An Imperial Match: Anne Boleyn marries Charles V

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TheBookwormBoy

pandizzy said:
Toledo, Castile. 31st of July, 1522.​

“My lords,” said Charles of Habsburg to the convened nobles, “I understand your feelings, truly I do, but my marriage is a private matter, as well as a state affair. By taking the Lady Anne as my queen, I have made the best decision in regards to all of my holdings, not just Spain.” He looked at them, Elvira Fernández, the 2nd Duchess of Santángelo and Fadrique Enríquez, the 4th Admiral of Castile, among many others, “Were it not yourselves who told me that I should marry and produce an heir? Well, with Mary Tudor, I would have to wait a decade. Now, in a year’s time, I can have a son in the cradle.”

The nobles of Castile and Aragon looked between themselves, shaking their heads and muttering things under their breath. To say that they were displeased with this match was to put it mildly. They had wished for him to marry one of his maternal cousins, a princess with Iberian blood and ties to the land, a princess who would bring him such hefty a dowry as England or the fortunes of Portugal. It was a pity, thus, that this could never be. He was married now to a woman of his own choosing and no one could do a thing about it.

“Tell me something, my lords,” he continued, “What should I have done? You ask of me to marry Isabella of Portugal, and yet my Flemish subjects tell me to take Charlotte of France as my bride. The Imperial Diets offer me their daughters and sisters, who are German and will serve as payment for their votes in the election. Who should I listen to? Which land is more important to me?”

They say nothing, as they clearly would like him to focus more on his Iberian matters, despite his recent imperial election. Charles sighs and settles back on his throne as he ponders about the decisions that led him to this moment.

Perhaps he should have married Isabella of Portugal or Charlotte of France, or even Mary Tudor. Perhaps that would be a wiser decision, made by a wiser king, but he had married Anne. He needed her, wanted her and no one could tell him that he had wronged by making her his wife. She deserved better than a single night of passion and a lifetime of ruin. She deserved the throne and that was what he would give her.

The 2nd Duke of Frías stepped forward and said, “Your Majesty, we would be more assured if His Majesty could ascertain that yourself and the Queen will make Castile or Aragon your principal residence. And that any children soon to be born will be raised in these kingdoms.”

Charles put a hand to his chest, “You have my word.”

Later, after assuring the nobles of his intentions to remain in Spain for the next years, he went to visit Anne. She smiled when she saw him and ran to greet him, jumping in his arms. Charles laughed and spun her around, delighted to have her there with him, in his arms, in Spain as his wife, his eternal wife.

“How did it go?” she asked, kissing his face.

“Better than I expected,” said Charles, “They have agreed to accept our marriage, as long as we live in Spain and that our children be raised here. You will have to learn how to speak Castilian and have local ladies-in-waiting, of course, but things could have gone so much worse.”

Anne’s expression shifted and for barely a second, he saw her frown, displeased with what he had said. The second passed and her face smoothed down again back into a neutral expression. Charles frowned too, “What’s wrong? Are you upset, my darling?”

“Nothing,” she said, “It’s nothing.”

Charles settled her on the floor again and looked at her, his wife. His beautiful and loving wife. She was wearing a dark red gown, an old one from England. They had arrived in Toledo only the day before and there was still time before the seamstress would be finished with her new dresses, gowns worthy of a Queen and Empress. It was why he had not asked her to attend the meeting with his nobles. He thought they would be less willing to accept her if she was dressed more poorly than them.

“Tell me,” he said, pressing a hand to her face, “Sweetheart?”

“It’s just…” she shrugged, “I thought we would be soon on our way to the Low Countries. It has been so long since I last saw the Dowager Duchess and I miss her very much.”

“Oh,” he said. This was not what he expected, “We can’t. Not now, at least. But soon, I promise. I know my aunt is eager to see you again, not just as Anna de Boullan, but as her new niece.”

It was a lie. His aunt was less than pleased with his marriage, but she did not need to know that. He wanted to make Anne happy and if that meant lying to her, then so be it.

“But I tell you what, my darling,” he said, “Next week, we will have to travel again, so Toledo will not seem as terrible.”

“Where are we going?” Anne asked with a smile, circling his neck with her arms.

“To Tordesillas,” he answered, “You must meet my mother, after all.”
Click to expand...
Can’t wait to see how Joanna reacts to her son marrying Anne. Here’s hoping she takes the news well.
 
Awkwardvulture

Awkwardvulture

Ooh Anne and Juana speaking promises to be interesting... Even if she is not actually the ruling Queen in practice I doubt Juana would be at all pleased with Charles's choice... Hopefully, she will remember the love that she once held for Phillip (despite how badly he treated her), and will understand why the two eloped... Great chapter!
 
6th of August, 1522.
  • Index
    • pandizzy

    pandizzy

    Lisbon, Portugal. 6th of August, 1522.​

    “No, João! My mind is set!” shouted Isabella of Portugal as she stood up, “Do not attempt to change it.”

    “Sister, please,” said João, standing up as well, “Think about what you are saying. You cannot join a convent!”

    “I can and I will,” Isabella responded with conviction, dragging her skirts as she walked away from him, trying to put as much distance between them. She knew he would attempt to grab her and shake her, trying to make her see reason, and she would not allow him to do so, because perhaps this is what it took to convince her not to join a nunnery as she planned, “I have always said, João. Either Caesar or nothing. Now that Charles has married that English courtier, I will be content with nothing and serve my true Lord: God.”

    João sighed. This is what he wanted to avoid. Since they were little, their mother had filled Isabella’s head with tales about their cousin Charles and the glittering future that awaited her. Their father had tried to stop it, but the Queen was insistent on getting the precious match for her daughter, insisting even on her deathbed that they should make it so. Because of it, Isabella was determined to marry only Charles of Austria or join a convent if he decided to marry someone else, as he had already done.

    “Do not let that man ruin your prospects!” said João, “There is still a chance for you. There are more marriages to be made, better marriages.”

    “Better than Charles?” She chuckled, “Do not lie to me, João. He is the Holy Roman Emperor and the King of Spain. In Europe, there is no one more powerful than him.”

    “I don’t mean better in the sense of power, which he does not lack, but in the sense of character. Charles has shown himself to be untrustworthy, breaking off his engagement like that. He is not a man I would wish to see you being married to.”

    Isabella smiled, “Don’t let Leonor see you talking like that about her brother.”

    João smiled back. Leonor had entered her confinement, to rest and be away from men until her child was born, but still. If she heard him talk about her own brother in such a way, she would be far from pleased, that he could be sure.

    He stepped forward and took Isabella’s hand in his, holding it tightly. He looked up, looked at those blue eyes just like his, inherited from their mother and sighed. Isabella also understood what was left unsaid between them, the years of a close friendship between siblings. “Please, don’t let him stand in your way, don’t let him keep you from true happiness,” he begged. João didn’t want to see his sister cloistered away with the women. He wanted to see her married, with children, and happy, as he had promised his father he would make it happen. If not with Charles, then with someone else, though he could not think of anyone high enough to marry the eldest sister of the King of Portugal.

    “Charles was my only chance of true happiness,” she replied, sadly.

    “Sister…” He shook his head. Isabella should not have let herself fall in love with the image of Charles, as the marriage between them had never been a sure thing, only a possibility, far away with all of the engagements Charles found himself in over the years, “Give me one chance. Just one chance.”

    “What?” She frowned.

    “Give me one year to find you a good husband,” he said, “One year. If I fail, I will allow you to join the convent of your choosing.”

    Isabella sighed and settled herself on the back of her feet. She knew this was the only option he would give her, because, no matter what she said or did, João could forbid her from joining a nunnery and marry her off to anyone he chose. This was her only choice to do as she wanted.

    “Very well, brother,” she said, “One year."

    Whitehall, England. 8th of August, 1522.​

    Catherine of Aragon tried to keep herself from smiling all day, knowing that people would notice such a change in her, but it was very happy. She was happy, so so happy, and the court deserved to know because this news would delight them as well.

    For the first time in four years, she was with child again. Two months had gone by without her courses, with her experiencing sickness in the morning, tender breasts. The physicians and midwives were certain of her new pregnancy, just as she was, as certain as she was the last six times. A woman could only go through so many lying-ins without recognizing the signs on herself.

    She was with child. With child! God had answered her prayers at last. She would have to do a pilgrimage to say thanks or donate extensively. It was the only way she knew to celebrate such joyous news. Oh, how happy she was.

    And it would be a son. She could feel it, deep in her belly, but just to make sure, she nibbled extensively on asparagus, as they were said to make a boy. A son. She had promised Henry a son and she would deliver him. The wait had only made the news sweeter and more welcoming.

    The night after the midwife visited her, Catherine had an intense dream. In it, she played with a boy, a little boy with red hair and blue eyes like Mary’s. He called her mama and she called him John. It was clear to her that the dream had been sent by God, to tell her that she would have a son. A son!

    Oh, the name was far from ideal, and it would take a time before she convinced Henry to agree to it, as he would certainly prefer Henry or Edward for his heir, but she knew she could do it. Henry listened to her, as she was his constant princess, his loyal wife.

    Catherine also knew that her age was against her. Most women at thirty-seven did not bear more children, both for their health and for their inability to procreate, and the King’s mother died at her own age, giving birth to a short-lived daughter. Henry was very worried for her, but she knew she had to give him a son to save his kingdom from falling into chaos after his death. Who else could give him an heir if not his wife?

    As to better her chances, she would rest and eat well, as recommended by Dr Linacre. When the time came for her confinement, Catherine would lie in at Hampton Court, which Cardinal Wolsey gracefully offered for her use, and deliver Henry the son he needed.

    She could do this. She knew she could.
     
    Last edited:
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    • TheBookwormBoy

    pandizzy said:
    Lisbon, Portugal. 6th of August, 1522.​

    “No, João! My mind is set!” shouted Isabella of Portugal as she stood up, “Do not attempt to change it.”

    “Sister, please,” said João, standing up as well, “Think about what you are saying. You cannot join a convent!”

    “I can and I will,” Isabella responded with conviction, dragging her skirts as she walked away from him, trying to put as much distance between them. She knew he would attempt to grab her and shake her, trying to make her see reason, and she would not allow him to do so, because perhaps this is what it took to convince her not to join a nunnery as she planned, “I have always said, João. Either Caesar or nothing. Now that Charles has married that English courtier, I will be content with nothing and serve my true Lord: God.”

    João sighed. This is what he wanted to avoid. Since they were little, their mother had filled Isabella’s head with tales about their cousin Charles and the glittering future that awaited her. Their father had tried to stop it, but the Queen was insistent on getting the precious match for her daughter, insisting even on her deathbed that they should make it so. Because of it, Isabella was determined to marry only Charles of Austria or join a convent if he decided to marry someone else, as he had already done.

    “Do not let that man ruin your prospects!” said João, “There is still a chance for you. There are more marriages to be made, better marriages.”

    “Better than Charles?” She chuckled, “Do not lie to me, João. He is the Holy Roman Emperor and the King of Spain. In Europe, there is no one more powerful than him.”

    “I don’t mean better in the sense of power, which he does not lack, but in the sense of character. Charles has shown himself to be untrustworthy, breaking off his engagement like that. He is not a man I would wish to see you being married to.”

    Isabella smiled, “Don’t let Leonor see you talking like that about her brother.”

    João smiled back. Leonor had entered her confinement, to rest and be away from men until her child was born, but still. If she heard him talk about her own brother in such a way, she would be far from pleased, that he could be sure.

    He stepped forward and took Isabella’s hand in his, holding it tightly. He looked up, looked at those blue eyes just like his, inherited from their mother and sighed. Isabella also understood what was left unsaid between them, the years of a close friendship between siblings. “Please, don’t let him stand in your way, don’t let him keep you from true happiness,” he begged. João didn’t want to see his sister cloistered away with the women. He wanted to see her married, with children, and happy, as he had promised his father he would make it happen. If not with Charles, then with someone else, though he could not think of anyone high enough to marry the eldest sister of the King of Portugal.

    “Charles was my only chance of true happiness,” she replied, sadly.
    “Sister…” He shook his head. Isabella should not have let herself fall in love with the image of Charles, as the marriage between them had never been a sure thing, only a possibility, far away with all of the engagements Charles found himself in over the years, “Give me one chance. Just one chance.”

    “What?” She frowned.

    “Give me one year to find you a good husband,” he said, “One year. If I fail, I will allow you to join the convent of your choosing.”

    Isabella sighed and settled herself on the back of her feet. She knew this was the only option he would give her, because, no matter what she said or did, João could forbid her from joining a nunnery and marry her off to anyone he chose. This was her only choice to do as she wanted.

    “Very well, brother,” she said, “One year."

    Whitehall, England. 8th of August, 1522.​

    Catherine of Aragon tried to keep herself from smiling all day, knowing that people would notice such a change in her, but it was very happy. She was happy, so so happy, and the court deserved to know because this news would delight them as well.

    For the first time in four years, she was with child again. Two months had gone by without her courses, with her experiencing sickness in the morning, tender breasts. The physicians and midwives were certain of her new pregnancy, just as she was, as certain as she was the last six times. A woman could only go through so many lying-ins without recognizing the signs on herself.

    She was with child. With child! God had answered her prayers at last. She would have to do a pilgrimage to say thanks or donate extensively. It was the only way she knew to celebrate such joyous news. Oh, how happy she was.

    And it would be a son. She could feel it, deep in her belly, but just to make sure, she nibbled extensively on asparagus, as they were said to make a boy. A son. She had promised Henry a son and she would deliver him. The wait had only made the news sweeter and more welcoming.

    The night after the midwife visited her, Catherine had an intense dream. In it, she played with a boy, a little boy with red hair and blue eyes like Mary’s. He called her mama and she called him John. It was clear to her that the dream had been sent by God, to tell her that she would have a son. A son!

    Oh, the name was far from ideal, and it would take a time before she convinced Henry to agree to it, as he would certainly prefer Henry or Edward for his heir, but she knew she could do it. Henry listened to her, as she was his constant princess, his loyal wife.

    Catherine also knew that her age was against her. Most women at thirty-seven did not bear more children, both for their health and for their inability to procreate, and the King’s mother died at her own age, giving birth to a short-lived daughter. Henry was very worried for her, but she knew she had to give him a son to save his kingdom from falling into chaos after his death. Who else could give him an heir if not his wife?

    As to better her chances, she would rest and eat well, as recommended by Dr Linacre. When the time came for her confinement, Catherine would lie in at Hampton Court, which Cardinal Wolsey gracefully offered for her use, and deliver Henry the son he needed.

    She could do this. She knew she could.
    Click to expand...
    Oh can’t wait to see who Isabella gets offered. I just imagine John parading all of the eligible appropriate bachelors trying so hard to get her to choose one and her turning her nose up at all of them. Have to hand it to her, it is a rather daunting task to find any king who’s not a severe step down from Charles’ power and influence.
     
    HortenseMancini

    HortenseMancini

    Aaaah I’m so happy for Catherine and Henry!
    pandizzy said:
    Oh, the name was far from ideal, and it would take a time before she convinced Henry to agree to it, as he would certainly prefer Henry or Edward for his heir
    Click to expand...
    John was the name of Catherine’s dear, deceased brother so it’s no wonder that she would like to use it for her son...I think Henry can be talked around to it for an heir but he would very easily agree to it for a second or third son.
     
    Kylia

    Kylia

    I'm worried about Catherine. The juxtaposition of Isabella's scene and Catherine's worries for her child and her health just makes me think Catherine will die in Childbirth and John will push for Isabella to marry Henry.
     
    Awkwardvulture

    Awkwardvulture

    Oh I truly hope that Catherine gets the son she wants... But I am quite concerned for her life, what with her nephew the King of Portugal having a year to find a new match for his sister Isabella, and the fact that two of Catherine's older sisters both died in childbirth... Excellent!
     
    RedKing

    RedKing

    *fingers crossed* Please be a healthy son, please be a healthy son! Hopefully Joao can find Isabella a good husband! Brilliant update!
     
    King of Danes

    King of Danes

    It would be really ironic if Catherine dies in childbirth and Henry then marries Isabella! Then Charles and Henry will essentially have swapped wives hahaha :)
     
    pandizzy

    pandizzy

    Kylia said:
    I'm worried about Catherine. The juxtaposition of Isabella's scene and Catherine's worries for her child and her health just makes me think Catherine will die in Childbirth and John will push for Isabella to marry Henry.
    Click to expand...
    ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
     
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