Hello, my lovely Lords and Ladies.

This is a fic I've wanted to do for some time but was unsure of how people might like it, but with some reassurance and a sound metaphorical kick in the rear, I've decided to let YOU decide if it's worth pursuing.

I'm not sure how many read The Tudors fanfics but for those of you who do, let me know how you like it.

Your humble, loving servant,

BlackRose999

The Legacy of Queen Anne

Chapter One: A Royal Heir is Born

Queen Anne Boleyn watched them waltz through the palace gardens, little Elizabeth running ahead of her nursemaid and into Henry's waiting arms. She sat on her window seat; having forced the ladies to open the window so she could smell the breeze and hear her little girl, the weight of her third pregnancy causing her to lean back slightly.

'The one before was a bad start… But, this one is sure to be a boy.' She thought with a half-worried smile.

Her hand idly rubbed the swell of her belly, she was due any time now. She felt a smile tug at her lips as she watched the love of her life spin their daughter as she squealed in mock fear of being so high up above him.

A spike of pain shot through her, and she winced a little. 'A birthing pain? Elizabeth's pains were extraordinary, but this… this was just a soft stab.' Anne thought as she leaned further forward, then doubled over as a harder, sharper, pain ripped through her. 'He comes!' Gasping, she was vaguely aware of Henry calling her name from below her as she cried out again.

Her ladies fretted next to her as she cried out again when yet another contraction hit her and wetness rushed down her legs. "It's time." She gasped when the pain subsided for a moment. Moaning in agony, Anne allowed them to ease her gown off her and ease her into the bed so she could properly birth her child.

She could hear shouting and before long Henry burst through the doors, having sent off Elizabeth to her nurse, and ran through the corridors. He'd screamed at everyone to get out of the way, intent on helping Anne birth what he somehow knew was their son.

"Majesty, please! You mustn't be in here!"

One of her ladies cried out but was promptly silenced when Henry shot her a dark and dangerous look. "And exactly which one of you plans on escorting the king out!?" He flew to her side as she cried out again, and petted her hair as she leaned her head into the curve of his wrist.

Tears poured down her face as she screamed again and again, for hours he sat beside her as they awaited the birth of their child.

Finally, Anne doubled down and began to push, squeezing his hand tightly as she felt the baby slide out of her and into the waiting arms of the midwife. "Well? Is it a boy?" Henry barked as he cradled Anne's head in his shoulder, her eyes were far away, but he knew she was intently listening.

"A fine prince, my king, a strong, healthy boy."

Anne sobbed, relief soaring through her when Henry whooped and held her tight, whispering "You've done it… You've done it, my love, you have given me the greatest of gifts… You've given me a son."

With that, she sank into the waiting arms of blissful sleep.

Henry watched her pass out and was quickly reassured by the midwife that this was normal, and expected, after a long birthing. He was handed the babe, a plump little thing, and smiled. "I have a son…"

He'd been afraid for so long, worried that his father's line would end with him, he'd even put Cathrine aside when he realized she couldn't bear sons for him. But now, with God's will, he was certain Anne would.

And he intended to have many sons.

"Your majesty… He needs a name." Looking up he saw his father-in-law, Lord Boleyn, smiling softly at the babe. Henry laughed and kissed the top of his son's head, relishing the smell of roses and lavender he gave off, and quietly said "He shall be named Henry, Henry IX, and shall be the Crown Prince of Wales."

He looked down at Anne's exhausted slumber and kissed the top of her head. "When she wakes, tell me. She'll be desperate to see him." With that, he gathered his son and took him to the Royal Nursery himself, not trusting anyone to touch his son just yet.

The Nursery was well aware of the birth of a prince and was a flurry of preparations. A child's chamber was made up and aired out, new linens brought up and everything cleaned as they awaited the crown prince's arrival.

The Royal Nursemaid, Lady Bryan, eyed Lady Mary's reaction to the news of the birth of Prince Henry, and she was annoyed to see her cross herself as if to ward off the plague when the boy was swept into the room in the arms of her father.

When Mary so much as glimpsed the king, she bowed and looked at him with such hope that it made Lady Bryan scoff inside.

He had no eyes for her anymore. He was smitten with his son. Lady Bryan watched Mary eye her father intently, she still believed she was his pearl, his darling daughter. She was in for quite the rude awakening. Henry laid his infant son in his cradle, watching his eyes dart around the room curiously. His eyes were taken from his mother, dark orbs that neared almost black and his father's red-brown curls.

"Lady Bryan." He snapped, drawing her attention immediately and prompting her to rush over and quickly curtsy. "Majesty?"

"Send me Lady Mary. Let her meet her brother."

Mary hurried over, having been eavesdropping. "Father." She said breathlessly, not even bothering to use the honorific he was expecting her to use. "Am I not your king?" He snapped. Mary recoiled, how could he treat her this way?

"Majesty… How may I be of service?" She asked tentatively, not at all liking the way this was going. "I've been told you will not sign the Oath. Why?" She looked at him in shock, unable to breathe for a moment.

He would demand even her, her, to sign the Witch's Oath? She glanced at the smug look on Lady Bryan's face and felt her own heat with anger.

"Because she's not the queen!" She snapped unthinkingly. "My mother, your lawful wife, is the True Queen of England!" Ignoring the temper rising in his face, she pressed further and snarled angrily "I'll not sign that Whore's damned Oath!"

Henry shot toward her and did something no one had expected, he slapped her as hard as he could. Her head snapped to the side while her hand slowly rose to touch her red and stinging cheek. He'd struck her… Her father had struck his pearl. Shaking, she turned back to him and felt tears drip down her face.

"Now listen here," He seethed. "Anne is the Queen of fucking England! Your mother should never have been queen, our marriage was cursed by God because I took my brother's wife! You are a bastard and until you sign that Oath you will no longer be treated as my fucking child!"

Mary staggered back, horror and pain filling her face and heart. The witch's spell had him completely. He paced the room, then looked at her angrily. "I'm sending you to your mother. She's ill anyway. Be with her, away from our damned court, and stay there. Her household will become yours. And you will stay there."

Mary shook with abject horror, she was being declared illegitimate, a king's bastard daughter, for his whore? As he quit the room she turned and screamed at his back "I CURSE YOU! I CURSE YOUR WHORE AND YOUR WHORE'S CHILDREN!"

Her father stopped in his tracks, slowly turning to look at her. There was a rage there she'd never been allowed to see, but as she stood quivering with her own rage, she glared defiantly at him. "Guards, escort Lady Mary to the Tower of London. See she stays in rooms proper for her station until she can be removed to the More."

He once again strode out, leaving a dumbstruck Mary to be manhandled and paraded out before the court. They sniggered and laughed, feigned gasps of horror at her treatment, and smirked behind her back once she'd passed by. She paid them no mind, having spent years amongst them she was numb and careless of their opinions of her, but this fresh pain of losing every dream she'd hoped and prayed for was smashed to pieces.

And all she could do about it was weep.