A/N: I do not own anything you recognize.
How Elisabeth looks:
Summary: This was inevitable, but still...why?
Elisabeth
It was 1528 and I was fourteen now. But I couldn't help but feel I was forgetting something very important right now, something that happens in this year.
"Duarte! How are you?" I sought out the Infante.
"Ah, very well, Elisabeth," he inclined his head, "Are you going anywhere important?"
I pondered this. "No, I was just going to the gardens as I don't have much to do today."
He stretched out his hand for me to take, which I gladly did. Yep, you see, I've done my best to get to know my future husband as well as I can, and I find his company truly delightful.
So we were walking in the gardens (with my guards obviously behind us) and talking and taking in the wonderful day, when a messenger ran to me.
"Your Majesty, I apologize for interfering, but Sir William Compton is dead."
Of course! That was what I was forgetting! But, unfortunately, it wasn't just one death, for the reason was horrible.
The Sweat of 1528.
But, I needed to confirm it, "How?"
"The-the,"
"How, Sir, tell me quick!"
"The Sweating Sickness, Your Majesty."
"You may leave." He did; I turned to Duarte, "I am terribly sorry, but it seems I have much to do."
"It's no matter." At least he understood the seriousness of this situation.
And in no time, I was speed-walking to the Privy Council.
Mary Brandon née Tudor, Duchess of Suffolk
Mary had always hated this disease with a passion, how could she not, when it had taken away her beloved older brother? True, she was closer to Harry, she and Margaret both were, but Arthur was still the eldest brother, still her brother and far less of a tantrum thrower.
But it seemed the Sweat was back, and it took William Compton with it first. She had known, oh she had known, that the blasted Sweat would come back one day, and she had always prayed for that day to never come; alas, her prayers weren't answered if the current Privy Council Meeting was anything to go by.
"William Compton has died of the Sweat."
Those were the first words that started the meeting. In an instant, the former French queen knew that this meeting would be one from her nightmares.
A few of the lords advised not doing anything as it was just one man and surely it wouldn't spread? Idiots. At least her niece had better sense than that and ordered everyone to be confined to their house or their room in the Palace. Her namesake, the Princess Mary was to stay where she was (Ludlow), unfortunately, as the road to travel would be far more risky. Dowager Queen Katherine was also to stay in her current residence, with Margaret Pole, Countess of Salisbury.
Edward of Portugal, Duarte de Aviz, whatever he was going by these days, was also to stay locked in his rooms; the poor boy didn't know anything of the Sweat except it was not a good sign.
Elisabeth was going to lock herself in the King's study, as they both knew it contained many remedies that would be helpful – the Queen couldn't die so early into her reign and without proper heirs after all.
Speaking of heirs...that matter needed to be talked about.
"Lisa, I trust you can get some time to talk to me of a matter?"
Lisa smiled, "Of course, I will always have time to talk to you, Aunt."
For some reason, Mary felt increasingly horrible for making this inquiry, but it needed to be done; "After this Sweat debacle is over, when will the wedding take place? You and I both know that as much as you could, or might, dislike it, you have to get married quickly and produce heirs. As horrible as I am feeling asking you this, it is needed; the line's future is currently looking bleak to most lords – who knows when one of them would start an uprising or rebellion? You know this is how things are – sadly – done."
"I do not blame you for asking, Aunt Mary, you do have a point. As for the wedding...perhaps it can take place sometime after my sixteenth birthday?"
"Yes, I suppose that is reasonable." Mary conceded.
With the marriage time decided, at least one thing was off her mind. Now to pray to God Elisabeth produced multiple healthy and hale, living, sons that reached adulthood and actually survived.
Seeing as all the needed work was done, the Duchess of Suffolk left to go isolate herself in her rooms at Court.
Elisabeth
I was not bluffing to my aunt about the marriage. Now I know some of you may consider it risky and unhealthy, but if I was to say that I'd marry at eighteen, well, most women in this era were expected to already have a kid by then, even two sometimes.
Not to mention, the heirs part...anyone rebellious with half a mind would be able to overthrow the Tudor dynasty if all we had was a Queen, a Princess of Wales, a Dowager Queen, and a Princess-cum-Duchess who had two daughters and a son. All we had was one male heir, who was fourth in the Line of Succession and he wasn't even properly Tudor!
(I completely and deliberately ignored the fact that he'd die in 1534).
Well, he was still there in the Succession regardless, so I needed to make the nobles know our house wasn't completely demolished in the LOS (even if it very nearly was). Henry was Earl of Lincoln before, wasn't he? Maybe Frances could be Countess of Nottingham, and Countess of Orkney could go to Eleanor...yes, that sounded nice.
Just for life, though.
However, as much as I loved my plans, I currently couldn't do anything; such was the burden of being 'confined to your chambers' – this Sweat was making me relive those grounding sessions that I had, given by my mother in the first life. Trust me, I hated it.
But I had to make sure I actually stayed alive. If it wasn't the Sweat, I had to keep one eye open while sleeping for assassins and the like.
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown ~ William Shakespeare; and God, was he right.
Seriously, this is the greatest example of 'terrible privilege'. On one hand, you're the highest, most important person in the country and every single person is obliged and duty-bound to obey you; on another, your safety is a myth, because people are always out for you, and you're just so damn busy.
...And now I'm just being a whiny teen who got grounded.
(Hold up. I'm fourteen: I'm a teenager.
.
.
.
Damn whoever sent me here; I'm going to go through the whole hellish part of the puberty process again).
Shut your complaining, Theodora Rose Hastings, you're a literal Queen – act like it!
Theodora Rose Hastings.
It was a name I hadn't addressed myself with since I was two, as far as I was concerned, I was Elisabeth Jacquetta Margaret Tudor who had an older, future woman's memory to use as a cheat sheet. But now...
Ugh! This grounding was messing with my mind!
I needed to read or write something, or maybe play some music. Those were the things that calmed me the most.
(And, if I wrote future songs, passed them off as my own and got credit for them, well, it wasn't exactly called cheating if the writers and singers didn't exist yet, was it? Don't worry, though, I haven't introduced any rock or punk bands' songs – I'm not stupid.)
If I could copy off whole songs, then surely a single play wouldn't do any harm?
Get ready Lisa, time to put those English Literature classes to good use.
Hmm, should I do Tempest? Or Twelfth Night? Darn it, there were so many!
Oh, I know! Okay, let's start on the little pet project made to satiate my boredom.
Five days later, my pet project was not yet over, still: play one out of three done!
For we may pity though not pardon thee!
Ah, that quote reminded me of Wolsey. He was competent and all, and served Father well, but he stole from the Crown, and that, well...
This is seriously messing with my mind.
Didn't COVID-19 do that too? Hmm, perhaps they are brothers (or, God forbid, the same thing). Something about Hantavirus pulmonary syndrome is associated with the Sweating Sickness. There is just one problem: I don't know what on Earth Hantavirus pulmonary syndrome is; I hadn't exactly expected to do or have something related to it.
There was a knock on my door. I opened the tiny window.
"Your Majesty?" ah, a messenger. Who else caught the Sweat and/or died? This is a completely and totally horrible.
"Yes? Speak fast." My patience was wearing thin in these times, and no one, and by that I mean absolutely no one, wanted an angry Tudor on their tails.
"Their Graces, the Countess of Salisbury and the Dowager Queen have caught the Sweat."
Did it have to be my two maternal figures? "And the Princess Mary...?"
For the Tudor family: Ludlow + Prince/Princess of Wales + Sweating Sickness = Not Good At All.
"Is perfectly healthy, Majesty."
"Good, you may leave."
Great, now I not only had to live with the stress that Ludlow Castle's dampness may cause Mary to catch the Sweat, I also had to live with the stress that at anytime I might get the message that either Lady Salisbury – an almost surrogate mother – was dead, either it was my mother, or it was both of them.
Wonderful, just...wonderful; *sigh*.
It's official: I. Hate. The. Sweat.
As if that wasn't enough, another day, and Anne Boleyn also gets that blasted disease.
For the first time in my life, I actually wondered why I was here.
Who are you that sent me here? Why am I here? What did you want me to do?
Needless to say, I got that lady's dream again.
Once more, that blooded white dress, wet golden hair and icy blue eyes. Didn't she have any other outfits? Ugh, whatever.
"You were bought here for change. To save this dynasty, to make them learn a woman could rule just as well, to stop your father's mistakes. Henry VIII did many wrong things in his life, but the earlier he died, the lesser mistakes he made; I needed a suitable Queen, a nine-year-old Mary Tudor, however amazing she is, couldn't do."
So I'm a replacement that you're using to save the Tudors?
"Not quite. You are the Tudors' saviour." Nice way of putting it.
Who was she anyway?
"I go by two names; first I was Melusina." The river goddess lady? Now that I think about it, it makes a lot of sense. "I was then reborn as Jacquetta Woodville, or Jacquetta of Luxembourg, Dowager Duchess of Bedford, whichever name suits you."
She is my magical ancestor through her first life and my great-great-grandmother through her second. Go figure.
And I woke up.
How exactly am I supposed to save a dynasty if there's an honest-to-God pandemic that can take peoples' lives? It's not like I can magic up a cure, is it?
...But, I can science it up.
Oki-dokie, Elisabeth, time to do a doctor's work without any studies in medical science.
(This is stupid; no, scratch that, I am being stupid, but I have to do something if I am to save this place).
But, as people say, the best inventions were made on accident. Let's hope a cure to the Sweating Sickness is also made.
Elisabeth Regina-Elisabeth Regina-Elisabeth Regina
It's been two days, and I've got absolutely nothing on my new big project: doing a doctor/physician's job. If this doesn't work, all my hard work drowns, if it doesn't, being praised is the least that might happen.
Still, I'm trying. That ought to count for something, right?
It's been a week with three all-nighters, and I have nothing.
I suppose I'll just have to satisfy myself with the plays and sonnets (for now).
So, I was on my fifth play, with some more work on the cure, and my seventh song, when a messenger came: "The Sweat has gone two days past, but the Duchess of Suffolk ordered for you to be informed only when it is absolutely certain."
"That is well, that is mightily well;" I felt joy bubbling up within me, "Tell me, good man, is everyone from the royal family and the royal guest entourage fine?"
"Yes, Your Majesty, besides a few French guards and a single Portuguese guard, everyone is alive and well. However, Sir Thomas More departed this world catching the Sweat five days prior; Lady Suffolk says they were only informed a few hours ago."
I nodded decisively, "Give the Madame More my sincerest condolences, and inform her I might be riding to their place within, say, a week."
Bonus: Duarte of Portugal meets Elisabeth Tudor
Duarte of Portugal / Edward of Portugal
He was nervous, so very nervous. Father had said that his status as her cousin might not help him as she was a queen regnant, and distant family did not grant him points.
But, there were whispers of how she helped lead the English to victory against France, even though she did not fight. He also knew she was the one who arranged the marriage, as well as the one between Prince Henri, Duke of Orleans and Princess Mary.
From the way the English people spoke of her – in an almost revered tone – Duarte felt beneath her, and feared she would be disdainful of him.
After all, how could he, just a fourth son of Portugal (not even France or Spain!) with no lordship, ever compare to or deserve to marry her – the Queen of England, Henry VIII's favoured daughter, the Head of House Tudor, the granddaughter of Isabella and Ferdinand as well as Henry VII and Elizabeth of York, the woman under whose banner England re-conquered half of France?
(She was also a full year older than him. What if she found him childish?)
"The Queen will see you now, Your Highness."
He remembered the proper protocol of England, and entered only after it was announced: "Infante Duarte of Portugal!"
The minute he entered, Duarte bowed low and murmured, "Your Majesty."
When the Infante looked at the young girl (as reports knew she was), and it took his breath away.
She was wearing a flowing gown of Tudor green with black lace finishes, rubies, emeralds and pearls, and a king's crown of pure gold; her hair was set loose in the manner of queens, however. Her face looked almost carefully sculpted with the fair skin, loose golden-red hair, sparkling blue eyes: a perfect picture of maturity, sereneness, and majesty.
It was when she finally smiled that Duarte broke out of his trance.
"Infante. It is a pleasure to meet you,"
"You as well, Your Majesty," he greeted in kind.
A/N: Yes! This is finally complete! I know this is a page shorter than the previous chapter, but...
Nah, I got nothing.
Anyways, I really hoped you guys liked that. As always, reviews are awaited and constructive criticism welcomed (as long as it's not full blown rude). I am also working on a bunch of other stories with this one (which will only be uploaded when I think I won't abandon them, and that yes, they won't be completely horrible like a will-stay-unnamed story I have deleted), so the update came late. Don't worry, though, this is still my prime story!