So this is my first GG fanfiction and I might change the title later. It's set in the early reign of the well-known Henry Tudor VIII. Please understand that some of the characters may seem OOC at first, but I'm only just setting characters and motivations up. There'll be some character development later on. Also, please excuse the historical inaccuracies. I tried to research a little and find some real life historical figures with relationships and histories most similar to the characters on GG, but they're not exact and I took the liberty of adjusting them and combining a few people to fit. I'm bound to have a few intentional or unintentional inaccuracies, but feel free to correct me if you spot some and feel that they are mistakes.
I'll apologize beforehand for irregular updating. Finally, I'm just going to put out there that I hate prologues. People should just get straight on with the story and introduce the background along the way. With that said, here's the prologue :)
Prologue
The garden, bursting with abundance and tree boughs bowing low with their heavy loads of green, was alive in the mild, comfortable warmth of French countryside summers, buzzing with hidden workers, fluttering of painted paper, and humming of the living colors of spring. The low trees strained against the heavy loads of fresh fruit, ripe and ready to burst free. A pristine, white fountain bubbled like a playful brook, winking in yellow glow. Tartness of lemons, sugar filled peaches, and soothing lavender blossoms filtered through the air; the golden-orange mists tasted of sweetness. A towering tree bearing the purest snow white apple blossoms rose above the early afternoon lights, twisting and stretching its arms up to stroke the flaming sky teasingly. There, under the shade of the pergola colored with climbing wisteria and rose, a man stood with his young child.
"My little lady."
"Yes, Papa," a young girl no older than eight answered.
She possessed the dark coloring and pale skin characteristic of her noble house.
"I'm about to tell you something very important, and I want you to remember it and keep it in your heart. Can you do that for me?" the kindly man said gravely while kneeling down to face his beloved daughter.
The smile wrinkles around his aging, yet still lively face pulled tensely in an unusually serious manner unsuited to his normally playful demeanor. The movement startled the perceptive young girl, but she nodded her head and faced him with deep brown eyes much too old for someone her age.
"Do not be frightened, my little lady," he soothed, noticing her tense posture.
She pulled at the flowery fabric of her skirt in a manner that revealed her young innocence. He made a small smile at the gesture, noting to himself that he'd treated her, although with much love, with the truth, respect, and responsibility normally reserved for a much older child. She was his only child and he'd always believed, just has his own father had taught him, that children should be given both the freedom and respect, as well as the responsibility of an adult to nurture the morals his house honored.
Looking into her eyes now, he could barely believe the depth of them and remembered the day she'd first opened her eyes to the world. That day, he believed that she wasn't seeing the world, but that the world was seeing her, and he knew, that one day, she'd be destined for something great. As she grew older, that fact was becoming more and more clear. She had been born with the heart, body, and soul of a woman, but the mind and spirit of a man. He only hoped that by the time she grew to become a woman and was ready to show what she could gift to the world, the world was ready for her.
"I believe in you. I've always believed in you, that you are destined for great things one day, and I want you to know that," he paused, making sure his daughter had absorbed his words, and he found her looking at him solemnly, albeit still swinging her skirts ever so slightly, before continuing, "But I also believe that there are wolves in this world, and it will be a long time, perhaps never, when women cease to be lambs."
His little daughter bit her bottom lip with worry in her eyes and it pained him that he could not protect her from those wolves.
"Papa, have I made you angry? I am sorry. I can repent, and then will you forgive me and forget everything th-"
"Blair, dear. No, of course not. I'm not angry at you," he consoled the panicked girl.
"Then why-"
"My daughter, I need you to listen carefully now. I am proud of you, truly, but it is a dangerous thing for a woman with intelligence, and even more so for one with ambition. You, my dear, are a girl who will one day become a strong, intelligent young woman, yet promise me that you will not seek for power, even though I know that you will have the means to do so. You must never wish for things that are not yours, promise me," he ended firmly with an intensity that startled even himself.
"I promise," she whispered, her eyes cast at her feet.
"No matter what changes."
"I promise," she affirmed obediently, more strongly the second time.
"Outside these walls is a cold world, and I cannot protect you forever. Wolves may enter the fold, and you may wish to become one to escape the fate of a lamb, but know this: there can only be one wolf in the end."
"Yes, father."
The man let out a silent breath, satisfied, and rose to his feet. Taking her small hand in his, he lead the young child to the arbor.
"Come, my dear, we can play with the rabbits."
She did not respond and looked sullenly at the grass between her bare toes.
"What were their names again?" he teased lightly.
"Mouchetures and Josette," she giggled, relenting.
The father took in a deep breath and inhaled the cool scent of lavender and peaches as the setting sun cast warm, orange hues upon the safety of the paradise in their garden. The white wings of butterflies glowed sunset colors as they flitted through the air, resting across blossom laden boughs. He smiled contentedly as his daughter's dark tresses flounced carefreely in the wind as she made her way to the little warren they had built together for the rabbits when the breath of spring had just touched their home. The tousled grass dancing in the gentle breeze parted for the pair.
As he watched his daughter, his mind dwelled on why he had chosen this moment to warn his daughter after hiding her for so long from the outside world. Her compassionate understanding and wide-eyed innocence bore at his heart and he wondered if it was wrong for him to keep her away from the darkness.
"Father?" the young girl looked up with doe brown eyes as the two leisurely walked back toward the castle.
"Mm?"
"The wolf…" she trailed off hesitantly.
He lifted his eyes from the nursemaid who had walked out to greet them and turned to face his young daughter.
"The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the young goat, and the calf and the lion and the fattened calf together. Isaiah 11:6-everything," she paused to find his eyes, "will be okay."
He let out a light breath of astonishment at the earnest, reassuring look in the eyes of an old soul.
"Perhaps," he remarked quietly, troubled.
He quickly cast a warm look over his daughter and she grinned a small smile and he suddenly thought she was a thousand years old again before she bounded away into her nurse's welcoming arms, breaking his thought. The nurse was a stout, robust, and stern looking woman, yet she was of remarkable patience, kindness, and compassion. She had been at the manor even before he was, as only a young girl and his senior by a few years, and had just as much claim to the home as her lord. Though she was often silent, she knew more about anything and anyone at the manor than anyone else.
The woman looked to him with slight concern and a knowing look in her eyes. He nodded to her. She pursed her lips and paused briefly before turning back to the young girl and leading her inside.
He let the sun wash over him and letting out a sigh, he smiled sadly and couldn't help but feel as though their garden sanctuary was but a painted refuge. Casting one last wistful look over the blooming garden that seemed would last forever, he wished it could be spring for many more seasons to come. He allowed his gaze to linger before heading inside.
Across the English Channel
'...and the fattened calf together; and a little child shall lead them…' a stern faced man mused.
He stood facing the window at his vast estate that stretched for miles and miles past as far as his eyes could see. Then he glanced up at the dark, rolling clouds overhead that threatened to spill angry tears and the sky that warned it would split. He narrowed his cold blue eyes and they turned to steel as sharp as the swords that cut through armor before turning to face a small boy standing before him.
'The wolves of the House of York, the lions of Tudor...how long before there is no room for the both of them, and what of us?'
"Charles."
"Yes, Father," the small child answered promptly with a twinge of uncertainty in his voice.
The room chilled when the man tensed disapprovingly, detecting the his son's not so well hidden wish for approval.
"Isaiah 11:6."
The boy found it difficult to look into his father's eyes, gazing intensely as they were, but he forced his dark ones up and stilled his trembling hands.
"Father?"
"Do you know it?" he asked calmly, disregarding his son's words.
The young child opened his mouth to reply but found that the words were caught on the tip of his tongue and had suddenly gotten lost in his throat.
The towering man stood tall and did not falter, as he had not expected his son to be able to answer.
He turned to face the window before he started again, "It tells of a mythical paradise where the wolves and sheep will lie together and a little child who shall lead the way. But you see, it is but a myth."
Angling his body, he looked straight into his son's eyes, "Tell me, can wolves and sheep lie together?"
"No, Father."
"Of course not," he scoffed, "They say there are two types of people in this world: the wolves and the sheep. But they're wrong. There are only people."
The boy gazed expectantly at him.
"You see, anyone can choose to be a wolf or a lamb. That is why at any one moment, the people you do not keep your guard against can suddenly betray you. The people you once thought to be weak can become the fiercest of us all."
He clenched his teeth at the bitter thought. His family began as staunch supporters of the House of York before facing betrayal from their own allies; they were the same lords and earls who sat at his dining table and fawned obsequiously at his father's feet. His father narrowly escaped death with a second marriage to Margaret Beaufort, Countess of Richmond and Derby, the mother of who had been the foremost heir to the Lancastrian throne and who was the current king, King Henry Tudor VII. His quick thinking and swift alliance change had saved his entire family from annihilation. His father had been in close cohorts with his uncle-in-law Warwick "the Kingmaker", until the man betrayed them and flipped to support the Lancasters.
"Remember this, Charles, anyone can choose be a wolf, but there can only be one in the end," he said coldly.
'Does this child have what it takes to lead them?'
Two Years Later
The young girl stood silently, infinitely older as she blinked back unshed tears in sorrow for departing from her dear home. The once familiar cast iron gates were now unwelcoming and cold as they barred her way from the paradise she once believed would last forever.
"Come, Miss Blair. Is time to leave."
She remained in her position, unmoving and unwilling to allow her mother, only a few paces behind her nurse, to see her battling her emotions. After a long pause, she sniffled quietly and brushed away her tears as discreetly as she could manage.
"Mother, one more time...please,"
Her hard eyes faltered briefly and softened. With a small nod, she turned and left her young, nine year old daughter to bid her last goodbyes.
She swallowed with great difficulty and slowly reached forward to brush away the dried vines that hung limply on the ugly black rods. She gripped the bars tightly and shoved her weight against the gate as loud creaks rippled through the air. The low, yellow grasses shied away, shielding themselves from the terrible cries of protest when the hinges gave way. As the gate opened, it scratched long, horrible trenches in the caked dirt.
Her eyes swept over her desolate surroundings. Winter had just begun to settle in the low rolling hills and the season had not been merciful on her and her father's beloved sanctuary. The garden was left painfully barren and empty in stark contrast to the vibrant life abound only two seasons ago. Nothing was spared except the fragrant lavenders that grew in wild tangles around the new addition that was erected that year.
Blair urged her feet forward in small shuffles to the stone marker that she never wanted to face. The day her father came home, not in person with his warm smile and loving embraces, but in a wooden box, her whole world became an everlasting winter. She wanted to keep the garden fresh and alive for her father, but nature cruelly would not allow it. She'd thought if everything around him was alive, that he would come back, and that if she did not face it, it didn't have to be true.
She'd lived her entire life under that assumption, she thought bitterly. She pushed away the overgrowth that obscured the words that were engraved on the gravestone.
In memory of
Harold Waldorf, Count of Ormond
Loving Father, Brother, Husband, and Son.
May God Guide You Forever.
She sank to her knees and ran her fingers over the lines on the stone she now considered to be her father. With her bare hands, she began pulling the weeds that littered the area near his tombstone. With each handful, more and more tears began falling down her cheeks as she tore and scratched at the offending weeds angrily. When she settled down, she let out a shaky breath and collapsed against the stone. For a long while, she simply stared at the sky in hopes of viewing something unchanged and realized bitterly that even that had been altered by the cold winter months. With desolation in her eyes and heart, she pulled a few of the least affected lavender blooms she could find and lay them with meticulous care before her father.
Then, with a sudden anger, she pushed them away and severed the last comfort she had clung onto in her mind. She rose over to the rabbits in the enclosed warren and urged them out.
Blair softened her touch over the velvet fur of her beloved pets and last comfort she had as a connection to her father. The two rabbits moved to get closer to her and she gently kissed the two. She turned slowly back at her father, her anchor in life, and hardened her heart. She thought about the protected life she'd lived and slowly, tenderly, set the rabbits down outside the enclosure and safety of the garden where they had entrusted the remaining groundskeepers with the caretaking of the rabbits.
"Be free," she whispered, "This is all a falsehood, and when winter comes you best be ready."
With that, she parted with her home, mourning the premature loss of life and innocence.
Please R&R