Westminster, London, Autumn 1489
Westminster, London, Autumn of 1489
"Henry. Queen Elizabeth of York is dead." told Lady Margaret Beaufort to her son, King Henry Tudor of England. "She died giving birth to a girl, a healthy, beautiful baby girl." she smiled weekly. Margaret had grown a certain fondness for her Yorkist daughter-in-law, a fondness that was only prompted to surface by her death.
Henry Tudor of England nodded, trying his best to not burst into a flurry of sadness right then and there. "She will be named for her mother." declared the first Tudor King of England. "Her mother. My beloved Bess." he sorrowed. "Please, make all the necessary plans for her funeral." he asked his mother, who also happened to be one of his closest advisors, despite the fact they had been estranged for most of Henry's childhood and early adulthood.
However, Queen Elizabeth of York's death did not only hurt Henry's emotions, but also the stability of the realm. Elizabeth and Henry had been married under a pledge that they would unite the Houses of York and Lancaster, thus ending the War of the Roses, more commonly known as the Cousin's War. It was true that Elizabeth and Henry had a son who was of half York blood, but without a York Queen at his side, Henry would be especially prone to York plots, no matter how much York blood his son had.
"Of course." assured Margaret as she watched her son retire to his chambers, prepared to sink into a puddle of grief and despair. "You do understand that with Elizabeth dead, you are especially vulnerable." she asked, fidgeting with the rosary beads that she clasped in her hands.
Henry's response was nothing but a deep sigh which was followed by him taking his leave, an assortment of grooms following him as he made way to the King's chambers, not even taking the time to visit his newborn daughter.
"Be strong, my son." called Margaret after her son. "God has a plan, Henry, you will recover from this. I know it." she went on. "Bring me my granddaughter." she said to the closest servant. "I should like to meet her."
The servant bowed to his lady the King's mother, before scurrying off the fetch the only hours old Princess of England for her grandmother.
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Margaret Pole, the childless widower of Sir Richard Pole - her husband of only one full year - prayed silently in the Royal Chapel, being careful to not begin whispering her prayers so that anyone with a functioning pair of ears could hear them. She prayed for many things, her cousin Elizabeth of York being at the forefront of her prayers. She prayed that God keep her cousin safe in heaven, and that he watch over her beloved widower, the King. Among this, she also prayed her own late husband's soul, she and Sir Richard had been married only a short time yet she still felt a small sadness over his passing.
Although she would never admit it, Margaret secretly wished for a second marriage, for a man who would love her and a man she would love in return, but still, not many men desired to marry a widow, cousin to the Queen of England or not.
"Lady Pole." said a voice from behind her. It was a voice she could recognise instantly, the deep and raspy voice of the King. "I hope I am not interrupting. I only wished to pray." he told her, with no particular expression or tone in his voice.
"Your Majesty." she panicked, dropping into a low curtsy. "You are not interrupting anything, as a matter of fact, I was praying for the Queen, as well as your Majesty." Margaret went on. She had known the King for almost five years now but she still trembled in his presence, but who wouldn't, he's the King of England for heaven's sake.
Henry smiled at her. "Not for your late husband?" he inquired. "Not for your King?" he quizzed rather selfishly.
"Them too." Margaret smiled back at her King. "I will leave you to it." she decided, directing herself to leave the chapel.
The Auburn King turned in sync with her. "Pray with me, Lady Pole." he ordered.
The Young Widow couldn't deny him. "Alright." and just like that, she was on her knees beside the King of England, both of them muttering their prayers but neither paying attention to the others prayers, Margaret didn't like saying her prayers aloud, she preferred her prayers to be between her and God, not her, God and whomever is closeby but she thought it wise to mimic the King.
When they were done, Henry stopped Margaret just before she left the Royal Chapel. "Would you like to walk with me in the gardens, later?" he asked her, a small smile creeping on the Tudor King's face for the first time in weeks, since his wife had died.
Margaret nodded and smiled. "Of course." she said softly.
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