dukehumphrey:

iamthefirechild:

The longer he spoke, the more incensed she became. When he finally, finally fell silent, her teeth were grinding, her fists were clenched, and every muscle in her body was wire-tight with anger. She exploded up off the bench, pacing a few steps forward, then wheeling back toward the Duke.

“How dare you,” she hissed. “How dare you tell me what I can feel. Where have I asked of you that you love me too? You are a married man, you are a Duke of the realm. I do not ask. But you may not speak to me so casually of what I feel, what I may feel. God gives me free will, and though I have willing not to love you, He has given that I shall go on doing so.”

Humphrey raised his eyebrows. “I see, we are just as we were. We could fight just as when I skipped the hunt to take you to my bed. Remember that?” Humphrey stood up and took a few steps, thinking he should just leave her there. He had much bigger problems than a young girl he once used to love. But that was the thought that at the same time stopped him from leaving. He turned to face her. “You know I was just really being honest like I very rarely am. I did not mean to insult your feelings, what matter is it to me if you wish to put them on a pedestal and cherish. Yet I must warn you that I am not one to be put on a pedestal, I would disappoint. And now that I warned you, it is really up to you – live this miserable life with your lot who despise you or come and join my household. Maybe even come to Flanders with me. You could find other adventures and read new books and maybe find one much worthier than I. Tis really your choice and you deal with the consequences.”

“I remember all too clearly,” she muttered. “As you will, then, my lord. I will do as you wish and join your household and be your companion,” she twisted the word, sneeringly, “and not put you upon a pedestal.” Summer’s mouth bent at the corners, hard down, as she pressed her lips together in an attempt to control herself. “I suppose I should be grateful you condescend to remember one you cast aside at all, though I had hoped for a better memory than this.”

dukehumphrey:

iamthefirechild:

“So you wish me to come and live with you for a few months, and at the end of that time, send you off to possibly die.” Summer’s mouth tightened. “You spoke a moment ago of fate and her cruelties. You are what God uses to punish me for my sins. I never expected to see you again, and I was content with that.” Her hands trembled.

“It is easy to go on loving someone whom you never see. It is like a constant, steady flame, the presence light of life. But when that person comes closer, the flame becomes a roaring fire, and it consumes. You consume me.” Her voice shook, and she paused to swallow hard. “My lord, I have never stopped loving you, and so I cannot accept your offer, no matter how generous it is.”

“Women…” Humphrey mumbled as she spoke about sending him off to die, “They are always so smart they even outsmart themselves.” He was so stuck in the thought, that he almost missed what she said next.

“You cannot love me,” he said, in protest, yet softly, kindly. “In truth I think no one can. Because of what you say, I am a bad omen. I am not a constant, I change and I move on to new and even newer things and I just never stay put. And my heart, that never stays put. It never stays with one woman, Summer,” he said. “You really should not love me. I just hurt those who love me. Sometimes I think it would be best if Phillip won that tourney, but then that would also break hearts. And Jacqueline would certainly lose all her inheritance. But in all honesty, even if I win the tourney, she already lost me. I know and there is no reason. I just grow tired with everything so fast. There is always a next best thing, a new adventure, or a new conquest.” He was calm as he explained. “I never told this to anyone.”

The longer he spoke, the more incensed she became. When he finally, finally fell silent, her teeth were grinding, her fists were clenched, and every muscle in her body was wire-tight with anger. She exploded up off the bench, pacing a few steps forward, then wheeling back toward the Duke.

“How dare you,” she hissed. “How dare you tell me what I can feel. Where have I asked of you that you love me too? You are a married man, you are a Duke of the realm. I do not ask. But you may not speak to me so casually of what I feel, what I may feel. God gives me free will, and though I have willing not to love you, He has given that I shall go on doing so.”

dukehumphrey:

iamthefirechild:

When he spoke, Summer jerked her hands away from her face to stare at him. Spirits didn’t speak! And surely if her mind were tormenting her with visions of Humphrey, he would not also be unhappy. She lifted a hand and touched his cheek. “Are you real?” she whispered. “Surely not. You are in the Low Countries, happy and strong.”

Humphrey couldn’t help but laugh loudly at that, leaning back on the bench. He spent a few seconds enjoying it, but she looked rather not amused at his reaction. “If you meant it as a joke, it certainly worked…” he said. But she still wasn’t laughing. “So you meant it. Not as a joke.” He leaned forward once more.

“Well I am not happy and strong in the Low Countries. For all I know the Low Countries can be burned up and sunk into the Ocean and be cursed forever to hell,” he said, sharply. “I am definitely not happy and neither am I particularly strong. Half a year of poisoning does that to one’s body. And an imprisoned wife does it to the soul.”

He stared forward thinking of his last words, how this was the first time he said it out loud, where she was. The sky didn’t fall on him yet, he thought. “It’s my fault, I left her there,” he said, softly, almost as a whisper before he caught himself. “So how did your life become this miserable?” he asked, turning to her, lifting the widow’s veil from her face.

His laughter hurt. Not as if he were laughing at her, but that the events of his life were so different from what she had believed. His bitter words describing his life hurt worse. Summer pulled her hand back, closing them tightly together in her lap. “I am nothing,” she told him, softly.

“While you loved me, I was allowed my freedom — my father, my family believed you would protect and take care of me. When we were parted,” Summer closed her eyes, tears sliding down her face, “I was made to marry a young knight. A friend of my brother’s. He died in /your/ brother’s war. He left me with nothing. I have no name, no child, no living. I live only on the sufferance of my sister and my father.”

dukehumphrey:

iamthefirechild:

“Humphrey!” Just as always before, his name spilled from her lips before she thought. He stood so still, so unchanged, Summer was sure she was seeing a ghost. Was he not gone, fighting battles in the Low Countries, petitioning the Pope on his wife’s behalf — anywhere but London?

Fate had driven them apart, as of course they had both known it would. She had put away the necklace he had given her, the books and clothes, along with her girlish belief in the power of love. Buried under the wreckage her life had become was her hope that a woman could change her own world.

But obviously this was her mind, distraught, playing tricks on her. The Duke of Gloucester could not be here in the Westminster gardens. Summer burst into the tears she had been trying to hold back, and dropped miserably onto a bench.

Humphrey turned towards the voice seconds after he heard his name, his mind still preoccupied. Next to the bridge, on the bench sat a woman and at first Humphrey didn’t even recognise her… she looked familiar, he felt that tingling inside that you get when you see your old flame and he knew he should remember. He thought it must be one of the many maids, maybe one of the lady-in-waiting’s of his Father’s Queen, from when he was young… he didn’t consider himself young anymore, in any way… that was what, fifteen years ago? The girl seemed too young for that.

He looked again and recognised this time, could see a bit of hair under the widow’s veil and he knew it. No one else had that fiery hair. He slowly walked to the bench, and dropped himself next to the woman, weeping into her hands. “I see I am not alone in being unfairly treated by fate. Summer.”

When he spoke, Summer jerked her hands away from her face to stare at him. Spirits didn’t speak! And surely if her mind were tormenting her with visions of Humphrey, he would not also be unhappy. She lifted a hand and touched his cheek. “Are you real?” she whispered. “Surely not. You are in the Low Countries, happy and strong.”

dukehumphrey:

iamthefirechild:

Summer Delangel, nee Rainault, neatly placed another stitch in the embroidered bodice she was making, and carefully did not sigh. Being a widow, even a knight’s widow, was even more dull, stultifying, and boring than being the old maid daughter of a merchant house had been. At least back then there had been the excitement of her affaire d’amour with Duke Humphrey — but he had left, and she had been married off, and then her stupid husband had died in one of the King’s endless battles with France, and basically at this point there was nothing she hated more than her own life.

She didn’t even have a child to remember her late husband by, or to make her brief marriage worthwhile. At that thought, she laid her handwork down in her lap, then aside completely, and forced herself to go outside. Once the dark thoughts began, there was nothing she could do to stop them, but a brisk walk helped to fight the useless tears. She set off for the palace gardens, eyes cast down to avoid meeting anyone’s gaze.

Once, in another life, Humphrey used to stand for hours on the small bridge erected over the little lakes in the gardens of Westminster palace. The lakes housed swans and giant sized ducks and other lesser kind of birds, and he could spend hours watching and feeding the swans.

“They are like us,” Hal used to say, “They stand tall no matter what, they are noble.” Well, Humphrey needed all his nobility probably to not sink into the ground constantly, these days. As he stood there watching the swans, he couldn’t see any resemblance of himself. Maybe, in another life, but if anyone called him ‘The Swan’ behind his back these days, they did so out of courtesy to his bloodline and not to him in person.

“I am the Swan, though,” he reminded himself, remembering how his friend John, now abbot of St Albans gave him the name at Balliol College. It would’ve fitted Hal more, who of course nicked the bird as personal badge before anyone else could even think of it – the right of the eldest. Though the Swan badge came from the Bohuns, the illusdtrious but now extinct family of their mother Mary, and Humphrey was the most Bohun-like of them all. Even his name was the Bohun name, the name of his mother’s father and almost all their ancestors on that line of the family tree.

He just stood there watching the swans, thinking of how boring they actually are to a mind restless with problems and worries, like his. His mind was constantly occupied now, with battles, and troops’ wages and servants’ wages, wives and still born sons and dead sovereigns and brothers, the traces of pain that poison brings. He didn’t hear the woman coming until she spoke.

“Humphrey!” Just as always before, his name spilled from her lips before she thought. He stood so still, so unchanged, Summer was sure she was seeing a ghost. Was he not gone, fighting battles in the Low Countries, petitioning the Pope on his wife’s behalf — anywhere but London?

Fate had driven them apart, as of course they had both known it would. She had put away the necklace he had given her, the books and clothes, along with her girlish belief in the power of love. Buried under the wreckage her life had become was her hope that a woman could change her own world.

But obviously this was her mind, distraught, playing tricks on her. The Duke of Gloucester could not be here in the Westminster gardens. Summer burst into the tears she had been trying to hold back, and dropped miserably onto a bench.