry VII and not cover my tracks!" John was seething with hatred. How utterly asinine could his brother be?!
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Jerome Dudley
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Jerome, not looking rather pale and distressed, obeyed his oldest brother without making a word. His task was not difficult it seemed – his mother was seemingly destroyed at the news, and he was sure his sister was rather ruined by it as well. They all were, and not just in the sense of being upset. As he led them into a smaller room far from where he assumed there was still a scene raging between his two other brothers, he couldn’t help but consider what he felt of the news. He didn’t especially want to – not when he was not so much upset as he was uncertain and anxious as to what it meant for all of them. If they were the family of a traitor, they would surely see a decline in wealth, luxury and above all else respect. Their names would not only be meaningless, its members nobodies, but there was every chance they would have to pay for whatever was stolen. And he was sure that there was more stolen than what was not.

Going into the room himself, he remained quiet and sullen in a corner. None of them spoke – until his mother got it into her head that he had no business sitting with them whilst his brothers were obviously in such an agitated state. She was always coaxing him to do something, and he rather loathed it. But he couldn’t deny that he was curious, anxious even, to see what they were doing. He was unsure who he sided with most. Andrew was his favourite, and had always been, and so he supposed there was something natural in that he was instantly drawn to taking his side on the matter. But he also could not deny that there was sense in John’s not needlessly worrying them on every detail, and he moreover found it impossible that John would have had any hand in their father’s demise, let alone be the source of it with monetary gain in his mind.

However, bursting into the room, his first reaction was not to leap on John and get him off Andrew, who seemed to have been tackled to the ground, but to watch them closely for a second, almost in a daze. Jerome was scared of both of them. Two angry men, seemingly intent on hitting each other to the best of their abilities, and him being by far the weakest of the three despites his height... it was not an attractive thing to leap and get caught up in it all. The young man, only twenty, could see all manner of things going wrong from his teeth being smashed out by accident to a stray punch smashing into his nose. No, he was not going to risk that. Rather, he had the idea to quickly fetch the nearest glass he could find and to chuck it down as near to them as possible as he could without actually hitting them.

Taking a deep breath, even though he had not observed if they had stopped fighting after he had smashed the glass on the floor, he decided he should say something. “Andrew, will you just stop and get off of him! He’s not the one who has done wrong here, and to us, it’s father. If you should punch anyone... well, I should go off and punch him” he said, still not knowing whether he was actually being listened to, but keenly aware that that might of sounded rather... selfish. “And John... just leave him. You can’t blame him for being angry and upset. We all are.”
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Andrew Dudley
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It was an understatement to say that Andrew was angry, he was furious. He already was jealous of his brother and hated him for it, but for that very brother to bring such news to him was unbearable. If Andrew found out that what he accused his brother was, was indeed true, he may have attempted to kill him. It mattered not what words spilled from his brother’s mouth, they weren’t going to change his views of him. He barely even felt sorry for his display in front of his mother and sister, he knew he would never be the favourite son, so what was the point of trying to win over his mother’s affections?

And then he sneered. If his brother felt so strongly against Andrew’s accusations than perhaps they were true. “Well it’s true isn’t?” It was not surprising that Andrew attacked John then, even though it would seem far fetched that Andrew could do any real damage to John’s person. Just like everything else, John was granted more than Andrew when it came to physique, it was almost suicide. But Andrew could hold his own in a fight. He may be a drunk and took woman after woman, but he was still fit enough for a fight. And when his first punch connected with John’s face he grinned triumphantly seeing that drop of blood from John’s mouth. Good, God’s do bleed. He was not ready though for John’s move though. Never in his mind he would think John would tackle him, but then it was just like when they wrestled as children, only now they were grown men and their rage sent fists flying every which way.

It was likely Andrew would lose this fight, but John’s words kept him fighting back with so much hatred. How could John say such things about their father? Well he obviously could as easily as condemning him to death. What a fucking coward! He however did not expect Jerome to come back into the room after saving their mother and sister from seeing his brothers attempt to kill one another. The glass that was broken broke close to Andrew’s ear had caught his attention, at least long enough for Andrew to hear Jerome’s plight. Andrew may have tousled with his brother and managed to have the upper hand, but it had only been that last second. Being distracted though stopped him from defending himself from John’s last blow. He took heed to Jerome’s words though and fell off his brother, shoving himself away from him and he sat up. He touched his lip, knowing that it had been split at that last punch, just as he knew that he was going to have bruises all over his body, specifically a black eye.

He could only just stare up at the youngest Dudley. When did Jerry become so wise? It did its purpose though, he had stopped the fight, before anymore blood was spilled. They were just lucky neither of them had use of a weapon; for it might not have been just their father they would have had to bury. Andrew couldn’t stand being here though, so he rose to his feet, patted Jerry on his shoulder, before exiting the way John had arrived. Heading to the only sanctuary he knew, drink and women.
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John Dudley
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Never before had John been positively blinded by rage. It was as though a red haze passed in front of his eyes, and his fist lashed out at Andrew when it could. He didn't understand, he never would, he never could. He hadn't been pulled from his home to a place that he loathed with the man that, despite being their father, was not much more than a perfect stranger to John. All Andrew had become was a waste, an embarrassment to the family name. He had no idea how fortunate they were that John was able to salvage, hopefully, some scrap of trust from the King. But then again John couldn't expect Andrew to understand -- he wasn't a man, he was a boy.

After his tackling of Andrew, John lost sense of what happened for a moment or two before the shattering of glass caught his attention. For a moment he thought perhaps he an Andrew had hit a wall and cracked a window, or perhaps broken a vase, or countless things. But when the red haze passed from in front of his eyes, he saw Jerry standing there, looking like a boy and a man at the same time, broken glass scattered at his feet. His works were weighted with sense, thank God that one of John's brothers had sense, and though he rambled a little, he still spoke truth. John was immensely thankful to him for that.

Andrew listened to him, which did not surprise John. He and Jerry were made of some of the same cloth, and the two brothers were disentangled. Raising the back of his hand to his lips, John drew it away with a red smear. The metallic taste of blood was in his mouth and his lip stung where his own teeth had bit into it. And just like that, Andrew was gone, leaving John bleeding on the ground.

Standing, John swung his arms and several bones popped in his back. He would be sore in the morning, bruised and slightly scabbed. Andrew had receded into the depths of the house, and John wished he could call after him that he was a coward, a fool, nothing but rubbish to their name. But sometimes he could have more sense than his pride would allow.

Instead, his eyes turned to his littlest brother. "Jerome..." He sighed, a slight mist of blood escaping his lips. "Thank you. For breaking us up." How much heartache would his mother have to suffer today? John's stomach plummeted as the very real fact that he was now responsible for her, Elizabeth, Jerry and, yes, even Andrew hit him. He felt dizzy, but he would have to soldier on. It was all he could do. "Though you're the youngest... By God, you have more intelligence than he... and sometimes myself, I am sorry to say."
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Jerome Dudley
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Jerome was, admittedly, surprised when Andrew just up and went. His choice of words had not been so good, he thought, to quash such obvious anger outright and he was not a commanding presence in himself for any anger or perturbation on his part to make him retreat into the house. However, Andrew had, and he was glad of it for a variety of reasons. He did not wish to see his brother pummelled and bloodied, and of the two men it seemed far more likely that he would be the one who came out worse than John. Besides, it didn’t feel fair on anyone that they should have selfish access to air their emotions, whilst everyone else was having to keep quiet about it whilst they had their rages.

Turning his attention back to John after Andrew had made his full exit, he felt a bittersweet sense of pride that he had been labelled the most intelligent. Did he know that he was? Jerome supposed that he did. John was by far the most mature, the most responsible and certainly the most reliable, but he had also been arrogant enough to propose it as fact to himself that, when in the right mood, his own intelligence, if not genius, far surpassed any of theirs. But, and he was almost ashamed to admit it, the recognition of that fact only made him slightly despondent that he had never really had a sense of admiration from their father and now it seemed highly unlikely that he ever would.

But besides that, he was pleased that John had remained and had no disappeared in the same way Andrew had. There were things he needed to ask, and whilst he was angry with his father, as well as being inherently nervous about what fate had in store for all those left, he was not so much a beast as to feel no respect or sentimentality for his father, even if his sensibilities were not so acute as for this to constitute the main of him. And John would probably best know the answers to everything he needed to know to satisfy any feelings of sadness and pity he had towards his father, and things he wished to be resolved before that was an ended possibility. His father had not been so bad as to merit a complete ignorance of, even if he was deeply embarrassed, and fully convicted when he thought the man had done more mischief in being caught than he had done good in his entire lifetime.

“You needn’t thank me for that – mother was quite adamant I come in, and I saw what I did as the best method of establishing what she wanted” he replied, slightly uncharacteristic in his humbleness, but then that day was not very characteristic at all. “You’ll answer my questions though, I hope, since I am not quite so... enraged, as Andrew was. I suppose what I want to ask comes down to two things... Are we paupers now, and without any kind of respect in our name? I presume we will all have to pay for whatever it is that has been stolen, and my room is full of ‘gifts’ from father. I’m wearing his gifts now. But then, and I suppose this is my next question, I can’t quite hate him. I pity him, and the fear is easy enough for me to imagine that I feel more sympathetic than what I thought was right for the amount I loved him before. Will I be able to see him again?” he went on, pausing for a while. Jerome did not quite like the idea of not seeing him, even if he could foresee a variety of barriers to it, and the fact he had things he would wish to atone for before he was left without the opportunity of doing so. “Surely there must be a way, and you know me. I won’t react as Andrew would. I can be comforting when I put my mind to it, and father is in need of as much of that as he can possibly muster, I imagine.”
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John Dudley
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The responsibility came like a deluge. John took a seat and rested his palm upon his face, letting out a sigh as though he were Atlas and the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders. What would he do now for a marriage for Elizabeth? It was past the time she should have been married, and their father had continually staved it off. What would he do to keep his mother as a widow? What would he do for marriages for his brother's and, the bigger question, for himself? Who on Earth would want to marry the son of a traitor or, more accurately, the sons and daughter of a traitor? John had no answer for this.

"Again, thank you. Mother... how is she?" Surely grieving and burning with resent for her eldest. Everything was shattered this day. Jerome turned to him, posing questions, and he quickly realized he must have answers. He was to be the one upon whom all this must be rested. And for a moment John wished he had not provided what evidence he did, if only to stave off terrible responsibility for some time more. Shut up. You are not like father, you shall be a better man, a stronger man -- or break from trying. John uncovered his face, looking to his little brother as his questions were posed.

"I --" Just thinking, saying the words were painful. John cringed for a moment before soldiering on. "At present, it appears so. Lands of a traitor are forfeit, his wealth... everything." Things looked dire, and John was nothing better than gentry -- yes, their grandfather had been a peer, but Edmund Dudley had no title. John was nothing more than Sir John -- How would be hope to provide for a family of five? "I know that Cuthbert has a letter from His Majesty for me -- it is doubtlessly informing me of what must be done, what must be given up. Perhaps I could lease a home for us in London..." On what, though? What income? Things were looking helpless, hopeless. Being a proper adult was going to be very difficult.

It was comforting that Jerome wasn't blaming him. His civility fortified his brother somewhat, making it easier to say these difficult things. John gulped air as though he were dying of thirst, and his blue eyes cased up to his little brother sadly. He was the eldest with a place at court, Andrew was hopeless, but what would become of his rational little brother at this? Cringing slightly, John said, "I am certain we can procure a visit to the Tower if you wish it." A weak, broken smile stretched his lips. "Once I'm certain mother is coping, I shall return to London. You could come with me, if you wish. Until... Until things are settled." He didn't know what else to say, and he hung his head. "I'm so sorry, Jerry." What John apologized for, he wasn't even certain. He wasn't sorry for Andrew, he cared not what hole he might crawl into, but Jerry was different... Better. He and their mother and Elizabeth didn't deserve this.
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Jerome Dudley
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Even if he did not think he was the best judge of his mother’s feelings, he was sure that he was intelligent enough to surmise that she was devastated by it all. There was no need in getting too detailed or considerate about her reaction to what had happened – she was devastated, and that was the end of it. Jerome had never liked his mother but even he felt it inappropriate to consider whether she was more devastated by the fact her husband was about to be put to death or whether it was more about a radical change in all of their situations. Nevertheless, he was not afraid to say a simple answer to his brother. Even if he had been the bearer of bad news, it was not John who had been the cause of it. That was the responsibility of their father, and no amount of pity for the man could change his recognition of that sad fact. “She’s immensely upset I think – and, but don’t hold me to it, I doubt she’ll be the same again. It is a great shock to us all, but she was his wife. I imagine she’s very nervous about gossip concerning what she did or did not know. But she is more devastated at his death I imagine.”

But it did not change the fact he was perturbed greatly by the cold realisation about what such a loss in situation, prestige and face would mean for them all. There was something romantic about being a poet from a wealthy household, messing up and getting drunk every now and then, but also being more or less respectable. He was the youngest, handsomest and most intelligent. Yet what would he be as a pauper? Some boorish fool who wrote silly, pretty little words on scraps of paper. What was worse, he could tell that that was not a conceivable route to go down. Perhaps he would have to work, hope and pray that he could fish out a marriage somewhere and hope to advance in some base career right from the very bottom rung. It was an awful reality, and one which by rights should never have been dumped onto him.

London, he supposed, would not be so bad as a place to stay. Yet he did not answer this – he rather listened as his brother began to tell him of what could be done in the interests of the visit. “I think we should leave as soon as possible” he said after a moment’s consideration. Whilst he was not entirely unfeeling towards the plight of his mother, he was also very much aware that it would be some time before she was fully settled, and what’s more she might even see merit in a visit herself. “You should ask mother to come with us, and Elizabeth. Andrew as well should at least be asked, but probably not brought. I don’t think he would like it very much if he actually saw father, and I think father would like it even less to see him. But it’ll only anger him further if you don’t ask – and think what you like of him, he deserves to be settled in all this too.”

Jerome was unsure why he was being so calm and rational in all this. In some ways it worried him. Was he so detached from everything besides a loss of money that he could go on with only a clinical overview of the correct sort of passions? He did not think he was, but he found it easier to act his full intelligence (which he was sure, arrogantly, must have come across as being high) than to be a whimpering little boy. That would came later no doubt. At his brother’s apology, he just smiled and shrugged slightly as if it was an unnecessary mark of his sibling’s kindness. “I hope you can trust me in London though. The brightness and bustle of it all might entirely ruin me” he joked.
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John Dudley
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It was odd speaking of their father as if he were already dead in many respects. Edmund Dudley yet lived, in the Tower no less, but he was still breathing. And yet his days were numbered, and John supposed it was easier to already think of him at dead. Perhaps, when the axe fell it would be less of a shock. Less of a transition. John knew that if he had already put an 'x' over his father in his memory, in his consciousness, it made things easier. Or perhaps he would rue doing so when his father finally received the chop -- after that, there was no going back, no returning to past days, no opportunity to say things that hadn't been said. "I imagine so..." He murmured in response to Jerome's thoughts about their mother. Would she ever look at John the same again? He did not know.

The entire house seemed deathly silent after the actions of John and Andrew, the raised voices, the flying fists. John's lip pulsed with some pain, and though he believed the bleeding to stop, he could still taste the metallic zing of blood in his mouth. He needed some ale to wash it out, and perhaps to try and drown the feelings that were coursing through his chest. But he could not be like Andrew, he could not shuck all responsibility and drink until he couldn't feel feelings anymore. For the first time, John was envious of his younger brothers. He did not think Andrew truly cared save for being able to blame John for something, and Jerome was the youngest. They didn't have to become the man that John must now be if his family was going to survive.

Nevertheless, he listened to Jerome's suggestion. "Tomorrow, perhaps, or the day after." Part of him wished to retreat from court into some hole in the earth and crawl up and die, but he couldn't. He could not slink away with his tail between his legs, no! He must be strong. But the idea of a long solemn ride to London or, worse, one with Andrew squawking the entire way made John feel sick. "If they wish to come, I shall not stop them." It was all their choice. John would not force anyone's hand, especially in this matter.

Thank God there was a rational head to talk with him. Cuthbert seemed not muchly affected by the situation and, as much as John loved the man, he had to say that Cuthbert was not blood. Speaking with Jerome set his soul somewhat at ease as it hadn't been for weeks. A weak smile was given to Jerome and he said, "Do not tell me I must keep you on a short leash." It was a half-hearted attempt at jest, but all that John could muster now. He brought himself to his feet. "I need to go find Cuthbert, read the letter from the King. Shall I see you at dinner or... if not, I'll come find you. After seeing if Mother and Elizabeth wish to go to London." London again, London, London...
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Jerome Dudley
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Not seeing much to reply to, he allowed himself to become lost in his thoughts. It was a day when those were much stronger than usual, and he was immensely capable of thought, daydreams and immersing himself in reveries. Such was the lot of a poet, he thought. But they were not the sorts of thoughts he particularly liked, or particularly fresh ones. It was almost as disturbing to think about the things over and over again as to what they really were. Had he such a limited idea of his father that he could not feel sadness just at the loss of him? The water was impossibly muddied with the fact he was more scared than upset, and that anything approaching a heightened sensibility as to his situation was just pity and a sense that he did not want for things to end irrevocably badly between them. Jerome pitied the situation and fear of the man, caught uncomfortably between the prospect of real pain and that most important question of what would happen afterwards and an inability to know what his actions would really cause, but he did not feel selfishly at a loss for him.

In truth, he had to concede that the personal loss of the father would be the least personal affecting for him, he was sure. His mother would lose a husband and the other three seemed to be much fonder of him than he had ever been (if Andrew’s outburst was anything to go by, he certainly was). The only strong memory he seemed to have of the man was an illusionary pain on his backside, and the occasional pieces of happiness he had on the rare occasions he was spoilt. But all that was tarred now – the things he had been bought and taught to be greatly appreciative of were all the products of theft and what was more the probable ruin of all of them. They certainly weren’t worth that.

Yet Jerome was dragged out of his thoughts by his brother suddenly declaring his intention to leave – why did he want to do that? He was vaguely aware of the fact people liked to deal with their emotions in private sometimes, but he was not in that position. On the contrary, he did not want to be left to his own devices under any circumstances. He was more than confident that it would do him no good since he was always flitting between his thoughts disastrously leaving him entirely or sending him into deep holes of remorse and self pity. It would end up like that, and quickly too, if his thoughts were not occupied with other tasks.

“Do you have to go?” he asked, the neediness in his tone surprising even him. “I don’t think I would very much like to be left by myself at the moment to have only my own devices to keep me occupied. And mother would only send me off. You know what she is like with me. I dare not speak to Elizabeth about such matters, and I dare even less with Andrew. I want to stay with you – will you allow me to accompany you to find Cuthbert?” He sighed slightly, knowing that he probably owed a better explanation of why he did not want to be left by himself. Well, he supposed there was no harm in telling it. “I think I would only torture myself with my thoughts, and you know as well as anyone that I think more than I ought when I am inclined to do so. At least give me occupation. Some task to get on with. But I... really would like to be – company for you. Or for you to be company to myself. That explains it better, I think.”
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John Dudley
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Jerome's question surprised John vastly. The older brother's eyebrows flew up toward his hairline much like soaring birds, his blue eyes somewhat puzzled. But then, as he thought, he understood somewhat. One patriarch was soon to be dead, John would have to take his place -- even if Edmund Dudley hadn't been condemned, John was often the eldest male family member at their home. He would have to support his family now, and put time aside for them -- even when he might feel otherwise. John wished he had known things like this would now happen -- perhaps he could have relished a final day before responsibility was laid upon his shoulders, a day when he could be irresponsible and carefree. But alas and alack, no more. John would have to be a proper man.

A kind smile was given to Jerome, and John nodded. "Of course." Part of him was irritate he could not go be off his own and sulk like Andrew did, but he pushed the irritation away. "Of course. I think a walk to find Cuthbert should do us both well." If anything, John wished to get right on a fresh mount and ride the beast until both of them were exhausted and he was saddlesore. Perhaps try to leave his worries behind him while he rode the horse as far and as fast as he could... John shook his head to rid him of such thoughts. You're a man, John. Stop fooling yourself into thinking things could ever go back to the way they were.

At Jerome's explanation for why he wished to accompany his brother, John nodded. He did not think he could see the world through Jerome's eyes -- How different it must be to be a youngest son! There was some envy in him that Jerome could still be somewhat vulnerable while John could not. Again, he batted such thoughts away. "I understand completely. Perhaps we can drown our thoughts in some ale later -- that is what I would endeavor to do without your company -- and who can say no to ale?" The man tried to smile, but all of it was half-hearted. Perhaps John could laugh later when he reeked of ale.

He crossed to the door, opening it and waiting for Jerome to follow in his steps. Cuthbert would, perhaps, be just coming in from the stables -- or perhaps lingering in the servant's quarters. Perhaps even already at his post in John's childhood room. John and Jerome would have some expanse of ground to cover before they found him. "Again, Jerome, thank you for your level head. Thank God at least one of us has it."
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Isabel Leigh
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