A?N: I have been having some pretty serious writers block the past few months (sorry for all waiting on my other stories!) but this idea has been batting around my brain for a little bit. I'm hoping it gets my creative juices flowing again! Hope you all enjoy!
Henry fidgeted stiffly, feeling the rough coif cutting into his neck and the sweat dripping down his neck. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and took a shallow breath, wishing the discomfort away. He had half a mind to stand and wave Hans Holbein away-telling him that he would have to sit for his portrait another time. The thought was overwhelmingly tempting, but he knew he would have to just put up with it. He could already feel his body weakening-could feel the years of hard living catching up to him. The picture Holbein was creating now would hardly give off the image Henry wished to be remembered by, but it would be one that would last centuries. Years from now, he would be remembered fondly by the English people and they would have this portrait to recall his face-the true father of the Tudor dynasty.
He only wished he were leaving a better, stronger legacy to follow him. His sweet boy, his pride and joy, Edward would make a fine king. But he was a delicate boy-so like his gentle mother- and Henry knew if he assumed the throne before reaching adulthood it would be dangerous. If only he had a son that was older and wiser-ready to step into his father's footsteps. He bit is lip, chasing away the anger that he still felt at the years wasted.
If only Catherine had seen sense. If only the Boleyn witch had not ensnared him. If only sweet Jane had lived. If only the German duke had not lied to him about his sister. If only he had seen that little Howard strumpet for the slut she was. If only gracious Katherine were not barren...
So many marriages gone awry. So many failed dreams and hopes crushed. Why had God cursed him so? Leaving only a young, sickly boy and two bastards in his wake. One just as stubborn and one just as cunning as the women who bore them.
Irritation left him more restless than he was even before and he turned his face towards the painter before something caught his eye. His breath caught in his lungs and his throat seized as his eyes widened in shock. He sat, blinking for just a second, but when she didn't disappear he jolted to his feet. Hans melted away and it was just the two of them, staring at each other in silence.
Catherine looked exactly as she did the last time he saw her. Her once glossy, auburn hair had faded into a dark dull brown just as her sparkling blue eyes had been permanently darkened with pain and loss. He remembered the first time he had looked into those eyes and missed the spark that had been in them when he had met her. It had been after they had lost their second child. She had never truly recovered from all her miscarriages and lost babies and as she had aged and lost her youthful beauty, it became more and more apparent. He scrutinized her now and saw the woman he had made her-still as graceful, elegant as when she had first come to England, but old and haggard. He looked at her and felt the old anger he had always carried with him well up inside him.
"What are you doing here?" he practically snarled, but she only smiled at his ire as one would a child throwing a temper tantrum. She always did have a talent of making him feel like the little boy he had been when she had arrived to wed his older brother.
"I have come to see my daughter. Why should that surprise you, Henry?" He stepped towards her as she glanced behind the curtain and Mary approached. He had seen his daughter only yesterday, but she looked a stranger to him now-wearing the traditional Spanish headdress, matching her mother. She looked almost a girl here, though he knew she had grown into a woman.
"You have not always been kind to her," Catherine's voice was gently chiding him as she raised a hand to cup their daughter's cheek affectionately. "I have wept so often...seeing her alone, abandoned by her father." Catherine's tone turned more accusing and her eyes pierced him.
"Is that why you've come back, Catherine? To chide me for all that I am not?" How familiar he was with her disappointed looks and her making him feel like he was never quite good enough.
"She ought to be long married by now," she continued, though Henry grew weary. "She ought to have children of her own!"
"Go away, shade..." he murmured squeezing his eyes and the image of her shut. "Go away, Catherine."
He had loved her, but never the way he should have. She had been lovely and sweet and he had fancied himself struck by cupid's arrow when he had first caught sight of her. But how much had that been that she was forbidden to him? That she was destined to be Arthur's bride. Arthur who had always gotten everything Henry had ever wanted. And then when Arthur had died, and his father and his grandmother had urged him to wed a French princess. But once he had gained the crown, he had been determined to prove them all wrong and claim the pretty Catherine for himself. It had been his first decision as king. And it had been the wrong one.
"You sent me away before...though I loved you." she seemed to taunt him now and it made Henry's anger bubble up again. She turned to obey him, as she had not in real life and he found himself calling out to her again, desperate to know the truth.
"Catherine!" she turned to him questioningly. "The truth...please. Your marriage to Arthur...was it consummated or no?" He expected her stubborn insistance but was instead met with widening, glassy eyes. He felt his heart stop in this moment before she looked away, touching her daughters cheek once more.
"I did it for her...Don't you see, Henry? Mary is meant to be queen. She will rule...in this future you have created. She will purge England of the heresy you have inflicted. It is her birthright." The truth she was revealing had him staggering. Not quite catching the meaning of her words, he zeroed in on the one fact.
"So it was a lie? I was right? You were Arthur's wife for true? Our marriage was cursed by God?" She looked fearful for just a moment before adamantly shaking her head. And the Catherine he knew so well, the stubborn woman, was back.
"I did it for her."
And with that, she was gone. Henry blinked, shocked by her sudden absence. The room was bright and still and Holbein was before him again, studying his face. Henry took a shuddering breath, glancing down at his shaking hands before clenching his fist shut.
He had been right.