Henry VIII in the afterlife
So here it is. Henry VIII in the afterlife.
I cannot stand the man, and it comes through - which is one reason I really usually don`t like writing him. But I figure since this is written from Anne Neville`s point of view, the dislike is justified.
Anne sometimes calls Henry VIII Henry the younger, so as to distinguish him from his father.
I included a couple of people who would usually not be there, but since there are enough fics about Henry facing his wives in the afterlife, a few others whom he insulted seemed interesting.
Isabella of Aragon, for example, was not happy with things after Arthur`s death, and I imagine she would have spit fire had she learned about Henry VIII`s treatment of her daughter. I also think that Catherine would have learned to depise him after she was dead.
Anne had been in the afterlife for enough time to realise that if things were so quiet as they were now, it meant nothing but trouble. It had to be brewing somewhere already. She looked around, but could find no obvious source. Her son was playing with little George, Richard was talking to John, her niece Elizabeth was laughing about something with her husband and father, Francis was lying on the ground and seemed to be sleeping, even George the everlasting troublemaker seemed to be listening meekly to something his wife, her sister Isabel, was telling him. It should be a happily domestic scene, but it wasn`t, not really. There was nothing wrong with what was happening, but there was a sense of impending doom. Anne could not lay her finger on it, but she had not grown up as the daughter of the most powerful man in the realm of England in vain, nor had she been inept at being duchess and queen. She knew when something was about to happen, and something was. She just did not know what.
She did not have to wait for long, though. She had barely finished her thought when the habitual small noise indicating a new arrival sounded. This was nothing out of the ordinary, but Anne found her eyes drawn to the spot where new arrivals usually appeared. Some of those around her also turned, though not everyone. George and Isabel gave the noise no heed, but Richard looked faintly curious, Edward and Elizabeth turned towards it as well, and Francis sat up, yawning, clearly having been awoken by the noise.
As she was turning around, Anne noticed that they were not the only ones to be drawn towards the noise. She spotted several people whom she knew only by sight, whom she had only got to know in the afterlife. Thomas Cromwell was one of them.
Then she saw John Howard`s great-granddaughter, fiery Anne Boleyn, who had forever endeared herself to Richard by going up to Henry and Elizabeth immediately after she had been executed and telling them just exactly what she thought of the way they had raised their son. She had not allowed either of them to say a word of justification or apology, and by the time she had cut across Henry to say she had spent enough time “listening meekly to men named Henry Tudor“ and did not intend to go on doing it, Richard had been in stitches.
She was wearing a similar look to the one she had had then as she walked now, and Anne did not need to see who else was assembling to understand who had just died and arrived here. Henry Tudor the younger. This could be interesting. Intrigued, Anne went closer as well. She had to see this. Several others seemed to have the same idea, and a crowd was beginning to form around the spot where new arrivals usually stood.
Anne`s first thought when seeing the man now standing there was that he looked exactly liked Edward – who was himself standing in the crowd – but this impression lasted only a moment. Then she saw his eyes – eyes that dominated his whole face despite the fact that they were small, for their expression was truly alarming. Anne had never seen its like before. Whereas Edward was a truly handsome man, any beauty his grandson had inherited was marred by his expression.
Currently, he was staring somewhat stupidly at Anne Boleyn, who was standing in front of him, arms crossed. His eyes shifted past her, only to fall on Catherine Howard, standing next to her cousin in a similar stance, then on Catherine of Aragon, who was staring at him in contempt. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and Anne had to suppress a giggle. It seemed like Henry was learning what it was like to be afraid.
For a while, there was silence, then Anne Boleyn spoke up, in a clear voice. “Look who it is. Henry, by the Grace of God …“ She did not go on, letting her voice trail off at those words, tinged with contempt. Henry the younger opened his mouth again, jaw working, then he said: “What … what … Anne?“
Anne Boleyn turned around to the crowd watching them. “The most brilliant prince in Christendom, my friends“, she announced. “Behold his stunning majesty.“ Again, the last word was full of scorn. However, this seemed to startle the man back into a semblance of understanding, for when he spoke up again, his voice was firmer. “You dare addressing –“
It was the wrongest thing he could say. His second wife walked up to him and despite the fact she had to stretch a bit to reach him, slapped him across the face. “Daring? You speak of daring?“, she spat. “Then let`s do so. How come you dare even looking at me? How come you dare even looking at all of us?“ “I –“, Henry the younger began, but Anne cut across him. “Who do you think you are, daring to treat us all like this? What do you think gives you the right?“
“I am the king!“ The words seemed to burst out of Henry, but it did not escape Anne that his voice was slightly high, making him sound more like a petulant child not wanting to admit being in the wrong. “The rightful king of England –“
At that, a very familar voice began laughing next to Anne, and when she looked around, she saw Francis walk straight towards the recently dead man, fixing him with a glare he reserved especially for all Tudors. “You`re the son of an usurper, boy, that`s all you are. I wouldn`t be so proud of that.“
Anne shook her head fondly to herself. Over sixty years had done nothing to still Francis`s fury at all Tudors, and the fact that the man he was currently addressing was, for all his crimes, innocent of Richard`s death clearly meant nothing to him. “There was nothing rightful about your being king.“
Henry stared at him, clearly overwhelmed and outraged at his treatment, but before he could say anything about it, his attention was distracted by another woman, who was walking through the crowd with purpose, inspiring awe as she went. Anne found her gaze drawn to her as well as she came closer. Isabella of Castille, exuding quiet authority. Light-haired and full of of dignity, she marched straight up to Henry, wordlessly and gracefully gestured for Francis to step out of the way, which he obligingly did, and then, like Anne Boleyn had done earlier, slapped Henry right in the face. “Do you have anything to say in your defence?“, she asked coldly. “Speak now if you think that there is anything that would justify your behaviour to my daughter and my granddaughter.“
“I – I – I“, Henry stuttered, clearly not able to cope with the situation he found himself in. Isabella looked him up and down. “Not good enough“, she snarled. “You will stay away from her now. If I see you come any closer to her than you are now, I promise you you will regret it. I should have never allowed my poor daughter to marry into your family, much less you.“
“I was a great king“, Henry exclaimed after a short moment. His voice was now so high this insistence sounded absolutely absurd, but there was an intake of breath at his words nonetheless. Isabella gave him a look full of contempt, then turned away. Anne saw Edward look at his grandson in sheerest astonishment, saw Henry the father shake his head as if he could not believe his ears. But it was Richard who spoke up.
“Were you?“ His voice was mocking. “What did you do then? Insult foreign powers because you wanted a divorce? Destroy priceless artifacts with your reformation? Destroy monastries and convents, turning countless men and women into the streets? Bankrupted the country?“ He gave a laugh, and Anne thought he actually seemed quite amused. Presumably he was. He always took pleasure in mocking the Tudors, and Henry the younger gave him plenty of possibilities.
The man so addressed did not take very kindly to it, though. Looking at Richard, he seemed so decide that he was no threat for him, for he took some steps closer. “You have no idea of kingship, have you, churl? I can –“
Then he took a step too close. Had it been anyone else, Anne would have warned them, but because she did not feel the slightest sympathy for Henry, she simply stepped back and said nothing. Henry raised his hand, doubtlessly to box Richard around the ears, but he did not get around to doing so. Without any warning, without so much as flinching, Richard kicked against his shin, and while the man was still gasping for breath in shock, pulled up his knee.
Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard both gave a cheer when Henry doubled up – pain was extremely fleeting in the afterlife, but the symbolism remained the same – and Richard took him by the collar, despite the fact he was a head smaller than him. “Self-involved braggarts like you die first in battles“, he snarled. “And you will find that I did more in two years of kingship than you ever did.“ With that, he pushed Henry from him. “And now get out of my sight.“
Henry stepped away from him, giving him quite a frightened look, much to the amusement of all the onlookers. Anne wondered what Elizabeth thought of seeing her son again, but she did not have the time to go and ask. Before everyone had had the time to recover from the hilarity caused by Henry`s reaction to Richard, another person entered the crowd, a man, walking slowly and sedately towards the disgraced king.
Anne looked at the man. He was almost as tall as Henry, dark-haired, dark-bearded and quite handsome, in a strict and old-fashioned kind of way. He seemed slightly familar, but Anne could not place him. Turning around to Richard, who was looking rather pleased with himself and seemed to have hardly noticed the new arrival, she asked: “Do you know who that is?“
Richard threw the man a look, then burst out laughing. “Brilliant!“, he gasped. “Brilliant! – That, my dearest love, is none other than Thomas Becket himself, who does not seem to have taken kindly to his grave being disturbed. Oh, this is going to be good.“
Anne took a sharp breath. Thomas Becket was a man of legend, and he was certainly not afraid of any king. She turned her attention back to him, waited for him to explode, to put Henry in his place, but the man did nothing of the sort. He simply fixed Henry with a stare so cold it made even the self-possessed king appear smaller and smaller.
Francis giggled next to her. “I haven`t had so much fun for a long time“, he confided cheerily. “Thomas Becket`s judgemental stare could make armies quail. What a joy it is to see a Tudor subjected to it. Do you think he will say something, or will he simply look until the bastard crumbles under his stare?“ “He`ll speak“, Anne said. “But only after he has worn him down by staring.“
This turned out to be right. After several moments during which the archbishop stared at the king under the amused eyes of everyone else, he said, in a dangerously quiet voice: “Did you have fun defiling graves? I shall hope so, for it has to be worth the price you pay for it.“
“What – price – you – traitor –“ The appearance of Becket seemed to have rendered Henry incoherent once more, and he had gone quite pale. “You – traitor – to –“
The roar made Anne flinch, and the whole crowd spun around to find a red-headed man marching directly at Henry. “Do you know who I am, boy?“, he asked. Henry shook his head mutely. “Well, I`ll tell you. I am King Henry of England, second of that name since the conquest. And do you know what else I am? A CAPABLE ADULT! I don`t need a brat like you telling me I was not able to recognise a traitor. When I say Thomas was not a traitor when he died, it means he was not a traitor when he died. Nothing you say and do will change this. Are we understood, boy?“
Again, Henry nodded rather meekly, and the older Henry gave him a grim grin. “There are a few other issues I`d like to address with you“, he said. “We`ll be speaking for a while, you and I. And Thomas`ll be present, just so you know.“
Francis was howling with laughter when Henry made a small noise that could both signify fright as well as agreement, and he was not the only one. Anne spotted George, doubled over with laughter, Edward suppressing a grin, and even Margaret Beauford looking on with approval. She had been speaking a lot about how she wished someone would put the fear of God into her grandson.
They all watched a while as Henry the second berated Henry the eighth, then Anne Boleyn turned around. “Well, my friends, it seems like the party is over“, she announced. “We are leaving him in capable hands.“