A Question of Loyalty
Sep. 8th, 2019 10:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hennessysTitle: A Question of Loyalty
Rating: PG
Summary: Where your loyalties lie.
Warnings: gendered slurs.
Notes: This takes place in an alternate timeline where Anne Boleyn gave birth to a son instead of Elizabeth I.
AU: Tudors
The concubine had given birth to a son, and now they were all doomed.
In a pool of her own forest-green skirts, Charlotte knelt-- had been kneeling for hours, her kneecaps sore and aching from the stone. Her hands hurt too, from the cold and from clenching in prayer. Prayer for the king, for good Queen Katherine, for strength, for purpose.
Prayer even for the concubine and the bastard she'd borne. Charlotte harbored no ill will toward Anne Boleyn in and of herself, any more than toward Bessie Blount or poor Mary Carey or any other of the king's mistresses. No woman dared reject Henry when he set his eyes upon her; Charlotte could only thank the blessed Mary that neither she nor her sister appealed to him. Perhaps they were too like Queen Katherine, with their mother's Spanish cast to their features. Or perhaps it was simply that by the time Miranda was old enough to catch his eye, he was already enamored of Anne.
And now Anne was the mother of the son the king wanted so badly. Now she would bring her heretical religion to England, and doom everyone who lived in it. Now the poor queen...
Charlotte could not think of Queen Katherine without a pain in her heart. And the Princess Mary, how would she fare? They had been children together. Children, and then friends, and when Charlotte was old enough she had come to court as Mary's lady, as her mother was Queen Katherine's.
And been summarily dismissed, when the concubine came to power and Mary had been sent away. How Charlotte wished she could be with her!
How could God let this happen?
"It's better this way."
She jumped, and whirled, still on her knees, to see her sister standing in the chapel's doorway, her face solemn. "Miranda," she said, not quite reproving. "I was at prayer."
"I know." Miranda came into the chapel, her blue velvet skirts whispering against the floor. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, but I must speak with you."
"Why?" Charlotte turned to face the altar again. She did not want to speak to Miranda, not now, when Queen Katherine and Princess Mary needed every prayer she could speak.
There was a soft creak as Miranda settled herself into a pew. "I am going back to court. So is Jack."
Charlotte turned so fast she fell over. Pain radiated through her hip where it had struck the stone, but that was nothing compared to the sudden hope and fear. "Back to court? But... is the queen..."
Miranda was not looking at her, but at her hands clasped in her lap. "The queen has called for me to join her ladies," she said, quietly. "I can hardly refuse."
"No, of course not," she said, her mind whirring ahead. "But... Miranda, if the queen is to come back, may I not rejoin the Princess? You said only you and Jack... is the Princess not to return to court with her mother?"
Miranda's hands tightened in her lap, and she drew a deep breath before responding. "The Princess Dowager remains at the More," she said, "and the Lady Mary's household has been dissolved. I speak of Queen Anne."
Charlotte stared at her sister, her mouth open. "You speak treason," she managed, at last. "When all the world knows Queen Katherine--"
"No, you speak treason!" Miranda was on her feet, her fists clenched at her sides. "You do not understand."
"I understand," Charlotte said hotly, "that you are deserting the poor queen and her daughter for an upstart concubine who--"
She cut off when Miranda slapped her.
It stung, but not much; it was the sheer shock of it more than anything else that silenced her. She held her sleeve to her cheek and looked big-eyed at her sister, stunned speechless.
"You do not understand," Miranda repeated, her face white and the lines around her mouth strained. "The queen has given birth to a son. Her position is secure and ours is precarious."
"Our position?" What did that matter, when the church itself was in danger, and the poor queen and Princess Mary on the edge of being abandoned forever? "Our position? Miranda, what can that matter now?"
Miranda was shaking her head, her lips pressed tight. "It is everything. Do you wish to be married someday? Do you wish me to be married? We must be at court, and to be at court we must be in service to the queen. Do you wish Jack to have a career of any kind, to have his own heart's desire? He cannot achieve that away from court. Art, fashion, entertainment, company, all of it can only be got at court! Do you see now?"
Charlotte shook her head, mute. Worldy ambition, all of it, not worth a straw compared to what they would be losing by supporting the Lady Anne and her heretical new church.
Miranda closed her eyes. "Charlotte, how can I make you see? Queen Anne has given birth to a son. It does not matter what we think or feel. If we want to achieve anything in this world, if we want even to live, we must reconcile ourselves to the queen."
"I made an oath," Charlotte said, her voice small. "To Princess Mary."
"Lady Mary," Miranda corrected her.
"Princess Mary," she repeated, stubborn. "I am her lady and I always shall be. Anne Boleyn will never be my queen."
"Then you will doom us all," Miranda replied. "That is why you remain at home."
"I prefer it," Charlotte shot back, and gathered her skirt in great bunches, crushing the velvet into her two hands. She swept past Miranda, turned on the threshhold, and added, "At least I shall not be damning my soul."
She expected Miranda to fly into a rage, but her sister only shook her head and sank down onto the pew again, her expression tired. "Carlita," she said, quietly, "you keep to your oaths and your God, and I will keep to what is practical, and we will see what the outcome is."
They would, indeed. Charlotte turned away.
"I think I will pray in my chamber today," she said, and left.
Rating: PG
Summary: Where your loyalties lie.
Warnings: gendered slurs.
Notes: This takes place in an alternate timeline where Anne Boleyn gave birth to a son instead of Elizabeth I.
AU: Tudors
The concubine had given birth to a son, and now they were all doomed.
In a pool of her own forest-green skirts, Charlotte knelt-- had been kneeling for hours, her kneecaps sore and aching from the stone. Her hands hurt too, from the cold and from clenching in prayer. Prayer for the king, for good Queen Katherine, for strength, for purpose.
Prayer even for the concubine and the bastard she'd borne. Charlotte harbored no ill will toward Anne Boleyn in and of herself, any more than toward Bessie Blount or poor Mary Carey or any other of the king's mistresses. No woman dared reject Henry when he set his eyes upon her; Charlotte could only thank the blessed Mary that neither she nor her sister appealed to him. Perhaps they were too like Queen Katherine, with their mother's Spanish cast to their features. Or perhaps it was simply that by the time Miranda was old enough to catch his eye, he was already enamored of Anne.
And now Anne was the mother of the son the king wanted so badly. Now she would bring her heretical religion to England, and doom everyone who lived in it. Now the poor queen...
Charlotte could not think of Queen Katherine without a pain in her heart. And the Princess Mary, how would she fare? They had been children together. Children, and then friends, and when Charlotte was old enough she had come to court as Mary's lady, as her mother was Queen Katherine's.
And been summarily dismissed, when the concubine came to power and Mary had been sent away. How Charlotte wished she could be with her!
How could God let this happen?
"It's better this way."
She jumped, and whirled, still on her knees, to see her sister standing in the chapel's doorway, her face solemn. "Miranda," she said, not quite reproving. "I was at prayer."
"I know." Miranda came into the chapel, her blue velvet skirts whispering against the floor. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, but I must speak with you."
"Why?" Charlotte turned to face the altar again. She did not want to speak to Miranda, not now, when Queen Katherine and Princess Mary needed every prayer she could speak.
There was a soft creak as Miranda settled herself into a pew. "I am going back to court. So is Jack."
Charlotte turned so fast she fell over. Pain radiated through her hip where it had struck the stone, but that was nothing compared to the sudden hope and fear. "Back to court? But... is the queen..."
Miranda was not looking at her, but at her hands clasped in her lap. "The queen has called for me to join her ladies," she said, quietly. "I can hardly refuse."
"No, of course not," she said, her mind whirring ahead. "But... Miranda, if the queen is to come back, may I not rejoin the Princess? You said only you and Jack... is the Princess not to return to court with her mother?"
Miranda's hands tightened in her lap, and she drew a deep breath before responding. "The Princess Dowager remains at the More," she said, "and the Lady Mary's household has been dissolved. I speak of Queen Anne."
Charlotte stared at her sister, her mouth open. "You speak treason," she managed, at last. "When all the world knows Queen Katherine--"
"No, you speak treason!" Miranda was on her feet, her fists clenched at her sides. "You do not understand."
"I understand," Charlotte said hotly, "that you are deserting the poor queen and her daughter for an upstart concubine who--"
She cut off when Miranda slapped her.
It stung, but not much; it was the sheer shock of it more than anything else that silenced her. She held her sleeve to her cheek and looked big-eyed at her sister, stunned speechless.
"You do not understand," Miranda repeated, her face white and the lines around her mouth strained. "The queen has given birth to a son. Her position is secure and ours is precarious."
"Our position?" What did that matter, when the church itself was in danger, and the poor queen and Princess Mary on the edge of being abandoned forever? "Our position? Miranda, what can that matter now?"
Miranda was shaking her head, her lips pressed tight. "It is everything. Do you wish to be married someday? Do you wish me to be married? We must be at court, and to be at court we must be in service to the queen. Do you wish Jack to have a career of any kind, to have his own heart's desire? He cannot achieve that away from court. Art, fashion, entertainment, company, all of it can only be got at court! Do you see now?"
Charlotte shook her head, mute. Worldy ambition, all of it, not worth a straw compared to what they would be losing by supporting the Lady Anne and her heretical new church.
Miranda closed her eyes. "Charlotte, how can I make you see? Queen Anne has given birth to a son. It does not matter what we think or feel. If we want to achieve anything in this world, if we want even to live, we must reconcile ourselves to the queen."
"I made an oath," Charlotte said, her voice small. "To Princess Mary."
"Lady Mary," Miranda corrected her.
"Princess Mary," she repeated, stubborn. "I am her lady and I always shall be. Anne Boleyn will never be my queen."
"Then you will doom us all," Miranda replied. "That is why you remain at home."
"I prefer it," Charlotte shot back, and gathered her skirt in great bunches, crushing the velvet into her two hands. She swept past Miranda, turned on the threshhold, and added, "At least I shall not be damning my soul."
She expected Miranda to fly into a rage, but her sister only shook her head and sank down onto the pew again, her expression tired. "Carlita," she said, quietly, "you keep to your oaths and your God, and I will keep to what is practical, and we will see what the outcome is."
They would, indeed. Charlotte turned away.
"I think I will pray in my chamber today," she said, and left.
