Except Charles's middle-of-life disaster did not go away. He wouldn't call it a crisis because that would denote him being unhappy with his life. He's not dissatisfied with his life. He's just unhappy with himself. There's a big difference between the two.
He remembers Henry going through something like this before. Except his best friend had been aggrieved with his life and set out to change it. Which the King did. He uprooted all the things that brought him great dissatisfaction, including his wife. Again huge difference because Charles is not unhappy with his wife. No. He loves her deeply. He's just discontented with himself.
So while his wife began lessons befitting a future Queen of England, he began to work on changing himself. The first step is to grow a beard and mustache. He didn't shave for days, and as a result, there is a hint of both on his face.
His family has provided him with mixed reactions regarding its state. The boys could care less and continue trying to coax him into taking them fishing. "We fish, Daddy," William begs. Then his brother does the same. Owen tells him, "Daddy, Will, and me go fish." The two love to fish so much that he thinks they'll build castles on a lake one day.
But it's the women in his life who find his severely stubbled face peculiar. When his baby girl saw it, she patted her hands on it. Then she took them off and pulled her body back, away from him. "Dada, no!" is what she yelled. It's obvious Gillian does not like it. Neither does Liz. She eyes him with strange looks but never says anything.
It's his wife, however, who sees through his disguise. She always has. After a beautiful round of love-making, they lay in bed snuggled close together. Her left hand lovingly stroked his face with her own angled towards him. Gazing into his blue eyes, she spoke. Her voice is full of a question. "The growth, in this state, only makes you seem depressed. People may think it of you. You're not, are you? In some form of internal anguish, I mean."
What does he say to that? There are two choices, tell the truth or not. The last time he kept something buried inside him, it clawed its way out in drinking and ignoring her. "I wouldn't say I'm anguished as much as I am displeased."
This made her sit up. She grabbed his white tunic and put it on. Then crawled over to sit on his legs. Once situated, where she can see his eyes, she inquired about his choice of words. "What are you displeased with?" It's hard to not think it's her or the children.
Knowing she thinks it's her he's dissatisfied with, he cut that off quickly. "It's not you, the children, our home, any of that. It's me. I'm unhappy with myself." His eyes didn't quite meet hers.
Taking his right hand into hers, she wants to know, "Why?" Why does he feel unhappy with himself? Her heart feels sad, thinking he's discontent. But then she thought the Pilgrimage of Grace is echoing in his mind. "My Love, you're not letting old wounds reopen, are you? I know you infrequently struggle with the Northern rebellion, but I thought it had gotten better. I thought you had gotten better at not letting it cripple you. At least that's what you told me several months ago."
He sat up and brought her with him along with the covers. It left his chest bare. "I didn't lie. What I said is true. Thanks to Doctor Pearce's friendship and help, I am much more equipped to deal with that. No. This is something else. If I tell you, you must promise to not laugh or make fun."
That annoyed her. Her shoulders tensed and a slight scowl formed on her lips. "Charles Brandon, why would I laugh or make light of something that bothers you? Why that would be a terrible thing for me to do. I love you too much to poke fun. I am not my late aunt. I won't hold it over your head either or tell it to my friends. It stays between us- husband and wife."
He consented with a nod. "Alright then. When we were at court this last time, I felt some things happening to my body. For one, my back ached when I got up one morning. It's never done that before. Another thing is I found a few grey hairs on my head. I'm almost forty. Mary, you do realize forty is a death sentence? Most men don't make it past that age. I feel old and unhappy with myself, especially since you're still young and beautiful."
Her mouth hung open, and a disgusted expression marred her face. "Are you jesting? That is why you're unhappy?"
With a huff, he told her, "It's a big deal, Mary."
She rolled her eyes at him and crossed her arms. "You are not on death's door, Charles. You are not yet forty, and you're still young. You don't look any older than the day we wed. Okay, so your back ached. Maybe you slept on it wrong. You could have pulled a muscle picking up the twins, any number of things. Even younger people than us get backaches. As for the grey hair, I don't even notice it. Also, I would think it looked becoming on you if I did."
Her words began to calm him, sort of. But she always has a soothing effect on his soul. Then she play acted. "Oh, Miranda! Did you see the handsome Prince Charles Brandon?" She pretends to be Miranda next. "Why yes, I did, Mary. He's even more attractive a man with his salt and pepper hair. Maybe if I twirl my hair like this" - she stopped and whipped her hair around in an alluring manner- "Then he will notice me and leave his gorgeous, highly intelligent, and becoming wife." She batted her eyelashes as the women do at court.
This made Charles laugh. "Alright, wife, you've proven your point. Come here." He grabbed her waist and pulled her down for a kiss full of passion. "What would I do without you?" he asked. Their eyes locked with each other.
Her fingers combed through his hair, and her eyes filled with unspoken admiration. Her soft voice let him in on her plans. "I don't know, but I'm ever so thankful we don't have to find out. Plus, I intend to keep you healthy and feeling young so that you live to a ripe old age." She pulled his head down for another kiss, and they proceeded to have round two of lovemaking.
As the weeks passed, Charles became rewarded with his hoped-for mustache and beard. Although it is not full and bushy as some men's are. It's just right for his face, and as his wife says, it makes him look roguish. She told him, "If anyone can pull off that whole unkempt yet still handsome style, it's you."
His new look has her touching him more often. She's constantly handling his face, which he doesn't complain about because the more her hands are on him, the better. So he declared, "I think I'll keep the facial hair for a while longer." She kissed his forehead as an answer.
And then, one day in March, a Royal Rider arrived. The rider disrupted the whole household as both the Prince and Princess were out on a ride themselves. As per their agreement, she would join him in the mornings, and he would eventually take her to Spain with a stop through Italy on the way home. Sir Jeffery had them fetched by one of the guards held back at the guard station.
Mary could only say, "What on earth could my father want now?" Charles remained quiet. He has no idea, but it must be important if a rider had been sent.
Upon returning to the house, they both met the Royal servant, and the pair were delivered a message. After reading it, the Prince raked a hand over his face. Then he shifted to his wife and eyed her. "Your father's ulcerous leg has put his life in danger. We need to leave for Whitehall at once."
The Princess staggered back a step. Her hand went to her forehead. "Yes." She gazed off in the distance. Her father's life is in danger. "But the children-"
"Will stay here. They will be surrounded by the guards, Lady Agnes, Lady Edith, and everyone else. Come, we must pack and not tarry." He saw she wasn't moving and took her hand. He began pulling her along as he walked.
Inside their bedroom, Mary began removing items out of the wardrobe and handing them off to servants to pack in the trunks. It took much less time since the children aren't going along. With no time to spare for her to change her gown, she threw a cape on and informed Charles she's ready. Together they said goodbye to the children and entered the carriage. Their trunks had already been brought out and loaded.
When they got on the road, Her Highness asked, "Do you think he'll be alright?"
The Prince caressed her hair and kissed her cheek. "I hope so, for both his and our sake. I don't believe we're ready to be King and Queen of England. Even saying it out loud is bone chilling."
The two passed the time either knitting (at one point, Mary threw the needles into the other seat with a huff, as the loops were all wrong), laughing (that would be Charles laughing at her knitting), reading, or talking. The closer they got to the palace, the more the reason for the journey began to linger in the air like a heavy fragrance.
They disembarked from the carriage and were whisked away to the King's quarters upon their arrival. The couple was met by Cromwell, and immediately His Highness remembered his disdain for the man. In Henry's room, the King lay unconscious on the stately Royal bed. Mary ran to her father and kissed his hand. Tears fell from her eyes.
"He can't die! He's my father. We've only just begun to act as a father and daughter ought," she informed the room. Her husband positioned himself beside her and encircled his arms about her waist.
Over the course of the week, both the Prince and Princess of Wales sat vigil with the King. Neither were away from him for too long, except when Charles ordered his wife to sleep. Finally, one day eight King Henry woke up. Though in pain, he is alive. The doctors tended to him, drew blood, and examined him head to toe.
After which, His Majesty was given explicit directions to "Stay off your feet for at least a month, possibly longer. Then it's baby steps here and there. You also need to not stress yourself out. The Prince and Princess are here. It would be to your benefit to pass off insignificant duties to them."
Without warning, Henry grew enraged and started to yell. "Hogwash! In running a country, no duty is insignificant! Of all the nerve for you to suggest such a thing." He threw a pillow at one of the doctors. The physicians gathered their things and left the room.
Mary picked up the pillow and returned it to her father's bed. She had the gumption to say, "They're right you know. You could give us some of your duties while you recuperate."
Closing his eyes, Henry spoke. "Yes, I know. But it's hard for me to release control. One day you'll both understand. I'm such an invalid, an elderly invalid." He huffed out a breath of frustration. Then he sighed. Adjusting his head to look at his family, he studied them. "If I have to do this then, Charles, you will attend council meetings on my behalf. You will report back to me all the events. No major decision is to be made without discussing it with me first. Minor decisions I will trust your judgment on like paint colors, or festivals- things of that nature. You will be my eyes, my ears, and my mouth. Understand?"
His Highness nodded his acceptance. Then the King talked to his daughter. "You will do everything else. Don't think it's all show either. You will help me draft correspondence and legislation that Charles will present in my place. Plus, you will oversee the commission of the new naval ship and supervise the construction of Nonsuch Palace in Surrey." He turned away from them and became quiet.
The Prince and Princess held hands, wondering what he's thinking about. Looking at the wall, His Majesty asked, "Are the grandchildren here?" Charles told him no. To which Henry responded, "It's good they're not. They needn't see me like this, but I do so wish I could see them- all three of them, even Elizabeth. I need to be more of a father to her where I wasn't with you."
It shocked Mary to hear him acknowledge such a thing out loud, so plainly. Her husband grasped her hand tighter, and she became thankful for that. The moment they left her father's chambers, Her Highness sent for the children, and they arrived the following day. They were the best medicine for the King, as he became more lively and spirited.
True to his word, he allowed the Prince and Princess to do tasks on his behalf. At first, it took Henry time to get used to sharing his duties, but then he realized there is less stress in his life. And with that, there's more time to focus on other things like his grandchildren, his two daughters, and finding love. If only he could convince Charles and Mary to move into the palace on a permanent basis. If that happened, he would continue to share duties and rule the kingdom like this.
While Henry is in the throws of living his best life, albeit, on bedrest, Mary and Charles are not. They found out quickly what governing a kingdom really entails. The Privy Council meetings became a thing of loathing, which they've always been something His Highness secretly enjoyed. With the King out of commission for a determined time, the Lords became cutthroat. They demanded answers such as "Is the King on his death bed," "When will he return to duties," "Who is running the kingdom" and "Brandon, where do you fit into all of this."
The first council meeting became dedicated to answering questions. The Lords seemed to want to know everything, including "Has the King given up on having a son." Charles responded, "If the King has a son, then his son will eventually take his place. But right now, His Majesty is at peace with leaving the kingdom to the Princess of Wales."
Those words brought out a discussion on when the King will remarry. Only to be followed by a discussion on when he and the Princess will have another child. Because "You have two sons, but you need another in case one or of them should die for true stability." In the darkest parts of Hell, there's no way he's sharing that Mary doesn't want to have another child until Gillian turns two or three. These men do not need to know the details of their coupling. That's private.
As Charles maneuvered the Privy Council, Mary helped her father draft legislation. She found the job discouraging as her father would change his mind every so often and needed her to "Go bring me the book on Alfred the Great. There's something I need to cross-reference." This became her life, fetching books for her father along with writing and rewriting laws. She became troubled with his damned cross-referencing. And the Royal Librarian became her new best friend, as he saw her more than Paisley or her children.
But the thing that bothered her most of all entailed her doing menial tasks like commissioning ships and reviewing the Royal Guard. It's all public displays of foolishness. Nevertheless, she put on a happy face and some of her finest dresses to do these things. Little did she know, the speech she gave for the Royal Ship Commissioning Ceremony had to be approved by His Majesty. He had told her so on the afternoon two days before the event.
So that evening, she stayed up late writing it and presented it to her father the next morning. He read over it and dismissed the whole thing. He told her to get a quill and paper, which she did. "Now write this down. Lords and Ladies, I come on behalf of His Majesty, King Henry..."
She wrote everything he dictated and became increasingly more annoyed with every word. To make matters even more aggrieved, on the day of the commissioning, Mary had to break a wine bottle on the bow of the vessel once the speech wrapped up. Of course, the stupid wine bottle wouldn't break. It took four tries before the accursed thing finally shattered.
This is when the hushed talk began. Those in attendance said how the ship is damned because she couldn't break the bottle on the first try. But what really rankled her nerves were the people saying, "If the King were here, he'd have gotten it right." They thought she couldn't hear them, but she did.
And, of course, both her father and husband questioned her about it. She explained to them about the bottle and the ship and the difficulty. Then they had the nerve to laugh. They laughed! Inside, her anger brewed. The only outward appearance of it would be her hands balled up at her sides, holding onto her dress. But neither noticed.
To make matters worse, both of them put out the gossip surrounding the "cursed" ship. Her father said, "That's a woman for you, with light of hand." Not to be outdone by her husband. "The ship isn't cursed. Mary is not a sportsman. She's all gentle lady, as evidenced by taking four tries to break the wine bottle." Both the King and the Prince succeeded in proving the ship isn't doomed and stopped all manner of rumor surrounding it.
However, the Princess felt humiliated by their meddling answers. She already felt embarrassed enough as it is. Keeping these things to herself, the day of the Royal Guard review arrived. Having put on a gorgeous green silk dress with lace detailing on the sleeves, Her Highness had Joan place a diamond and pearl tiara on her head. With all of the preparations completed, Mary stepped onto the front lawn to review the guard, accompanied by Paisley.
Everything went well, boring as it is until she came to the end of the line. For there, one of the attending lords stepped on the hem of her dress. Unaware, Mary moved to walk and fell down. Immediately guards swarmed, trying to help her up. "I'm fine. I've got it," she told them all with a harsh voice. Although her knee hurt. Salvaging the remains of her dignity, Her Highness stood up and thanked the guards for their service.
Once the ridiculous review finished, she high-tailed it back to the serenity of her quarters. Upon arriving, she flung open the door and stalked into the bedroom, where she took off the dumb dress and tiara. Instead, she put on a normal dress of red with embroidered flowers and lay on the bed and cried. Then she got angry.
After hearing of his wife's ordeal, Charles went to check on her. He found the Princess sitting in a chair staring out the window. "Sweetheart, I heard what happened today. Are you alright?" He came near to her.
Her blue eyes turned to him. "Aside from my knee aching, my pride humbled, and my husband and father treating me like a child, I am fine." She shifted her attention back to the window.
Sitting on the window seat by her, he asked, "How have I treated you like a child?"
Cutting her eyes at him, she began to explain. "Mocking me about the stupid wine bottle fiasco, like I'm some pitifully weak woman. I didn't need you or my father coming behind me talking about me in such a way. It only serves to make people think I'm an idiot. But it doesn't matter for you because you're conducting business while I'm doing foolish things like reviewing the guard and commissioning ships." Her head angled away from him.
Then it dawned on him. "You're jealous. I will gladly trade places with you. You can answer all the intrusive questions about our sex life and when we're going to have another child. You can answer all the meddling about the King's life also. You can try to reign in the lords and stand up to Cromwell. You can do it all, and I will commission the ships, review the guard, and draft legislation with the King." His voice sounded harder than he wanted it to.
She stood up slowly due to her knee. "Oh! You're so frustrating, Charles." She started walking around the room to her nightstand and grabbed the book on the side table.
"Well, if I'm frustrating, you're stubborn," he stated. With that, he left their room, the door slamming behind him.
This began a dispute between them. Their argument dragged out because the one is too stubborn to forgive, and the other is too stubborn to apologize. Both are hard-headed and both are tired from the extended duties of running a kingdom.