A/N: Alright, as promised, here is the brand new, much longer, chapter. It is a little later in the day than I had hoped, but today was a bit hectic. Thank you to Guest, Guest, princessElizabethtudor, Guest, Guest, heffy, gabbygrl247, greeneyedwickeddragon, and tricorvus for all of the kind reviews. Enjoy.

Guest: Thank you for the compliment. And yes, I was trying to keep Henry in character, especially seeing how things played out in-series and in-history. So, this time there won't be a 'magically falling in love all over again' situation here. And yes, I took a little bit of a liberty with having Katherine still alive at this point in the story, but there is a reason for it. And Jane's position will become clear soon enough.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Tudors, Showtime does.

...

Anne screamed as another contraction spasmed through her body.

"Please, my Lady! Don't give up!" her cousin Madge Shelton was practically crying as she rubbed Anne's sweaty hand.

Nan Saville, who had been in Anne's service even before she became queen, stood on the other side of the great bed, holding her other hand.

Torrents of blood flowed steadily from Anne, blooming over the ivory sheets like crimson blossoms.

Anne couldn't understand. Birthing Elizabeth had not caused her pain nearly as much as the measure of agony that she felt now, nor had her daugher's delivery yielded so much blood. This was worrying her...was it already too late?

No! It couldn't be too late...she couldn't lose her baby, not now...not when everything seemed to be going so wrong already...

How had it all come to this? Henry had been so loving and kind to her before. Like she was the only woman in his world. Of course she had been during the years he had pursued her, but the moment she was with child-

No, she couldn't let her anger and hurt feelings toward her unfaithful husband distract her from what truly mattered: the life of their...HER child.

'Please, God!' she pleaded silently as another wave of pain washed over her. 'Please, don't take my child away from me. Be it a son or a daughter, I do not care! I just want my child to live! Take me and let him or her live! Spare them and take me!'

And in that moment, she indeed and truly meant it. Though Elizabeth would no doubt be devastated, and Anne would hate to leave her newborn son or daughter without a mother, she would go to her grave a thousand times over if it meant the babe in her womb would be able to draw their first breath, to live.

...

Charles Brandon never hated Anne Boleyn more than he did in that moment.

Princess Mary, who had been ignored for years in favor of her young half-sister Elizabeth for Anne's sake, had fallen ill and her mother, the true queen in Charles's eyes, had written a letter in her own hand begging the king's leave to journey to the residence where her daughter was and be able to tend to her and comfort her in the way only a devoted mother could. But Henry had refused, stating that illness could be used as a means of the two convening together under one roof where they could incite a rebellion against him or even flee to Spain with the aid of Katherine's nephew Emperor Charles where he could proclaim them as queen and princess from the safety of his domain. That had been bad enough, but then the king had gone so far as to suggest that the concern poor Katherine felt for her ailing child would be better serviced toward Anne, who was now struggling to bring 'their beloved prince' into the world.

Had it not been for this child in her belly, and the knowledge that he himself would be a head shorter and leave his wife and son at the king's mercy, the Duke of Suffolk would have strangled the false queen with his bare hands. What more could she take? What more could she want?

"Father, don't say that."

The voice of George Boleyn, Anne's brother and the Viscount of Rochford, pulled Charles from his rage-filled thoughts.

"George, be realistic," Thomas Boleyn, Earl of Wiltshire, spoke up and though he couldn't see the older man's face, Charles knew the man was sneering. After all, that seemed to be the power-hungry man's default expression.

"Anne can't die!" George gasped and a sob escaped him.

"Now George, it really is not uncommon for a woman to die in childbirth," the Duke of Norfolk was saying. "It is a part of life and we must live with it."

"What is imperative is that Anne delivers a healthy son for the king," Wilthshire cut in callously.

This actually sent a chill through Charles. For all of his hatred of Anne, in that moment he actually found he felt a hint of sympathy for her. Did her father only see her as a means to an end?

"Father, how can you say such a thing?" George asked in horror, unknowingly echoing Charles's thoughts. "She is your daughter..."

"She is the queen and she shall do her duty and deliver the king a son and heir!" his father roared.

Charles wondered if the remarks that had been made, somewhat in jest, by other courtiers had been correct; if Thomas Boleyn truly did have ice in his veins instead of blood.

...

King Henry sat staring absently at the chessboard in front of him. One of his courtiers had suggested a game while he awaited the news of the birth of his son. But now, the game had been abandoned.

Anne wasn't well. She had been in labor for hours now and the child still showed no signs of coming.

What if something went wrong? What if he lost Anne or the child? Or...both?

A dry sob escaped the king's throat. He had fought for years for Anne and then they had had only a daughter and lost another child before the gender could be determined and now this.

He tried to remind himself that he and Jane were doing nothing to cause alarm, merely partaking in a chaste kiss. Anne had imagined evil where there was none.

Jane was back at Wolf Hall at the moment, but Henry found himself wishing he could speak with her, hear her sweet voice assuring him that the queen would be fine, that she would send prayers for the child and his mother.

Jane was indeed a sweet and virtuous maiden and how Henry wished he could embrace her, to feel another human with him instead of being left alone, even if he was the one who had dismissed the others.

His mind then drifted back to Anne and suddenly, one of his grooms raced in the room.

"What news?" he barked at the man as he sprang to his feet.

"Your Majesty, Dr. Linacre says there are complications...the baby is likely to die unless..."

"Unless what?" Henry's face was red. "Out with it, man!"

"Unless he cuts open the belly of the queen...Your Majesty may have to choose between the life of the mother or the child..."

Henry immediately slumped back into his chair, utterly speechless.

A choice to be made...his wife or his long-awaited son?

...

"This is all the fault of that vile whore!" Mary hissed.

Mary Tudor, the true Princess of England, fought back the tears of fury stinging at her eyes as she sat opposite the Imperial Ambassador.

"Take care, my lady," Chapuys warned. "There are many unfriendly ears about and it would do no good for word to reach the king."

Mary nodded. She knew he was right, but she was still enraged that her mother had begged her father to show her this one kindness and he refused, purely to please the harlot who had no right to call herself his wife, let alone his queen. Though she knew she must heed the ambassador's words, especially given the fact that she was already treading soft ground with her father due to her continuous refusal to sign the Oath of Succession and in doing so repudiate her beloved mother.

"I hope and pray His Majesty sees the truth before it is too late," she spoke softly as she gazed into the flickering flames in the fireplace.

"As do I, Your Highness," Chapuys murmured in a voice just as soft. "Your mother has not lost faith that the truth shall prevail and you will be restored. Soon, God willing."

"God willing," Mary echoed as Chapuys stood, kissed her hand, then bowed before taking his leave.

She was sure her father would remember the love he once bore her mother and surely still bore her, the daughter whom he had once called the pearl of his world, and when he did all would be well.

...

Jane sighed as she sat with her sisters, Elizabeth and Dorothy, an embroidery hoop in her hand.

She had had no desire to stay at court after the fiasco with Queen Anne, but she did find herself missing the court and most especially King Henry. Though he still made her a bit timid, it would be a lie to say she was not attracted to the king. But she could not allow herself to yield to him. Her brother Edward had told her to remain demure and inaccessible lest the king believe her to be an easy conquest.

"Has His Majesty written you as of late?" Elizabeth inquired as she looked up from her own needlework.

Jane shook her head.

"His Majesty and I are only friends," she answered with a small smile. "And at the present time, he is concerned with the impending birth of his child,"

"Another Boleyn bastard," Dorothy frowned.

Jane said nothing. It wasn't as if what Dorothy hadn't said was true. Anne had married the king during Queen Katherine's lifetime, despite the marriage being declared invalid and so her daughter Elizabeth and this new child would both be illegitimate, but Lady Anne didn't see it that way. And in her crusade for her children to be acknowledged as the true heirs of their royal father, poor Princess Mary had been forgotten.

More than once, Jane herself had tried to speak with King Henry on the young girl's behalf. She would have gladly spoken on behalf of Queen Katherine as well, but that would have not been well-received, given the king's insistence on treating Anne like a queen while leaving the wife he had been married to for over twnety years and their beloved daughter by the wayside. At least where his once cherished daughter was concerned, Henry seemed to be pleased that Jane cared so much for his daughter even if he insisted her poor treatment was her own fault. Edward had told her this could be disastrous if she said more than necessary.

"By all means speak in her defense," he had said once. "But take care how you do so. And do not presume to suggest that the king is wrong in this matter. It will do nothing to endear you to him nor will it be of any help to the princess."

With a soft sigh, the golden-haired Seymour maiden pushed these thoughts from her mind and focused on her needlework.

...

Charles hadn't left Henry's side.

After the groom's grim message, the Duke of Suffolk had hurried back to the king, though nothing he could say could comfort the man.

Henry stared ahead gloomily, all traces of mirth and even life itself it seemed had vanished from his usually merry blue eyes. Charles had only seen his old friend look the is aggrieved one other time, when his son Henry, the New Year Prince, had passed after a mere four weeks of life. Infant deaths were not uncommon, but the death of a prince was always extra tragic, especially later on when one considered he had been succeeded by a number of brothers and sisters until Mary.

"I think to lose them both, Charles," he finally spoke, his voice sounding like it belonged to a much older man. "How could such a thing happen?"

"Don't lose heart yet, Henry," Charles forced himself to smile slightly as he placed a comforting hand on Henry's slumped shoulder. "There is still hope."

At that moment, another groom hurried into the chamber and after bowing as protocol required, he gave his news.

For a horrific minute or two, Henry was sure the groom would tell him that Anne or the child or both had died, despite everything.

"Your Majesty," the man spoke softly, his entire frame shaking though he was trying his best to control it. "Her Majesty..."

...

...

CLIFFHANGER! Because I'm evil like that, lol.

There you have it, ladies and gentlemen, I do so hope you all enjoyed it. Feel free to leave a review and let me know. The next chapter will be out on Monday, November 5th. Until next time, everyone.