A/N: I do not own anything.
A/N2: Guest (Lady N and P) ~ Thank you for informing me of the little lapse in history during the previous chapter, and I honestly didn't know: I just picked up this idea that I got. So, if you see again, I've edited the previous chapter.
1531 AD
Elisabeth
Little Margaret Stuart, Duchess of Ross and Marchioness of Ormonde, was adorable according to Aunt Maggie, or maybe it was just her Tudor ego being stroked by having her granddaughter, a Princess of Scotland and future Queen of England, named after her. Ah well, my ambassador say she is adorable anyway.
Now, I didn't know what prompted history to change its way without my direction again, but we have James, Duke of Rothesay, and his little sister, Margaret of Scotland. You see the pattern? We've got no Alexander, and no Mary.
But maybe it's better that way for her: she won't be pushed around for others' gain, which could happen for any child queen.
Because a: she's female; and b: a kid. I know I've defied all customs about that particular thing, but that doesn't mean I've effectively changed other countries' nobles' mindsets. Spain already knows a woman can rule, so does England, but the rest?
Speaking of breaking customs, though, Harry, Ned and Tori are very active babies. Perhaps it's a good thing they have a wet nurse, at least they won't get hungry at the most inopportune times.
Of course, I had stopped court, but that didn't mean I stopped my job of queening.
Now though, now I can finally get to work like normal without having a kick in my stomach or having to be led like an invalid.
But there was another thing: at first, I was counting on a single son, so I arranged a betrothal accordingly. However, I have another son and a daughter too, so people are pestering me with betrothal contracts left and right.
I do have a betrothal in mind for Victoria...Victoria of England, Queen of Bohemia and Hungary, Holy Roman Empress; I like the sound of that. Archduke Maximilian of Austria it is for now.
As for Edward...well, a girl from a wealthy and prestigious family that was ready for their family member to be married to a second son would be my angle.
Catherine de Medici? No, she's eleven years his senior, I doubt she'd want to wait that long...Anna d'Este? She's a nice candidate: a daughter of Princess Renée of France and Duke Ercole II d'Este, and there's certainly going to be a considerable dowry, not to mention, an alliance with the Duchy of Ferrara, Modena and Reggio.
(And having a grandkid with direct relation to the Lucrezia Borgia and Isabella d'Este was tempting.)
But enough of that! I was currently taking a stroll in the gardens, and a break from paperwork, with Maria.
"Tell me, sister, what lovely marriages have you in mind for my little nephews and niece?" she playfully interrogated.
"Well, the betrothal with Margaret of Scotland stands, perhaps a daughter of Duke Ercole II of Ferrara for Ned and maybe Archduke Maximilian for Tori, what say you?"
"Mm, very advantageous, Your Majesty," she bumped me in the shoulder; we laughed a bit, and then sobered up. "How's the country going?"
"Completely smooth," I paused, "I will be having my audiences today; mayhap you can sit and watch."
Ah yes, the audiences were another thing I introduced: basically, the common people and the nobles put forth their grievances in front of the monarch, and the monarch solves them if it is within their power. It happens every Sunday, so that's when I get a break from the second batch of paperwork.
"Have you decided on other names?"
Another royal thing: three kids, two of them sons, weren't enough.
"Edmund, Lionel, William and John for boys; and Katherine, Mary, Jacquetta, Isabella and Elizabeth for girls," I informed. I'm pretty sure that's more than enough: it'll be eleven kids in total, and that's quite the number.
(I deliberately ignored that my ancestor, Queen Philippe de Hainault, had twelve kids.)
Time for audiences now.
Elisabeth Regina-Elisabeth Regina-Elisabeth Regina
Harry
Honestly, he didn't understand why fate couldn't just give him a rest.
Hermione had asked around a bit, and deciphered that they were in 1531 England, that is to say, the beginning – a tiny speck – of the Age of Tudors. If he remembered correctly, it had been about six years since Queen Elisabeth ascended to the throne, which meant future King Henry IX, Prince Edward, Duke of York, and future Empress Victoria were newborn babies.
So here they were, standing in a line, and about to plead their 'case' to Her Majesty, the Queen.
They had taken the alias of Ronald Granger, married to Hermione Granger née Evans, and Mione's brother, Henry 'Harry' Evans, because apparently, there was a Baroness Weasley and Marquis Potter in court.
Fifteen minutes later, they were next.
He heard the plea of Mr. Jonathon Huntington who needed more bread to feed his family.
"Mr. Huntington, pray tell how much bread is there in the market please?"
"Enough to feed two people of each house, Your Majesty."
"Two?" there was an undercurrent of anger in her voice; "I will see to it that there is more. You may depart."
The three of them – him, Mione and Ron – entered, and Harry swore he saw her eyes widen and flick to his forehead for only a second.
"You may speak."
Thus began the time when Hermione lied – lied – to a queen, "Your Majesty, we are in need of a home."
"Oh?" she raised a brow, "And why is that?"
"We came from Orkney to London for a job, Majesty, but we have gotten none, and need a home."
She seemed more intrigued than anything to him, "And you cannot return to Orkney because...?"
"We have neither the money nor the transport."
"Very well."
Harry knew it hurt Hermione to lie to her idol for survival, but what could they do? Even if his family's journals constantly sang her praise and wrote of her tolerance, they had to be careful.
So, they were provided decent lodgings, not something made for nobles, but better than the streets or the inns in said streets.
It was the next day, when they were thinking of a way to go back, that a pageboy came in telling that the Queen had summoned them.
They obviously obeyed, and entered her tasteful study where Elisabeth Tudor was standing in all her glory: she was wearing the quite famous black-and-red gown adorned with pearls and diamonds, with embroidered Tudor roses, and designs of little dragons; it had a tiny waist, but puffed out at the rear, there were also – obviously – both a wrist ruff and a neck ruff. Her hair was naturally let loose as most historical texts say she almost always did.
"Who is Tom Marvolo Riddle?"
Hermione almost mechanically answered, "Tom Marvolo Riddle was the son of Merope Gaunt and Tom Riddle Sr. born through the former giving the latter Amortentia. He later went on the become Lord Voldemort, the leader of the dark faction in the two Wizarding Wars." Only after finishing did she realize her mistake.
"Any particular reason you lied to me, Ms. Granger? And you supported it, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter?" oh, goodness she knew. And the less attentive-on-important-points part of his brain noticed that she sounded terribly like McGonagall. "Some may consider lying to the monarch borderline treason, you know? Enough to have your tongue cut off."
Hermione stiffened, Ron winced and he swallowed.
"But first: how on Earth did you fall in 1531? Last time I checked, you were from the twentieth century or the twenty-first century. So, what changed?"
Hermione sputtered.
The redhead raised a hand, "Some things I cannot disclose. For now, I believe you may seek the protection of Lord Jason Potter and Lady Virginia Weasley. Oh, and I am not going to explain nor ask about your situation." She made a dismissive gesture, "You are dismissed."
And if the next day, they suddenly turned out to be long lost cousins of Marquis Potter and Baroness Weasley, the Queen certainly didn't say anything.
Katherine of Aragon, Dowager Queen and Queen Mother of England
Her grandchildren were charming and she'd much rather not leave them, but all royal children were given their own households. She knew that Lisa didn't want to send them away, but she couldn't exactly have everything go her way.
All three of them were going to be sent to Hatfield, like every other one of their future siblings, except Harry, who'd go to Ludlow when he turned six.
But she mustn't think of that right now, not when she's playing with them. Truly, Katherine didn't know just where Tudors get their energy from, which these three little ones clearly hadn't missed out on. Though, Victoria seemed like the most enthusiastic of them all.
She wondered how Margaret might be faring with two grandchildren herself. We've gotten old, she wryly observed.
She supposed any grandmother might feel that, when their children had children of their own. Speaking of her children, Mary would be married to Henri de Valois, Duke of Orleans soon.
She'd recently heard that King Francis married his heir, the Dauphin Francis, to Lady Catherine de' Medici. Katherine supposed Lisa would want to hear that, or maybe her spies had already told her.
Oh yes, the former Infanta knew that her eldest had spies. But honestly, with all the things going around a king or queen, the dowager queen didn't blame her.
So, with the resolve of informing her daughter of who the next Queen of France was, Katherine of Aragon walked to Lisa's study.
Elisabeth
"Your Majesty, Sir Bryan is here to see you."
Yes, Francis Bryan: my personal spymaster. Obviously, I pay him well, and even he knows better than to behave inappropriately in front of his Queen, who is not as tolerant of his behaviour as her predecessor.
"Sir Francis." I cut straight to business without many pleasantries, seeing as I was currently doing my paperwork batch #2. "What news do you have?"
"I bring news from France, Majesty." I sat up straighter than I already was, and nodded for him to continue, "The Dauphin Francis – or Francis III, Duke of Brittany, whatever you prefer – has been married to Lady Catherine de Medici, unrecognized Duchess of Urbino, and heiress to most of the Medici fortune. Her dowry and inheritance has probably filled France's coffers as we speak."
So the vain ponce married one of his sons to the woman after all. A letter to Cousin Leonor was in order.
Edward of Portugal
His sons were quite the energetic pair, though that was not to say Tori wasn't lively – in fact, she was double the handful her brothers were.
Other than being a generally amazing ruler, it seemed his wife was doing what, until now, had been France and Italy's forte: introducing new fashions.
Since just two years ago, the flowing skirts were all around the place, and now there were the ruffs. Not that he minded though, she looked gorgeous in them anyway.
If he remembered Lisa's schedule right (which he always did), she was currently taking a stroll in the gardens with her mother, Queen Mother Katherine.
So he walked towards the lushest part of the palace.
True enough, Elisabeth was walking with her mother in rapid Spanish, something that he'd learned, but he'd not learnt it to the degree to be able to translate every single thing they were speaking. What he did make out, though, was that there was something relating to the Duke of Brittany, Catherine de Medici and France.
Once he was sure he wasn't interrupting, he strode forward, "Green looks good on you," he complimented Lisa. And it was true: green did have the unique ability to make her red hair more prominent than it already was.
"Edward! Just the person I was going to find in a while or so, but I suppose now's as good a time as any," he distinctly noticed that his mother-in-law quietly left to her own devices. "I heard through the Scottish ambassador, with Maggie Douglas as a witness, that James is thinking of a wedding by proxy between Princess Margaret and Harry. What is your stance on this?"
"I would not oppose it, but I would prefer we wait until they are at least two." It was a monarch's decision, but he was pleased that Lisa did think his opinion mattered – he'd heard of previous consorts whose opinion was not given an ounce of credit...but, he supposed, not everyone was Elisabeth Tudor's consort.
"I shall write to James about this, then."
1533 AD
Elisabeth
By now, I was sure I'm going to have a litter of kittens. First triplets, then twins, and now another batch of twins...at least the doctor said to make sure not to get with child again for about two years, seeing as otherwise, my life might be on risk. Besides, seven kids are more than enough for now.
Oh right, you weren't told what happened after the whole writing to James about the proxy marriage, yes?
Okay, so after Harry, Ned and Tori, we get Mary and Katherine.
My reign was secure enough that I could pass a few laws, such as: absolute primogeniture, which most nobles didn't like, but I had my heart set on it. And some people considered it practical because I had two sons, but three daughters.
Anyways, the topic of my brood aside: today was Harry's sort-of wedding day. Well, not exactly wedding per say, that'd happen when they were sixteen, but the marriage by proxy.
That would be followed by the finalizing of the betrothal between Ned and Anna d'Este. The same day, there'd be another meeting between myself, Charles, and Ferdinand discussing the betrothals of Victoria and Mary.
Speaking of Mary, the other Mary aka my sister married Henri of Orleans, and has become Princess Marie, Duchess of Aquitaine suo jure and Orleans jure uxoris, and currently has a baby girl named Catherine.
Elisabeth Regina-Elisabeth Regina-Elisabeth Regina
Aunt Mary was gravely ill, had been for quite a while, but we prayed and we assumed she'd be better – she had recovered before, hadn't she?
But, on the 25th of June, 1533, it struck me that I'd forgotten something.
Mary Tudor, Dowager Queen of France, Duchess of Suffolk, daughter of Henry VII and Elizabeth of York, wife of first King Louis XII of France, and then Charles Brandon, died on the 25th of June, 1533, of consumption.
My favourite aunt was going to die today.
In all the years that flew by changing the laws of this country, running the place, deciding my children's futures, I'd completely forgotten certain important things: such as death dates.
I knew I didn't have to worry for Mary for almost another two decades, but Mother's death day also had to come into the picture: 7th January, 1536, which was only a little more than two years from now.
(Specifically, 16 months and 12 days to be exact)
So, naturally, I panicked about Aunt Mary. But, after I could think with a cool head, I decided that we should visit Aunt Mary: if she died, it would be surrounded by most of her family, and content.
It was a good thing, then, that Uncle Charles was going to visit her anyway.
I did, of course, discreetly make sure we went faster.
There was a priest already there, giving the youngest Tudor of my father's generation her last rites.
After it was done, there was a lot of mushy stuff, which I won't say for fear of crying again, but suffice to say, my plan worked, and she wasn't alone in the house in her dying breath, but with her family.
Elisabeth Regina-Elisabeth Regina-Elisabeth Regina
As soon as I reached Windsor Castle, I immediately announced the court to be in mourning and locked myself in my chambers.
Yes, yes, I know it's whiny to lock oneself in the chambers, but for once, I didn't want to be the dignified, strong and serene Queen. Sure, as Theodora I'd lived for around twenty-two years, but over here, I classified myself as a nineteen-year-old for all intents and purposes.
And right now, I was – as my overly brooding head was thinking – a nineteen-year-old girl who was married, had five kids, two more on the way, had already lost my father, just lost my aunt (practically second mother) and was going to lose my mother in less than three years.
I didn't see the world with rose-tinted glasses, I never had, but this was still a kind of revelation: I couldn't save everyone. Yes, I could do my best to secure the Tudor dynasty, but who knew what my son or grandson or any other descendant would do in the future? Yes, I could keep my crown safe, but who knows if there's an assassination or rebellion that I can't outsmart or squash? Yes, I could have my name written in the pages of history like Elizabeth I, but what if the Succession was jeopardy with me having no clear heirs (God forbid)? Yes, I was a woman who'd ruled effectively, but if, God forbid, my daughters remained my only heirs, would the country still accept them?
I wasn't perfect. I couldn't save everyone. I was not some sort of miracle worker who could make everyone in the world, or in my country, happy and keep them safe.
It felt like a slap to the face. But would I did, could and would do was try my best.
I was not a Disney Princess living in a fairy tale life where she had her 'happily ever after': I was a Tudor Queen of the Renaissance era who'd have to face difficulties and not just dance through gardens of roses for the rest of her life.
But one thing was certain: I'd be damned if I didn't try my bloody best.
A/N: Phew! Chapter 7 is complete. I know that other than Aunt Mary's death, the Valois brothers and their wives, Elisabeth's kids and their marriages and Lisa's slap into reality, there's nothing else in this chapter, which I can explain. You see, I wasn't getting a suitable plot for this chapter, and whatever you consider the plot here just happened. Sorry for the time skip: those who wanted to learn about baby Katherine and Mary's birth. I do know that it got a bit too serious in the end, but I need to show that Lisa isn't some sort of "Mary Sue" and that even she can make mistakes and forget things. More importantly: she can't save everyone as I've written before.
This was more of a filler chapter for me, and you can consider it an early apology gift from me as I'll probably not upload much until the 9th or the 10th of April, because Final Exams...exist. They'll not be starting for another twelve days, but I need to cut down on other stuff and focus more on my studies.
EDIT: 19/3/2021
Also, I've got an idea for the next few chapters, so stay ready for possible chapters coming up. But they'll be short, so please bear with me.