AN: None are my characters. All are either real, or belonging to JK Rowling.

Elizabethan Era

It hardly meant much to be a queen.

True enough, there were people who were loyal to the cause, but such loyalty was fickle. It could easily bought by the right amount of gold. Betrayal and corruption ran rampant.

The fire-haired queen turned her gaze from the small window to the guard who was sent to escort her. He was middle-aged, perhaps with a young family waiting at home.

Thinking of children, the queen slumped, suddenly tired of life. Her son, her only son, was old enough to run his own kingdom now. She had hardly been there for him; mostly because she'd been caught up in the midst of a war.

But she was weary of it now. All the scheming, the fighting, the suspicions, the lies. She was tired of politics, the people, the endless feuding. Most of all, she was tired of living without him.

He had been her private secretary. He'd been there through all her failed marriages. He'd supported her, he had been her closest friend. He had been the one person she felt she could trust.

He was the beginning of her end.

The queen closed her eyes. To the guard, it may have been a sign of defeat, of accepting the inevitable, but she was only recollecting her memories. She needed his strength to get her through today's ordeal.

First was his face. Handsome and serious. Eyes that were a strong brown and thoughtful. He always made her smile, no matter how strenuous her day had been. He was courteous, sympathetic, witty, and an engaging conversationalist. He had been unlike her husband, whose main goal in life was to defeat all his enemies and extend his fame and name.

No, her lover had been someone she shared her life and soul with, who understood her.

She sighed, remembering the day when everything she knew ended, and chaos began.

She hadn't meant to be so open about their intimacy. But perhaps it was just so obvious that, while she respected her husband, it just wasn't the same. The respect was not like the joy and love she felt.

Even to this day, more than twenty years later, she still blamed herself. If she'd been more careful, he'd still be there with her. For sure, if he'd still been there, she wouldn't be where she was now. It triggered the downward spiral her life had become.

She winced slightly as his pleading face swam in her mind. She remembered the pain, threatening to tear her in two and prematurely deliver the baby growing with her. She remembered standing in front of him, protecting him, shielding him with her body.

But her jealous husband had been in a blind rage. He had practically knocked her aside, even with her being seven months pregnant as it was. He had rushed forwards with an axe... She could only remember the blood after that. It had stained her silk gown and white petticoat.

It was the same petticoat she was wearing now. She wanted him with her on this day, at the end of the end. She wanted to stand with her chin held high, with him by her side.

Sighing, the queen stood from the chair, and followed the guard out. She was met with a loud noise as the people clamored at the sight of her. Some of them had been her people once.

But no matter. She would not think of them today. There would only be one thing on her mind.

She ascended the steps, and faced the crowd. No, she cared not whether they were her friends or enemies. She cared not whether they were for or against what was about to transpire. She cared not what they thought of her. They were welcome to their own opinions.

A wave of calm entered her, and she breathed a small sigh of relief. Soon, she would be with him.

The man on the platform bowed, and asked for her forgiveness. She smiled a little, fondly remembering that he had taught her the value of forgiveness. She replied that she forgave the man whole-heartedly.

As she stared up at the sky, she smiled again, before her eyes were covered with a scratchy black cloth. Nothing was on her mind, save David Rizzio.

That day, in the year 1587, Mary, Queen of Scots, was executed.

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AN:

Any inaccuracies are my fault. I had to take artistic license, seeing as I only very briefly researched the Elizabethan Era and Mary, Queen of Scots.

Written for Bellatrix7's Reincarnation Challenge.

Next chapter will have the next lifetime.

Review your thoughts and opinions.