Copenhagen, Denmark. 30th of November, 1522.
The little Dowager Queen was a pale figure in the corridors of Copenhagen Castle in Denmark as she walked about, dressed in all black, still mourning her lost husband and son. Many did not know what to do with her now that Frederick I had ascended to the throne, passing over her two young daughters in the succession. Some neglected her, feeling that she had lost her power and influence, while others attempted to extend a hand of friendship to her, thinking she would be grateful to anyone that could help the cause of her dear Dorothea.
Those that did were ignored. Elizabeth of Austria needed no one but herself.
And alone she was when Frederick of Denmark came to see her, sitting on an armchair by the hearth, her beautiful red hair bound up under a black cap. She didn’t look at him when he enters, or even when her maid announced his presence, failing to acknowledge him in any way. She doesn’t stand up to curtsy to him, continuing to sit in her chair, staring at the burning embers in her hearth.
For a moment, he thought she had gone mad as her mother did, that grief took away her reason, but, suddenly, Elizabeth looked at him with her wide and teary blue eyes, staring right at him. He knew then that she had her wits about her still.
He dismissed her maid and sat on the chair opposite hers, so they could speak in private. As he looked at her, he remembered the day she came to Denmark, just fourteen years old and already in love with Christian’s portrait. She was a clever child, eager to please. Happy. It was fascinating to see her, how unbothered she was by Sigbrit Willoms. He felt the full weight of his years seeing her as a woman grown, a widowed Queen and a mother to two princesses.
“Elizabeth…” he started, feeling that their bonds of kinship would forgive his informality. He spoke to her in her native German, hoping to reach her through the language, if not through his words, “I want us to be friends.”
“You are not my friend,” she replied in Danish. The common language was strange to him and it took a while for him to understand her words, as it had been many years since he last spoke it, “You are a traitor. A traitor to me and to my beloved Christian.”
“Christian saw reason in his last days,” said Frederick, still speaking German, “His will named me as heir.”
“A false will,” she argued, “Made by evil hands. My Christian would never neglect his daughter so. The crown on your head does not belong to you, sir.”
He forgave her disrespect. She was still young, just twenty-one, and with two young fatherless daughters to raise. And she was a woman. Women were not known for their grasp on sense and reason.
“Maybe not,” he said in his broken Danish, “But it is mine now. Mine until death and I wish to see my last years in peace.” She didn’t respond to him, only turning away her bloodshot eyes. Frederick sighed, “I have a proposition for you.”
That gained her attention. She looked at him and frowned, “What could you possibly want with a widow like me?”
“I have no use for a widowed Queen and grieving mother. I do have use for your Dorothea. I have begun the process of naming Hans as my heir, and he will be in need of a wife and Queen when he ascends.”
“Hans is but a baby,” she said, remembering the son he had that was born only a year before when he wed for a second time to ensure the continuation of the Oldenburg line, “And Christian…”
“Christian understands the price for peace,” Frederick said, “In return for giving up the throne, he will be given Schleswig-Holstein-Haderslev as his own.” He shook his head, “If you accept my offer, your Dorothea will be queen. Her son will rule one day.”
“Queen,” she said, almost spitting the word, “Queen consort, you mean.”
He nodded, “We all have to make sacrifices in the name of the greater good.” He shook his head again, tired of this conversation, “I have some years left in me yet, Elizabeth. Perhaps enough years to see Hans become a man, perhaps not. But know this: I would have backed Dorothea’s right to ascend were she older and without the threat of a long regency. But the nobles were anxious and commanded that I take the crown, even before Christian’s will was read.” He sighed, “Things would have never gone your way, Elizabeth.”
She hesitated, clearly surprised by his words, and looked away, biting her lower lip. She reminded him of his own daughter, another Dorothea. Both were too stubborn for their own good, but, in the end, they always accept that things would go his way, not theirs.
“And Christina?” she asked, voice low, “What will happen to her?”
“Christina will be educated and treated as befitting her rank,” answered Frederick, “When the time comes for her to be wed, I will find her a husband worthy of her who benefits Denmark, and will pay for her dowry myself.” He smiled, trying to appear cheerful, “If you wish, after you have found a castle to retire, you may bring her with you. Dorothea will have to remain here, of course, but I don’t see why Christina should not stay with her mother.”
Elizabeth nodded, “I have decided a place to retire.”
“Good,” Frederick said, cheerful for the first time in the night, “Where to?”
“Home,” she answered, “Christina and I will be returning to the Low Countries.”