IWSC2 round 8
Beauxbatons 2nd year
Theme: Charing Cross (wizards blending in with the Muggle world and coping with Muggle problems)
Prompts: [word] superior (main); [setting] Mediaeval Britain; [object] family heirloom
WC: 2287
Author's Notes:
'Excambiare' is Latin for 'exchange'; it is an original spell which swaps the position of two objects.
Since the Statute of Secrecy was only enacted in 1689, in the 12th Century there was no requirement for witches and wizards to conceal their magic from Muggles. However, it is likely that many chose to 'fly under the radar', rather than risk being resented for their superior abilities.
More Than A Match is a prequel to The Angevin Crown, also by Paceso.
More Than A Match
Eleanor of Aquitaine, wife of Henry of Anjou and Normandy for the past two years and now Queen Consort of England, caressed the glittering crown on her dressing table. Known as the Angevin crown, it was said to have been gifted to her by her father-in-law, Geoffrey of Anjou, in recognition of her passion for Henry. Eleanor, however, knew differently.
"A superior crown for a highly superior being," he had said meaningfully, as he presented it to her.
She had curtseyed decorously, but she understood his unspoken message. They were two of a kind, he and she—handsome, spirited, quick of temper, and magical. Eleanor's previous marriage to the monkish Louis VII of France had been fraught with difficulty, and she had had to hide her magical powers lest Louis use the knowledge of them to have her condemned. Her failure to bear sons could so easily have been ascribed to God's displeasure at the presence of a witch in the Royal Court.
Frustration at the suppression of her powers and her spirited nature, however, had led her to seek out alternatives. She craved power, which entailed a different marriage and a more accommodating husband. Many women would not have dared to consider divorce, but Eleanor's confidence in her own abilities dismissed any such fears. She would rid herself of Louis, keep Aquitaine, and find a more congenial partner.
She had turned her eyes to Henry. His claim to the throne of England had enticed her, but his extreme youth (being but thirteen years of age to Eleanor's twenty-four) had necessitated delay. Nevertheless, she had time; her marriage to Louis must be resolved first. In the meantime, she had set herself to fascinate Geoffrey, with the intention of gaining his approval to the match.
She had succeeded beyond her expectations. Geoffrey's tempestuous marriage to Matilda had been in a particularly acrimonious phase, and he had been casting around for a diversion. It had been a dangerous game for them both—Geoffrey, as a vassal of Louis, was courting disaster in having an affair with his Sovereign's wife, and Eleanor, as mother of any heirs to the French throne, risked a capital charge of high treason should her dalliance be discovered. But their bold temperaments had dismissed the risks, and the discovery of their shared magical abilities had strengthened their confidence in their ability to escape any penalty for the liaison.
The crown had been Geoffrey's gift to seal their pact. She would have Henry as soon as she was free of Louis; uniting Aquitaine with Anjou and Normandy would make Henry more powerful than the king, and he might still hope to have England as well. And Geoffrey would have Eleanor's company in the intervals between his passionate reconciliations with Matilda, until Henry matured a little. The arrangement suited them both admirably.
Geoffrey had commissioned the crown during the height of his involvement with Eleanor, wishing to honour her beauty, acknowledge her superiority over his other flirtations, and hint at her eventual supremacy when their plans matured.
Eleanor looked again at the finely wrought fleurs-de-lys with their glittering emerald and diamond embellishments. She preferred those to the sapphire and pearl adornments around the base of the crown; green suited her colouring and the diamonds had been cut expertly, so that they sparkled at every angle. Auvurg, the Norman goblin known for his exceptional skill with gold and jewels, had truly been inspired when he had urged Geoffrey to add those jewels to the flowers. She placed the crown on her head and looked at herself in the mirror. Despite its heavy ornamentation, it sat far more lightly than the French royal crown did, and she appreciated to the full the goblin's metal-working skill.
"Eleanor, Queen of England," she said to her reflection, "do you solemnly swear fealty to your liege lord, upholding him in all things and giving service to him and to the people of Britain?"
A ray of sunlight entering the window slanted across her head, making the diamonds glitter. She laughed as she replied to herself, aware that her next words were for her ears alone.
"I swear fealty to my liege lord only insofar as he also swears fealty to me, for I am his superior in all things."
She stopped, perforce, as Henry came hurriedly into the room.
"Eleanor, the carriage awaits, and the people are already gathering to cheer us." He noticed the crown on her head, and his face reddened. He clenched his fists and shouted, "By God's nails, Eleanor, take that thing off!"
Eleanor would have argued, but there was no time for a confrontation now, with the Abbot ready to crown them rulers of England. She took off the crown; not meekly, but with the air of one who had been about to do so anyway.
The crown was one of the many things which provoked spirited rows between the pair. Although very like his father in passion and temper, Henry had failed to inherit the one thing Geoffrey had hoped for his son: magical powers. Geoffrey himself had been a Muggle-born and Matilda a Muggle, and although Geoffrey's ancestry laid claim to only a smattering of Muggle-borns, he had never hidden his disappointment that his son had not inherited the ability.
Henry had always resented his inferiority, and his father's liaison with his future wife had not improved his temper. The Angevin crown was a constant reminder that his father was more powerful than he, as well as more handsome and charming, and that his wife was similarly gifted. In recent months, his bitter fear that their children might also turn out to be superior had made him incessantly irritable.
Eleanor was well aware of this, but she was determined to wear the crown today. She knew that once it had been blessed by the Abbot during their coronation, she could legitimately claim it as a family heirloom without Henry being able to object. Little William was too young, as yet, for her to be sure of his abilities, and the child within her would not be born for another two months, but the rapidity with which both children had been conceived augured well for there being many more to come. She fully intended that the crown should pass to her eldest magical child.
Henry turned to leave the room and she rose to follow him. As she looked back, she cast a quick Excambiare spell and the Angevin crown disappeared. In its place sat the crown which had been awaiting her at Westminster Abbey. Simultaneously, the sky outside darkened, making the royal crown appear lacklustre by comparison. The die was cast, and Henry would have no choice but to accept it.
~~~ooo~~~
Henry's coronation went smoothly, but when the Abbot turned to pick up Eleanor's crown, and Henry saw its characteristic fleur-de-lys, he flushed furiously and his knuckles turned white on the sceptre. Throughout the swearing of fealty by his wife and the lords which followed, Eleanor had felt the volcanic fury which lay beneath his rigidly calm demeanour. Now they were alone, and the moment of reckoning was at hand. The storm which had broken during the coronation thundered around the castle as Henry flung his cloak aside and confronted her.
"That was unforgivable, milady!" he raged. "You have tampered with the sacred rite of coronation. Were it known to any but me, people might well say you had not been crowned at all."
Eleanor looked coolly at him. "The crown is but a symbol, Henry. I am no less Queen with a different crown on my head."
"The symbol is exactly the reason for my objection," growled her husband. "The Angevin crown is not the symbol of your fealty to me, nor of your position as my consort. You exchanged the crowns deliberately to assert your superiority over me. That, milady, is far from the fealty you swore—" Henry's voice increased to a bellow "—indeed, it verges on high treason."
Eleanor was unperturbed. "I swore fealty to you, Henry, because in England you are my Sovereign. But make no mistake, I am your superior in all other things. Were it not so, your father would not have arranged for us to marry."
Her words added fuel to the flame of Henry's jealousy.
"You are not superior in everything, Eleanor. Anjou and Normandy together are greater than Aquitaine."
Eleanor laughed scornfully. "Without your father's magic, you would have neither Anjou nor Normandy. And without my magic, I should not have Aquitaine, and therefore neither would you."
"So was it your magic that bewitched my father or your deeds in his bed?" Henry demanded bitterly.
Eleanor responded to his cue. Whenever Henry alluded to her sexual conquests—of his father, or of her uncle, Raymond of Poitiers—she knew that his anger was being subsumed by the passionate sensuality she alone could match.
She threw back the hood of her robe and loosened her stays. The dark anger in Henry's eyes was suddenly shot with sparks of desire as he watched her movements. She came closer to him and eased the dress off her shoulders. Unwillingly at first, and against his better judgement, Henry reached out to touch her creamy skin, so different from his own coarse and freckled pelt. His hands moved lower, caressing, and then he pulled her to him fiercely.
Most of their fights ended thus. Fire met fire between them in more ways than one. Their quick tempers prompted vociferous quarrels, but the clashes almost invariably ended in a passionate union, in which the differences between his Muggleness and her magic momentarily ceased to exist, for the sensuality of both was compulsive and rarely far beneath the surface.
~~~ooo~~~
They lay in bed afterwards, spent but satisfied. This was when Henry was most malleable, and Eleanor had carefully planned her campaign.
"My beloved Henry," she murmured against his chest. "You need have no jealousy of those others; they were but necessities to assuage my hunger whilst married to such a boor as Louis. But with you, my hunger is ever satisfied."
She caressed his body and felt him stir again under her expert touch, but she slowed his ardour by the languor of her hand movements. She had need of calculation now, not passion. She reached surreptitiously for her wand.
"It is a matter we must needs discuss, however. We may hope for several more children, and some may yet be magical."
Henry moved impatiently, and she inched the wand to her side, ready for use. Her eyes held his gaze compellingly, and he failed to notice her slight movements.
"Kings have long felt threatened by their heirs, Henry," she whispered. "It is too easy to believe them eager to hasten their father's demise and step into his shoes. But you have Anjou, and Maine, and Normandy, and Aquitaine to give them. Would it not be better if you were to encourage our magical children, rather than condemn them?"
As he opened his mouth to give an indignant rebuttal, Eleanor drew her wand and cried out, "Imperio!"
Henry's intended rebuttal fell dead on his lips, and he nodded acquiescence instead.
"I have always thought you wise," complimented Eleanor. "Your father was charming, but you may far outdo him in wisdom. If our magical children are encouraged, and perhaps given our French territories when the time is right, they may hold them for us far more securely than is possible for us on this side of the Channel."
Henry was struggling to answer. Eleanor remembered his tales of his father using the Imperius Curse on him as a child, and she realised he had learnt some measure of resistance. She strengthened the charm as best she could, even commanding him to accept her will. He tried to shake his head, and she sensed his continued mutiny, but she was determined to prevail. She proceeded, mustering all the force of her personality and powers.
"They must be allowed to be brought up magical, for only thus can they powerfully protect your interests."
Henry gazed at her in intense frustration. Even whilst under the sway of the incantation, he realised exactly what she was doing. This was her way of demonstrating her superiority over him, and he was powerless against her magic. He strove to refuse, but he was unable to throw off the strengthened curse and eventually gave a reluctant nod.
"And the Angevin crown—"
Her husband stiffened again, but Eleanor gripped her wand more tightly and looked at him fiercely.
"—the Angevin crown shall be treated as a family heirloom among the magical children. It shall pass to our eldest magical child."
Henry mustered all his failing willpower and shook his head.
"No," he said hoarsely.
Eleanor cast the curse again, her words almost drowned out by a crash of thunder overhead. The accompanying lightning made them both flinch.
"Promise me, Henry," she insisted. "The Angevin crown shall pass to our eldest magical child."
But the force of Eleanor's hastily-wrought incantation was wearing off, and her determination to have her way had only made Henry even more determined to have his. He had not suffered the Imperius Curse so many times as a child without learning a few wiles; he remained silent for several seconds before appearing to surrender.
"The Angevin crown shall pass to our eldest magical child," he repeated mechanically.
Heavy rain drove against the shutters as Eleanor relaxed, her aim achieved. But her assurance of victory was unfounded. She had unwittingly increased Henry's anger against her, and thenceforth both Henry and Eleanor would do their utmost to prove their superiority, using whatever powers each had against the other.