Titulus Princeps: Bessie Blount Has A Girl

Precisely how many seconds passed between the lance, err, landing, and Hal’s maternal grandfather starting scheming?
 
Parliament was pretty much a rubber stamp for the Tudors, let's face it.
That's true. Parliament didn't gain(or regain, given that they did say no to some of Plantagenet kings' requests of taxations) its willpower until the Stuarts, who took over right after the Tudors died out. It would take English Civil War and succession of William III/II and Mary II of England and Scotland to make it stick for good.
 
Precisely how many seconds passed between the lance, err, landing, and Hal’s maternal grandfather starting scheming?
It's Thomas Boleyn. The question is not in the number of seconds but in the number of plots he's hatching to gain power & prestige. ;)
 
Talk about throwing a... spanner into the works, to use a modern saying!

I think Henry's best course of action now (apart from hoping for pretty much a miracle) is to legitimize either Fitzroy or the Boleyn boy
 
XIII: June 1530
Windsor, June 1530
“What news? Dr Butts, what news?”

Brandon all but accosted the other man as he came out of the King’s makeshift sickroom, willing him to say that all was well, that the disaster they had all witnessed two short hours ago was nothing more than a horrific nightmare.

Dr Butts sighed, running an exhausted hand through his hair. His fingers disturbed several loose strands and they drifted down to rest on his lapel, where they gleamed greyly in the fading summer light.

It suddenly occurred to Brandon that Dr Butts seemed to have aged several years in the last two hours.

“I have staunched the bleeding and bandaged His Majesty’s groin with honey. The King has been dosed with poppy tears and is currently sleeping. If all is well, His Grace ought to wake in an hour or so.”

Brandon exhaled, a long, deep breath he didn’t even realise he’d been holding.

“William Butts, you are a bona fide miracle worker. We all feared the worst. You mark my words, you’ll be made a knight for this, if not a Baron!”

Dr Butts’ mouth twisted at Brandon’s praise and he drew him away, a little apart from the rest of the milling courtiers. Sensing the gravity of the situation, Brandon quickly motioned to his wife to join them. Henry was her brother, after all. She deserved to hear this too.

“I – I couldn’t remove Lord Talbot’s lance from - from His Grace’s -” Dr Butts coughed lightly and reddened, clearly embarrassed to be having such a delicate conversation in front of a Queen, even if said monarch is a dowager. In the end, tired of his stalling, the Duchess of Suffolk said it for him, though thankfully, she did no more than breathe the offensive word.

“Balls. You don’t need to mince your words for my sake, Butts. I am a married woman, you know.”

“Well, - yes,” Butts coughed again and then continued hurriedly, obviously eager to get this excruciating conversation over with as soon as possible, “I feared the instrument might splinter and cause an infection. In the end, therefore, I saw no other cause of action if I was to save His Majesty’s life.”

“No other course than what, Butts?” The Duchess hissed impatiently.

“I had – had to – cas – castrate His Majesty.”

Dr Butts could hardly form the words. They emerged from his lips haltingly. Nonetheless, being spoken reluctantly robbed them of none of their devastating power.

Brandon had to take a step back from the force of them. He exchanged a horrified look with his wife. This was even worse than any of them dared imagine. Henry – the King – castrated? Henry, with two daughters and an acknowledged bastard boy, but no Prince of Wales – and now no chance of ever getting one? Nothing could be worse, for neither Princess Mary or Lady Elizabeth could ever hope to hold the throne. The nobles would never stand for it. Not after the chaos of the Anarchy, and not with the Cousins’ War barely fading from living memory.

A gentle hand on Brandon’s arm drew him out of his spiralling thoughts. He and his wife had one of their swift, silent conversations, several sentences passing between them in the space of a few seconds.

“Hal could be King.”

Mary shook her head, “My brother’s too proud for that. He’ll want his son. He’ll push Parliament to accept Lord Pembroke.”

“Henry! How are we going to tell him?”

“Let me worry about that. Go to Durham House and fetch my Godson. Now! However my brother finds out, he’ll take the news better if he can see Lord Pembroke.”


Knowing his wife was right, Brandon pressed the first coin he found in his pocket into Butts’s hand and nodded to her, leaving the tiltyard almost at a run, heedless of the whispers he left in his wake.
 
I know it was a heavy update but I can't stop giggling at the fact the doctor is named Butts (yes I know he's likely a historical person)
 
Windsor, June 1530
“What news? Dr Butts, what news?”

Brandon all but accosted the other man as he came out of the King’s makeshift sickroom, willing him to say that all was well, that the disaster they had all witnessed two short hours ago was nothing more than a horrific nightmare.

Dr Butts sighed, running an exhausted hand through his hair. His fingers disturbed several loose strands and they drifted down to rest on his lapel, where they gleamed greyly in the fading summer light.

It suddenly occurred to Brandon that Dr Butts seemed to have aged several years in the last two hours.

“I have staunched the bleeding and bandaged His Majesty’s groin with honey. The King has been dosed with poppy tears and is currently sleeping. If all is well, His Grace ought to wake in an hour or so.”

Brandon exhaled, a long, deep breath he didn’t even realise he’d been holding.

“William Butts, you are a bona fide miracle worker. We all feared the worst. You mark my words, you’ll be made a knight for this, if not a Baron!”

Dr Butts’ mouth twisted at Brandon’s praise and he drew him away, a little apart from the rest of the milling courtiers. Sensing the gravity of the situation, Brandon quickly motioned to his wife to join them. Henry was her brother, after all. She deserved to hear this too.

“I – I couldn’t remove Lord Talbot’s lance from - from His Grace’s -” Dr Butts coughed lightly and reddened, clearly embarrassed to be having such a delicate conversation in front of a Queen, even if said monarch is a dowager. In the end, tired of his stalling, the Duchess of Suffolk said it for him, though thankfully, she did no more than breathe the offensive word.

“Balls. You don’t need to mince your words for my sake, Butts. I am a married woman, you know.”

“Well, - yes,” Butts coughed again and then continued hurriedly, obviously eager to get this excruciating conversation over with as soon as possible, “I feared the instrument might splinter and cause an infection. In the end, therefore, I saw no other cause of action if I was to save His Majesty’s life.”

“No other course than what, Butts?” The Duchess hissed impatiently.

“I had – had to – cas – castrate His Majesty.”

Dr Butts could hardly form the words. They emerged from his lips haltingly. Nonetheless, being spoken reluctantly robbed them of none of their devastating power.

Brandon had to take a step back from the force of them. He exchanged a horrified look with his wife. This was even worse than any of them dared imagine. Henry – the King – castrated? Henry, with two daughters and an acknowledged bastard boy, but no Prince of Wales – and now no chance of ever getting one? Nothing could be worse, for neither Princess Mary or Lady Elizabeth could ever hope to hold the throne. The nobles would never stand for it. Not after the chaos of the Anarchy, and not with the Cousins’ War barely fading from living memory.

A gentle hand on Brandon’s arm drew him out of his spiralling thoughts. He and his wife had one of their swift, silent conversations, several sentences passing between them in the space of a few seconds.

“Hal could be King.”

Mary shook her head, “My brother’s too proud for that. He’ll want his son. He’ll push Parliament to accept Lord Pembroke.”

“Henry! How are we going to tell him?”

“Let me worry about that. Go to Durham House and fetch my Godson. Now! However my brother finds out, he’ll take the news better if he can see Lord Pembroke.”


Knowing his wife was right, Brandon pressed the first coin he found in his pocket into Butts’s hand and nodded to her, leaving the tiltyard almost at a run, heedless of the whispers he left in his wake.
Ooohh I’m very interested what will happen now. I hope Mary Boleyns boy is king.
I guess Butts is going to be joining Talbot on his Pan-European forever tour.
😂
Well, yes and no. He has potentially saved Henry's life. But yes, he can definitely kiss that barony goodbye...
maybe he will lose his job though
 
I guess Butts is going to be joining Talbot on his Pan-European forever tour.
Me too, I can't see Henry being forgiving in any way, shape or form after this.
Well, yes and no. He has potentially saved Henry's life. But yes, he can definitely kiss that barony goodbye...
And his head as well.
There is some divine justice in Henry being castrated, I must admit. Hopefully Dr. Butts escapes unharmed. He did save his life after all
Now would be a great time to flee the country for a long vacation to be honest. Not sure if Henry would forgive the man who castrated him.
Doctor Butts. the Royal King Castrator. Man, what a title!
 
So did he umm remove the whole thing or just one of his testicles?
The whole thing. Just to be on the 'safe' side...
Me too, I can't see Henry being forgiving in any way, shape or form after this.

And his head as well.

Now would be a great time to flee the country for a long vacation to be honest. Not sure if Henry would forgive the man who castrated him.
Doctor Butts. the Royal King Castrator. Man, what a title!
Yes, what a good idea!
There is some divine justice in Henry being castrated, I must admit. Hopefully Dr. Butts escapes unharmed. He did save his life after all
Oh, good. I'm glad you liked it!
 
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