The Dragon and the Rose
Note: I wrote this mostly to satisfy myself – to flesh out scenes I thought too short or insert scenes I wished they had included or just as a means of getting into the heads of Lizzie and Henry and have more understanding of what they were thinking and feeling throughout the series.
Chapter One
Though she did not recognize it at first, it started with a thank you – and a challenge met.
She had issued the invitation for him to defy custom and visit her bedchamber during her confinement as a way of cultivating her influence over him.
But also because there were moments when she saw something different in him – and she was curious to know more of the parts of him that he locked away from the rest of the world. His gratitude for her actions when the sweating sickness had gripped the city had been grudging – but sincere. And his frustration – that a marriage forced on them both under the pretext that it would engender peace in the land had instead yielded nothing more than enmity between them and a failed attempt at regicide – was genuine.
Two days into her lying in and Lizzie was bored beyond endurance. The darkened and overly warm room and the presence of her ladies were supposed to ensure a tranquil and calming environment in which to wait out the final weeks of her pregnancy. Instead, Lizzie chafed at the forced inactivity and the gloominess of her chambers. The ever-present company of her ladies and the midwife with her daily instructions and admonitions would, she was sure, drive her mad before the child made its appearance. Already she was heartily sick of fending off Cecily's snide comments and though her heart broke for her cousin, Maggie's quiet sniffling and constant pleas for Lizzie to do something to free poor Teddy from the tower wore at her soul.
And as for Lady Margaret's spies… Lizzie took great pleasure in either ignoring them completely or dropping little conversational bombs which she knew they would rush to carry back to their mistress.
She was flipping through a book, doing her best to ignore the tiny headache brewing behind her eyes as she attempted to block out Cecily's nattering and her cousin's plaintive sighs when the unmistakable sound of the heavily booted feet of the palace guard rang against the stone floors outside her rooms. She instinctively held out a hand to Cecily and the sisters exchanged fearful looks as the ominous sound flooded them with memories of the times they spent hiding in sanctuary as children.
A fist thudded against the oaken door.
"Open in the name of the King!"
"Something is wrong," Cecily said in a frightened voice. "Oh, Lizzie…"
One of her ladies scurried forward to haul open the heavy door and Lizzie slumped with relief against the pillows at the sight of her husband crossing the threshold.
"Henry," she breathed. "You near frightened us all to death!"
"Did you… Was I mistaken, my lady? Did you not invite me to visit you here?" She saw the look of genuine confusion cross his face before he schooled his expression into its usual haughty lines.
"But Sire," the midwife dared to breathe, "It is not the way…"
Henry turned his head and met the older woman's indignant expression with a narrowing of his eyes. "I have it on good authority that a King can do as he will. Is that not right, wife?"
He glanced toward the bed, a sense of mischief clearly visible in his eyes. Lizzie was hard pressed not to laugh at the wide-eyed looks of horror on her ladies' faces and the surge of pleasure she felt in the knowledge that he had chosen to defy his mother's zealous piety to accept her challenge to visit her.
"Indeed, Your Grace. For what pleasure is there to be had in being a king if one cannot do as one pleases?"
"Just so," he nodded and proceeded into the room. The other women gathered in small knot in one corner as he dropped into a chair next to the bed. Propping one elbow on the arm of the chair, he rested his chin on his open palm and craned his head toward the gaggle of nervous women hovering in the corner.
"You have our permission to go," he said with an arrogant flick of his fingers toward the door.
Cecily grabbed her cousin's hand and hurried from the room, followed by the rest. The midwife and one of the ladies chosen by the Lady Margaret to attend to Lizzie, paused near the door. Henry raised an imperious brow at their hesitation.
"Should I call for my guard to lend either of you ladies assistance in removing yourselves from this room?" he asked in a voice made threatening for all its surface politeness.
"No, Sire," the midwife squeaked fearfully. The two bobbed their knees in quick curtsies before quitting the room. Henry waited for one of his guard to pull the heavy door closed before sliding down to slouch in his seat.
"They will kill themselves trying to see which one can get to my mother first," he muttered.
An awkward silence filled the room and the scowl fell away from his face as he looked about, careful to avoid her gaze. Lounging in the chair, his indolent pose was at distinct odds with the look of shy hesitance on his face as he struggled to initiate a conversation.
"It is hot as blazes in here," he finally muttered gruffly before lapsing back into silence.
"Your mother wills it so." Lizzie pushed herself up in the bed and straightened the blankets over her lap as long seconds ticked past.
"Henry. Is it your intention that we should pass the time of your visit with a quiet contemplation of the temperature of my room?"
Though delivered in a sweet tone, her words were tart with sarcasm and Henry's cheeks flushed in response.
"I have not… That is, I have little in the way of courtly manners," he admitted. "I have spent a lifetime in the company of soldiers and so my education is… somewhat lacking when it comes to the social niceties."
Now Lizzie flushed, a sense of shame rushing through her. She had mockingly spoken to her mother of her boredom with his talk of a life spent in exile but now, for the first time, she found a sense of sympathy for a boy who had grown up with no home and no family save a bachelor soldier for a guardian.
"Well," she said in a kinder tone. "We must think of something to do whilst you visit."
Henry stared downward in seeming fascination as his thumb spun a ring on his finger 'round and 'round before finally raising his gaze to meet hers.
"You and I are bound together. By marriage. By duty. By the child growing in your belly." His chest expanded as he drew in a deep breath. "For ill or for good, our fortunes are tied together. I am king and you are my queen. For our child and for England… I had thought perhaps we could leave the animosity between us outside this door and use this time to try to come to know one another."
Lizzie looked down for a moment and saw the candlelight glint against the golden band of the ring he had placed on her finger at their wedding. She smoothed a hand over the hard round curve of her belly and felt his child stretch and push a foot against her fingers as if to make its presence known.
She thought of her mother and her ceaseless plots to eliminate Henry and place a York on the throne in his place and she knew Elizabeth would settle only for his death.
As her babe rolled beneath the protective shield of her hand, she wondered what she would do, should her mother succeed. How could she explain to her child that she had turned her head and allowed the murder of its father? And she worried about the fate of the babe. Boy or girl, her child would be Henry's heir – a Tudor, not a York, and as such its very existence would be a threat to any other who craved the throne of England.
Henry was right. They had – the both of them – been pushed into this marriage. Lizzie knew the day was fast approaching when she would have to make her choice and she prayed that God would have mercy on her, whatever path she took.
"Alright," she agreed. "Where shall we begin?"