allfcnso

[allfcnso]

What if...Alfonso had rejected Magda? Who might have married, instead?

𝑾𝑯𝑨𝑻 𝑰𝑭 𝑴𝑬𝑴𝑬   \    accepting   !

this is an interesting thought! alfonso’s relationship with magda was tentative at the start, so it is a wonder they were married at all, as it could’ve easily gone awry. it’s likely that alfonso would’ve again looked to continental europe for a match, seeking to ally himself with a crown that would pull castile into the quagmire of european politics and alleviate the strain of the recent iberian cataclysms. had adalsinda not married ivan, it is likely––and was even rumoured––they would’ve wed as teenagers. barring that, alfonso could’ve brokered an alliance with marius, then prince regent, to marry one of france’s princesses, such as the dowager queen of sweden or, perhaps even, antoinette herself (though they would’ve been married by proxy, as antoinette would’ve been too young.) and then, there is also the chimerical possibility that alfonso could’ve married beatrice, or struck an earlier form of the alliance currently existing between himself and lorenzo by wedding caterina, instead. 

in spite of the many ... grievances ... and bones he has to pick with his marriage, magda’s hand in marriage was the most optimal and lucrative route he could’ve taken, as it closely allied castile with the holy roman empire and, whilst apollonia’s camaraderie with the his holiness the pope is dwindling, the papacy itself. magda’s dowry brought him wealth, titles in germany and principalities from across western europe, and intimate ties forged with the colonna family of rome. 

#ivanrurik

[allfcnso]

🔪 rulers

𝑻𝑯𝑹𝑬𝑬 (3) 𝑪𝑯𝑶𝑰𝑪𝑬𝑺   \    accepting   !

🔪 : protect, attack, fight side-by-side with.

protect: edward, philip, ferdinand. attack: ivan, iskender.  fight side-by-side: apollonia, hisham, mehdi.

#n e way ... (c: #ivanrurik

[allfcnso]

There’ll be happiness after you But there was happiness because of you Both of these things can be true There is happiness Past the blood and bruise Past the curses and cries Beyond the terror in the nightfall Haunted by the look in my eyes That would’ve loved you for a lifetime || feat. @allfcnso

#SASS #this is incredible!!! .... #wow #* / luzia.

[allfcnso]

IT’S TIME TO GO, featuring luzia. 

@castilianrose

#what's this skskskks #crhs.graphic #𝐕𝐈𝐈. hijo de gato caza ratón / graphics . #𝐈𝐈. quien quiere celeste que le cueste / portrait . #* / luzia.

[allfcnso]

@apolloniacolonna  sent  :  🎧 + apollonia

CYANIDE : DANIEL CEASARE. 

lsd got me feelin’ empathy; warfare out to mind chemically, ‘cause we suffer endlessly. could be kamikaze, only time will tell; even though i’m godly, might end up in hell. 

FERNANDO  :  ABBA.

they were closer now fernando; every hour every minute seemed to last eternally. i was so afraid fernando, we were young and full of life and none of us prepared to die, and i’m not ashamed to say the roar of guns and cannons almost made me cry. + the stars were bright, fernando, they were shining there for you and me, for liberty, fernando; though i never thought that we could lose, there’s no regret. if i had to do the same again i would. 

THE GREATEST :  LANA DEL REY.

those nights were on fire, we couldn't get higher; we didn't know that we had it all, but nobody warns you before the fall. 

#duality of man eye– #apolloniacolonna

[allfcnso]

Send “🎧 + a muse” and I’ll pick a song from my playlist that reminds me of them!

#mobile /

[allfcnso]

castilianrose​:

Although all sets of eyes around her were familiar to her, as was the feeling linked to it, this predatory feeling of being watched, analyzed and preyed upon, Luzia had to admit it wasn’t as scary as it used to be. Her loss of position to the king had changed the dynamic, as did her new title of Marchioness. Others in this very room had spent years, decades, to get a similar treatment, however the king’s gift wasn’t without loss and heartbreak. One could even describe her as a bird locked in a sun-gilded cage. To be this close to diplomats, soldiers, men with the capability of murder – yet no one quite intimidated her like the man she’d once pressed so tightly against her body, whose prayers and words she worshiped like no other. 

This being said it was time to shake off the remainder of her past self and establish a better version of herself at court. One that’s yet to be perfected, of course, but has significantly improved, compared to the naive, stubborn and heady mistress she’d once been. Luzia’s smiled at his words unable to let her fear win in any way. “I cannot thank your majesty enough for your benevolence and pray daily for your majesty’s good health and fortune.” Luzia averted her eyes for just a moment. She looked towards the ground before her eyes slowly focused on him again. Mistress. “I’ve grown quite fond of my new surroundings, your majesty, yet nothing compares to court.” How different everything felt now – so foreign, yet unchanged in its value and in her desire to be a part of it. A few men were whispering now, eagerly exchanging their thoughts while they talked. Nothing of real substance, Luzia thought, men playing their little games. “I’ve been fortunate enough to represent your majesty’s realm in foreign kingdoms and develop a fondness for other cultures. I’ve been taught various dances and had a chance to converse with some of the most brilliant minds in and outside of your majesty’s kingdom.” Luzia’s slightly lifted her head, “I shall forever honor and cherish your generosity.”

          she fed him with humility and fidelity, for which alfonso was uncertain if he was rendered appreciative or, perhaps, dissatisfied: craving that she should whirl into his purview as she had done before, causing––no, forcing––him to desire her, to thirst for her as though christ in the desert. the reception had already exceeded its time constraints, such was apparent in the foul glower deepening the creases on his advisers’ foreheads, and yet he conceded to having longed for her sharp wit in her absence, for which her present courteousness only provided a measly alternative; as, unlike his wife, luzia had seldom whet her tongue against him with malicious intent. from a youthful maiden, inducted into his court under the forbidding watch of her father and uncles, to the woman he entrusted with his utmost privacy, luzia was now something of a stranger, professing her loyalty in the years that separated them. her apparition before him brought him acutely to the past, unbidden as it seeped throughout his conscious. 

❛  you have enjoyed travels?  ❜  a blond brow flickered upon the king’s visage, voice deceptively airy. whilst gratified to put on display castilian’s finest jewels, he was struck with the notion that another king should be taken with her, as he had once been when luzia was a novelty in court, content to drink in her repartee like a spanish wine, marveled at––and used––like an andalusian mare. yet, no sooner than the thought sprung in his mind was it buried beneath a winter’s blight; he inclined his chin, regarding her with shoulders squared anew. ❛  you must tell me of them, though none shall compare to castile, i am certain. and of your children... i am told you have two, perhaps more now? i see clearly your role as mother, wife and diplomat becomes you, but, ❜  his lips tilt slightly at the corner, risen with ease over an another wise stony demeanour, ❛  you sons are welcomed at court, and the same invitation extends to yourself and your husband. i hope you will, at least, consider returning. ❜  

#castilianrose

[allfcnso]

POINT  DIVIDER  FOR  𝑨𝑳𝑭𝑶𝑵𝑺𝑶 𝑨𝑵𝑺𝑪𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑫𝑺

this  week  :  110  /  total  :  1105

#bronze membah c: #points /

[allfcnso]

location & setting: umm

closed to @bloodwrittcn

         castile’s relationship with the italian duchies and kingdoms was in a formative state, aided by diplomats and emissaries representing the two realms who led alfonso into a delicately developing pact with the de medici bank ––– they would fund his militaries, and the castilian crown would defend their sovereign legitimacy, should the neapolitan king attempt to invalidate the medici’s claim to autonomy. in theory, the italian concordat was simple enough to follow, its rules and regulations strictly mandated by the medici’s personnel: in practice, however, agreements inscribed by monks in illustrious manuscripts proved difficult to abide by when the ties of european nations became intercrossed, interlinked at every section, befuddled by individual agenda and close relations –– such as his own with the young king ferdinand. all this and more rolled like a stone in the back of the king’s mind, concerns turning and tossing until they became smooth and as glossy as sea-glass. alfonso’s ruminating was abetted by idleness as he awaited in the foyer of the sumptuous palais-cardinal, marking time as he anticipated another’s arrival. 

❛  lord sforza.  ❜  alfonso’s voice was commanding when, at last, it rose to greet the hawk-eyed visage of cesare sforza.  he plaited his fingertips together and held them behind his spine, surprised to find the man before him thinner, and taller, than he’d preempted.  ❛  the saga of milanese regency has stretched far and wide, and even in toledo, we are fervid to hear more of your sister-in-law’s remarkable triumphs. though, i have also heard that these purported triumphs are not seen by all as remarkable... regardless, i pray you shall accept my hearty offering of castilian wine and bread. ❜  he gestures to a liveried attendant who presented the king’s offerings, ❛  in españa we take earnestly our tapas.  ❜ 

#bloodwrittcn #hope its okay! c:

[allfcnso]

location & setting: tower courtyard

closed to @lorenzs​

(  tw: blood, execution.  )

         the french were keen to make a spectacle of everything –– including their executions. the courtyard reeked of ale and blood, dousing the straw that lay beneath a well-used scaffold. on it, the remains of a merchant thief sprawled limply, a head severed slovenly from its shoulders. alfonso did not flinch from the spray, the omens and the obscene revelries, nor did he avert his eyes from the gruesome moment the convict’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, and his head into a muslin-lined basket; he soaked in the chants from the townsfolk and the musician’s melodies as their playing grew an octave, combatting the winter’s sharp howls. fortunately, the sun had steeped past his pelts and linens, bathing the back of his head in a pleasurable heat; though it also brought with it a stench, whether of death or of drunken tomfoolery, that proved pervasive across the length and breadth of the courtyard square.

as king, he’d commanded the executions of militaries thousands strong within his own famed tower-green, but rarely so sumptuously –– with a sword, not an axe, forged of fine steel, wielded by an executioner who sported velvet gloves on both hands, which, with open-palms, accepted lavish tokens of gratitude by those who observed and who chanted as he effortlessly clipped through another’s throat, the body dragged by liveried yeomen. alfonso’s lip curled, a hand brought to his cheek to wipe away a speckle of ichor bubbled on his skin. he turned to the grand duke beside him, arms crossed over his chest.  ❛  nothing curbs one’s appetite so much as the spectacle of death. shall we, your grace, progress to the river’s side? unless, of course, you wish to continue observing king philip’s noble sacrifices.  ❜ 

#u better reply to this one >:o #lorenzs #blood tw #execution tw

[allfcnso]

location & setting: château de la tournelle, tennis court

closed to @mariusdanjou​

         wherever the empress was, there was marius d’anjou: nipping at her ankles, gnashing his teeth at her guests, yapping insurgently. yet, the grand hall is silent as the king swings his racket forward and the thudding, springy pop of a tennis ball falling into marius’ gloved palm echos around the court –– making the score deliberately even. as courtiers tore their eyes from the game, returning to their fare and their chatter, it proved an opportune time for alfonso to snap his fingers and call the game to a halt; gesturing to the attendants waiting upon him to bestow the pair with refreshments and silken face-cloths.  ❛  you’ve a decent aim, my lord.  ❜  one might wonder where that aim went when his target was the throne?  with a genial cant of his head, the king concedes, reservedly: ❛  and your attendance is much appreciated, all things considered.  ❜ the weight of henrietta von eggenberg’s death looms over alfonso’s words like a leaden cloud, extrapolated in the momentary glance he pins to marius. 

alfonso pressed the provided cloth to his face, dragged down his neck as chilly sweat dripped from his nape and into the white linen of his shift. he did not enjoy the prince’s company so much as he knew it was necessary, and now, deprived of his lady, he prayed his interests and ambitions would be far more honed on the empress’ behalf.  ❛  perhaps that is why she favours you––the empress. ❜  the ghost of a smirk climbs upon his lips, ❛  she enjoys sleight of hand tricks just as much as bold strokes and you, marius, are capable of both. are you not? ❜

#mariusdanjou

[allfcnso]

location & setting: château de la tournelle

closed to @imeldaofcastile​

          the shelves of the master’s study within the château de la tournelle proved begrimed with soot, littered with friable texts, folios and ancient translations, unfit to rest a bauble or a hand, let alone manuscripts of exceptional importance to the king of castile. the evening’s honoring and celebrations had not yet ended –– rarely, if ever, did the french draw to a close their intense pageantry before dawn –– and yet the matter of the austrian princess’ conjugal eligibility had occupied the king’s activities since twilight had settled over the château. rumours, like the wind, blew this way, bent that way ; he confirmed in his correspondence with the empress’ that no such mention of an impending betrothal for her daughters had been made, and yet his advisers urged him to revisit the matter, to awaken sleeping dogs, for the present summit offered an unprecedented opportunity to forge alliances where, previously, relations lay barren or frayed. 

alfonso was behooved to strike whilst the iron was hot ––– and whilst the balance of european power was at its most malleable. yet, the groan of floorboards draws him, with its brass hook in his subconscious, from his perusal. there is a rasp at the door, and in his usual clipped baritone, the king utters:  ❛  enter.  ❜ 

choking the display of surprise that smoulders upon his features when imelda, his sister-in-law, enters, alfonso quirks a brow upward –– rising from behind his desk to regard her.  ❛  lady biscay. ❜   perhaps he should address her as princess, or even sister,  yet within her gaze of untroubled obsidian he finds little kinship: he respects imelda, even tolerates her, but would not deign to play the role of comforting in-law.  ❛  i pray the festivities have not proven bothersome to your grace? or, perhaps, it is my brother that causes you to seek respite.  ❜ 

#imeldaofcastile

[allfcnso]

castilianrose​:

“The king’s not alone, Marquise Las Salinas. It’s best, if–” Luzia twirled around in front of a mirror, further examined her burgundy gown and her hair and jewelry just to check if everything looked adequate enough for the king. “If I attend instead of my husband, I agree,” she turned around to look at one of Alfonso’s men before replying with a web of lies that would, hopefully, allow her closer to the king, “he’s been feeling unwell as of late, mostly bedridden and in pain due to a high fever and gout keeping him awake at night. I shall represent my husband to the best of my abilities.” The Marchioness felt her heart pounding strongly against her rib cage. Her heart had always been the strongest muscle of hers, but today it seemed to work harder than ever before. She remembered her father’s warning words to not see the king without him or her husband, to not deceive or approach the king as this might anger him. Wasn’t any emotion worth seeing from the king? A genuine emotion, that she’d created through her actions? Good or bad, she longed to evoke something inside of him, to remind the man she once gave herself to about her existence, about their son’s existence. Besides, she had nothing more to lose. With innocence and naivete lost Luzia went straight towards the chamber she knew he’d be in, carefully plotting out the various possible outcomes and answers she could give to the king. Too much had changed and she wondered if they’d meet anew, changed by time, motherhood and separation.

Luzia brushed her hands over her gown before the door swung open, revealing the king in his grandeur, surrounded by influential men of all sorts, surrounded by glory and pairs of eyes analyzing and judging her. Her eyes, however, didn’t wander around to check for possible allies or enemies. The king, as per usual, left no room for other people to be seen and she frankly didn’t want to stare into the eyes of the men who had no interest in a naive, young woman. “Your Majesty,” Luzia curtsied, even slightly bowing her head to hide a short-lived smile. Once his question echoed through the chamber, Luzia felt comfortable enough to finally look at him again. “Your Majesty I beg you to excuse my unintentional deceit. The Marquess of Las Salinas feels unwell. With your Majesty’s position I shall represent my husband for the day.” The last bit caught her by surprise, but her facial expression didn’t change. “He’s eager to meet His Majesty, as am I, of course.” Her words left no room for interpretation. Her son, everything she had next to her old husband and titles – titles she’d rather abandon for something bigger. Alas, she was too late now.

          filed to a sharp edge by maturity or mayhap marriage, luzia de las salinas appeared the same, and yet, at once, markedly different. she had been inducted into a virtually universal institution of young mothers, and had squandered the rosy glow, the childish plumpness to her cheeks, in exchange for her slanted smirk, eyes that seemed to plunge like talons into his flesh. the maiden who’d flushed in response to the caress of his fingertips against her throat, who’d batted sooty lashes and spun tall tales to maintain his affections had vanished, and there was now an impression of angles everywhere; in the crest of her cupid’s bow, along the edge of her jawline, across the whetted blade of her shoulders squared most assuredly. composed of horizontal lines and neat vertexes,  she was now a mathematician’s perfect fantasy,  as she had once been his ideal escape –– robed in opulent silks and jewels that glinted like quicksilver in fire.  she fell as languidly as the evening sun, drenched in rich scarlets and hues of blood-orange, into a bow before him.  alfonso caressed his mouth, pads of his fingertips brushing against the blond bristles above his top-lip,  concealing a wry tug of his cheek.

he noted the flitter of her eyes,  motioning to the advisers and delegates enclosing his throne,  akin to vultures around a carcass.  try as they might to instill fear into the hearts of his subjects,  alfonso too noticed that luzia had not flinched,  not shied from the heat of their consolidated leers.  perhaps he could tempt her to blush with a gaze of his own –––– ?    ❛  say i forgive you,  that i choose to overlook your ‘deceit.’  ❜  his mouth tilts askew;  he is,  after all, no mathematician.  ❛  perhaps you might reward my clemency with some well-deserved catching up.  it has been a long time since you’ve been to court,  no?  tell me,  are the far reaches of my kingdom not beauteous to behold?  the seat of your husband’s estate,  as i recall,  is one of our many coastal jewels;  fitting that you should now be its mistress.  ❜

#castilianrose #sorry this took so long huhuhu ily

[allfcnso]

THE COMPLETE BIOGRAPHY OF ALFONSO I. 

#crhs.graphic #crhs.challenge #𝐈𝐕. nada hay nuevo debajo del sol / challenges . #:)

[allfcnso]

POINT  DIVIDER  FOR  𝑨𝑳𝑭𝑶𝑵𝑺𝑶 𝑨𝑵𝑺𝑪𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑫𝑺

this  week  :  245  /  total  :  995

#carrying over from vol2 #points /

[allfcnso]

lutorinis​:

location.  palais-cardinal  date.        february 1459 . status.     open to all . 

𝔄 full goblet & a witty tongue was all the lady of santorini needed to keep the dining table entertained . on the journey to paris , the barozzi made it a goal to dine with at least one stranger . she had met plenty , had danced with some - even engaged in talks of trade & fortune . tonight was one of those nights & the palais-cardinal wouldn’t see a candle blown out until the wee-hours of the early morning . the task of finding new trade alliances was no easy feat for the seasoned negotiator . not impossible , but definitely not easy . 

the conversation she was holding with an older duke , although was producing subtle laughter , was becoming quite droll . so in lucia fashion , she locked her venom green eyes onto another - perhaps more interesting guest . pale digits wrap around the handle of a golden spoon ; scooping a generous amount of pottage stew - her eyes locked on the other seated before her . 

“ tis a wonderful spell tonight , is’t not ? “  

–– 

         the grandiose banquet spread before the king and the assembled guests reminded him of the ever transforming nature of the world; this was an age of both persuasion and pacification. divorcing brute-force from politics and superseding it with gentle coaxes of business and wine both heightened and lightened it ––––– resulting in mutual merriment on all sides. by breaking bread with foreign rulers, rather than unleashing warfare, cooperation became not only viable, but imminent. such was witnessed in castile’s vastly different relationship with the italian duchies than in epochs past, and soon, he hoped, with the woman who sat across from him, beckoning alfonso with both her voice and the ferocity of the gaze she nailed upon him. alfonso lifted a goblet in response to her words, aired with a diplomatic mirth that was felt keenly by the guests seated around the table. 

“ wonderful indeed, your grace, and yet i wonder, who has casted such a spell? there is either witchcraft in their veins, or laced in this wine, as never before have i seen so many rejoicing spaniards ––– not a one claiming heresy. ”

#lutorinis

[allfcnso]

magdahlena​:

her hand, pliable as clay, molded to the form his demanded, and the warmth magda registered was of his palm –– not the compliment, nor the fact of his attention, though she noted both with a subtle tilt of her head. still, her gaze remained trained upon the scene before them, taking in as a whole the revelry and seeing little of its moving parts. as was now often the case, her mind was elsewhere. it leapt tonight with lacking grace from a distant past’s conversation with marius d’anjou to an also distant future’s cloistered room which, even in her imagination, reeked of afterbirth. her shoulders sagged as a deep, quiet sigh escaped her. with deliberation, the corners of her mouth raised in a smile –– one easy and practiced, almost sincere, as innocent and routine as the handholding itself. 

“ well enough, ” she answered. “it would be a joy to dance, but not with so many frenchmen flocking about and honking like geese.” indeed, for all the music and conversation, the boisterous laughter of drunken men cleaved through it all. magda’s misgivings were to the marrow; her distrust of the french was an inherited fact, a rivalry to which she subscribed even with no apparent stake in the matter. a single soul evaded her disdain –– and cécile, too, was now as spanish as magda herself –– but all the others were required to work off suspicion’s yoke. still, her performance of hostility was, in part, just that: were the room empty save a single flute, she would still have grimaced at the very invitation of dancing and merrymaking. 

as an afterthought, she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “ in truth, we are restless this evening, both of us. ” her smile remained static, but she turned her cheek cast a glance, first to alfonso, then to the shadow at his shoulder. feeding her husband was a perplexing task undertaken by many hands; some were deft and knowing but, even with better scraps at her disposal, magda remained separate from them. this particular offering was new, a hopeful confirmation she could now proffer only in light of the long-awaited quickening scarcely a fortnight past. magda returned her attention to the dancers, mid-lift with skirts twirling, and remarked, “ you appear well –– and, not merely the appearance of guilery, i hope? ” 

          there was ever hesitation in her touch –– rather than well-intentioned contemplation, he felt only irresolution in the long moments before magda gripped his fingertips in return. he found his wife to be deceptively compliant, duplicitously obedient; blonde head tilted, eyes catatonic and wide, lips slightly parted, glazed into place, hands resting in a fold at her lap, as though she were being made to sit by a painter, held by the stillness of her stance, rather than to observe and revel in the ample merrymaking. the queen reminded him of a doll in this sense, and yet rather than to accuse her of vacant cerebral facilities, he pondered only what her evidently deep reflections consisted of. doubtlessly she thought of her disdain toward him, or to the arid country she’d married into, or whichever misgiving she brooked at this hour; partially, the king was gladdened that she should keep her harboured qualms reserved. obedient, yes; if they were not to be the harmonious couple his advisers had envisioned, she would serve him by sparing strident clashes. 

alfonso, too, was gladdened that the accursed history they shared, the death of a child and the spoiling of the vows they’d pledged before the archbishop of toledo, failed to dampen the present happiness that was doled between them for the birth of an impending heir. his fingertips itched against hers to motion toward the various fabrics and stays and trims of ermine that eclipsed her burgeoning belly, able to be discerned when the queen stripped to the linen shift beneath her sumptuous regalia. it had brought the king supreme jubilation once, when their son’s able kicks appeared like footprints in the sand against her milk-white flesh, and yet, he could only seem to remember the blueness of his son’s toes when he beheld him for the first and last time. the reminder brought him firmly to his centre.

“ they are not all as repugnant, ”  alfonso contradicts, lifting his hand from hers to thumb a grape that rolls on his salver before popping it into his mouth. “ much maligned though they are, perhaps there is something to be gained from their transparency. your mother seems to favour them –– siodina tells me her french puppy, le prince noir, follows her like a shadow. ” alfonso had resolved long ago that he would put prince marius onto magda’s graces; deeming him the sort of man who, despite his best efforts to maintain harmony with other men, proved far more receptive to the gentility of a woman. siodina had not seen eye to eye with the king over this matter, and perhaps magda’s condition would sidetrack the operation, but deep in his mind the hope her fealty to him and to castile could be tested by her endurance bloomed. “ i am also told that the court will soon adopt the appellation ‘philip le doré’ for their young king. i pray, for his sake, that he does not mean to undermine my title, ” the king jested, the corner of his mouth cleaving into a brief leer. “ we will make a show of harmony with the french, so i suggest you attempt to appear less sullen. ” 

leaden eyes flash toward her lap, brows knitting together in a crease of concern. restlessness was not near grave enough to inspire immediate apprehension –– and yet it remained ever present, a symptom of their past returning to light. “ you need only trouble yourself with your own wellbeing, magda. tell me, have you consulted with the physicians the empress consigned yet? ”

#stillborn tw #magdahlena #what is this idk