Veritas temporis filia

This is a continuation of the scene in 1.8 where Henry reluctantly comes to Katherine's bed, I've always thought that was too good of an opportunity to let go :D

I haven't decided whether to leave it as a one shot or continue yet.

The title is the motto of Mary I and roughly means 'the truth will reveal itself over time' which I thought was quite appropriate for Henry & KoA

Disclaimer: I do not profit in any way from this story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creators

Enjoy :D

Henry

I have not walked this route in a long time, especially not at this late hour of the night, and yet the way is familiar to me still. Reassuring even, although I stalk grimly to my destination reminding myself constantly that it is duty only that propels me there. When I reach the correct door it is all too tempting to turn around and return, nay flee, the way I have come but instead I gather my resolve and knock sharply before entering. It's nothing.

Katherine is not displeased to see me, I notice. Her face is momentarily surprised before she gathers herself and then merely gently approving. Good, it seems to say, this is your rightful place. She is curious, no doubt, as to why I am here and if one knows her well enough it is possible to detect a small amount of hope in her eyes as to what my visit means but she is not resentful. If I am truthful with myself her continued devotion to me amazes me, considering the position that I have placed her in. But I must not allow myself to feel sympathy for her, not now when I believe that I am so close to achieving my goal.

Her ladies could not be more astonished to see me than if I was Jesus Christ himself and they gawp blatantly at one another as they drop to the floor in hasty curtseys. Katherine dismisses them quickly with a short, sharp wave of her hand and I cannot help but feel a certain amount of admiration. She is undeniably regal, even dressed only in her nightgown; she is Queen to the last. It is easy to see why people love her. They scuttle away, no doubt to share the shocking scene they have just witnessed with the rest of the servants, and we are alone next to each other, as stiff and uncomfortable as two statues.

'Katherine,' I begin sternly, desperate to make her see reason. Contrary to popular opinion I do not enjoy tormenting her in this way but if cruel words are the only way to force some sense into her then it seems that I have little choice.

'Why do you go on denying me justice? You're so heartless. So full of hatred.' These accusations wound her, I can tell, but I continue regardless.

'I can't persuade myself any longer that you love me.' That is a brazen lie; any fool could tell you that her only crime is to love me too much, that she has forgiven my many slights against her wholeheartedly. Her denial is not surprising, therefore.

'I do love you! I have never ceased to love you, you know that.' She reaches over to me, probably the most intimate contact that we have had in months, but I remain unresponsive and sulky.

'I don't know it. Perhaps you should be kept away from our daughter, in case you start poisoning her mind against me.' That is unforgivingly spiteful, I realise- threatening to deny Katherine's already limited visits to Mary, I know it breaks her heart to be so far away from her- but it is the only tactic that I think will be truly effective. Katherine is not one to be undone with petty threats; indeed she has proven herself to be almost heroically brave but surely she could not endure being completely removed from her only child? It seems I have played a trump card because she physically recoils in horror at my words.

'How can you say these things to me? After all this time, after all that we have meant to each other!' Our marriage is a lie, I remind myself severely before I become affected by the truth of what she is saying, nothing more than a sham. Still, I soften my tone slightly.

'I'm only asking you to be reasonable!' God's blood, but she is frustrating! What will it take to make her accept the truth?

'I am being reasonable; it is you who will not be reasonable!'

I am not going to win this argument, not tonight, and I am too weary to continue with our verbal sparring. I will let her reflect on the possibility of a permanent separation from Mary overnight and in a few short hours I will be free to leave and keep company with those who are not constantly trying to outwit or defy me. With a sigh to let her know that I am displeased with the way she has behaved I slide into a sleeping position and close my eyes. After a few seconds I hear her do the same and even though her back is to me and my eyes are shut I could describe exactly the troubled expression that I am sure she is wearing. Well good, let her mind be troubled as mine is.

I sleep badly and my dreams are restless and full of foreboding. When I wake with a start I cannot remember the unpleasant details of my nightmares but am nonetheless left with a horrible uneasiness. It is not morning yet and Katherine sleeps on peacefully beside me, closer to me now than we were at the beginning of the night, her hand is very almost touching mine, her forehead is against my shoulder. I know I should move further away from her or even go back to my own rooms, after all I have fulfilled the requirement of sleeping in her bed, but I cannot help but remain still for a few moments. It has been a long time since I have shared a bed with a woman, much less Katherine, I usually insist that my mistresses are escorted from my presence as soon as they have fulfilled their purpose, and I have forgotten how intimate it is to look upon someone who is sleeping. Suddenly I am irritated beyond belief that Katherine has the power to consume my thoughts even when she is asleep and helpless and I throw off the covers and climb out of her bed. I cannot quite bring myself to leave however, so I sit in a chair by the fireplace, brooding.

Some time ago I had lamented to Wolsey about the happiness of the beginning of my reign. I lived for pleasure, I told him, and never once thought of the future. For what had I to fear from the future but prosperity and fortune? And children of course, many children from Katherine who I adored with an intensity that I was convinced would never wane. Until I became King it seemed to me that I was the luckiest man in Christendom, always the favourite of the court, loved by everyone and all I was expected to achieve was a son to continue the dynasty. In my wildest dreams I never imagined that I could fail to produce at least one healthy son from a woman whose symbol was the pomegranate for Christ's sake, the very emblem of fertility! It is torture itself for me to remember my utter delight on that New Year's Day all those years ago when I had been shown into the birthing chamber, literally beaming with pride, and saw Katherine cradling our newborn son, radiant with happiness. Of course I had taken it as a sign of God's especial favour towards me, I had felt untouchable. And I loved that boy, how I loved him! No sooner was he born than I was planning his glorious future, I was so impatient to be able to teach him jousting and fencing and archery. He would have brothers by then of course, and sisters- I had always wanted daughters to spoil. I could foresee nothing but happiness and success. When they told me he had died, it was as if all my good fortune had died too. Since then, there has been nothing but failures.

And now there is Anne who has barged into my life with all the force and destruction of a hurricane. Surely she will provide the solution to my problems, when I am with her it is impossible not to feel young and optimistic again, in many ways she is delightful. And desirable, God, so desirable. She will give me the sons that I so desperately need. But why then have I lately been plagued with an unexplainable sense of unease that I cannot completely rid myself of, no matter how hard I try? It makes me seek out Anne's company even more because when I am not with her it is impossible to convince myself that my newfound happiness is not an illusion, to be ripped away at any moment.

When I emerge from my melancholy reverie she is awake and watching me. Our eyes meet in silence and she fearlessly holds my gaze. No doubt she is readying herself for another onslaught about how she must submit to my demands for an annulment but I say nothing. I am not even angry with her anymore as I was earlier but just profoundly sad at the situation we find ourselves in.

'You look troubled, husband,' she says levelly. I sigh, how will unburdening my sorrows to her possibly help now? She is the cause of them after all, or so I keep telling myself.

'Go back to sleep, Katherine,' I say dismissively.

'How can I? I am too worried for you to sleep more than a few hours anymore, that Boleyn girl will damn your soul to hell if you let her, as you seem determined to do so, and now I see that you are also too conflicted and miserable to sleep. It's a wonder that I can sleep at all.'

I have no answer for this so I say nothing. I hear the rustle of the bedclothes as she comes to sit near me.

'You used to tell me everything; you used to share your problems with me. I helped you. Do you remember? We used to talk all night.' Her hand is on my arm, her face is earnest, she could not be more inviting if she tried.

'You are my problem.' Her head drops at this in resignation and she half nods as if she accepts my resentment of her. She is halfway back to the bed before I speak.

'Did you love him?'

'Who?'

'Arthur. Your husband.'

Slowly she moves to sit on the end of the bed, facing me. Her face is guarded, confused.

'Sweetheart, why do you ask such questions? It was so long ago, we were little more than children and we were never-΄

'Yes, yes, alright, so you keep saying.' I am almost choking on impatience, I have wanted to ask this question for years but have always been afraid of the answer she would give. But what is there to lose now?

'Did you love my brother as you love me?'

There is a long silence before she answers and when she does speak it is almost as if she is thinking as she is speaking, as if she truly does not know what she is going to say until the words leave her mouth.

'I…I loved him the best that I could. I so wanted to be a good wife to him as everyone expected of me and he was always very kind to me…he was so embarrassed that he could not be a proper husband to me. But we were true friends, he was my only friend in a strange country and it is true that I was devastated when he died. I felt as though I had lost the only person that truly cared for me in the world. I did not love him as a husband though, not as I love you.'

After she finishes I merely nod. Of course she has to say that but it is gratifying to hear it all the same, my brother's ghost has been lingering over me a long time.

'He hated me, you know.'

She smiles wryly.

'Oh no Henry, he did not hate you, he was jealous of you a little as brothers are. It was difficult for him that you were the favourite; he thought that you outshone him. But it was not hate; truly I do not think that he was capable of hate.'

That is true at least; Arthur had always been gentle and weak to the eternal irritation of our father.

'It was I that was jealous of him, that he would be King and you his Queen. I thought him far too lucky for his own good.'

She smiles again but it is more of a sad gesture than happy.

'When my Father died nobody in the world could have persuaded me to marry anyone except you, I fancied that I had been waiting my whole life to be your husband. My Grandmother urged me to break the betrothal dozens of times; she swore that Arthur had bedded you and that no good would come of our union. But I would not listen to her, or anyone that supported her. I was besotted with you.'

Now the smile has become desperate as if she cannot bear to hear that my love for her is in the past. She manages to keep her voice steady, however.

'And I you. I love you still, as much as I did then.'

Despite my best intentions this conversation has evoked a tenderness towards her that I cannot suppress. It mingles with my sadness and I find myself going to her and taking her hands in mine.

'Katherine, my grandmother was right. What have we brought each other but unhappiness? Can you say honestly that I have made you happy? I am certain there are thousands of people who would say that you have great cause to hate me.'

She shakes her head emphatically.

'What good is hate, sweetheart? It would make me sick to hate you, like it made my poor sister sick. God has called me to be your wife, to love you; it would be a sin to hate you. And besides, I could not, even if I tried.'

She is deluded but it is a delusion that I would willingly lose myself in if I could.

'But Katherine, surely you cannot deny that God is displeased with us? He has taken our children from us, He has not allowed us a living son, is that not proof of His disfavour?'

Slowly she raises her hand to caress my cheek, a comforting gesture.

'I do not pretend to know God's plan,' she says softly, 'but I know this. Sometimes when I think of the trials that God has given us it makes me despair, but I cannot give into despair or I could not carry out the tasks that God has entrusted me with- to be your loving wife and a good mother to our daughter. He has seen fit to leave Mary on Earth in our care and it is to her that you must look for your succession, you think you have no future but that is not true. She is your dynasty. You strive so hard for happiness, my husband, and yet you will not achieve it by trying to put aside our marriage and cavorting with that Boleyn witch. Yes,' she says calmly at my half-hearted protest, 'that woman is an emissary of Satan, put in your path to test you and so far you have failed. But it is easy to reverse the damage you have done. All that you need do is submit to God's will and return to me, your wife. And then you will be happy, we were happy once before, we will be happy again. It is simple.'

Her words are intoxicating to me; she is offering the antidote to the great weight of despair and worry that I have been secretly feeling lately. But surely it cannot be so easy. I should extract myself from her presence, hasn't Anne warned me of her persuasiveness, I should never have come here.

'It is too late,' I protest feebly. I do not move.

'It is not. It is never too late.'

Her hand is still stroking my cheek, our eyes are locked, my other hand is still entwined with hers. As if in a trance I become aware that her face is becoming closer to mine and when our lips meet it is almost a shock. Dimly I know that I can still pull away from her embrace but I do not, the loss of the happiness and peace she has promised me would be too great. For tonight at least I must believe her that we will make each other happy again, that she will save me. As I undress her and draw her down to the bed with me I realise that I do not care whether tomorrow even comes, that all I need is now and her.