An Endless Supply Of Rubies

Checkmate

Fanfic: An Endless Supply of Rubies Ch 2, Tudors | FanFiction

A/N: A History Lesson – The marriage between King Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon was officially annulled on 23 May 1533. Anne Boleyn's coronation as Queen took place officially on 1 June 1533, although her tenure as Queen began on 28 May 1533. She was roughly 4 or 5 months pregnant at the time.

2 June 1533

The trip back to England had been long and arduous. It was a journey that Amelia decided she never wanted to make again. There had been many delays to to her voyage home, many of which had made Margaret pace the floor angrily and mutter savage things under her breath. Eventually, Amelia was put on a ship with some of her belongings. She had wanted Barbara to come with her, but Margaret decided that the woman was best suited to continue as a governess for Dorothea and Christine.

"They did not give you enough," Barbara had grumbled before Amelia left. "They are not even returning you with your dowry. Only the Lord knows how they have squandered it."

As the ports of London appeared, questions flew through Amelia's mind at a rapid pace. Would her parents remember who she was? Would she remember who they were? How would people at court perceive her?

With questions still bouncing around in her head, Amelia slowly walked down the gangplank, carefully carrying herself as she thought an English princess would. A small party stood at the edge of the pier, headed by one of the most handsome men Amelia had ever laid eyes on. He was tall, taller than her even, with deep blue eyes and a strong jaw.

Charles could hardly believe his eyes. The little girl he had met so long ago had grown into a beautiful young woman. She was tall and slender, with eyes as green as sea foam and hair the color of honey. Her skin was tan, like she spent a lot of time outdoors in her youth. Even though it was not pale, which was very fashionable, for some reason, the slight tan suited her. The girl's face betrayed no emotions. Her expression was strong, her eyes fixed on him, as she exited the ship.

He bowed before her, as all the men in his party did, and she curtseyed in response. "Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk," he said, offering her his hand. She gracefully accepted it, and slowly raised herself to her full height. He raised her hand to his mouth and gently brushed his lips on her knuckles.

A small smile flickered across her lips at the gesture. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Grace. I am Amelia," she replied.

"It is a pleasure to have you back on English soil," Charles stated, offering Amelia his arm. She accepted it, and he began to lead her to the party's horses. "How was your journey?"

"Pleasant enough, I suppose. I would rather not complete it again, however," she replied with a laugh.

He smiled. "I do believe that the King is rather pleased you have returned from Denmark, my lady. In fact," he paused, stopping in front of the most gorgeous palomino mare Amelia had ever laid eyes on, "His Majesty sends you this gift."

Amelia gasped and reached up to stroke the horse's silky mane. She had never had her own horse before. She hadn't even been allowed to ride the ones that had been presented as part of her dowry. Now, standing before her, was a horse of her very own.

Charles watched the girl's reaction carefully. It was one of surprise and wonder, as if she had never experienced any of the gifts that her father had sent her previously. The small number of trunks made him suspicious as well. Once a year, Henry had sent his daughter presents, including the finest cloth for dresses, books filled with children's stories and philosophy, and jewelry made with the finest rubies. There was no way that everything her father had sent her and what her allowances should have been able to purchase would fit into the two small trunks she brought.

Henry truly felt like a king. He had a beautiful wife sitting beside him as Queen, pregnant with his son. His former wife was nowhere near the castle. And his favorite daughter was returning home to him.

He had missed Amelia nearly every day when she was gone. Even though she was only female, he wanted to have her by his side. She had showed great promise when she was young to become a Queen one day, and he hoped that, even though she had to be sent to Denmark, her marriage to Prince Hans would at least have allowed her to be Queen of something. With his death, it seemed as though God had not intended for her to be crowned.

He wondered if she loved all of the things that he sent her, if she enjoyed the books when she lay sick. It was the only reason he had never been to visit her. Every time he would write, he would receive the response that she was sick, spending time out in the fjords for her health, or some other excuse. It was funny how sending her away had turned her into a sickly child. Hopefully, the return to England would do wonders for her health.

Anne, on the other hand, was crumbling, as was her family. She sat next to her husband and carefully rubbed her slightly swollen belly. In her heart, she knew she was carrying the next Prince of Wales, but there was a tiny bit of doubt that wriggled in her mind, magnified by the appearance of a second bastard daughter from her husband's first marriage.

All of the Boleyns recognized the threat. They all knew that the first thing on the King's mind would probably be his daughter's marriage, since her betrothal to the crown prince had dissolved. It was clear in the way that Henry carried himself, how he had paced the night before and put an almost equal amount of effort into Anne's coronation as the feast for his daughter's return, that Amelia was the favorite and the one to watch out for. If Anne wasn't able to produce a son, but Amelia was, how would the line of succession change?

The doors to the throne room opened, and the room took in a collective gasp. There she was, the Princess Amelia, on the arm of the Duke of Suffolk. As she was escorted down the aisle, members of court bowed low to show the deep respect that they had for her.

Charles, the Boleyns, and Henry had to give her credit. She did not once take her eyes off of her father, her expression unreadable as she walked. The deep green dress that she wore was in a simple fashion, with no patterns or ornaments on it. The only jewels she wore were small red stones in her ears. She was simple and refined, not flashy like the rest of court was.

When Amelia reached her father's throne, she curtsied low to the ground, lowering her head as a sign of great respect. "Your Majesties," she said.

The plurality of her words did not go unnoticed. Courtiers wondered how a daughter of Catherine could recognize a woman called the King's Whore as Queen, especially those who still sang Catherine's praises. Thomas and George Boleyn looked at her with great curiosity, trying to figure out what her agenda might be. Anne was simply surprised. It felt like her heart had stopped when the daughter of her rival recognized her.

Henry's heart swelled with love and pride. She had done what his other daughter had refused to do. His hand reached to lift his daughter's chin, meeting her eyes with his. Slowly, she stood. And there she was, a corporeal being, standing right in front of him.

In a showing of fatherly love, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. "Please," he whispered in her ear, "call me father."

They broke out of the embrace, and Henry took a step back to look at his daughter again, although his arms never left her shoulders, as if taking them away would send her back to Denmark.

For the first time in a long time, Amelia smiled a full smile. "Yes, father," was all she could say.

At that moment, the Boleyns knew they were in trouble.