Chapter One: The Living Beauty
Summary: Katherine, tired of Henry's cruelty and neglect, contemplates a different path.
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters within. I barely even own the idea behind this story. Thanks so much, Rachel.
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"There is gray in your hair,
Young men no longer suddenly catch their breath
When you are passing;
But maybe some old gaffer mutters a blessing
Because it was your prayer
Recovered him upon the bed of death.
For your sole sake-that all heart's ache have known,
And given to others all heart's ache,
From meager girlhood's putting on
Burdensome beauty-for your sole sake
Heavens have put away the stroke of her doom,
So great her portion in that peace you make
By merely walking in a room."
Excerpt from W.B Yeats' Broken Dreams
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Bridewell, Queen's apartments, June 1529
The wine in her cup, the sweetest to be found in the cellar, tasted bitter. Flavored with defeat, thick with sorrow, she drank it down without a word, her eyes staring fixedly out the window at the dreary world outside.
It was raining.
So you were a fucking virgin! That's not the point!
Again and again Katherine turned Henry's words over in her mind, recalling the redness of his face, the way fury twisted his handsome features into an ugly mask, the flecks of spittle that had flown from his mouth as he bellowed at her.
Another sip, and the wine of loss flowed smoothly over her tongue.
The slamming door, the sting of unshed tears in her eyes, her heart breaking anew as she sat there…what a black day this had been. She had spoken the truth, and naught but the truth, before the Court today and it had brought her nothing save more pain.
But there still was hope, was there not? These cases took time, after all, and decisions from his Holiness did not happen overnight. Surely, justice was on her side. The Court would find in her favor, and she and Henry would come together again…
Even as Katherine tried to be hopeful, her mind kept dwelling on Henry. Henry of the icy eyes, Henry of the fierce temper and cruel words, Henry of the stubborn and unforgiving heart.
Henry the Eighth, King of England.
Katherine drained her cup and turned her eyes away from the torrents of rain, reaching instead for the pitcher she had Elizabeth leave out for her. Even as she poured more wine, she admonished herself for such an undignified pastime. It was not seemly for the Queen of England to get drunk, no matter the provocation.
The Queen sighed and leaned her head back against her chair, closing her weary eyes for a blissful moment.
"Your Majesty, Sir Thomas More is here to see you."
Opening one eye, Katherine saw Lady Darrel standing in the doorway, her thin, pretty face pale with tension and sadness. Beyond her, in the watery light of the corridor, stood Thomas.
Her Thomas.
"Send him in, Elizabeth."
At a nod and a curtsey from the Lady, More strode into the room, smiling gently at Katherine as he knelt before her and took her hand between his.
"My Queen."
Light as a feather, his lips brushed the back of her hand, an all too fleeting comfort on this long, trying day. Though she reminded herself that she was a married woman, a woman of faith and integrity, Katherine could not wholly keep herself from yearning towards him.
"Sir Thomas, I cannot say how wonderful it is to see you." She murmured, not even able to summon up the shadow of a smile for her love. With an elegant hand she gestured to the chair across from her, inviting him to sit, to keep her company.
"You may leave us, Lady Darrell."
There was silence in the chamber as the Queen and the Lord Chancellor waited until the sound of the Lady's footsteps faded outside the door, and soon they were quite alone. Still there was the quiet between them, sharp and brittle like flint. Thomas More stared at Katherine, stared at her sad eyes and her wine reddened lips (lips he longed to touch, lips he longed to taste) and felt a subtle helplessness. What could he do? Her marriage, her very principles, were being destroyed, even as she was humiliated before all of the world and her heart was broken again and again, day after day. What could he do in this time of wickedness and insanity to help the one he loved more than his own life?
"You have been drinking,"
"Yes. I think I may have earned the right today." Katherine said, a dry little chuckle chasing her words as she took another mouthful of wine. Her eyes- so beautiful in laughter and joy- were dark, veiled by sorrow. It filled her, clung to her like a cloak, lending to her an achingly noble grace. Even now, when her fighting spirit was at its lowest ebb, she was the most beautiful woman Thomas More had ever seen.
"I am afraid that I am quite unmanned, Katherine. I came here as soon as I could, to bring you comfort…and now that I am here I cannot see what help I might give."
"You came to me, Thomas. You look upon me with a loving countenance and speak to me with nothing save tenderness in your voice. It is enough."
Her voice was quiet, laced with bitterness. This was not Katherine speaking to him now. Katherine was warmth, was care and honor and kindness. With that one frigid word, that harshly whispered 'enough', she seemed to leave him behind for a place far from Bridewell, a stranger left sitting in her place. A changeling-woman. Where was the real Katherine, how could he bring her back?
As though she could read his troubled thoughts, Katherine stirred in her seat and sat taller, her eyes clearing slightly as she surfaced into the present moment.
"My apologies, Thomas, I am being a neglectful hostess. Would you care for a little wine? A fine vintage, though I am most saddened to report that it is French." The Queen quipped, setting aside her own goblet and reaching for the half empty pitcher on the table. Thomas spied his opportunity, hovering golden and gossamer in the moment, and he closed his hand over hers on the handle of the pitcher. Rough clay over fine white porcelain; one blunt and masculine and the other soft and feminine; a beautiful contrast, if one took the time to appreciate it. But it was not the contrast of their flesh that Thomas saw; he was seeing only the woman before him, the one being who was his other half in mind, heart and soul.
"Katherine."
Their eyes met, brown peering intently into blue, and Thomas' voice was so low and urgent that Katherine forgot her hurts and gave herself fully to this moment between them.
"What is it, Thomas?"
"You have gone through so much these few years past …and I must tell you that no matter the outcome of this sordid affair, I will always love you. And I will stand by your side until the Day of Judgment comes. You shall never fight alone, my Queen." He whispered, leaning forward in his chair until their faces were scant inches apart. Feeling a sharp, sweet ache in her breast, Katherine closed her eyes and drew a hitching breath, a sharp sting building at the corners of her eyes. Oh, God, if she had been born but a simple Englishwoman…she would have known only joy as this man's wife.
"Thank you, Thomas, thank you. It has been very…very trying these last few months and I…I feel that I shall..." She felt shame for the hot tears that clung to her lashes, blurring her sight. Disgusted, she shut her eyes, tried to hold the flood at bay. She was stronger than this, so much stronger. Her mother never would have wept, never would have shown such weakness…Isabella of Castile would fight whatever stood against her, and so too would her daughter.
A gentle touch upon her cheek told her that Thomas was not fooled.
"Shh, Katherine, do not weep. It's going to be all right, mark my words. Rome will find in your favor, do not think for a moment that they will not. You are England's rightful Queen, and the true wife of our King. No one on this earth can change that." He murmured softly, wiping tears from her skin with the pad of his thumb. She nodded, but bit her lip harshly, her shoulders trembling. She was on the very brink of breaking down, now, and he knew she would hate herself for it.
"Even if your case was not obviously in the right, I wager you won the Legate over with your words to the King. Beautifully spoken, my dear, and you shamed every man there with your eloquence. My God, you were an Amazon in the Courtroom!"
He was rewarded with a tiny, tremulous smile, and a chuckle that, though small and sad, was chuckle never the less. A triumph.
"I suppose I should be thankful that one person took my words to heart." She said softly, and she blotted her tears with the heel of her hand. The great woman sniffed, straightened in her seat and seemed to gather her composure once more. And not for the first or last time in his life, Thomas More was grieved that his love felt that she had to wear this mask of calm even before him, who knew her better than any man living.
"I was not alone, Katherine. Dozens of those present were moved by your plea…including the King. You saw his face. You saw that he, too, was touched when you spoke of your honest love and devotion to him."
Katherine's sad smile slowly faded away, and suddenly there was coldness to her eyes, sharp and glittering as ice.
"He was not as affected as one might think, Thomas. We spoke not too long ago, wherein he made it plain to me that he still considers me little better than his unwitting whore."
Thomas stared, his brows knitting together at Katherine's words. He did not wish to believe that his student and friend would use such language with a woman such as Katherine, but in recent days Henry had proved he was more than capable of insulting his wife and worse…
"Surely he did not say such a terrible thing to you, Katherine." He said lowly, tension slowly coiling ever more tightly within his gut.
"It was implied," she answered tartly. "Besides this, his Majesty claimed the Court would find in his favor, and that even if they did not he would revile the Pope as a heretic and wed Mistress Boleyn as soon as he pleased." Thomas blanched, his heart seeming to plummet into his bowels. God in Heaven, what was Harry thinking? Defying the Pope, undermining papal authority in England…Christ, the very idea was heresy!
"He cannot mean that." He whispered. Katherine shook her head, grief consuming her anger, smothering its flame.
"He does. Oh, Thomas, I believe that he does. I tried, one time more, to tell him that Arthur never knew my body carnally, and he shouted at me. He was so furious…I thought for a moment that he might strike me." She murmured, looking away into the flames dancing in the fireplace. Her gallant Sir Thomas caught her hand, squeezed it, his eyes black and pensive. He was as troubled as she, as helpless.
"Henry…he is not the man I married years ago. The sweet young man is gone…I feel as though I have been widowed. He is harsher, less attentive to the wants and feelings of others. And he is cruel. So very cruel…"
The Queen trailed away into silence, tilted her head down with a sigh. Her despairing words reverberated in Thomas More's thoughts, coaxing his own dark collection of observations and fears out of the shadowy corners of his mind. Cruel. He recalled the look of contempt the King had thrown Wolsey earlier in the day, and knew that the Cardinal was doomed. Wolsey, despite years of friendship and good service to the King, would be punished simply for failing to deliver to the King what he wanted, when he wanted it. More thought too of the merchant who had been hung last autumn for speaking out against the King's Great Matter and abusing the Mistress Anne with foul words. A good man, all told, but he had dared question the King's actions, dared to insult his precious 'true love'…
Henry could indeed be cruel. Not even Wolsey, one of his dearest friends and advisors, would be safe when his day came. The Harry Thomas More knew and loved like a son was gone forevermore, replaced by a despot, and they were all at his mercy.
He looked to Katherine then, his Queen stubborn and unyielding and absolutely certain that she was right. To admit otherwise would damn her soul, and that of her husband, to Hell for all eternity, this Thomas knew in his heart. She would fight for her soul and for Henry's and above all for her daughter's rights as the King's sole legitimate heir, and nothing would dissuade her.
Nothing.
The truth made Thomas More ill with fear.
Courageous and obstinate as she was, Katherine would go toe to toe with her formidable husband without care for her own earthly safety. Henry's patience was rapidly running out, and Thomas knew that it was only a matter of time before the King used harsher methods to force Katherine out of the battle.
As King he could do whatever he wanted to Katherine, anything at all, no matter what respect her title and lineage demanded. With the Whore whispering in Henry's ear at all hours, there was nothing he would not stoop to.
"My Queen, my lovely Lady, I beg of you not to take offense at what I next say, for I mean none." He said suddenly, reaching out to touch her cheek, drawing her attention back onto his pale, anxious face. He felt raw inside, wild with the dark truths in his mind, sick with guilt when he saw Katherine look at him with the first traces of betrayal in her eyes. He was going to break her heart, tear away her hope and her comfort and dash them against the far wall, and for a black moment Thomas More hated himself for what he was about to do.
But then he saw Katherine in his mind's eye, imprisoned, impoverished, humiliated and degraded like some common slut. Her household diminished, her finances cut again and again, leaving nothing for food or fuel. Starvation. Dishonor. Death.
"Katherine, listen. Listen. You know better than anyone how volatile the King's temper is. You know what he can do when he is angry and wants his way. It is the unspoken law of the land that whatever the King wants, he gets." He whispered intensely, his knuckles white from the grip he had on her hand.
"Oh, yes, that I know." The Queen said quietly. There had been a time, not even thirty years ago, when she had been what Henry had desired, and he had sworn to pursue her to the very ends of the Earth, if need be.
"Surely you understand what might lie in store for you if you should continue on this path? Wrongfully or not, Henry wants this annulment, and he wants that Boleyn girl, and I firmly believe that he will do absolutely anything to have his way…including hurt you in any way he can."
He was certain that he must be hurting her hand, and hurting her heart, but Katherine still kept her mask of calm.
"I know." She said again, just as quietly as before. Her eyes did not leave his, and he could see that not a word of his argument was going to make her change her mind. More felt like screaming, felt like beating the tables and chairs about him until they were but shattered reminders of their original form and he was empty of his care for her.
"Don't you understand? If things a carry on in this way, he could have you killed, Katherine, he could have Mary killed!" Thomas snarled, his voice at last carrying a hint of the frustration that had been boiling under his skin for months now.
Katherine flinched at this, as though he had raised a hand to strike her, and More immediately shut his mouth. He had done enough for now.
"I know that too, Thomas. But have I any other choice besides fighting? If I sit passively by, I will be declared a whore and my daughter will lose her rights to the Crown. And I will die before I see that happen."
"There is another choice. You could negotiate with Henry…make certain conditions, and then…" Thomas whispered hoarsely. Katherine tore her hand from his and leveled a stony glare at him.
"That is no choice, Thomas! Divorce is disallowed by the Church, as well you know." She hissed. Thomas felt sick as he gave a small, unhappy shrug of his shoulders.
"But it is better than an annulment. You will be the former wife of his Majesty, not his unknowing harlot, and Mary will be a Princess still. Wolsey once said to me that the Pope always finds an excuse to allow a Royal divorce. And it is so."
"I cannot believe you are even suggesting this to me! You, of all people!" she cried, her voice high and sharp with emotion. Furious, heartbroken by his traitorous words, Katherine lunged to her feet and turned her back on Thomas, striding over to the window. She peered out at a world that was blunted and shrouded by fog. Thick sliver mist rolled over the palace's roofs and turrets, leaving a strange unseasonable chill that permeated everything, and it seemed to Katherine that it had infiltrated her heart.
How could he do this to her? She trusted him, she depended upon him, she loved him…
Behind her, Katherine heard Thomas get to his feet and slowly walk up to her. He stopped a mere handbreadth away from her back, standing so close to her that she could feel the warmth of his body, smell his unique scent of leather and old books.
"Katherine."
He lifted his hands to rest on her arms, holding her firmly as he leaned down a little, his breath tickling the nape of her neck. He spoke her name, quietly, tenderly, his voice low and rumbling with a decades old ache.
"Please understand…I could not bear to see you harmed. I would do anything to keep you safe and content; you know that…that is why I am begging you to consider divorce. For Mary's sake, and for your own. Know that I will always follow you, whatever you decide."
She was trembling under his hands, unable to speak, unable to breath, suddenly so overwhelmed that she could not bear to be near him a moment longer.
"Please. Just leave."
"As you wish."
He bent his head and gently kissed her bare shoulder, his mouth lingering a long moment on her skin. And a heartbeat later he was gone, tearing himself away from her and striding to the door, leaving Katherine weak kneed and weeping silently before the window and its milky view.
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Well, ladies and gentlemen, we have here my newest Tudors story, and I don't think there's any way I can fit more fan service in this thing even if my life depended on it. I'll be using the historical timeline, as you can see, though what happens in the next chapter may or may not hinder/speed certain events up.
So, keep an eye out, and kindly drop me a review. I think this chapter is a bit too full of wangst, don't you agree? And it's a bit bombastic…and constructive criticism would be most welcome.
A biiiig hug to Trivial Queen for saving my arse with this chapter. I owe you some FalKat, dearie, no mistake!
You obedient servant (in some things),
Doctor Madwoman