Well, right now treaties are written on toilet paper. they only mean what you allow them to mean.
An Imperial Match: Anne Boleyn marries Charles V
- Thread starter pandizzy
- Start date
I'm pretty sure the scottish members of her household will make sure the little princess knows her treaty-sanctioned rights and she will demand it with all her scottish stubborness, which is invincible by definition.
Now imagine a little four year old saying 'I KNOW MY RIGHTS'I'm pretty sure the scottish members of her household will make sure the little princess knows her treaty-sanctioned rights and she will demand it with all her scottish stubborness, which is invincible by definition.
Poor Anna...I hope Mary writes to her! And hopefully Mary will be happy enough in England, with her future husband's sisters
Awww, while a lovely chapter, with a bittersweet contrast between the two scenes, I hope that Mary doesn't grow to resent the English, even if she'd be well in her rights to do so.
He's on good behaviour. I have a four year old boy in my household. Every day is chaotic. Sir Henry Norris has a ton of responsibility ahead of him now.
To be fair they didn't kill her father, the English still did here, regardless this will be interesting.
I was thinking the same thing. She's so young, they'll going to make a good Englishwoman of her easily enough, no matter what Anna wants...
Different circumstances can sometimes lead to the same result. 5 different types of crab-like creatures evolved on Earth in different locations of the globe.
I hope she doesn't do that. Mary deserves to have Scottish attendants as well as english ones.
28th of February, 1546.
Another chapter first posted a week ago on my patreon.
--
Afonso sighed and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Being a king was heavy work. He wondered how his father managed nearly thirty years of it without tearing his hair out by the roots.
Because he had my mother, Afonso thought. His father always said that being with his mother melted away all of his other problems. It was no surprise that he was unable to handle another ten years without her. The King opened his eyes and sighed again, looking at the man before him.
"And the Duchess of Cleves has written with the expected reports about Lady Anna's health," said his private secretary, handing him the opened letter. There were only so many hours in the day Afonso could spend reading letters, and the sheer magnitude of his mail meant that his secretary was more often than not used to do so for him.
"Has she also written to say that her second daughter will not marry the heretic's son?" Afonso asked. He didn't want his grandchildren to be related to Lutherans through their mother. Threatening to step back on his agreement with Wilhelm was surely enough to cause the negotiations with Sweden to fall through. Portugal was, after all, richer and more important than Sweden.
But his private secretary grew pale. "She has not, my lord," he said. "The Duchess claims that Cleves has great need of Sweden's position in the Baltic and can't afford to offend them. She hopes His Majesty will understand that Portugal's goals will differ from theirs."
Afonso blinked in surprise. Once, then twice. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I want this marriage," he started, "But I don't need it. I can easily find another bride for Jorge." Even as he spoke, he didn't truly believe it. The richest brides in Europe came from Portugal, Burgundy and Cleves. In that order. And Afonso didn't want to tie himself to the mess that was his brother-in-law's marriage.
As well as the fact that Anne Élisabeth, however young she was, was also Jorge's first cousin. Was it not best that he seek out a bride with no close blood ties? Afonso couldn't even remember who was their most closest common ancestor. Certainly, someone far back. It was best that he get someone with fresh blood to add to the family and, as the eldest daughter, Anna von Kleve would probably receive quite a large dowry by her family's standards.
"Fine," he decided. "Tell the Duchess that we accept her reasoning, but that we wish to be certain that Lady Anna will be raised as a good catholic." Guilherme nodded and left to write down his letter.
When he was gone, Afonso sighed again and looked back at the multitude of papers before him. More excuses from his cousin, the Prince of Asturias as to why he couldn't marry his sister. She was too young, he had to have the Emperor’s permission. All weak attempts to step around the fact that he would never let Catalina go to Portugal.
If he had to be honest, Afonso would say that he was tired of being offended. Insulted, really. He was a king, older than his cousin and he could not abide being so humiliated. A thousand other women would kill to have the opportunity to marry him. Felipe had done as he wished. He made him look somewhere else.
He took a blank paper and his quill, dipping it in dark ink. To my beloved uncle, the Holy Roman Emperor,
I hereby write to you to ask for the hand of your lovely daughter, Catalina, in marriage…
---
Juanita dropped a flurry of kisses on little Anna's chubby cheeks, laughing and giggling with her precious daughter. Two months old and already, her second child had the brightest smile in her days. Her dark hair, inherited from her, fell over her eyes and the Infanta-Archduchess sighed, holding her baby close.
"How are you so cute?" she asked before pretending to bite Anna's little hands. Ferdinánd, playing with his father, raised his eyes to be certain that nothing was happening to his beloved little sister. "I want to eat you up!"
"Please don't," said Max, unbothered on the floor. He and Ferdinánd were in another one of their building projects, though their son had a tendency to knock his towers down then build them up. "I like her un-eaten." Juanita only glared at him.
"I'm only joking," she said, settling Anna back into her arms. She was still awake, wide blue eyes blinking open and close as she stared up at her mother. "My sweet archduchess, I would never harm a single hair upon your head." She adjusted her hold a little, legs still shaky just two months after giving birth and sat down. "My sister had her baby."
"Which sister?" Max asked, raising his eyes.
"Funny," said Juanita. "Catalina and Isabel aren't married yet." She rolled her eyes and sighed. "A boy, they named him Carl." At least, that was the boy's name in the Piedmontese language of the mountains, and the way her sister referred to him in her letters, to distinguish from their father.
"Perfect age to marry my sister Johanna," Max said, then frowned. "Isn't it strange that our daughter is the same age as my little sister?"
Juanita stopped to think. "A little," she admitted. Max's mother had recently given birth to her fifteenth child, Johanna, at the age of forty-three. "But I think the Archduchess Johanna will be the last of them."
"We best hope," said Max. "I don't think my mother can handle another birth." Juanita nodded as she thought about her own mother, her heart failing after nine pregnancies. Unable to keep beating as strong.
She looked down at her daughter in her arms, named after her mother, no matter what Max would say. She sighed and pressed a kiss to the dark crown of Anna's head, thinking that she would never let something like that happen to her child. Or to herself.
“Has there been any word on whether or not Marguerite de France will marry your sister’s widower?” she asked, adjusting the blankets around Anna.
“Yes,” said Max. He looked pointedly at Ferdinánd, who was very distracted with his blocks. “I think the King of France is very ill, but he managed that marriage from his sickbed flawlessly. She is already on her way to Poland.” His tone was biting and Juanita knew he couldn’t abide by the thought that Zygmunt Jagiellon was marrying so soon after Liesl’s death, even if she had been buried for two years. Especially when the entire House of Austria believed she was poisoned.
“And our nephew?” Juanita asked, gently. Max smiled.
“Under his grandparents’ custody,” he said bitterly. “The boy’s father doesn’t even want him.” Juanita felt her heart clench painfully at the thought of the poor motherless boy in Poland, under the custody of mean old Bona Sforza. “I heard King Sigismund is going to try for an English marriage for him, since Bona and Marguerite will probably want a French marriage and we can’t let that happen.”
“What can Poland possibly offer to England?”
Max looked up at her. “I have no idea,” he admitted.
Juanita opened her mouth to say something, anything, but before she could, the two year old little boy before them waved one of his blocks angrily and exclaimed, “Papa, attention! Play!”
--
Lisbon, Portugal. 28th of February, 1546.
Afonso sighed and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Being a king was heavy work. He wondered how his father managed nearly thirty years of it without tearing his hair out by the roots.
Because he had my mother, Afonso thought. His father always said that being with his mother melted away all of his other problems. It was no surprise that he was unable to handle another ten years without her. The King opened his eyes and sighed again, looking at the man before him.
"And the Duchess of Cleves has written with the expected reports about Lady Anna's health," said his private secretary, handing him the opened letter. There were only so many hours in the day Afonso could spend reading letters, and the sheer magnitude of his mail meant that his secretary was more often than not used to do so for him.
"Has she also written to say that her second daughter will not marry the heretic's son?" Afonso asked. He didn't want his grandchildren to be related to Lutherans through their mother. Threatening to step back on his agreement with Wilhelm was surely enough to cause the negotiations with Sweden to fall through. Portugal was, after all, richer and more important than Sweden.
But his private secretary grew pale. "She has not, my lord," he said. "The Duchess claims that Cleves has great need of Sweden's position in the Baltic and can't afford to offend them. She hopes His Majesty will understand that Portugal's goals will differ from theirs."
Afonso blinked in surprise. Once, then twice. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I want this marriage," he started, "But I don't need it. I can easily find another bride for Jorge." Even as he spoke, he didn't truly believe it. The richest brides in Europe came from Portugal, Burgundy and Cleves. In that order. And Afonso didn't want to tie himself to the mess that was his brother-in-law's marriage.
As well as the fact that Anne Élisabeth, however young she was, was also Jorge's first cousin. Was it not best that he seek out a bride with no close blood ties? Afonso couldn't even remember who was their most closest common ancestor. Certainly, someone far back. It was best that he get someone with fresh blood to add to the family and, as the eldest daughter, Anna von Kleve would probably receive quite a large dowry by her family's standards.
"Fine," he decided. "Tell the Duchess that we accept her reasoning, but that we wish to be certain that Lady Anna will be raised as a good catholic." Guilherme nodded and left to write down his letter.
When he was gone, Afonso sighed again and looked back at the multitude of papers before him. More excuses from his cousin, the Prince of Asturias as to why he couldn't marry his sister. She was too young, he had to have the Emperor’s permission. All weak attempts to step around the fact that he would never let Catalina go to Portugal.
If he had to be honest, Afonso would say that he was tired of being offended. Insulted, really. He was a king, older than his cousin and he could not abide being so humiliated. A thousand other women would kill to have the opportunity to marry him. Felipe had done as he wished. He made him look somewhere else.
He took a blank paper and his quill, dipping it in dark ink. To my beloved uncle, the Holy Roman Emperor,
I hereby write to you to ask for the hand of your lovely daughter, Catalina, in marriage…
---
Vienna, Austria. 1st of March, 1546.
Juanita dropped a flurry of kisses on little Anna's chubby cheeks, laughing and giggling with her precious daughter. Two months old and already, her second child had the brightest smile in her days. Her dark hair, inherited from her, fell over her eyes and the Infanta-Archduchess sighed, holding her baby close.
"How are you so cute?" she asked before pretending to bite Anna's little hands. Ferdinánd, playing with his father, raised his eyes to be certain that nothing was happening to his beloved little sister. "I want to eat you up!"
"Please don't," said Max, unbothered on the floor. He and Ferdinánd were in another one of their building projects, though their son had a tendency to knock his towers down then build them up. "I like her un-eaten." Juanita only glared at him.
"I'm only joking," she said, settling Anna back into her arms. She was still awake, wide blue eyes blinking open and close as she stared up at her mother. "My sweet archduchess, I would never harm a single hair upon your head." She adjusted her hold a little, legs still shaky just two months after giving birth and sat down. "My sister had her baby."
"Which sister?" Max asked, raising his eyes.
"Funny," said Juanita. "Catalina and Isabel aren't married yet." She rolled her eyes and sighed. "A boy, they named him Carl." At least, that was the boy's name in the Piedmontese language of the mountains, and the way her sister referred to him in her letters, to distinguish from their father.
"Perfect age to marry my sister Johanna," Max said, then frowned. "Isn't it strange that our daughter is the same age as my little sister?"
Juanita stopped to think. "A little," she admitted. Max's mother had recently given birth to her fifteenth child, Johanna, at the age of forty-three. "But I think the Archduchess Johanna will be the last of them."
"We best hope," said Max. "I don't think my mother can handle another birth." Juanita nodded as she thought about her own mother, her heart failing after nine pregnancies. Unable to keep beating as strong.
She looked down at her daughter in her arms, named after her mother, no matter what Max would say. She sighed and pressed a kiss to the dark crown of Anna's head, thinking that she would never let something like that happen to her child. Or to herself.
“Has there been any word on whether or not Marguerite de France will marry your sister’s widower?” she asked, adjusting the blankets around Anna.
“Yes,” said Max. He looked pointedly at Ferdinánd, who was very distracted with his blocks. “I think the King of France is very ill, but he managed that marriage from his sickbed flawlessly. She is already on her way to Poland.” His tone was biting and Juanita knew he couldn’t abide by the thought that Zygmunt Jagiellon was marrying so soon after Liesl’s death, even if she had been buried for two years. Especially when the entire House of Austria believed she was poisoned.
“And our nephew?” Juanita asked, gently. Max smiled.
“Under his grandparents’ custody,” he said bitterly. “The boy’s father doesn’t even want him.” Juanita felt her heart clench painfully at the thought of the poor motherless boy in Poland, under the custody of mean old Bona Sforza. “I heard King Sigismund is going to try for an English marriage for him, since Bona and Marguerite will probably want a French marriage and we can’t let that happen.”
“What can Poland possibly offer to England?”
Max looked up at her. “I have no idea,” he admitted.
Juanita opened her mouth to say something, anything, but before she could, the two year old little boy before them waved one of his blocks angrily and exclaimed, “Papa, attention! Play!”
Thank God that Anne survives ttl! And good on Afonso for going through Charles for Catalina’s hand