It just felt right that she would do that, as much to prove to Anne which of them is the more important now as anything else, so I am glad you liked it.
The Queen is Dead!: Katherine of Aragon dies in 1518
- Thread starter FalconHonour
- Start date
It just felt right that she would do that, as much to prove to Anne which of them is the more important now as anything else, so I am glad you liked it.
Maybe i phrased it wrong.
I meant - the way it read to me was that Henry was eyeing Anne up (regardless of age). So Marie came in hard on the fact she would be hold his Queen's train because she is her sister etc.
I sort of imagine Henry's relationship with Anne ITTL to be similar to his relationship with his sister Mary, Duchess of Suffolk. She'll always be one of his favourites and they'll banter like mad, but there's nothing at all sexualised about it.
Maybe i'm looking at it from the sense of knowing in real life Henry married Anne.
We all are, which is why the first thing I had him say to her is: " Marie should be ashamed. She never told me you were such a pretty child.”
I was trying to make it clear she was too young for him. Maybe I failed, maybe our OTL memories of Kitty Howard are too strong, but I did try.
Section XLVI - September 1520
“We’ll sail for Calais as soon as the Queen has been crowned. We’ll sail from Hull, so it’ll only be two days ride, if we ride hard. Then with the right wind, we should be in Calais in no more than two or three days.” Thomas, Duke of Norfolk, looked up at the King, a predatory gleam in his eye, “We can be smashing Francis back from the barricades at Calais within a week, Sire.”
Henry paused, considering and then shook his head, “Not Calais.”
“Not Calais, Sire? But… King Francis is marching on it as we speak. The garrison are bold-hearted, but they cannot hope to hold out for long without reinforcements. Calais is our jewel on the continent, My Lord. The last remnant of Edward III’s grand Plantagenet empire. We cannot afford to lose it!”
“That’s exactly the thinking Francis will expect of us, Lord Norfolk. He will be prepared to act against that. Which is why, if we are really to stake our claim to France the way we ought to, we cannot afford to follow through.”
“But then, what are we to do?” Consternation ran through the room of Henry’s councillors. Henry glanced around at them all, and nodded to Brandon.
“Charles, you’ll take 1000 men at arms and 500 archers and sail for Calais to relieve the garrison. That will more than double the strength at Calais. It should be enough to buy the rest of us some time.”
Brandon nodded, knowing better than to interrupt Henry when he was in full flow like this. Henry held his gaze for a moment and then, satisfied, turned his attention to the map of France unrolled on the council table.
“The rest of us…” He leaned over and jabbed a meaty forefinger at his destination, “will sail for Rouen.”
“Rouen?” Surprise and admiration for the King’s daring rippled through the room in equal measure. Sensing he had his audience spell-bound, Henry continued, “It’s almost a year since Alencon died and yet Francis prevaricates on naming his successor as Governor of Normandy. Until said Governor is named, the Norman administration is in disarray. We’re going to use that to our advantage. We’ll drive into Normandy so hard Francis won’t know what’s hit him. We’ll move quickly, seizing what we need and burning what we don’t. Winter’s almost upon us. If the Normans are starving, they won’t dare oppose us. And when we’ve taken Normandy, we’ll swarm down into Picardy and then on to Paris. I tell you, Sirs, by the time the year is out, I will be King of France in truth as well as in name, and you shall all be the Norman lords you were born to be!”
It was a bold claim, almost too bold, but it was a simple one, appealing to men’s vanity and greed as well as their bravery and patriotism. The mix was too heady to resist and the makeshift council chamber rang with cheers.
“King Henry! King Henry! King Henry and St George!”
The tight-fitting cloth of sliver bodice and overskirts highlighted how slender she was and the sapphire blue silk underskirts, along with the sapphires studding the overskirt, echoed the blue of her eyes. Yards and yards of silver tulle pooled on the floor behind her, waiting for a maid to come and pick it up. Her honey curls, usually bound up in a snood, tumbled free for once, strings of chunks of lapis lazuli wound into them. She looked... Regal.
“Queen Mary,” she breathed to herself, “Queen Mary.”
The words had a magical ring to them, one she still couldn’t quite believe. She fingered the many-stranded sapphire and diamond necklace Henry had given her the night before. He seemed determined to make up for the fact that he couldn’t crown her from the Tower by showering her in jewels.
A knock on the door dragged her from her musings.
“Are you ready, My Lady Queen?”
Charles Brandon looked in, unable to stop himself gaping as Marie revolved slowly to face him. He wanted to find the words to describe how beautiful she looked, how pure and innocent, but you would have needed a skilful poet for that. He wasn’t a poet at all, much less a skilful one, and as such, words failed him. At last, all he said was, “It’s time.”
“I know, Lord Suffolk. I’m ready.”
She put her hand on his arm and, with a maid holding her train out of the dust, he laid her down the stairwell and out to the Castle doorway. Her sister met them there, swallowing hard as she took in what a vision of beauty and majesty her sister was before sweeping to the floor in a deep obeisance, “Your Majesty.”
“Sister,” Marie greeted, as Anne kissed her hand and went around behind her to pick up her train, “Let us go.”
Henry paused, considering and then shook his head, “Not Calais.”
“Not Calais, Sire? But… King Francis is marching on it as we speak. The garrison are bold-hearted, but they cannot hope to hold out for long without reinforcements. Calais is our jewel on the continent, My Lord. The last remnant of Edward III’s grand Plantagenet empire. We cannot afford to lose it!”
“That’s exactly the thinking Francis will expect of us, Lord Norfolk. He will be prepared to act against that. Which is why, if we are really to stake our claim to France the way we ought to, we cannot afford to follow through.”
“But then, what are we to do?” Consternation ran through the room of Henry’s councillors. Henry glanced around at them all, and nodded to Brandon.
“Charles, you’ll take 1000 men at arms and 500 archers and sail for Calais to relieve the garrison. That will more than double the strength at Calais. It should be enough to buy the rest of us some time.”
Brandon nodded, knowing better than to interrupt Henry when he was in full flow like this. Henry held his gaze for a moment and then, satisfied, turned his attention to the map of France unrolled on the council table.
“The rest of us…” He leaned over and jabbed a meaty forefinger at his destination, “will sail for Rouen.”
“Rouen?” Surprise and admiration for the King’s daring rippled through the room in equal measure. Sensing he had his audience spell-bound, Henry continued, “It’s almost a year since Alencon died and yet Francis prevaricates on naming his successor as Governor of Normandy. Until said Governor is named, the Norman administration is in disarray. We’re going to use that to our advantage. We’ll drive into Normandy so hard Francis won’t know what’s hit him. We’ll move quickly, seizing what we need and burning what we don’t. Winter’s almost upon us. If the Normans are starving, they won’t dare oppose us. And when we’ve taken Normandy, we’ll swarm down into Picardy and then on to Paris. I tell you, Sirs, by the time the year is out, I will be King of France in truth as well as in name, and you shall all be the Norman lords you were born to be!”
It was a bold claim, almost too bold, but it was a simple one, appealing to men’s vanity and greed as well as their bravery and patriotism. The mix was too heady to resist and the makeshift council chamber rang with cheers.
“King Henry! King Henry! King Henry and St George!”
*** *** ***
“If Anne thought her gown was grand, she should see this one,” Marie thought, peering eagerly into the looking glass before her.The tight-fitting cloth of sliver bodice and overskirts highlighted how slender she was and the sapphire blue silk underskirts, along with the sapphires studding the overskirt, echoed the blue of her eyes. Yards and yards of silver tulle pooled on the floor behind her, waiting for a maid to come and pick it up. Her honey curls, usually bound up in a snood, tumbled free for once, strings of chunks of lapis lazuli wound into them. She looked... Regal.
“Queen Mary,” she breathed to herself, “Queen Mary.”
The words had a magical ring to them, one she still couldn’t quite believe. She fingered the many-stranded sapphire and diamond necklace Henry had given her the night before. He seemed determined to make up for the fact that he couldn’t crown her from the Tower by showering her in jewels.
A knock on the door dragged her from her musings.
“Are you ready, My Lady Queen?”
Charles Brandon looked in, unable to stop himself gaping as Marie revolved slowly to face him. He wanted to find the words to describe how beautiful she looked, how pure and innocent, but you would have needed a skilful poet for that. He wasn’t a poet at all, much less a skilful one, and as such, words failed him. At last, all he said was, “It’s time.”
“I know, Lord Suffolk. I’m ready.”
She put her hand on his arm and, with a maid holding her train out of the dust, he laid her down the stairwell and out to the Castle doorway. Her sister met them there, swallowing hard as she took in what a vision of beauty and majesty her sister was before sweeping to the floor in a deep obeisance, “Your Majesty.”
“Sister,” Marie greeted, as Anne kissed her hand and went around behind her to pick up her train, “Let us go.”
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Erm, given that Henry is just about to go to war with Francis and Anne is at home in England with her sister, I don't think that's happening in a hurry...
Please tell me that Henry's plan to go for Rouen backfires and Francis's captures him, a la Pavia style.
Hey. 1) Spoilers. 2) You got Francis marching on Calais the way you wanted. Don't get too greedy.
Thanks. I'm basing it off Edward III's raids into France during the Hundred Years War.
It doesn't actually have to result in the capture of Paris, or even move beyond Normandy to be successful. The mere threat presented to Paris by an English army in Normandy might be enough to cause Francis to abandon the siege at Calais, and potentially come to terms if there isn't an unusually decisive battle somewhere.
In my best River Song voice, "Spoilers, Sweetie".
But yes, Henry doesn't have to come anywhere close to doing everything he wants to do in this raid into France to force Francis to come to terms.
Section XLVII - September 1520
I have been doing some more work on this TL today, so have a bonus chapter. For anyone who's interested, I have just sorted out up to March 1522
Marie never really did remember her coronation day in the years to come. It all passed in far too much of a blur for that. She did remember kneeling on the floor of the Minster to swear allegiance to God, King Henry and the people of England, of vowing to serve them faithfully and with all of her heart until her dying breath. She could call to mind exactly the smell and feel of the Chrism with which the Dean of the Minster, Richard Welby, anointed her on her hair, chest, hands and feet; the weight of the orb and sceptre as they were placed in her hands.
Princess Mary and her own brother George’s excited faces as she passed them in the front pew on her return from the altar was also forever imprinted on her mind. But the pageants and masquerades played out in her honour? No, they were gone, blending into one another in one great colourful rush of celebration.
A different day, however, she remembered far more clearly. The day Henry sailed to undertake his war against France.
She nodded, “I will, I promise.”
“And you’ll go straight back to Bridewell Palace and stay there until you hear otherwise, understand? I need you somewhere I know you’ll be safe.”
“I will, Henry, you have my word. But you take care too. Come back to me safe, please. Come back to me.”
“Don’t fret, sweetheart. God’s on my side. Dieu et mon droit, remember? Of course I’ll come back to you.”
“Good. I’ll be here waiting. As will someone else.”
“Someone else?”
Smiling impishly, Marie gently removed one of his hands from her cheek and guided it down to her belly, letting it linger there as he worked out the full import of what she was trying to tell him for himself.
“Marie! Darling!”
With a joyful bellow, he swung her off her feet and spun her round, “What news! You’ve made me the happiest man alive!”
“Exactly. So carry that news with you, my lord husband. Carry it with you as you give Francis the thrashing of a lifetime and, when you return to me victorious, we’ll make a public announcement that I am with child. Is that a bargain?”
“It’s a bargain!” Henry swore, kissing her fully on the mouth before kneeling for her blessing and bounding away from her up the gangplank of his enormous flagship, the “Great Harry.”
His last sight of England, as the ship drifted out of harbour, was Marie, surrounded by her ladies, waving to him, her eyes alight with the secret they shared.
Marie never really did remember her coronation day in the years to come. It all passed in far too much of a blur for that. She did remember kneeling on the floor of the Minster to swear allegiance to God, King Henry and the people of England, of vowing to serve them faithfully and with all of her heart until her dying breath. She could call to mind exactly the smell and feel of the Chrism with which the Dean of the Minster, Richard Welby, anointed her on her hair, chest, hands and feet; the weight of the orb and sceptre as they were placed in her hands.
Princess Mary and her own brother George’s excited faces as she passed them in the front pew on her return from the altar was also forever imprinted on her mind. But the pageants and masquerades played out in her honour? No, they were gone, blending into one another in one great colourful rush of celebration.
A different day, however, she remembered far more clearly. The day Henry sailed to undertake his war against France.
*** *** ***
“I’ve made Buckingham Regent while I’m away, but you’re still his Queen. He still has to answer to you. Make sure he remembers that,” Henry whispered, taking Marie’s face between his hands as they stood on the docks at Hull.
She nodded, “I will, I promise.”
“And you’ll go straight back to Bridewell Palace and stay there until you hear otherwise, understand? I need you somewhere I know you’ll be safe.”
“I will, Henry, you have my word. But you take care too. Come back to me safe, please. Come back to me.”
“Don’t fret, sweetheart. God’s on my side. Dieu et mon droit, remember? Of course I’ll come back to you.”
“Good. I’ll be here waiting. As will someone else.”
“Someone else?”
Smiling impishly, Marie gently removed one of his hands from her cheek and guided it down to her belly, letting it linger there as he worked out the full import of what she was trying to tell him for himself.
“Marie! Darling!”
With a joyful bellow, he swung her off her feet and spun her round, “What news! You’ve made me the happiest man alive!”
“Exactly. So carry that news with you, my lord husband. Carry it with you as you give Francis the thrashing of a lifetime and, when you return to me victorious, we’ll make a public announcement that I am with child. Is that a bargain?”
“It’s a bargain!” Henry swore, kissing her fully on the mouth before kneeling for her blessing and bounding away from her up the gangplank of his enormous flagship, the “Great Harry.”
His last sight of England, as the ship drifted out of harbour, was Marie, surrounded by her ladies, waving to him, her eyes alight with the secret they shared.
Buckingham will be causing trouble, but not while Henry is away, you'll be pleased to know.