Disclaimer: Do not own the tudors or history.

Moonlight is a song from Yiruma.

Blickleigh Castle, Devon

"I will not marry that-" Elizabeth paused to take in a breath, " that evil man." huffing like a child, she sat down and folded her arms.

From her opposite Margaret Somerset laughed at her cousin's antics. "He's not evil." Meg shifted to allow more space for herself, she was growing day by day and she hated it. Not the child but her condition. At hearing the younger girl scoff, she amended herself, "He's not evil, he's french. That is a nature of the french, they think insulting or outstanding someone else will make them better." shrugging easily, Meg reached out for a pomgrenate, she had a craving for those foreign fruits.

"Well, it doesn't!" the grey-eyed shouted. She knew she sounded and was acting like a child but this was unacceptable. "He insulted me when I was just a child, he didn't even know me! He spread false rumours, rumours so vicious that I ouldn't wish it to the worst of my enemies! How could I marry the man who ruined my prospects of ever marrying a prince in christendom? Not that I want to, which brings me back to my point. I do not want to marry , let alone a man that has hung, drawn and quartered my honour and brag about it in the courts in Europe!"

To this, Meg had no answer and decided that no one could argue with the hot-headed girl. Her cousin's temper was much like the sea waves, calm and poised one moment and thunderous at another.

"You're supposed to be agreeing with me, Meg." Elizabeth complained, standing up and pacing against the floor once again.

"I am!" Meg defended. "I agreed with you that he is a vile man but can you blame the man? T'is in his nature."

"Well, I am never going to forgive him!" said the girl of only eighteen summers.

"But this not about the french king or your pride, child." a wise voice intervened the shouting match. Immediately, both the girls smiled to see Catherine of York amongst them. The older woman returned the smile before sitting in the couch with her expecting daughter. "How is my grandchild today?" she asked and stretched her hands to touch the swollen belly of her daughter.

Giggling, Meg answered her mother, "He is as restless as we are to meet us." As if to prove the point the babe kicked to the mother and daughter's joy. Opposite them, Elizabeth frowned.

"So, a prophet told you that t'is to be a son?" she questioned to which Margaret's smiled dimmed a little but was still there.

"No, but I hope he is. So does Hal." Elizabeth rolled her eyes. It was predictable, she wanted to say but quieted down when her aunt shot her a look.

"You, young one need to remember that this treaty is not done to torment you or to insult your pride." the Dowager Countess cupped the pale, gaunt cheek of her niece. In her, she saw the dimming image of her late father, a man she had forgotten until she saw a young babe with the same flaxen hair and grey eyes. The said girl was listening intently to her aunt, her advisor and confidant. "This is an effort to bring England out of the war that it would soon get involved into if it weren't for that damned man Wolsey. Please, child. Consider this for England's future."

When she went to sleep that day, she thought of her aunt's words. Could she really marry the man and live happily? If not happily, could she bare to live with him?

In her own bedchambers, the dowager countess smiled. 'It has been forseen.' the same voice whispered in her mind. The younger daughter of Elizabeth Woodville hadn't inherited the magic but the goddess spoke to her children in the time of need.

That night when the moon is full and the sky dark, Catherine of York tells Elizabeth of her true inheritance, that she is infact the heiress of a legendary water goddess. Elizabeth hears the struggle of her grandmother hile she was the Queen, her own mother's denial of embracing her destiny from her aunt. She hears it with scomplete attention. And she believes her words, she tells to herself it is to humor the belief of her ancestress, Jacquetta of Luxembourg but the true reason of why she sends a prayer to the water goddess that night to save her from unhappiness is a mystery to the princess herself.

Her answer comes in a dream where she witnesses the unlikely love between a mystical sea creature in a fountain and a young knight. For now, the promise of happiness exicsting in the world gives her a hope.

Whitehall Palace, January 1519

It was only time before her brother would've asked her to talk about this matter. Months had passed since the arrival of the letter and in those months Elizabeth had come to accept the idea of marrying the french bast- 'king' she amended in her mind.

She had arrived in the court ten days ago for the Christmas celebrations and she was happy to enjoy it with her family but her happiness was eclipsed by the coming trip to Calais, where she would marry the king in person.

Today was her wedding day. 'And what a grand celebration it is', her mind said bitterly. None but Cardinal Wolsey and the french ambassador was merry on the most important day of her life.

"Don't be like that, sister." her sister, Margaret stepped into the room. "T'is your wedding. You should smile as much as you can or the ambassador might think you do not wish to marry his king."

"And what makes him think I do?" Elizabeth mumbled quietly to herself before putting a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Happy now, sister?"

Margaret pulled her sister into the seating nearby. "Very." the woman squealed. "Oh! My little sister! Marrying the french king." she sighed dramatically. "I hear he is the most handsome prince in christendom. Of course, second to only our brother the king but he doesn't count." Reaching for the coronet that was set in the dressing armoire, she sighed in appreciation, touching the sapphires with her delicate fingers. "He seems to have good taste too. Oh, sister! You can't ask for any other husband for yourself!" Margaret went on to drone about the merits of a king she'd never met before while Elizabeth's ladies adorned her with jewels, a sad look in her face.

She had realized, with help of her aunt, that her fate laid in her enemy's lands. The land that she had been, since birth, taught to dislike was to be her own. Even if she refused to marry Francis, her brother would make sure that she agreed by means Elizabeth really didn't want to know about. It was also her duty as her people's princess that she marry the french king. There were many reasons that pushed her to do it but above all she would do this for herself. If she agreed to marry this man she would be a queen, if she refused who's to say her brother would look for any suitors? He was after all too busy making heirs, even illegitimate ones, for himself to spare time and effort for his sisters, least his less attractive sister who had been barred to any man's eyes with her scars.

So, this was in her own interests. Or that's what she told herself. She didn't like to be out of control of her own destiny.

"Marry him yourself then!" she snapped, irritated by all the talk of her 'advantageous match'.

"Be calm, my dear sister. I should be leaving, our sister the Queen is waiting for me. Not that she's in a happy mood either, she was still writing to her nephew about your hand in marriage before Christmas." Margaret left mumbling to herself about spaniard sister-in-laws and english pride.

Back in her room, Elizabeth looked at her reflection. The scars in her neck were covered by her over-reaching neckline, her earings matched the sapphire coronet which in turn went well with the dark blue gown. Her braided blonde curls were kept back by various pearl hair pins, the sleeves of her gown trimmed and encrusted with pearl. Covered in heaps of jewels, Elizabeth felt more of a show-thing than a bride in her wedding day.

Taking a deep breath Elizabeth nodded to Anne, who smiled encouragingly before turning to the ladies and ushering them out, leaving only Anne Devereux, Anne Holland, Margaret Somerset, Elizabeth Howard nee Stafford and Anne herself with the bride-to-be. Elizabeth looked at her ladies and stood to leave for the Abbey.

Westminister Abbey

Her legs ache from standing straight for hours. She had wandered if a proxy marriage, where the groom was not even present, would take such a long time, how was she going to stand the actual ceremony. Around her the choir-boys of Cambridge sing hymes, blessing the royal marriage. But she does not hear them, her ears only register the soft voice of her supposed ancestress playing in the air. The water goddess is rejoicing for her heir, cheering for the success of this daughter. But none of the cheerfulness touch Elizabeth as she speaks her vows.

When the vows finally end, the priest blesses Princess Elizabeth and the french ambassador (standing in proxy for Francis), and announce them husband and wife. Elizabeth sees her brother stiffly clapping, her sister-in-law harbouring a sympathetic look, her niece cheering innocently, her sister beaming with pride and Anne worrying. She sees them, her family, all with different emotions and prays to god that it would be over soon. 'Please mother, guide me.' desperately the princess hopes someone has heard her.

'Patience.' a single word comes as an answer. Turning her head around, she looks for the source but finds none. The ambassador asks if 'his gracious queen' was doing well. Elizabeth dismissively nodded and followed the crowd out of the Abbey, sighing in relief that it was all over, finally.

Ofcourse the ceremony wasn't over yet. There were still masques to be held, jousts to be arranged and gowns to be worn. The day would've been easier had the ambassador not tried to inform Elizabeth of all the good qualities of her 'husband' had as the king of france. His conquests, interests, mastery and even mistresses were often the talk of the evening, it was all in good jest. It, nonetheless, didn't fail to ruin the newly named Queen of France's appetite.

It was night time, a grand masque was to be held depicting the story of Melusine, a brilliant scheme that her aunt (who else) had come up with as a wedding gift for her favourite niece. While changing for the play, Elizabeth's thoughts trailed to the upcoming summit in Calais where she would formally be presented to the king. After which she would never be allowed to return to her home. She'd never see Rochester or River Medway. She'd never see her family or the numnerous cousins that she had a habit of visiting. All of it would be gone and all this was happening against her wishes. She wasn't ready to leave yet.

"Your majesty, the Queen is here." Lady Howard's voice brought Elizabeth back to the real world. Before she could form an answer the crier announced her sister-in-law's arrival. She was about to stand when she remembered the new position she had in court as the 'wife' of a king.

Queen Katherine, her sister-in-law had always been a beauty and the years had been quite generous to her. Elizabeth could not remember her sister when she first came from Spain (she was but a child) but she could still recollect the grand wedding of her and her brother's. Not much had changed in Katherine's appearance of mannerism, except perhaps a bit more patience that motherhood had brought on her. She was once a proud princess and still was a proud Queen.

Katherine was remembering the same days of her little sister's early years. The first she had seen of little Elizabeth (although the girl wasn't that little anymore), the babe had just recovered from a fatal illness and was quite pale and docile. Katherine had quickly taken a liking to the child visiting her in the nursery and playing with her before her departure to Ludlow with her husband who had died soon after. For years she hadn't seen the little girl until her wedding day when the nine-year old princess had grown and forgotten her sister-in-law. But still the two royal women had developed a strong bond of sisters that Katherine considered important in her life. And now, to see her sister be married to a man she disapproved of, a man that was her natural enemy pained her.

"Your majesty." Elizabeth greeted first, a smile gracing her face. Katherine noticed that she had the late Queen's smile and offered her own.

"My sister queen." Katherine said in a sad tone. "I came to give you my well wishes. I truly hope that you make a good marriage with his majesty."

"Yes, yes, thank you, sister." tears clouded Elizabeth's eyes but she didn't let it fall. Nothing could break the walls that she had created emotionally. "I hope you're happy for me." she added with a shaky smile. "Not many people seem glad about my predicament." She still remembered some of the courtiers throwing her pitiables looks or whispering in disdain.

"T'is not me who'll have to live with this marriage for the rest of my life. But if you must ask, I will find joy in whatever or whoever makes you smile." taking her sister's hand in hers, Queen Katharine gave Elizabeth the most remembered words of her life, "Happiness is something you build, t'is not given freely. So when the time comes you fight for it no matter what your mind says, you trust your heart, child."

When Elizabeth had come over the shock, she nodded before following her sister out to the great hall.

In the coming days, Katherine would look back and question why she had chosen to give that advice instead of 'Beware of your enemies in court' which she had originally planned. What had made her change her mind? What had mahde her say those words when she had never even thought of them before in her life? It would be a mystery she'd never solve and a advice that Elizabeth would take to her grave.

A/N:- Hi, thnx for the review... and to people who read it thanks again... I don't know when I'll be able to post with all the college work but I will post before the month dies...

Margaret Tudor is an elder sister to Elizabeth.

Margaret Somerset (b. 1496) is the only daughter of Catherine and her husband. She had a daughter, Catherine in December 1518 (fictional baby, obviously).

Brides-maids: Anne Devereux (b.1493) a grand-daughter of Anne Woodville in her mother's side. Anne Holland (b.1498), a fictional character and grand daughter of Anne of York. Elizabeth Stafford (b.1488) daughter of the Duke of Buckingham and betrothed of Lord Norfolk.

Maid of honour: Anne (b.1498)