This is by far the most difficult fanfiction I've written up until now for reasons further explained in the author's note at the end of the story. Regardless, I hope you enjoy this as much as I have enjoyed working on it.
Disclaimer: Some of the scenes and bits of dialogues used belong to the show The Tudors, which led me to give some deserved love to these two characters. Hopefully, I will have made them justice. Somewhat.
…
"And that would be the Princess Mary", Ambassador Mendoza informed.
The first time he saw her, Mary was but a child, oblivious to the machinations that would lead to her rising and falling by the season. She was chasing two of her maids, holding her skirts at knee height; long dark hair wildly swirling in the air. Chapuys had met her lady mother, Queen Katherine, two days back, and she'd praised her daughter's grace like any mother would, yet it seemed that despite the royalty of her blood, the Princess was in truth as mischievous as any peasant's daughter.
"She's to be married to the French King's son, the Dauphin. I hear the proper arrangements are already being taken care of for the family's upcoming visit at the French Court", Mendoza continued.
Chapuys briefly lowered his gaze. "I'm sure the Emperor is not pleased by such a treaty."
"What displeases His Majesty is not for me to judge, but I also think it safe to conjure that the Emperor would rather have the King of England on his side. Nevertheless, it is known that alliances come and go, and so we might still find ourselves delivering a treaty to Spain on behalf of King Henry." Both men glanced towards the sudden outburst of giggles, just in time to see the Princess quickly approaching. The maids hurried after her, watching her every step in case she were to fall. Chapuys noted Mary's wide grin drop to a thin smile and how she seemed to grow taller as she came to face them. She has her mother's bearing, he thought.
"Princess", both men echoed as they curtsied. She looked up at them; still panting and cheeks flushed.
"Mother says you are Ambassadors from Spain", she stated, struggling with the unfamiliar word. "The last time an Ambassador came, Lady Salisbury told me I would one day marry a French Prince. So, who is getting married now?" Her voice held a childish authority, evidence of the careful attention put on her father's manner of speech. The maids towering behind her stared at Mary in utter dismay, whilst Mendoza could not hold the urge to chuckle at the Princess' sharp remark. Chapuys' eyes danced with mirth. Perhaps there is also some of her father in her.
"I'm afraid we bring no marriages with us, Princess, but you shall be the first to know when we do", Mendoza conciliated. Mary did not seem to share the Ambassador's amusement and instead stared at him with all the seriousness an eight year old child could muster. "Alas, I congratulate you on your betrothal, for it means you shall be the future Queen of France if God wills it." Mary frowned.
"I don't want to be Queen of France; I want to be Queen of England", she retorted. "Mother says I might be."
Mendoza was struck to silence then; taken aback by the ferocity in the child's proclamation. Chapuys smiled. And some of Isabella of Castile. He leaned over her then and said; "I believe you might be, indeed."
…
The next time they meet, she had been unsuccessfully betrothed thrice and was no longer referred to as Princess but only Lady instead. Chapuys himself is ashamed at the ill treatment bestowed upon both the truthful Queen and Princess, and can only imagine the humiliation they must bear. He watches Mary fold her hands on her lap only to end up wrinkling her fingers in the black creases of heavy cloth. Chapuys finds himself thinking that the color does not suit her, albeit it is the hue of mourning, and she has indeed enough reasons to wear it. There are no traces left to see of the bright child Mary once was, now stripped of all dignity, yet she still sits as regal as any of her blood before her, and Chapuys can only marvel at her strength.
"When I was first told of what my father intended to… that he no longer wished to be married to my mother, I thought it impossible. Not only because of the love they bore to each other, but also because of the sanctity of their union under the eyes of God", Mary stressed. "Yet he has married the harlot, and forsaken both my mother and I with much ease." She gripped her dress tightly. "Perhaps my mother was not the only one whom he did not love."
Chapuys had long beheld the trifles of lesser and higher men alike drive them to wander astray, but never had he witnessed such misery in one so young. No one dared discuss the wrong doings of the King openly – much less Chapuys, who was despite all honors bestowed upon him, a simple commoner – thus his words were cautious , however sincere.
"My Lady, I am sure your father does love you." He tilted his head, trying to lock eyes with her. "And in your heart you know this to be true, for what father would not love his daughter?"
Mary glared at him; eyes wild with rage and sorrow. "And what father would neglect his daughter so? Tearing her apart from her mother; naming her a bastard!" She glanced away and took a deep breath. She would have been clawing at her thighs by now if not for the heavy layers of fabric. "I know you mean well, Excellency, but sadly, I fear my convictions to be true."
He watched her chest heave in despair and leaned closer, abridging the distance between them just as he had done seven years ago when he'd whispered dreams to a child in confidence.
"Gentle Lady, I believe his Majesty will soon relent, for no whore's spell could ever undermine the blessing you have been to your father." He took her hand, afraid she'd accidentally tear her dress apart. Mary looked up at him, startled at the touch and grateful for his words. She smiled slightly; a mere tug at her lips.
"God will it, your Excellency." She rose and Chapuys quickly followed. "And until my father's blindness ceases, I hope you will continue to visit me in his stead." He nodded; relief at the change in Mary's mood visible in his features to the observant eye. You need not ask, My Lady.
…
It is a rare view, to behold Princess Mary, now fully restored once again to her rightful status, frolicking amidst the crowd of swaying figures in a blur of velvet dyes and glances and glittering pearls. So Chapuys indulged in the sight of Mary's smiles from the farthest bench, resting his aching limbs. If only I were younger, I might even join you, Princess. Alas, age was taking its toll on the Spanish Ambassador, especially on one who had led such a hectic life as his, yet he refused to ask leave of the English Court in fear of what could still befall the Princess Mary – or at least he told himself that was his sole motive for staying. He took notice of every face and conversation held in the Hall, assessing what alliances had been forged and which broken, all while still keeping an eye on her. It wasn't long until he became aware that the Duke of Bavaria had no intentions whatsoever to conceal his growing interest towards Mary. She, on the other hand, made no move to placate his advancements.
Chapuys knew that Anne of Cleves, the King's new Queen, had genuinely – or not – weaved the threads of court politics around Philip and Mary so that his courting appeared as a logical course of events. He had underestimated her, though watching Mary take the Duke's hand and follow him out of the Hall, he thought perhaps he had overestimated Mary instead. He was of the Lutheran faith, surely Mary knew in her mind if not her heart that such a match would only decimate her cause, for not only would she lose her claim to the throne of England by binding herself to Bavaria, but also lose the supporters she had gained through the maintenance of her Catholic faith. He did understand the yearnings of the heart, especially in one so abused and emotionally crippled like Mary had been throughout almost her entire life, but he refused to accept she'd be swayed now; after all she had suffered, by her feelings towards a handsome boy.
Lost in thought, Chapuys failed to notice Mary had returned to the Hall and had managed to creep up on him, if unintentionally.
"Your Excellency", she smiled. The gesture was quickly growing on her. "Will you not dance with me, if only to silence those who'd question your skill?" She tilted her head slightly and took a step closer. "It would also please me greatly."
Chapuys returned her smile. "I would do anything to please Her Highness, alas, I'm afraid it's not for me to decide whether I may or may not comply Your Highness' wishes, as a greater force has me chained to my seat." He tapped his thigh with a bashful smile. Mary glanced at him, momentarily perplexed by the implications of such a statement, before swiftly taking a seat next to him. She had of course noticed the cane he'd started carrying a few months back, but had attributed it to a passing limp.
"Forgive me, I did not think your condition to be that grave." She frowned, guilt eating at her countenance. She should have concerned herself with his health erstwhile. "I trust the physician's treatments have not been scant?" It had been meant to come out as a statement, but instead had ended up sounding like a question. Chapuys rested the cane against the armrest and turned to look up at her.
"Please, Your Highness, you should not concern yourself so. I have been graciously attended and told that I can only improve henceforth." The last was a lie, although he hadn't been warned that his condition could only worsen either. Mary's creased brows showed her incredulity. Chapuys repressed the urge to hold her hand to reassure her. He had done so only twice; when the harlot ruled the King and had managed to have Mary declared a bastard, and when her Lady Mother had died, leaving Mary as torn as the wreckage of a ship. But they had been alone then, and she had taken comfort from both the familiarity and the privacy of their meetings, whilst now they were surrounded by every eminent figure of the English Court. It would be unwise of him to be spotted taking England's Princess' hand in his. That was a gesture only someone of Philip's status would dare to oblige in public.
"You must forgive me, Princess. I should have not jested on such matters in the first place", he offered his most sincere smile and was surprised he still remembered how to put it on. "But I am honored at being held in such high esteem by Your Highness. That is the greatest treatment I could have been given."
…
Chapuys stood still, watching Mary toss gowns and books into her luggage; one of her maids kneeling beside her in the process. He tried to appease her by alluding to common sense, but gained more anger instead. It seemed time had not only brought Mary wisdom, but also boldness. She glared at him with such ferocity that Chapuys was suddenly reminded of her ancestry; of how all the Kings and Queens of the two greatest Empires lived in as well as through her. Yet there was more than just hurt pride and royal indignity in her eyes; there was despair and fear and unrequited love. Chapuys bore it all, painfully aware of her misery. Mary trod towards her chambers and he followed shortly, discarding all thoughts of modesty.
"What did she say to you?" He asked once he stood behind her. Katherine Howard was by far the worst Lady the King had been smitten by – after Anne Boleyn, that is – for she lacked all of the qualities a Queen was expected to command, and lacked them shamelessly. Even the Boleyn girl had been more suited for the position, if only because of her courtly upbringing.
"She said…" Chapuys could hear Mary's constrained sobs. "That I am jealous of her, because she… is married, and I am not." She turned to him then and sat on the edge of the bed in hopes of composing herself before speaking again. "And may never be." Chapuys looked at her. Will God show no mercy on my Princess?
"She'd not to have said such things."
"No, but…" Her sobs had turned into cries, ever growing louder, "they're true… they're true…"
Chapuys could hardly bear the sight of Mary weeping. He had met her as a little girl, running wild amidst the schemes being wound around her, careless of the greed nested in Men's hearts and minds. Had it not been his duty to restore her to the greatness she deserved as daughter of Queen Katherine of Aragón and King Henry VIII? Oh, but it had been so much more; duty alone could not sustain a twelve year long enterprise. If only I'd been born a boy, Mary oft said, and Chapuys wanted to say; Then my affections would have grown otherwise and God knows I would not dare wish it so, as hopeless as they are. Yes, there was duty in his cause, but also deep buried inclinations beneath it. Mary's cries intensified, encouraged by the much needed confession. Chapuys did not think twice to sit beside her. Is this what I have accomplished after so long? She deserves more than to be jostled around by royalty and whores alike. He slowly wrapped one arm around her, emboldened by her vulnerable state. He was surprised to find her readily leaning against him, as if she'd always belonged in his embrace.
"My sweet lady…" he whispered. How different would Mary's life been if her father had simply shown her some kindness? "My poor sweet lady…" he whispered again, rocking her ever so gently.
…
Heaven poured its troubles over Louvain unrendingly. The earth had been plowed with rain for days now, leaving a trail of mud pooling around the house. Not that it mattered to Chapuys anyway, as he could not leave his bed even though he wished to. When he'd first been diagnosed with gout several years back, he hadn't taken much heed, so engrossed was he with the doings of the English Court, but as time only brought increasing discomfort, he suspected the illness to be the death of him instead of politics. Looking back, he was impressed at having been able to support Mary's claim whilst fighting the sickness that was swelling him from the inside out. It had been almost ten years since he'd been relieved of his post in England by disease's grip rather than will, and though he had gladly welcomed the peace away from Court, he had yearned for the one thing he had wanted even more than justice. You are, and have always been… my most faithful and truest friend in all the world, she'd once said.
There was a knock on the door and Chapuys called in Fleming, who scurried inside the bedchamber; his face as pale as that of a ghost.
"My, My Lord…" he stuttered. "You have a visitor." His eyes were wide and he made as if to approach Chapuys but remained rooted to the ground instead. "An unexpected one", he added. Before Chapuys could inquire, a figure intruded on them. She was clad in green velvet, her wide skirts hanging from hip to toe, head-dress flaring her copper hair. For a moment that could have passed as eternity, Chapuys just lay there, staring at her as if transfigured. Sensing his master's wonder, Fleming left without further ado. He did not want to shame Chapuys by witnessing his bewilderment.
"I should have come sooner", she finally said, trying to ease them into the familiarity they had once shared. "I wanted to. I wanted to so…" she looked away, swallowing hard. "There was always a ceremony to attend, a preaching to deliver, and with Edward's health failing, I could not leave court without risking my position." She saw Chapuys move from the corner of her eye. "I kept telling myself I'd come visit next month, next summer, only seasons turned into years and years into the near future. If I had known your condition had worsened sooner, I would have not thought twice to come." Her chest had started to heave and she paced towards the closest window, where rain tarnished the glass. "You were… Your Excellency has been my truest friend even before I knew so myself and yet I have failed to be of comfort in your direst need."
Chapuys removed the duvet as he tried to sit up on the edge of the bed with a quiet hiss. Hearing his distress, Mary instinctively reached out for him but stopped in her tracks at facing Chapuys after so long, dressed only in a light nightgown. Uncertainty hung over them for an instant, in which they were both thrown into whimsical reminiscence of a time when Mary had been but a young girl and Chapuys an unmatched diplomat unaware of what Lion's Den he'd walked in.
"I should have let you know I was coming, I had not intended to put you in such a compromising position", she offered, tearing her gaze off him. He quickly pulled up a sheet over his body, smiling slightly despite the situation at Mary's modesty. She was a woman grown, and still she shied before a man in his bed.
"Peace, Your Highness, all is well," he struggled for his next words, utterly bested at her sudden visit. "You'd need not come see me, for I'm afraid there's not much left to see." He had wanted to joke, but instead sounded solemn and remorseful. Overcoming her hesitance, Mary sat next to Chapuys, her back to him.
"Please do not say such things", was her only answer; voice daubed with emotion. Chapuys glanced at her, gaze falling from her long neck to the end of her straight back. How he wished to hold her like he had years before, when he was still whole and confident, and she committed to his certainty.
"I'm to be married", she admitted, and there was both disbelief and languishment latched in the statement. "Philip of Spain, my cousin's son." Chapuy's senses reacted for him. Occupational hazards.
"I trust Your Highness is pleased, it is as good a match as your father could have hoped for", he interjected. Mary scoffed, and it held the bitterness of someone scorned to the impossible.
"Pleased", she tasted the word, "Yes, I am very pleased. I am pleased that my gracious father never found the time to devote himself into marrying me when I was young and ripe for the plucking, despite him constantly binding to one wench or another. As I am pleased that my little brother stepped over my rightful claim after father's death, and thus further deterred me from marrying." Mary took a deep breath, letting her words sink in.
"Forgive me, Your Excellency, but it seems pleasure was not meant for me to keep", she confessed. So entranced was she at her own outburst that she almost gasped when she felt a hand caress her back.
"Mary…" it was the simplest of words, and yet it held the power of devotion.
"I would have married you." A sob racked her entire body as she spoke. "In another life, ridden of tomorrow's worries, I would have married you." She turned to him then, letting him gaze upon her tear-stricken face. She smiled and closed her eyes when he stroked her cheeks to wipe off her tears. "I would have had your children and lived in Savoy and Louvain and Castile, wherever life took you. Never to be Princess or Queen, only yours." Mary gave into his embrace, welcoming his warmth and the gentleness of his touch. She was torn between belonging and restraint; surely any priest would condemn such intimacy among unwed man and woman, Princess of England and Diplomat. She did not expect him to reply, for what could one say after such a straightforward avowal? So he held her in silence as if his life depended on it – which proved to be true when Eustace Chapuys passed away only five days later – and when twilight settled, dimming their sight, he brushed his lips against hers for the first and only time, and she whispered his name against the crook of his neck as if it were the answer to a long kept riddle.
And that would be the Princess Mary.
…
First of all, staying true to the language and the customs of the time was challenging, because I had to pay special attention to dialogue in order to make it seem believable. Secondly, there's religion. As I'm not affiliated to any current belief, it was very interesting to play with historical figures that in contrast with my views, held such powerful convictions that ultimately ruled their lives. Finally, in relation to the previous point, it was difficult to keep Mary and Eustace in character sometimes taking into account how events would have probably played out if they'd lived in modern today (and last time I checked, my mindset was tuned in with the 21st century, so there's that.)
Love it? Hate it? Any feedback is welcomed.