La Reina Loca: A Juana I of Castile Timeline

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King of Danes

King of Danes

Honestly, Isabel, tea. It might be the cynical view, but it isn’t exactly like she is wrong. But I’m glad that they’ve come to an arrangement that allows both sisters to be happy, for now
 

BlueFlowwer

pandizzy said:
Her sister blinked, surprised. “Hate?” she repeated in an incredulous tone. “I have nothing but love for you in my heart. I'm trying to warn you, Juana. You may think you will rule by your husband's side as our mother does, but that is not what will happen. Our mother broke the rules. Juan's fate is to reign whilst yours is childbirth and sadness.” She stroked her arms gently. “You won't be like our mother. She is a queen regnant, tasked by God to rule Castile. You'll be little more than a broodmare, imprisoned and made to squeeze out one offspring after another, paraded on Manuel’s arm when he must mollify our parents and later our brother. And whatever you do to make him happy, to win his love and respect, it will never be enough.”
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I really hope Juana's life with Manuel is happier than this, but it was the truth for many royal brides for several centuries.
 
IsaacXII

IsaacXII

Isabel Jr needs either good therapy or hardcore motivation..... It feels like she is that one character from the movies who like talks from the shadows and gives the dark reality to the protagonist
 

Victoria

Isabel isn't exactly wrong but she of all people shouldn't be telling Juana that she feels too much. Great chapter and I hope thinks go well for Juana in Portugal.
 

Stahlo

Ah, Manuel buddy...you may have dodged a bullet only to step in the way of a tactical nuke. Although Manuel not being half as much of an ass as Phillip was will mitigate things to an extent. Ferdinand may also be more willing to play ball with him than he was with the Habsburgs when the time comes.
 
pandizzy

pandizzy

pandizzy said:
Toledo, Castile. May 1496.​

Juan asked her to ride with him. He knew that she could refuse him nothing, not when he asked her so gently and lovingly. She and Juan had the closest bond amidst the children of Queen Isabella, and had always played together before he was handed over to his tutors and she to the women. It was no surprise that he would try to comfort her when her heart was so broken.

They rode across the lands that surrounded Toledo, their escort struggling to keep up with them and Juana raised her head toward the sky, auburn hair bound in a braid. She had not left the castle since news came from Portugal, when they told her that Manuel wanted her sister, and she’d missed the sun. She missed its warm kiss on her skin, the light that burned behind her closed eyelids.

Tears burned in the corners of her eyes and Juana looked at her older brother, blonde hair stuffed under a large feathered hat.

“I don't understand why you're so upset,” Juan murmured, gentle and understanding. “There will be others.”

Juana shook her head. How could she explain it, in truth? The pain that she felt in her heart. Manuel was their kin, the Lord's chosen to rule in Portugal and he was supposed to be hers. She was to be Manuel's queen, not Isabel. She didn't even want him, she'd much rather scourge herself in Afonso's memory than honour her future husband. Why should she be rewarded with a man who was described to be kind, and just, recalling all that had been exiled by King John as his first act as ruler? Why should she be allowed to stay so close to home when she refused husband after husband, and said she intended to become a nun, to the despair of their mother?

Juana looked at her brother. “Isabel had her chance to be Queen of Portugal,” she said. “And she failed. She failed to have a child with her departed husband and to act in serenity after his death. The Lord clearly does not wish for her to be queen of our grandmother's country.”

“Juana,” said Juan. “You ought to be more sympathetic. You don't know her pain.”

“She isn't being sympathetic with me,” Juana said, kicking at the side of her horse to coax him into a trot. “She doesn't think of what will happen to me when she goes to my intended husband.”

Juan frowned. “What do you mean?” he said.

“María will soon go to Burgundy,” said Juana. “Catalina to England, but where will I go? Perhaps to Hungary, and to that old man, so Mother can give him her support against the Turks. Or to Denmark, so I can be far away and never return, so no one ever thinks of me again.” She looked at him. “I've been forgotten.”

“You haven’t,” Juan insisted. “Not by me.”

Juana didn’t answer him. Not when a sole rider came from the city, rushing to reach them. She and Juan urged their horses to go to him, certain that it was something important, because their mother never did interrupt their usual rides before. She too loved horses and knew how calming it could be to ride across the land.

“Your Graces,” said the man after a curt nod. “The Queen requests your presence before night's fall.”

Juan and her rode back into the city, following the sole rider, with their escort coming behind her. Juana wondered what her mother could possibly want up until the moment she was before her, still in her riding habit and with her hair pulled from its braid by the wind. The Queen was sitting by the window and she turned to look at her two children with affective strictness.

“Look at your sister, Juan,” said the great queen Isabella. “Soon enough, you won’t be able to anymore.”

Juana and Juan exchanged a glance.

“Did something happen, lady mother?” Juan asked, careful.

“Dom Francisco de Eça has returned with his master’s missive,” her mother began and Juana felt her heart race inside her chest. “His King, Dom Manuel, has chosen the Infanta Juana to be his bride, not Princess Isabel. I suppose it was her demands for the marriage, or maybe the fact that we offered a dowry equal to Isabel’s for Juana--” She could not speak anymore, not when her child threw herself at her feet, kissing the hem of her skirt.

“Oh, thank you, mother!” The words slipped past her lips, tumbling down. “Thank you, thank you!”

“Don’t thank me,” her mother said as Juana sat on her heels, looking up at her magnificent mother and queen. “It was the work of your father, not mine.” Her mother looked at her with a single look that could freeze the entire world, full of reproach. “I don’t appreciate the actions of a selfish daughter and before you leave, you shall apologise to your sister for your words against her.”

Juana nodded. “I shall,” she said. “I shall apologise and be to her as loving a sister as I have always been.”

Her mother put a hand over her head, as if to give her a blessing.

“Your father has decided to ride with you to the border,” she commented. “Dom Manuel has demanded your presence already. You’ll leave before July.”

“Thank you, mother,” said Juana. Her mother dismissed her and Juan afterwards and her older brother left to go with his tutors, though Juana barely paid attention.

She was going to Portugal!

Juana walked across the corridors of the royal residence in search of her older sister. She found Isabel in the chapel, as she always was, the once Princess of Portugal kneeling by the altar, clutching her hands as she prayed.

Although she hadn’t intended to interrupt, her sister turned to look at her, certainly having heard a misstep or another. Since the death of her husband, Isabel had worn simple black garments or a widow's robes, her shorn golden curls hidden under a hood. Her cheeks were sunken in and there were dark bags under her eyes, but she looked no different than what she looked every day. Widowhood had been cruel.

Her sister crossed herself and stood up to look at her, all without saying a word. Juana sighed.

“I came here to apologise,” she said. “What I did to you was cruel and unbecoming. I shouldn't have done it.”

Isabel arched an eyebrow. “Done what?” she asked. “If you can't speak of it, why do it?”

Juana huffed.

“I'm sorry for pulling your hair and slapping you when it seemed you'd wed King Manuel,” she said. She set her shoulders back. “Now, it seems there was no reason at all to do it. Dom Manuel has chosen me in the end.”

For a moment, Isabel said nothing. And then she sighed and walked towards Juana. It was almost a shock to have her sister embrace her and it took a breath before Juana returned it, wrapping her arms around Isabel's lithe body. Her sister rubbed a soft hand down her back before she took a step back, closing her fingers around Juana's shoulders.

“My baby sister,” she murmured. “My poor, foolish baby sister. You don't even know what you're getting yourself into.” She smiled kindly, as though her words didn't ring in Juana's ears. “Perhaps I'd make a poor wife to Manuel, but at least, I know what it demands from a person. I don’t think you do.”

Juana didn't know what to say. She was speechless, staring at her sister and her eyes that were so like their mother's.

“When you become a wife, you will no longer be a daughter, a child,” Isabel said. “Your foolish behaviour won't be accepted anymore. Sweet sister, you're an abnormal creature. You feel too much, but it's time to stop. There is no other way to survive. The man you pine for does not exist. He is a figment of your imagination and it’s time you accept that.”

Juana felt her heart race as her sister continued.

“Nearly every year, you will be called upon your duty to bear heirs for your husband, to forget when he looks at another woman. When he eventually sells off your daughters to the highest bidder, and causes your sons’ deaths in his needless wars.” Isabel smiled and her eyes found a strand of auburn hair that had escaped from Juana's braid, allowing a humorous glint to overtake them. “And perhaps you may still love him throughout all of that, but in the end, Dom Manuel will not measure up to the image you have of him in your head. Men will always disappoint you, my sweet thing, either by living or dying.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Juana asked, trembling. “Do you hate me?”

Her sister blinked, surprised. “Hate?” she repeated in an incredulous tone. “I have nothing but love for you in my heart. I'm trying to warn you, Juana. You may think you will rule by your husband's side as our mother does, but that is not what will happen. Our mother broke the rules. Juan's fate is to reign whilst yours is childbirth and sadness.” She stroked her arms gently. “You won't be like our mother. She is a queen regnant, tasked by God to rule Castile. You'll be little more than a broodmare, imprisoned and made to squeeze out one offspring after another, paraded on Manuel’s arm when he must mollify our parents and later our brother. And whatever you do to make him happy, to win his love and respect, it will never be enough.”
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Ugh did I seriously forget to give credit? I'm the worst friend in the world.

Thank you to @HortenseMancini for giving me permission to use her idea of why Manuel married Juana in her story, Margaret Domina!!!


(the tagging isn't working)

Edit: spelling.
 
Last edited:
June 1496.
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    • pandizzy

    pandizzy

    Eltham Palace, Kingdom of England. June 1496.​

    Elizabeth of York, Queen of England, rocked her youngest daughter gently, cooing at the handsome face of her little girl. Mary was just two months old, with wispy red hair and grey eyes that opened and closed lazily and Elizabeth had already fallen deeply in love.

    Her fifth child was a balm to her poor heart, with all the worries she had over Arthur in Ludlow and the boy that claimed to be her brother. The birth had been difficult enough, but to have her in hand was a great gift from the Lord.

    Little Bess jumped at her feet, wanting to take a closer look at her little sister. She was almost four, with angelic golden curls and bright green eyes, as well as round pinkened cheeks that likened her to the cherubic images now favoured by the artists. Behind her stood Henry, called Harry, the five-year-old Duke of York, with wide blue eyes. He attempted to tug at his mother’s skirts, always demanding her attention.

    “Careful, children,” said Queen Elizabeth. A nurse came to pick Mary and she handed her off with a smile, before looking at her two older children. Margaret was a proper lady now at seven and had no desire to be with her younger siblings, but Bess and Harry were so close in age, she sometimes thought of them as twins rather than anything else. “What is it that bothers you so?”

    Harry kicked at the ground. “I wanted the baby to be a dog,” he admitted in a low voice and Elizabeth smiled.

    “We can get you a dog, my love,” said Elizabeth. Her favourite son smiled in return.

    She spent another two hours in the nursery before returning to Whitehall, just as the sun was setting. Her movements attracted the attention of the people, her barge running down the Thames. Elizabeth smiled gracefully as they called out her name.

    She had healthy children, a country at peace after so many years—the man claiming to be her brother notwithstanding— and a husband who loved and respected her. It was good to be Queen.

    When she arrived at Whitehall, a servant of her husband came to tell her that the King was summoning her to his chambers. It was not evening yet, so Elizabeth didn’t assume he wished to perform their marital duties. Despite their desire for each other, both believed it was not proper to do such an act during the daytime, when servants could walk in and some matter might need a king’s attention to be solved.

    She found Henry by the hearth, though the logs were unlit and he was reading a paper. Her husband turned to look at her when she entered and Elizabeth could see the way his shoulders relaxed visibly in her presence, how he seemed more at ease with himself and the world around him.

    But the smile that had begun to spread across his mouth melted off and was replaced by a grimace. Elizabeth frowned.

    “Is there something wrong?” she asked, walking closer to him. Henry took her hands in his and sighed.

    “That damned boy,” he said. “The one claiming to be the Duke of York and your brother has married Lady Catherine Gordon, a kinswoman to King James of Scotland. If she has a son…” Elizabeth squeezed his hand.

    “No one will accept him,” she said. “Catherine Gordon is a junior noblewoman, not a match for whom they see as a king, even if false.”

    “My spies say they are preparing an invasion,” Henry answered, ever the nervous fellow. Elizabeth smiled.

    “Then you will crush them,” she responded. “Your army is strong, the coffers are filled and you have a peace treaty with France.” She pulled him closer, wrapping her arms around his waist. Henry was lean, and tall, just a handful of inches taller than her. “Don’t worry about it, my king. When we’re together, you mustn’t think of the future.”

    He embraced her back as Elizabeth placed her head over his chest, listening to the steady beats of his heart.

    “In the end, we will prevail,” she said. “We must have faith in God.”

    “As Job did?” he asked. Elizabeth looked at him and smiled. “I love you, Bessie.”

    “I love you too,” she said in return. Elizabeth kissed him and smiled when she felt his hands clutch the laces at the back of her dress.

    They might not do this in the daytime, but she could make an exception.


    Toledo, Castile.​

    Her heart was racing as her sister's words rang in her head. Never enough. It will never be enough. It doesn't sound fair. What could she possibly mean by that? Surely, she was lying. Surely, she was just jealous and trying to frighten her before she left.

    Juana would prove her wrong. She would dazzle Manuel with her wit and her charm, she would offer prudent advice as befitting a gracious and modest consort. She would deliver healthy children in scores and surely he would love her for all of it. How could he not love the perfect wife and queen? How could he not love her? Everyone did. She was her father's favourite, her mother's most beautiful daughter.

    She walked and still the thought needled at her. She would only be Manuel’s consort, she wasn’t a queen in her own right like her mother. But what did that matter? What would that change? Her father loved and respected her mother as his queen first and a fellow sovereign second. Why should Manuel be any different?

    Catalina smiled when Juana stopped before her, red-gold hair twisted into two braids that were then pinned up. Her little sister had grown even more beautiful after her eleventh birth, with a soft and loving smile. She held up a bouquet of lovely Valencia roses, the petals as yellow as dawn and a smile tugged at the corner of Juana's mouth.

    “For you,” Catalina said. “To remind you of home.”

    “Gracias, hermana,” Juana said, taking the roses. She leaned down to kiss her sister’s round cheeks before embracing Catalina tightly. Her sister was not even eleven, a beautiful young girl that Juana would miss greatly in her life in Portugal. “Take care of yourself, sister, and behave. I have no wish to come here and order you to obey mother and Doña Elvira.”

    Catalina giggled. “I’m more obedient than you!” she exclaimed and Juana laughed.

    ‘I’m your older sister and within some months, I’ll be Queen of Portugal as well,” she said. “You need to respect me.” She poked Catalina at her stomach and her little sister laughed. Juana sighed and embraced her again, knowing how much she would miss her. More than María, or Isabel. Catalina was her favourite sister. “I’ll name one of my daughters after you, my love.”

    Catalina smiled. But before Juana could say anything else, someone cleaned their throat behind her. She straightened herself and looked at her father, all ready to start their ride to the border. He would take her to Portugal and hand her over to the nobles that would then take her to Manuel. Normally, her mother might be inclined to ride with them as well, but the Queen was still upset with Juana over what she had done to Isabel. This was her punishment.

    Juana sighed and looked around her, at the people that had been with her for her entire life. Some Castilians, around two thousand of them, would make up her suite in Portugal, but many others would stay. Including her entire family.

    “Be brave, child,” her mother said, sitting on her throne. “Don’t forget who you are, or where you came from.”

    Juana nodded and curtsied as deeply as she could. When she rose again, she was ready to leave. She looked at her father and nodded, trying to hide her smile.

    She was going to Portugal.
     
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    • ordinarylittleme

    ordinarylittleme

    pandizzy said:
    Little Bess jumped at her feet, wanting to take a closer look at her little sister. She was almost four, with angelic golden curls and bright green eyes, as well as round pinkened cheeks that likened her to the cherubic images now favoured by the artists.
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    I see a future queen of Denmark-Norway-Sweden 👀
     
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