I'm not sure what I make of this section, but it seemed the only way to move the story on. And yes, I know Henry's grief is excessive. But, it's Henry. And he's just lost his son and heir as well as his wife, Bear with me.
“It can’t go on like this!” the Duchess of Suffolk sighed, “It’s been three months, Charles. We can’t go on like this! We can’t!” She flapped a letter in her husband’s face, “Quite apart from the fact that the Privy Council is starting to get restive, Lady Bryan says the Princess is getting more and more impossible. It’s the third letter I’ve had like that this month. She needs her father. Mary needs her father and England needs her King!”
“I know. I know. But what do you want me to do about it?” Charles sighed, “Henry is the King, Mary. If he wants to stay in seclusion, then, hard as it is, there’s nothing anyone can do.”
“You could try. You’re his best friend.”
“You’re his sister. What makes you think I could do a better job than you could?”
“I’m a woman. He won’t speak to me the way he would to another man. Particularly not since I’m his younger sister. Please.”
Winding herself around him, she stroked his hair.
“There’s no one who knows how to talk to Harry better than you. And think of little Hal. Would you want to let him live with the pain of not knowing his father?”
“No! Of course not!” Charles exclaimed, his heart clenching at the thought of no longer being a part of his son’s life. Mary wound his dark locks around her fingers.
“I thought not. So don’t let Mary go through it either. Go and talk Henry out of his seclusion. Please.”
“Oh, very well. I’ll try. I’ll try.”
Extricating himself from her hold, he sighed, kissed her swiftly, slipped from the room and made his way to King Henry’s apartments.
A young page, Francis Weston was just exiting as he reached them. Charles stopped the boy with a quiet hand on his shoulder.
“How is he, Francis?”
“No better, no worse, My Lord Suffolk,” Francis murmured. Sighing, Charles nodded and stepped past him into the darkened room, trying not to reel back at the musty smell that permeated the air.
“Harry? Your Majesty?”
“I said I didn’t want to be disturbed, Charles.” Henry’s voice was heavy. Charles hesitated, but knew he had to press forward. He owed it to Mary – both Marys- and to Henry.”
“I know, Henry. I know.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because I’m your friend. Because I don’t like seeing you hurt. Because I want to help you.”
Charles stepped forward, laying a daring hand on his sovereign’s shoulder. To his relief, Henry didn’t pull away. Instead he simply sighed bitterly.
“You have, Charles. You and Mary both. More than you know.”
A silence stretched between the two men for a moment. Suddenly, Henry burst out, “Is there a curse on the Tudors, Charles, because we won our throne through conquest and not through blood? Are we doomed to lose our Queens in childbed forever?”
“No, Henry no! You mustn’t think that! You mustn’t!”
“My father lost my mother. I lost Cata. And my son. There must be…”
“It was bad luck, Henry, that’s all. Sheer bad luck. Look, I know how you feel. I know it feels like the end of the world; like she’s taken your youth with her; like you’ll never be happy again. But it’ll pass. Trust me, it’ll pass.”
“How do you…? That’s it exactly. How do you know?”
At Henry’s words, Charles sighed with relief, releasing a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding. He couldn’t let Henry consider the fact that he might have been cursed. He couldn’t. Henry was so superstitious. Who knew where he might let the thought lead him?
He said nothing of his thoughts to Henry, of course. All he said was, “I lost my Anne, remember? I lost my Anne just like you lost the Queen.
[1] I felt like you, Harry. I thought I’d never be happy again. But things changed. You opened talks for my marriage to young Viscountess Lisle, you invited me back to Court. [2]And I stopped grieving like a husband and a father and let myself grieve like the young man I knew I still was. And then you I met Mary. Your sister. I met her and I loved her. She made me happy again, Harry. She made me happy again and now we’re married and have our beautiful children. So you’re not cursed, Harry. You’re not. You’ll have a boy to be your Prince yet. You’ll have him with a woman you love, I promise. Just because you lost Cata doesn’t mean you can’t have a boy with a woman you love. You just have to give it time.”
“What changed you, Charles? What changed things for you?” Henry’s voice was hollow. Charles took a deep breath. He knew he was taking a gamble with his next words, knew Mary would hate him for this whatever the result, but he had no choice. He’d baited the hook and now he had to reel it in.
“I grieved like a man. I let myself stop being a husband and a father and just became a man. That’s what you need to do, Harry. Stop being a King. Stop being Cata’s husband. Stop being Mary’s father. Just be Harry. Just Harry.”
“How? After everything that’s happened, Charles, how?”
“Would you like me to show you?”
Henry fell silent and Charles held his breath, straining his eyes through the darkness to see how his friend’s face changed.
Finally, Henry nodded.
*** *** ***
“You’re doing what?! Taking him drinking?! Whoring?! No! Oh no, Charles, I forbid it! I forbid it, do you hear me?!” Mary screeched at her husband.
“I never said I was taking him whoring! Where do you get that idea from?”
“Because I know you! I know the friendship you used to have. You’re thinking of it, aren’t you?”
“What does it matter what I’m thinking of? At least he’s out of his room!”
“See? You don’t even try to deny it. Not properly. My God! You were supposed to persuade him to visit the Princess, not agree to take him whoring! What about his role as her father or her King? What about his duties to England?”
“His sense of duty is what got us into this mess in the first place. It’s crushing him, can’t you see that?”
“And getting him drunk and letting him sleep with common women is supposed to help?!”
“Yes! It’ll help him let go. You’re a woman; I wouldn’t expect you to understand. Just trust me. Trust me to know what’s best for your brother.”
Charles shoved past Mary. She sprang ahead of him and slammed the door.
“You’re not doing it! I forbid it! I forbid it!”
“Who are you to forbid me anything?!”
“I’m the Dowager Queen of France! The King of England’s sister!”
“Not anymore! You’re not my Princess anymore! You’re my wife! You’re my wife and by God, you will stand aside. Now!”
Before he knew what he was doing, Charles had raised his arm to strike Mary. Stunned, she shrank back slightly, just enough for him to force her out of his way.
He flung himself down the passage, still seething; still shaking with anger. What was he doing? He’d never threatened Mary like that before. Never. He had to be going mad.
“All the more reason to get Harry back to himself by whatever means necessary,” he thought,
“All the more reason. I’m not sure how much more of having to lead the Court in his stead our marriage can take.”
[1] Brandon’s OTL second wife Anne Browne, by whom he had two daughters, Anne and Mary. I couldn’t find out her fate, so for the purposes of this TL, she died in childbirth with Mary in 1510.
[2] Brandon was betrothed to Elizabeth Grey, Viscountess Lisle in 1513 and took the title Viscount Lisle in her name, but jilted her for Mary Tudor, Dowager Queen of France, two years later, before they actually married.
