A/N: Ok so here's the next chapter, it was a little difficult to write, I'm sorry if it was a little too Anne focused, but this is an important period in her life, she experiences some major changes and breakthroughs in this chapter, that will go a long way in her becoming the Anne we all know and love.

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favourted or alerted the story it means the world to me. Thank you also to my anonymous reviewers.

Anyway I own nothing, nothing is mine, but I hope you all enjoy it

January 25th 1507

Richmond Palace

" Sir Thomas Boleyn, " John Moreton's voice all but echoed throughout the thrown room of Richmond Palace, King Henry could not help but smile at the man knelt before him, " You are by order and permission of His Majesty, King Henry, today created Lord Rochford."

Henry could not help but think that Thomas Boleyn looked a little smug, and Henry did not blame the man for it, ever since the betrothel between Harry and young Anne had been agreed upon, there had been whispers (quite loud ones) about the suitableness of a woman of no social standing, from a family with no name or fortune for the Duke of York, even as the granddaughter of the Duke of Norfolk, Anne was thought by many, his wife and son included, to be to far beneath Harry. Henry just hoped that this small gesture appeased them somewhat.

It was not a grand title, he was to be a Viscount, a step up from a knight (of which the man had become the previous year), Henry was not one to give titles away for naught, a dukedom would have kept the mummers quite Henry knew but he held no desire to do so, he was not going to give Thomas Boleyn that much power, simply because he was fond of the man's daughter no matter how much he liked and enjoyed his ambassadors presence, such titles had to be earned, perhaps when Anne gave them all a healthy living boy Henry would think about it, until then Lord Rochford would do.

Elizabeth was seated next to him a grim expression on her face lovely face, she wore her long hair behind a gable hood, her dress was a deep brown cut modestly and adorned with a vast array of jewels, sometimes Henry wondered whether she aged at all. He was glad that Elizabeth had grown somewhat fond of little Anne, she still did not approve of the match but she didn't hate the girl as he had once feared she would, he could not help but ponder the reason why, and he knew without a doubt that it had something to do with his mother, and the competition that was always present between them.

While Thomas Boleyn had been at the French court for much of the past year, his wife and three children had stayed in England, Anne had stayed at court while her mother and two siblings had journeyed to Kent, his mother had wished it and Elizabeth Boleyn had had little choice but to obey. For his wife that had proved to be somewhat of a problem, he knew it pained her, to have her own children so far away at Eltham and Ludlow, while young Anne had been permitted to stay at court but his mother wanted to educate the girl, to make her suitable for Harry and her future position no matter her family name, and Henry had seen the reasoning for such a course. It had meant Elizabeth had not been able to avoid the child, as she had Katherine in the beginning, and as she saw her mother-in-law and future daughter in-law bonding Henry knew she had worried, as Harry's mother she wanted to make sure that she had a certain level of control over his life, and that meant she would have to form a sort of relationship between herself and the girl, and so she had of late taken to having lunch with Anne, doing her best no doubt to ensure that the girl favored her over her betrothed's grandmother. Henry had done nothing to put a stop to the game that was being played, he felt no need to, the girl would be the better for it. Still he could not help but think his wife was fighting a losing battle, she may not ever been mean or harsh to the girl, but she was never particularly warm to the girl, whereas his mother had taken to treating young Anne as if she were one of his Granddaughters, he knew that like himself, little Anne reminded her of their Margret.

Anne was present at the ceremony, as was her mother, Lady Rochford now, the other two Boleyn children were no doubt with their governess, children were not much welcomed at court while his own were not present, Anne was the only exception to that rule, and had it not been for his mother's instance that she remain with them, he would have no doubt had her returned to Hever the year before. She was turning into a fine young creature, the girl would be six in June and already she looked and acted far beyond her years, not once had he regretted his decision, the girl would be leaving for the Low Countries the following year, Harry had already been told that he would write to her once a month. His youngest son was still not overly thrilled with his bride to be, but Henry thought that would change in time, Elizabeth and himself had never been fond of each other in their early years, she had all but refused to the marriage when it was first agreed upon, she had thought him beneath her, not unlike their son, the York blood had always been strongest in Harry.

When the ceremony was over with, Henry motioned for the man before him to rise, " My Lord," He said simply.

" Majesty," Boleyn responded, the smug expression still firmly planted upon his face. With a nod of his head, Henry stood from his throne his hand immediately finding his wife's as they left the room hand in hand, a chorus of "Your Majesties," following them all the way to his private chambers.

" You look grim my love," Henry said softly, once they were away from prying ears, the doors to his chambers shut firmly.

" Was that really necessary?" Her voice was just as soft as his own, but unlike his own it held a note of anger.

" You were among the many the claimed Anne was too common for Harry," Henry reasoned, his voice calm but firm.

" Yes, but that didn't seem to bother you before why does it now?" Elizabeth countered her voice rising only slightly, he had always been better at hiding his emotions, she was too much like her mother, too proud and stubborn, " The man has done nothing to deserve such a title, yet you give it to him so freely with no need other than to make his daughter appear less common."

" Do you forget how much favor the Woodville's gained from your parents marriage?" Henry questioned his voice rising just as his own had. He would not have her questioning everything he did.

" That was different," Elizabeth, said her chin rising ever so slightly.

" How so? Your mother was common born, how is it any different other than it being your family instead of the Boleyn's?"

" My mother was the Queen of England, an anointed Queen, she needed powerful allies around her." Her voice quivered slightly as she spoke and Henry knew without a doubt that she was struggling to convince herself of her own words and claims, she knew he had a point, she would just not admit it.

" And Anne will be the Duchess of York, the Queen of England possibly, she too will need powerful allies around her." His voice was not angry or firm, he was not in the mood to fight with her, he thought it would be best to change the subject, he was sick of having the same argument with her, " Have you heard from Margret?"

Immediately his wife's face softened, their eldest daughter was currently heavy with her first child; they had both been waiting nervously for any news from their daughter.

21st of February 1507

Holyrood Palace, Scotland

Margret's screams were loud and horse, she felt as if she had been in labor for days, she knew it had not yet even been three hours, but still time it seemed had all but stilled.

Her midwife had claimed as soon as her labor pains began and her water broke, that the birth would be short and easy, Margret wanted to all but strangle the older woman for her deceitfulness, while the labor was not exactly long, it had most certainly not been easy.

" I can see the head now Your Majesty," The midwife said, and Margret felt her body relax at the words, it would not be long now.

She felt as if she had waited an age for this moment, for a child to be presented to her, a living breathing mixture of her and James. When she had first told him she was pregnant she had thought he might cry, she had certainly enjoyed the look on his councilmen's face as her bump grew larger and larger each month.

" One more push my lady," The midwife encouraged, taking a deep breath Margret took the hold of her ladies hands on either side of her, and using all her might, she pushed her child into the world.

The babe did not start wailing until given a firm slap on the buttocks, and even when it did the cry's were small and almost quiet, Margret could not help but think of her elder brother, her mother often said that as an infant Arthur hardly cried.

Margret looked expectantly at the midwife, her child now bundled up in the other woman's arms in a thick blanket.

" Your Majesty has given birth to a very healthy baby boy," The midwife said smiling widely as she handed the child into Margret's waiting arms.

He was a small little thing, but Margret thought he was very handsome, the very image of his father.

It didn't take James long to come to her rooms, once she and the child were both settled he came bounding in, clearly more than pleased. The issue of succession had been plaguing him of late; this would put an end to that.

" My love, come and meet our son," Margret said smiling widely, she was surprisingly alert, she hardly felt tired at all, perhaps it was simply the excitement of it all, James bounded over to her as if his life depended upon it, the smile never once leaving his face.

" I don't know how I can possibly thank you for this My love," James said as if in awe, Margret knew he had experienced this countless times before, but this was his first legitimate child, she knew he had been looking forward to this day since their wedding day, " Have you thought of a name for him?"

In the back of her mind she had always thought it would be nice to name her first son Arthur or even Henry, but she knew within he heart that that couldn't happen, her husbands family would always have to be honored before her own.

" He will be James of course," Margret responded, her son was the image of his father, " He is the image of you, no other name would do."

" James it is then my sweet," James replied his voice still cheerful, " we will have to think of a nickname however."

James Stuart, Duke of Rothesay, the future King of Scotland, yes Margret thought smiling to herself, she had delivered an heir, a bony Prince, a future King.

March 1st 1507

Hever, Kent

Boleyn Family Residence

As Anne walked into her childhood home, she felt none of the comforts she usually associated with it. The halls, the walls, the very essence of the castle, smelt of blood and death, and at five (almost six) years of age, she found no comfort in such smells. She was dressed simply, in a somber black gown with white lace trimmings, her hair wound in a plait, she had cried for most of the journey, she was glad she had been alone in the carriage. Her mother, her dear sweet mother, had the sweat she was not long left for the world. She would be forever grateful to the Queen for allowing her to leave court so that she may bid her mother farewell, the Lady Margret had not wanted her too and the King had been worried for her health if she was to make such a journey, but Elizabeth had all but willed for her to be allowed a few weeks of absence, once the Doctors had asserted that she would be in no immediate danger.

It had felt an age since she had been to her family home, she had been at court for much of the last year and a half, she could hardly even remember the last time she had seen her siblings, George would be almost two now, yet Anne could think of nothing but an infant when she pictured him.

She ignored the servants bowing their heads as she entered the entrance of Hever, she wanted to see her mother, she didn't want anything else. Mary was there waiting for her, her sister too was dressed in black, her blonde her pulled into a simple bun, her face looked sullen and grim, their brother was no where in sight, their father and governess had no doubt thought him too young to deal with such matters, Anne could not help but agree with such sentiments, George was only a baby, he would hardly remember their mother, and while Anne knew that she and Mary were both only children, she knew that neither of them would ever forget their mama.

" Oh Annie," Mary said as soon as she laid eyes on her sister, she pulled her into a warm and loving embrace and Anne could not help but feel somewhat comforted by the touch.

" Where is Papa?" Anne questioned, chocking on her words, she had not even noticed she had started to cry.

" He is with her, he has not left her side," Mary replied softly, Anne noticed that she too had tears in her eyes, " would you like to see her?"

Anne did nothing more but nod her head before following her sister along the all too familiar path towards their parents bedchamber, when they reached the door Anne found herself gasping for air, how was she suppose to face her mother? How was she meant to act? She didn't know what a person was suppose to do when somebody had died, oh she had experienced death before, two of her brothers had died, but Anne had hardly remembered them, they had died when they were just babies, Anne had had no real connection to them, not like her parents had. This was her Mama; Anne did not know how she was going to stay strong.

Mary did not go in with her, Anne supposed she had already said her goodbyes; perhaps she didn't have the strength to face their mother again. Anne didn't think her father had noticed her presence, if he had it didn't seem that he cared.

Her mother did not look like herself, her skin was ghostly pale and glistened with sweat, her nightdress too seemed soaked, her light brown hair was sticking to her face, and Anne could not even tell if her mothers eyes were opened, the slight rising and falling of her chest allowed Anne to see that her mother was at least breathing, she had not been to late, that was something at least.

She could just barley hear her fathers voice, shaking and pleading, never in her years had she remembered him to sound so desperate. She made no move to interrupt him, she could only think that the pain, that he was going through was a thousand times more than her own grief.

" Don't go, please don't go," Anne could not tell if her father was addressing her mother or pleading with God, perhaps it was a mixture of both, " just because you have done everything that you have promised, please don't leave me. You are the milk of human kindness; the light in my dark dark world, without you life is a desert of howling wilderness. Please God in your mercy, don't take her away from me, my children need their mother, and I need my wife."

" Papa," Anne said gently, placing her hand on top of her parents entwined ones, both of their skin was cold to touch. Her father all but jumped at the sound of her voice.

" Annie," He said, still not looking away from his wife, " we were not expecting you."

Anne did not know how to respond to her fathers remark, she did not know how she was suppose to give him any sort of comfort, so she just gripped his hand tighter, it was something her Mama often did when one of them were sick and Anne had always found it to be a great comfort.

" I will leave you two for a moment."

As he father left the room, Anne was overwhelmed by the thick silence, for a moment she wanted her Papa to come back, to cradle her in his arms and tell her everything would be alright, breathing deeply Anne pushed such thoughts from her mind, The Lady Margret would tell her to pluck up her courage and face her fears, she was to be the Duchess of York, a Tudor girl, she had to be brave and strong, even if every fiber of her being was telling her to sob and scream that life wasn't fair.

She sat in the chair left unoccupied by her father with a deep breath, flattening the skirts of her black gown as she did so. She never wanted to wear the dress again.

" Mama," she said softly placing her small hand into her mothers much larger one, her mothers fingers seemed so skinny and frail, Anne thought her touch might break them.

She had not expected a response and so when her mothers voice all but echoed around the silent chambers Anne had to fight the urge to jump, " Annie, little Annie, " the voice was so unlike the one Anne associated with her mother, it frightened her to hear something so weak coming from a woman so strong.

" Yes Mama, it's me, " Anne replied softly fighting back the tears that were threatening to fall, she didn't want her mother to see her upset she had to stay strong she had always been the strong one.

" Oh Annie, I am so sorry, I won't be there to see you grow, but I want you to always remember who you are and where you have come from and above all else I want you to remember that I love you, I love you Anne and I bid you to never forget it."

" I won't Mama," Anne promised solemnly, laying her head on her mother's slowly rising chest.

When her father came back to the room she had fallen asleep, when he woke her up, it took her mere moments to realise that her mother had stopped breathing, and finally she cried.

15th of March 1507

Eltham Palace

Harry absentmindedly traced a finger along the outline of Jane's naked form, her skin was slightly glistened with sweat, and she had a small contented smile upon her face. She was truly a beautiful woman, she had all the graces expected of someone with French blood, yet all the beauty of a true English rose. Her hair was blonde and her skin pale, she had a figure full of womanly curves, Henry did not even mind that she was older than him, her age suited what they had well, he didn't need some silly creature that was likely to gloat, he needed someone who would no how to keep her mouth shut.

He had taken her as his mistress in the later part of the last year, no one other than Charles knew of it, his father would be beyond furious if he were to find out, Harry could just picture his voice in his mind, " no son of mine will be some womanizing scoundrel," so they had kept it a secret, it didn't bother Harry either way, besides being housed at Eltham, where Jane was in his sisters service made it easier, his parents prying eyes and the presence of his betrothed were absences that he was more than content with.

He couldn't help but move his gaze to the letter lying on the table in his bedchamber. It was from his grandmother and as always it concerned the Lady Anne. Her mother had died, and his lady grandmother, as well as his mother and father, had informed him to send a letter of his condolences to both Anne and the Boleyn's, he didn't know what such sentiments would bring, it was not as if his words would somewhat ease their sufferings.

He could still remember his parents grief when his siblings had died young, with Edmund especially they had been most distressed, Henry too had been sad to lose his brother and sisters, he could not even begin to imagine what it would be like to lose his mother, nothing he would say to his betrothed would give her any comfort or feelings of relief, he was not a child he knew he could not ease her sufferings with a few well placed words, Yet his parents and Grandmother had demanded it and as such he would abide by their wishes, even if he did think it somewhat pointless.

" My Prince," Jane's voice purred in his ear, her hands wandering in the sheets between them, " Am I not interesting you?"

" Of course you are Sweetheart," Harry replied, shaking away the thoughts of Anne Boleyn that were invading his mind, " Forgive me, you have my attentions."

" Good," Jane responded smiling at Harry's response. She did not love him, not that it mattered for he did not love her either, what they had was a convenience to both of them, for the young Prince because it gave him something to do with his time and allowed him to take his mind off of all that bothered him, and for Jane it gave her some level of Royal favor; she knew she would always hold a special place in the Duke of York's thoughts and affections. He would have his wife, he would no doubt have other mistresses, but she would forever be his first, and for now that was all that mattered.

July 8th 1507

Richmond Palace

Margret stared at the girl across from her with a firm expression, if Anne was bothered by Margret's sternness she did not show it, but then she had yet to look u from her lap, or give any other audible answer then a simple 'yes madam.'

She was still dressed in blacks, still deep in her mourning for her mother, Elizabeth had said they had called her back from Hever to quickly, that a girl so young and tender hearted could not be expected to simply forget her mothers death in a matter of months, a year even, Elizabeth had informed them would not be enough time. Margret had not listened to her and Henry as always had trusted his mother's words.

Anne could grieve her mother all she wished, but Margret needed the girl with her, Anne was leaving for the Netherlands the following year, Margret would not have her sent there as an uneducated fool. The girl was to be a Tudor in all the ways that counted and Margret would make sure she acted like it.

Yet when she looked at the girl in front of her (now six years in age), she could not help but think that perhaps Elizabeth had been right. She was dressed well, as she always was, in a deep black gown with blue fur trimmings, but her face and demeanor lacked their usual charm, even her eyes lacked their usual sparkle. Everyday the girl attended her lessons without complaint, but other than that the girl hardly left her rooms unless she was ordered too. This was not the young girl Margret had come to know over the past years, this was not the girl she and Henry had envisioned as the future Duchess of York, and with Katherine still yet to find herself with child again, Anne grew more important daily.

Margret would not have the girl moping away her life and opportunities, even if she did have reason for her distress, Margret would not stand for it any longer.

" Lady Anne," Margret said seriously, the girl did not look up at her words.

" Yes Madam," Anne responded addressing the skirts of her gown.

" I do not believe I have spent all this time teaching you, to have you be so rude, when someone addresses you will look at them." She did not intend to scare the child, but her voice left no room for Anne to think that she was being anything but serious.

" Forgive me Madam," Anne said finally looking up, their eyes locked together and Margret realised there were tears in her companion's dark blue orbs.

" Now Anne, I understand that you are hurting at the moment, to lose a parent, especially so young is not an easy thing, " Margret spoke softly, her eyes never leaving Anne face, she wanted to make sure she had the girls complete attention, " However I will not have you moping your days away, you are to be the Duchess of York, a Tudor girl, you are neither weak of mind or of heart, your mother would not want this, she would want you to be happy and to take your opportunities, to enjoy the life she created for you. You want to make your mother proud don't you?"

" Yes, My lady," Anne responded after some moments of silence, she suspected the girl was somewhat shocked by her words, they had all been treating the girl with a lot of care since she had returned to court.

" Well then, do your mother proud, stop this moping and be glad for the time you did have with her, rather than thinking of all the time you won't, you will hold your head up and put a smile on that pretty face and be the girl we all know you can be my dear, your mother would want nothing less."

27th of February 1508

Stirling Castle, Scotland

" Your Majesty," Margret ignored the voice addressing her, her mind was to focused on what lay beyond the door in front of her. She vaguely heard the words "there was nothing we could do," but she paid it no notice, she would not believe them until she saw it herself.

She walked past those in front of the door to her sons nursery with her head held high, they would whisper now, no doubt, Margret Tudor was unable to produce healthy heirs, they would say her blood is cursed but she didn't care, she cared only about her boy, her sweet little Jamie, taken from her just days after his first birthday, the doctors could not even give her a cause.

The room was eerily silent when she entered it; it was empty, all except for the cradle, the small little bed that held her dead son. James had refused to come with her, he did not want to lay eyes on him, their focus should be on the child now in her belly, not on their dead son, but Margret could not think of it that way. She had carried and birthed the boy, she had watched him grow, had heard his first words and seen his first steps, she could not simply forget he had existed just because God had chosen to take him from her. The child in her womb would not replace the one they had now lost, it would not be him, oh if it were a boy they could name him James and the whole world would just forget her first boy, but Margret never would.

He looked like he was sleeping. His little eyes were closed shut, his head turned slightly to the side, for a split second she thought they had been lying to her, he child was alive and well, God would not take him from her, but as she reached a hand towards his cheeks they were ice to touch, and that's when she noticed the almost blue complexion of his skin, and realised that his tiny little chest was not moving, and the realization sent her body into shock, and before she even realised what was happening, she was collapsed on the floor of the nursery, sobbing hysterically for the life that was so cruelly taken from her.

June 7th 1508

Court of Savoy

The halls were extensive; long and narrow, Anne thought that there was a never ending line of turns and corners, the palace was not quite as large nor as grand as the ones she had become accustomed to in England, yet still Anne found the place slightly intimidating. The groom in front of her was all but running, Anne found his state of dress so un-English that it almost pained her to look upon him. She missed England already, her father was not even with her, he was once again in France, serving as the ambassador, he had taken Mary with him this time, George had stayed behind with their governess, Anne could not help but wonder just when she would see her siblings again.

With a heavy sigh Anne pulled up the skirts of her pale blue gown, in an effort to keep in step with the man in front of her. The dress she was wearing was one of the simpler ones she owned, Lady Margret had all but insisted upon it, she was not going to the French Court after all, the Archduchess would want to see an intelligent and well presented girl, not a silly frivolous fool who only cared for her appearance. And so Anne had been dressed in her pale and plain blue gown, that was adorned with only a small beaded flower upon the bodice, the only jewelry on her body her 'B' pendent, and her hair she wore in a simple bun, Anne just hoped the Archduchess would be pleased by her.

She had to be brave; Anne knew that, she was six years old now far to old to be afraid of silly things. It was as the Lady Margret always told her, She must stand tall and smile even if she did not want to she must always act a proper lady even if she were angry or scared or afraid, She was the future Duchess of York, Prince Harry would not want to marry a scared little girl.

Throughout her life Anne had often wished to be more like her sister, to be as pretty and as appealing as her, with her blonde hair, blue eyes and womanly figure (already at the age of eight). Her father and mother always said that Mary was a true English beauty, maybe that was why Prince Harry never seemed interested in her, maybe he would have preferred a girl like Mary. Yet it was Anne who King Henry had chosen, it was Anne who was in the Netherlands, at the court of one of the most respected woman in all of Europe. This Anne had to remind herself was her chance, her chance to prove her worth, to prove to everyone that doubted her that she was the right choice of bride for the Duke of York.

When they finally entered the rooms of the Archduchess Anne was slightly taken aback by the noise and business of it all. Queen Elizabeth's rooms were always quiet and (slightly) boring, while the Lady Margret expected nothing less than a strict no nonsense household, the loudness of the room, like everything else, seemed foreign to her.

" Your Grace," The groom said from beside her, and Anne watched as the lady, who could be no one other than Margret of Austria came to stand before her. She was dressed head to foot in black, the only colour coming from the ruby crucifix around her neck, her light hair was only slightly visible behind the hood she was adorned in, but Anne thought the lady to be pretty enough, she dressed similarly to the King's mother, perhaps she was still mourning from the death of her husband. Anne herself had worn black for months after her mother's death.

" Your Grace," Anne said respectfully, her curtsey graceful.

" You must be Anne Boleyn, Thomas' daughter?" Anne was grateful that the archduchess' question was addressed in English, while Anne knew languages quite well, especially for someone as young as she, she was afraid that in her nervousness she might just mess up her words.

" Yes, My lady," Anne replied, she was surprised to be addressed as anything other than the future Duchess of York, but then her father had always spoken fondly of the archduchess.

" And how old are you Lady Anne?"

" I am just recently turned six your grace," Anne responded trying to sound far beyond her years.

" Ah well then you shall be la petite Boulin, the Future Duchess of York."

A/N: So what did you all think? I debated long and hard about whether or not I should kill off Elizabeth Boleyn, I hope no one was too disappointed in my decision, it also meant that I didn't have too many Elizabeth's to deal with ha-ha.

I am sorry for the lack of Arthur and Katherine moments in this chapter there will be some in the next chapter, which will go through the period of 1509-1510.

I also hope no one was too upset by the death of Margret Tudor's son James, but there are many things I have decided to stick by history with, and Margret had just as bad luck with bearing healthy children as Katherine of Aragon did.

Anyway I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Pretty pretty please.