Disclaimer: The Tudors, all related concepts and anything you recognise do not belong to me. I am merely borrowing them to bring you this story - and for my own personal enjoyment - as they actually belong to History and Showtime. Any OC's and things you do not recognise, however, are copyrighted to me, TheAwesomeWriter/KingdomHeartsNerd.
Rating: Mature. There will be sex.
Pairings: Arthur/Catherine, Henry VII/Elizabeth of York
Genre: Romance/Drama
Warnings: This story is an 'M' as it contains sex and may contain bad language; if these offend you, do not read this story.
Story Summary: What if Prince Arthur, eldest son and heir of King Henry VII, had not died in 1502 and had gone on to rule England with Catherine of Aragon as his Queen? Would the fate of England change or would history play out the same?
Thank You: Thank you to Lady Eleanor Boleyn for brainstorming with me in the last stages of writing this story. If you like this, then go and read her stories. They're brilliant!
The Coupling
April, 1502
Catherine of Aragon, daughter of the Catholic Monarchs, Isabella and Ferdinand, knelt on her knees at the feet of the statue of The Virgin Mary in the chapel at Ludlow Castle.
Her husband, Arthur, Prince of Wales, Duke of Cornwall and Earl of Chester, was the heir apparent to King Henry VII and his beloved wife, Elizabeth of York. Normally, Arthur would pray with her - or, if not, certainly at the same time as her. Now, however, he lay dying in their bed from what the English called The Sweating Sickness.
Surely God did not plan for her to be a Penniless Virgin? Surely not after less than four months of marriage?
That was why she, a Spanish Infanta only able to speak a few words of English and ill with the sickness herself, whispered her prayers to the Virgin Mary in Spanish - praying for her husband's life, for their future, for the future of their Kingdom, for the Camelot they would make.
She heard the door to the Chapel creak open, but thought nothing of it, filtering her rosary between her fingers, her Spanish flying fast and quiet from her lips as light shone down at the Virgin Mary through the stained glass window behind it.
"Your Highness?"
At the voice of Margaret Pole, recently returned from childbirth, Catherine jumped.
"Your Highness? Forgive me. I am sorry to interrupt you at prayer, but you must be informed. The physicians say that Prince Arthur will live."
If she hadn't been in a place of prayer, a place devoted to God, Catherine would have screamed in delight. As she was in a place devoted to God, she merely nodded her head, dismissed Margaret Pole with a grateful wave of her hand, thanked both the Lord and the Virgin Mary, then rushed off to her husband.
~*~King Arthur II~*~
Henry VII had been King of England for nearly seventeen years and, in all those years, he had never seen Elizabeth cry once; never with pain in childbirth, never with joy, never with relief. So when his wife, one hand on her stomach and the other over her mouth, fell to her knees screaming and crying in relief at the news of Arthur's recovery, he was rather shocked.
As was he when, after his mother scolded Elizabeth for her emotions, he saw the fire light in his wife's eyes, saw the Plantagenet strength rise in her, saw the last remnants of Elizabeth Woodville flare into life, as she rose and unleash all her fury at his mother.
"-And if you think, Lady Margaret, that I am not going to celebrate the health and recovery of my son with the subjects of myself and my husband, then you are very much mistaken." As Elizabeth stood, apoplectically angry, in the doorway, Henry could, most definitely, see his mother-in-law in his wife. "I will talk with you, Lady Richmond, when you have learned your place in this court."
"Elizabeth, you must-"
"'Must' is not used for Princesses and Queens, Madam, and you will do well to remember that I am both." Elizabeth's voice was colder than Henry had ever heard it - even colder than the early years, where they had just been falling in love, when everything had been political - as she glared at his mother who was gaping like a dead fish. For a moment, he saw the part of his wife that, if given free reign, could rule England herself, the part that had blossomed after Elizabeth Woodville had died and her restrictive influence had departed to what he assumed was hell. "You, My Lady, are none and neither! Nor, despite your wishes, will you ever be. I, Elizabeth, am the Queen. I am the mother of the heirs, the true Princess of England, the reason your son was able to keep his throne in the early years of his reign, the reason that the Plantagenet Blood - the claim your grandchildren have to the English throne - runs in their veins! You owe your livelihood to me. And, I believe it is about time that I did something with that knowledge."
She dipped the shallowest curtsey possible to Margaret, dropped into a full curtsey to her husband and then left, the door slamming shut with a loud crash behind her. Henry bowed to his mother and followed his wife. Despite all the love he had for his mother - who had changed sides, murdered, lied, schemed and more to get him where he was - he couldn't help but laugh. His mother had been very high handed lately and it would be good for her to realise that he was King and Elizabeth was, indeed, his wife and Queen.
~*~King Arthur II~*~
At the news of his mother's words to his grandmother, Arthur roared with laughter, his thin, lithe body shaking with mirth. Catherine, unlike Arthur, merely smirked to herself and gave one particularly hard jab of her needle at the mention of Lady Margaret, whom she had grown to dislike. While Arthur, still recovering, sat in bed, Catherine, having recovered herself from the sickness, sat in front of the roaring fire sewing a shirt for Arthur.
Most definitely assured of her faith in God, the Lord having saved her brother, Juan, from death, and now her husband, Catherine felt safe in England. She had not loved Arthur when she had arrived, but she had fallen in love with him now, even if he hadn't fallen in love with her.
After Sir Richard Pole left, Arthur reclined back in the bed, groaning a little to himself. He didn't want to make Catherine worry about him - again - if he could help it. She may not love him, but he had, most definitely, fallen in love with her; he hadn't been at first - she'd be stubborn, Spanish, hot headed and communication had been a problem. He had done what his father had said: "Marry first. Fall in love later."
He saw her head shoot up at his groan, but waved a hand to placate her, watching as she went back to her sewing. Good lord, was he really that small? The shirt she was sewing wouldn't even fit around Henry's fat stomach, let alone over his own head!
Fortunately, he mused, Ludlow Castle had grounds that he and Catherine could ride their horses around, that they could use to hide them as they made love.
His cheeks blushed bright red and he felt himself stir under the bed quilt, which he hastily moved to hide the evidence, and attempted to think of something, anything, to keep the image from his mind. Despite that, he knew what he'd dream of that night: Catherine naked - that perfect backside, those perfect breasts, himself groaning her name into her hair as he rode her, her nails on his back.
"Arthur?"
He blinked, shaking his head to clear his thoughts, and turned to look at her. "Sorry. I was thinking of - never mind. What did you want?"
She said something in Spanish and, from the rudimentary Spanish she had taught him, he understood one word: caballo.
"Of course," he said, smiling. "You do not need to ask me, Catherine."
She smiled, reaching out for him. He shook his head and waved her off. She, however, was determined; grasping him by the hand, she pulled him from the bed and from the room.
~*~King Arthur II~*~
"According to Arthur's physicians, he has recovered well," said Henry, holding up a letter for his mother to read. She did not take the letter, but frowned instead, so he continued reading. "They say that he and Catherine went riding on the seventh."
"As long as he does not become reckless," warned Margaret Beaufort, clucking disapprovingly. "He is Elizabeth's child."
"And what, pray tell, Lady Margaret, does that mean?" Elizabeth was stood in the doorway, two greyhounds on leashes by her side. Henry was instantly on his feet; since the news of Arthur's recovery, his wife and mother had been at what could be described as nothing less than war.
"The Plantagenets were always known for being wild, Elizabeth," replied Margaret. "Your father being a good example."
"My father, Lady Margaret, was a kind man who brought this country back from tyranny."
Margaret's face went from white, to red, to purple and, despite everything, she could not help herself. Her hand collided with Elizabeth's cheek before she knew what she was doing; Henry moved, expecting Elizabeth to back down. "Your father - and all Plantagenets after him - were usurpers!"
"I think, My Lady Margaret," said Elizabeth rising herself up to her full height, a hand on her cheek; she didn't tower over her mother-in-law, being a head shorter than her husband, but still looked terrifying. "That the Plantagenets had the throne before Lancaster. King Henry IV overthrew the rightful King, Richard II, to take the throne for himself. So, My Lady, in all truth, Lancaster were the usurpers and the Plantagenets were merely regaining their throne." She turned to her husband, leaving her mother-in-law red faced with fury. "You mentioned that Sir Richard wrote?"
"He did," said Henry, handing the letter to his wife, who scanned it, her eyes lighting up with relief. "It is very good to hear that Arthur has recovered. I think I will write to him and ask if I may visit. There are too many Beauforts around here."
Handing the letter back to Henry, she kissed his cheek, then left, talking happily to her greyhounds.
~*~King Arthur II~*~
As the end of April rolled around, Arthur and Catherine had settled into a routine at Ludlow. Both in love with one another, neither would act on it and it made some moments awkward, especially as Arthur fully recovered and began riding more often, when the rain let up.
Catherine had felt very concerned when Arthur had commanded for a joust to be hosted to celebrate his recovery. Sitting in the newly built pavilion at Ludlow, she had to admit that Arthur did look very handsome clad entirely in metal with fake muscles made into his armour.
He trotted up to her on his armour clad horse and lowered the lance. "Your favour, My Lady?"
"With pleasure, good sir," said Catherine, rising to tie it around his lance.
He grinned a boyish grin to her and trotted off to his place. Round after round took place, with Sir Richard being unhorsed by Charles Brandon and Thomas Knyvett being unhorsed by Arthur. The final round came, leaving Arthur and Charles Brandon.
Both lowered their lances and thundered down the lists towards one another. Charles's lance smashed hard against the front of Arthur's helmet and he toppled, crashing to the floor with a thump. He heard a scream, heard Charles shout "Your Highness!" and saw Catherine running across the pavilion, before everything went black.
When his eyes opened a mere minute later, he heard Charles cry out with relief as he sat up, blinking to regain his vision.
"Give him some air."
Sir Richard shepherded everyone aside, to allow Arthur to breath.
"Charles," said Arthur, smiling ruefully at his loss. "Well done."
"I humbly forfeit my win, Your Highness!" said Charles, bowing, hat to his large muscular chest, his face white.
"Not at all," said Arthur. "The loss was mine."
Charles was shooed away when the physician arrived.
~*~King Arthur II~*~
Arthur arrived at the chambers he shared with Catherine that night. Much to his relief, only the helmet had been damaged. While he hadn't been damaged and Catherine was unharmed, he knew that his mother would be worried sick, that his father would be furious and that his grandmother would blame Catherine.
"For someone not in love with their husband, you gave quite a scream out there in the pavilion," said Arthur, smiling at her as he climbed in next to her. As he climbed into bed, Catherine smiled at him, lying down on the pillow.
"For someone not in love with their wife, you gave quite a show in trying to impress me," she replied.
"You-?" he frowned for a moment and, to her credit, Catherine looked sympathetic. "You think I don't love you?"
"Do you?" she frowned.
"I would never have tried to impress you today if I didn't."
She frowned and, seizing a burst of courage inside him, Arthur kissed her deeply on the lips. For a moment, she seemed shocked, then he felt her pushing back and moved himself on top of her. Pushing against her, he felt her part her legs and plunged passionately into her, his lips against hers, his body bucking, her hands on his shoulders.
As she tipped her head back in pleasure and cried his name, Arthur moved down her body, his head in her hair, pressing kisses to the nape of her neck. Moving further down her body, he kissed down her neck, groaned her name and came hard with a cry. Rolling over her he slumped back onto the bed, his chest heaving, his body sweating.
He felt the bed shift as she rolled over, lowering her head onto his chest. Staring up at him, she smiled. "So," she began, coyly. "When did you fall in love with me?"
"During my recovery," he replied, his hand snaking it's way over her waist. "When did you fall in love with me?"
"The same time," she said, a hand running across the thin layer of hair on his chest. "I've been awkwardly avoiding you for months."
"I know," he said, kissing her flame red hair. "I've been trying to think of anything except you, because my passion for you revealed itself every time I did. Now, however, I do not have to worry."
"Nor do I."
And, thinking happily of her, he pushed her back onto the bed, kissed her passionately and entered her again. After several more rounds the couple collapsed, entirely spent, into the bed, where they immediately curled up amongst one another.
"When will you visit me at night?"
"I have orders," replied Arthur, thinking back to the list of orders that Sir Richard Pole had been given by his grandmother. "To publically visit you one night a week. The other six I am to remain alone."
"Oh," she said, frowning and pulling away from him. She felt his embrace tighten and he pulled her back, kissing her forehead.
"I will, of course, obey the first part," he replied, grinning as she looked up to him. "The second I shall conform to publically - then, I will come and visit you. There is a secret door behind your bookcase and mine; it leads to a secret passage that goes through the battlements so that no-one will ever know."
"I am glad," replied she, kissing him passionately as he lowered his head to kiss her. "Your grandmother will want a child from us soon."
"I know she will," he said. "But that does not mean that we cannot have some fun while we make our child. I believe there is the perfect backside of my wife that I wish to explore before our child is born."
"Oh, is there?" flirted Catherine, smirking.
He cocked an eyebrow, grinned boyishly, and suddenly felt another burst of energy surge through his body as he rolled Catherine over and crushed his lips against hers, pulling the quilt up over them, his hand snaking down to her backside.
~*~King Arthur II~*~
Catherine's eyes flickered open the next morning and, instantly, she caught sight of Arthur smiling at her. He leaned forward and kissed her, smiling as he lowered himself to her stomach and kissed it.
"I hope you're pregnant," he said, grinning boyishly up at her from his position by her stomach.
"Arthur!" she exclaimed, shocked, though a smile crossed her face.
"It would convince my grandmother that you are fertile - and that I am capable of fathering an heir. My grandmother always complains that Mama's father liked his women too much. What can be wrong with that? I like the woman I am looking at. The only one I ever will. My wife, my future Queen, the mother of my heirs."
Catherine smiled as Arthur pulled himself up the length of her body and crushed his lips against her's as he entered her.
"You wish to bed me for a means other than producing heirs?" she asked, as their kiss parted. "Is that not sinful?"
"Perhaps," he said, smiling as he came into her. "But I will make it richly sinful. I want you to know that I lay with you because I want too, not because you are my family's broodmare, that I bed you because it is my desire too - a desire born out of love."
"What will it be?" she asked. "Our child? A boy first - to secure the line? Or-?"
"A girl first," he said, surprising her. "Mary or Isabella, after my sister or your mother."
"A girl?" she asked. "Why do you think that?"
"I believe that our first born child will be a girl, like your mother's was; a boy second. Grandmother will put less pressure on us when you have a girl; she will know that you are fertile."
"My brother can stand as godfather."
"If you wish."
"I do," she replied.
He smiled, leaned down, and kissed her.
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