#hltcevent04

Dark, thunderous clouds invaded the English skies, releasing a deluge of rain onto the land below. Such morose weather had prevented Louis from traipsing through the gardens; an activity he took much pleasure in doing. Instead,  he stared at the gardens through the windows that entrapped him behind these gloomy walls. Was this Edward's last wrath? His last attempt to bring discomfort into the French King's life? He smiled sadly, bowing his head; he knew Edward would have to have the last attack some how. The footsteps of Marguerite were recognisable. He could hear the sound of his own heart beat in time to the sound of her delicate feet on the wooden floor. Louis took a moment to replace his solemn expression with something a little more welcoming. "My love," he began, eyeing her from a short distance. "I hope these surroundings have not troubled you too greatly. Death is not an atmosphere anyone would be eager to dwell in."

LONG LIVE THE KING ––––––––––– The halls of Westminster are quiet in the early morn. It is not an unusual occurrence, for few inhabitants are typically awake at such a time, only a handful of guards and kitchen staff. Mist has creeped in from the river overnight, covering the palace grounds in a hazy shroud. Future accounts would remark that it was a morning much like any other - nothing that initially suggested that something was amiss.

It is the Lord Chamberlain of the Household that finds him, a short time after seven. No obvious signs of foul play are detected initially at the scene. As the family and members of the Privy Council are summoned to the King’s chambers, the final days of his life are reflected on. He had seemed his usual self, if a touch more subdued. Nothing that could have raised an alarm as to his condition. Edward V of England is dead.

The body is later prepared and moved to the Great Hall for the customary vigil in the lead up to the funeral. As long prepared plans are put into motion and word begins to be spread amongst the higher circles, rumours begin to bubble. Was it truly a sudden illness, as official word had said, or was there something more nefarious at play? Were old grievances rearing their ugly heads once more?

As with any change of monarch, the delicate balance of the relations between Kingdoms is thrown off-balance. Only time will tell when or if it shall recover.

A lone voice cries out.

The King is dead, long live the King.

The English King was dead. Louis had hated him for as long as he could remember. He had dreamed of this day, imagining every detail of the man’s prospective death. Now the day had finally arrived and he felt... disappointed, underwhelmed. He had desired a more violent death- where the English King cried out in pain as he contemplated his sins. But to pass away in his sleep? Louis huffed. A weak death for a weak man. Nonetheless, Louis annoyingly felt that something was missing. He didn’t feel like celebrating like he had planned to so many years ago. His hatred for King Edward had been an integral part of his being, he had perhaps even come to like the English King because of it. But now his greatest enemy was dead. Who could Louis hate now? The King of Naples didn’t mean as much to him as King Edward did. In a way, the two were brothers on differing sides. Louis had seen so much of Edward in himself, and perhaps that’s why he had disliked him so greatly. Now Louis stared at the dead man’s body in the great hall, mourning the unproductive, hateful, but nonetheless amusing, relationship that had once existed between the two. 

“You are gone, old man,” he spoke quietly in French, his gaze fixed upon the dark robes that clothed him. “What will I do without you? I have loved hating you. And now you are no more. In another life, perhaps we could have been friends. A connection certainly did exist between us.” He sighed and looked to the ceiling for a moment. “I will see you again, whether in Heaven or on Judgement Day, I will see you again brother.” He heard approaching footsteps but his gaze remained fixed on the King. “Would you like to be left alone with him?” He asked the unknown figure, switching back to English. 

   He stared at the water, chin balanced in his hand as he thought of the consequences of recent events. Naturally he would be called upon to go to England...where he could see Hettie, as she must pay respects too he reasoned. The crunch of footsteps made him turn to look at whoever was approaching, disinterest in his voice as he said quietly, “can I help you?” He hadn’t bothered to look at who it was. 

Having had his fill of the pile of papers that had held his attention for several hours, Arthur stepped out into the corridor. Plans were being finalised and invitations issued. Part of him longed for the moment it would all be over, but this was his life now. Making his way down towards the gardens, he spotted the familiar figure of his sister. “Matilda,” he called. “I was wondering when I would see you next.” In truth, it had been his fault that he had seen so little of his sister. He spent most of his days at work, before retiring to his and Adaline’s chambers to eat and sleep. The only way he could stop himself from crumbling was to throw himself into his new role.