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HelpRe: Saphirdufeu’s Royal Congrats - Round 7 (Done)
in reply to a message by saphirdufeu
House of Fairfax
DH: King Richard Christopher Samuel [d.]
DW: Dowager Queen Beatrice Edith Sybillia [60]
DD: Matilda Anne Christine, Countess of Richmond [41]
-DH: George Nicolas, Earl of Arundel [d.]
--DD: Helen Susanna Euphemia [23]
---DH: Conrad Teodoric Restault, Count of Blois [23]
----DS: Lucas Alasdair [1]
--DS: Henry Fabian Richard, Earl of Arundel [21]
-DH: Antony Peregrin Mercier, Earl of Richmond [42]
--DS: Benedict Philip [17]
---DFiancée: Adriana Rosario Adela Sandoval, Viscountesss of Cabrera [15]
DS: King Henry Valerian Ambrose [40]
-DW: Queen Louise Charlotte, Duchess of Aquitaine [37]
--DS: Prince Jehan Leopold Walter [d.]
DS: Prince Rufus Joscelin Ives [37]
-DW: Princess Dorothea Cateline Rennes, Countess of Anjou [35]
--DD: Cecily Honora [13]
--DD: Marion Sabeline [12]
--DS: Adrian Valentine [10]
--DS: Amaury Noel [9]
--DD: Mary Eulalia [d.]
Rebels kidnapped the Dowager Queen Beatrice. She had been travelling from Richmond, having been present during her grandson Benedict's betrothal to the young Spaniard Adriana, and was on her way back to London when her caravan was ambushed and she, along with a few ladies-in-waiting and her arthritic bodyguard of thirty-two years, Sir Hugo, were whisked away into captivity. The rebels, branding themselves the Fellowship of the Sons of the Guardians of the Kingdom of England, then sent a messenger demanding an exorbitantly high ransom for her safe return.
This was widely regarded as a very bad move. You never demand anything from King Hal, you never laid a finger on the rare handful of people he was actually nice to, and you certainly never, ever send a messenger to do so.
It took the poor sap halfway through reading his scroll of demands to realise the entire castle had gone preternaturally quiet, and another quarter paragraph before his voice petered out under Hal's aggressive listening. The king hadn't even said anything, merely sat on his throne with his full attention extended towards the messenger, but somehow that only made it worse. When you tell someone you've got their mother imprisoned in a dungeon somewhere, you generally expect them to, well, react somehow. An outraged scream, a shout for the guards, even a delicate little gasp would have been better than what the messenger received, which was absolute silence punctuated by a single raised eyebrow.
The messenger repeated the demand for gold, just to fill in the silence. That was why he didn't hear Rufus slipping up behind him until the dagger tip was already at his throat.
He spilled the beans, in hopes of escaping the castle if not unharmed, then at least alive and preferably upright. Beatrice wasn't being kept in a dungeon, she and her people were just stuffed into an old water mill where the Fellowship of the Sons of the et cetera, which were really just two dozen people with more zeal than common sense, used to play in when they were lads, so if the kind King Henry would show him kindness and let him flee with his life, kindly, he will be sure to mend his ways and learn to be a kind man, or at least a kind of man who didn't jump old biddies and throw them into rickety water mills.
Hal'd let him walk, too. Not beyond the castle gates, and only until one of Rufus' cadre of harmless-looking but incredibly efficient problem-solvers put a dagger between his ribs, but he did let him walk a bit.
The attack at the water mill went by faster than the water underneath it. The ambushers had not counted upon themselves being ambushed, and were at a sheer tactical disadvantage against the combined efforts of castle guards, bannermen, and even a small group of red-faced civilian militia bearing cleavers, meat hooks, and the traditional pitchforks against the uppity traitors who dared to lay their hands on dear old Queen Mother. A few of the Fellowship fled into the woods, only to be turned out again by villagers keen to prove their loyalty to the crown, and in the end the terminally unwise rebellion was quelled almost as quickly as it began. Beatrice returned to doting over her grandchildren--and great-grandson, as little Lucas was born mere months prior--with the minimum amount of fuss.
Mutatis mutandis. Si non confectus, non reficiat.
DH: King Richard Christopher Samuel [d.]
DW: Dowager Queen Beatrice Edith Sybillia [60]
DD: Matilda Anne Christine, Countess of Richmond [41]
-DH: George Nicolas, Earl of Arundel [d.]
--DD: Helen Susanna Euphemia [23]
---DH: Conrad Teodoric Restault, Count of Blois [23]
----DS: Lucas Alasdair [1]
--DS: Henry Fabian Richard, Earl of Arundel [21]
-DH: Antony Peregrin Mercier, Earl of Richmond [42]
--DS: Benedict Philip [17]
---DFiancée: Adriana Rosario Adela Sandoval, Viscountesss of Cabrera [15]
DS: King Henry Valerian Ambrose [40]
-DW: Queen Louise Charlotte, Duchess of Aquitaine [37]
--DS: Prince Jehan Leopold Walter [d.]
DS: Prince Rufus Joscelin Ives [37]
-DW: Princess Dorothea Cateline Rennes, Countess of Anjou [35]
--DD: Cecily Honora [13]
--DD: Marion Sabeline [12]
--DS: Adrian Valentine [10]
--DS: Amaury Noel [9]
--DD: Mary Eulalia [d.]
Rebels kidnapped the Dowager Queen Beatrice. She had been travelling from Richmond, having been present during her grandson Benedict's betrothal to the young Spaniard Adriana, and was on her way back to London when her caravan was ambushed and she, along with a few ladies-in-waiting and her arthritic bodyguard of thirty-two years, Sir Hugo, were whisked away into captivity. The rebels, branding themselves the Fellowship of the Sons of the Guardians of the Kingdom of England, then sent a messenger demanding an exorbitantly high ransom for her safe return.
This was widely regarded as a very bad move. You never demand anything from King Hal, you never laid a finger on the rare handful of people he was actually nice to, and you certainly never, ever send a messenger to do so.
It took the poor sap halfway through reading his scroll of demands to realise the entire castle had gone preternaturally quiet, and another quarter paragraph before his voice petered out under Hal's aggressive listening. The king hadn't even said anything, merely sat on his throne with his full attention extended towards the messenger, but somehow that only made it worse. When you tell someone you've got their mother imprisoned in a dungeon somewhere, you generally expect them to, well, react somehow. An outraged scream, a shout for the guards, even a delicate little gasp would have been better than what the messenger received, which was absolute silence punctuated by a single raised eyebrow.
The messenger repeated the demand for gold, just to fill in the silence. That was why he didn't hear Rufus slipping up behind him until the dagger tip was already at his throat.
He spilled the beans, in hopes of escaping the castle if not unharmed, then at least alive and preferably upright. Beatrice wasn't being kept in a dungeon, she and her people were just stuffed into an old water mill where the Fellowship of the Sons of the et cetera, which were really just two dozen people with more zeal than common sense, used to play in when they were lads, so if the kind King Henry would show him kindness and let him flee with his life, kindly, he will be sure to mend his ways and learn to be a kind man, or at least a kind of man who didn't jump old biddies and throw them into rickety water mills.
Hal'd let him walk, too. Not beyond the castle gates, and only until one of Rufus' cadre of harmless-looking but incredibly efficient problem-solvers put a dagger between his ribs, but he did let him walk a bit.
The attack at the water mill went by faster than the water underneath it. The ambushers had not counted upon themselves being ambushed, and were at a sheer tactical disadvantage against the combined efforts of castle guards, bannermen, and even a small group of red-faced civilian militia bearing cleavers, meat hooks, and the traditional pitchforks against the uppity traitors who dared to lay their hands on dear old Queen Mother. A few of the Fellowship fled into the woods, only to be turned out again by villagers keen to prove their loyalty to the crown, and in the end the terminally unwise rebellion was quelled almost as quickly as it began. Beatrice returned to doting over her grandchildren--and great-grandson, as little Lucas was born mere months prior--with the minimum amount of fuss.
Mutatis mutandis. Si non confectus, non reficiat.
This message was edited 7/25/2018, 7:29 AM
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Replies
Tsk, tsk. Throwing old biddies into wells. Those were some grade-A numbnuts! lol
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