Fair enough, we have jumped forward three years in time between Francois's birth and the last chapter.
A Queen Twice Over: Mary Tudor the Elder Marries Francis I of France
- Thread starter FalconHonour
- Start date
Ah that makes sense! Can’t wait for the next chapter!Fair enough, we have jumped forward three years in time between Francois's birth and the last chapter.
I know history is against me, but I'd really like to read that Henry and Katherine got their son, so even if Henry went somewhere else for his 'spare' his heir came from his first legit wife.
I'm sure I can do you a story where that happens some day, if you want
If they don't want to, I do!I'm sure I can do you a story where that happens some day, if you want
Yes please!I'm sure I can do you a story where that happens some day, if you want
Section XXII - June 1520
I couldn't resist the chance of some Boleyn family fluff...
“Annabelle,” Madame Marguerite beckons, breaking into her musings, “You needn’t stay. I’ve spoken to the Cardinal. Your brother is among King Henry’s knights and your sisters Mary and Eleanor are in the Princess’s household. Go and find them when we go in to dine.”
“El -Eleanor?” Even as Anne’s heart leaps at the thought of reconnecting with her older siblings, her voice breaks on a question. Madame Marguerite arches an eyebrow.
“Oui, ma petite. Eleanor. Aren’t you curious about the sister you’ve never seen? Go and find them. I’ll not need you tonight…and I’ll make sure Marie and Renee don’t either.”
“Merci, Madame,” Anne curtsies and then, as applause breaks out around her at the symbol of Anglo-French unity made by the Kings escorting each other’s wives in to dine, slips away in the direction of the English encampment, meaning to ask directions to Princess Mary’s rooms, where she now knows her sisters will be.
She finds George first.
“Annie? Is that you?”
Her older brother peels himself away from a clump of knights and pauses, gasping.
Anne freezes, darting a look at him. The last time she saw George, he was accompanying their father on a fleeting trip to Paris on their way through to Calais after a diplomatic mission. That was a year or more ago, and George, at fourteen, had still been in the grip of gangly, coltish adolescence. Now, he is just shy of his sixteenth birthday, being born on All Hallows’ eve three years before Anne herself, and a more polished young man, it seems, would be hard to find. Those months in King Henry’s household have done him good.
Without a word, she rakes George with her sleek dark gaze, trying to absorb the change in him. From the way he blinks and swallows as he returns her frank look, he is clearly also trying to reconcile the half-grown woman before him with the little girl he remembers.
They might have stood there forever, frozen in the moment, but suddenly, someone shoves past them, jostling them both. The movement breaks the spell, and George laughs, throwing his head back with the merry abandon Anne remembers, and gathers her into his arms.
“Hello, little sister. I hate to start off with a cliché, but, my, how you’ve grown! Mary’s not going to believe her eyes when she sees you.”
“Madame Marguerite and Queen Marie take good care of me,” Anne shrugs, not realising how Gallic her movements are until George smirks and elbows her.
“They’re turning you into a proper little Frenchwoman, aren’t they?”
“I’m dancing on the English side in all the entertainments, I’ll have you know,” Anne sniffs, “Madame Louise has decided my English blood trumps my French upbringing and has partnered me with the Count of St Pol throughout.”
“Oh, has she now?” George teases, “Oh, well, you never know. Maybe Papa won’t disown you just yet then.”
“George!” Anne swats at him, then slips her arm through his, “Come on. I want to find our sisters. You can show me where they’re quartered.”
“You’re visiting Mary and Eleanor? Nora will be thrilled. She’s always wanted to meet you.”
“Really?” Anne doesn’t want to admit it, but a few of her nerves vanish at George’s words. George nods and draws her closer, tucking her against his side as he steers her through the crowd.
“Hmm. I helped escort the Princess Mary to the meeting. Nora talked of nothing else but meeting her big sister. I’d say you’ve got quite the little admirer there.”
Anne’s cheeks tint pink and she ducks her head for a moment, but there’s no time to say anything else, for they have reached a wooden palace painted to look like brick. George sweeps her around to the west wing and through a side door, nodding to the sentries as they pass, and then waving to a plump woman with dark hair and tired eyes as she draws level with them in the corridor beyond.
“My sister Anne, come to visit with Mary and Nora,” he explains and Anne drops a half-curtsy as the older woman glances over at her, chuckling.
“Take her in, Sir George. Who knows, maybe meeting the famous Anne will sweeten Nora’s temper at last. She’s in a right pet today.”
“Really? That’s not like Nora,” George’s eyebrows shoot up and the older woman sighs, “Aye, well, maybe she’s just tired of travelling. I’m hoping she’ll settle down again now we’re in one place for more than a night.”
With that, she waves them on. George kisses her hand and then they are past her, swanning through the corridors with the easy arrogance of youth.
“Lady Bryan, the Princess’s governess,” he explains as they turn the corner. Anne nods, but before she can say anything, George throws a door open triumphantly.
“Here they are!”
Anne glances through and sees her older sister, but Mary is too intent on her struggle with a little girl with a mass of blonde curls to notice them.
“Nora, please! You know you have to set an example for the Princess and Lady Margaret! You’re the oldest!” Mary’s voice is tired, and she has a wrinkled shift clutched tight in both hands, as though she has been trying to force it over Nora’s head.
“But Mary, I’m not tired! I don’t want to take a nap! Naps are for babies!”
“Mary! Look who I found,” George cuts across Mary’s response and their older sister finally looks up.
“Annie!”
Shift forgotten on the floor, Mary is across the room in an instant. She pulls Anne into her arms.
“Oh, look at you! I left a little girl behind me and now you’re a woman! A beautiful young woman!”
“A beautiful young Frenchwoman. The Duchess of Alençon has got her claws into our sister. Papa will be appalled,” George teases, and Anne rolls her eyes.
“A Frenchwoman dancing on the English side of the entertainments,” she retorts and Mary chuckles.
“I see you two haven’t changed.”
Anne smiles softly at her older sister and then turns, looking down at the little girl who has frozen in the corner, listening. Her blonde curls are tousled and her cheeks are pink with temper, but now that Mary has stopped trying to force a sleeping shift over her head, she is too curious to run away.
Mary follows Anne’s gaze and turns too.
“And this, of course, is little Eleanor. Doesn’t she look so like our lady mother? Nora, this is your older sister Anne. Are you going to come and say hello?”
Eleanor doesn’t react to Mary’s words, but Anne has spent enough time in the nursery around little Margot and François to know that one doesn’t push young children. Stepping forward out of Mary’s shadow, she crouches down and waits for Eleanor to come to her.
It takes a few moments, but before long, Eleanor has shuffled across the room, hand outstretched to stroke Anne’s lustrous dark hair.
“You have George’s hair,” she whispers and Anne nods.
“I know. We look like Papa. You and Mary got Maman’s looks.”
Anne has to fight a lump in her throat as she speaks, for it is true. Seeing little Eleanor is like seeing a childish version of her hazy memories of Elizabeth Howard come to life.
Fortunately, Eleanor is too young to hear the catch in Anne’s voice. Natural confidence quickly reasserting itself, she tugs on Anne’s sleeve.
“I’m going to attend Pwincess Mawy at her be’wo – be’wo -,”
“Betrothal?” Anne asks gently and Eleanor nods proudly.
“Wow! That’s a big job! Are you sure you’re up to it?”
Eleanor nods eagerly and then looks at Anne, wide-eyed, “Are you going to be there too?”
“Yes. I’m going to wait on Madame Marguerite. And I’m dancing in all the masques,” Anne straightens as her legs begin to protest the crouch, and then smiles down at her little sister as a thought strikes her.
“Would you like to come to my tent and see the dresses I’ll be wearing for them?”
At the thought of doing anything other than taking a nap, Eleanor’s eyes light up, “Yes, please!”
“Anne! Lady Bryan wants her down for a nap or she’ll not get through the evening!”
“Look at her, Mary,” Anne retaliates, “She has no intention of sleeping. Let me take her. At least that way, you might get the Princess and Lady Margaret down.”
Mary hesitates, then nods. She’s a mother too, after all. Her daughter Alice might be two years younger than Nora, but she knows how difficult toddlers can be once they take it into their heads to refuse something.
“Go on then. But you didn’t get permission from me.”
Anne nods and takes her cloak off, wrapping it round little Eleanor to keep her warm on the walk across the valley.
“Take my hand, Eleanor, and don’t let go. It’s busy out there and I don’t want to lose you, understand?”
Eleanor nods solemnly and then the two youngest Boleyns slip from the room.
The last George and Mary hear of them is Eleanor chirping, “You can call me Nora, you know. All my friends do.”
Balinghem, June 1520
Anne watches King Henry playing with Mademoiselle Margot and the Dauphin and smiles. The English sovereign is clearly a good father. Princess Mary is a very lucky girl.
“Annabelle,” Madame Marguerite beckons, breaking into her musings, “You needn’t stay. I’ve spoken to the Cardinal. Your brother is among King Henry’s knights and your sisters Mary and Eleanor are in the Princess’s household. Go and find them when we go in to dine.”
“El -Eleanor?” Even as Anne’s heart leaps at the thought of reconnecting with her older siblings, her voice breaks on a question. Madame Marguerite arches an eyebrow.
“Oui, ma petite. Eleanor. Aren’t you curious about the sister you’ve never seen? Go and find them. I’ll not need you tonight…and I’ll make sure Marie and Renee don’t either.”
“Merci, Madame,” Anne curtsies and then, as applause breaks out around her at the symbol of Anglo-French unity made by the Kings escorting each other’s wives in to dine, slips away in the direction of the English encampment, meaning to ask directions to Princess Mary’s rooms, where she now knows her sisters will be.
She finds George first.
“Annie? Is that you?”
Her older brother peels himself away from a clump of knights and pauses, gasping.
Anne freezes, darting a look at him. The last time she saw George, he was accompanying their father on a fleeting trip to Paris on their way through to Calais after a diplomatic mission. That was a year or more ago, and George, at fourteen, had still been in the grip of gangly, coltish adolescence. Now, he is just shy of his sixteenth birthday, being born on All Hallows’ eve three years before Anne herself, and a more polished young man, it seems, would be hard to find. Those months in King Henry’s household have done him good.
Without a word, she rakes George with her sleek dark gaze, trying to absorb the change in him. From the way he blinks and swallows as he returns her frank look, he is clearly also trying to reconcile the half-grown woman before him with the little girl he remembers.
They might have stood there forever, frozen in the moment, but suddenly, someone shoves past them, jostling them both. The movement breaks the spell, and George laughs, throwing his head back with the merry abandon Anne remembers, and gathers her into his arms.
“Hello, little sister. I hate to start off with a cliché, but, my, how you’ve grown! Mary’s not going to believe her eyes when she sees you.”
“Madame Marguerite and Queen Marie take good care of me,” Anne shrugs, not realising how Gallic her movements are until George smirks and elbows her.
“They’re turning you into a proper little Frenchwoman, aren’t they?”
“I’m dancing on the English side in all the entertainments, I’ll have you know,” Anne sniffs, “Madame Louise has decided my English blood trumps my French upbringing and has partnered me with the Count of St Pol throughout.”
“Oh, has she now?” George teases, “Oh, well, you never know. Maybe Papa won’t disown you just yet then.”
“George!” Anne swats at him, then slips her arm through his, “Come on. I want to find our sisters. You can show me where they’re quartered.”
“You’re visiting Mary and Eleanor? Nora will be thrilled. She’s always wanted to meet you.”
“Really?” Anne doesn’t want to admit it, but a few of her nerves vanish at George’s words. George nods and draws her closer, tucking her against his side as he steers her through the crowd.
“Hmm. I helped escort the Princess Mary to the meeting. Nora talked of nothing else but meeting her big sister. I’d say you’ve got quite the little admirer there.”
Anne’s cheeks tint pink and she ducks her head for a moment, but there’s no time to say anything else, for they have reached a wooden palace painted to look like brick. George sweeps her around to the west wing and through a side door, nodding to the sentries as they pass, and then waving to a plump woman with dark hair and tired eyes as she draws level with them in the corridor beyond.
“My sister Anne, come to visit with Mary and Nora,” he explains and Anne drops a half-curtsy as the older woman glances over at her, chuckling.
“Take her in, Sir George. Who knows, maybe meeting the famous Anne will sweeten Nora’s temper at last. She’s in a right pet today.”
“Really? That’s not like Nora,” George’s eyebrows shoot up and the older woman sighs, “Aye, well, maybe she’s just tired of travelling. I’m hoping she’ll settle down again now we’re in one place for more than a night.”
With that, she waves them on. George kisses her hand and then they are past her, swanning through the corridors with the easy arrogance of youth.
“Lady Bryan, the Princess’s governess,” he explains as they turn the corner. Anne nods, but before she can say anything, George throws a door open triumphantly.
“Here they are!”
Anne glances through and sees her older sister, but Mary is too intent on her struggle with a little girl with a mass of blonde curls to notice them.
“Nora, please! You know you have to set an example for the Princess and Lady Margaret! You’re the oldest!” Mary’s voice is tired, and she has a wrinkled shift clutched tight in both hands, as though she has been trying to force it over Nora’s head.
“But Mary, I’m not tired! I don’t want to take a nap! Naps are for babies!”
“Mary! Look who I found,” George cuts across Mary’s response and their older sister finally looks up.
“Annie!”
Shift forgotten on the floor, Mary is across the room in an instant. She pulls Anne into her arms.
“Oh, look at you! I left a little girl behind me and now you’re a woman! A beautiful young woman!”
“A beautiful young Frenchwoman. The Duchess of Alençon has got her claws into our sister. Papa will be appalled,” George teases, and Anne rolls her eyes.
“A Frenchwoman dancing on the English side of the entertainments,” she retorts and Mary chuckles.
“I see you two haven’t changed.”
Anne smiles softly at her older sister and then turns, looking down at the little girl who has frozen in the corner, listening. Her blonde curls are tousled and her cheeks are pink with temper, but now that Mary has stopped trying to force a sleeping shift over her head, she is too curious to run away.
Mary follows Anne’s gaze and turns too.
“And this, of course, is little Eleanor. Doesn’t she look so like our lady mother? Nora, this is your older sister Anne. Are you going to come and say hello?”
Eleanor doesn’t react to Mary’s words, but Anne has spent enough time in the nursery around little Margot and François to know that one doesn’t push young children. Stepping forward out of Mary’s shadow, she crouches down and waits for Eleanor to come to her.
It takes a few moments, but before long, Eleanor has shuffled across the room, hand outstretched to stroke Anne’s lustrous dark hair.
“You have George’s hair,” she whispers and Anne nods.
“I know. We look like Papa. You and Mary got Maman’s looks.”
Anne has to fight a lump in her throat as she speaks, for it is true. Seeing little Eleanor is like seeing a childish version of her hazy memories of Elizabeth Howard come to life.
Fortunately, Eleanor is too young to hear the catch in Anne’s voice. Natural confidence quickly reasserting itself, she tugs on Anne’s sleeve.
“I’m going to attend Pwincess Mawy at her be’wo – be’wo -,”
“Betrothal?” Anne asks gently and Eleanor nods proudly.
“Wow! That’s a big job! Are you sure you’re up to it?”
Eleanor nods eagerly and then looks at Anne, wide-eyed, “Are you going to be there too?”
“Yes. I’m going to wait on Madame Marguerite. And I’m dancing in all the masques,” Anne straightens as her legs begin to protest the crouch, and then smiles down at her little sister as a thought strikes her.
“Would you like to come to my tent and see the dresses I’ll be wearing for them?”
At the thought of doing anything other than taking a nap, Eleanor’s eyes light up, “Yes, please!”
“Anne! Lady Bryan wants her down for a nap or she’ll not get through the evening!”
“Look at her, Mary,” Anne retaliates, “She has no intention of sleeping. Let me take her. At least that way, you might get the Princess and Lady Margaret down.”
Mary hesitates, then nods. She’s a mother too, after all. Her daughter Alice might be two years younger than Nora, but she knows how difficult toddlers can be once they take it into their heads to refuse something.
“Go on then. But you didn’t get permission from me.”
Anne nods and takes her cloak off, wrapping it round little Eleanor to keep her warm on the walk across the valley.
“Take my hand, Eleanor, and don’t let go. It’s busy out there and I don’t want to lose you, understand?”
Eleanor nods solemnly and then the two youngest Boleyns slip from the room.
The last George and Mary hear of them is Eleanor chirping, “You can call me Nora, you know. All my friends do.”
Last edited:
Thank you! I love writing them! Eleanor's wish to stroke Anne's hair is actually based on something I used to do as a little girl
Not this time. She's staying in France this time around.
Not if she wants to keep living!
Queen Marie would have a few choice words on that.
On that note... Not if King Francis wants to keep living!
I never said it would succeed, but if she tried. Also I would love to see Marie and Anne get in a fight over this, pretty sure Henry's conversion to Protestantism is what killed her in otl
As @vandevere said, not if Anne wants to keep her head. For once, she's keeping out of things - at least as much as one can when one is thirteen years old and a favourite with the Queen, the King's sister and the Dauphine-Duchess of Brittany...
Like I said earlier, not if King Francis wants to keep living!
If he tries for Anne, one of the Queen's Ladies-in-Waiting, the fireworks will be even bigger than the one from Francis' faux pas from before, and we'll all get evidence that Queen Marie has the same (in)famous Tudor temper as her brother...
Yeah, at least at this point in the story. As I've said before, my head canon birth dates for the Boleyn siblings are as follows: Mary - April 1500, George - October 1504, Anne - March 1507. With miscarriages and deceased siblings in between. Eleanor is June 1515 ITTL. She was very much a surprise...