Pre Reading A/N: Sorry for any OOCness from either, This is not 100% the England from APH because this was almost 500 years ago and I like to think during this era, he was a teen of anywhere between 17-19 , with still much to gain and loose, not to mention, the Tudor era was pretty whacky.. So yes, bear with me here. Anne is not based on either The Other Boleyn Girl nor The Tudors, I only briefly used a couple elements from both but also my own conclusions from research. She was known as Anne, the Most Happy and it's not a secret she was a big flirt, or rather, just extremely friendly for English standards but she did not seem to register it as in France, where she was raised, it was all very normal. Well anyway, not meaning to bore anyone with a history lesson so here we go x3 Enjoy!

Tower of London

December, 1565

They say if you care enough to listen, you can hear voices within the tower. But who's? No one knows, or is it perhaps that you just cannot distinguish among the many. Sometimes England swore he could hear both of his beloved Princes in the Tower laugh. Sometimes he thought he could hear the Countess of Salisbury weep and plead for her innocence and life. Today? Today he heard the firm clack of heels against stone, a form of walking only someone else he knew could do, and that person would have nothing to do here on a day like this. The nation wondered if it was ever only he who heard and saw spirits, perhaps it had to do with his magical gifts, or.. Oh. Perhaps he had gone mad with remorse and grief. Maybe the Tudor disease had finally got to him. Whatever it may be, he only smiled before taking a few steps back and standing without facing the staircase.

"I know you're there."

When he did turn he saw her, with her warm, chocolate eyes, olive skin and ah. Of course. The purple gown she had worn the day she so offended other royals by wearing the official colour of monarchs. This most conflicting woman, not the most loved, but one that he was most certainly to remember for as long as he continued to exist. The Britton vowed before his deceased consort. "Queen Anne."

She smiled that precise enchanting smile that had enamoured Henry, and himself at some point. "My dearest Arthur," He could almost wince, so French, from her fashion to her accent and soul. No one was allowed to called him Arthur, not even fellow nations called him Arthur, except of course, that frog, Francis. Somehow he didn't mind it however, he was not about to throw a fit just because she has done something he had asked her not to do a million times in life, what more would it matter in death. England could only find it within himself to return the smile, not saying it out loud, but quite glad to see her in one piece.

She settled herself in the staircase, her feet tucked under her skirt as she gracefully sat, like the dignified Queen she more or less in the end was. "You have not come see me as often, you visit Aragon and Seymour's graves.. Even Parr's. Parr's!" She exclaimed with indignation before she placed her hands back in her lap. "I feared you were forgetting me."

"Forget? My Queen, never." How could anyone forget Anne? Whether she was remembered for being a whore, a beheaded martyr of a Queen, or Elizabeth's mother, it didn't matter. Anne was not someone who could be so easily forgotten, much less in these times. "Must I remind you anyhow, your daughter and I pray enough to you everyday. It has been her anyway who has no allowed me near the tower and prefers to visit your grave alone." Instantly, the look of sorrow on Boleyn's face was replaced by pure joy and pride at the mention of her daughter. How could she not be as glad? Elizabeth.. Elizabeth was no saint, she had inherited the Tudor temper that was clear on her father and sister, Mary. However there has yet been a handful of good things to her reign, overall, she has brought much needed stability to himself.

"My Elizabeth.." She said softly, as if she could not believe her words. England nodded, "Elizabeth is doing great." Anne looked at him, "So I've noticed." She responded before looking at him with curiosity and mischief. Arthur could have gulped, he didn't like that look, he never had. "Say.. You and my beloved daughter have been wedded?" He stared at her as if she had grown another head before she burst out into a fit of laughter.

"Do not look at me like that. It is just a question. She /did/ say she was joined in marriage to a husband, respectively the Kingdom of England." She teased as she observed England's face turn a deep shade of red. "You must not fret, I think.. I would have come back to haunt you earlier if there was any basis to her statement." Anne continued once she had calmed.

"We are /not/ married. It was an occurrence to get everyone off her back," He explained, "I only agreed because as my sovereign I am bound to do her command. I am a nation but I am at the entire mercy of my ruler." Now, he wasn't trying to compare her to any of his previous Kings of Queens, she was remarkably unique, and albeit clashing with her more than he'd like to admit, he wouldn't trade her for having Mary again, or even that innocent girl, Jane, nor Mary Stewart, no one. "And, I do trust her, I lay my life in her hands, I.. I have due respect to her as what she is." Anne seemed to be interested in his wording but didn't comment on the matter, for now at least. "They all say she inherited the Tudor strength but I see more of you than Henry in her. She's.. Outspoken, intelligent, beautiful. So obstinate for sake.. Sometimes she reminds me so much of you she frustrates me. She is Anne Boleyn II. But then she's not, she's herself, she is sensitive, strong.. Her gorgeous red locks fall over her shoulders, and she's.. She's.." Arthur couldn't find a word to put on it, no adjective, no noun, no word in his language or even in French could remotely describe what he thought- scratch that, the way he felt. "Elizabeth. She is not you. She is Elizabeth."

"Do you love her?" The late Queen's question hit him like a bucket of ice.

"Pardon?"

"Arthur, do you love her?" She didn't want to know whether her daughter was loved by the people of England, she wanted to know if Arthur was in love with Elizabeth.

"Anne.." He most certainly did not love her. Respected, yes. Obeyed, yes. Adored, yes. Loved, yes- bollocks, he meant no. The Brit's inner conflict was evident and so the brunette waited in silence. Slowly, but certainly a firm nod came from him. She smiled, "As she loves you."

"She loves her Kingdom."

"Are you not the live representation of it?"

"Yes. But it's not the same." It wasn't a want to possess her, to ravish and kiss her all over. It was a need to hold her in his arms, to intertwine their fingers, to ride horses amongst one another, to sit by the fireside and enjoy a cup of tea in her presence, then yes, he'd still a kiss if he thought it prudent.

"She loves you, Arthur." Anne's voice was soft, and even her dramatically French accent seem to die down and morph into an English one temporarily. "She loves no one more than her country, not only her Kingdom but what it represents. You are not a normal mortal man.. You are not like her father." She knew a great fault to this all was her misfortune fall out with Elizabeth's father, she had lost much more than the tiara on her head.

"I've done things far more monstrous than her father.."

"But you are not her father." She responded, ever so persistent to make a point.

"Of course not." He didn't have a wife, let alone children.

"Arthur, you stand for everything she loves in one person. You are not a mortal man only looking at the crown on her head, her best interests are your best interests, you would never do anything against her will, or anything against her."

"Never."

"Good." She seemed satisfied with his rapid response to reassure his loyalty.

A small smile grew on his face as if he was only beginning to believe the woman's words, "Oh Anne.. Always aiming for the highest, first for yourself and now.."

"Only the best~" She responded as mischief returned to her voice.

His smile became sad, "I love her, Anne."

She returned the smile, "Then go get her,"

The British man rolled his eyes, "Go get her? I think you want me to make you company."

She giggled a bit, she knew as much as her daughter might yell and demand, she would never do anything willingly against England, the land or the man.

He could only hope he could trust what a seemingly ghost was saying, how he wished she wasn't a simple hallucination, but he only had two choices. Try and approach his current ruler and pour his heart out or simply shrug this whole encounter off. While his instinct told him the latter was probably more wise, he still had to try. It wasn't like Elizabeth would lock him up in the tower for as long as she lived out of a confession. When he looked back at the stairs to thank his deceased consort for the realization, she was gone, but in her place remained something, the most utterly famous B necklace that always dangled off her neck. Arthur pocketed it and finally walked back outside, there was a thin feeling to the air, and a great relief off his chest. The personification looked up where he saw a white falcon fly off into the sky from the tower, he smiled and brought the necklace to his lips to kiss it.

In her honour rejoice we all, for it cometh from God not of man, Honour and Grace be to our Queen Anne.

Post Reading A/N: This is a short, and loosely historical drabble sprung on superstitions about the tower and just a craving for something sweet between Arthur and Anne Boleyn. During life and death up until the Elizabethan Era, she was well disliked because Queen Katherine of Aragon was practically set aside to make room for Anne, plus, the things Henry made up to justify her execution were believed until her daughter stepped up onto the throne.

I personally think her and Arthur could have gone up to a rough start but warm up to one another eventually :3

I have a couple other WIP drabbles that involve Anne, Henry and other wives of his, not to mention Spain and Germany. So, review please, it'd make me really happy :D