#fictional tale

[pointless-letters]

I'm sorry, Isaac who, now?

[mary-tudor]

Goodbye, my lover

#AU: What if Henry VII had died in his wife’s place? And what if Arthur had outlived the sweat disease? In this fictional historical tale, the year is 1503 and Elizabeth of York is well alive, and so is their oldest son, Arthur. She is declared Queen regent until Arthur reaches majority and the grief is seen now on the other side, had a situation like this occurred instead the one in real life as we know.

Elizabeth was teaching latin to Henry, duke of York in the day that would be the beginning of a tragic week. The residence they were this time was Richmond Palace, one that has testified many events inside that new Dynasty and was about to be the witness of one more..

It was raining as usual, but no one payed attention to the weather, after all, that was London: always with its unpredictable moods, hardly attending anyone’s prayers when middle season came. In a large room, with all the luxury someone of her position had the right to display, where it could be seen on the wall a portrait of the Queen and, before her, one of her mother, who came to past away almost eighteen years ago. There were two writing desks. One was smaller and the other one, a mobile, was precisely where the tall and beautiful Queen stood next to her second son, Henry. In that peaceful evening, Her Grace’s ladies-in-waiting were in their places sewing, exchanging few words in whispers, giving Elizabeth space and privacy somewhat towards Henry. That was such the atmosphere when the guard came in.

“Your Grace, my lady” he bowed. Elizabeth turned to the man, nodding her head, permitting the man to speak. “His Grace, the King, is sending Sir Edmund Dudley to speak to you. It is an emergency, told me the man.”

Elizabeth nodded. She turned to her son, kissed his forehead and asked him to keep with the work whilst she would attend the reason she was summoned. Obediently, Henry said nothing but agreed in silence. Once outside, she is confronted by the presence of one of her husband’s favourites, Sir Edmund Dudley. His expression, she could tell, was a messenger of bad news.

“My lady, my Queen”, he said. “I came here on the behalf of the King to let you know he’s fallen ill. Although...”

He was interrupted. The disease, Elizabeth was aware, was not new. But she thought Henry was cured! 

“Where is he now, my lord?” she demanded, trying to remain cold but her body language and gestures betraying her. 

“In his chambers, Your Grace...”

And without giving the man’s ears, Elizabeth of York urgently crossed the long hallways of that residence Henry hardly worked for it so many years before. As she ran, gripping her fingers around the cloth of her purple with silver lines’s gown so she would not fall, the portraits of the monarch’s ancestors seemed to look at her. A shiver crossed her spine, because ghosts she believed deep inside and there were days she swore she heard her little brothers’s voices.. Sometimes, she preferred countryside than court.

However, that was not the time to ponder about peace of mind nor spirits. The reason she was running desperately was her husband, Henry, the man she loved and admired as man, king and consort. Next to him, she stood for many years. They went through for so much, the countless rebellions she saw Henry dealing and the emotional weight it caused on him... But since the day Arthur fell sick, which, by the Grace of God, he survived with his wife, Henry has not been well. At first, it was thought the King had nothing but a cold. Secondly, it was considered he had a disease on his lungs... But it is the throat that hurts him most. For three days, Henry rarely spoke, finding difficult to eat. Elizabeth never left his side, always taking care of him, bringing the children so they could give their father some joy...

Finally, she reached the main doors. Courtiers stepped aside, lowering their eyes in respect to Elizabeth’s position as Queen and the beloved wife of the King. Refusing to listen to the silly rumours that this disease meant Henry’s death, so not to surrender to a temper she thought she’d not have, Elizabeth stormed inside. Gently, but firmly, she asked everyone to leave the chambers and that only the physicians stayed outside, close to the doors, as they would be summoned anytime. 

“My love” she knelt next to him. She cared little to formalities when they were left alone, but even so, in his eyes, she was always graceful. “My love, what is the matter? Tell me you will be fine...It is merely a sore throat...” 

Henry smiled a little, and reached her hand, a hand that she held tightly. “There is no need to surrender yourself to tears yet, Bess” he managed to speak, but his voice is different, it’s heart breaking. “I am sorry I failed you in this. I promised you I would get better but...” he stopped talking all of a sudden, choking with his words. Elizabeth quickly poured wine in a silver glass and gave him. She observed with horror how dried and colourless was his mouth, an amount of skin under his eyes and the swelling of his throat... The paleness of Henry’s skin was also another evidence that Death was set upon them. Perhaps he was given a few hours. Or less. 

“No” she tried to look strong for him. “No, Henry. You defeated every sort of enemy our Lord has sent to test you, to test us. We both went through so much... Katherine is...  Katherine must grow to meet her father” tears unavoidably came. 

Henry held her hand. In her eyes, love and fear were perceptible. She loved him with all her soul, she’d give her life to keep his. He could not speak, but it pained him to leave... Shadows across the chambers started to show. No, he had to be strong too. Not yet. It was not time for him to go.

“Elizabeth”, he managed to speak, lifting her chin with his weak and long fingers. “I am dying. Please... understand. Summon... Empson. I have... deliberated with him my will, he w-w-wrote it.” said Henry, with difficulty.

“I cannot leave your side, Henry” she begged. “I can speak with him later...”

“No”, he shook his head. “I will not... leave yet. Bring him to me.”

She finally rendered to his will. And so had Richard Empson summoned to the chambers where, now it was confirmed, Henry the Seventh was laid to death. Once the man is inside, Henry, with the help of his wife, indicates the reading of his will.

“...It states that until His Hightness, the Prince of Wales, becomes King Arthur the Second and reaches majority at the age of eighteen summers, it is Her Grace, Queen Elizabeth of York, the one to preside the Supreme Council, taking the reins of the government next to Lady Margaret Beaufort and the said names...” he speaks solemnly the names of the men Henry trusted. Richard Pole and others who held government in Ludlow next to Prince Arthur were appointed, she noticed. She could deal with them, she thought.

“Thank you, Sir Richard. Your words  were precise and very well understood. I only ask a few moments with the king, but, please, bring the children. Has Margaret arrived from Edinburgh?” she asked, paled with concern. 

Sir Richard nodded. “Yes, Your Grace. I will make sure to have them summoned.” And without waiting for an answer, he bowed and departed, also working to have the Bishop to follow the King’s last hours.

Once left alone with him, she stood next to him again. 

“Henry” she said, trying to regain her composure, but  the day she lost her father, she remembered how her mother lost a part of herself. Elizabeth never thought she’d lose again. So many losses she grieved in her life. Upon that thought, she cried. “Henry. So many battles you fought, my love. I’m sure you can win this one.”

“No. Bess... Bess...” he coughed and felt the throat burn. A very strange pain consummated his forces and the shadows were now part of the room, not leaving so soon. A few figures he recognized. A tall, slender, handsome man showed up with one similar to him. Who were these people? Tears in his eyes came to form as he saw Jasper, his uncle, and his father, Edmund. Finally, he’d meet him. “I must go” he managed to speak, struggling against emotions. “You will do what it is right. You are... after all... your father’s daughter.” He forced his lips to smile. 

Elizabeth stroke her husband’s face. The Bishop was already there to make the rites to give Henry a peaceful rest, one he deserved.

“Henry, please. Don’t. I love you”, she felt her body shaking. It was a matter of time until she lost control.

“I love you. Goodbye, my lover.” he whispered. Again, he glanced one last time to all of his children, smiling proudly at Arthur that stood next to him so tall and strong. The embodiment of the hopes he placed to a new dynasty. Every expectation filled. To him, Henry said: “You gave me peace, boy. Rule wisely.”

Arthur too was thrilled, like his mother, Henry observed. Few words were exchanged until Henry the Seventh’s life dissipated to the other world, leaving Elizabeth of York a widow, mother of a few children and now the Queen Dowager of England.

*                                                           *                                                   *

She broke down. Again and again and again. Every night, she woke Katherine Gordon with her screams. She sobbed violently, she lost her power, she surrender to weakness. Every night, she had no comfort to call her own, no love to give in, no one to trust. Six years had been since Henry died. Six years had passed since grieved took up her spirits, replacing her joy and good willing by sadness and seclusion.

Arthur was King now. During the last four years, Elizabeth acted as his regent. She avoided a rebellion coming from the Cornish, improved diplomatic relations with the Holy Roman Emperor by betrothing Princess Mary to the son of Maximilian. The dauphin of France, Francis, was too betrothed to her daughter, Princess Elizabeth. These matches resulted from the peaceful politics of Henry VII. Naturally, for the girls were young, these marriages will happen they both reach the age of sixteen. Not fourteen as Elizabeth demanded. With the boys, few changes. Henry, Duke of York, was going to the church and Edmund, duke of Somerset, would be betrothed to some important princess when he came out of age. Unfortunately, like his younger sister Katherine, he’d come to past away before age five.

With Catherine of Aragon crowned Queen, Elizabeth little by little stopped rulling court. Trusting in her only friend, Lady Katherine Gordon, she much relied on her as her health started deteriorate. Every day, Elizabeth felt her strength disappear. Although dutiful she was, little of the joy of life before celebrate by others when they came to see in her eyes and smile with her smile remained. 

“Those grey eyes were taken by endless storms” someone at the court said. “And she is drowning, obviously lost the fight long time ago with her husband, the Old King.”

On the day of her 42th birthday, Elizabeth of York, Queen Dowager, much beloved and cherished by her children, her family and the country ruled, once Queen Regent, gave up the fight for her life. Although she tried for her children, as much as she saw them grow and had for them healthy and nice futures ahead, her position remained useless. Without her husband, who was she? A product of an ancient period that to many was forgotten now that Arthur is giving England the golden age his father started to bring?

Happiness and pride mixed to eternal grief. But in this night, of the year 1509, having seen the children of King Arthur and Queen Catherine born, she heard a voice whispering in the silence. The night was colder, but inviting. Darkness, she feared no more.

“Elizabeth” and she heard him. Tears came to her face. “Elizabeth” he called her again.

The door opened and her handsome husband, oh there he was! Tall and young again. He sat at the edge of her bed and she jumped on his arms. She cried loudly, holding him close. And he smelled her scent, felt her skin, held her close. 

“Shh. It is not time to cry” he said, breaking the kiss against his will. “It is time to go, Elizabeth. I came back for you.”

And taking his hand, she leaves behind the grief that tormented her life for so long.

“And in eternity I am yours again” she says, as they walk through the light and meet, in a new world, the familiar faces bounded by an eternal and uninterrupted peace.