An Imperial Match: Anne Boleyn marries Charles V
- Thread starter pandizzy
- Start date
Poor Mary and poor Isabella... Hopefully Mistress Seymour here will demonstrate more respect and less ambition... in any case she is unlikely to catch Henry's eye here...
I would say who she was am ambitious house wrecker who played her cards extremely well, masking her ambitions under a layer of false modesty and in general was a good actress who was well coached (maybe she was quiet but she had WANTED take Anne's husband for herself, while Anne most likely was only trying to discourage a too insistent admirer to which she was unable to say no)
In Italian the B is not truly used as that consonant and the initial H are lost (the spelling is Asburgo) still I am much more comfortable with the B an
Our timeline - what happened in real life. I don't fault you for doing that (it's your TL after all and it's focused on Western Europe) but it's hardly interesting when we know all the results just by looking at Wikipedia.
Oh I'm sorry. It's not interesting enough to go with the good old 'our timeline events'?
@Zygmunt Stary has very high standards.
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I'm not saying the TL itself isn't interesting (it is) just that particular part isn't (but it's fine), chill, I didn't attack you.
Definitely. I think many people miss that Jane actually played for the throne. She was coached on how to attract Henry and on what she had to do to keep his attention on her. Anne didn't want the crown until it was the only option for her.
Yeah, but this time, there's no precedent for a lady-in-waiting toppling a queen so she doesn't know exactly what keeps Henry's attraction long enough to put a ring on her finger. Also, Isabella is in a completely different position than Catherine was seeing as she already has a son that has lived more than two months and also wasn't married to his brother, thereby breaking canon law in his eyes. Henry also still sees marriage as something sacred so he's unlikely to break with Rome just for Jane Seymour.
Like I said, Jane Seymour didn't make a surprise appearance at Kristen Stewart's movie about Diana Spencer.
Who on earth spells it "Hapsburg"...? Is it not established that it's "Habsburg"?
10th of May, 1526.
Prague Castle, Bohemia. 10th of May, 1526.
Anna was still awake late into the night, her two hands resting over her large belly. Ferdinand had not yet returned from the Assembly of the Bohemian Diet, where it would be decided whether or not he’d been elected as King of Bohemia and it hurt to admit that she was worried. Although the arrangement between her father and Emperor Maximilian had prepared for Ferdinand to inherit in case Lajos died without children, and baby István’s death made this future almost certain, none of her father’s subjects had completely agreed to the succession.
But Bohemia ought to be easier than Hungary, she was sure. Jiří Bezdružický was for them and his family was powerful in Bohemia. Moreover, her brother’s chancellor Adam of Hradce had already declared his support of her husband’s candidature for the throne and he was quite the able politician. He’d be able to sway the indecisive votes and have the Diet elect her husband as king.
And when that happened, she’d be waiting for him. Anna touched the letter that had recently arrived, the paper crumpled beneath her tense fingers, and bit her lower lip. Ferdinand would be heartbroken and she could almost as well feel his pain mirrored in herself, the cracked glass of her soul, aching for a loved one.
Her eyes were burning with the need for sleep when Ferdinand finally arrived, cheeks flushed and fingers erratic as he struggled to unbutton his hose. He didn’t seem to notice her, probably thought she was already sleeping, and Anna sighed, kicking the covers away as she stood up. Her belly made her lean forward and she placed a hand on the column of her new bed to steady her, stepping closer to her husband.
“Ferdinand?” she asked. He turned to her, the few candles still lit illuminating his face. “How did it go?”
His fingers stopped at the last button of his hose and he removed it, throwing it away as a thing of no importance. “They’ve accepted me as King,” he said. “But our court must be centred here in Prague and I shall have to respect their rights and customs.”
“That’s not so bad,” said Anna.
Ferdinand shook his head. “There’s more,” he said. He sighed exasperatedly. “I won’t be recognized as a full hereditary lord of Bohemia. Our son,” he touched her belly as he spoke, the child moving within her kicking his palm in response, “When his time comes to be king, will have to be elected as well.”
“But that’s good,” said Anna. “At least for now.”
“How is that good?” he asked.
“Because my father was once elected to both Bohemia and Hungary, but my brother was his accepted heir,” she said. “Besides, there is still time for our son to be born and grow into a man, time we can use to convince the Czechs into accepting you as a hereditary lord.”
Ferdinand nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “Of course you’re right. You’re always right.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes and quickly, the smile melted away from her face. Ferdinand noticed it. “What’s wrong?”
She handed him the first letter. “Ján Zápoľský has also put forth his candidature for the crown of Hungary,” she said and Ferdinand’s shoulders tensed while he read the letter. “István Báthory said that he is likely to be elected by the landless nobility, although the clergy and the landed nobles are with us.”
“Zápoľský,” repeated Ferdinand. He nodded, still clutching the letter, and moved away, coming to sit on her writing desk. With a simple movement from his wrists and hands, he picked enough paper and a quill as he began drafting a new letter. “I will write to Maria. She will help us in this, I know she will.”
Anna nodded and watched as Ferdinand wrote his letter, still clutching the second message in her hands. It took a while for him to notice it, already having scrawled through half of the paper, but at last, he turned to her with a questioning look on his face.
“Is there more?” he asked carefully.
“The Duchess of Württemberg is with child,” she said. Anna handed him the letter, watching as Ferdinand’s shoulders crumpled in defeat. “The Duke says he is sorry, but he can’t come and help us against the Turks. At least, not at this moment.”
For a long moment, he didn’t say anything and Anna stepped closer.
“Ferdinand?” she called out tentatively. “Did you hear me?” She placed a hand on his shoulder, watching his face, his flushed neck.
He leaned back and she saw him rub at his cheeks, almost as if trying to clean away stubborn tears.
“I’m fine,” he said. Ferdinand placed the letter on the desk, fingers trembling. “I’m fine. George has responsibilities with his lands and his family, as do I. He must have heirs to keep Ulrich von Württemberg away from his realm.” He shook his head and she saw the tears that still ran through his cheeks. “I’m not upset, Anna. If I were, I’d be extremely hypocritical.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“I am,” he said, his jaw tense. Ferdinand turned away. “I need to finish this letter for my sister. Is there anything you would like to say to her?”
“No,” Anna said, watching his back. “Ferdinand?”
“Yes?” he asked, not looking at her.
“I understand your pain,” she murmured. “I too became more than fond of the Duke of Württemberg.”
--
Château de Rambouillet, France. 29th of May, 1526.
“We missed you at the celebrations,” his mother said as she entered his rooms. Francis did not lift his head, still nursing a large goblet of wine with one elbow supporting the weight of his chin on the table and his mother came closer. “If you continue to ignore your lady wife, the court will begin to talk.”
“Let them talk,” said Francis. “I care not for her, and I never will. She is no wife of mine.”
“Oh, is that so?” His mother walked until she was before him, placing the tips of her fingers over the desk as she trailed closer. “Then we ought to cancel the coronation scheduled to be held at Saint-Denis next month.”
“You can do what you want with her,” he retorted. At the delicate arch of his mother’s eyebrow, he was unable to miss the acid in his voice and Francis sighed, rubbing his forehead and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Forgive me, mother.” He stood up, setting his goblet aside and picking up her wrinkly hands in his. As a sign of submission, Francis made a bow and kissed her ring, hearing her chuckle as he did so. “It’s not your fault, I know it’s not your fault.”
“It isn’t,” said his mother. “And it’s not Marguerite’s fault either that her belly grew too large with child for her to ride to Spain.”
Francis sighed, closing his eyes. When he returned to France, he was met with a sister in grieving who had lost her first child with the King of Navarre to a winter chill and he had not given her the respect and affection she deserved after such a loss. It was only a matter of time before his mother, who always loved and adored him, came to scold him for his unbrotherly behaviour.
“I know it’s not,” he said.
“Then why do you push us away?” she asked, raising her hand to cup his cheek softly. “Francis, we love you. Let us help you.”
“Help me how?” he asked, stepping back. Francis gestured to the desk next to them, the sprawling map showcasing the borders of all the lands they had lost to the Imperial and English forces. Burgundy, Normandy, Milan. “Will you march into battle yourself? Or maybe Marguerite? Our army was decimated in Italy and our money was stolen away by that Tudor idiot.”
He fell on the chair again, taking his goblet back to his lips, but his mother hummed, closing her fingers around the stem. She pulled the goblet away from his lips and curled her finger under his chin, tilting his head up.
“We can be patient,” she said. “We can regain our strengths and when we are ready, we will get our revenge and make this country great again.”
“And how can we do that?” he asked.
“First, I want you to meet someone,” she said. “One of my maid of honours, Anne de Pisseleu d’Heilly.”
As she spoke, the door to his chambers opened and a young woman stepped inside, staring straight at him. She was pretty with curly blonde hair and flawless white skin, blue eyes bright. Francis’ lips curled into a smile.