AN: I was just singing this myself and the idea popped into my head. Since I couldn't get rid of it, here it is. Kitty Howard- centric story to Colours of the Wind from Disney's Pocohontas.

You think I'm an ignorant savage
And you've been so many places
I guess it must be so
But still I cannot see
If the savage one is me
How can there be so much that you don't know?
You don't know ...

Edward Seymour watched as Kitty Howard licked her lips, just lightly, just enough to moisten them, before she answered the beckoning of His Grace, the Duke of Suffolk and approached the dais, curtsying to the King.

"My Lord," Her voice was thin, breathy. She sounded like an unsophisticated child; someone who was awestruck at being in the presence of England's ageing King. Edward grimaced at the sound of it. Was this really a good idea? Would King Henry really fall for this simpleton?

Little did Edward know that Kitty liked it even less than he did. She hated herself for it. She, Katherine Howard, wasn't unsophisticated. She knew dancing and music and fashion almost as well as any one of the other Court ladies, she was sure of it.

However, the Duke of Suffolk was adamant that it was her wildness and childish spontaneity that would appeal to the King, so Kitty was determined to present an even stronger façade of that than she usually did. Edward Seymour knew it too, so he held his tongue and left Katherine to continue with what she was doing.

And the Duke did seem to have a point. As Kitty talked to His Majesty, making sure to chatter more idly than she usually did, she saw his eyes lingering on her; sensed his breathing speeding up. She couldn't see under the grand table, but she was sure that his loins were stirring at the same rate as his breathing.

And then the Duke was leaning in, breaking the spell she was beginning to weave around His Majesty, "Go, Katherine," he breathed in her ear, "Don't ruin your good work by staying too long."

Knowing he was right, Kitty made her excuses and curtsied, hurrying away before the King could detain her. However, because she could feel His Majesty's eyes on her, she made sure to stop and talk briefly to one of the other young girls, Anne Basset, letting her high laughter peal just a touch more readily than usual.

You think you own whatever land you land on
The Earth is just a dead thing you can claim
But I know every rock and tree and creature
Has a life, has a spirit, has a name

You think the only people who are people
Are the people who look and think like you
But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger
You'll learn things you never knew you never knew

Henry watched the strawberry-blonde girl, Kitty, out of sight, unable to help himself from showing such an interest in her. Her bright, inquisitive eyes, her luscious lips, her ready laughter – which was even now pealing high above the musicians soft tune – reminded him so much of his little sister Princess Mary, at the age of thirteen or fourteen. The gay, soft-hearted girl he had brought out into the world after their father's death and ordered to be feted at his side; feted alongside him and his Queen, his first love, the Spanish Princess, Catalina.

He hadn't imagined that any Howard girl could ever be that innocent. For this Katherine was a Howard. Her father and….well…the…the Witch's mother had been siblings. They had never got along particularly well, but they had been siblings. The same Howard blood ran in this English Rose's veins as had run in Black Nan's.

But perhaps this girl would be different. She hadn't been abroad, after all, for all her father was Lord Lieutenant in Calais. She wouldn't have been poisoned against him by the rumours in the French Court. Maybe this Howard girl would be an innocent, despite her blood.

Henry was looking forward to finding out.

Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon
Or asked the grinning bobcat why he grinned?
Can you sing with all the voices of the mountains?
Can you paint with all the colours of the wind?
Can you paint with all the colours of the wind?

Come run the hidden pine trails of the forest
Come taste the sun-sweet berries of the Earth
Come roll in all the riches all around you
And for once, never wonder what they're worth

Charles Brandon rode up behind his oldest friend and drew rein beside him. Henry was watching the Queen, little Queen Katherine, playing along the shores of the lake with her Maids of Honour, an indulgent smile on his lips.

"She's a very pretty girl, Henry. You've made a wi-good choice there," he ventured, catching himself just in time. He was happy that Kitty made Henry happy, but never in a month of Sundays would he catch himself calling her wise. She wasn't. She was one of the silliest girls he had ever seen.

Luckily, Henry didn't notice his hesitation. He turned to him, a wide grin on his face, "She is, isn't she, Charles? She's a treasure, she really is. Do you know, she asked me the other day why squirrels live in trees? I really don't believe Kitty's been taught anything other than music or dance."

"Hmm," Charles murmured, not wanting to disappoint his friend by contradicting his view that ignorance made Kitty a treasure, but feeling the courtier in him squirm in discomfort as the Queen let Joan Bulmer fling a handful of mud at her, ruining what was clearly a very costly dress of cloth of silver trimmed with rose velvet. No doubt Henry would just laugh and shower his darling in a dozen new dresses to make up for it, but Charles couldn't help but be thanking that his Katherine had more sense. He might be wealthy, but even he didn't have the money to give his wife as many dresses as she wanted. Neither would Henry, if Kitty kept on the way she was going. The Treasury was emptier than either of them cared to admit.

But Henry didn't let that bother him. Laughing tolerantly, he called out to his young wife, "All right, Kitty. That's enough, Rosa Mea. Come out, come on. We've still got a long ride ahead of us…and I thought you wanted to race me?"

"Oh yes!" Katherine squealed, picking up her muddied skirts and skipping back towards them, leaning in to kiss Henry as a groom hoisted her back up into the saddle. Henry petted her luxuriant tresses gently.

"What a state you've got yourself into," he chided softly. Kitty glanced down, suddenly slightly abashed at the sight of the stains, "I'm sorry. I didn't realise it was that bad."

"It's all right, Kitty darling. You can have another just like it. A dozen more just like it. How does that sound?"

"Wonderful!" Her Majesty cried, spurring her horse forward as her delighted laughter pealed. The King chased after her, roaring merrily and Charles had no choice but to follow.

The rainstorm and the river are my brothers
The heron and the otter are my friends
And we are all connected to each other
In a circle, in a hoop that never ends

How high will the sycamore grow?
If you cut it down, then you'll never know
And you'll never hear the wolf cry to the blue corn moon

Kitty felt her long strawberry-blonde curls stream out behind her as she kicked her horse into a thundering gallop and screamed for joy. There was something else in her scream though. It was the scream of a stuck pig; of any trapped animal. For she did feel trapped. She admired the King; of course she did. She admired him, and she loved the jewels and dresses that he showered her in, but she didn't love him. She couldn't love him.

Not only was he thrice her age; old enough to be her father, but he treated her as though she was just a silly little girl; a simple-minded, over-indulged child. A child he could distract with baubles and trinkets and all the trappings of rank. And she had to pretend she was that girl.

She had to play her part as Henry's trophy bride; his childish Queen, when instead, she was a woman. A woman coursing with passion. Passion that the King could no longer satisfy.

Thank God for Thomas Culpepper. Thank God for him. He understood what she was; what she hated being; what she wanted to be. He could release her passion; satisfy it, match it in a way that no one else ever could. He, of all the men she had once considered taking as her lovers, understood her. He saw Kitty, not Katherine, the trophy wife, or Kitty, the thornless child-wife, but Kitty. Just Kitty. Plain old Kitty Howard. He saw the woman she wanted to be.

No wonder she could never have given him up. And why should she? She was Queen of England. Her husband was the King. He'd had plenty of mistresses in his time. It was what Kings did. What Royals did. Why shouldn't she have just the one? Just Thomas. Thomas, who could make her role as England's scorned, spoiled Child Queen, bearable.

With that thought in mind, she slipped back into her expected persona and threw Henry an impish smile – a child's smile – and continued to spur her horse away from him, prolonging his chase of her just that little bit longer. As a naughty child might do.

For whether we are white or copper skinned
We need to sing with all the voices of the mountains
We need to paint with all the colours of the wind

You can own the Earth and still
All you'll own is Earth until
You can paint with all the colours of the wind