AN: Please, keep my mom in your prayers, alright? She's going in for gall-bladder surgery tomorrow (7/20/20016). It'll be outpatient, which usually means a short recovery time, but anything can happen.
The room had been dark for the last several weeks, grand tapestries covering the windows as the rules of confinement dictated. Another kind of darkness had also taken hold, one that had nothing to do with the absence of light. There had been a death, a royal death. England's beloved queen, Elizabeth of York, had drawn her last breath. The midwives and physicians were all heartbroken. The unspoken question passed between them in flicks of the eyes: who was going to tell the king? Then, a loud noise outside the birthing chamber gave them an answer. There was an agonize shout of "No", followed by the sound of shattering glass. The door creaked open, and one of the queen's ladies-in-waiting walked in. The head physician realized what'd happened. While they'd all been standing in frozen shock, this young woman had snuck off and given the king the bad news. Sighing, he nodded at her that her actions were justified. She stepped aside right as the chamber door slammed open.
Everyone in the immediate area stooped into a somber bow or curtsey. None of them wanted to look directly into the eyes of the man who'd just entered the chamber. King Henry the Seventh: victor of the Battle of Bosworth. His shoulder-length brown hair was messy, a sign he'd been running his fingers through it. His eyes were red. Though the room was packed with people, he only had eyes for the lifeless one in the bed. He took a deep breath as he walked over and knelt down beside it. He took her left hand in both of his, wincing slightly at its coldness when he kissed her knuckles. Elizabeth was gone…his Elizabeth. Their marriage had started out rocky, but they'd learned to love each other. She was his soft spot to fall on, his pillar of fortitude. How could that pillar have crumbed so suddenly and dramatically? It wasn't fair! What was he going to do without her? Sniffling again, he reached and placed his hand on the crown of her head, his thumb rubbing affectionately over her hairline.
In a barely-audible voice, he choked out, "I'm so sorry, dove. I never meant for this to happen."
He found the smallest measure of comfort in using the pet name, a symbol that represented the relative peace their marriage had brought about. He was drawn out of his cocoon by a light touch on his shoulder. Sniffling again, he turned around to face the head physician.
"When did Her Majesty pass?"
"Barely two minutes ago."
Suddenly, a sharp coo drew both men's attention. A midwife stood in a corner to the left, trying to comfort the squirming bundle in her arms. Taking their silence for the cue it was, she stepped forward and held out the baby in Henry's direction.
She told him, "You have a fine daughter, Your Majesty. She's a little on the smaller side, but she's otherwise healthy."
Henry swallowed hard, nodding as he slowly stood up and was handed the infant. She was indeed small, likely due to her slightly-early birth, but nothing else seemed wrong. He was in-awe of the silver flecks in her sapphire eyes, as well as the light dusting of sunny-blond hair atop her head. She was a perfect miniature of her mother, a true York through-and-through. He didn't mind. This snowflake of a child was a final reminder of his precious Elizabeth, and he'd never stop letting her know how much she meant to him. Kingly duties could wait for a while. Right now, it was time to be a father. Without saying another word to the other occupants, he left the room. As he walked, he instructed a knight he was close friends with to inform his other children of their mother's passing, and to tell them to meet him in the nursery. Nobody questioned him as he sat in the rocking chair, which had been placed beside the royal cradle. He leaned over and kissed his new daughter's forehead, rocking silently to pass the time. He'd nearly dozed off, but he was interrupted by several sets of approaching footsteps. An announcer stepped into the nursery, holding open the door and clearing his throat.
When their eyes met, the man said, "The Prince of Wales and the Princesses Margaret and Mary are here."
"Send them in."
Seconds later, the four mentioned children entered. All sported matching sad facial expressions. Little Henry, in particular, looked especially heartsick. They'd lost three siblings already. And now, they'd also lost their mother. Hopefully, the new baby would give them some solace, just as it was already starting to do for the king.
Forcing a tiny smile, he said, "I know things look grim, but I need you to put all that aside for now. Your sister needs you. Understand?"
Margaret replied, "Yes, Father."
"Good. Now then…step forward and meet your new sister."
Mary asked in her toddler voice, "Sister?"
"Yes, sweetheart. This is Catherine."
He passed the baby to Margaret. He was about to speak more, when his secretary came in and said they should draft an announcement of the queen's death. He patted each of his children's shoulders, promising to return soon. After he was gone, his eldest daughter sighed and kissed their new sister's forehead.
A nearby maid said, "Poor lamb, never to know her mother."
Margaret replied, "She will know her…through us, and through anyone else blessed to have witnessed her strength and grace."
Then, little Henry chimed in: "And I'll protect her. I'll never let any harm come to her."
A soft smile and a ruffling of his copper hair were followed by, "I know you will, Harry. You'll be like Robin Hood, protecting the fair maiden from danger."
"I will."
He gently gripped the newborn's tiny hand and kneeled, before continuing, "On my honor, Catherine, I promise to protect you. I will always be there for you."
AN: The next chapter will be a time-jump, into the events of Season 1.
