Title: The Queen's Favorite
Rating: PG13/ T
Summery: Robert Dudley was the most hated man in England. What would have happened if Queen Elizabeth had named him Lord Protector before slipping into a coma? AU.
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to "The Tudors."
Prologue
9th October 1562
The day had a promise of something in the air.
William Cecil, the Queen's secretary, couldn't say why it was so. The court had been in gloom ever since that morning, with Queen Elizabeth being deemed too ill to get out of bed. He noted how people seemed to drift about the hallways, utterly clueless on what to do when their monarch, the center of the universe to some of them, was not present. He could not truly blame them. Without her, just about nothing could be decided in the Privy Council. They couldn't even predict what she wanted to be done, what with her always having an ulterior motive that even they couldn't usually begin to guess.
He admired her for that.
He had survived the reigns of three monarchs before her, starting early on from her half-brother Edward's service, gaining some favor in the Lady Jane Grey's time (as brief as it was), and barely surviving Queen Mary's ascent to the throne by living cautiously. But the first time he saw the Queen – then, simply the nineteen-year-old Lady Elizabeth – he simply knew, instinctively, that she would be the best of them all. She was clever, courageous, and secretive—the perfect ingredients to make a good monarch. Only one thing had darkened his opinion of her once, but that had been quite a while ago and had been successfully remedied.
He hurried through the corridor. She had summoned him to her bedchamber a few minutes ago, which surprised him; as dedicated as the Queen was to the matters of state, she didn't usually press on in spite of disease, knowing all to well the importance of health. If she wanted him so much that she had called him to her bedchamber, it must be urgent. He hoped it would have something to do with the marriage negotiations; a number of suitors were currently asking for her hand, but ever since she had rejected the Archduke Charles, she had not singled one out she wanted to address in particular.
He knocked on the door; instantly, the face of one of her ladies, Mary Sidney, popped out. He sighed inwardly, wishing it had not been this certain lady to be the one to greet him. She did not do anything inappropriate personally; but an incorrigible relative of hers had irritated him to no end when he was still at court. He was almost certain that she had no reason to like him very much, either. Sure enough, her voice was cold when she asked, "Is there anything I can do for you, Master Cecil?"
"The Queen summoned me," he responded.
Her eyebrows flew up. "Did you not hear…?" She trailed off as she saw his confused expression. Of course he didn't. Dr. Cavendish had been ordered not to tell anyone anything, but Mary was surprised that Master Cecil, Elizabeth's most trusted advisor, had not been informed yet.
"It's all right, Mary," called a voice. "He need not stand so close—the disease had not progressed that far, at least not yet." Mary bit her lip, as if she wanted to protest, but nodded and curtsied. She took a few steps backward and gestured for Master Cecil to follow her. For a moment, he hesitated. There had to be a reason that the girl did not want him to see the Queen, and Elizabeth had mentioned a sickness…surely it could not be so severe. The Queen had always the most robust health, the best by far than any of her half-siblings. Surely she would get through this. Telling himself to not be such a coward, Cecil stepped into the room.
He gasped. There was nothing in the chamber that should have normally bothered him. Fine carpets and tapestries gave the place a cozy, elegant quality. A fire was blazing smartly at the hearth, with the Queen's governess, Mistress Ashley, was tending to. A large bookcase was there, filled with tomes both in the languages of the English, Romans, and Greeks – the Queen did so love her Latin – and a desk with stationary ready for her use. It was the Queen herself that had shocked Cecil so much.
She was dying.
That had become clear to Cecil the moment he saw her. Her face was drawn, pale, and beads of sweat trickled down her forehead; she was only lucky she did not suffer many pockmarks. Her velvet-blue eyes squinted wretchedly, as if she could barely see him. The bedclothes hung limply about her. Yet, despite all that, she still had a regal quality about her, something that had always set her apart from any crowd, as well as the monarchs he had served before her—and no matter what, she had always held her head up high.
It took him quite a while to get over his astonishment. Hastily, he bowed low. "Your Majesty," he said, paying his respects as always. She deserved nothing less. He began to walk over to her—but she held up her hand.
"Not so close, Master Cecil," Elizabeth said wearily. "I don't want you to get an infection." She didn't want anyone to be sick because of her. Never before had she been this ill; it was disorienting, to say the least. Time held almost no meaning for her, and a constant, raging headache blocked her from thinking properly. Was this what Mary and Edward felt like when they caught one of their frequent diseases? She did not wish this fate on her worst enemy, let alone her closest advisor. Especially not when she had something she wanted him to do. "Dr. Cavendish has diagnosed me with smallpox."
Cecil nodded, blanching. This did not bode well for England. The Queen had reigned successfully for three years, establishing the kingdom as a Protestant country, banishing Catholicism in to almost nothing but a furtive activity, and driving the whole world mad guessing who and if she was going to marry, or if she'd choose to keep her resolve and remain a virgin until the day she died. She was intelligent, secretive, and charismatic—a perfect combination for a monarch, he thought, knowing that she used her talents for all they were worth. Given time, perhaps she would even be more popular than even her father, despite her sex.
But the Queen was dying.
They did not have time.
Her eminent death would leave the land in turmoil; that was for certain. Possibly, there would be civil war. The Catholic and Protestant sides of the court would all make bids for power, and Cecil didn't want to imagine what would happen if Mary, Queen of Scots, and Elizabeth's cousin, dared to get involved. Within months, all his and Elizabeth's work would be brushed aside as if they had never happened. The Queen's death would probably spell disaster. Unless…
"I want to prepare for every contingency, Master Cecil, in case the worst happens," Elizabeth continued. She couldn't help but feel a stab of guilt. Perhaps this was her fault. She had always procrastinated naming on who would be in charge if she wasn't around—and because of that, maybe fate had deigned to punish her for tempting it. Now, the threat of her demise was looming large. Whether she was going to Heaven or Hell, she wanted to leave knowing that her kingdom was left in good hands.
"Are you saying, Your Majesty," he said slowly, "You want to name an heir?" It was better than nothing, he supposed, but he would rather have the Queen get better. Whoever she chose to succeed her after her death was not guaranteed to take the throne—Lady Jane Grey had proved that when Edward's act of succession was overruled by the people; she had been Queen for just nine days before they rebelled against her and placed Queen Mary on the throne. Besides that, if she did not name Mary, Queen of Scots, as her heir, there was a chance that the lady would gather forces and attack England anyways, claiming to be the rightful successor.
Then he noticed the Queen was glaring at him. Her lips were pursed, as if she was trying not to lash out. "I do not wish to be buried alive," she said severely. "I am not dead yet, it so happens. There is still a chance, no matter how slim it may be, that I may recover. No, Master Cecil. I want to name a Lord Protector."
"Yes, Your Majesty." The dismay in Cecil's voice was plain, but at the moment he didn't care. Lord Protectors had a smaller chance of securing the kingdoms than monarchs did, and they would only rule until the Privy Council decided on the heir. It seemed that Elizabeth would never name who she wanted to succeed her; she would had over the unpleasant task completely to them. "Who do you have in mind?"
Her eyes were fixed upon him, capturing his own. He couldn't help but squirm. People said that she inherited Anne Boleyn's eyes; eyes that were like hooks for the soul, eyes that drove King Henry mad enough to turn the kingdom upside-down for her sake, eyes that would hypnotize any person to do her bidding. "Do you promise to abide by my decision, whoever it may be?" she asked.
"Your Majesty," he protested lightly. "I will always be completely loyal. You don't have to-"
"Unfortunately, Master Cecil, in this case I do feel that I must. You will understand soon enough." Elizabeth took a deep breath. He was not going to like this. "But you must swear on your life, and mine, that you will do as I say. You will assist whomever I appoint to the fullest of your abilities, and serve him as if you would to me. No matter what happens. Do you promise?"
"I-" He hesitated. If she wanted him to make a formal oath, she would have made him sign it on paper and give it to the Parliament to ensure it was upheld. This was nothing like that. If he so wished, he could deny anything and ignore the successor as much as he wanted, if he did not want to assist whoever it was. But the Queen trusted him enough that he would do it, even if she did not list down the consequences. For her sake, he would. "Yes, Your Majesty. I swear it."
She spoke the name.
At first, she thought he might not have heard her. He stared, his face slowly registering shock and disbelief. If the matter was not so serious, Elizabeth would have laughed—rarely had she ever caught her secretary off-guard. When it finally sunk in, William Cecil launched on a furious argument. "But Your Majesty, you cannot possibly be serious! There must surely be other, better candidates. Think of the rumors that surround his reputation. Think of what the courtiers would say. The people of England would never trust him. His authority would never be respected." His flippant and overbearing personality would not help either, Cecil thought darkly, but he knew better than to say that out loud. "Would you really entrust your kingdom, your realm, to someone like him?"
"Yes," Elizabeth said with utmost certainty, and Master Cecil knew that was her last word on the matter. He gave a broken sigh, defeated. "Of course, this only ensues if the worst happens," she reminded him. "I'm not intending to die for many years. I just want to be sure that I left England in good hands…just in case."
10th October, 1562
Thirteen-year-old Kathy smiled charmingly at her brother.
It was the smile she used to delight her servants and care-takers – and therefore, utterly enslave them – and she had used it often enough to get a knack for how to curve her lips in just the right way, and how to make her dimples look especially sweet. She knew that this childish look would not last forever (and indeed, she hoped not; she was tired being treated as the baby of the family) but sometimes it could be dead useful. Like convincing a sibling of hers to stay outside just a little longer.
But if that was her goal, Katherine was doomed to be disappointed.
Her sunshiny grin had absolutely no effect on Robert Dudley.
"Mary said sunset, sister. And before you can protest I shouldn't care what she thinks," he added before she could say just that, "Let me tell you I want her to see how responsible I can be." He said that in a pompous, mocking voice, the kind he would use when he imitated the irritating visitors that sometimes stopped by for her entertainment, but there was a grain of truth in what he said—not that he'd ever admit it. He was hoping that being responsible with Kathy at least sometimes would convince his older sister to try again with asking for him to be returned to court. As much as he loved his little sister, he had no desire to play babysitter forever.
"You mean not at all?" Kathy scowled, knowing where his trail of thought was going, but quickly transformed her face back into a bright smile. Thankfully, he did not notice, still staring at a distance. Seeing that he remained unconvinced, she continued in a persuasive tone, "The day is so beautiful right now, Robby. I don't want to go back inside just yet. You know that Mistress Sarah will have me start sewing again." She gave an exaggerated shudder.
Robert smirked. He could sympathize with his sister on her governess – the lady would have scared him as a child, and every time he saw her he thanked his lucky stars that he was much too old to be put in a corner – and understand even more why she wanted to stay outside and ride, but it was getting late. As if reading her mind, Kathy said quickly, "Ambrose and Mary don't have to know."
He burst out laughing. "I would know, Kathy—and aren't I your older sibling as well?"
"Yes, but you don't count," she insisted. She was grateful for that; he was the fun brother, the one she could tell anything. Although Ambrose was kind and gave her lots of treats, and Mary tried to act the part of a strict mother and a sister confidante at once, it was Robert she trusted infinitely.
He grinned at her indulgently. "I should count, then. I can be a very stern brother when I want to."
"You?" Kathy said with disbelief. "You can't be strict with a lazy horse that wants to eat hay!" In reply, he stuck his tongue out at her. Her smile turned even wider. She was winning him over, she knew it. "Just a few more minutes," she coaxed. "It's not technically sunset yet. The sky hasn't even begun to darken!"
Robert Dudley gave a defeated sigh. Sometimes, his sister could be the most stubborn girl in the world. Second most stubborn, a voice in his head said, but he quickly pushed that thought away. "All right, Kathy. You may stay out for five more minutes. I mean it," he added sternly when she batted her eyelashes at him. "No more than-" He broke off, and his expression changed. His eyes were at the gate. "Get in the house, Katherine."
"What?" she shrieked in outrage. "But you just said-"
"Katherine," he hissed in an even firmer tone of voice. She turned around to look what he was gazing at—to see a messenger waiting behind them, a grim stare on his face. For a moment, she saw nothing wrong with this; both Mary and Ambrose had sent many messages through messengers, and she was about to tell Robert so when she realized. His clothes were much to fine to be a mere courtier's messenger; even the Queen's lady-in-waiting's couldn't afford that much extravagance….he was clutching a sealed letter in his hand…
Katherine swallowed a lump in her throat. Robert said nothing this time; but his eyes darted back to the house. Kathy didn't know what was this all about, not completely, but she could guess. She heard enough accounts from her siblings on her parents and (even older!) siblings were arrested and sent to the Tower when she was just a baby; and she knew enough that it all started with a royal messenger passing through the gates, carrying an arrest warrant.
Perhaps she was overreacting.
Maybe it was a message from the Queen, as her brother had so hoped these past few years, telling him to return to court. Either way, she knew that Robert was going to leave her.
And there was nothing she could do about it.
Robert Dudley was once a famous – or rather, infamous – name in court.
As the Queen's favorite, he knew that he would attract some jealousy with the other courtiers. What he didn't expect was that England would flat-out universally hate him. A few months after Elizabeth's coronation, he could barely walk out in the streets without being glared at, although few ever dared make their loathing as clear whenever Elizabeth herself was around. To be honest, he didn't care that much. He was already unpopular, due to his father being the manipulating bastard that he was, and he never asked whether people hated him because of the Queen's affection or who his family was.
He had no idea how important public opinion was.
Although Elizabeth never showed signs of anxiousness when he was with her, he could see now how much of a burden he was then. Many times he thought that it must have been a relief for her in some ways to banish him from the palace, to give her life entirely to England without any qualms. He couldn't blame her. Once the rumors of Amy's death seeped into her reputation, she simply had no choice but to send him away. Yet it almost killed him to think that he might not be the person who knew her best anymore.
Nowadays, he supposed his name was only mentioned in passing. The young man before him lacked the look of scorn his predecessors had given especially to him, he noticed. He twitched nervously in his seat, anxious about the news he was supposed to give. "I hope you're comfortable," Robert said, trying to break the ice. The man nodded timidly. "Of course, you are welcome to stay the night."
"Thank you, my lord," he said, lowering his gaze. "I have news from the palace."
Of course you do, Robert thought impatiently. I wouldn't let you in if you didn't. But he managed not to say that out loud. "What is it?"
"Master Dudley, do you know there has been an outbreak of smallpox in London?"
Robert frowned. "Of course. But what has this to do with...?" A look of horror spread across his face. "Is Mary and Ambrose all right? My brother and sister," he added when he saw the man's confused expression, calmed when he saw he didn't know who they were. The news couldn't be about them, then. He had few family members at court, but he didn't mind unduly if they died. "Has one of my relatives been diagnosed?" Slowly, the messenger shook his head. "Spit it out!" Robert snapped, his patience finally breaking.
"My lord, it's the Queen," the messenger mumbled. His eyes widened when he saw the effect his words had on Lord Robert. If he had reacted badly that his siblings were in danger, it was much worse with the Queen. He turned even paler, his hand almost clutching the armrests of his seat.
Time seemed to slow down for Robert. No…not Bess. Never Bess. She was always healthy—she drank those stupid tonics every single day, for God's sake! Surely she was safe. Perhaps this was a cruel trick—a scam of that snake Cecil to distress him. But no, even he would not be so petty to send a messenger to give him a false message. In any case, Bess would have been furious if she found out. But the only alternative to believe that it was true, that Elizabeth was….
"She's not dead," the messenger said hastily. He sighed with relief when Lord Robert finally recovered himself and look at him questioningly. "She's—she's in a coma," he elaborated. "Nobody can wake her up."
"I see," Robert said. "And the Queen sent for me before she reached that stage?" It was the only possible explanation he could come up with. Surely Cecil didn't order him to be informed; on the contrary, he would have probably done his best to keep him in the dark for as long as possible.
The messenger hesitated. "Lord Robert…before the Queen fell asleep, she…she devised a plan on what she wanted to happen if she were to…to become seriously ill." He swallowed nervously.
"So she named an heir," Robert said more to himself than to the messenger. He dearly hoped it wasn't Mary, Queen of Scots. She was a Catholic, and he – and perhaps most of the kingdom – had no wish to see another Catholic Queen Mary sitting on the throne. More than that, he had been indignant on Elizabeth's behalf when the King of France had proclaimed that she was a bastard and that it was Mary that was the rightful ruler of England. He couldn't imagine Bess giving in like that, even when she was ill. "But Elizabeth is not dead yet."
"No, sir," the man answered haltingly. "She did not name an heir. She named a Lord Protector."
"Cecil," Robert said with utter conviction. He was disgusted—William Cecil had sent a messenger to him to gloat.
"No," the messenger said again. "You."
In the other side of the wall, Kathy gasped.
Throughout the years she spent in her home, she noticed that being sneaky was a must if she wanted to learn any really important information. Her need for doing that, however, greatly diminished when Robert arrived. He told her just about everything—everything, of course, except court life, which both Mary and Ambrose stressed not to question him about even though she had once heard he was friends with the Queen.
Now, however, she couldn't trust that Robert wouldn't tell her anything or give her a condensed version, and she decided to use her knowledge of the hiding places in the manor to see what she could find out. One of the most useful ones was the old servants' room in the parlor, where she had once heard Mistress Sarah confess that she had a dalliance with the stable master, and where she knew she could listen to everything the messenger would say to Robert.
She closed her eyes.
Robert was Lord Protector.
There hasn't been a Lord Protector in years; and despite the considerable power the position guaranteed, it was not a sought-after one. The last three people had been executed for treason. One of them had been Kathy's father. She bit her lip, trying to quell the fear that the same might happen to Robert. She pressed her ear against the wall to listen some more.
After a long, uncomfortable pause, all Robert could manage to choke out was the word, "What?"
"Her Majesty had chosen you as Lord Protector, and Master Cecil wanted to honor her wishes," the messenger said awkwardly. "He sent me to ask you to come back to court-"
"Is this some kind of joke?" Robert seethed, standing up. "From the day he laid eyes on me he loathed me with a passion, and now you're telling me that he wants to make me Lord Protector? You're mad."
"Please, my lord, if you will just listen…I have proof."
"Proof?" Robert said with disbelief. "What kind of proof do you have that would convince me…" He trailed off when he saw what messenger had taken out a velvet box. "The Great Seal of the Realm." In a flash, he recalled all the times he saw it in Elizabeth's hands; and the first time, when she heard that she was Queen, when she had kneeled under the oak tree in Hatfield and thanked the Lord. What a long time it had been since then…
The messenger coughed. "Master Cecil thought you might need some convincing." And Robert was convinced. Even Cecil wouldn't risk losing an object so important simply to torment him.
"I'll leave tomorrow," he told him. In a much louder voice, he continued, "After I finish lecturing my sister about how wrong it is to eavesdrop."
"How did you know I was there?" Kathy asked later. "I thought that place was full-proof."
"The wood next to the door creaks," Robert said without smiling. "I used it many times in my childhood as well." And that memorable day when he found his father was betrothing him to Amy, he added silently. He ran a hand through his hair. "Kathy, you shouldn't do that. Some things aren't meant for children to know."
"I'm not a child!" she said indignantly. "I'm thirteen years old."
"Yes. Almost ready to be married to Henry of Huntingdon," Robert remarked coldly. Kathy scowled. He knew how much she hated being reminded of her betrothal—a betrothal that still stood firm since her parents were alive, much to her dismay. "I was going to tell you anyway."
"All of it?" she challenged.
"Perhaps," he said, avoiding her gaze. "Either way, you should trust me. I am your older brother."
"Also Lord Protector, and currently the most powerful man in England."
He sighed. "Don't remind me. What am I going to do? What could have possessed Bess to do something like this?" He frowned, an almost anxious expression on his face. Kathy looked at him curiously. He had never spoke of the Queen of England with a nickname before. "England is the most precious thing to her. Why in God's name did she entrust it to me?"
"Perhaps she knew you'd take care of it, Robert." She said, her faith in her brother absolute.
He laughed without humor. "She once said that I was the most irresponsible person that she knew."
"She could have just been saying that," she countered.
"But it's true." He groaned, wishing she was here with him. If their roles had been switched, she would have known exactly what to do, and she'd do it in that brisk, no-nonsense manner that both infuriated as well as amused him. What she had given him was no easy task. Most of the Council members – and all of England – would be against him. Possibly there would be even more attempts on his reputation and even his life to make the commoners of England mistrust him. He wondered why Cecil would even choose to honor his word for Elizabeth, knowing that if he did he would possibly be dooming the entire kingdom to be controlled by a man he loathed.
And yet, he couldn't help feel a little glad.
Out of all the others, Elizabeth had chosen him.
After all this time, she still trusted him.
He didn't want her to put that trust to him in vain.
Kathy watched her brother's expression carefully. She had started to become quite good at that, too, and she had a feeling that Robert wouldn't want to disappoint that Queen of his. What she said earlier wasn't completely true—she knew that Robert could be quite capable when he wanted to. But she also knew that he would need help. Another pair of eyes who'd look out for him, besides Ambrose's and Mary's. "I'll come with you for assistance."
He blinked, snapping out of it. "No."
"Robert-"
"No, Katherine. Court can be a bloodthirsty, ruthless place," he told her, remembering the time when Katherine Howard was about to get executed. Everyone had been questioned, and he had been especially instructed by his father not say anything. Even then he had been close friends with Elizabeth, and had seen much more of Queen Katherine than any of his siblings did. His father didn't want to risk him saying anything that would put their family reputation in jeopardy; and for a time, he was even instructed to stay away from Elizabeth, he recalled bitterly.
He couldn't let his little sister stay there.
"Fine," Kathy huffed, turning on her heel. She'd let him feel in charge for a while; perhaps he could use a boost of confidence. But if he thought that she was going to sit by and stay behind, he had another thing coming.
