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Anne Boleyn

The sun was high and weather fair.

She knelt onto the wooden platform, her head held high. Moments ago she was imprisoned with fear, her very soul clinging so desperately to her last hours on earth, every nerve burning for escape and hopes for salvation and yet…she felt calm.

Her suffering would end soon and that was all that mattered.

"To Jesus Christ I commend my soul, Lord Jesus receive my…"

The blade was strangely warm as it embraced her neck.

Anne woke with a start.

She could feel her heart thundering in her chest as the dream faded away, the horrors so stark and clear now muddled and hazy. The details sieved from her sluggish mind leaving behind nothing but a horrible, untraceable feeling.

It was not noon but dark at night. She was not kneeling but lying in bed and it was not a sword that caressed her neck but fingers, long and warm. She blinked and tried to familiarise her surroundings as a pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around her.

"Anne?" a tired voice came beside her. She turned and found herself facing her husband.

"What's wrong sweetheart?" he asked with concern, "…is it the nightmare again?"

She knew what he meant, the dreams that came to her since the Matter had started, one that was often very real even if reality suggested such end was impossible.

When she did not answer, he held her tighter and she could feel him breathing in her essence as though by doing so he could banish the nightmares forever.

"Anne, maybe we ought to arrange…"

"No," she cut him off, her voice stern. Seeing his startled face, she softened and smiled, "…this is just another nightmare. Once our son has come, it will end,"

"Of course," he answered, "It's just…you have not been resting well." He continued, his eyes betraying the depths of his worry. She looked away and snuggled closer, wanting to touch him, to know that what she felt earlier was just a dream and this was real, that she was safe and far away from all danger.

Henry sighed at his wife's stubbornness, knowing that Anne would simply shut him away if he continued to press the issue, so he turned to another topic. Slowly he moved his hand and gingerly touched her swollen belly. It has been nearly a year since they were both wed and part of them still counted their blessings that they were together.

Their marriage almost did not happen.

Though her husband found his courage and sought help from Wolsey, his father had nearly put paid to their betrothal. His death by the strange ("Miraculous" "Cursed") storm removed the final obstacle they had. Her father, once convinced that the benefit of the union outweighed the betrothal to James Butler, agreed that it was just a matter of getting the King's permission and finding the right priest.

It was bliss and when she was expectant, it felt like happiness would never end.

Until the Great Matter, until Henry had to leave and she was left behind with lies and poisons and the bleedings and near misses – his brothers ever vigilant for a weakness.

"Henry," she spoke.

"Yes, Anne?" he replied, his eyes still on her stomach, his face content.

"Would it…would it matter to you if our child turned out to be girl?" she asked, keeping her voice steady, her nerves steeled for the response.

Henry looked up, his expression puzzled and then, suddenly, an understanding.

"Oh, Anne, is that why?"

"Henry…" she started, clutching his shirt, burying her face into the crook of his neck wishing that she was not so unreasonable, "…ever since the whole Matter started, it started to get worse. I mean," her breath hitched and she cursed herself, "Your family…" she suppressed a hiss as the thought of them.

They had thought she was beneath them, a daughter of a mere knight ("A merchant's family!"), never mind that her mother was a Howard and for that she was equal to his family name. She had promised to hold her head up high, to not let them get to her but the pregnancy had been difficult and lately she found herself unable to guard her thoughts.

On other days, the current politics surrounding the King and his Queen would have been nothing to her except for the usual court intrigue, but Henry's brothers had been venomous as of late. They had thought to sow seeds of mistrust when Henry was away and in her condition she believed it.

Her status was precarious in the family and she knew the way to silence them was to give birth to a grandson. No one would touch her then.

"Anne, it does not matter to me," Henry started, she opened her mouth but he jumped in, "No, Anne, I promise! All I want is for you to be happy and, God willing, for us to have a healthy child. We are young still, if the child is a girl, it does not matter!"

"Our marriage is unbreakable, no matter what my brothers had said. You are my wife and I, your husband. God had blessed our union and his Majesty, the King, had permitted us to wed."

He paused, as though surprised by his own words, "Anne, you gave me courage…and love, most importantly…love. I could not imagine a life without you by my side. Even if you gave me daughters, I'd still be happy."

She smiled and felt the ghostly executioner's blade pushed away from her, back into the dark recesses of her mind.

"To me, you are my one and only Lady Northumberland," he smiled and Anne felt her heart at ease, silently she chided herself for being so mistrustful.

"Have I not been always, my lord?" She kissed him and felt at peace again.

All was well.

Notes: Some bits of history may have been bent to suit the story. This story is mostly a collection of oneshots AUs. Constructive criticisms are welcomed.