garrulous

        His hand is slick with sweat as it grips onto the racket.  Although he lunges to lob Henry Percy’s serve with one of his own, the ball springs past the net and soars over Wills’ shoulder, only narrowly out of reach.  Tossing the racket to the wayside, the king cries: ‘a rest! A rest, my lord Percy.’  Greedily drinking from the chalice of wine that is offered to him by a roving servant, scarlet liquid drips messily down the cleft of his chin, collecting in the white linen of his shirt.  ‘Count on it, I will not go as easy on you in the next round.  I suggest you catch your breath.’ With an impish wag of his brows, Wills wraps his arms around the sweaty, broad-shouldered Lord Percy, and gulps down another swig of wine.

Another flighty, young, mischievous lord pipes up: Perhaps His Majesty is distracted?  At that, Wills’ eyes motion to the gallery, scanning the young ladies perched thereabout: their virginal grins, cottoned with bashfulness, belied by the bosoms that nearly reach their chins, shoved up by whale bones stiffening their bodices.  ‘Perhaps I am distracted.  Maybe by your sister, Percy – since you seem to take such interest in mine?’

His father’s son, Wills’ mouth salivates as a platter of fruits and cheeses is presented before them.  Releasing the earl, he eagerly picks at the little banquet.  ‘Tell me, Percy, if you could have any woman in England, who would it be?’  

He waited as the King made his first few moves as etiquette would dictate, an understanding installed within him since days spent visiting the royal nursery as a playmate and joyous companion. Henry, named after William’s own father in a bid to seek influence, was perhaps the only man closest to the King without the dire need to nurture said-influence in the history of the Kingdom. He would pride himself on it, despite his own father detesting the mere thought of it. 

Taking one of the white cloths offered secondly to the King’s friend, Henry dabbed at his brow and laughed heartily - indeed, this was what he wanted: Companionship. Trust. Affection that was shared between men who ought to be brothers in the sense that Henry had spent his entire life preparing to put his life on the line for William. There was no doubt that he would do just that, such occasions having arrived in the past where Henry became a willing substitute - a sacrifice. 

With the call of another, Henry rolled his eyes from one side to the other, before throwing the rag aside to take part in the consumption of the luscious banquet. With a snort he looked to William - knowing fully well the plans his parents had when looking between his sister and the King. He was sure that they’d wish to know of such a conversation, but he tucked it between his chest and jerkin, leaving it just to him. “I take no interest in your sister,” he answered, before toying with a grape, popping it between his lips - not daring to savour the taste, as he fetched another and then one more. “Not that she isn’t beautiful, surely even yourself could deny it, since she looked so similar to yourself. But no, I’m not sure. There are many, your cousin Catherine for example! A beautiful woman, indeed.”

Despite herself, Jane smiled at his jest, though she did not miss its undercurrent, either.  “Do not be so quick to dismiss it.  Many have done more for less, and the reward you stand to gain from such efforts is no less than the favor of your king.  Indeed, tennis may prove to be the only activity of merit if it is what achieves His Majesty’s notice.”

Shaking her head, the Duchess paused.  “And what, dear Henry, did your father say of it?”

Sighing, she tilted her head.  “If you were your sweetly unaffected and charming self, I daresay you did.  The King, I think, is fond of an open temperament and I am proud that this is a quality my children may boast.”  Gently, she touched his bristling cheek.  Her hand dropped away and she resumed her attentions to her embroidery – one of the duke’s shirts – before resuming, too, her questioning.

“What was the king’s mood, Henry?  Did he speak of or ask after your sister or any of the rest of us?  And, most important of all, when you left his presence, was he pleased with you – and with the world?  A monarch is a most changeable creature but when the sun shines, there is nothing so glorious, and it is sunshine we would have of him.  So, what are we to expect?  Sunshine or rain?”

It would not be a surprise to anyone amongst the Percy's inner circle that Henry favoured the company of his mother over his father, for he shined when he was before her - his smile wide and bright, before the mention of Richard Percy. With the fall of his smile, Henry expelled a sigh from the back of his throat, his head falling so his chin tucked itself down against the collar of his cotton shirt. “His reaction? As always somewhat disappointed,” he moaned, before lifting himself back to meet his mothers eye with faux confidence and a trick of ease about his answer. A boy born to make his parents proud, Henry Percy still had a lot to do. 

His friendship with the King was one made between souls who had met in a past life - some people had whispered that they resembled the younger version of Henry Tudor and Charles Brandon due to their childlike manners around one another. How they would compete for the favour of women, or play foul in sparring sessions when no other subject could get away with it. So, he did not see it as a job or indeed that his friendship was even a way to one-up his parents’ inheritances. 

Open starter!

Event: The Chateau Vert Pageant

Louise had participated in The Chateau Vert Pageant and had finished performing with her fellow virtues, though the evening was far from over.

She had become Mercy that night, and was as demure as the most purest of them all. She played her role well.

Louise smiled and curtsied elegantly to the person who had approached her.

"It is a wonderful evening so far is it not? Tonight, I shall introduce myself as Mercy... and you are?" She asked with a smile.

Open starter!

Event: The Chateau Vert Pageant

The song was over, she had finished presenting herself as Constancy and the pageant rolled on with more songs, dancing and the siege of the castle.

The white ribbons in her hair were tied perfectly and her white dress flowed with every step she took.

"Aye! It was a wonderful pageant. Though the castle was sieged in the end, I think it would be nice if I were saved by a handsome nobleman." Isabel joked with her goblet of wine.

"For I am constancy after all, both faithful and true." She boasted in jest.

The Scottish Lady turned around and approached someone.

"Did you enjoy the pageant? It is a rather jovial affair, is it not?" She asked with a grin.

Isabel wasn't intoxicated by any means, she was just pleased with the successful event.

patience  the ability to wait, or to continue doing something despite difficulties, or to suffer without complaining or becoming annoyed

Though the Percy parents had hoped that Henry would grow into what they needed, Henry had not chased the friendship of William Tudor. The relationship, in fact, had come naturally. As boys they had played tennis, rode their horses and sparred in the training field with silly wooden swords. Indeed, Henry did not approach William as his King but more like his friend; perhaps even mirroring the famed friendship that had grown between Henry Tudor and Charles Brandon. 

Their quarters, well placed within Hampton Court, but still far enough away to be considered beyond the king’s intimate circles, were quiet but from the servants who poked at the fires or tended to their parents. Jane and Richard Percy, the leading figures of ambition and desire. Henry buckled from beneath their glare - and though Eleanor, his older sister, had only inherited their grandeur, she was kinder. She always had been. And together they had always seemed to foster a loving, gentle relationship between brother and sister. And Henry was thankful for it - after all, court was full of poisonous snakes waiting to bite… and Henry welcomed his time with Eleanor with glee. 

open starter.

With a gracious tilt of her head Jocasta silently thanked her companion for the offered goblet. Glancing down at the libation, she swirled the dark crimson ichor about its silver confines, contented upon seeing the body hold – there was nothing worse than watered down wine, especially in such circumstances. The courts return to Surrey had filled the Duchess with a longing to be elsewhere, alas such luxuries were not even awarded to a woman of her position without permission. She had hoped that an earlier visit to her brother might have quelled the melancholic overtures consuming her thoughts, but they were perhaps more profound than she had originally believed. It would pass with haste, Jocasta quietly reminded herself, there were always countless distractions at court, whether they be political or personal.

Her gaze focused upon the merriment being had before her, the young and lithe forms being hoisted above the ground by their dance partners, each step well rehearsed in time with the melodies wafting down from the terrace. Glancing towards her companion, the woman leaned closer to them so that they might hear her over the general noise of the room. "It surprises me that you do not partake this evening, surely you cannot be void of a partner or two?"

Henry had spent the evening floating between various conversations - wafting himself between soft hands and pretty dresses, all to appear the very person his parents had hoped he would be. A social climber, a man made of brain and muscle in equal parts. Henry, named after the late king. A physical being with as much power as his father, his grandfather and every other patriarch before him. He could pretend that for as long as he liked, as he laughed with the men and made eyes at the girls - but soon, someone would see the slip from beneath the stage curtains, revealing who and what he was. Henry. Just Henry. 

𝖈𝖑𝖔𝖘𝖊𝖉 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖊𝖗 for @garrlous​

“Will you not sit, Henry?”

Jane’s question, though sounding of an invitation, was a command.  This was out of no particular belief that she would be rejected – quite the opposite.  Jane was so accustomed to being obeyed that her ability to request like other mortals had lapsed into forgetfulness, such that every word struck with the certainty of submission.

She watched her son with interest.  Jane was a loving mother – her affection for her family was boundless, but in showcasing this fully enough she sometimes fell short, erring on the side of commandment and expectation.  Her love was selfish, even as it was generous, and she had no less than every expectation that her children, being of her blood, would make her proud.  There was simply no other option.  They could not fail because she loved them too dearly; they could not fail because she could not.  It was on in the same, and that made it nigh impossible.  Yet, Henry’s full heart and his quixiotic nature made him a bright spot in her life and with him she sometimes found herself giving out indulgence she did not entirely mean to give.

“Tell me, my boy, what have you been about?  Pray, have you been playing tennis with His Majesty the King?”

Jane was eager that her children should cultivate relationships with their new ruler.  This would, she felt sure, help pad their future successes, long after she and Richard were both gone, and the only thing Jane wished for her children was everything.

“I know that you are only just settling in, of course, but how have you spent these precious opening hours?  Well, I hope?”

Henry cleared his throat as he sat before his mother, his lady mother who had long since his birth established herself as one of the more deserving women at court. With her dark stare that seemed to pierce through the King’s own armour, Henry shifted and rebalanced himself - his hands fidgeting, going back and forth from his lap to his knees. Whatever Jane wanted, Jane would get… Henry had learned that a while ago. 

With a second gulp, he leaned forward, offering his mother a smile from beneath his facial hair that had been deemed fashionable by the various courtiers at Hampton Court. “Indeed, mother. Almost always. Father also asked me about tennis, do you fancy a career for myself in it?” He asked in jest, an eyebrow raised to fake confidence - the grind of his back teeth, however, ultimately gave him away. 

Location: Hampton Court Palace, one of the palace courtyards

Timestamp: Evening, after dinner

With: [open]

“I had forgot how hot it could get when so many people were packed into the place.” Edward’s comment was rather off handed as the Duke sat perched on the edge of the courtyard’s fountain, a glass of wine held loosely in one hand. He had indeed escaped the Great Hall for a breath of fresh air, but he had no objections to the company that had arrived. “Sit with me. We may as well enjoy the nights before they become too cold for any of us.” He paused, taking a sip from his cup. “Have you missed the excitement as much as I have? I find summer makes me listless.”

Though perhaps closer to the King, Henry enjoyed the company of Edward since he was old enough to meet the illegitimate son of the late Henry Tudor, his namesake. Stuffed full of roasted birds and sweetened fruits, Henry was delirious - almost drunk on the wine and ale, forever mixing the juices into one cup, leaving him just a little worse to wear. Swaying on the balls of his feet, Henry lunged forward to take the seat by the Duke of Somerset, giddy with the celebrations that littered the halls as just one of the many processions of the royal court. “You complain far too much, you should raise a glass and take joy in your tidings!” He insisted, laughing all the more. Edward Seymour may have became an orphan - but that didn’t mean he was totally left without lustre. “Tell me, have you yet found a wife? You are lucky, Edward - my parents never cease to complain that I have yet to find one.”

@garrlous​ / 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒓.

           When Henry had been a boy, the Duke had taken him from Alnwick into the village green, where a trial was being presided over.  Town Hall was teeming with spectators, including members of the city guild and merchants who possessed a vested interest in the hearing, in which a minor peer of the realm was being tried upon pains of death.  As it were, the usurer’s suit ended in execution.  Richard remembered well how Henry had flinched beside him as the axe swung over the convicted’s neck - and now, albeit older, taller, squarer in his shoulders, and more physically capable than before,  Richard could only see in his son the vestiges of boyhood.  Adolescence had latched onto him like a foul cough. 

The duke stood from his study as Henry waltzed past the threshold into his privy chamber, all bluster and braggadocio, swaggering with a confidence that even on Richard’s best day he did not have the mettle to muster up. Richard squinted - a result of tawdry eyesight, rather than scrutiny, and clamped his mouth into an austere line. ‘Ah, Henry. Late - again.’ He tsked as his hand reached out to settle upon the earl’s arm, ‘pray, sit. I have a task for you, if your lordship will humour me. But first, how was tennis? Did you do your lord father proud?’ 

It wasn’t that Henry was afraid of his father. In fact, if he was to live in fear before one of his parents it’d be his mother - the ever stern Jane, Duchess of Northumberland with her unnerving stare. His father, Richard, was merely the figurehead. Setting an example for what Henry should’ve aspired to all those life changing decisions ago. In fact, if he had just followed his way of life Henry would’ve been a Knight by 1559, or perhaps a seriously wealthy courtier with a wife blossomed by a good life. But no, Henry was different - or so he thought. Ever since his laddish days in the North, Henry had wished for nothing but good ale, fun friends and the delight of an Autumn’s sunshine. To watch an execution had never been in his plan. 

Whilst spending the Summer playing squash, tennis and other such sports with his Monarch and the merry gang of youth, Henry had found himself concerned to see his father’s pet man-dog standing by the side. Apparently, Richard had found cause to see Henry - to call his only son into his apartments within the luscious Hampton Court. With an exhale that only heightened his disdain for the message and messenger, Henry changed into his father’s purchased fashions from Venice and made his way to the Percy chambers. 

With his mother and sister absent, Henry could feel the lurch of anxiety riddle his belly. What did he need? Or want? Perhaps his father had hoped that Henry would follow Eleanor’s taste for ambition and greatness, urging him once more to take a hold of the Percy family values. After all, Richard’s insistence always seemed to pay off in the end. Whilst hanging in the doorway, he waxed lyrical with his father’s waiting men - asking for ale and bread after a lengthy game which still left sweat upon his brow; even if Henry didn't work hard at being his father's miniature, at least he aspired to beat the King at physical sports. 

a dunce at the best of times, henry was named after the great henry tudor in recognition and admiration - though, the percy family secretly despised his venture from the catholic church, leaving henry a hybrid of goodwill and fury.