(A/N) Sorry this took so long; Last week was pretty busy.

Petunia decided to take up Robert and Emma's offer to accompany them to Braeburn. Packing for the trip was simple enough, for her at least, made simple by the fact that she planned to wash her own laundry, and thus needed less articles of clothing.

Emma had insisted on buying her a new dress for the occasion, despite Petunia's protests. She declined getting anything super fancy, like silk or velvet; instead picking a material for something she could wear again, to church maybe. She settled on cotton fabric dyed with madder: a lovely peachy-pink that went nicely with her hair, and picked a simple flowery pattern to be embroidered along the hemline. It wasn't the first time she had been fitted, measured, and fussed over, but she never really got used to it. The dressmaker had done their work with good speed, just in time for her to pack it.

Petunia smiled as she folded the garment into her small trunk, smoothing out the wrinkles.

"Isn't that lovely?"

She turned to see her mother bringing in another pair of socks. "Mom! I've already packed seven pairs."

"So now pack eight, or even nine." Rebecca countered. "You might get another pair wet: it never hurts to pack a little extra."

"I heard it'll be really warm; I might not even need to wear one pair."

"They may be wrong."

"Honestly!" But the younger woman smiled and packed the extra socks.

Rebecca planted a kiss on her daughter's forehead. "I'm going to miss you something awful, you know?"

"I know." Petunia hugged her mother. "I'm gonna miss you too, but I'll need to leave the nest eventually: this could help prepare you guys for it."

"True." Rebecca admitted, leaning back and patting her cheek. "I'm just being a parent."

"Dad said pretty much the same thing." The redhead giggled.

"Speaking of me," Henry entered the room. "I have a request of you, my dear."

"What's that?"

"Some of the tulips in the north east circle, the ones bordered by box hedge; they've shuffled off their mortal coil, so to speak."

Petunia laughed. "And…?"

"Braeburn is famous for their tulips." He held up a small bag jingling with coins. "The head grounds keeper gathered enough money for you to buy a dozen or so bulbs while you're there, if you wouldn't mind."

"I wouldn't mind at all." She said, taking the purse. "Most girls enjoy shopping for clothes and jewelry," Then she amended "Uh, well, I do to, but I also like to shop for plants."

Her father chuckled, looping an arm around his wife's waist. "Thank you, Sweetie. We'll all appreciate it." He then looked at her with mock seriousness. "Now, you better have a good time, you hear?"

Grinning, Petunia gave a mock salute "Loud and clear."

The journey to Braeburn was a smooth one, and Petunia enjoyed every step of the way.

The entourage consisted of herself, Prince Robert, Princess Emma, at least one valet, Robert's personal chef (to make sure their food wasn't poisoned), and a small host of body guards. It was low maintenance, compared to most traveling royalty. It gave them opportunity to eat out under the sky, to enjoy each other's company, and just enjoy the trip.

They were to stay in the house of the mayor, Archibald Asbaragws, and his wife Lovey. The couple were incredibly gracious and hospitable. They had prepared the finest rooms for all of them, even the servants, and gave them a tour of his town. Both treated Petunia kindly, Lovey curtsying and Archie bowing and kissing her hand like she was a grand noblewoman, and without seeming phony. During the tour, he also made a point to include the prettiest gardens in the town (with the owners' permission, of course) for her benefit, but said to her. "I'm sure the gardens you work in are much lovelier by far."

"Indeed they are." Emma said. "Miniature gardens of Eden!"

"Yes, but only because my father does most of the work." Petunia replied modestly, feeling a little embarrassed by all the attention.

Archibald laughed. "Oh Yes, I've heard of your father's miracles with the soil: makes me wish I lived in the capital, just so I could hire him to work on my own garden. But, then again, he would probably be too busy."

As nice as the Mayor's house was, there wasn't a whole lot of room, as often the case with officials of small towns, so several members of the entourage ended up sharing rooms, sometimes three in one bed. Emma and Petunia, being the only ladies in the group, bunked together, sleeping in the same bead, which was fortunately decently wide.

Neither of them minded; it was a great opportunity for some girl time. They spent the night before the ceremony up later than normal, chatting and laughing in their nightgowns. They even, might as well admit, gossiped, although it involved people neither of them knew personally.

"I heard," Emma began as she brushed the knots out of Petunia's hair, "That the King of England is looking for another wife."

"Another one? This would be what, wife number five?"

"Six, actually."

"Anyone specific for the slaughter?"

"Not yet, but I feel sorry for whoever she is." She tapped the hairbrush against her chin, seeming uncharacteristically quiet for a moment. "What is it Em?" Petunia asked.

"You remember that the council considered a marriage between one of the boys and one or both of the English princess'?"

"Yeah; it was before you met Robert, wasn't it?"

"Yes." She propped her chin on one hand. "Those poor girls, especially Mary, Catherine of Aragon's daughter, she's suffered the worst ." She looked to Petunia. "I don't want you to take this out of context, but sometimes I feel so sorry for her, and a little guilty for my own good luck, I almost wish…" She sighed "I almost wish Robbie had married her instead of me."

Petunia gasped; this was one of the last things she expected to hear. "How can you say that?!"

"I told you not to take it out of context!"

"But… why?"

"I just told you: she's so miserable, she's been so mistreated by her father and her first stepmother and everyone else. I love Robbie more than life itself, but even if I hadn't married him, I still would've had a good life, whereas, she might have had one much better than her current one."

"Maybe, but then Tommy and Missy would never have been born."

Emma smiled "That's the biggest deal breaker."

"And besides, I don't think she would take well to the royal family not being Catholic, considering the whole Boleyn affair."

"You've got a point, again."

Emma then steered the conversation to a common topic. "So, on a different subject, I've met this man, a squire, named of George Rivers. Nice guy. He likes to work in his garden as a hobby…"

Petunia couldn't stop from grimacing. "Oh no, Em! Not this again!"

"Not what again?" The princess asked innocently.

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about."

Emma sighed. "I'm sorry, but I can't help it; you're a wonderful girl, and I think…"

"I don't need anyone to play matchmaker for me." Petunia reminded her patiently. "When the right guy comes along, I'll find him myself."

It was hard for Emma to understand. Her marriage to Robert had been semi arranged, planned but requiring their consent, and it took place when they were seventeen years of age. But she shrugged and sighed. "Sorry, I know it's none of my business."

"You're forgiven," Petunia told her, then added jokingly, "This time, at least." And the two laughed it off.

The next few days went by far too quickly, in Larry's opinion. Soon the day of reckoning would be upon them, and he would have to obey his father's wishes.

The day before they were to head out, Larry spent most of his mental energy thinking of ways to get out of this responsibility. He knew that fighting was sometimes necessary for a cause, but he wanted no part of it.

This was what preoccupied him at the press, and on his way home from work. He didn't even have the chance to notice what a lovely evening it was. The temperature was cool and even, the sky a blue-gray, like the scales of a fish.

Speaking of fish, he decided to walk by the lake to clear his head, maybe watch the fishing boats as they docked. In addition to its printing press, Pettingill was also famous for its fishing industry, and Larry sometimes watched the fishermen at work when he needed to clear his head.

There's gotta be some way I can get out of this mess. He thought as he made his way down the stone walkway along the docks. He stopped and sat on the edge near a boat with the name Lovely Lisa written on the side. He glanced towards the ship made sure he was out of the way before sitting and dangling his feet over the edge.

Maybe if I could catch a quick cold… He stared at his reflection. He could go for a brief swim, then run around in the cold, night air in his wet clothes.

But, knowing his father like he did, it would take much more than a stuffy nose and sneeze for Burdock to let him stay home from something this important.

"Careful…!"his thoughts were rudely interrupted by a shout, immediately followed by something cold and floppy landing on his shoulder. He caught the object as it slid off, and found himself staring into the wide eyed, gasping face of a small-mouth bass.

"EEEEUUuugh!" He let out a rather unmanly screech, flinging the clammy creature back into the drink where it swam away, no doubt breathing the fish equivalent of a sigh of relief. He gave a shudder, still brushing violently at his clothes as though to push away the memory.

"Oh Gosh, sorry about that!"

He had been sitting closer to the boat than he thought, being distracted by his worries. He looked up and saw two crewmembers leaning over the side right above him, hoisting in the rest of the net while smiling apologetically.

They were both short and stumpy. The older man had a thick grey mustache, and his eyes were completely obscured by a pair of glasses with the thickest, dirtiest lenses you could imagine. The younger man was a little older than Larry himself, clean shaven, and, though his hair was covered by a knitted fisherman's cap, he had the reddest pair of eyebrows he had ever seen.

"I'm really sorry!" The younger man repeated. His speech was surprisingly clear and articulate for a fisherman.

Larry smile back at them. "S'okay, just something freaky about a live fish out of water…" He gave another shiver.

The older man jerked his thumb towards the younger. "Well, this rookie's still working on his knots." He spoke with a light Yiddish accent.

"It's true" The other admitted. "Have you ever tried to do a sailor's knot? It's crazy!"

"That's okay,' Larry gave him a reassuring smile. "I know what it's like to be new at a job and… make a mess of things."

The read-haired sailor laughed, and was about to say something else when a clang resounded from below the deck of the ship, followed by a gruff voice yelling in Gaelic. The two crewmen looked down with alarmed, puzzled faces, and then there was the sound of a wooden hatch being opened.

A voice same from deck level, though Larry couldn't see the person from his angle "Uh, Captain… dinner is off on account of Scooter just spilled the stew all over himself."

"Jiminy Christmas, Lunt! You just left him covered with steaming hot soup?" The older man, sorry, the Captain, disappeared below deck, grousing all the while. The younger crewmember watched him over his shoulder.

"Um… I should probably go." He said "It was nice to meet you, Mr. …"

"Larry." The lanky man gave a friendly smile and reached up to shake his hand.

"Nice to meet you Larry, My name is Bob."

"Well, nice to meet'ya too Bob. I hope I'll see you again soon."

"Same here." The sailor said, before following his captain below deck.

9 hours later

"Rise and shine, up and at 'em, Boy."

"Hm… nhg… wha…?"

"I said wake up."

Larry felt himself being shaken, prying his eyes open to see his father's blurry features in the dim lighting. "Dad, I don't wanna go to school today, could you write a note for my teacher?" He tried to settle back into his pillow.

Richard gave a strained smile. "I'm not talking about school: Today's the big day! You need to get down there and meet with the others bright and early."

Larry squinted at the window, seeing the mist hanging over the ground and the streets dim. "Well, it's early: I dunno about bright." Then the words sank in and his eyes popped back open and he sat up. "Wait, you mean …?"

"Yes, the Rally. Now get going."

Larry immediately began scrambling for excuses. "Oh gee… I've… I'm really not feeling well this morning… '

"That's of no importance: You will get up… "

"My head hurts…"

"Get dressed …"

"I'm feeling dizzy…"

"Have breakfast…"

" and I'm seeing spots…"

"NOW!"

"Gleep!" Larry jumped straight out of his covers. "Er… Like I saying, I'll be ready in a minute, Sir."

His father nodded. "Good man." Then marched out of the room, leaving his son to rue his fate.

After betting dressed, putting on his hardy walking boots, and a rather hurried breakfast of porridge that he ate before it could really cool off, He set out towards the Shallot River, where the group would be sailing in a small dingy upstream to Braeburn: it was one of the quickest routes, and one of the more stealthy ones.

It took him a little longer than normally, it still being dark and everything. He had trouble navigating, and of course, he kept tripping and stumbling over hidden objects. When he finally did get there, the sky had turned from dark blue to grey, the way it had been the previous evening when he was thinking of ways to get out of this predicament. He gulped. No turning back now.

The troup: Alvin, Appley, Parsnip, Celeriac, and a few others, were huddled together as they braved through the early morning chill, muttering sleepy conversations and yawning every once in a while. Some of them rolled their eyes and became visibly annoyed when they saw him, but the rest didn't even acknowledge his arrival.

"Congrats, you're on time today." Appley stated flatly.

"Um… thanks?"

The others resumed their conversations, ignoring him, which was just fine in his opinion: he was too tired and nervous to be made sport of right now.

Appley spoke up to the small crowd. "We're almost ready, just as soon as Leekey and Allium get here, we can push off."

The other members gave a rather tired, lack luster cheer. She walked past Larry and probably noticed his frightened expression.

"Relax, Sonny Boy: I won't let you get killed."

"Well gee, thanks. I…"

"Your old man would have me demoted if I did."

"… Appreciate it." He finished wanly.

Once again, all the last names are fruits or vegetables, sometimes in a different language; Archie and Lovey's is one of the welsh words for Asparagus.

I did a little research, and 1543 is the year that King Henry VIII of England married his sixth and final wife Catherine Parr. I figured that it would make sense if He considered, at some point, marrying one his daughters off to the princes of Fructis Olus (If it existed, of course), since nearly every royal male was at some point considered for either one of them.

Anyway, stay posted for nest chappie: there's gonna be a lot of actions and excitement!