Well, it is very good that Isabella and her little son have both survived, I am sure that Henry will be over the moon when he hears of this. Nice touch with the line about how she thinks she was born to provide him with heirs as well, and the prayers. I love Geroge and Ferdinand's relationship too, while of course, I feel bad for their wives, the two seem to love each other very much🥵
An Imperial Match: Anne Boleyn marries Charles V
- Thread starter pandizzy
- Start date
So the Tudor line is a little bit more secure. Can Henry die now?
Deleted member 147978
What's King Henry's family so far? That's honestly my question.
Family Tree - Tudor
King Henry VIII of England (1491-) m. a) Catherine of Aragon (1485-1523); b) Isabella of Portugal (1503-). Affairs with: c) Elizabeth 'Bessie' Blount (1498- )
- a) Stillborn daughter (1510);
- a) Henry, Duke of Cornwall (1511-1511). Lived for almost two months;
- a) Short-lived boy (1513-1513). Possibly stillborn;
- a) Short-lived boy(1514-1514). Possibly stillborn;
- a) Princess Mary (1516-);
- a) Stillborn girl (1518);
- c) Henry Fitzroy (1519-). Illegitimate;
- a) John, Prince of Wales (1523-). Twin to Katherine.
- a) Princess Katherine (1523-1523). Twin to John, lived for almost an entire year;
- b) Edward, Duke of York (1524-).
Deleted member 147978
Cool, but King Henry can only go so far as to have a Duke of Bedford, Pembroke, Somerset, or even Richmond for sons. Well, I guess I'll have to see what happens in the following chapters.
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Deleted member 147978
Sure, I get that she may not have the strongest womb, but hopefully, she and King Henry would have a happy and satisfying marriage. (It'll be an absolute travesty if things go down south for them.)
Thank you, Codie. Henry will be skipping with happiness that's for sure.
I wouldn't say they are already in the "Love" aspect of their relationship. Maybe in the "special fondness" for it.
26th of September, 1524.
Pale of Calais, Disputed Territory. 26th of September, 1524.
Anne de Montmorency observed the city behind his walls, hands planted on the windowsills as he watched the people go about their day, trying to rebuild their lives after the battle. Some dragged the bodies of their husbands, fathers, sons and brothers on carts down the streets to be veiled and buried, though many lives had been lost in the conflict and there was nothing to say the few priests in the city were available to oversee the ceremonies.
In a way, Anne couldn’t still believe that he had done it. He had taken back Calais into French hands, had destroyed the old Angevin empire and kicked the filthy English back into their God-forsaken island. He had done as many of his countrymen wished to do for the past four hundred years, since the 12th Century. He had done it and yet, something still felt wrong.
He had come to Calais, expecting to see the army of Henry VIII awaiting his men, ready for battle. It was what his King had ordered him to do, to bring three thousand men to take the city before stretching back to regain control of the entire Pale, before awaiting Francis with another three thousand so they could march onto the Low Countries. That was the plan and yet… the English had never come.
Anne lost a thousand men fighting the garrison, but no fleet had arrived from beyond the Channel. He had watched the sea for days without end, perhaps wondering whether something had held them back. On some clear days, he could see the white cliffs of Dover from Cap Gris-Nez, but no ships that crossed the waters. It was difficult to understand. Surely, Henry Tudor would not sacrifice the last holding of his predecessors on the continent, and yet. It seemed he had done just that.
A knock came on his door and he barked out an order for the person to come in. It was a messenger and he entered with a short bow, before handing him a sealed letter. Anne handed him a silver coin and instructed him to rest, observing his flushed cheeks and his panting breaths. Certainly, he had come as fast as possible, if his state was anything to go by.
When the rider was gone, Anne unsealed the letter and read its contents. He paused. And read again. Again and again, until the words were swimming in his head. His heart raced, his mouth drying up and he grabbed his goblet of wine with trembling fingers, willing himself to calm down. It was a message from King Francis, instructing him to meet him in Le Havre, on the Norman territory.
The English had come, after all, and the north was burning.
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Ah so Calais has fallen... Henry is being very clever though, allowing the French to occupy Calais while striking directly at French territory. Brilliant chapter!
Well, well, someone is being sneaky, aren't they? Good luck, Henry! The French won't go down without a fight!
Well, they do eat cheese.
(If you get that, well done to you!)
17th of December, 1524.
Flanders, Low Countries. 17th of December, 1524.
The paper felt heavy in his hand as he stared at his wife’s handwriting, the carefully chosen words describing the health of his two children, Felipe and María, as well as her own. They seemed well. Felipe could walk and talk already, while María was able to crawl around the room on her own. He could almost imagine the amused tilt of her head as she observed their little girl dragging her body across, the little girl Charles never met.
He set the letter aside, taking a sip of his beer as he stared at the burning logs in his hearth. His heart felt twisted inside of his heart, thinking of the same period two years before, the first and last Christmas he spent with his wife. She was still expecting Felipe then and they had been so happy, so in love. He longed for those days, before Germana came to Spain and the truth of who they both were came to light.
The door opened behind him and Charles turned, waiting to see who it was. His aunt entered his chambers, a small smile on her face, and he smiled as well, standing up to welcome her properly.
“My dearest Charles,” she murmured. Charles took her hand in his own and pressed a warm kiss to her knuckles, before straightening back up to look her in the eyes. She touched his face gently, stroking his cheekbone, and Charles felt a tension leaving his shoulders at the sight of her. She who had been more of a mother to him than Queen Juana, who had loved him as her own and took care of him her whole life. “We missed you at the celebrations today. Christmastide is not the same without the Duke of Burgundy, nor the Emperor.”
“Forgive me,” said Charles. He moved to take the letter from the Empress that he had placed at his side table and showed it to her. She took with gentle and nimble fingers, her eyes moving from side to side as she read it. “But my duties as husband and father came first. After that, I did not find the strength to hold court, but I shall come tomorrow. I promise you.” He kissed her hand again, leaning it against his forehead.
His aunt sighed. “You miss your wife,” she said. It was not a question. “That much is clear on your face from the day you’ve arrived. It’s understandable to long for her.”
He hung his head forward. He could never truly hide anything from her, not even when he was a child and she caught him stealing sweets from the kitchens. Charles nodded, letting go of her hand, and moved to sit, waving her in as well. When they did so, he looked at her. “Soon enough, we shall be apart for longer than we have been together. I don’t know what that means for us.”
His aunt nodded. “What do you think it may mean?”
He shook his head. “When we parted, we did so not on good terms. She had met one of my former mistresses and our natural child and I…” He shook his head again. “I attempted to discipline her for an argument we had and I think I may have been too harsh with her.” He wasted precious moments with Anne by keeping away from her, fearing what to do with her heretic book and how it may reflect on him. His last months in Castile and Aragon could have been full of love and family time, but instead, he buried himself in his work, almost regretting their marriage.
“And you fear being met with hostility if you return to Spain?” Duchess Margaret asked. Charles sighed and nodded. “Anne is strong, as are you. I know you can move past this, whatever argument may exist between you.”
“How can you be sure of that?” he asked, feeling weak and defenceless. Vulnerable, even. Charles didn’t like the feeling at all.
“Because I educated you both,” she answered with a sly grin. “While I may not have been pleased with the marriage when I first learned of it, I have made my peace with it. An union before the Lord is for life, especially one that has already produced two healthy children and is sure to produce more.” She leaned towards him and placed her hand atop his, curling their fingers together. “Your life will not be easy, my dear Charles. This war with the King of France is only the first of many, I’m sure. If you want to lead a long and happy life, you must have a safe and tranquil homelife, lest you wish to exhaust yourself to death.”
He knew she was right. She had to be. Felipe couldn’t be his sole son and Anne was the only woman in the world who could give him a legitimate heir to Burgundy. A Count of Charolais, as his Valois ancestors had been in their turn.
“How can I do it? How can I reconcile with her?” he asked, still very much the little boy who had never left the Low Countries and needed his aunt to guide him.
Duchess Margaret smiled. She had clearly been anticipating this question from him. “When winter turns to spring, it would be best for you to return to Castile. Burgundy will stay where it is and I shall continue to run your affairs while you are away. Don’t worry, your stay here for the past four months has more than appeased those who missed their beloved Duke.”
“Return to Castile?” he questioned and she nodded, still smiling. “What about the war?”
“The war will continue, even as you worry about conceiving another child with your wife. While your presence is helpful to our efforts, it is not essential. You aren’t a soldier, Charles, and you never have been.”
He nodded. She was right. As always, she was right.
“When winter turns to spring,” he started carefully, “I shall return to Castile.”
Charles, the problem won’t disappear if you just hole up in Burgundy forever. Go home to your wife and work your situation out.