An Endless Supply Of Rubies

As It Should Be

Fanfic: An Endless Supply of Rubies Ch 41, Tudors | FanFiction

A/N: Okay, now we're much closer to the end of this epic saga. This particular episode of the show did not cover a long period of time. However, the next two episodes take place over the course of three years, and a lot will happen in those three years. We are, after all, nearing the death of a King.

21 August 1544

The gloomy feeling that permeated the air around the camp kept Charles awake in the evenings. It hung as heavy as a cloak on a man's shoulders, engulfing everything and everyone underneath it until it felt like they were suffocating. Although the King seemed to believe that there was no sickness within the camp, it was easy for Charles to see that most of the men around him were dying. The camp smelt of vomit, mud, and urine, with hints of blood and feces, depending on where you stood. It was dismal and hopeless.

It was on nights like these that Charles thought of his family. Amelia came to mind most frequently, images of her dancing with the children on a summer afternoon, or sleeping peacefully on a cold winter morning. She was always smiling, in his mind, even though he had seen her cry before. When they first met, she had been young and afraid. But now, she was strong, and held herself with a degree of diplomacy that rivalled her sister's.

A hand on his shoulder pulled him out of his happy memories, and back into France. "What?" he asked, jumping as he turned over.

"I broke my promise," Brigitte whispered, kneeling down next to Charles's bed. "I escaped, but I came back." She paused for a moment. "You've got blood on your head!" she exclaimed softly.

Charles didn't move as she dipped the cloth in water and pressed it gently against his forehead. "Why did you come back?" Charles whispered.

"For you, Monsieur," she replied quietly, leaning closer to him.

"Mademoiselle," Charles said. "Mademoiselle, please."

Brigitte froze, and Charles looked at her. In his mind, he went back to the time that he had been seduced by a different Frenchwoman, Mademoiselle Germaine. He remembered what had happened when Amelia had found out, how she had cried. Charles had promised himself not to make Amelia cry again.

"What is it?" Brigitte asked him.

"I'm sorry, Mademoiselle, but I cannot," Charles said sincerely. "I have made a scorned woman out of my wife once, and I shall not do it again."

Brigitte sat back. "Then why do you keep me here if you do not wish for me to act as your mistress?"

"I cannot give you an answer to that," Charles replied, for even he didn't know.

15 September 1544

The French had surrendered 2 days earlier at Boulonge, and Amelia could not have been more thankful to hear the news that both her husband and her father were safe. They were most likely heading home, much to Amelia's delight.

She had been living with the Queen for the last few months, along with her sister. Philip had been called to Bavaria, as he was still the acting Duke. Since Mary had been pregnant when Philip needed to leave, she had not been able to go with her husband.

Mary's pregnancy had ended in a miscarriage, which left her devastated. Amelia was by her side for weeks afterwards. It took almost as long to convince Mary that everything would be alright, and that she still would be able to have more children, if she desired.

It was nice to have the Queen to help as well. Catherin had been as kind and as caring as Jane Seymour, and as intelligent as Anne Boleyn. Amelia suspected that she was a Protestant, a Reformer, but Amelia did not really care. She believed whatever the Church of England was deciding to believe, as not to annoy her father, but she understood that others had their own beliefs.