Disclaimer: I own nothing...Not the characters, not the show, and certainly not the production company…can anyone own history?
Detailed Summary: Starting from the scene where Anne watched her brother's execution, Anne finds herself pregnant with the King's child. They thought she was saved, but the King still enraged and determined to marry Jane Seymour, chose to believe the child was the offspring of one of the executed man. Anne's execution was determined to proceed after the birth of her child. A plot from an unexpected family member, rescued her from the tower and in the most bizarre chain of events she ended up as the Queen of France. All the while her rival Jane Seymour rises to the position of Queen of England. Her heart cold from betrayal and filled with hopes for revenge, what would the future hold? Can new warmth melt her iced heart or will past spark ignite once more? This time when two men battle for her heart, the consequence is war. (Queen of France and son after the tower ideas are hardly new to fanfic, but I would like take a new spin on it.)
Pairings: Anne/Francis I and Anne/Henry VIII (haven't decided on which one yet, we'll see where the story goes)
Nemesis…the Greek goddess of revenge…
Prologue: The Beginning
The crowd outside was chaotic, voices from every side, but she had only one thing on her mind. She had to see it. She dragged a large wooden trunk to the window and climbed on top of it, watching it from the window of her cell in the tower. Her vision was not perfect, slightly hindered by the X shaped bars on the window, but she could see…see every detail of the event…the execution…
They brought out her brother first. Poor George caught up in the hatred of the King, because she had failed. She had promised the King a son, but she hadn't given one to him. Time was not on her side anymore. It was her fault that her brother had to pay the price. He was innocent but that did not matter if the King is angry. He shook slightly as he faced the crowd, scared of his coming fate no doubt. The crowd jeered at him, pointing their thumbs down and screaming "traitor" to his face. He didn't deserve that. He betrayed no one. Tears had already started to gather is her eyes, but she forced herself to continue and watch. This was her brother's last moments.
George Boleyn made a speech to the crowd, but they did not listen. She wished she could have heard what he said, her brother's last words, but the crowd was too loud. Before she knew it, the executioner had already placed him on the chopping block and pulled back his white shirt. Her heart speed up, there, another sharp pain in her heart, her throat turned dry, but she had to watch. She had to, he was her brother.
The executioner aimed the axe before George's neck several times, practiced his strokes. She could not hear the crowd any longer. She could hear anything; only see the axe swinging in the air, the axe that will rob her brother of his life. Then he was gone with one solid swing. George was gone. Her brother, the one comforted her she had been at wits ends, the one who had teased her relentlessly growing up, the one who grew up playing with her. Simply gone…she would never hear his laughs again. Just gone…two pieces…the executioner used his legs to push his body, his headless body, aside. The body fell; she imagined it made a thumping noise…
She lost her resolve to watch all four executions then and there. She screamed, clutching her chest, unable to stand any longer. She cried. She cried, and she cried, letting the past months' feelings out. Her heart felt like it was trampled by a million horses, pain beyond anything she had ever felt. She couldn't breathe anymore. As she gasped for breaths, her cries continued. She didn't care who heard her. The executions continued outside…
Crammer was fidgeting as he strode about the room. She knew something was wrong, but what more could the King do to her now? He had ordered her execution. He had murdered four innocent men. She had seen her own brother's death. It was her fault they all had to die wasn't it? If only she had given birth to a son. The Seymours must be laughing at her by Wolf Hall.
"My Lady I am obliged to tell you, that your marriage to the King has been declared null and void." He couldn't face her when he told her.
She heard herself ask immediately, "On what grounds?"
Crammer still could not face her, "On the grounds of your close and forbidden affinity to another woman, known carnally by the King."
She didn't know whether to laugh or cry; she felt another stab of pain on her heart. Henry had been crueler than she had thought possible. "My sister." Her lips twitched ever so slightly, every beat of her heart…she felt that sharp pain…again and again, "Then my daughter is…"
"Yes, Elizabeth is to be declared a bastard."
She closed her eyes, feeling it difficult to breathe again. She couldn't face this anymore. Why? Why did he have to be so cruel? She had loved him. She had loved him with her whole being, yet he had thrown their love away for some whore. He is too cruel to not even let her die with hopes that Elizabeth would be safe. He wanted that whore's children to have a clear path to the throne, she knew that. The Seymours would never stand to have the whore's daughters placed behind Elizabeth. She forced herself to stand up still, she would show no weakness to master Kingston, whom is to report her every action to the King.
"Madame, I swear to you, I will do everything in my power to support and protect her." Crammer approached her and finally brought the courage to face her. She opened her eyes to look at him. "And to keep her always in the King's good and kind graces."
"Thank you," she didn't need to say that to him, her eyes had already told it all. "And now since my time approaches, I beg your grace to hear my confession." As Cranmer led her to the center of the room, Kingston made his attempt to leave, but she stopped him, "Also, I should like the constable present when I receive the good lord." She wanted him to report her confession to the King.
Kingston bowed and obliged her, "Madame."
As Cranmer took a seat, she knelt before him, "My child, do you have a confession?"
She had her head bowed, "Yes," she lifted her head and looked Cranmer straight in the eyes, "I confess my innocence before god. I solemnly swear on the damnation of my soul that I have never been unfaithful to my lord and husband, nor have ever offended with my body against him. I do not say that I have always bore the humility towards him of which I owed him, considering the kindness and great honor he showed me and the great respect he always paid me. I admit too that I have often taken it into my head to be jealous of him." She paused for the slightest of moments, recalling her fits of jealousy. She had only been jealous because she had loved him so greatly, if she had not fallen in love with him, then she would have turned a blind eye. "But god knows and as my witness, I have not sinned against him in any other way." How could he think that of her? "Think not I say this in the hopes of prolonging my life. God has taught me how to die and he will strengthen my faith." Her voice cracked slightly here. "As for my brother…" she had to take another moment. Her poor brother that the King had murdered. "and those others who were unjustly condemned. I would have willingly suffered many deaths to deliver them. But since I see it pleases the King, I will willingly accompany them in death. With this assurance…" tears had formed in her eyes again, "that I shall lead an endless life with them…in peace." She bowed her head again, having finished her confession. Her ladies cried.
Cranmer took a deep breath before drawing a cross on her forehead, "Master Kingston, please go and make sure to report my lady's last confession so the world will know it."
The man stood up and bowed, "I will."
She closed her eyes as her heart felt like it was being torn to pieces. The pain didn't stop at her chest though but traveled down until a sharp pain made her clutch her stomach in fear as she felt warm liquid running down her legs. The room shifted and became distorted as her head started to feel ever so light. The last thing she remembered was Master Cranmer immediately at her side, yelling "Quick fetch a physician."
May 17th, 1536, Palace of Whitehall
Henry Tudor, the King of England, stared at Cromwell unblinkingly. He just could not comprehend it.
Master Cromwell sighed, they were not in favor with God on this matter, "Anne, the Marquess of Pembroke, is with child. The Marquess almost had a miscarriage the day prior but the tower physician was able to manage a save."
The King blinked again, "she is carrying their bastard?" he hissed, feeling anger beginning to boil in his veins again. The thought of that the child may have been a product of incest disgusted him beyond belief.
"Your Majesty, regardless of the father of the child, under English law, we cannot execute a pregnant woman." Cromwell knew better than to point out to the King that the child may be fathered by the King. Of course he of all people knew that most likely the King was the father. But he was merely a servant of the King and the King wished to be rid of Anne so he could be free to marry the mistress Jane Seymour. The King was determined to marry Mistress Seymour and wanted her path to the throne to be cleared of all obstacles which of course included Anne. As long as Anne was alive, Jane's position of Queen would be tainted. The King did not wish to have two women claiming the title of Queen again. And of course what the King wanted, Cromwell was only happy to oblige the King. Anne was no friend of his.
There was a long pause of silence. Henry didn't want to marry Jane until Anne was dead, but if they were to wait for the birth of the child then he would have to wait a couple of months, unless she miscarried. He didn't think he could wait that long. But he had no choice now did he?
May 18th, 1536, Tower of London
"Your execution has been delayed until after the birth of your child, Madame," Kingston told Anne.
She felt numb. Had she heard correctly? He said delayed and not retracted. Henry was still planning on having her head chopped off despite the fact that she was now carrying their child. His cruelty and determination knew no bounds.
June 1st, 1536, Hever Castle
"You have already watched George, your only son, be murdered by the King's lust, you cannot just watch her be killed. Are you not our father? What good will ever come to you when you are at the ends of your life with all your children gone," his daughter's words struck a chord in his cold heart.
But there was nothing he could do, was there? But the pregnancy had brought them time.
December 15th, 1536, Tower of London
She had spent seven months in hell, seven months in the tower of London. Given the conditions of the tower, it had been a miracle that she was able to carry the child to term, let alone have a healthy delivery. The midwives had told her it was a healthy boy, but they had rushed the babe away before she saw him, denying her wish to hold him, even if it was just for a little while.
Despite her happiness of her new child, she could feel the chilliness of approaching death. Seven months had been a long time for someone to calm down from rash decisions governed by anger, but he still maintained that her execution was to take place. Master Cranmer had confided in her, that a few times the King had thought to spare her but Cromwell had reminded him of the political instability that it would bring, so the King spared her no more thought. She wanted to be a part of her son's life, to be a part of Elizabeth's life, but she would not be given the chance. She had never hated Him more than she does now.
Her father, despite, her mistrust in his motives, had asked the King to care for the child despite the fact that Henry had clearly stated that this child was not in favor with him, an unrecognized bastard. She hoped dearly that he would not use her little boy as a tool like he did with her, George and Mary. She remembered the good times of when she was but a little girl. Her father had been doting and loving then. Perhaps he could be a kind and good grandfather to a little boy who would no doubt have a harsh life as a "bastard", harsher than that of Elizabeth's for he had no father.
BANG, there was a lot of yelling suddenly as she turned her head to the door…
December 16th, 1536, Palace of Whitehall
"She is dead?" asked the King of England. He had a hard time believing Secretary Cromwell's tale.
Cromwell, himself, doubted the validity of the story as well, but it suited him just as well in this situation, "Yes Your Majesty, the tower was attacked yesterday, and an explosion incinerated the room with the Marquess in it. It is suspected that the group of men involved was trying to kill the Marquess for they feared that with the birth of her son, Your Majesty would pardon her."
Henry felt rather numb at the news. How was he supposed to feel about this? He had calmed from his rage at Anne. He had loved her and once gave her everything, but she betrayed him. She lied to him about her virginity and she failed in her promise in giving him a son. Then she had laid with those men, committing treason. He hated her, hated her with every fiber of his being, but if he was more honest with himself, he would have to admit that he hated her because he loved her. Only she would be able to incite such an emotion out of him. She's gone now…was he supposed to be happy that he could finally marry his sweet Jane? But why was he feeling a rather large emptiness in his heart instead?
May 19th, 1537, Picardy, France
France was at war. This was of course not news as it has been ongoing for a couple of months, but what was disturbing was that Charles V, the Holy Roman Emperor had just sacked Paris a few days earlier. The fate of the French royal family was still largely unknown. The news had spread like wildfire through France, and Picardy being a provenance close to Paris was in disarray for the people were in a state of panic.
Yet she could not make herself care. In fact she cared for very little these days. She still remembered that fateful day five months prior like it happened yesterday. The commotion outside her room had been cause by a group of hired mercenaries that had rescued her. She had only found out they were hired by her father after they had placed her on a boat sailing for Frances. She had fought them in the beginning, not wishing to leave her daughter and her son, but she had no choice, her fate had been sealed in England.
She did not see her father for he was busy securing an alibi for himself. The only explanation she received had been a letter addressed to her. Thomas Boleyn had explained that her death would be faked. In the eyes of England she would be gone. He had a friend in France, a man by the name of Adrien de Pisseleu, who was a noble in Picardy, France. Thomas Boleyn, in his days as the English Ambassador to France, had upon chance saved the man's life, and in return, Adrien had agreed to house Anne as his daughter. Adrien had only one daughter by the name of Anne de Pisseleu who had died of the plague the year prior. They were born in the same year and it was planned that Anne would take her place. Care had been taken into ensuring that Anne's secret would not be told. Servants who had seen the old Anne were dismissed with a hefty sum and replaced with new ones. The only old servant left were those completely loyal to Adrien de Pisseleu, and would not dare reveal their master's secrets. So in a bizarre and hardly believable turn of events, Anne Boleyn became Anne de Pisseleu d'Heilly.
Picardy, was not like, Paris or London, both of majestic excellence. Life here was quieter, and after everything she had been through, it seemed like a good place to rest and to hide from her past.
She enjoyed taking strolls through the woods, a place that allowed her to think, a place that allowed her temporary relief from the painful memories. Despite her "father's" warnings about wandering out alone in times of war, she still found herself unconsciously walking here. In the center of the woods was a small clearing of green grass and a small clear pond, this was her place of Solace.
Today was no different than any other day. No different from yesterday or the day before, at least that was what she had thought. Her peaceful walk stopped in a halt as it was intruded by a man, dirty and unshaven stumbling into her view, and rabbing her arms tightly before she could run away.
Anne's screams pierced the silent woods, until he finally released her arm. She stumbled away quickly. From the corner of her eyes she saw his legs give out as he collapsed and the back of his head meeting the group in a thump.
When she was a safe distance away, her fears slowly subsided and her curiosity peaked. When she had been a little girl, her father had always scolded her for being too curious. She could hear him now, scolding her to mind her own business. She couldn't help it. This man was injured, she could see that now for there was dried blood on his cloths, and there was a sense of familiarity about him. Had she met him in her times at France before?
She inched closer to the still figure. He had lost consciousness. She stepped even closer, studying his face. It was covered in soot and dried blood. She moved down to examine his cloth. Although also covered with dirt and blood, she could still distinguish they were of very fine quality, this man was no peasant.
Her curiosity to the man's identity peaked, was he some noble man lost from Paris. She contemplated her choices, the man needed help, but she didn't who he was. For all she knew, he could be some dangerous criminal on the run, but could she really walk away from a dying man when her actions could save his life? It didn't take long for her to make up her mind.
She studied her body; there was no site of active bleeding, so she needed not to worry about that. He needed a physician though, but would she be able to find one with Picardy in such disarray? Perhaps she could rouse him, before she ran in search of a doctor. He would know that help was coming at the very least. Walking to the pond she placed her handkerchief into the cool water. Then she brought the wet handkerchief to the man, washing the dirt and blood from his face. She repeated her actions a few times, cleaning the handkerchief each time in the pond. Finally, she brought out a new handkerchief and brought the soaked cloth to the man's lips, letting the cool water slip into his mouth.
The man stirred, "more water." His voice was raspy and strained. Anne quickly repeated her actions, a few times, until the man finally opened his eyes. They locked with hers and his face evolved into confusion, "Anne Boleyn?" his voice weak.
Anne felt her heart skip a beat, fear and horror surrounding her. Her eyes took in the man again, this time, despite being unshaved, Anne finally recognized him. How could she not have recognized him, she had spent many years in his court. "No, Anne de Pisseleu d'Heilly," she found herself speaking in perfect French.
King Francis I of France blinked.
Scene written in italicized font is taken from the TUDORS.
I do realize that I took quite a lot of liberties with history, but I can't help it if people aren't born when I want them to, jk. The changes are as follows
Battle of Paris is my version of the battle of Pavia in which Frances I was captured the HRE and this would take place in 1537
Francis I of France was never captured by Charles the Holy Roman Emperor but instead gravely injured in 1537, so that means no Queen Eleanor.
Queen Claude of France died in 1532
Charles, the Duke of Orleans was born in 1531
Anne de Pisseleu d'Heilly is now not a blond…lol I don't know much about her other than the fact that in history she was born in 1509 (same as Anne's age in this story) and arrived at the French court in 1522. In 1524, after the battle of Pavia, she became the official mistress of Francis I and remained his favorite until his death, obviously none of those happened in this story. Anne never went to court and never met Francis until this chapter.
Chapters are usually at least twice as long. And as always, story status is in my profile.
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Thanks for Reading,