Blue
A/N: this is for the @queendomsecretsanta and @thenicestnonbinary. happy holidays!
Word count: 1,988
TWs: Death.
Cathy could vividly recall the exact moment she heard that her husband had passed away.
She had just put her foot into the palace after taking a half hour long stroll around the palace’s garden. It was a beautiful day, with no clouds in the beautiful light blue sky, and she had been feeling a bit erratic lately due to the stress that was caused by the king being sick, so she decided that was the best thing she could do to take everything off her mind, even if the relaxation only lasted for a few fleeting moments.
“Catherine!”
Before she could even blink, Anne Herbert, her lady in waiting, was directly in front of her, her petrified dark brown eyes piercing her soul.
“..what? What’s wrong?” The queen had inquired, her mind racing with possibilities what could have gotten her friend so scared.
The explanation hit her like a ton of bricks.
“King Henry’s dead!”
Most of the day after that moment was a complete blur to her. She was whisked into her and the king’s bedroom, where she was surrounded by many important members of the court.
She found a chair right at his bedside and sat herself down in it.
She truly didn’t know how she felt as she stared at Henry’s cold, lifeless face. The sounds of quiet sobbing from all the familar faces in the room were interrupting her thoughts.
The guilt she had from it was immense, but the word she thought best described her feelings was relief.
Of course, her husband’s death was surely a tragedy, just like the death of every english royal. But he wasn’t like all the royals before him. He was an angry, miserable, violent lunatic who only cared for himself. If it was possible, she would have him burned at the stake for all the wicked things he’d done throughout his life.
She’d do it for Catherine of Aragon, the woman he kicked to the curb without a second thought. She’d do it for Anne Boleyn, the one he bastardized and beheaded all because she couldn’t give him a son. She’d do it for Jane Seymour, who was dead because Henry valued the idea of having a son more than her life. She’d do it for Anna of Cleves, who he humilated and ostracized. And she’d do it for Katherine Howard, who got her childhood ripped away from her.
But she could never do that, for although she was the queen of England, she was powerless compared to him.
Oh well, he was dead now, it didn’t matter anymore. At least he would never hurt anyone ever again.
“I...I have to go.” She murmured to Anne, standing up slowly with a emotionless expression on her face.
“Of course, Catherine.”
The queen left the bedroom, contemplating on where she was to go from here.
What use was there for the widow of a king, anyway?
--
The funeral was held just under a month later.
Catherine wore a stunning black dress that was designed by the country’s finest tailors. It was costumized with a dark blue sapphire embroidered right under the collar, with matching beeds hanging from the hem.
Even after her husband’s passing, she still had to look her best.
For hours, she sat in the oriel window of the former queen Catherine of Aragon, watching speeches be given by court members, listening to the sobs of the mourning citizens, forcing herself to hear people praising the king...
It all almost drove her mad.
Henry didn’t deserve to be remembered with affection and grace. He was a tyrant, for christ’s sake! He shouldn’t be given sympathy, he should be shamed and looked down upon, just like all villains are. He took everything for himself, he didn’t care about his children, and he hurt all his wives...
...he didn't hurt her, though.
Throughout his entire life, Henry had been nothing but ruthless to the ones he married. He left Catherine of Aragon behind when he found a woman that he loved more, he beheaded Anne Boleyn all because she couldn't bore him a son, Jane Seymour had to give away her life so he could have a heir to the throne, he had Anna of Cleves come to England from German only to degrade her for her appearance, and he sentenced Katherine Howard to death when she was only 19.
And she had merely outlived him.
She was the only one to have come out unscathed, a surviving soldier upon his fallen friends, and she would have to live with the crushing weight of that for the rest of her live.
--
“Catherine?”
“What is it, Anne?”
“There’s someone waiting for you at the palace door.”
The former queen sighed, letting her shoulders slump. Today had been exhausting, and she had an extremely busy day tomorrow. Who could possibly be wanting to see her now?
“Is something wrong, your majesty?”
“No, I’m fine.” Cathy answered, waving a dismissive hand at her lady in waiting. “I’ll go attend to my visitor right now.”
Anne nodded, and walked out of the doorframe and down the hallway, the clicking of her heels echoing throughout the area.
Catherine swiftly rummaged through her closet until her she found her midnight blue cloak. Then, she threw it on over her white nightgown and pulled the hood over her curly dark brown hair before scurrying out of her bedroom.
As she dashed down the halls of the palace, she couldn’t help feel a sense of nostalgia. As dreadful as the time she had lived there had been, she had called it home for nearly four years, and tomorrow, she was moving out. Where? She didn’t know yet, as her servants had set a place up for her, but were keeping it a secret, so it must’ve been just right for her.
As she strolled down the marble staircase and entered the main hall, she thought about what her future could look like. She wanted to live in a cottage somewhere in the outskirts of Berkshire, away from the public eye. Though she was sure her servants had different plans, it was still a comforting thought. After all that she had been through, she just wanted to live out the rest of her days in peace.
At last, after what felt like an eon of reminiscing as she walked, she finally reached the two large, mahogany doors that led to the garden. The mysterious guest was awaiting her arrival on the other side, whoever they were.
She wrapped her fingers around the two golden handles on them, and pushed them open.
She then walked outside, and felt her heart soar when she saw who her visitor was.
There, standing a few feet ahead of her, his face illuminated by the bright moon shining thousands of feet above, wearing a shy smile, was-
“...Thomas?”
“You didn’t think I’d leave you behind, did you?”
Catherine rushed into her former husband’s arms, joyous tears filling her eyes as she let out a joyous laugh.
She truly was coming home.
--
The last months of Catherine’s life were the happiest ones.
Four months after she moved out of the palace and into a tiny house in downtown London, she had a secret, private wedding, in which she married her one true love, Thomas Seymour. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t tell anyone besides her close family members, as a marriage so soon after Henry’s death would surely cause a scandal. But as long as she could live with Thomas, she was happy.
Since she wasn’t the queen of England anymore, she had a lot of time on her hands, and she used most of that time to write. She sat in her study for hours, scribbling out little words in ink onto her paper. Words that spoke of love, wisdom, liberation, among hundreds and hundreds of other topics. There was practically nothing that could stop her from writing.
Except for one thing.
August 30th, 1548, was the happiest day of her life. That day was the day that she met her beautiful little girl, Mary Seymour. She’ll never forget how happy she felt when she was handed little Mae, how the little bundle of joy that was sitting on her chest reached her tiny arms out to her and giggled...
She took care of Mae for as long as she could, which was unfortunately only a mere four months. After all, nothing lasts forever.
--
“I’m sorry, my love...” “For what?” “For not doing anything.” “Don’t apologize, Thomas. Things like this are in the hands of fate...”
Catherine laid in what she knew was her soon to be deathbed, Thomas at her side. In his arms was Mae, her innocent brown eyes staring right at her mother.
No one knows for sure what happened, but sometime after her daugther’s birth, the former queen fell ill. She brushed it off, assuming that it was just a cold that would fade away in the coming weeks.
Weeks turned into months, and now she was here, barely able to raise her voice above a whisper.
This was so unfair. She was supposed to live a happy, mostly private life with her husband and her daugther. She was supposed to get her writings published and prove herself to be one of the greatest writers of the century. She was supposed to watch Mae grow up and become a strong, beautiful woman.
Her life wasn’t supposed to end like this.
Then, just as she could feel the energy start to drain away from her body, an idea struck her.
“T-thomas.”
“Yes, dear?” The man in question asked, his voice filled with remorse.
“....p-publish my writings for me.” She uttered, using the last bit of strength she had to squeeze Thomas’ hand.
He nodded, smiling as tears spilled down his cheeks. “Of course.”
He knew just as well as her that it was time.
She was exhausted, and the room seemed to be getting quite dark.
“...farewell...”
Her dark brown eyes closed, and her hand fell, hitting the royal blue carpet.
She was at peace at last.
Well, for five hundred years, at least.
--
Cathy sat in the kitchen of the queen’s flat, typing out an email to her publisher. Computers were such a pain to use, she was lucky if she made a full sentence with no spelling errors.
It was just one of the many things that she had to get accustumed to in the modern world.
That didn’t mean modern life was bad. In fact, she much preferred it over her former life. No more wearing several hundred coats of makeup, easy and fast transportation, quicker ways of communication such as texting and calling, no risk of getting beheaded by the goverment...
And of course, there was Six.
Six was the best thing that had ever happened to her. It meant feminism, love, strength, all the things that she thought were essential. Though Six, she had connected with her fellow queens and bonded with them over the struggles of living in a man’s world. They could finally tell their stories and find happiness and peace within themselves.
All she needed was Six.
And of course, she didn’t go a day without thinking about Mae and Thomas. The grief of losing them loomed over her, like a pesky raven that just wouldn’t leave her alone. But they were still there with her, through the laughter and the tears, through the singing and the dancing, through the living and the loving.
They were there with her in her heart, and that was just enough for her.
She clicked the ‘send’ button on the email, and stood up from the dark blue chair as she fiddled with the hem of her navy blue t-shirt, and walked out of the kitchen, making sure to grab her sky blue water bottle.
Why did everything always seem so blue?
