Disclaimer: I don't own The Tudors. If I did, no one would ever see Henry or Charles Brandon again…hubba-hubba! ;-)

Author's note: I began writing this awhile back, after watching the first season of The Tudors. Since the show features my absolute favorite era in history, I was compelled to watch it. This was inspired by Natalie Dormer and Jonathan Rhys-Meyers' fantastic job as Anne Bolen and Henry VIII. I wondered how they would respond meeting again in the future…reincarnated, and retaining memories of one another. And so this puppy was born. Please read, review, and all that. Thanks, and enjoy!

Harry rolled his eyes, bouncing from foot to foot at the entrance of the hotel.

"You promised me that you'd go on this tour, at least pretend you'll have a good time!" Kate, his girlfriend of four years berated him. He glanced at her in annoyance, the harshness of his gaze wiping the cheerful smile off her face. Once she looked away, Harry felt a lump of guilt rise in his throat, but he swallowed it down quickly. She was so insistent on seeing a stupid building; how could she expect him to want to go when he begged her not to be dragged along?

Harry Thompson was a young man in the prime of his life. At twenty-five, he was a rising star in his father's shipping company. The hair on his head was cropped close, almost in a sort of buzz cut. The blue of his eyes was piercing and yet calming, like Harry was able to see through your lies and yet accept them the moment they fell from your tongue. He was well educated, reared by ambitious and rich American parents. They'd sent him to the best schools money could buy in the United States, and then shipped him off to Cambridge for university. The result? Grades that reflected intelligence but a laxness towards curriculum, and an acquired accent used to charm his female counterparts back in the states. And now, his Kate pleaded for a British holiday, to see the lands of his forefathers with him. He complied, slightly eager to visit his old college pals and to go on jaunts to his old haunts.

But no, that hadn't happened. She made it so that the trip was about tours and historical markers and all boring nonsense. What did he care about the Palace of Westminster? The cab pulled up in front of the building, and once Harry and Kate were situated, he directed the driver to take them to the landmark.

Of course he knew the history of the palace; it was a beautiful building that he'd only glimpsed in the past when he and his friends roamed the streets of London when the weekends came. The clock tower was particularly striking ('Ha, a pun!' he thought to himself as the car ambled along). But something about it was familiar to him, and not just Big Ben. He researched it for a class one semester: it was the Parliamentary building. The original built during William the Conqueror's time was long gone, but what was put in its place had lasted hundreds of years, and up until 1512 was the principal home for the monarchs of England. The last to use it as such was King Henry the Eighth.

'Ah, the tyrant, the dissenter, the all-powerful King Henry with his six wives! What a man,' Harry thought admiringly. 'So powerful, and yet…I think he was poor man. He only wanted to continue his line, wanted what he wanted and had to provide for the whole of the country. Poor man indeed…breaking with the church and Pope, just so he could give his people an heir. God, the English are a ridiculous lot. Stupid laws. If he'd lived now, he'd be able to cast off his first wife and nobody would think the less of him or the girl he truly wanted to be with.'

Snorting to himself, he curled his hand into a fist and pressed it against his lips to stifle a laugh. Kate looked at him curiously.

"Harry, honey, what is so funny?" she asked hesitantly. The poor woman had been walking on eggshells with her younger lover for the past couple of months. For some reason Harry found himself getting bored of Kate after four years of dating. Perhaps that was the reason why he'd cheated on her several times in the last month; he was exhausted of the woman he once loved more than life itself. Was it because she was in her thirties and ages ahead of him? Partly. It was also because she said one thing and did another. Kate would claim utter devotion to him and the company, and yet snub his friends and business associates when she so chose. She'd defied him a few times, speaking out against the rising costs and how they affected the trades within companies across the world. Her parents were successful lawyers, covering Harry's ass when he got into more trouble than he had to and saving relations when his rage severed ties with people who could build up his reputation. Lately it was because of Kate they struggled to keep Harry legally free and clear. Why did she not want to protect his interests? Why did she hurl him to the wolves?

The hardest truth was that…well, the sex had gotten monotonous. He felt almost nothing whenever they decided to perform the act, except relief when it was over. That way he wouldn't have to let her see the guilty slide of his eyes towards the window just to not look at her. She was still pretty, even in her thirties: dark brown hair that flowed, dark eyes, and a delightful smile that was still so contagious. It wasn't that he thought her ugly. It was just that it was the same old forward-and-back, up-and-down dance of desperate lust and no fulfillment. He began to hate himself for not taking any pleasure of being with his girlfriend, and so they were no longer having sex. "They" weren't, but Harry was; some girls back home were willing to be just one night stands, and after having his fun, he'd go home burning, yet unashamed.

Turning his eyes on her, he noticed her playing with the promise ring he'd given her two years ago. At one time, he thought she'd be his only future. Now, he was no longer sure.

"Oh, nothing, Kate. I was just thinking about poor King Henry VIII, and how things with his divorce would've gone without a hitch nowadays," he supplied for her, giving her a tiny grin. In turn, she frowned.

"I pity his first wife. She did nothing to deserve being thrown away. From what I understand, she was almost a saint, but just because Henry wanted a boy, he pushed her away," she sniffed, shaking her head.

Harry shrugged. "Perhaps he was just doing what he felt was right. Being a king and all, he did have the right to do as he pleased. And there was a lot of pressure to provide the country with an heir in those days; the monarchy was balanced on his shoulders. And from what I understand, she was past child-bearing age. It would've been better for her to leave and just accept the fate in store. Opposing him did nothing but bring her more grief and him more trials than he needed."

Kate stared at him, amazed. "Are you serious? The man was arrogant, vain…and he was a cheater, with at least two women on the side while he was married! How can you defend him?"

He glared harder, nearly snarling as he responded, "Why not? It's not like he was all bad. Without him, there would be no Protestantism. No Church of England. He did a lot for England; he just was fulfilling demands."

She scoffed at that. "More like fulfilling his need to have sex with that slut Anne Boleyn. She was the reason he went from King to tyrant."

Harry looked away, infuriated for no obvious reason. Conflicting feelings flowed through him. One claimed Anne was his one true love; another feeling was a chastisement for Kate's ignorance for what was right in front of her eyes. Breathing slowly, he regained his faculties and locked his gaze onto the streets passing by the car. After a moment or two of silence, the vehicle halted in its travels and Kate and Harry were deposited in front of Westminster. They mixed in with the waiting group, and eventually they began to tread up a staircase.

Unexplainably, Harry began to feel strange.

'It's as if I've been here before…like I've come home, but nothing's right anymore.'

He caught himself looking a certain doorway, thinking that it was in the wrong place, and that the lords and ladies would've entered from a different path. In one room, he found himself thinking about an old man in a red cap, giving him advice while he stared at the nobles coming and going on the lawns below. Images of men with cloaks and swords, of ladies in long dresses, extraordinary jewels and towering headdresses filtered through his mind's eye as they went on. Upon reaching a long gallery, Harry received the most disturbing and wonderful vision of all.

A girl, younger than him but only by a few years, was studying a painting hanging on the wall with another group. Oddly, Harry felt his eyes were drawn to her. Her profile was lovely: long, black hair was loose on her shoulders, curling lightly at the tips and a long, elegant neck underneath all that. Dressed in a simple sweater and jeans, she still outshone the beauties of her group that were batting their eyes at him. She couldn't have been taller than 5'5", but he wanted dearly to see her face. As if on cue, she turned to face him…

And suddenly Harry had fallen into a dream. Only, he wasn't Harry…he was Henry…