To Rise Above

by ButtonPusherExtraordinaire

After being undermined by everyone, Henry realized a truth; his eyes cleared and he couldn't look away. He had aimed to never be his winter-like father, but Henry VII had always gotten what he wanted. If he truly wanted to marry Anne and have his son, perhaps he must employ some of his father's teachings. It was the only way to create the Golden Age for his soon-to-be-here son. AU!

5. Chapter 4

Thanks for the reviews, everyone! It makes my day every time I see a new one.

I'm sorry for the long, long wait, but here it is.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Tudors TV show or any of the characters. I guess that history technically owns them, but you know how it goes.

XxXxXxXxXxX

November 1529

The fire sparked and crackled as one of her ladies prodded it with a scalding poker; it provided more light to illuminate the brilliant tapestries in her room. In an apology, Henry had gifted her many precious treasures since the Emperor and Pope had immorally interfered; she was in awe of their beauty. From what she had gathered, several of the tapestries had belonged to Henry's mother, Queen Elizabeth.

"Will she feel slighted?" George's wife murmured next to her. "We cannot anticipate her reaction."

"No, but I will prepare." Anne brought a hand to her stomach; it had steadily become more swollen. "She will know her place. I prepare for fury and mulish stubbornness - like her mother. I wish to speak to her. 'Tis why I sent for her."

"Will she answer your summons? In her eyes, you are nothing but the King's concubine."

Anne narrowed her eyes, displeased at her sister-in-law's chosen words. "I am Henry's wife in not just body but soul; that should be recognized universally. The Pope and Emperor took that from me, an affront that I will never forgive. My son will be as his father before him; he will rise to kingship and rule a golden age. I will succeed where Catherine failed. Mary might not comprehend that now, but she eventually will. Her mother saw reason within time; her daughter will, as well."

"What if she does not?"

"She will feel Henry's wrath," she stated bluntly. "Mary loves her father but follows in the footsteps of her mother; that must be rectified, and I intend to begin the process. I pity her. The identity around which she shaped herself since her birth was but a lie schemed by her deceiving mother, and now she must adjust to the truth. I hope to ease that process so she will be loyal to my son. Suffolk and his wife have spent much time with her since the Pope and Emperor's interference. I pray that he has tempered both of them; they are of the same blood, similar to Henry."

"Not as stubborn as the King, I hope."

Anne's lips curved. "No one is as stubborn as my Henry. When he wants something, when he wants me, nobody can deter him - not even the Pope and Emperor."

A sound drew her attention, and she stiffened minutely when a young woman was led into the room - Mary. Anne had been prepared, but what she saw still surprised her. Catherine's daughter was blatantly tense, huddled inward, tiny, and so young. Mary's red hair peaked slightly under her hood; her face was paler than could be healthy, and she looked dreadfully thin.

Mary drew her head higher; it was a desperate attempt to maintain lost supremacy. "You called for me."

"I did." She waved her hand, motioning Henry's daughter closer. "Come. Sit. I wish to speak."

"I prefer to stand."

Anne raised a brow before sighing. "Leave us. The Princess and I need to be alone."

Mary glanced up, startled; her face brightened slightly before it was masked by anxiety. Anne waved away Jane and motioned them out. Slowly, they trickled out until she and Mary were alone.

"Why did you request my presence?" Mary asked stiffly.

"Sit. I wish to talk." Anne watched calmly as Mary slowly reclined onto the available stool; she looked just as uncomfortable. "Dr. Butts assures me that my womb is healthy with a son of the King's body."

Mary's face spasmed. "Dr. Butts? I knew him at Ludlow, for I am the Princess of Wales - a title that is still mine."

"Until my son is born, yes."

"What if you bear my father, the King, a daughter?" Mary challenged, eyes sparking. "He will then see his folly."

"Judging your father is not wise; 'tis a sin. You are to obey him above all persons."

"I pray for him daily to see past your cloud of enchantments."

Anne did not react, deigning not to answer for several tense moments. "You still do not see; time has passed. Understanding should be yours, but it is not."

"What understanding?"

"That my son will bring peace. Nothing less."

"The Holy Maid- "

"Do not speak of The Holy Maid to me; she is nothing more than a hysterical girl."

Mary's lips thinned; her fists clenched in her lap. "What am I?"

"A young Princess. You are the daughter of my Henry."

"Do not claim possession of him!" Mary snapped furiously; the tide burst forward. "I know what you are - Satan's lover. When you entered the world, you were in the spirit of Christ, but Satan entered your bed, and you eagerly opened your legs to his diabolical seed of corruption. You are a heretic!"

"I am not a heretic."

"Yes, you are!"

"Who is to judge if one is a heretic?"

"His Holiness the Pope."

Anne quelled her rising temper; she was speaking with a child. "You are but a girl blinded by her beliefs."

Mary drew herself up; she looked regally enraged. "At my age, my lady grandmother birthed the Tudor Dynasty. You fear me. I know that you do. You fear that I will create a marriage, and my sons will threaten you."

"With whom have you spoken about marriages?"

"I was married into France when I was still held to the breast of the wet nurse. Then to my cousin, the Emperor. Then France once more to King Francois, then to his son the Dauphin, then his second son, and now I will be wed to the Emperor's son or nephew."

Anne flinched as if burned. "Your father allows this?"

"He will."

She relaxed, knowing that the girl was claiming things of which she knew nothing. "Would you raise your children against your own brother?"

Mary visibly faltered. "You are a heretic. It is my destiny to be England's Queen."

"Those are your mother's words."

"No. They are mine. I know my destiny."

"Is that your own destiny, or is it one that your mother has forced upon you?"

"You are nothing but a whore; you shake paws with Satan. You conspire to doom England and my father! Your corruption has reached Parliament, but there it will stop. You will not touch more of the monasteries. There will be no new church."

Anne stared at Mary's red face evenly. "All the bills will pass. They will - there is no resistance. Those who contemplate standing against them will be convinced. They are lawful if Parliament passes them; there will be fruitful change, beginning with my son's birth."

"There is a law above Parliament and my father: The Law of God. Ask any good Englishman."

"Any good Englishman will support the bills."

Mary's eyes narrowed; they simmered with fury. "There is no precedent for this unholy, wicked seizure of power for which you are responsible. Not even in the Conqueror's Domesday Book!"

"Speak with Cromwell if you can," she advised calmly. "I am not the one with whom you should argue. Are you willing to continue to defy your father? 'Tis a sin to not obey him. Consider what you do carefully. Your mother chose correctly, and I pray you do the same."

"I pray that the King awakens from the nightmare in which you situated him and England."

Anne raised a brow. "The situation in which Henry found himself was a result of your mother's failure to bear a thriving son."

Mary's face twitched. "I am his heir. He needs no son."

"You know England's history. The King needs a son - all Kings do."

"My grandmother sat on Castile's throne."

"Do not mistake England for Castile."

"I will be as my grandmothers before me. I will rise to the throne and bear a dynasty. Nothing less."

Anne could admit that that possibility scared her. "That is a delusional- "

"You are delusional! You may have blinded His Majesty, but I know the truth. You wish to turn England to the heathens. You are not fit to live in a Christian realm, you pagan!"

"An infantile reaction, Mary," she pointed out calmly; her hands cradled her swollen belly. "A King of Christendom has seen fit to love me, and his might and wisdom are far beyond what wisps you could ever conjure in your hysterical mind. I carry Henry's son, the heir for whom he has yearned. I will bring England's salvation- "

"Whore!"

Anne's lips thinned. "I understand your pain, and because of it, I am merciful. But your obstinacy will bring you nothing but further pain. What the King desires he receives. He desires you to submit to his will, as a good Christian daughter and Princess must. Will he be forced to impose harsh sanctions against you- "

"He has already turned away from the Faith. There is no harsher sanction than all your enchantments have supplied."

She inwardly sighed but kept her gaze locked onto the emotional and shaking Mary. "I advise you to submit to the King's will before the birth of my son. If you defy him once I satisfy his deepest desire, not even I can save you from the punishment you will be forced to endure."

Mary's lips trembled, but she jerked her chin in the air stubbornly. "I submit to the Lord's will and defy your poisoned words. My father will see that in time. I pray for him daily."

"As do I."

"You pray to Satan! That is to whom you offer your adulation."

Anne inhaled slowly to control her temper. "The Lord receives my adulation above all."

"You know nothing of the Lord and what He represents!"

"I know that God's word is more lasting than stone," she murmured. "It has outlasted hundreds of kingdoms; it has been preserved, for it has proven more durable than empires, than any mortal machinations. It has motivated the greatest and wisest of men for thousands of years. It transformed the world - all around the King of kings and Hero of heroes."

Mary's eyes glimmered with scorn. "Are those your words or someone else's?"

"You are a child!" Anne snapped, feeling her control begin to wane. "You are more dreadful than your mother!"

"You are like Helen, the destroyer of Troy." Mary's eyes filled with energy; it was not good. "England will fall because of you. Your son is Absalom!"

Anne's eyes narrowed into slits. "You dare?"

"I am the Princess of- "

"And I am Queen!"

Mary's eyes glittered with triumph. "Not yet. You never will be. My cousin, the Emperor, and His Holiness have ensured it."

All of Anne's mercy vanished. "Silence. I am mother to the King's heir, the son who will sit on his throne. I am beyond you- "

"All of the love you have procured from my father is not of his own giving; it was forced by you. His love for me is real, whereas his love for you is a conjuration fueled by your noxious magics." Mary sat straighter, and all Anne could see was Catherine. "Your son will help you destroy England, heralding the heathens to take over. Soon, all that will be spoken is the Babylonian dialect!"

"You are hysterical," Anne murmured, feeling her son move in agreement. "What you think you know is false."

"The Lord has given me sight of the truth - just as The Holy Maid. We are to fall into Tophet by the impure virtue of your foul endeavors."

Anne wished Henry were in the room to snuff out his daughter's treasonous words. "I ask you the same question you recited to me: Are those your words or someone else's?"

Mary simply glared at her. "They are the truth. I see it clearly, and it is clear that Augustine is needed. We need a teacher of holy precepts to nullify Cromwell's flagrant efforts to undermine religious and lawful precedents that you ordain through the name of my father."

"You have committed grave sins in the past minutes," Anne said, drawing herself up. "You would never speak of such things to the King, but to me, you feel free to do so. That is an error that will soon be rectified. When I am Queen, your freedom to express such sleights will no longer stand. Be grateful that I am merciful. The King would not be."

"You do not know my father."

"I know him more intimately than you. I know his soul's desires, and I will satisfy them. I will do everything your mother could not."

Mary's small hand curled into fists. "No. You ravished my father's heart, displacing the love he feels for my mother, the true Queen."

"Do not speak of things about which you know nothing. You are a child, uneducated in the ways of love. The affection I share with the King eclipses anything you have experienced."

"Then you will be my death, and I will be yours. Our perpetual clash will last until the breath has left our bodies - when I am welcomed to my heavenly home, and you are condemned to damnation."

Anne stared at her, stepping closer; their eyes were locked. "You misunderstand. You are not my enemy; you are not my focus. You are but a hysterical girl who foolishly distances herself from her father and all sense."

"I have the sense to know that my father- "

"Will never forgive you if you continue to defy him," she finished. "Your lady grandmother bore the Tudor Dynasty at your age, but she would be ashamed of you. You have proven yourself unworthy of bearing your father's name and blood."

Before Mary could respond, and she looked livid, the door opened. Brereton bowed as he entered. "Forgive me, my lady, but His Majesty has requested Princess Mary's presence; it is most urgent."

Mary nodded stiffly, finally looking away from her. "Very well."

Anne watched Mary exit the room, and she suddenly felt her weariness; she feared Mary's conviction. The girl spoke of them being each other's deaths with absolute certainty.

It was something she dreaded.

She sat back down, closing her eyes tightly, and when she opened them, she was surprised to see that Brereton remained in the room. "Do you have a message from the King to give to me?"

Brereton stared at her, eyes teeming with emotions that she could not name, but before she could demand an explanation, he shut the door.

Anne narrowed her eyes. "What is going on?"

"Liberation," Brereton answered, coming back towards her, and Anne immediately understood what was happening at the depraved, cold look in those eyes. "Your hold over this Christian realm ends now. I will make it so."

"Stop!" she cried out, but he continued to advance. "I demand you- "

Brereton, in a blurred motion, smacked her face, hard, and she stumbled back, tears filling her eyes, pain blossoming; she tripped and collapsed to the floor, terror for her son filling her.

"I am using my talents, which Scripture commands me to do." Brereton loomed over her, eyes searing her flesh. "Any good Englishman would have a talent for killing heretical harlots, but I was chosen to rid God's creation of Jezebel."

"By whom?" Anne demanded, trying to buy precious time. "Who grants permission to slaughter a Christian woman and child - a Queen and Prince?"

"His champion."

Anne desperately looked around her surroundings, and with a burst of energy, she wrapped her fingers around the scalding poker from the fire and held it out in front of her. "I demand you stop! In the name of the anointed King, stop!"

Brereton's eyes flashed with fury. "You have corrupted good King Henry! I will save him from your witchcraft."

"You need saving from the depraved inclinations you wish to inflict upon two innocent souls!"

He snarled and reached towards her, and reacting on instincts fueled by the overwhelming urge to protect her son, Anne lashed out, jabbing Brereton with the scalding poker in the chest, digging it as deeply as he could.

A hysterical roar of pain tore past Brereton's snarling lips, and with a blurred motion, he snatched the scalding poker out of her hands and threw it across the room. Then his hands snared her throat before she could react and began to squeeze.

"I will be rewarded," he murmured above her, forcing her to the floor, eyes alight with zealous determination and pleasure. "I will save England and King Henry."

"Please," she choked out, desperately clawing at the hands around her throat. "St- stop."

Tears blurred her vision, and she tried to fight, to try to hold on to save the life of Henry's son, but Brereton was so strong; her strength began to fade, her vision blackening.

The door crashed open.

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November 1529

Henry frowned at his daughter, noticing Charles' bemusement beside him; he felt the same. "I did not request your presence, Mary."

"But Master Brereton reported you had, Father."

"His Majesty and I have not seen Brereton- "

He interrupted Charles, "Where is Brereton now?"

Mary blinked, confusion blossoming across her features. "He remained with Lady Anne, Father. But why- "

An awareness prickled against his consciousness. Henry knew it came from the Lord, for he bounded out of the room, running towards Anne's, dimly noticing that Charles swiftly followed him, with Mary desperately following, but she was much slower.

A deep roar of pain resounded through the halls, and Henry ran faster, feeling the years of his body, but it did not matter. All that mattered was getting to Anne, to their son! For he knew something was wrong.

When he arrived, he shoved the doors open, but he had not been prepared for the sight.

Brereton straddled Anne, hands wrapped around her lovely neck, and Henry suddenly snapped; his mind burned with a raging fire, and a relentless, vicious vengeance against Brereton for trying to take his love from him - his son!

"Brereton!" Henry roared, dashing forward.

He crashed into his servant, ripping him off of Anne; in a wild motion imbued with raw, overwhelming fury and strength, he threw Brereton into the mantle of the fireplace. The traitor fell bonelessly to the ground off to the side, unconscious.

Henry laid desperate, roaming eyes on Anne's motionless body. For several moments, his perception of time vanished, and all he could see was Anne's closed her eyes, the blue tinge to her lovely lips, the ghastly pallor of her soft skin, the blossoming wound on her face, and the vicious, vivid imprint on her neck.

"Anne," Henry whispered, distraught, hands gently cradling her face. "Lord, spare me this odious affliction," he begged, one of his hands drifting to Anne's barely swollen stomach. "Spare them, Father. Please."

"Henry," Charles murmured behind him, but Henry didn't turn away from Anne. "I'm sorry- "

Anne's mesmerizing eyes abruptly snapped open, and she coughed strenuously, body convulsing, shaky breaths flowing into her air-starved, scorched lungs.

Henry pulled her into him, feeling his own body start to shake; he held onto her, eyes fluttering shut when her arms wrapped around him, fingers clawing at his back in a near-hysterical manner.

"Henry," she moaned into his chest, voice quivering, catching, breaking.

"Thank you, Lord," he breathed out.

"Henry," Anne moaned again, tone becoming frantic.

"God spared you and our son," Henry whispered into her ear, finally turning to look at Charles; his friend's relief was tangible. Crumpled before Charles' feet was the unconscious Brereton.

The sight filled Henry with unfulfillable loathing.

"Father!" Mary shouted, running into the room, breathing heavily, bracing herself against the doorframe, eyes worried. "What happened?"

Henry's eyes ignited, and his grip on Anne tightened; he stared at his daughter. "Did you know?"

"Know what, Father?" Mary asked, and he saw genuine bemusement in her eyes; she observed the scene and dawning horror appeared. "What happened?"

"The future Queen and Prince were almost assassinated," Charles answered softly, words barely audible, but they were clear.

Anne flinched in his arms, and Henry glared at Charles. "Take Brereton to the lowest level of the Tower. And then get me Dr. Butts and Cromwell. This is our top priority - a message will be sent. I care not who they are. Whoever wishes ill against my love and heir, all who are willing to harbor malevolent intent against my heart and realm will know the sensation of unresisted steel through flesh as their final moment in this world. Do it now! I want Dr. Butts! And find the ladies-in-waiting! I want to know where they were when this happened. If any of them held knowledge of this near calamity, it shall be their heads on London Bridge!"

"Your will be done, Majesty." Charles hauled the unconscious Brereton into his arms and marched out of the room, bypassing the frozen Mary, who stared at him and Anne, a terrible realization on her pale face.

"Henry," Anne whispered into his chest, and he lifted her head, seeing her red eyes, swimming with tears, fear, and gratitude for survival. "Brereton said God's champion endorsed him."

Henry immediately understood, and his features contorted, and he saw Mary pale even further; he looked at his daughter. "This is the path you follow - the slaughter of innocent woman and child. Your cousin and the Pope are responsible."

Mary's eyes were wide, disbelieving, barely able to step away from the door frame on which she leaned, every movement made in shock. "No. The- they would never."

"The evidence is in my arms!" he snapped furiously, hugging Anne, keeping her from his daughter's sight. "Your brother, my heir, was nearly stolen from me!"

His daughter bowed her head, deprived of utterance, and Henry was grateful, unsure if he could bear more of her treasonous beliefs.

"Your Majesty!" Dr. Butts called out as he burst into the room, chest heaving. "I must tend to Lady Anne!"

"Return to your quarters, Mary," he ordered, keeping his eyes on Anne. "You are not to depart by anyone's permission but my own."

Mary said nothing in response, her light but heavy footsteps diminishing in moments.

Henry gently cradled Anne as he laid her on the bed on Dr. Butts' orders. His hands grazed through her hair, the weight of what could have happened enveloping him.

"Forgive me," he murmured, eyes locked onto hers; his heart bled with raw intensity. "I knew not of Brereton's- "

"We live," Anne said gently, voice rough, but her eyes swam with awe and gratitude; fear lingered in their depths, something he knew would take time to fade. "You saved us, my love. You saved England's future. God spared us."

The image of Brereton squeezing the ordained life out of Anne haunted him, and he gripped her hands. "I will find the knaves responsible. I will cast them into the abyss."

Anne stared up at him, the harsh imprint on her neck filling him with hopeless fury, but her words were clear. "Chapuys is one."

"Are you certain?"

"No. But regardless, demand his departure. Please." Her words were beseeching. "He has been as dreadful to me as Herod since his arrival. I fear for my life - and our son's, too. I believe he was part of Brereton's inducement- "

"Then it will have been his final action in this world." Henry turned towards the open doorway, knowing that somewhere, he would be heard. "Get me Cromwell!" he roared, voice echoing through the halls of the Tower. "I want Chapuys' head!"

"Thank you, my love."

He turned back to Anne, squeezing her hands. "I will not fail you."

"Your Majesty, you must- "

Henry glared at Dr. Butts, eyes on fire. "I will stay."

Dr. Butts swallowed but kept his composure. "I understand, Majesty, but I must tend to Lady Anne. I need space to complete my diagnosis."

"Henry, I shall be safe under Dr. Butts' care," Anne murmured, holding his hand.

He drew her fingers to his lips and poured his love and apologies into the gesture before standing to his feet, moving to the side so Dr. Butts could do what must be done.

Charles reappeared in the doorway, bowing his head quickly before bounding towards him. Henry met him halfway.

"What do you have?" he asked softly, making sure Anne could not hear.

"Brereton is locked away."

"Where were the ladies-in-waiting?"

"It was a trick. As Brereton tricked Princess Mary by exerting your name, he did the same for them; they were told by him that you ordered them to all speak at once with Cromwell about Lady Anne's pregnancy. They were to report if they had discovered any evidence that her cycles had not vanished."

Henry frowned. "At once? They all departed?"

"Yes. Exerting your name was perfect, Majesty, for no one would wish to anger you."

"Save for Brereton and the knaves responsible for this near slaughter," he corrected in a hiss.

Charles nodded. "Cromwell is currently interviewing each lady to ensure that none of them were privy to Brereton's actions."

"Good. Then I want him with Brereton. I want all of the names responsible. I want confirmation that the Pope and Emperor endorsed the attack. I care not what methods he exercises. I trust his judgment. And I want Chapuys found and brought to me. I care not if it is just his head."

"Forgive me, Majesty, but I anticipated your reaction. I already gave the order to Cromwell."

Henry sighed and clasped a hand on Charles' shoulder. "You are a good friend, Charles." His grip became like stone, memories assaulting him. "I nearly lost them," he whispered. "Anne and my son."

"They are alive, Henry," Charles whispered back, eyes holding his. "God spared them. He is with you. It has never been more apparent; He approves of your choice."

"I want their heads," he hissed out, the weight in his chest expanding, billowing. "I have been a gracious King for too long. The message will be heard, and all will hear its proclamation."

"What do you want to do?"

"Break away," Henry said softly, but his intensity was never more explosive. "Cromwell has already begun the process; the plans are already functioning. But it has been a slow process, for I have been waiting for Parliament but no more. All in Parliament who oppose the bills are traitors; they would support the death of my love and son, their future King, over the truth. All will know that England no longer serves Rome. We are free. Anne is now my wife in all things."

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November 1529

"I did not know where else to go," Chapuys rushed out when Thomas More opened the door to his home. "King Henry has ordered my arrest."

Thomas More quickly pulled him inside, the warmer air a reprieve from the frigid cold outside. "What happened?"

"Brereton failed. The Whore still lives," he whispered, dismayed; anguish nearly overwhelmed him. "Somehow, Brereton implicated me, and King Henry demanded my head. I fled when I heard the news, and I narrowly escaped. Forgive me, my new friend, but… I could not think of any haven besides your home."

"You are always welcome in my home," Thomas More said, pulling off his coat and handing it to his obedient servant. "Come. You are not my only guest. The others and I have been speaking of England's future."

"I fear there is no future here," Chapuys disclosed. "Not even for Princess Mary or Queen Catherine. These terrible events have transpired faster than I had imagined."

"You share the same feelings we do. Your inclusion will be most welcome."

Chapuys gripped Thomas More's arm. "If King Henry discovers you have aided me, he may imprison you."

"I will soothe Henry's fury. I have done it before."

"Do not be blinded by the memory of the boy you once mentored," he warned, releasing his new friend's arm. "A man has replaced him. A dangerously unbalanced man who surrendered his reason - as well as his realm - to this Jezebel."

Thomas More's eyes spasmed shut. "An illuminating observation, Eustace. You are correct. I do not know this Henry; he is a stranger. But I miss the man he was prior to Anne Boleyn. I yearn for his return."

"Who was King Henry before the Whore's coming?"

"Among priests, he was devout. Soldiers, gallant. Scholars, erudite. His courtiers, refined and benevolent. I once thought that God had fashioned only a more perfect King in David or Solomon for this world."

Chapuys, knowing what he did of King Henry, found his new friend's words unfeasible. "A delusional believe, my new friend."

"Yes. I held such aspirations for Henry; he was to redeem his father, herald a new age in England and Christendom. But he has been swayed by Anne Boleyn and her Lutheran supporters."

"Something must be done," Chapuys urged. "Lead me to your other guests. Perhaps we can conceive a plan to save your home from Lutheranism and the Whore."

Thomas More nodded and led him into the sitting room, where two men and a woman were sitting.

"Eustace, these are three who share our mindset pertaining to these transpiring events," Thomas More said, sitting down in one of the chairs. Chapuys followed his new friend's example. "This is Lady Salisbury, Archbishop Warham, and Bishop Fisher."

Chapuys inclined his head in respect. "I wish to have met you under healthier circumstances."

Lady Salisbury's lips thinned. "Yes. You are the Imperial Ambassador?"

"I am, Madam. Or was. King Henry wants my head."

"Thomas spoke highly of you. Yet, you come here in disgrace. Did you deceive him?"

"I do not deceive, Madam," he retorted, holding her demanding gaze. His Master's eyes were much more intense and overwhelming. "The only deceiver about whom you must worry is the Whore - Anne Boleyn."

"We share a common enemy," Archbishop Warham decreed, voice raspy but certain. "Anne Boleyn is undermining everything. Already, my rightful, ordained power has been stripped from me."

"Mine, as well," Bishop Warham added, face twisting - with dismay or anger, Chapuys could not determine. "King Henry has begun appointing infidels to fill his new church. He has taken the power away from the Bishops, cultivating it for himself. He now has all of the power; he has declared himself supreme."

Lady Salisbury shook her head. "He is undermining Parliament's authority. He acts before their decision."

"We know what the decision will be," Thomas More murmured, voice sorrowful. "Only a fool does not. Parliament will support Henry; they always have. The new Lord Chancellor will use the public's outrage at Brereton's assassination attempt to sway them even further to support these Lutheran reforms he is positing. If not, the coinage obtained from the plundered monasteries could act as a tantalizing incentive to support the King. Greed has clouded devout consciences throughout history, and I fear it will do it again now."

Chapuys leaned back in his chair, rubbing a weary hand over his face. "My Master will be most displeased by these events."

"What is the Emperor's vested interest in England besides Princess Mary and Queen Catherine?" Lady Salisbury asked, voice calm. "He is the mightiest man in Christendom. What need does he feel for more territory?"

"He yearns to see his family - Princess Mary and Queen Catherine - in their rightful positions of grandeur that the Lord has mandated. Princess Mary can tie England to my Master permanently."

"Through marriage," Bishop Fisher concluded, white brows furrowing. "The people would never accept it. Nor a foreign King."

"My Master's generosity is as abundant as air," he retorted. "He would aid in their comprehension of the Lord's will."

"What of France?" Archbishop Warham rasped. "We know of the Emperor's feud with King Francois."

"England offers a pivotal ingress through which to strike at King Francois."

Thomas More chuckled, unsurprised. "Francois is already beset by the Emperor on land, but England is the island closest to France. We already hold Calais, the pivotal ingress the Emperor needs."

"I am surprised by you, Thomas," Archbishop Warham commented, intrigued. "I feel the dissent you do towards the King, but to welcome the Emperor, a man who many fear will invade England regardless, a man who's depraved army raped the wives and virgins of Rome while plundering and slaughtering, and who has imprisoned His Holiness- "

Chapuys swiftly cut in, "Not everything is known to you, Your Excellency. My Master has been subjected to tireless slander by his enemies, and they depict him as an infidel when he is anything but. He is the Lord's champion. His victory over the Turks at Vienna should prove it."

"I believe it does," Thomas More added.

Bishop Fisher nodded. "As do I."

"The fiendish souls who plundered the Holy City rebelled against my Master, who swiftly worked to negate all that was unleashed. As a result, His Holiness has been placed under my Master's protection; they are working together to mend the breaches in Christendom that were facilitated by none other than Luther and his dupable, damned followers." Chapuys leaned forward, keeping his eyes on Archbishop Warham. "Your Excellency, you see the turmoil in England that has expanded since the Whore's arrival; she is dooming your home. King Henry has been blinded by her enchantments- "

"And now that she is with child, I fear Henry's sight will never return," Thomas More confessed, to Chapuys' stunned horror.

Silence.

After several tense moments, he swallowed; it was worse than he had imagined. "The Whore carries King Henry's bastard?"

Thomas More nodded. "The Lord Chancellor implied so when I spoke with him before Henry ordered my departure from court."

Lady Salisbury's eyes hardened. "If Boleyn carries a son, the Plantagenet claim my sons hold will be rendered insignificant. If Henry attains his heir, there is nothing that he will deny Boleyn."

Bishop Fisher sagged in his chair, fear on his face. "Including her Lutheran supporters. King Henry has abandoned our good faith. Something must be done before all is irreparable."

"Brereton's attack failed," Chapuys murmured, voice considering. "It will be impossible to replicate it. King Henry will have many men guarding the Whore and bastard."

Archbishop Warham frowned. "Would any of the Dukes ally with us?"

Lady Salisbury shook her head. "No. Brandon is nothing more than a sycophant to Henry, and Norfolk is Boleyn's uncle. The Howards stand to gain much with her as the mother of a Prince of Wales. The King would deny her - and her family - nothing. Richmond may be of use as Henry's only living son, but he is a bastard. He has aspirations for the throne, but he is too young to wield significant influence against his father and Boleyn. Not even Exeter will join us now; he has publicly resworn fealty to the King."

"The Percys?" Bishop Fisher asked. "They are one of the ancient families. Percy has been known- "

Thomas More interjected, voice weary. "The men of peerage fear no man alive save for Henry, who could, at a whim, revoke their ancient inheritances. It is why Exeter swore fealty to him. They are all beholden to him. From them, we will receive no aid."

Archbishop Warham closed his eyes for several moments before nodding. "We need a plan. As long as this Lutheranism plague is extinguished, I care not what it takes."

"Nor do I," Bishop Fisher added.

Lady Salisbury lifted her head, eyes gleaming. "Then now is the time to invoke my son's claim to the throne, one that is more certain and strong than any Tudor's. We will use it, we must, and if the Emperor is gracious enough to endorse my son, we will return his generosity in any way he wishes. My son's Plantagenet claim is truer than any Tudor bastard's."

Bishop Fisher frowned. "Your son's Yorkist claim is dependent on a woman's line - yours. Do not forget that Clarence's betrayal of King Edward cursed his line in the eyes of the people."

The smile Lady Salisbury unleashed was triumphant. "How could my father betray a man that was never the true King?"

Archbishop Warham's eyes widened, shock carved into his sunken features. "You allude to Blaybourne?"

"I do."

Thomas More sighed. "The Holy Maid prophesied that Exeter will be King, Lady Salisbury, not your son."

"Exeter is a coward. The Holy Maid, despite her grand gifts, is a girl, young and inexperienced. She is clearly overwhelmed by her talents; her visions are muddled."

"Meaning?"

"You know how easy it is to confuse one name for another, Thomas."

"I do not. I never misspeak."

"But The Holy Maid does; she meant my son."

"Your conviction is almost enough to convince me."

Bishop Fisher leaned forward. "If it ensures England is not doomed to Lutheranism, that we remain loyal to Rome, it is enough to convince me."

Chapuys frowned, crossing his fingers over his thin lips. "To what are you referring?"

Archbishop Warham answered, "The claim that Lord Montague, Lady Salisbury's son, has to the throne."

Lady Salisbury nodded. "He is the rightful King of England. I could be the rightful Queen if nature were more kind. The Tudors are spawns of Welsh farmers."

"Forgive me, but you must explain," Chapuys apologized. "I am still unfamiliar with your Royal Genealogy, despite my new friend's attempt to explain it to me."

Thomas More took a sip of his drink. "There has been an assertion for many years that King Edward, Henry's grandfather, was not actually the son of his father, not the son of the Duke of York."

Chapuys' eyes widened. "He was a bastard?"

"No one knows," his new friend answered quickly before Lady Salisbury could. "But King Edward may have been begotten by an archer named Blaybourne, who perhaps laid with King Edward's mother during the Duke of York's appointment in France. If true, Henry is not the true King, and the Tudor claim is based on a lie."

"My son is the true King," Lady Salisbury asserted passionately. "All descendants of my uncle, the false King Edward, have archer blood, not Royal Blood. The Royal Blood is in my veins from my father, the Duke of Clarence, assured son of Richard, Duke of York; it is in my son's veins, as well. It is more than the drop in Henry Tudor's."

Thomas More frowned. "I have always been satisfied that King Edward was the Duke of York's son."

"Are you satisfied enough to condemn our home to Anne Boleyn and Lutheranism?"

"No."

Chapuys considered that information. "My Master wants Princess Mary on England's throne."

Lady Salisbury tilted her chin. "My son will wed the Princess; it will solidify his claim. The people will accept it. My son's wife will step aside to let the true Queen sit beside him."

Archbishop Warham nodded. "Just as the people accepted the first Henry Tudor's marriage to Elizabeth of York."

Chapuys shook his head. "Princess Mary must be married to one of my Master's family to tie England to him."

"The children born from their marriage will be tied to the Emperor," Lady Salisbury assured. "Now is the time to act, Imperial Ambassador. The age difference between Princess Mary and The Emperor's male relatives is too great. We cannot wait for them to become of age. The throne must be secured now."

"No. Princess Mary will be Queen of England. That is my Master's desire."

"I forget that you are from Spain, the united crowns of Castile and Aragon," Lady Salisbury murmured, words spaced for emphasis. "England is not your home, Imperial Ambassador; its people are different. A woman will never sit on our throne."

"Princess Mary has the surest claim to the throne."

"Indeed, but once Henry's bastard is born, that will change."

"It is a bastard," Chapuys protested vehemently.

"But the first Henry Tudor was of a bastardized woman line, yet almost all of the nobility supported him when he ascended to the throne over my cousin, Elizabeth of York, who falsely held a much stronger claim. The nobility wanted a man to lead them; it is the same scenario, only two generations removed. Princess Mary will never hold England's throne; she must be wed to a man of Royal Blood - my son."

Chapuys remained quiet for several moments, ruminating on the certainty in Lady Salisbury's voice. The fact that none of Thomas More, Archbishop Warham, nor Bishop Fisher disputed her claims told him more about her honesty than any of her assured promises.

"This will displease my Master, but… it is the rational strategy," he said at last. "My Master is most rational. The children born from the union of Princess Mary and your son will be tied to my Master's family?"

"Yes."

"Then I believe my Master will accept it. I believe he will provide men for your son, Lady Salisbury, but I must write to him at once."

Thomas More rose and grabbed parchment and a quill, holding them towards him. "By all means, Eustace."

XxXxXxXxXxX

November 1529

Her bones ached, but the discomfort of her body was insignificant next to the agony churning in her heart. She continued to kneel on the pillow, hands clasped together, held on her chest, and her eyes were screwed shut, maintaining a composed rhythm of breathing. Despite the words tumbling from her lips, her veneration to God, she knew that answers would elude her, for her heart was not pure. Not now.

It was conflicted.

Mary still believed that her father's concubine would be the death of both her and her mother, but ever since William Brereton's assault against the woman who carried her half-sibling, which may be the long-coveted Prince of Wales, she felt nothing but discontent.

She never wanted the concubine dead, only imprisoned, and with intense efforts, reformed from her heretical ways and thinking.

The rumors of Eustace's involvement in the attack inspired such dread that she felt faint. She believed in her cousin, but her resolve was shaken by the news of the concubine's near assassination, which may have been ordered by her cousin. But she was to trust her cousin's judgment. He was a great, pious man, the greatest man in Christendom according to her mother.

He only wanted what was best for her; he was helping her, for her destiny was to be Queen of England. And when Prince Felipe or her cousin's nephew, Maximilian came of age, she would marry them and bear a new dynasty as her lady grandmother had.

But if that was the future, would her hands be besmirched with the blood of the concubine and her half-sibling? What about Hal? Would her cousin demand her half-brother's death, for he was her greatest living threat behind the concubine's child?

She believed in her destiny, but would she be willing to condemn them to death?

Mary could not determine an answer.

XxXxXxXxXxX

December 1529

Chapuys silently drank his ale, confined in the darkness of the corner in the tavern. The Chancellor's spies were everywhere, almost impossible to avoid, but he had managed it thus far. Remaining in London, right under their noses, had been the correct decision. Their attention was focused further outward, searching other cities, villages, and the ports.

Suddenly, a rowdy bunch of men entered the tavern, sanguine faces fixed with joy and excitement.

"Did ya hear?" one man called out, his voice carrying. "The King married Boleyn in secret today!"

Silence - filled only by Chapuys' sharp inhale of breath, but that was soon overwhelmed by the hearty cheers of his fellow patrons.

"May she carry the Prince of Wales!"

"May she bear mighty sons and beautiful daughters!"

"May their marriage be blessed!"

"I can think of a truer marriage than that of our King Henry and Queen Anne - the Pope's lips on the Emperor's arse!"

The tavern erupted with raucous laughs and jeers, but Chapuys had frozen in his seat, shocked by the depravity of these heathens.

"We saw 'em! Just for a second on the terrace, and the King's even taller than they say! And the Queen looked like a child next to him!"

"Better this one that the last one! Catherine was a liar! She killed King Henry's sons in her womb before they could have life!"

"If they were even King Henry's! Maybe they were spawn of the Devil!"

"Some say the Queen's pregnant with King Henry's son, now!"

"A Prince of Wales! We've been waiting as long as the King for a hearty Prince of Wales!"

"I'd sell my house to see a Prince of Wales bore for King Henry!"

"I'd sell my soul to see a hearty Prince!"

"I'd sell my wife!"

More laughter exploded in the air, and Chapuys barely managed to remain in his seat, but he dared not flee, knowing it would call attention to him. It was more than possible that one of the men in the rowdy bunch was one of the Chancellor's spies, sent to unearth traitors.

"Ya think the Prince will grow to be like his father?"

"You mean, blind?"

All eyes, including Chapuys', turned to look at the man on the other side of the tavern, whose face was long, but his eyes possessed no hatred, only truth.

"What does that mean?"

The man shrugged. "King Henry, bless him, couldn't tell the woman in his bed wasn't a virgin. Couldn't tell the difference, poor fellow."

"You won't be able to tell the difference between Heaven and Hell when we're through with ya!"

"It's not treason to speak of what happens in a King of Prince's bed," the man retorted. "Everyone does - all of Christendom! We were all asking the same questions about Catherine. Were the holes told apart? Did either Tudor Prince know where to put it? Was she penetrated? Did they do it in the way the French do?"

While Chapuys had initially respected the man, his fury ripped through his restraint, and he sprung to his feet, prepared to kill these men who spoke with such coarse, vulgar intentions against the true and pious Queen of England.

Chapuys stomped towards the rowdy bunch, pulling out his rapier. "All of your tongues will be penetrated, severed from your foul, depraved minds!"

The tavern fell silent, and all eyes stared at him; none seemed concerned by the rapier in his hand, held in a threatening way.

"A Spaniard!"

"He's the Emperor's Ambassador!"

"King Henry's issued his arrest! He wants his head!"

"We'll give him to King Henry and Queen Anne! It'll be a wedding gift!"

"Get him!"

Chapuys paled and realized that he had damned himself to imprisonment; there were too many to fend off, and something smashed into the back of his head, sending him to the floor. The rapier slipped through his numb fingers as darkness claimed him.

XxXxXxXxXxX

December 1529

"Leave me," the Pope ordered, having sighted his messenger; he locked gazes with his gaolers. "I must be in consultation with The Father."

The gaolers glanced at each other. "The Emperor ordered us never to leave you."

The Pope's lips twisted wryly. "What can I do, my sons? My soul may be vigorous, but my body is not; it is feeble, frail with ailings. I can no sooner escape than you can repent for unjustly confining the Vicar of Christ."

Wary expressions crossed the gaolers' faces before they nodded curtly. "You will be granted ten minutes."

"Thank you, my sons."

"The messenger must depart, as well."

The Pope shook his head. "That boy needs my guidance; his soul is in pain, and I must relieve him. Look at him, my sons. Would you deny a good Christian soul from receiving salvation?"

"Very well."

The gaolers left the rooms, and immediately, the messenger hurried towards him, bowing lowly.

"Your Holiness," the boy murmured, voice full of respect.

"What news inspired your visit?"

"Turmoil has erupted in England. King Henry's concubine was nearly killed, and they say she is heavy with the King's child."

The Pope felt the area around his eyes tighten, and his wizened heart beat faster; sweat broke out on his forehead. "What was Henry's reaction?"

The messenger swallowed. "He has disavowed the Papacy, Your Holiness; he is vocal in his treachery, publicly breaking away to create a new, heretical church. He has begun to plunder England's monasteries, nunneries, and covenants, pilfering all of the wealth, treasure, and knowledge for himself. He is now the richest man in Christendom, and he is using his pilfered wealth to strengthen his realm; they say he is amassing his army, augmenting his navy and defenses. He blames you and the Emperor for the attack, and he has gone so far as to imprison the Emperor's Ambassador; they say he will execute him. Rome's influence has vanished in England, Father; in its stead, Tyndale's heretical work and Lutheranism have begun to spread. King Henry's depravity is without end."

The words floated in the air, and the Pope almost collapsed. Placing a weak hand on the messenger's shoulder to steady himself, he closed his eyes tightly, drawing in several heavy breaths; it was worse than he had feared. Carlos had demanded the Papal Bull to repudiate the marriage, but now, it led to England's damnation. Carlos was to blame, but if Henry had not been so impatient, had not fallen into the abyss of sin…

"The fool," the Pope whispered, stricken. "He is ruining everything. Henry Tudor is not the only anointed one disparaged by Carlos. I, too, suffer under that haughty boot. I have considered Henry a kindred spirit, despite his capitulation to his Lutheran concubine and immoral transgressions against the Church."

"I do not understand, Your Holiness."

"I had planned to strike a deal with Henry. In return for his help in liberating me from Carlos, I would pardon his gross offenses. I would permit him to marry his concubine, and his children through her would be legitimate in the eyes of both God and man - I would make it so. But he has now abolished that option. The fool has doomed us both. Only through Francois and Henry's aid could I attain liberation. Carlos is strong; his grip on Christendom is tightening. His victory at Vienna over the heathens has garnered him more respect from the lesser realms; he is expanding his control. Only an army of Kings could topple him from his cradle of power, cast him into torpor as he has me."

"All may not be lost, Your Holiness," the messenger spoke slowly. "If King Francois was privy to such a deal, he could convince King Henry to return to the Church, for King Francois despises the Emperor as much as King Henry; the rumors suggest that they are already allies against him. They say that the French Ambassador has been spending a lot of time with King Henry."

The Pope sat taller, eyes crinkling; they blazed with possibilities. "Then, I shall join their alliance. Liberation can still be attained."

"What is it you wish me to do, Your Holiness?"

"If possible, discern a way to send a discreet message to Francois detailing this information, including my offer of reconciliation to Henry. I am certain that Francois will share it with Henry, and I pray his indignation cools into reason."

"I shall pray for that outcome, Your Holiness."

"Thank you, my son."

"Do you wish me to include anything else in the message?"

The Pope paused for several thick moments, drawing his thoughts together, gathering, coalescing his righteous vexation. "Yes. Divulge that, through their help, I will depose Carlos for his sleights. He will know the taxing arms of torpor, the enforced compliance under threat of death. For Charlemagne's heir is unworthy; I will rectify the third Leo's error. Now I curse the people who submit to Carlos, who serve him. He shall be excommunicated the moment my rightful power is returned to me, for he has breached the most sacred of interdicts. He has become too proud in his supremacy, his perceived authority; he lifts his crooked head above the clouds and oversees the Church. I will pull him down from his haughty treachery just as the third Alexander humiliated Carlos' progenitor, Frederick. Peter's heirs are just and true; we tread on Emperors and walk upon the sinister serpent's back. We are the Vicars of Christ, and His wrath is our own. Carlos will feel it intimately."

XxXxXxXxXxX

December 1529

"Is this the natural position of The Emperor's servants?"

Chapuys slowly raised his bowed head, broken body protesting the movement, looking up at the heretical Lord Chancellor - Cromwell. "I genuflect to my Master with zeal. To you, I am forced against my will."

The Lord Chancellor's features were carved with impassivity, almost boredom; it was almost impressive. "You sponsored Brereton's attack on Queen Anne- "

"That whore is no Queen," he corrected in disgust. "Your new bills may have been passed by your Parliament, your King Henry may have created a new church and immediately married himself to his whore, inveigling King Francois through their shared hatred of my Master to endorse the blasphemous union, but all of it is false. It is a figment of your Lutheran inventions. The truth is known- "

"The truth of your involvement in Queen Anne's near assassination is known, yes. Your Master has condemned your actions."

Chapuys did not blink; that had been the agreement. If he had been caught, his life was forfeit to King Henry. But his work was not for naught; the invasion would come, and when King Henry and the Whore were vulnerable, his Master's men would strike with Lord Montague.

"My Master did not know of my conduct; no one did. Of course, he would condemn it."

"You continue to maintain that neither your Master nor anyone else knew of your scheming with Brereton, but King Henry does not believe you. Nor do I."

Thinking of his new friends - Thomas More, Lady Salisbury, Bishop Fisher, and Archbishop Warham - Chapuys would never confess their names; he had not yet, and he refused to yield to the earthly pain inflicted on him.

If his Master's men failed to supplant King Henry with Lord Montague, Chapuys knew that Thomas More would remain obscure, out of the possibility of being condemned to death. King Henry's heart still yearned for the presence of his old mentor. Chapuys foresaw that through Thomas More's pious influence, the Whore and heretical Lord Chancellor's pagan efforts would be nullified.

Regardless, the cause of purifying England would be carried through after Chapuys' demise - and he could think of no finer end than to die for the Holy Catholic Church, firmly rebelling against the Lutheran forces that seek its destruction.

"He is blinded by his whore's forbidden flesh," he retorted to the Lord Chancellor, summoning all of his strength to maintain all the regality he could. "King Henry has succumbed to his temptations, and those temptations will doom England to damnation. But that is what you want, is it not, Lord Chancellor? You are a heretic, spawned by the fiery fiend."

"I have seen the future, Ambassador, England's future without the King. It is uncontested war and slaughter; his grip of control must be maintained. The Emperor's strivings will prove fruitless."

"You do not know my Master."

"I am surprised you can summon such strength after the suffering you have endured. I have seen men twice your size incapable of utterance- "

Chapuys locked eyes with the Lord Chancellor. "This pain is temporary, Lord Chancellor. Whatever pain I feel will be washed away by the Lord when my soul is carried up to Heaven. It will be replaced with joy and love beyond fathom."

"The near murder of two innocent souls, a mother and child, guarantees your soul rest in Heaven?" The Lord Chancellor's lips curled; it was an unpleasant expression. "Yes. Your Pope Leo's indulgences encompass all things."

"Do not speak ill of- "

"You have spoken ill of King Henry and Queen Anne, sponsoring an assassination attempt against her and the King's unborn son. Do not rebuke my utterances when yours are besmirched with abominations."

Chapuys' lips twitched into a painful smile. "If God had willed a different life, Lord Chancellor, I believe we could have been friends."

"But God has willed this life, and your fate is to be decided by King Henry. I pray it is the same as Brereton's."

"I heard he was executed."

"It took multiple swings to sever his head. I know. I saw."

Chapuys did not react. "Deliberately, I am sure."

"The King wanted a message to be sent." The Lord Chancellor opened the door to his cell, motioning to the guards. "Get him up. He will be brought to King Henry and Queen Anne."

"The resurrected Egyptian plagues," Chapuys murmured darkly, glaring at the Lord Chancellor. "The Red Sea will swallow them. My Master will ensure it."

The Lord Chancellor smiled; it was an unpleasant expression. "And my Master will ensure your death."

XxXxXxXxXxX

December 1529

Henry watched, incapable of entirely concealing his rage as Chapuys was dropped before he and Anne; his fingers curled around the throne, whitening. Beside him, Anne sat, tense, and he worried for her and their son; Dr. Butts had ordered easy output for the remainder of the pregnancy, but she had demanded to be present for Chapuys' fate.

He refused to deny her.

Much of the nobility - including Mary, Charles, Henry's sister, and Anne's family - was present for the event, but Henry did not pay them notice; his eyes were locked on Chapuys.

Cromwell approached him and bowed his head before whispering in Henry's ear, "He maintains that the Emperor had nothing to do with the attack."

Digesting that unsurprising fact, Henry waved Cromwell away. For many tense moments, silence reigned supreme until he finally deigned to speak; all eyes were on him.

"I am a generous King, Ambassador. If you speak with honesty, your fate will not be that of Brereton's."

Beside him, Anne remained composed, but to his attentive eyes, he noticed the slight pallor on her face at the mention of Brereton.

Chapuys' broken body barely responded, but the Ambassador lifted his head; his zealous eyes connected with Henry's. "I am honest in all things, King Henry. Never have I- "

"Sponsoring an attack on my Queen and son is not an honest dedication to God's teachings!" Henry snapped, the fury that he had devoted significant restraint to keep under control breaking. Before he ordered Chapuys' execution, Anne's soothing, gentle hand touched his own, and he inhaled deeply, harnessing his control once more. "Did the Emperor order your sponsorship of Brereton?"

"My actions were my own, and no one else's. Brereton and I worked alone."

Silence.

Henry considered the words before glancing at Cromwell. "Your efforts produced nothing more?"

Cromwell bowed his head. "No, Majesty. The Ambassador, despite my creative exertion, has remained adamant of the Emperor's innocence."

"Unwavering loyalty to his master," Henry murmured, ignoring the nobility's whispers about the Emperor's apparent innocence. "I expect nothing less from the Emperor's dog. Your flagrant deception is not as obscure as you hope, Ambassador. I see through it."

Chapuys merely stared at him, chin raised haughtily. "All you see, King Henry, is what your whore wishes." Outrage from Anne's family echoed behind in the crowd, along with the rest of the Boleyn-supporters, but Henry was focused on Chapuys, watching the Ambassador raise his voice. "Her and her Lutheran supporters have clouded your righteous gaze! She has doomed your realm to Tophet- "

Anne interrupted, leaning forward, hands held over her stomach protectively; her hypnotic orbs flashed. "I am weary of hearing this persistent slander."

Henry placed a hand on her arm, gently pulling her back. "Do not expend unnecessary energy," he murmured. "Remember Dr. Butts' diagnosis."

His Queen nodded and leaned back in her throne beside his; she said nothing else.

"King Henry, think of your realm," Chapuys begged before him. "Think of the good Christian souls you are condemning- "

Henry's eyes sparked. "As you thought of the two Christian souls you sought to condemn to death in my Queen and son?"

"They are Lutherans. Abominations. They are no better than the Turks."

Gasps erupted through the nobility, furious whispering filling the air, but Henry remained silent for several moments, knowing that if he spoke, it would be to promise slaughter on Chapuys. He could not promise that now, not yet.

"I heard of your master's victory at Vienna," he finally said, words floating in the air. "While my indignation with him burns, I do applaud his efforts to repel the Turks back to where they belong. But my Queen is no infidel- "

"She has clouded your reason, King Henry," Chapuys protested, voice full of passion. "My Master is a gracious Prince. Cast her aside, condemn her and your bastard- "

"The only bastard is you!" George Boleyn roared from the crowd, and Henry glared at him.

"Silence!" he snapped. "The Ambassador voices treason; let him condemn himself."

Anne's brother quieted, and Chapuys continued, "- to Purgatory, and my Master will welcome you. He will help you negate all of your whore and Lord Chancellor's efforts to transform England into a Lutheran realm. You must do this if you wish to save your soul, King Henry."

Henry's fists tightened. "You speak for the Emperor now, but not when sponsoring my Queen and son's slaughter? You are like a woman - fickle."

Chapuys's eyes sparked with indignation. "You are fickle, King Henry, subjecting England to Lutheranism to please your whore. You despise my Master, but you despise France, as well. Yet, your fickle nature has led you to ally yourself with King Francois, another man who foolishly despises my Master. You know what happened to King Francois, King Henry. You know how my Master humiliated him- "

"Your master has humiliated me," he hissed out. "He has treated me as if I am a boy!"

"You act as a boy!" Chapuys snapped, eyes blazing. "You and Francois both! Your alliance is as impious as it is amusing! You are blind. An alliance united by hatred is most tenuous."

"My restraint not to execute you right now is most tenuous. You and your master have gone too far."

"My Master is the greatest Prince of Christendom, the most adored and beloved. The most beautiful, elegant, and dignified- "

"Carlos would sacrifice provinces to have my visage instead of his crooked countenance! Francois, too! He would barter his Dauphin for my shoulders, calves, and manhood!"

Chapuys' eyes widened before they narrowed. "Your transgressions can still be forgiven, King Henry. My Master is generous. Cast aside your whore, who has blinded your wisdom- "

"May the Sweat ravish you asunder!" Henry roared, glaring down at Chapuys; fire and lightning thrashed and churned in his heart. "You knave!"

"You have condemned the innumerable masses of souls on this island that were once redeemed by the blood of Christ to Tophet," Chapuys murmured, turning his gaze to Anne. "You and your heathen kind are an affliction cursed on Christendom by Satan, and all of the damned souls of this realm will know the lash of Satan's rods of fire because of your heretical affections. I once prayed that God not destroy this island for the great sins committed against His faith and glory, but its King has proven no lover of the Church or justice. May God's wrath ravish you asunder, King Henry!"

Henry stood to his feet, looming over Chapuys. "Your fate is as Brereton's before you! Take him away!"

The guards dragged Chapuys out of the room, a piercing silence all that remained.

Glaring at his nobility, he found all their astonished and fearful eyes. "Those who hold sympathy for Chapuys will share his fate." Henry stared at his daughter, unmoved by her tear-stricken face. "The Emperor, through his proxy, has made his intent clear - he wants the slaughter of innocent souls. He wants war and death. He wants England subjugated to his throne." He held out his hand behind him, waiting, and after several moments, Anne's delicate hand joined his much larger one; he pulled her to his side. "My Queen carries England's future, the heir for whom we have all awaited; he is the guarantee of no more civil wars, of peace. The Emperor endorses their deaths, and those who support the Emperor endorse the same. Any supporter of the Emperor is a traitor, and the traitors who breathe air that is not theirs to breathe will be found. Their heads will decorate London Bridge."

Henry swept out of the room with Anne by his side.

XxXxXxXxXxX

December 1529

"What retribution will the Emperor demand for Chapuys' death?" Anne asked softly, laid back in her bed, face anxious. "Will he seek war?"

"For Chapuys, no," Henry responded, gazing at some of his mother's tapestries. He had always liked them. "But Chapuys' easy acceptance of his death concerns me."

"Why?"

"Cromwell reported that he promised that the Emperor will swallow us as the Red Sea swallowed the Egyptians in Exodus."

"What did Cromwell think?"

"That a reckoning will come."

Anne's eyes darkened with worry. "The Emperor will wage war?"

Henry finally turned to look at her. "For Mary, yes. For his aunt, yes. He wants Mary married out of my realm to one of his relatives within his domains, tying England to him."

"But can he afford to wage war?"

"He vanquished the Turks at Vienna. Yes, he can afford to turn his gaze to England. His army is free. He has the revenue necessary. The great influx of gold and treasure from the New World enrich his coffers; that is his revenue."

"What will you do?"

"We will go to Calais to meet with Francois. I have already spoken with his Ambassador and Dr. Butts. He assures me that if you are careful, all will be tolerable for our son."

"That means no dancing."

"No. You will be by my side as we negotiate with Francois, and together, England and France will reject Carlos' assaults. We will defend ourselves. I have already begun to fortify the ports and the navy."

Anne's mesmerizing eyes shone with promise. "God is on our side. He has blessed us. He will continue to do so."

Henry grabbed her hands and kissed her fingers, one of his larger hands cupping her stomach. "Yes. Our golden age is near. Our son will be our peace."

"We are nearly there."

"And if someone revolts against him, they will learn of the instinctive teachings all Tudors know - we are born warriors. My father's victory at Bosworth verifies it."

"It does," Anne agreed. "Our son will further brighten the Tudor legacy, a legacy that began with your grandmother's efforts; she must be pleased in Heaven."

Henry slowly sat on the bed beside her, her white, tantalizing flesh a lovely sight. "My grandmother? As a child, I was forever reminded of that legacy, of her deed - birthing the Tudor Dynasty."

"You were not fond of her?"

"No. Her reminders of her accomplishment were always in my ears; she chided my conduct when I was the same age. Her favorite was Arthur - just as everyone save for my mother, who loved me more, but she was the only one. When I rose to the throne instead of Arthur, my grandmother keeled over and died to spite me."

Anne's small, gentle hands touched his face. "She accomplished great things, but she was blind to the truth - you are a great King, a worthy one who will save England."

Henry brought her hands to his lips, serenity in his heart. "When I first saw you, never before had someone so enchanting crossed my gaze. I raised you from a gentleman's daughter, and for it, you are giving me my soul's desire, my realm's salvation. Never again will I possess another woman while I live. No signs of age or wrinkles will entice me to stray, for your soul and heart will always be fertile and loving."

Her hypnotic orbs shone with gladness. "Show me, my love."

He did.

XxXxXxXxXxX

All right, that's it for this one, everyone. I hope that you all enjoyed it and please leave a review, whether positive or negative. It really helps out with letting me know what's working and what isn't.

**Anne and Mary finally talk, and it goes about how you'd expect, but then Brereton shows up to kill Anne. Yes, there were a few quotes from Wolf Hall.

**Henry arrives just in time to save Anne from Brereton, but because of it, all of his restraint evaporates. Their enemies thought they were slowing down the progress, but really, they only sped it up by a lot.

**Chapuys flees to Thomas More's house, where Lady Salisbury, Archbishop Warham, and Bishop Fisher already are. There, they discuss what they can do about England, and Chapuys has to acquiesce to the idea of Mary marrying someone else other than the Emperor's relatives - but only on the promise that Mary's children will all be tied to the Emperor. King Edward IV's parentage was really called into question in history and the Blaybourne theory was a real thing, so I thought it was the perfect "ammunition" for them to use. Of course, there's no proof, but when has that ever stopped anyone in history?

**Mary asks herself some painful questions, ones that she can't answer.

**Henry and Anne married in secret! I'm going to be honest, for the life of me, I couldn't write out the actual marriage ceremony or anything no matter how many times I tried. Nothing was working, and I wasn't happy with everything that I was writing, so instead of getting an intimate look at it, we got an outsider's perspective because that was the best I could do. Sorry.

Chapuys gets captured trying to be 'noble' for Catherine! I always thought that Chapuys' downfall would be his utter loyalty to Catherine and Mary, so when Catherine is insulted, his emotions overwhelm his reason, leading to his capture.

**The Pope learns of what's going on in England! I wanted to make the situation of the Pope being under house arrest more realistic. I didn't want him just going along with the Emperor's motives and plans. I want the Pope to be his own man/entity who has his own agenda against the Emperor. Pretty much, the Pope, after consideration, is willing to offer reconciliation to Henry, including blessing his marriage to Anne, if he helps him depose the Emperor. We'll see what happens there. I did use a little snippet from Marlowe's Doctor Faustus, yes.

**Chapuys is imprisoned, and after being tortured, refuses to rat out his fellow conspirators. Not even Cromwell can get him to break.

**Henry finally confronts Chapuys, and it really goes how you'd expect - ending in Chapuys' execution.

**Henry and Anne talk, and they'll be going to Calais to meet with Francois! Henry also makes a promise that he may or may not be able to keep.

That's it. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask them. I'd be more than willing to answer them. Please leave a review to tell me what you thought about it because it would help me out.

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ButtonPusher