AN: Eleanor Brandon, nee Boleyn tells her daughter Margaret about the day she lost her older sister, Anne Boleyn. Set to Broken by Seether and Amy Lee. Takes place on the 19th of May, 1544.
I wanted you to know I love the way you laugh
I wanna hold you high and steal all your pain away
And I keep your Photograph, I know it serves me well.
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain
"Mama?" The gentle voice at the door startled me and I jumped, looking up to see my oldest daughter, Margaret, holding a painting in her hand.
"Margaret. What is it, darling?"
"Can I ask you something?"
"Of course. Come here." I beckoned Margaret to sit down beside me and show me what she had in her hand. "What's that?"
"Aunt Anne's coronation portrait."
"Is it really? God, I haven't looked at that for years. Give it to me." I tried to keep my voice nonchalant, hide the turbulent emotions that were racing through me, as they always did on this day every year and always would.
Margaret handed it over and I traced my sister's features delicately, taking in her bright blue eyes, her beautiful raven hair, loose beneath the jewels of St Edward's Crown and the curve of her belly beneath her white and gold Robes of State.
"She was pregnant with Elizabeth at the time." I murmured and Margaret nodded.
"I know."
We sat in silence for a moment, before Margaret blurted "What was it like? Losing her, I mean?"
I glanced sideways at my oldest daughter, trying to gauge whether I should tell her or not. Her blue-green eyes were steady as they held mine and suddenly, I realised that she was more a young woman than a little girl. It was time I told her. She deserved to know.
"Like losing a part of myself." I confessed. Sensing I needed comfort, Margaret reached across for my hand as I suddenly started to talk as though I would never stop, losing myself in the memories of that fateful day, eight years earlier.
"I watched my sister forgive the executioner and then filed on to the scaffold behind her, listening keenly to every word she said. It was her last day on Earth; the last time I would see her alive. I didn't want to forget a single instant of it.
"Good Christian people, I have come here to die, according to the law, for by the law I am judged to die and therefore I will speak nothing against it. But I pray God will save the King and send him long to reign over you, for there never was a gentler nor a more merciful Prince. To me, too, he was always a good and gentle sovereign lord, of that I may assure you. And if anyone seeks to meddle with my cause, I beseech them to judge me as fairly as they can. Thus I take my leave of the world and of you all. I beg and desire you all to pray for me."
Those are exactly the words she said, sweetheart. I know they weren't anything special, that they were the simple, penitent words of any condemned prisoner, but, because it was my sister saying them, they suddenly meant so much more. Tears pricked my eyelids and, involuntarily, I glanced towards the gates of the Tower. Surely the King would change his mind. Surely! If only for the sake of the love they'd once shared. Surely he'd spare her. Give Elizabeth back her mother. Give me back my sister.
But now Anne was turning to us, the ladies who stood behind her. She was embracing us each in turn, saying her final farewells.
Watching her, I thought how composed she looked and wished that I could just fling myself into her arms, like I had done as a child and never let her go. Stop this travesty from happening. She would have done it for me, I was sure."
"Well, why didn't you then?" To Margaret, young and proud and beautiful, with the world at her feet and her whole life ahead of her, it seemed the most natural thing in the world.
Because I'm broken when I'm lonesome
And I don't feel right when you're gone away
You've gone away you don't feel me here anymore
"Because as I looked at her properly, I realised that, in a way, Anne was ready to go. She'd prepared herself for death. I couldn't stop that. To save her now, even if it was by pulling her off the scaffold and riding away with her like Lancelot and Guinevere from the Arthurian legends, would have broken that sense of dignity that she'd cloaked herself in for her final hours. And I couldn't do that to her."
"Why not?"
"Because I'd promised her. I'd promised her that we'd act like the royalty we were until the moment she died. It's the same reason I didn't throw myself into her arms. A Queen of England's sister; the King's sister in law, would never do that.
"And anyway," my voice softened as I remembered the way Anne had looked at me as she handed me the necklace that I still wore, all these years later, "It was too late. Your Aunt hugged me tight and handed me her necklace, gave me one last look, but even then, she was already half in Heaven. I couldn't have held Fate back. Ever."
"You wanted to, though, didn't you?"
"Of course I did! She was my sister. I wanted to save her; to turn back time and give her her whole life back, but I couldn't. All I could do was to hold back the burning tears and kneel to her; kneel to her as my Queen one final time. I'm sure your father's told you that story."
The worst is over now and we can breathe again
I wanna hold you high, you steal my pain away
There's so much more to learn and nobody left to fight
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain
"He has, yes."
"Good. Because, Margaret, no matter what the King says, she was our Queen. She was our Queen almost three years; a thousand days. A thousand days that can never be rewritten, no matter how much the King wants them to be. They can never be anything other than what they were. Never."
Despite myself, my voice cracked on the last word. Margaret slipped her arms around me, holding me gently. I couldn't help wondering when she had become the one to comfort me, rather than the other way around. I couldn't pinpoint a particular moment when it had started to happen, yet somehow, it seemed the right thing to do; to let her hold me as I wept silently.
"It'll be all right, Mama. She wasn't a witch. I know she wasn't. You know it, I know it, Papa knows it. Annie, George and Will know it too. We'll remember her as she really was. A woman. Spirited, determined, passionate, yes, but a woman nonetheless. And we'll tell the others that too. Anyone who asks. We'll change the way people think of her. I promise."
Touched by Margaret's words, I pushed my hair behind my shoulders to reveal the golden B pendant where it hung, as always, round my throat.
"This will be yours one day, Margaret. Will you treasure it for me? Treasure it in memory of her?"
"Always."
Margaret kissed me, then rose. I watched her go through a blur of tears, unable to believe my oldest daughter, my precious angel, Henry's little Duchess, as he'd always called her, was so grown up.
She was so like her father; like her aunt. Anne's legacy was in safe hands with girls like her and her cousin Princess Elizabeth. I knew that.
Because I'm broken when I'm open
And I don't feel like I am strong enough
Because I'm broken when I'm lonesome
And I don't feel right when you're gone away
But it didn't ease the pain of having lost my sister. When Henry, no doubt told by Margaret that I needed him, came in to see me, I raised a tearstained face to his.
"I can't do this, Henry! I can't live without her! I can't!"
Had it been any other day of the year, Henry would probably have feared for my sanity. As it was, he knew exactly what I meant and what I needed. Kneeling down beside me, he took my hand in his and cupped my cheek in his other hand, forcing me to look at him.
"Yes, you can, darling. Yes you can. I know you can. And Anne knows it too. She's watching you from Heaven. Watching you take care of her daughter, as any Aunt and Godmother should. She loves you dearly, My Lady Duchess of the Summer Sun, She loves you and is proud of you. That will never change. I promise."
"It's not enough, though! You know it's not enough, Henry!"
We had this conversation every year and by now, Henry did know. With a sigh, he reached out for me, taking my sewing, which had lain disregarded in my lap for quite some time now, and laying it aside before pulling me into his arms.
"I know, Eleanor. I know. God rest her soul."
Then he let me weep myself dry of tears; sob into his chest as he rocked me until I had nothing left to cry with.
Eventually, worn out by the emotions of the day, I fell asleep against him. Wordlessly, he picked me and bore me back to our chamber as though I were a child. It was there that I woke up the next morning, curled into his warmth, with tears still drying on my face.
Because I'm broken when I'm open
And I don't feel like I am strong enough
Because I'm broken when I'm lonesome
And I don't feel right when you're gone away
You've gone away you don't feel me here anymore