Oh well, I still think it's bad to use a mean-looking axe and still need several blows
Oh well, I still think it's bad to use a mean-looking axe and still need several blows
Well, at least with this marriage thing Fulk won't have to wear the unicorn very long. He will be switching to Temp's badge as soon as the wedding is done, correct?
I've upped my standards. Now, up yours!
Yikes! I want a sharper axe and a better executioner at my death.
Surely Fulk has a "get out of jail" card in his armor somewhere? Come on frogster, don't let me down.
Sarevok had sort of a Darth Vader/Satan voice. Like how I would imagine Satan would sound if he was wearing a Darth Vader mask.
As it was late in the evening by the time the betrothal ceremony ended many of the witnesses filed into the great hall for dinner. Eleanor and Trempwick separated from the crowd, returning with Aveline to the guest house. Aveline could not contain her glee; she almost exploded as they entered the nursery outside Eleanor’s chamber. “Well done, my son, well done,” she enthused warmly. “Such a fine match.” Evidently all was forgiven now Eleanor was going to be part of the family. “Who would ever have thought it, my son and a princess. I am sure you can soon mould her into shape.” Or not forgiven.
Trempwick’s dutiful answer was tinged with tolerance, “Thank you, mother dear.” He began to scoot her towards the door. “Why don’t you go and see what people are saying over in the hall?”
“Yes, I shall bring you back a full report.” With that Aveline disappeared purposefully.
The silence she left behind was uncomfortable; Eleanor only wanted Trempwick to go away but he seemed intent on remaining. “It is a good thing I had your badge changed,” he said eventually with strained lightness. “Your unicorn will wed with my fox quite nicely.” So he was planning to display her badge alongside his own everywhere? Not surprising; when you married above what was normal you boasted of it to the world, and any noblewoman worth her salt would refuse to allow her badge to be entire eclipsed. She could see Trempwick using the fox and unicorn badge on everything and everyone possible. Eleanor resolved to change hers back to a gooseberry tomorrow. That should kill a portion of his joy quite nicely.
“We can go across to the hall ourselves, if you like,” he offered. “Or we can remain here and I shall have someone send a tray over.”
He didn’t know what to do, Eleanor noted with secret delight. She was not about to give him any assistance but she used the opportunity to ask a question she wanted to in the guise of another. “Where is Fulk? We can send him to get some food.”
“I have not seen him since this morning. He is probably in the hall now.”
“It is not like him to disappear.”
“Dear Nell, your pet is keeping to form. Today he has vanished; yesterday he was involved in a fight. If you think on it you have barely seen him since we arrived here.”
“A fight?” asked Eleanor in disbelief.
“Oh yes, his face is a mess because of it. Now, shall I go and get some food?”
Mutely she nodded, anything to get rid of him. Trempwick continued to surprise Eleanor; he dithered as if trying to make up his mind what to do. He took one halting step towards her, froze, then beat a rapid retreat.
Wondering what that had been in aid of Eleanor moved through into her room and sat down on the bed. What was she going to do now? As far as she could see she had two main options: make the best she could out of the situation, or try and delay the wedding. Having seen what his last promises had turned out like Eleanor was not in a great hurry to believe that he would keep his word and treat her well but her chances of being locked into a never ending war with a husband who hated her grew significantly if she antagonised him now. Unless she cared to live in wretchedness for the rest of her married life she had no choice at all.
Furious at being so helpless Eleanor ripped the betrothal ring off her ringer and hurled it across the room. It hit the stone wall and ricocheted off, bouncing and skipping along the floor, then rolling off into the rushes.
She looked at the glimmer of gold partly obscured by the carpet of fragrant herbs and rushes. Reluctantly, more because she was conscious of the ring being one of her few expensive possessions and therefore likely to incur Trempwick’s wrath if mistreated, she started to get up to retrieve it. She didn’t move far before she stopped. No, after the day she had had surely even Trempwick could not complain if she did not instantly give up and play along to whatever tune he called, and expensive or not she did not want the cursed thing. This, and her going back to her gooseberry badge, would be her last real, overt acts of defiance. She may as well relish them while they lasted; Trempwick always won in the end.
But only if he knew if counter her. Eleanor allowed herself a grim smile; she would keep fighting covertly using every means available to her.
The smiled faded; but where was the point? If she set her heart on this marriage being a miserable disaster then that is what it surely would become. A more optimistic approach may yield a tolerable result.
She would play it by ear, trying to make this tolerable while still retaining the most valuable aspects of her old life. If she found a way out then so much the better, but that was so unlikely it was best not to even think of it.
Trempwick returned with two big bowls of beef stew, a jug of good red wine and a pair of cups. “I thought you might like some plainer food,” he said as he pushed the door shut with his elbow. He advanced towards the bed until he stepped on something which crunched. Eleanor winced; she had not expected him to trample her ring. Slowly he looked down, moving his foot out of the way. He looked back up, his face a mask of cold anger. “That ring cost me a small fortune.”
“I did not ask for it.” Out aloud that sounded very petulant and stupid; Eleanor wished she had bitten her tongue.
He placed the tray down on the bed next to her, then recovered the ring. It had hit the wall with sufficient force to flatten one side but his stepping on it had done no harm. “I will indulge you this one fit of childish pique, but only this one. The king decided on this match; neither of us really had a choice. I do not mind; you have some unique qualities I am rather fond of. I am determined to make the best of this; I suggest you decide similarly because like it or not there is no way out for either of us.” Not unkindly he added, “There really is no reason why we cannot be happy together.”
Eleanor remained silent, feeling wretchedly similar to a small child told off for insisting they did not want to eat their vegetables. Trempwick sat himself down, picked up one stew bowl and took her hand with his free one. He pressed the bowl into it and ordered, “Eat, if you wanted to starve yourself to death you wasted a good opportunity earlier today.”
She did not need ordering and she certainly did not like it. “Will you stop treating me like a child?” she asked with a trace of anger that sounded nothing if not sullen. It seemed that she could not say anything without it coming out wrong.
“If you stop behaving like one I shall be happy to do so, now eat up.”
Discretion being the better half of valour Eleanor started to eat her stew; she was starving anyway. At least he was being nicer than he usually was when she upset him, nicer, but still unpleasant. Looking forward she could foresee a lifetime of this, of having to do exactly as he wanted. It was the same situation she was in before but made worse by the removal of hope. She could never get away from him now.
They finished their meal in wretched silence; Eleanor eating unthinkingly while her mind wandered that new future, Trempwick watching her from the corner of his eye. When he took her empty bowl from her and placed it with his own on the tray Trempwick said kindly, “Nell, you may find you like our new status, given time. It is understandable that you are resentful now but that will pass unless you keep prodding the wound and not giving it chance to heal.”
He placed one hand under her chin in a gesture she remembered from last time, tilted her face up and then kissed her on the lips. Despite his subtle prompting to do otherwise she kept her mouth firmly clamped shut. When he pulled away he seemed rather amused. “Nell, dearest, you are supposed to open your mouth.”
She felt herself blush, remembering Fulk had not needed to tell her. Well, better to act the innocent and make Trempwick play her own game for a little. She would only have this particular chance to claim ignorance once and she did not want him wondering where she had picked up her admittedly limited experience. Trempwick tried again, only to jerk back as she nearly bit his tongue off. “You startled me,” she explained innocently. This might be fun after all …
Trempwick sighed and scratched his head. “You know this promises to be very interesting, sweet Nell. Very interesting.”
“It does?” she asked sceptically.
“Oh yes, enjoyable too, although it will more than likely take you a while before you agree. I think by a couple of weeks after our wedding you will be more than happy to share my bed, dear Nell.” So he was not going to leave her alone after all. She supposed she should be surprised but somehow she was not; maybe she had known he never would, choosing instead to delude herself.
He planted a quick kiss on her forehead then rose. “I shall take this ring to the goldsmith and get it repaired and altered to fit. He can work through the night if I provide enough candles. You rest and heal, sweetest Nell. We leave the day after tomorrow as long as you are fit to travel.” He took the tray with him when he left.
Eleanor was not confident she would be fit to travel any time this week but if it meant getting away from here she would gladly leave draped over her saddle like a corpse.
I've been busier than usual with real life recently, much of it very tedious ... no, all of it very tedious. The enjoyable bits were all part of my regular schedule. The next part should appear in a more timely manner.
Judas, we shall get back to Fulk soon. He's the next scene but I haven't had time to write it yet ... well, next scene unless I add another which I am currently debating.
"On the king's 17th visit she died. The end. Fulk lived heartbroken ever after and Trempwick was also deeply unhappy." If I ended things like that I think I'd be lynched by angry readers, Avernite!
Welcome aboard, Crusher Neko. Can sappy romances ever get interesting?
the_hdk, thanks. You too, PB-DK
Nice crystal ball gazing, igaworker. Coming right up in the next episode 'Fulk V Gooseberry: The Battle'
Thanks for handling the executioner issue, Zeno.
If Fulk has a card in his armour it won't help him much, King. He's wearing his normal clothes
It is impossible to have too many books. Instead one has a lack of space and time.
Good work, I'm almost squirming in anticipation!
On the king's 17th visit she died. The end. Fulk lived heartbroken ever after and Trempwick was also deeply unhappy." If I ended things like that I think I'd be lynched by angry readers
Either that or locked in a tower untill you wrote an alternate ending.
Now as to wondering who Fulk fought...
Probably some guard when he tried to get to Nell
Nice to see Eleanor's going to squeeze some fun out of this.
Originally Posted by Avernite
or maybe even Trempwick???
anyway again great update!
You fools! Do you not read?
Just a couple of updates ago Fulk was backhanded by Tempy. So Temp told Nell the story to explain away the bruise on the side of Fulk's face.
I've upped my standards. Now, up yours!
sorry bout thatOriginally Posted by igaworker
and yeah i can't remember reading that :P
Trempwick brought her ring back about eight o’clock the next morning. “Try this for a fit,” he said. He took her left hand and slipped the ring on; this time it fitted perfectly. He kept hold of her hand, a light grip that avoided irritating the welt that snaked across the back and onto her wrist. “It took the goldsmith much of the night. I filled his workshop with so many candles it looked like daytime and threatened him with dire consequences if his work was anything less than faultless.”
“Impressive,” mumbled Eleanor neutrally. She thought it anything but; she came from a family that excelled in extravagance when need arose, and to her own tastes such profligacy was nothing but wasteful. Being a pauper princess for so long had left its mark on her.
“Tyrannical,” corrected Trempwick. He seemed in good humour. “But I appreciate your effort at polite flattery, dearly beloved Nell.” His thumb was stroking the palm of her hand. This was not boding well for a quick departure involving absolutely no more attempted romance. Eleanor began thinking of an excuse to get away before he kissed her again. Too late. “This would be a damn sight easier if you were taller,” he told her, gently mocking as he once again repeated his hand under her chin trick until she was looking up at him instead of his collar bone. His humour was harmless and intended as familiar but it still stung.
This time there was nothing much to do as Trempwick kissed her except stand there feeling mildly stupid. Even in her current mood she couldn’t honestly say it was bad, it was just no matter how generous she might want to be she could not call it good either. Boring, now there was the word, with perhaps company from nothing, as in ‘feeling nothing’.
“Relax a bit, Nell,” he encouraged her. She tried; if she had to go along with this she may as well try to get something more than boredom from the experience. This exact same thing had been rather pleasant with Fulk. Obviously the slight loss of tension from her body wasn’t enough because Trempwick gave up quite quickly. “If that is relaxed I would truly hate to see tense.” He tried to keep his tone nonchalant but she could tell he was not happy. “Nell, sweetheart, relax. Honestly I have seen statues with more give than you.” Now he was echoing Aidney; this was hopeless, really hopeless. She had no idea what she was doing and the one time in her life this had worked – or at least the one time no one had complained – she had not been conscious of doing anything, so she couldn’t even aim to repeat that.
Trempwick placed the hand he was holding behind his back, then took her other hand and did the same with it so her arms were around his waist. He linked her hands together then let them go. “Try that,” he instructed, placing one of his own hands at her waist while the other returned to her chin and tiled her face back up again. That done he let go of her head and placed his arm around her in a light grip that just barely brushed her ruined back. “Now try leaning on me, and doing something other than standing there.” He kissed her again.
Eleanor leaned into him minutely, resting rather rigidly against his chest. She could just feel his chest and arm muscles; they were built up, the kind of build you would expect on an active warrior. That was both unexpected and remarkable; Trempwick had never done heavy weapons practise, relying instead on the lighter, speed oriented fighting style he had instructed her in. Even lessons and practise in that style were rare; he had always insisted that if you had to fight you were as good as dead anyway. She had never seen him use a sword or lance. Nor had she ever seen him bare-chested, unlike some other men in the heat of summer, and with his clothes on he looked stocky, not muscled. She remembered back to the one time he had hit her, when she was leaving to warn John his plot had been discovered, and recalled that she had noted back then he could hit harder than expected. What had Trempwick been doing, and why did he feel the need to train in secret?
She would have to see what she could find out … or perhaps she was reading far too much into this; she only found it remarkable because she was comparing Trempwick with Fulk. How much difference could there be? Trempwick was fairly active, maybe that would be enough to provide matching muscles? For the first, and probably only, time in her life Eleanor cursed her lack of knowledge when it came to men and muscles.
Trempwick let her go with a sigh. “Well, you are getting somewhere with the relaxed, although not with the doing something. Suddenly two months seems an inordinately long time, dear Nell, also a short time.” He let her go and stepped back. “I have to leave, we can resume this later. Goodbye, darling Nell, and do spend the day resting so you heal.”
Later. Oh joy, thought Eleanor, more boredom. This had worked so much better with Fulk. Speaking of which. “Master,” she called, hastening after Trempwick. She caught him near the doorway out to the bailey.
His face lit up, perhaps thinking that she wanted to say goodbye or something. “Yes, dear Nell?”
“Fulk still has not returned.”
Trempwick’s face fell. “He probably spent the night with company; I would not worry unduly. If he has not shown his face by afternoon I shall start a search for you.”
Company. She hadn’t thought of that, and she didn’t want to either.
It was mid morning when Fulk was finally let out of his cell. He was escorted towards the keep by two men in the king’s livery. His hands were not bound but his weapons were not returned either. Once again he was given no explanation; the men at arms only spoke to roughly order him to come with them. His time in the cell had left his legs cramped and half numb; the guards suited their pace to his instead of hurrying him along. This suggested to Fulk that he was not due for execution or anything else drastic. That was reassuring.
He found himself whisked up the staircase to the king’s rooms and then shown into the solar. William sat at his table with Fulk’s sword and dagger before him. A cold sweat broke out on Fulk’s forehead – Eleanor’s hairpin had been with his dagger sheath and it was easily identifiable as hers if you knew what to look for. There could only be two explanations for him having one of her pins, the truth and that he had stolen it. Neither option offered much hope for his future, and the truth would finish Eleanor off as well. He would lie if asked, and hang as a thief.
The guards bowed and left. Belatedly Fulk bowed too. The king spoke, “My apologies for your recent inconvenience; it was … necessary.” William sighed; his mind appeared to wander for a moment before returning. “I could not take the chance on you rescuing her; it would only have made matters worse.” William pulled a ring off his right hand and placed it on the table next to Fulk’s weapons with a deliberate click. “Compensation,” he explained. “You may take your weapons back; I had them brought up here so none could steal them. Then you can go.”
“Thank you, sire.” Fulk picked up the ring and slipped it on his left hand where it could not spoil his grip on his sword hilt; it was quite a good fit for his second finger. He picked up the dagger first, his fingers finding that the pin was missing, then the sword. He would not ask what had happened to the pin; it was far too risky. He bowed again and left, wanting to get to Eleanor and find out what exactly he might have rescued her from.
As he made his way down the stairs past the second floor Anne stepped out of the stairwell door. “I would be grateful if you could accompany me to Eleanor’s guest house,” she said in a tone which left little space for argument. She was beginning to learn how to command like a queen.
Already anxious to get there Fulk didn’t waste time wondering why the queen wanted to visit Eleanor. “I would be honoured, your highness.”
Anne endeared herself to Fulk forever by saying, “Then let us hurry, I do not have all day and I wanted to return her hairpins.”
Further conversation was limited by their descent of the stairs. As soon as they emerged at the bottom Fulk asked, “Hairpins, your highness?” There was something about the way she had said that.
“Yes,” replied Anne inscrutably as they made rapid progress through the hall. “I found them scattered all over the solar floor on the day before John was executed. William said I could return them.”
Fulk wanted to ask many things but he would ask none; he hoped to find out much of what had happened from Eleanor later, and it was none of his business what Anne thought of her husband now. The hairpins would reveal themselves soon enough.
They found Eleanor in her guest room with Aveline for company. A small, joyous smile lit up Eleanor’s face when she saw him but she quickly got it under control. It was a good thing the spymaster was not here; he would not have missed either the smile or the significance as his mother did. Eleanor seemed alright; she looked exhausted and run down, and from the way she was sat stiffly her back was troubling her. She had a cut on her face, a welt on the back of her right hand and her left hand was out of view, but otherwise she was alright. Fulk suspected most of that came from her fight with her father the day before John died; he did not know for certain because they had not allowed him near her since before then. He was none the wiser as to why he had spent over a day in a prison.
Eleanor said to Aveline, “You may go, and do not come back for a while.”
“My son said-”
Eleanor was going from strength to strength before Fulk’s eyes, recovering some of her spirit and energy. “I do not give two figs for what your son said; I am not his prisoner and you are not my jailor. You may tell, him that if you wish.”
“I shall, you may be assured of that.” Aveline stood and shook her skirts out to remove the creases caused by sitting down. She curtseyed to the queen and stalked out haughtily, like a cat with its tail stuck in the air.
Anne gave a cluster of hairpins to Eleanor. “Your pins. William said I could bring them.”
“Thank you,” replied Eleanor politely. Fulk knew she wanted Anne to leave so she could speak to him, well probably more than speak, but she hid it well. Good, she back to her old self.
Anne knelt in the straw and began feeling the hem of her dress. “It is here somewhere,” she muttered absently to herself. With an exclamation she found what she was looking for and pulled it free of the material. She stood and offered her prize to Fulk. “And your pin.” Anne had the hairpin Eleanor had gifted to him. Anne looked back to Eleanor and said shyly, “I had thought you meant Trempwick, until I found this. It was because of the way he commented on your necklace, and you seemed to like him and he was unsuitable to win your hand too, but when I found this I knew otherwise. It makes a lot more sense.” She turned back to Fulk, “I found it before William did and I recognised it, so I stole it and hid it away.”
Fulk took the pin and replaced it in the special loops on his dagger sheath. “Thank you,” he said solemnly.
Anne demonstrated that she had matured in these last few days. “I do not think this story can have a happy ending,” she said sorrowfully. “I can give you a few moments alone, it is not much but …”
“It is all we will ever get,” Eleanor finished for her. She hesitated, then asked, “Could you persuade my father into restoring my gooseberry badge? Tell him I did not wish to change it; it was Trempwick’s doing.”
Anne nodded. “I shall wait outside to make sure no one comes in. A few minutes is all I can do,” she warned.
The instant they were alone they were locked in each other’s arms. After a passionate, long lived kiss she asked him breathlessly, “Where were you?”
“Your father had me tossed in a prison cell,” he replied, before kissing her again.
At their next opportunity to speak she said reproachfully, “You have been fighting.”
He grinned wryly. “No, if I’d been fighting your Trempwick would be a mess.”
“Trempwick?” she repeated. “But he said …”
“He’s hardly going to tell you he thumped me for being extremely rude about you.” Fulk kissed the tip of her nose, then her eyelids, then finally her mouth again. “I had to convince him I’d no interest in doing this.” He kissed her ardently. “But as you can see I do have an interest.” Which he demonstrated by kissing her again.
“I see you have gotten over your qualms about self-control,” she told him dryly.
“You try being locked in a cell for over a day with nothing but dreams of a gooseberry to keep you company; it works wonders.”
“I believe it is traditional to dream about revenge,” she chided him mock seriously.
“Maybe, but there’s only so many ways to imagine killing someone. Gooseberries have a lot more potential.” He paused, then listed them gravely, “Stewed gooseberries, gooseberry pie, gooseberry sauce, meat with gooseberry stuffing, plain freshly picked gooseberries, gooseberries with honey, gooseberries with cream … it made me very hungry.” One of his fingers had been tickling the back of her neck and slowing working down her spine. Just below shoulder level he encountered bandages. “What idiot covered you in bandages?” he asked. “It’s going to make a hell of a mess when we remove them. Far better to have left your back to seal up on its own.”
“You should have refused that hag’s help; she’s obviously never dealt with more than small injuries before.”
“I kept asking for you but you were nowhere to be found.” That sounded so sad Fulk’s heart twisted. His mind rocketed back from gooseberries and honey to the king’s words, I could not take the chance on you rescuing her, a change of direction the church would have approved of. ‘Nowhere to be found’ – that implied she had been hurt again while he was imprisoned. “And anyway they were more concerned about rushing me off to the church before I could change my mind again.”
“Change your mind on what?” Church; this did not sound good, not at all. Why would they need her in the church if not … no, no, Eleanor would never agree to marry; they had an agreement of sorts. They could never marry each other but they could remain faithful and not take anyone else instead. Ok, they had never put that in words but he thought it was so obvious it did not need saying, and he knew she wasn’t interesting in being anyone’s wife. He was just jumping to silly conclusions.
“You do not know?” She seemed amazed. “The whole castle knows.”
“Know what?” She would not marry, it would be something else, but what?
“They have forced me to marry Trempwick; we betrothed now and the wedding is around two months away.” And so much for that.
“You agreed?” He could not believe it – why in hell’s name had she agreed?! She was not Maude to tamely go along with her family’s whims and she had proven herself more than capable of standing her ground. Oh yes, she liked the spymaster’s attention, remember? She’d been lapping up Trempwick’s not quite flirting for days now. Evidently Fulk was nothing more than a … a pet to her, despite appearances otherwise. He shoved her roughly away from him. “How could you?” he demanded, anguish and incredulity mixed together.
“How could I not?” she shot back. “They had me locked up to starve until I agreed, and every two hours that … that fiend who calls himself my father,” her face contorted with hate as she spat those words, “came along and reopened the wounds on my back. After half a day it was more than I could bear.” And this was the same Eleanor who was covered in scars as testament to her ability to survive whatever her father could throw at her? It looked like this time she had put in a token resistance, nothing more. Half a day, not long then. Fulk hoped she hadn’t been inconvenienced too badly.
Once again he’d have to stand by and watch as his love was handed off to someone else, only this time he had not thrown his own chance away. If he had been offered a chance, no matter how slender, he would have grabbed it with both hands. Now he would remain in Eleanor’s household, forced to watch Trempwick and Eleanor … his stomach revolted at that and he couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought. He’d leave if he could, but the only way out was death, and so he’d have to watch and pretend he didn’t care.
Even assuming he had been there and she had wanted his help there was nothing he could have done. Trempwick could take on the king; he couldn’t. Oh yes, Trempwick the human wonder, everything Fulk was not – rich, powerful, a true noble, in good favour with the king, sadistic, a murderer, honourless. What an appealing man.
He was useless and she hadn’t seen fit to resist for very long, and on that note he would leave, thank you very much. This whole damned thing had been a disaster waiting to happen; it had happened and now it was time to bail out before he went down with the ship. He started towards the door. Eleanor threw herself after him and managed to grab his arm just before he opened the door and effectively ended their discussion, if it could be called that. “Where you going?” she asked. She looked distressed but he really didn’t care; she’d made her choice and now she could deal with the consequences. He was no one’s pet.
“Back where I belong.” He pulled her hand from his arm and flung it back down at her side. “Have a nice time with your Trempwick.” She would; she’d been playing along to his courtship for days.
“He is not my Trempwick!” she insisted loudly.
“He is,” he said viciously, “and you’re his little Nell.” She flinched; somehow that was satisfying.
She didn’t stop him when he tried to leave again, though part of him wished she had. He blasted right past Anne, ignoring her, and out the door into the bailey. He made his way to the second hall, the one for common soldiers, worthless knights and ordinary servants, anger lending his legs a powerful, fluid speed.
Within minutes he had found himself a place at the high end one of the tables. He had a tankard of strong ale in one hand and a lithe blonde sat on his lap. Back where he belonged.
There's some good lines in that part, even if I do say so myself.
Sorry for keeping you squirming for so long, Zeno.
Avernite, Trempwick's lying to cover up for the fact he hit Fulk himself.
Judas, sadly for Nell the fun factor has died already.
Igaworker, well I wouldn't have put it quite like that, but you are right.
It is impossible to have too many books. Instead one has a lack of space and time.
Aww, how sad
I sure hope your book will have many more pages, I hate unhappy endings
And this whole time I thought it was Trempwick who had Fulk imprisoned. That's what I get for thinking, I guess.
Amd for my next trick.... I say Fulk will get drunk and realize he made a mistake... but will Nelle forgive him for walking out in anger?
Now watch me be totally wrong again.
What and end to that last post. I can just see the anger and frustration they both must be feeling. I canot say I am happy to see Eleanor betrothed, but it certainly does make for a gripping tale. Can't wait to see where this goes next.
Guess I came off a bit snotty, but didn't mean it that way at all. Hope no ones toes were stepped on. Sorry 'bout that.
I've upped my standards. Now, up yours!
Why do I have the odd feeling that there will soon be a hairpin with Trempy's name on it?
Another wounderful update, I think that Fulk may be a little over reacting, I mean she had the snot beaten out of her 6 times for him(1/2 a day 12 hours every other hour beating so that's about right right?). That's pretty good if you ask me. Good work, the end with Fulk with someone else was suprising to say the least.
auch poor nell... beaten up, forced to marry tempwick, walked out on by the jealous-hero-in-shiny-metalparts-who-couldn't-catch-a-clue-with-a-sledehammer... shame on Fulk... *sniff*
oh well... loved the queen-to-the-rescue part... as a character she might be a bit so-so thin on the edge's but keep on working and writeing, i still keep checking for updates almost everyday i am online... (and usually several times each day ) but then again... i am a romantic fool with a thing for the medEVIL classic period... MUHAHAHA *erhm*
Zenith of Empires - World at War 1880-1936
Hmm, it appears that the king may be more of a player than I had thought. He kept Fulk's weapons himself which is interesting. He also said 'make matters worse' meaning he thinks that 'matters' are in pretty bad shape already.
I also wonder how much of Anne's actions have the king's hand behind them.