𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐬

anne's   father   was   a   newly   ennobled   man   when   he   wed   her   mother;   a   fercious   warrior   and   capable   comander   he   won   his   title   on   the   battlefield   and   her   mother's   heart   at   a   joust.   they   were   two   years   married   when   a   child   came   along,   anne   soraya   azimi.   their   first   and   only   child   the   first   ten   years   of   her   life   were   bliss.   a   father   and   mother   still   besotted   with   each   other   and   who   doted   upon   her   all   was   not   to   last

in   anne's   tenth   year   came   a   sickness,   a   sickness   that   thankfully   passed   over   the   young   girl   but   which   claimed   both   her   parents,   and   for   the   first   time,   but   not   the   last,   her   life   was   thrown   into   turmoil.   her   father's   lands   and   titles   passing   onto   a   younger   brother   who   cared   little   for   his   niece   anne   soon   fell   into   the   care   of   her   mother's   sister   and   her   husband,   the   then   countess   and   earl   of   hartford

almost   immediately   she   began   to   feel   out   of   place,   lost   and   adrift,   although   close   to   her   cousins   there   was   always   a   sense   of   detachment   between   anne   and   her   new   parental   figures.   a   new   pawn   on   her   lord   uncle's   chess   board   seemed   to   be   all   he'd   ever   see   her   as,   but   anne   wasn't   about   to   be   anyone's   plaything

and   so   the   formerly   docile   child   became   a   bit   of   a   wild   thing,   acting   out   in   lessons,   refusing   to   do   her   needle   work,   disappearing   on   a   horse   all   day   and   reappearing   with   muddied   dresses   from   skirt   to   bodice.   she   wouldn't   sit   still   and   look   pretty   like   a   doll,   she'd   crack   and   blemish   and   do   everything   to   control   her   own   fate

but   by   fourteen   another   change   came   about.   the   king   is   dead,   long   live   the   king!   and   suddenly   she   was   no   longer   the   ward   of   an   earl,   she   was   ward   of   the   illustrious   duke   of   bedford,   lord   protector   to   the   young   king.   and   suddenly   anne   was   no   longer   a   pawn   on   the   board,   she   could   be   positioned   as   a   queen

it   took   a   while   to   come   about,   and   even   longer   for   anne   to   even   come   around   to   the   possibility.   but   it   was   always   anne   the   plan   had   been   for,   someone   seemingly   under   the   willoughby   yoke   and   yet   of   no   relation   to   the   young   king.   and   when   the   talks   became   serious   in   her   eighteenth   year   anne   spurned,   seeking   out   dalliances   and   the   ruin   of   her   own   reputation.   but   power   has   a   sirens   song   all   its   own...

the   final   addition   to   the   howard   family,   elinor   is   a   bright   thing   all   smiles,   and   bounces   and   rambling   conversations.   has   been   ever   since   she   was   a   child.   there   was   no   great   mind   hidden   behind   blonde   curls,   no   real   ferocity   to   her,   just   an   agreeable   and   obliging   young   thing   and   she's   much   the   same   to   this   day.   though   age   did   bring   a   tendency   to   argue   her   stance   past   the   point   of   reason

she   was   one   who   would   laugh   at   her   sister,   elizabeth's,   boyish   antics   and   who   would   immediately   toe   the   line   and   follow   along   with   anything   catherine   might   ask   of   her   and   who   idolised   her   mother   and   the   poise   and   regality   that   was   ever   present   in   her.   but   who   would   still   hitch   up   her   skirts   and   run   wild   through   flowers   and   down   hallways   before   the   inevitable   tumble   and   scraped   knees   would   send   her   back   to   someone   who   would   look   after   her

now   a   woman   grown   who   elinor   thinks   she   is   and   who   she   is   in   practice   don't   quite   line   up.   in   her   head   elinor   howard   is   a   headstrong   girl,   one   who   sets   her   own   path   and   journeys   down   it   with   nary   a   look   back.   but   in   all   actuality   she's   a   much   more   malleable   and   passive   thing,   someone   who   can   be   easily   swayed   into   thinking   the   ideas   of   someone   else   are   her   own

margrethe   kristine   daa   was   brought   into   the   world   displaying   the   full   power   of   her   lungs,   a   thrashing   and   waling   slip   of   a   child.   sixth   child,   and   with   no   sign   of   being   the   last,   it   was   as   if   the   little   princess   wished   to   be   the   trumpets   heralding   her   own   arrival.   let   no   one   sleep.   mags   was   here

she   thrived   in   her   upbringing,   a   little   lady   of   the   court   by   age   six,   “what   a   queen   she’ll   one   day   make”   they   all   said;   rules,   decorum,   gossip   and   intrigue.   she   lived   for   it   all.   but   as   she   got   older,   something   didn't   quite   add   up,   at   an   age   when   the   girls   around   her   starting   talking   of   boys   mags   just   didn't   see   the   appeal.   marriage   was   the   goal   for   so   many   of   them   but   where   other's   desired   a   husband,   mags   only   wanted   a   court   of   her   own,   a   place   to   quite   literally   put   the   queen   in   queen   bee

as   time   when   by   the   idea   of   a   husband   became   only   more   abhorrent,   she'd   sacrifice   her   plans   if   it   meant   she   wouldn't   have   to   shackle   herself   to   a   man.   besides,   staying   home   had   its   perks,   a   doting   father   who   turned   a   blind   eye   to   his   youngest   daughter's   antics,   the   the   rumoured   dalliances   with   some   of   her   mother's   ladies,   and   so   mags   entered   her   thirtieth   with   hardly   much   talk   of   a   betrothal

but   things   were   never   to   last   and   her   thirty   first   year   brought   the   death   of   her   father   and   the   accession   of   her   brother   to   the   throne,   a   brother   with   no   patience   and   even   less   for   his   sister's.   and   when   word   reached   danish   shores   that   the   widowed   king   of   england   was   in   search   of   a   new   bride?   well   what   a   way   to   get   rid   of   a   thorn   in   his   side

bartered   over   like   cattle,   it   took   a   woman   of   indominable   will   to   keep   her   head   held   high.   a   proud   and   stubborn   woman   she   made   an   oath   to   herself   on   the   passage   to   foreign   shores,   she   might   become   the   kings   wife   under   law   but   not   under   god

the   pretence   of   nuptials   lasted   all   of   a   year   in   law   though   their   cohabitation   lasted   a   mere   six   months,   and   mags   emerged   from   it   all   the   better.   freed   from   her   brother   and   handsomely   rewarded   for   being   so   obliging   in   obtaining   an   annulment   made   no   haste   to   return   home.   "the   weather,   it   is   not   good   for   seafaring"   "there   is   an   ill   omen   in   the   skies,   i   dare   not   make   the   journey"   and   eventually   letters   from   denmark   stopped   asking   for   news   of   her   return.   and   mags   settled   into   the   english   court