Author: Kotacoette PM
As he waits for his child to be born, Henry has an encounter with someone from his past and what he thought was a delusion from too much wine becomes a semi frequent occurrence.Rated: Fiction T - English - Hurt/Comfort/Supernatural - Anne Boleyn & King Henry VIII - Chapters: 6 - Words: 6,733 - Reviews: 18 - Favs: 26 - Follows: 34 - Updated: 01-19-13 - Published: 11-26-12 - id: 8741702
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Hampton Court Palace
12 October 1537
A blood curtailing scream rang throughout the Queen's chambers and echoed into the corridors beyond; awaking the king whom lingered there. The king looked at the ornate doors that would lead him into the Queen's outer rooms if he decided to open them and sighed. His heart ached with worry and his mind was clouded in doubt and eagerness but he could do nothing but pray for his goodly Jane. He knew he had to leave things to the midwives but he wanted to be near to her, he wanted to comfort his laboring wife. Despite the advice of his staff, the royal physicians and regardless of tradition, he waited outside her door in anticipation of a healthy son.
It was nearing the third dawn since Jane started to feel the pains of birth and since he was notified of the impending birth he cared only for his boy and his Queen. He would hear nothing of the affairs of his state until his son was safe in the nursery. He watched as Jane's ladies went to and from her room with water and cloth whispering their worries as they went. Never before did he need to wait so long for a child to be presented to him and he doubted if he was going to receive his coveted boy by daybreak. He could not think that his lovely, pure Jane would fail him and he could not fathom her giving him another daughter. Another heart breaking wail came from the Queen's chambers which made his knees weak.
Soon he found himself sitting upon the floor leaning his head back against the cool wall, drifting in and out of sleep. He thought of Jane and the son they would soon have. He imagined a handsome babe who would grow into a tall, strong boy with Jane's eyes and his hair. The boy would love sports, dance and song. He would excel in his studies, woo the ladies of court and charm foreign dignitaries. He'd be loved by the people and would go on to sire many fine sons to carry on his name, Henry's name.
There was a commotion from within the Queen's chambers followed by moans of anguish that stirred Henry from his dreams. It had been the first sound that emanated from the room in hours. With his eyes sight blurred by sleep, Henry sought hoping to get word of his son.
"She is not long for this world," whispered an eerily familiar voice in his ear, a voice that shook him to his very core. He rubbed his eyes and looked up. His heart stopped for a minute as he realized who was talking to him. Henry wanted to shout, to yell at the top of his lungs. He didn't know if he should be frightened or if he was very drunk but he was looking up and into the dark eyes that had enchanted and bewitched him years before, the eyes of Anne Boleyn.
"She is weak," Anne murmured, "but that is what you desired, is it not? A weak, dreary, forgiving wife who would turn the other way when she found you wenching?" she added coldly.
Henry stood up in a rage pushing Anne away from him, "How dare you speak of the Queen like that? I'll have your head!"
"I'm afraid you already have it," Anna spat coldly, leaning against the wall opposite of Henry.
Henry looked at the woman before him in awe of her hateful tone; her dark, silken hair cascaded down her back contrasting with her pale skin. She was dressed unusually plain in a dark gown of damask. Anne liked intricate jewels but the only jewelry she wore was a pearled B that hung from her neck. She was as enticing and striking to him as she was the first time he first laid eyes on her and the returning feelings for his second wife startled him.
"Anne. . ." he whispered.
"Was the quest for a son worth all this devastation?" she asked with a somber look upon her face.
Henry glared at Anne now, anger taking over his features. "If you had given me a son like you promised, none of this would have happened. You betrayed me! Where you failed, Jane will succeed! I will get my boy and he will create empires!" Henry yelled pointing angrily at Anne.
"No," Anne said looking rather subdued. Henry noticed her eyes lacked the spark she usually got when they bantered.
"No?" he questioned.
"No son of yours will sit on that throne for long."
"You think you can lie to me? You always were good at twisting words though, weren't you? Lying, sly witch, you are. But you cannot fool me this time. My heir is being born right now!"
"In time we would have had sons," Anne commented not noticing how Henry's face softened slightly, "But it matters not, our Gloriana will rule this country and she will be cherished by its people."
"You will not have to wait for you boy for much longer," Anne uttered, hatred dripping for her words.
"Anne," Henry said stepping toward her, "What are you doing here?"
"I've come to collect," Anne answered, her dark eyes gleaming.
"Collect?" Henry asked hesitantly.
"She is not long for this world," Anne whispered as if she was commenting on the weather. Like her words didn't for tell something so horrible as the death of his beloved wife. Henry couldn't imagine his life with Jane, without the mother of his son! Without Jane, he was fairly certain his entire would shatter.
"No! Anne don't!" Henry cried, "Please don't!" He went to grab her arms and draw her into him but his hands when through her body. "Oh Lord, Anne. . ."
Anne gave her Henry a sad smirk as she reached for the Queen's door. She slowly faded into the dark wood without another word or glance, leaving Henry shaken and alone with his thoughts.
While looking for dialogue for my acting class, I came across the memory scene from Season Four with Anne and Henry.
This is what popped into my mind after being reacquainted with the series.
My grammar skills are lacking and I'd appreciate any help/corrections people are willing give me.
Feel free to comment on other aspects of my writing too, not just my poop grammar.