The Second Tudor King
A/N While this based off of Showtime's the Tudors I will also be staying true to history in the fact that there are two surviving Tudor daughters (Margaret who marries the King of Scotland and Mary, who first marries the King of France and then Charles Brandon) as well as in age. Appearance will be based upon the show as I want you guys to be able to imagine it all.
P.S my image for Edmund is Ian Somerhalder
Description:
Everyone knows Henry VIII as the second born boy of Elizabeth of York and King Henry VII. But what if that was not true? How would history change with the reign of King Edmund Tudor; named for a King praised as the Great and Magnificent?
December 25th 1496
Sheen Palace
Christmastide was well known to be Queen Elizabeth's favourite holiday; merriment filled the court as musicians played their lutes and all within the court joining it – their Queen and King watching.
The reason why this certain celebration was the Queen Consort's favourite was the fact that all her children were brought back to court for such celebrations. Her husband was a cold, closed off man who was rarely one to show affection – though sometimes, she could swear she saw love in his usually guarded eyes as he gazed at her – but her children were more than happy to give and receive the warmth the once Yorkist Princess craved.
So far, the royal family had five children, all so different yet so similar that it put a smile upon her face to see them.
Their eldest was Arthur. A quiet, reserved boy who was very much her image; curled fair tresses and bright blue eyes; people praised him as the 'Tudor rose', he represented the merging of the red and white rose and was to be their future King. He looked up to where he was politely conversing with the Duke of Buckingham – a cousin of Elizabeth's through her Aunt: Catherine Woodville.
Looking to her second child and eldest daughter she could see the girl of seven grinning as she conversed with her companions. Her daughter had her father's dark hair and dark eyes, more his image than Elizabeth's, though a budding beauty none the less. Her daughter was very much a calm and collected child who was easy to get along with; Elizabeth hoped this would help her daughter fit in easily when she headed to Scotland, her husband arranged her wedding to it's future King, James.
Hearing a loud laugh she turned to her third child and second son, Edmund. Much to Henry's chagrin Edmund was much more Plantagenet than he was Tudor. He had inherited his tall stature, pale complexion and excessively good looks from Edward IV, his grace, charm and piecing blue eyes from Elizabeth Woodville. As well as her father's dark hair. His personality was one of bravery, wit and charm even at the tender age of six; happily chatting away to Elizabeth's older half-brother: Thomas Grey, Marquess of Dorset.
Her fourth child and third son was Henry, the boy of five was as outspoken, loud and protective as Edmund but was perhaps had more of the York ruthlessness than either of his brothers and sometimes displayed his namesake's coldness; like his brothers he was a handsome child, though perhaps not as much as Edmund, and charming.
Elizabeth found her youngest boys as her favourite children; her eldest son was often away, with his father or occupied with matters at his court at Ludlow; her eldest daughter she had seen little of since her betrothal to James of Scotland, her learning the ways of the Scottish and Gaelic giving her much more time to be with her youngest sons; Mary, her youngest who was but a babe, was far too young to be either favoured or unflavoured. But no matter what, Elizabeth of York loved her children.
As she looked around at the joyful court and her content family she wished more than anything that they could stay in this moment forever.
ET-ET-ET-ET
April 2nd 1502
Edmund didn't know what to think. His brother, Prince Arthur, was dead; dead of the Sweating Sickness and now he would be King at his father's death.
He hadn't been taught how to be a King – Arthur was healthy and nobody had questioned any thoughts of a long life expectancy – and thus he was just the spare. Who, not six months back, his grandmother and father were attempting to send off to a church; much to his mother's protest.
Now he was the Prince of Wales in all but name he would never be sent to the church, he would be his father's most prized child and one day, he would be the most powerful man in England.
But was it worth losing his brother? What about his brother's wife? She was a widow now, stranded, alone. He was furious at himself for even feeling a little bit glad; sure, Arthur had been four years older than himself and always away but when he wasn't Arthur was kind to him. And now his older brother was gone.
"You'll make a great King," Mary told him with a warm smile as she clutched a beautiful China doll that their mother had made for her.
Edmund offered his five year old sister a large, reassuring grin, "I know, Mar."
"Don't call me that," she pouted.
"Is that how you talk to your one day King?" Edmund inquired jokingly as the young girl laughed. He truly hoped that one day he would be a King as great as Arthur would have been.
It was in the middle of the siblings' joking that Queen Elizabeth stepped in, her eyes red rimmed from tears spilt over her eldest son as she looked at Edmund.
"Edmund, your father would like to see you," nodding the young boy headed off, but not before giving his distraught mother a warm hug – ignoring the protocol – and nodding at Mary who, understanding, ran over and hugged her mother as Edmund left.
One day, he would be King.
ET-ET-ET-ET
April 21st 1509
Richmond Palace
The mood had not been so sombre within court since the February of 1503, at the death of Queen Elizabeth, but now their King was dying; his Heir the not yet seventeen year old Prince Edmund.
Within the King's outer chambers the atmosphere was drowning in sorrow, the usually emotionless Margaret Beaufort sobbing uncontrollably into her handkerchief; the young Princess Mary holding the older woman, holding the last China doll that her mother had made her before her death tight in her hands; Prince Henry, standing, pacing as Prince Edmund sat in his seats – deep in thought as he attempted to reign in his emotions.
"His Majesty would requests your presence, Your Highness," a groom informed Edmund, Edmund nodded sharply and headed towards his father's chambers – sucking in a breath before he opened the doors to his father's inner chambers.
At the opening of the doors Edmund was greeted with the haunting sight of his father, motionless and silent upon his grand bed – his skin deathly pale and tissues infected with the blood that he had coughed up onto them.
He moved to his side, observing his father as the older man's dull blue eyes opened to look into the sixteen year old Prince's intense blue ones.
The King's voice was hoarse as he spoke, "you'll make a good King, Edmund."
"You might still make it through, Your Majesty," Edmund offered weakly but his father shook his head.
"Even if I could," Henry VII stated as a cough erupted from his lips, blood spraying onto his pale lips, "I wouldn't want to. I want to see her again. I need to see her again."
Tears burned at the back of Edmund's eyes as he thought of his mother, his beautiful, kind mother who was stolen from this world far too soon.
"Make us proud, my son."
Those were the last words King Henry VII spoke upon this earth, his eyes glazing open as they stared into oblivion. Wiping furiously at the tears that were fighting to work their way down his face he reached his hand up and gently closed the King's eyes.
Pulling himself from the scene he walked out of his father's inner chambers and then out into the hallway, wincing as he passed the broken Margaret Beaufort; it was then that it was announced.
"The King is dead! Long live the King!"
"The King is dead! Long live the King!"
"The King is dead! Long live the King!"
It was echoed from mouth to mouth, the latter words on every subject's lips as the bowed to their new King.
He was not Prince Edmund Tudor of Wales but now King Edmund I, King of England and France, Lord of Ireland. The second King of the Tudor Dynasty.