I had this idea to write up a fanfic with the same format that the show uses… so at that rate this would be the first chapter of 9. It’ll have some flashbacks and some references to the soundtrack, but really it’ll tell the story of these lovelies meeting and putting their show together. :) Thoughts are very very valid and appreciated!
tw: assault (implied)
…
Catherine Parr sat on the sleek leather couch in her studio, watching the clock and waiting. She had her hands folded carefully in front of her, curtailing the urge to rub them against her pants or- even more likely- reach for the journal on the little table beside the couch. The analog clock hanging on the living room wall read 12:57: the other girls could be here any minute.
It had been just under one year since Catherine Parr, sixth wife of Henry VIII, had closed her eyes, breathed her final breath, and woken up almost five centuries into the future. As if not being dead weren’t enough of a shock, she had suddenly had the modern world to contend with: cars, blenders, iPads- hell, even things like lights and toilets- had been completely unfamiliar to her. With no memories of this timeline to speak of, no evidence of friends or family in the beautiful studio apartment she apparently called home, Catherine had had to start completely from scratch. She had cobbled together what she could from things found in her apartment: an ID that put her at 28 years old, a newspaper that listed the year as 2019, a planner that informed her in her own confident handwriting that she had gigs booked all month in the lounge down the street. Within the haze of shock in those first few days, Catherine had drawn the dumbfounded conclusion that she was, as of very recently, no longer dead; that the world had popped her out of existence in the early sixteenth century and landed her here, amidst the hustle and colour of modern-day Britain. She had been given, for whatever reason, a second chance. A new start, with no ugly, diseased Henry or ruthlessly effective patriarchy standing in her way. (As a young woman of colour she learned quickly that the patriarchy wasn’t gone for good, but hey, at least she was allowed to headline her own show and pen things in her own name here.)
It took her almost six months to even wonder about the other wives. They might never have crossed her mind, if she hadn’t been scrolling through Instagram one day to see a viral video of a gorgeous woman rapping her heart out to a Kanye song. Stage name: Anna of Cleves. And just like that a wild idea was born.
Fists hammering against the door snapped Parr back to attention. Her heart in her throat, she stood and opened the door. A green blur burst into her apartment, muttering curses and shrugging her jacket onto the floor. A woman wearing a red T-shirt and black cutoffs followed slower. This one Parr recognized; Cleves, her short black hair still in the distinctive style of her Instagram concert vid. Parr stared at them, trying to curb her surprise; she hadn’t expected anyone to arrive together.
“You had better explain yourself right now.” The other girl, who if Parr had to guess must be slightly younger than her and Cleves, glared daggers at her, her long dark hair whipping as she stuck her face up into Parr’s. “You call me out on Insta, tell me all these things no one should know, and then send me money to fly here, no explanation, no background, no nothing! And my bus was delayed, and traffic was murder, and overall it’s been a shite day, and now the one who’s supposed to have all the answers is just standing here gaping like a fish!” The girl pointed accusingly at her, eyes still narrowed in dislike. In spite of herself, Parr smiled slightly. The girl hadn’t had any pictures of herself up on her Instagram, but with an attitude like this she really could only be one person.
“Anne Boleyn?” she tried. The girl’s face, already balled up in anger, became dark as a thundercloud.
“How do you know my name.”
“I’ll explain, I promise.” Parr ushered them further into the apartment. “Please sit. I promise I’m not a serial killer, I- I have a very good reason for all of this. We’re just still missing people, and I need them to get here before I can explain myself.” Boleyn didn’t look at all happy about this pronouncement, but for the time being she kept her mouth shut. “How…” Parr began again, “How do you two know each other?”
Anna of Cleves raised one eyebrow. “We don’t.” she said flatly. “We met on the way up here.”
“We didn’t really ‘’meet’.” Boleyn huffed. You never gave me your name.”
“Wasn’t sure if I should trust you,” Cleves said coolly. She stared calmly back at Boleyn as a new silence stretched, making it clear without saying another word that she wouldn’t be offering her name now either. Boleyn leaned back into the couch, exasperated.
Another knock at the door. Parr opened it, coming face to face with a fourth woman. She was dark-skinned and tall, owning the doorway like it was her job. She eyed Parr carefully, giving Parr the distinct feeling that she was being searched. “Are you the incredibly unprofessional young woman who decided Instagram was an appropriate way to request an unexplained audience with a woman she had never even met?”
“Yes,” Boleyn answered, suddenly right at Parr’s shoulder. She jumped. “And don’t expect any answers, because she’s been mum so far as to what any of us are doing here.”
The woman blinked in confusion. “There are more of you?”
“Don’t group me in with her,” Boleyn scoffed. “We’re in the dark, just like you. Scary Internet woman gave us an address and money to come here and meet her, sound at all familiar?”
Parr, trying to maintain her composure, ignored Anne and offered a smile. “You must be Catherine of Aragon. Please, come in.”
Aragon didn’t budge an inch from the doorway. “I must be?” she repeated, crossing her arms. “Why must I be?” Parr took a breath. She had known that this would be an uphill battle, but seeing all these angry suspicious faces in the flesh was an entirely different matter.
“I know you all took a leap of faith coming here, and I’m grateful to you for that-” Parr began, but was interrupted by huffing and puffing from behind Aragon. Aragon turned on her heel and both women watched a fifth straggle up the hallway, dragging an enormous set of baggage, and blowing her blonde hair out of her face. “Sorry for being late- I got lost-” she sputtered.
“Late?” Parr glanced at her clock, which read 1:01. The blonde woman stared miserably between her and the clock, offering a pained shrug as if to say “I have no excuse.” Parr decided to pick her battles; at least one of them had a vested interest in being punctual.
“We’re actually still waiting on one, so you’re all good-”
“Another one?” Boleyn interrupted incredulously. “How many flights did you pay for?”
“By the looks of it, five,” Cleves deadpanned from the couch.
“Actually I walked here, I live just down the street,” Aragon added.
“And I took the rail from Northern,” Jane, still a little breathless, chimed in.
Boleyn, looking a little like her head might pop off, opened her mouth again, only to be cut off by Aragon.
“-So, we’re still waiting for one?” she prompted Parr. Parr nodded gratefully.
“And then I’ll explain everything. I promise.” She ushered the girls inside. Cleves moved over on the couch and Aragon sat beside her, while Boleyn opted to perch on the leg of an armchair opposite. Jane slumped down in the chair, luggage crowded at her feet.
“I’m Jane,” she said to no one in particular. “Nice to meet you all.” As the other women mumbled greetings, Cleves suddenly frowned.
“Hold on…” she said slowly. “Jane Seymour?” Jane started and stared at her.
“How did you know my last name?” Cleves ignored her, gesturing to each woman in turn as she went on.
“And you said she’s called Catherine of Aragon, and she’s Anne Boleyn…” She looked sharply over at Parr, understanding dawning on her face. “We’re the wives.”
The room went dead silent. Four pairs of eyes landed on Cleves, and then drifted over to Parr.
“What do you mean we’re the wives?” Jane asked tremulously. “I’m not anybody’s wife.” Even to this room of near-strangers, Jane was not a very good liar.
“I thought I was the only one.” Cleves said, disbelieving. “When I woke up here after I died. I thought I was crazy, or I’d imagined it, but… I didn’t.” She looked around the room again, new understanding in her eyes. “We’re Henry VIII’s five wives.”
This time, the room exploded into activity. Boleyn stood up, eyes wide, and snarled- “Wait, you’re the actual Catherine of Aragon?!” Aragon growled back at her, also jumping to her feet. Jane made a noise of relief, crying “I thought I was the only one!” while Cleves demanded “But why? Why are we here?” All four voices overlapped and climbed over each other, fighting for attention. Parr, not knowing what else to do, put her fingers to her mouth and gave a shrill whistle. All four women stopped; Jane put a hand up to her ear while Boleyn glared at Parr.
“I know it’s a lot,” Parr began, and put up a hand when Aragon and Boleyn opened their mouths to interject. “We all died. And we all woke up here, with no understanding of where we were or what happened. We’ve all made lives since, thinking we were alone, not knowing how or why we were younger, and looked different, but were still unequivocally ourselves.” She paused. Cleves was nodding, slowly. “But we’re not alone anymore. There are five of us here now, and we’re going to talk this out together. Work this out, together. That’s why you’re here.” Silence again. And then:
“Six.” said a quiet voice from the doorway. Parr started and turned around. There stood a slim teenager, tall and lanky, clutching a backpack to her chest. Parr’s heart immediately melted; this must be Katherine Howard. “I heard what you said.” Howard picked up her voice a little, looking from woman to woman. “You’re really… them?”
“We’re really them.” Parr said warmly, motioning for Howard to come inside. She walked in slowly, uncertain, and perched on the very end of the couch, eyes still drifting around the room.
“I can’t believe this. This can’t be real.” Boleyn shook her head. “I won’t believe it.”
“Did it seem real enough when you woke up from your execution to find yourself in the future?” Parr countered calmly. Boleyn’s fists clenched, but her eyes were filled with doubt.
“You were executed?” Aragon said incredulously. “After all that?”
“Yeah, you just missed it,” Boleyn drawled, faux sympathetic. “I’m sure you’d have loved to see my head removed from my body.”
“I bet it would have added another decade to my life!” Aragon shot back. Hunched on the couch, Howard’s hands shook. Cleves’s eyes flitted over, she noticed, and she interrupted the two bickering queens a second before Parr would have. “Knock it off,” she said firmly. “This isn’t productive.”
Aragon, her hackles still raised, forced her eyes away from Boleyn. “Fine.” She said eventually. “So I was the first. Of…”
“Six.” Parr finished for her. Aragon mouthed this to herself in disbelief, making a face as if the number tasted foul. Jane, silent for some time on the couch, raised her voice.
“Henry was already getting up in years when we married…” she said hesitantly. “Why were there three more? Who are you, what happened to you?”
Parr brightened, sensing that they were finally getting somewhere. “Yes. Aragon, Anne, Jane, I think you all know each other, at least vaguely.” Boleyn nodded tersely. Everyone knew that there was bad blood among the first triad of wives, but there would be plenty of time for scrapping. “And we three know what happened to you, but you don’t know what happened after you. So… why don’t we start there.”
“And why do you know so much about us all, little miss-” Boleyn abruptly ran out of momentum, realizing she didn’t know Parr’s name.
“Parr.” Parr shrugged. “It’s in the history books.”
“We’re in the history books?” Jane whispered, slightly in awe.
“Well… it’s mostly Henry. But we’ll get to that.” Parr leaned against the wall, knowing better than to attempt to squeeze onto the already crowded couch. “For now… Cleves, why don’t you tell us about yourself?”
Five pairs of eyes fixed on Anna of Cleves, who shrugged one shoulder. “Not much to tell. She-” she points a thumb at Jane- “died, and Henry wanted another wife quick.” Cleves breezed on, not registering the deep hurt that fell across Jane’s face. “He had me sent for from Germany because he liked my portrait. Turns out I’m not so pretty in person.” Cleves’s voice, nonchalant before, coloured with the slightest hint of bitterness. “We lasted six months before he divorced me. I negotiated a castle though, so no harm no foul.” She leaned back into the couch, met with silence.
“That’s it?” Boleyn finally said.
“I said, how the hell is that the end of your stupid story? Did you at least die of something terrible later?” Cleves shrugged, but something in her eyes gave away how little she appreciated Boleyn’s tone.
“Anne, it’s not her fault she wasn’t beheaded,” Jane interjected. “I think it’s amazing that someone got a good deal.” Boleyn tensed, but relaxed again with visible effort. “It doesn’t matter. If you’re done let’s hear from number five.” She looked to Parr, and then to Howard. “Which of you is it?”
Howard had been slowly shrinking smaller as Cleves told her story. Now she looked up and offered what was probably meant to be a breezy smile, though it came off more as a grimace. “It’s me.” Everyone waited. Howard cleared her throat and adjusted herself on the chair leg, sitting a little straighter. “Well. I was a lady-in-waiting. And then his Majesty- um.” She looked down.
“Apologies, but….” Aragon spoke. “Would you mind telling us your name, child?”
“Oh- sorry- Katherine Howard.” Howard swallowed again. Boleyn’s eyes widened- she recognized the name.
“My little cousin.” She said slowly. Howard nodded. The two had never met, but they were first cousins. How ironic that their lives ended in the same way, Parr thought to herself.
“Thank you. Nice to meet you. Go on.” Aragon nodded for her to continue.
Katherine played with a length of her hair and cleared her throat. “So we got married. And then this courtier-” her voice began to shake, and she stopped.
“Take your time,” Parr said quietly. Katherine shut her eyes. The other women shifted, uncomfortable, knowing where this story was probably headed.
“Well we- slept together. And then everyone- well the king found out about- other men. So I was beheaded.” Katherine had tensed, her shoulders rising as if to protect her neck. In spite of her submissive posture, she looked towards the other girls challengingly. “The end.”
“That blows,” Boleyn was the first to say. Aragon and Cleves nodded, while Jane’s eyes had filled with tears. “Is there a reason you got aged down so much in this reboot?” Boleyn asked. Howard looked at her, confused. Boleyn clarified ungracefully: “I mean we’re all younger than when we died, but you look like a kid.”
“I didn’t get aged down.” Howard said, still confused. Boleyn screwed up her face, uncomprehending.
“How…” Jane looked as if she could barely stand to ask- “How young were you when you… married the king?”
“Sixteen.” Howard answered promptly.
“Nineteen.” A collective rumble of disbelief and anger went around the room.
Jane stood, the tears spilling over her cheeks. “Is it okay if I hug you?” “I- I guess-” Before Katherine could finish, Jane rushed over and wrapped her in a hug. Katherine hugged her back uncertainly as Anna shook her head in shock and Cleves muttered darkly to herself. After a few moments, Jane hopped up on the couch and positioned herself beside Katherine, squashing Cleves and Aragon up against each other. She nodded at Parr.
“Your turn. Tell me it isn’t as bad as being beheaded at nineteen?” Parr shook her head.
“Not even close. I married him, it was fine, I even outlasted him in the end.” She shrugged. “It was fine.”
“You said that,” Boleyn said, but without any fire. All six women, to some extent or another, understood that “fine” could mean any number of things. Parr was downplaying her misery, the same way that Cleves had downplayed her humiliation and Howard had downplayed her assault. Already, they were protecting each other. A feeling of solidarity settled across the room; an hour ago, they had been alone against the world, with no one to understand their fears or their pasts. Now… well, that was the question. All the six of them had in common, really, was one man and a time period, but there was a shared pain too that had just been accidentally unearthed. No one was quite sure where that left them.
“So… why did you call us here?” Aragon addressed Parr squarely. Parr steeled herself: this was the moment of truth. She reached carefully over to the end table and grabbed her notebook, which she opened and laid onto the coffee table. Boleyn came over and peered from the side, and all four girls in the couch leaned in to read the words, written in Parr’s meticulous handwriting.
Welcome to the show, to the historemix
Switching up the flow as we add the prefix
Everybody knows that we used to be six wives
Raising up the roof till we hit the ceiling
Get ready for the truth that we’ll be revealing
Everybody knows that we used to be six wives
After another long silence, the girls turned to Parr, who was smiling a secret smile. “Queens, let’s make a band.”
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