Discussion in 'Alternate History Discussion: Before 1900' started by FalconHonour, Nov 28, 2018.
Oh Henry will be over the moon, that's for sure!
Hummmm... sounds ominous *narrows eyes*
I'm worried about Marie.
I can't say a single thing without somebody thinking it's ominous these days!
The poor woman has just been in strong labour for over 36 hours! She has every right to be exhausted. As long as the afterbirth comes out whole, she should be all right.
Marie will be fine... Worry about everyone else
Top public service announcement in Henry's court otl 1536 (if they did public service announcements, which they didn't)
Head and Shoulders! Tips for Keeping Them Attached.
I feel like I ought to say 'I like your confidence', but as it happens, you're right!
The House of Tudor is expanding like rabbits - I guess with live three males (as long they have a healthy childhood of course) Henry can relax and be satisfied if future children will be female.
But yeah, hope Marie would be fine.
I can't stop thinking how in the long term she win the affection of the English populace - of the great nobles, well. But, an alliance between crown and people (and not necessarily of the parliament) might give the Tudor the chance to put in line the nobilty for good.
And then a Tudor English Empire will rise.
The males are only two: the prince of Wales and the newborn Duke of a York... Henry Fitzroy has not the Tudor surname
I think Ryu was including Henry in his count of three....
As for how Marie wins the hearts of the English people, well, at this time, a stable, happy Royal Family is seen as a good omen for the country as a whole, IIRC, so she's already part of the way there in birthing two sons. She also has the advantage of being a classical beauty and very kind-hearted, so largesse is easy for her. Not to mention that with KOA dead well over a year before Henry met and married his Marie, she's not fighting the idea that the King has set his good, patient Queen aside for her for no other reason than lust, the way her sister was OTL.
That's the most important thing here. This TL, Henry VIII won't develop the particular reputation he developed otl.
None of that's going to happen here.
People have to understand that, before the Anne Boleyn debacle, Henry VIII was sort of a Golden Boy; at least in the eyes of the average Englishman.
Maybe he'll keep that reputation a little longer this time around...
Oh, to the average Englishman? Certainly! If nothing else, he's given them back a huge amount of national pride in conquering all of Normandy - which, by the way, is currently simmering along quite nicely, thank you. I will go into more detail about what's happening across the channel later in the 1520s/early 1530s...
Kenilworth, August 1522
The bells were ringing joyfully, pealing merrily to let all of England know that she had a Duke of York at last.
Marie cradled the little boy close, supporting his downy head carefully. She could see at a glance that he was nowhere near as strong as his older brother, but that only made him all the more precious to her, especially after the length of the travail it had taken her to bring him into the world.
“That’s all for you, my darling,” she crooned to him, stroking his tiny ear with a fingertip. “That’s for you, because you’ve made everybody so happy.”
She was exhausted; tired to her very core – so tired, all she wanted to do was curl up and sleep for a week. Yet she had forced herself to sit up and take her boy into her arms. Henry deserved to see her awake and well. So did Maria. They’d both been through so much; no doubt they were both terrified for her.
As though they knew she had been thinking of them, Henry and Maria appeared in the doorway.
“May we come in?” Henry mouthed, and she nodded, grimacing as she shifted slightly in the bed to make more room for the both of them. Henry narrowed his eyes as he saw the pain flash across her face, but said nothing. They sat down gingerly, Maria clambering into Henry’s lap. He tucked an errant honey-brown curl behind her ear and peered over her head at the sleepy bundle in Marie’s arms.
“Meet your new little brother,” he began, then paused as he realised they’d never really decided on their new son’s name. “You name him, sweetheart,” he offered to Marie in a flash of impulsive generosity.
“Really,” he replied. It seemed such a small thing to grant, after she’d made him so happy.
“William,” Marie said, after a few moments pause.
“Yes, after the Conqueror.”
Henry‘s heart leapt. How had he never considered William as a name himself? He’d considered Henry, Edward, even George after Marie’s brother, but never William. And yet, how could he not have done so? This boy would be Duke of Normandy as well as of York. How could he not be named after an earlier Duke of Normandy, one who went on to become the Conqueror of all England?
“Don’t you like it?” Marie murmured, and, to his alarm, he saw her eyes beginning to swim with tears. How could he do that to her, the woman who had granted him his heart’s desire not once, but twice over?
Laughing, he shook his head and leaned down to kiss her, “How could I not like it? I’m just surprised I never thought of it myself. William’s perfect for him. William Tudor, Duke of York and Normandy.”
She beamed, “I’m glad you think so.”
Somehow, she was radiant, even despite her obvious exhaustion. At the sight of her smile, Henry felt his heart slip back into place with what seemed to him to be an audible ‘clunk’. All was right with the world again.
OTL Shakespeare did write a play titled "Henry VIII". I expect he will ATL too. But it will be more in line with his play "Henry V" in that it will detail Henry VIII's glorious conquest of Normandy, and in reviving England's claim to France...
And all is right with the world indeed. Very sweet.
This is true. I hadn't thought of that.
Kenilworth, August 1522
Somehow, the celebrations for the Duke of York were actually merrier than those for the Prince of Wales had been. Although Marie and her household had striven to hide the fact that something had been wrong about William’s birth as best they could, the sheer length of her labour had alerted many sharp-minded courtiers to the fact that, perhaps, just perhaps, they were lucky to have a Duke of York at all. A definite sense of relief mingled with the joy that customarily greeted any living child.
Wine and ale and mead flowed liberally and soon, nearly everybody was worse the wear for alcohol.
Including Lady Anne, the Queen’s sister. Somewhere in her brain, she knew that six cups of mead was really far too much for her, but it was so hard to say no when people, alight with joy, kept whirling her out for a galliard or some other kind of dance and then plying her with drinks. Besides, if she ignored the fact that her head was spinning, she felt joyfully reckless. She felt as though nothing could hurt her, not even scandal. After all, Marie had produced two healthy boys. The King was putty in her hands. Marie could protect her if anything went wrong.
“Anne, come on. You’ve had more than enough. You’d better come with me.”
Harry had appeared her side. His arms snaked around her waist as he started to pull her gently towards the doors and the warm, clear, night air.
She turned slowly, sensuously, to face him.
“I don’t -” she began, but then the candlelight hit his rugged blonde hair and highlighted just how chiselled his jaw was. God, he was desirable.
“I want to kiss you,” she blurted, wine loosening her tongue until she was unusually candid about her emotions. Harry looked at her flushed face and pecked her cheek tenderly.
“I’m sure you do, but we’d best get you somewhere safe first.”
Anne pouted, but pretended to comply, at least until they were alone.
Then suddenly, as though she could control herself no longer, she lunged, slamming her lips on to his with more force than she even thought possible.
“Anne!” Harry gasped into the kiss, but he couldn’t resist her passion for long. A few moments later, he was kissing her back, unable to stop himself.
As usual, their hands began to wander and Harry thought nothing of it at first, at least not until Anne grabbed one of his hands and pressed it between her legs. She had pushed her skirts away so that all she had on between his fingers and her underparts was a flimsy shift. A flimsy shift that was utterly soaked.
A jolt went through him and he straightened instantly.
“Anne, no. I won’t do it. I promised not to take your maidenhead until we were married. I mean to keep that promise.”
“But I don’t want you to! Please, Harry, please! We’re betrothed; it’s not as if we’d be doing any harm. But God knows when we’ll be married. There’s been nothing, not even a whisper. And we’ve been betrothed more than a year. How much longer are we going to have to wait?”
Harry hesitated. He could see her argument; could see her logic, but a large part of him wanted to respect her honour when she herself so clearly couldn’t.
On the other hand, however, he wasn’t quite sober himself. He had been celebrating Prince William’s birth too, after all. And Anne was a beautiful young woman, especially with her eyes flashing indignant fire like that.
When she purred, “You can’t deny you want me, can you?” into his ear, he could resist her no longer. Tugging at her hand, he pulled her back into the Palace through a little-used side door.
“If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it on a proper bed. You deserve that much, at least.”
For half a second I thought she kissed King Henry, thankfully it was her betrothed. Imagine THAT scandal though...
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