Aldgate House

[Dirty Chai]

West of the northeastern Aldgate leading out of London and just east of the St. Katherine Christ Church is a well-endowed town house combining the properties of what once was four different properties in the previous century, built by Elizabeth de Burgh, 4th Countess of Ulster and wife of the Duke of the Clarence, several decades ago, for 171 pounds. As such, a large crest (larger than any shield a man-at-arms would use in battle) hangs over the front yard, bearing the cross of the de Burgh family.

Now, it is owned by her grandson, Roger Mortimer, the 4th Earl of March and 6th Earl of Ulster. When in London, he and his wife, Eleanor Holland, reside here.

[Mary The Quene]

Some days after Mortimer's wedding, Lord Westmorland arrives to speak with Lord Mortimer, having the desire to reconcile with Lord Mortimer, Westmorland himself wearing a splendid blue dress.

[Dirty Chai]

It is some minutes that Neville is left waiting in the entry rooms of the manor before the Earl of March appears, coming through a door with a servant in a livery jacket at his side. His long black hair seemed almost wet - it seemed Neville had been waiting because the Earl was dressing. Late riser?

"Lord Westmoreland," he greeted simply as he turned from the door, "Welcome. Can my footman retrieve anything for you, wine, food?"

[Mary The Quene]

Your Grace. Westmorland began to reply on a polite tone. Wine will do for the moment, we thank you. Westmorland had been drinking alot of lately, often wine and overthinking that meeting with Bollingbroke gave him headaches more than anything else. Hmm, i wish to reconcile for what happened during our last meeting, if i had offended His Grace then i do want to apologize, i have come as a friend here. but don't make it happen twice boy, he said with a grin.

[Dirty Chai]

Your Grace. Westmorland began to reply on a polite tone. Wine will do for the moment, we thank you. Westmorland had been drinking alot of lately, often wine and overthinking that meeting with Bollingbroke gave him headaches more than anything else. Hmm, i wish to reconcile for what happened during our last meeting, if i had offended His Grace then i do want to apologize, i have come as a friend here. but don't make it happen twice boy, he said with a grin.

Roger Mortimer paused for a moment, simply staring at Neville with a look of absolute confusion before glancing over at his servant as he returned with wine for the guest.

"How might you have offended me?" he said, with an awkward smile and a chuckle, "I'm not sure I've ever even spoken to you, face-to-face.."

Another pause. His eyes narrowed in what might be realization, as if trying to sort through his likely clouded memories.
"When was this, that we met?" he asked, though he had a suspicion he had made a fool of himself during his wedding feast.

[Mary The Quene]

Lord Westmorland grinned, apparently Mortimer drunkenness had carried him away at his wedding feast, oh well, could be worse, maybe there is hope for Mortimer to mature after all. At the wedding feast, my Lord, let us say that the wine carried us both away in our conversation when we touched the subject of inheritance. that was true, mortimer blamed him for having control of his lands during his minority. You see, i'm sure we can forgive and forget what happened? oh boy you better do or the consequences could be disastrous.

[Dirty Chai]

"Eh," he sounded, slightly perturbed but also seemingly unbothered. Roger yawned and then lazily stepped to take a seat across the small drawing room from the Earl of Westmoreland. A second yawn. He passingly wondered if Eleanor was still in bed, or..?

"Well, I won't insult you again by pretending that I do not hold any resentment towards those who profited from the absence of my father and mother." The Earl of March frowned, but seemed still entirely relaxed, laying back in his luxurious chair.

"But I can tell you that I'm certainly sober enough now to recognize that you are not to blame." That was somewhat of a lie - he knew nothing about the Nevilles. They could have been his father's friends or they could have simply been more dinner party guests eating the pie the earls had demanded in parliament. He suspected the latter, though.

However, it it had not been for the king's mother - Holland's mother, more so - Roger's money may have actually gone to he and his education, as the consortium had been intended. But instead, he ended up in the arms of Kent. He didn't hate them though - or at least, most of them. He had become disillusioned with his uncle and the Earl of Arundel's impressed opinions and beliefs after Arundel had rebelled an for lost his head. A man he had looked up to seemed to not be who Mortimer thought he was.

----------------------------------

Roger had him buried, put in the ground before dawn even came. It was a boy. Born without breath. So small, so still. Or that is what's had been said. The Earl of March refused to lay his eyes upon his son, having his servants organize for the stillborn corpse to be laid to rest in the nearest church yard. He heard a servant girl confide in her superior that she worried about the child's soul - he had not been baptized, so how would god know him?

He refused to think about it, to remain on it, near it, or even around it. He stayed home through the night, instead. As soon as the undertakers of his first child left the manor in the hours following the midnight birth, Roger went in to see his wife..

[Mary The Quene]

"Eh," he sounded, slightly perturbed but also seemingly unbothered. Roger yawned and then lazily stepped to take a seat across the small drawing room from the Earl of Westmoreland. A second yawn. He passingly wondered if Eleanor was still in bed, or..?

"Well, I won't insult you again by pretending that I do not hold any resentment towards those who profited from the absence of my father and mother." The Earl of March frowned, but seemed still entirely relaxed, laying back in his luxurious chair.

"But I can tell you that I'm certainly sober enough now to recognize that you are not to blame." That was somewhat of a lie - he knew nothing about the Nevilles. They could have been his father's friends or they could have simply been more dinner party guests eating the pie the earls had demanded in parliament. He suspected the latter, though.

However, it it had not been for the king's mother - Holland's mother, more so - Roger's money may have actually gone to he and his education, as the consortium had been intended. But instead, he ended up in the arms of Kent. He didn't hate them though - or at least, most of them. He had become disillusioned with his uncle and the Earl of Arundel's impressed opinions and beliefs after Arundel had rebelled an for lost his head. A man he had looked up to seemed to not be who Mortimer thought he was

You see, it was not my choice either to share in the consortium, it passed to me through my father who secured it, i didn't even asked for it yet i got it. that was true, the consortium granted to the Nevilles started with his father who now been long dead and then passed to himself, Westmorland took a cup from his wine. But you will be king one day, if His Majsty does not secures a heir, you seen i see it as my debt to serve you as a loyal subject and i will always stand with you, and maybe i will prove that sooner rather than later Unless you insult me again boy, neville offered his hand now to shake, a symbol of reconciliation.

[Dirty Chai]

The Earl of March glanced at the offered hand quite blankly, considering it for a moment. It was just a handshake, if nothing else. After a moment he smiled wryly and took the hand and shook it.

"He will, though," Mortimer said, quite sure. "It is impossible for him to not know how that would leave England." Sometimes - a lot, actually, as being a possible king seemed monumental and everything else in his life were shrunken before it - Roger thought about it, and in a lot of those "would be" scenario she he imagined, he'd just refuse the crown. But if he could have it whole, unmarred, free of the hands of the vile and greedy..

[Mary The Quene]

The Earl of March glanced at the offered hand quite blankly, considering it for a moment. It was just a handshake, if nothing else. After a moment he smiled wryly and took the hand and shook it.

"He will, though," Mortimer said, quite sure. "It is impossible for him to not know how that would leave England." Sometimes - a lot, actually, as being a possible king seemed monumental and everything else in his life were shrunken before it - Roger thought about it, and in a lot of those "would be" scenario she he imagined, he'd just refuse the crown. But if he could have it whole, unmarred, free of the hands of the vile and greedy..

We hope so too that the king secures himself a child, My lord. With Bollingbroke apparently plotting in secret it would be best for England for Richard to father a child, if not the possibility of civil war could be real. Westmorland was particularly relieved when Mortimer accepted his hand as a gesture of reconciliation, it seemed that Mortimer was mature enough after all, Westmorland now made his choice who to support. Alright, i'm happy we reconciled, now i must take my leave for there are many important matters awaiting us. he said smilingly

[Dirty Chai]

We hope so too that the king secures himself a child, My lord. With Bollingbroke apparently plotting in secret it would be best for England for Richard to father a child, if not the possibility of civil war could be real. Westmorland was particularly relieved when Mortimer accepted his hand as a gesture of reconciliation, it seemed that Mortimer was mature enough after all, Westmorland now made his choice who to support. Alright, i'm happy we reconciled, now i must take my leave for there are many important matters awaiting us. he said smilingly

Mortimer scratched the side of his head, running long fingers through fine black hair. "Us? What matters are those?"

She smiled again, a bit relieved.

"You really would? Many lords have tossed aside their wives when they... they proved infertile, God wills not"

Eleanor looks at her husband.

"Oh, Roger, I'm so sorry, for both of us. Our first... and... I wanted this child"

She sheds a single tear.

"We will go out into the west country," Roger changed the subject. "I am not needed in this city, anyway."
He was so young yet still, but already was deciding to escape the city and the court. The Earl of March had expected to do more than just sit silently through long sessions of parliament, but apparently he had mistaken the prestige apparently afforded him. Regardless of one's feelings on the matter, there simply was little reason for Mortimer to stay in London. At least in the marches, he could manage something - his own domain; and, above all, he truly hoped that perhaps the rustic estates of his ancestors would do Eleanor some good.

[Oznerol]

Eleanor was in bed, looking to the nearest wall, her back to the door. She was in a nightshirt, her hair wet with sweat. The servants had changed her sheets, covered in blood, a maid was rubbing her forehead with a linen cloth.

[Dirty Chai]

Mortimer stood just beyond the door, dumbly, silently, somberly watching a woman wipe his wife down with a cloth. He had walked past the women carrying out the old sheets when he had made his way to the bedroom - a horrific, deep red basket. More red than white.

He remained silent for so long that after a time he realized the remaining servant was looking at him for instruction on whether she could leave, and he nodded to her absently. When she left, the two were alone in what seemed like a hollow space, sucked of all the air. Roger sat himself down on the bed, facing away from Eleanor cowardly. More silence followed, until it weighed down on Mortimer's shoulders so much that he could not help but blurt out something.. anything..

"Alienor.." he turned his torso and head to look at her, moving his right hand to find one of her legs under the sheets. "Look at me, mine love.."

[Oznerol]

Eleanor moves, avoiding his touch.

"This... this is my fault"

She was weeping.

"Did you see him? Such a fine boy, dead. I killed him, my womb killed our son, like some sort of devouring monster"

[Dirty Chai]

Her husband seemed to move with her, after her, turning fully and crawling onto his knees onto the bed to get close to her. "No," he almost sounded pleading, "It isn't.."

Roger hesitated before closing in on her, unsure of what to say, but then arranged himself to lie alongside her, leaning in close so that he looked almost directly into her eyes - or as much as she allowed, anyway. "What could you have done wrong? This is not your fault, it is not anyone's.."

Except god, perhaps. But this son of March did not like where these paths of thought and questioning led. Never had.

[Oznerol]

Holland looks at his eyes. Eleanor tries to smile, albeit she only manages to deliver a faint, feeble smile.

"Do you really think so?"

She looked away.

"It was our first son... a-and... and now he's dead. He didn't even breathe... he was blu--ue"

Eleanor tried to not start crying again, but at the same time she seeks Mortimer's hand.

[Dirty Chai]

"Perhaps he was sick," Roger suggested, taking her hand quickly, as soon as his was sought. "Maybe it is this city, maybe the humors run foul here,"

A large lock of his black, fine hair rested on her shoulder. "We can move out to Wigmore, or to Ludlow, where it is quiet, open.."

[Oznerol]

"Only God knows..."

If he does. He wasn't baptised, would he be in Limbo for all eternity?

She didn't like those thoughts, thy only added more layers of anxiety and fear.

"Maybe. Maybe this rotten city is to blame. I want to go home, to Wigmore or Ludlow"

Eleanor said home, as it was her own already. She tried to wipe her tears, sobbing.

"So, do you think it isn't my fault? My mother birthed so many healthy sons, yet I failed..."

[Dirty Chai]

"You could bear me no sons," Roger said, continuing his attempts to soothe her, "and I would still love you all the same."

Of course Roger desired children, but child or no child, she was his beloved Eleanor.
"Your mother is also near twice your age, and she married young."

[Oznerol]

"You could bear me no sons," Roger said, continuing his attempts to soothe her, "and I would still love you all the same."

Of course Roger desired children, but child or no child, she was his beloved Eleanor.
"Your mother is also near twice your age, and she married young."

She smiled again, a bit relieved.

"You really would? Many lords have tossed aside their wives when they... they proved infertile, God wills not"

Eleanor looks at her husband.

"Oh, Roger, I'm so sorry, for both of us. Our first... and... I wanted this child"

She sheds a single tear.