AN: This is a Princess Mary songfic set to Amazing Grace, because I love the song and it suits her. The story starts in 1535, when Mary is serving her little sister, Elizabeth.

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me...
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now, I see.

"Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with thee." The Lady, no the Princess Mary Tudor, once the Pearl of King Henry's world, his Princess of Wales and his greatest treasure in Christendom, murmured the words, seeking solace in them. A respite from the bitter shame and humiliation that she was forced to endure day after day as she went about her assigned tasks in the toddler Elizabeth's household.

A Princess forced to act as a maid; to wait upon her bastard sister. There could be no greater suffering in the world.

Yet Mary endured. The inner peace she found by sliding the cool beads of her rosary through her fingers every night, coupled with her training as a Princess and her utter conviction that she was right, saw her through.

Wretched her situation might be, but all was not lost. Her father might yet come to his senses. He would come to his senses. He had to.

And until that day, Mary would live in hope. She would do as her father bid her, as far as she could. She would even love him, as both Christ and her own feelings commanded.

However, she would never relinquish her rightful title; the title of Princess.

Nor her faith. Her father might have insisted that England succumb to heresy; he might even demand that his new child, Mary's half-sister, was brought up outside the comfort of God's one True Church, but she, Princess Mary, would never surrender. Not after what her faith had done for her.

Why, Mary could remember, to the day, when she had become a true believer; the day she had stopped going to Mass as a mere matter of course, but instead, gone because it meant something to her.

T'was Grace that taught...
my heart to fear.
And Grace, my fears relieved.
How precious did that Grace appear...
the hour I first believed.

It was the autumn of 1532 and Mary was playing the virginals, running her hands over the keys skillfully. She was completely lost in what she was doing, for she loved music and it was one of her few pleasures, now that she was no longer allowed to see her mother.

Her mother. At the thought of her, Mary's heart throbbed and she unconsciously changed the tune she was playing. Instead of the swift folk tune she had been playing moments earlier, her fingers were flying through an old Spanish ballad, one of her mother's favourites.

A feeble honour; hardly worth being called even a tribute, especially since the woman it honoured was miles away and unable to hear, but it was one of the few things Mary could do for her beloved mother now.

So absorbed was Mary in what she was doing that she didn't hear her governess's light tread behind her. The first she knew of Lady Salisbury's presence was the gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Forgive me, Princess, but the Duke of Suffolk is here to see you."

"Of course, Salisbury. Let him in."

So saying, Mary rose, smoothing her skirts with the flat of her hand and letting Lady Salisbury tidy her hair before turning to bestow a smile upon her unexpected guest. "Your Grace."

"Princess Mary. It is good to see you."

Charles Brandon bowed and smiled as he kissed her hand, but there was a grim look in his eye that belied his affable manner. It set Mary's heart racing.

"Your Grace?" she inquired again. "You bring news from Court. Is my father well?"

"His Majesty is in the best of health, Your Highness, Thank God, but I still fear that what I have to say will not please you in the least."

Despite herself, Mary's eyelids flickered shut. Taking a deep breath, she forced them open again, meeting the Duke's piercing gaze as composedly as she could.

"Go on, Lord Suffolk."

"Your father – I mean – Two days ago, His Majesty invested the Lady Anne Boleyn as Marquess of Pembroke."

"Marquess, Your Grace?" Mary couldn't help the question.

"Marquess, My Lady Princess, not Marchioness. His Majesty ennobled the Lady Anne with the male form of the title. She is Marquess in her own right. And I'm afraid there's more. We are to go to France in a fortnight. The Lady Anne is to be presented to King Francis as your father's future bride."

Mary never knew how she made it through the rest of that interview with the Duke of Suffolk. She scarcely remembered thanking him or exchanging the final pleasantries, much less calling Lady Salisbury to see him out. It was as though she was in a trance.

The moment the door swung shut behind him, that trance broke.

She collapsed to the floor as her legs gave way, sobbing brokenly, unleashing a storm of tears; tears she had held back ever since her father became infatuated with his raven-haired harlot.

"Princess! Oh, my Princess! What is it?"

Lady Salisbury's hand was on her back, rubbing, stroking, ineffectively trying to bring comfort. Mary raised a tearstained face to her governess.

"Papa's made her Marquess of Pembroke! He's taking her to France. He really means to marry her, Salisbury! I shall never see Mama again. Never!"

There was nothing Lady Salisbury could say to that. She could only hold Mary as she wept, whispering futile words of comfort.

Later, after the first frenzied storm of weeping had passed, Mary was knelt before the predieu, begging for mercy, for her father to somehow change his mind, for some word of her mother.

"Sweet Jesus, I implore you." she whispered, a catch in her throat.

Suddenly, Lady Salisbury knocked on the door and, before Mary could tell her to go away, opened it.

"I apologise for the intrusion, Princess, but Ambassador Chapuys is here to see you."

With a sigh, Mary heaved herself to her feet.

"All right, Salisbury. Tell His Excellency that I'm coming."

If Mary, with her red eyes and dishevelled hair and gown, looked anything less than the perfectly groomed Princess she usually was, Ambassador Chapuys didn't seem to notice. He kissed her hand just as he always did, and, as he straightened, pressed a tightly rolled piece of parchment into her hand. A piece of parchment sealed with a crowned pomegranate.

At the sight of it, the words Mary had whispered so passionately just a few minutes earlier; "Lord, please. Just let me have word of my mother. I beseech you. Just one word, please," came back to her. It seemed that God had heard her prayers after all.

With a smile that even the Ambassador couldn't quite read, she beckoned him to a comfortable seat beside her.

Through many dangers, toils and snares...
we have already come.
T'was Grace that brought us safe thus far...
and Grace will lead us home.

And so far, her trust in God was working. She was being made to wait on the sister who had usurped her place, both in the Succession and their father's heart, yes, but Elizabeth was a sweet child. She, at least, was innocent in all this. She didn't ask to be born the child of an adulterous and illegal marriage. Mary would make sure to treat her well when she herself became Queen.

For she would become Queen. There was no doubt of it. Her father might have bastardised her, but there were still plenty of people who refused to know her as anything other than their Princess.

Fisher and More, for instance. Two eminent men, both learned scholars, and respected, not just in England, but also abroad on the Continent.

And yet, for some reason, her father still refused to hurt her. Despite the influence of his so called wife, he had left her pretty much alone since he placed her in attendance upon her baby sister. He hadn't even placed her under house arrest, as many had feared he might. Was that not a sign that God Himself, the Father Almighty, was watching over her and would lead her to her rightful place on the throne in the end?

Of course it was. She just had to have faith.

When we've been here ten thousand years...
bright shining as the sun.
We've no less days to sing God's praise...
then when we've first begun.

And faith was, as everyone knew, something Mary had a lot of. Even Lady Bryan, Elizabeth's Lady Governess, irritable though she was, had been heard to remark that, provided Elizabeth prayed within the boundaries of King Henry's Church, she would do well to follow the Lady Mary's example of dedication to her devotions as she grew older.

Whenever she heard this, Mary would merely cross herself and then go on with whatever she was doing.

After all, there was no need for Lady Bryan to know exactly what Mary was praying for. God knew and He would answer her prayers. There was no doubt about it. He was eternal and He answered everyone's prayers. One way or another.

Mary just had to stand firm; like a rock, like Peter, and be a shining beacon of hope to all who, secretly or not, still adhered to the old ways. She had to be their sun; their Tudor Rose.

If she did that, then God would see her crowned and anointed here on Earth as her namesake was in Heaven. One day. Mary knew it might take time, but for her rightful throne, she was prepared to have infinite patience and make any sacrifice. Why , she would happily wait ten thousand years, if it only brought her what she craved so badly.

And it would. Mary was sure of that and so she endured. Endured and even managed to smile upon her younger sister when she clamoured to be held, petted, played with.

For this was just a trial that the Father had set her. A trial she had to overcome in order to prove herself worthy of being Queen. It was not hers to question, but merely to obey, for He did it for love of her. The moments of His Grace, be it in a rare smuggled letter from her mother, or the news that the Lady Pembroke's latest pregnancy had failed to bring forth an heir for England, was proof enough of that.

"Yes." Mary thought, as she rose from her little predieu and prepared for bed, "If I can only hold strong, then someday, someday soon, this will all be over. Either the harlot's hold on my father will be broken, or else, God will see fit to call me to the throne. When that day comes, whenever it is, I shall be ready. I shall be reunited with my mother and sign myself "Maria, Regina de Anglia."

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me...
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now, I see.