Historical Fiction: The Blue Door: Home and Then Back Again

She heard the footsteps in the hall. The clanking of chain mail against leather and hard armor breastplates made more racket than the footsteps, as the sound came nearer to the chamber door. It had been months since Rowan rode off for battle on his coal black warhorse. “Please come back to me.” She had said to him, as she kissed him on way to his departure. She didn’t want to let him go, her heart wanted to keep him safe out of harms reach. She was always like that with those she held most dear. He was one, he was her husband, and she didn’t want to share him.

Clarise loved that horse, so kind, so honest. It made her think of home, a place she more than likely would never see again. Did she miss it? Sometimes, other times she was too busy helping in the castle’s infirmary. Disease had struck recently, influenza. A handful still lay ill and two children died from the fever. Even her vet school training had not prepared her for the heaviness she felt in her heart that day when she lost the two small little children, a boy and a girl. She wanted to do more to help them, but the supplies she needed, she just couldn’t find. Her mind drifted else was, then back to focusing on the steps she heard coming down the stone floor of the halls.

She would have never thought she would have grown to love Rowan. He seemed so hard at times, so stern, so strong but at the same time kind. He was one of the best warriors the king had, and the village. She could see why he was a favorite among many of the local lords to choose and have as a commander. The few days she was able to get a way from her duties, she had watched him train. He danced with a sword like he was born with it. She loved looking at his back when he did. Sculpted, smooth, and strong. Then there were his eyes. They were the first thing she saw back in the house the night of the full moon. He looked at her for help after he flew through the stupid kitchen door. How it must have hurt. The blue depths just shone, deep into her heart. She had not been able to get him out of her head since.

Perhaps fate brought them together in a weird way. The house, the obviously magical door. She laughed to herself thinking of the night when she woke up to the stupid horse staring down at her in her bed.  God, did he give her a fright.  He almost looked like a demon.  He was asking for her to help. She was so glad she did.

The footsteps paused in the hall for a few minutes and she could hear soft whispers and some banter and chatter. She stared briefly at the ring on her finger it was beautiful. They had been barely been wed for a week before he left for battle. All she asked was that he came back to her alive. The door slowly pushed open, it was him. Rowan was home. Her heart skipped for joy, she loved him so much.

“Clairy, my love!” He said as he smiled and tossed the door closed behind him, dumping his sword belt, sword, and hilt on the floor and walked towards her.

“Rowan, I am so glad you are back. I cannot tell you how much I have missed you.” She started, eyes welling with tears of joy.

“Shush love, I am here now, and we can start where we left off.” He said now holding her hands kissing them softly.

She loved his smell, leather, horses, and spice. She could loose herself in it for days.  In her mind that’s all she wanted to do. Stay in with him and love him. It was something she never felt before with anyone. It was an odd bond that just kept drawing them close no matter what, and at the same time strangely familiar. He started to pull off his armor as he kissed her down her neck softly. Through the corner of her eye, she watched him pull off the chain mail and all of the layers he of clothing he had with it. He was as beautiful, as he was before he traveled to battle.  A scratch or two on his chest caught her eye, and she traced a finger down it.

He stood before her only trousers left, and pulled her to his arms. Her hair was soft and smelled like spring air. She loved the tightness of his embrace, she felt safe ridiculously safe. He gently pulled her chin up and kissed her softly on the lips.

“God, how I missed you.”  He kissed her long and hard again. Oh how she had missed him as he drew her to the bed that was waiting for them both.

***

Clarise awoke with a strange feeling. A sudden sense of worry and loneliness robbed her of her sleep. Her eyes fluttered open, as she realized she was alone. Clothes were scattered throughout the bedchamber she noticed as she grabbed her night shift and a woolen shawl.   Where was Rowen, she wondered, as she made her way to the large heavy oak door to their chambers.  Her mind still a bit scattered from the night before, but she remembered the most blissful parts of how they made love till the candles burned low.  Sweet, passionate, and wanting, she was for him and oh how he desired her the minute he walked in the door. Wanting for months her sweet embrace and warmth.  She smiled to herself as she began up the hall still lingering on her thoughts of the night before.

She heard a rumbling from the great hall.  It was Rowan’s father. Lord Mortimer and he did not sound pleased. Clarise had great respect for the man. Yet at first glance, he would make just about any person tremble, but he did have a kind heart.  Standing at almost six foot, to medieval standards Lord Mortimer was a giant.  His rusty beard and hair still bright despite his age, and piercing blue eyes like Rowan’s but his son’s had more warmth in their gaze than his fathers.  Lady Mortimer, Marie was fine boned and probably about the most beautiful woman Clarise had ever met. She looked like a fairy, at times she reminded her of what Tennyson’s Lady of Shallot might have looked like. Her presence was stunning yet peaceful at the same time. Both Lord and Lady were always in a state of harmony.  Even the peasants and household servants remarked as such. For they loved their Lord and Lady of the keep.  The first crusade mission that Rowan was first called to, was heart wrenching to his parents and even to Clarise.  Even back home her experience with seeing men off to war, was non-existent.  His mother worried nonstop and Lord Mortimer refused to leave his quarters for a day for he deeply feared the worst, and for his son to return on his shield.

Clarise pushed open the door to the great hall. The morning light flickered in through the wall of stain glass that lined the west wall, dancing on the smooth stone floor, making it look almost like water. She loved this room, so magical. Lord Mortimer was bent over the head table grasping a goblet of wine. Rowan was at his side, disheveled, and strangely quiet stressed.  Lady Mortimer saw Clarise and dashed to her side.

“My Dear! The Pope has called the men again to go on Crusade.  They say the King has been captured. They want Rowan to go assist them in freeing him from Saladin forces…” She wept. Wasn’t one mission enough, Clarise thought frustrated that her husband was again going to be taken away from her.  Frustrated, she put her arm around Rowan’s mother and made her way to Rowan and his father.  

“My Lord… Rowan, Do you have to go? Have you not served enough in his Holiness’s army?” She pleaded glancing at Rowan and then at his father. He took a long drink of his wine, something she still had not entirely grown accustomed to, even now after being here for a little more than a year or so.  Wine or medieval wine was very much an acquired taste and there was really no other options to it. Water had to be boiled as she was teaching the cooks so they could drink it. But it was something they still were not used to doing. 

“Lassie, it is the word from God. Yes. I am angry. I do not wish these crusades continue. My men leave, my workers, farmers, they all leave.. they don’t come back. I have people to get through the winter in the next months, and a crop supply to harvest.” He stressed as he looked to Rowan. His mother was whirling her hands and pacing. Rowan leaving was perhaps the hardest on her. She loved him dearly.  She had a daughter once, Rowan’s sister Eloise. She was 11 “when the angels took her” as Clarise was told. A fever. Since then any departure of any of the family from the castle always weighed greatly on her heart. Clarise always worried about her.

“Father, I will only take the men I need, I promise. I won’t let other’s follow this time. Just Brie, Fitz-Simmons and two more I know for certs can come.  Hunter’s wife wants him gone, as she is with child again, and Flynn has been so bored, he has been shooting squirrels with arrows again. We will all come back alive, I swear to it.” Rowan promised, as he grasped his father’s hand, ensuring him of his word.

Clarise was frustrated, but she knew her words and pleading wouldn’t work against the commands of the Pope. She had an idea. She had heard stories and had read back in her own time the adventures and stories about the Dowager Queen, Eleanore of Aquitaine King Richard’s mother. She was fearless, as the word was already across the land that confirmed that. She too had been on pilgrimage and well “crusade” but on her terms. She had even at one point in time been to Acre, where she over saw Richard’s marriage. If she could manage to survive a journey, and a person with no medical expertise, Clarise thought she might as well give it a try.   

“Rowan, my Lord... I wish to go with them.” She said asserting herself, staring straight at Lord Mortimer, searching his face for an answer. She heard a gasp from Lady Mortimer, Rowan dropped his goblet which was now and obviously empty.  It seemed that no one really knew what to say as you could hear a pin drop with the sudden veil of silence that fell across the hall.

How Kingdoms Were Won: Women of History and Fiction

Anne Neville and Margery Tyrell

Behind every great king is his queen. This was a very important element during both the War of the Roses, and also surprisingly the novels of Songs of Fire and Ice (Game of Thrones Saga), by George R. R. Martin. Also many of the characters in contrast to their historical counterparts, all had surprisingly short life spans. Whether Martin, planned his characters to be similar to those who were the real players of the War of the Roses, they defiantly were an influence in his writings. We see this when we look at Margery Tyrell.  Surprisingly, some of the events of her character’s past, as well as events that she goes through throughout the stories are quite similar to Richard III’s queen, Anne Neville. 

Anne’s early life is one not known to many. She surprisingly escaped most of the paper trails of the Middle Ages, as we are left with barely a footprint of her existence. But we know she did have quite a role to play in the orchestrating of power moves to help her family gain power and finally access to the throne. Whether she was secretly coveting the throne and the power behind it, we really do not know. But we know about her family the most, especially through her father Earl of Warwick, Richard Neville. Anne more than likely learned quiet a bit even though one may think she was just a pawn to her father’s power moves, but she was gaining power and lands for her family. Thus leading them to become one of the most powerful families in England during the 15^th century and the War of the Roses.

If we take a look at Margery Tyrell, she doesn’t have a powerful father but a very powerful, and sharp grandmother who helps her achieve her moves to power.  A similarity to take note.  We also do not really know much about her once she is introduced in to the story line, but her ambitions are very clear.  Margery knows, even after Renly dies, she wants to be the queen of the seven kingdoms and to sit on the iron throne. We see her impressing the people of Kings Landing, we also see her befriending people who can help her achieve her desires i.e. Sansa.  In an almost charming way, she goes to the poor people of King’s Landing to give and pass out food, earning their trust in return, and earning the trust of the Lannisters.  Anne did this with her husband with gifts to the church and by supporting her husband during his affairs in the city York.  It was noted by the recorders that they were well loved in the city because of this.

Another similarity between the two, both had husbands die early in their lives.  Their first husbands to be spot on.  Noted, Margery Tyrell in the HBO series "Game of Thrones" is portrayed a bit older than what she is in the books, but both queens where quite young when they lost their significant other, and both being in battle. 

Because we really do not have much to go off of as far as character for Anne, one can only suspect that she was very knowledgeable of affiars of state, to be in the station she was in. Margery, as well shows the tenacity and intelligence even at times more sinister than her future husband, Joffrey Baratheon, with her power moves and plays to get what she wants.  Perhaps Anne also had motives as well.  As far as who was devoted to their kings, Anne would win this card. She was loved and renowned to many, even when she died. For her husband it was noted, grieved this loss. Margery is a bit more spiteful and eager and honestly is like a roster in a hen house to get to the iron throne.  In the end, both were players of the game of power that in the end cause many a demise that we wish didn’t always have the outcome that it did.  

Like I have stated before, “Game of Thrones” is like the “War of Roses,” everybody you end up loving, dies.  The York and Lannister houses, knew this all too well, especially during the year 1485.

Richard, .. Richardus Rex, oh how you haunt me….or I should say, visit me…?

Some fiction fun for you all:

It was a nice day, I just had had a perplexing conversation with my grandma and my aunt, in the kitchen.  I guess I am "chosen" for all this incredible crazy stuff because I am from a line of “warriors” they said. That was it. Great, nice bit of info there.  That's why I was the one picked for cancer.  Oh lucky me.... I look at my genealogy and go “Gawd what one?” So many to choose from. Oh Yay! for those "warrior genes."

I kept walking down the path.  The park was nice. Sun warm on my face, not to crowded either. I take a seat on the bench under an oak tree. I crack open my book I have, and not even there for five minutes and I hear a,

“Andy?” comes a voice in a strangely familiar British accent. My head turns around.

“Holy ….. what the? Why and now, are you here? Richard.. Really?” I say startled. Of course I reconize him, how could I not.

“Do you know where my shoes are?” He asks. I look at his feet. Just socks.  Seriously, this is the first thing he blurts out to me? Can I dig myself a grave now?

“Um…. I haven’t the slightest idea, I am so sorry….how did you find me?” I asked.

“Your family, and I know others have come to ask things of you.” He told me.  Did he really want the list? Mom, Grandpa, people I don’t even know, that dead guy from Warwick Castle…. The list goes on. But he had a point.  I have always been a walking target for “messages.” Lucky me.

“What if I cannot find what you are seeking? I mean, I feel bad you are missing your shoes, but is there something else I can help you with?  I asked as he sat down next to me. He gazed across the lawn. He seemed at peace, but troubled and saddened at the same time. Dressed in some armor and breeches, he looked pretty slick. His hair was a little tousled. The words “bed head” came to my mind.  He looked at my book I was reading. He raised a brow.

“What is that you are reading, my dear?”

“A book…….” I stared at the cover, Here be Dragons. My favorite book, the book that changed my life. “Here be Dragons, you’d like it.” I mentioned.

“Humm… Tristan and Isolde is getting old.” He stated.  I set the book on his lap.

“Here take it, I have two copies.” He looked surprised. I smiled. I am glad I made him happy. There was some silence as he browsed  through the pages. 

“Can you write to me?” he asked.

“Um.. I guess? A Letter?” I asked. He nodded.

“Anything, works letters, write my story and … help me find Anne.” He said at last. I knew Anne was in Westminster, but where I wasn’t too sure. 

“I know you can help me. You are not like the others, and you have a gift. I know you can find her. I miss her terribly.” He said with a sigh.  Yeah, yeah, I can see, feel dead people, as I call it.  He continued,

“I have been trying to get you to listen to me for a while, now.  You’re a stubborn girl.”  I laughed, but he was very right.

“I am glad you found all this out and sorted it out. It was a nice gift for me this year on my birthday.” I didn’t know what to say. I sat there awestruck. God how did he know all this stuff.

“You had been talking to mom?” I asked.

“Perhaps.  You should have believed her.” He said smirking at me.  His eyes were like mine. This was crazy weird.  I looked at my book once again.

“Don’t loose that book, its lucky.” I reminded him.

“I won’t, I wouldn’t want to cross you. I treasured all my books.” We laughed together….

A loud purr went off next to my head. Daylight. UGH! And a cat on my head. Are you kidding me?? I sat up in bed.  Really?... REALLY? Now Richard? I flopped back on the pillows.  Great, I now have another bugging me for things.  But I think I like this one more than most, and now I know why.  And so it begins.

Note: Lack of shoes or barefoot in the Middle Ages symbolizes “innocence.” Coincidence?