The Other Henry VIII

Scandal upon Scandal

26 April 1520
Thomas's POV
Good God, I am foolish.
Beyond foolish, idiotic. Why am I sleeping on the hard roots of a tree with dirt all over my bare body and my clothes tossed everywhere. Why am I lying bruised and grubby in the middle of a forest with some huge weight on my arm?
I turn to inspect that arm, wondering if I have broken it, but instead, a mane of jet-black curls are covering it! Damn. My dream was real. Damn.
Diana is lying next to me, still fast asleep (and looking as pale and dirty as I do), and her hair seems to be everywhere.
Wonderful.
I, feeling like a peasant, try to rub the mud off of me with my free arm, attempting to free my trapped one in the process. But no, Diana clings to it even in slumber.

I roll over on my back, gazing at the sky, while hundreds of curses flow through my head like that stream over there.... A stream? I can wash there, can't I?

Oh, what am I thinking? I cannot move from Diana's grasp, so I will have to wake her up.
"Diana!"I hiss, shaking her cold shoulder, "wake up!"
"Mm..."she replies helpfully, turning over to lie on her back. Now, my shoulder is trapped too? "Diana!"I cry, pinching her cheeks, "Diana for God's sake, wake up!"
"What?"she murmurs, opening her eyes, "Thomas, let me go back to sleep..."
"No,"I scold, shifting my arm under her weight, "wake up! Look around you!" She, of course, ignores me. I sigh and, finally manage to tug my arm out from under her, stumble over to the stream and splash icy water in her peaceful face.
"Argh! Thomas!"she cries, sitting up, "Damn you! I was cold enough already!"
I laugh, tossing her cloak back to her. "You better wash yourself in that stream, we're both filthy."
"Alright then,"she huffs, "but don't look!"
"Diana, we spent the whole night lying naked on a tree, and you want me to look away now?"I ask, splashing the water over myself.
She screams, flying at me, and corners me against the tree.
"You stupid fool, I am going to murder you! Why did I ever listen to you? Argh!" I roll my eyes, and pull her towards me.

"Because you love me,"I smirk vainly, clutching her waist tightly, "admit it. Admit it."
"No!"says Diana, but even she is laughing now.
"In that case.."I continue, and kiss her roughly. She pushes away from me.
"You are still blamed,"she warns, laughing, and then we're kissing again against this damned tree with no cares in the world.

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As Diana exited the woods, she smoothed out her dress and quickly flicked off another bit of dirt. She had left Thomas behind, for it would look rather suspicious if they came out together. No one will have missed her, will they? It was only the night.
Oh well. She was probably in a very bad situation now though, because if she conceived with her husband away at war... there would be trouble. Diana, spotting Catherine running towards her, rolled her eyes with annoyance. Her cousin was probably here to give her a lecture from Sir James or her grandfather.

"My lady!"she cried breathlessly, stopping to catch her breath in front of Diana, "I must tell you—"
Here she goes, thought Diana.
"The—Queen, Her—Highness—would like—to—see you!"
"Calm down, Catherine. Running doesn't suit your pale complexion at all,"said Diana haughtily, and strode composedly into the palace with a smug expression printed on her face.

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"Your Grace, you got my message?"asked Margaret politely upon seeing Diana enter.
"Evidently,"her guest replied, standing tall and regal as she could.
"This is not a time for jokes, Lady Diana, and don't give me that look! I do not want to have to tell you what to do, but it is my duty. Henry told me specifically to make sure that you are treated well and comfortably, and are still named by others as 'Your Grace' or 'My Lady'. You are still his wife, still Queen Consort—are you listening to me?"

"Yes, perfectly well, Your Majesty, but I must say this: if I am still Queen Consort, why is it you sitting on that throne and not me?"
"Alright, that is enough,"said Margaret, standing up and crossing the room to stand in front of Diana. "I am trying to talk to you kindly! Clearly, you do not appreciate that I want to help you! It is not my fault that Henry had an argument with you before he left, so please don't blame me! We—we used to be friends. What changed?"
Diana looked up at her sister-in law, scowling. She held up her hand, and began to count on her fingers.
"I'll tell you what has changed. One: you marry my brother without either my husband's of my permission; two: you have a son, who will uproot my daughters ' inheritance; three: you take my own crown from me and use the power to lord over me like some idol. Conclusion: everything has changed."
By now, the guards had rushed forwards towards her.
"Let her go,"sighed Margaret, turning her back to Diana, "she's still Queen Consort after all."
"I should think so too,"spat Diana rudely, and marched out of the throne room without a backwards glance.

John walked round from behind Margaret's throne, and put his hand on her shoulder.
"Dear sister, she still wants the power. You do know of her and the King's Spatz, don't you?"
"Yes,"replied Margaret, "it's no secret. But I don't want Her Grace to feel like she has no power left."

"You know, my darling, I think it will do Diana good to be put in her place for a while. She was never a capable Queen."

"John, she is still the Queen, and your sister."
"I know, my darling, but I cannot help thinking that she is a different person from what she used to be..."

25 April 1520
Henry's POV
As I ride away from the palace on my horse, I silently curse repetitively in my mind. My wife is getting completely out of hand as these days pass by, and every conversation that we have seems to end in shouting. Well, at least she will have time to calm down while I am at war with the blasted Scots. At least Margaret has a clear head to run the country with, and I should think that she is as good a leader as I am;  it runs in the family. I can feel my face creeping into a smirk, which is probably no surprise, but my horse, Asgard, can sense my brief moment of distraction, and starts to shake its head from my grasp.

"Hold still,"I command, gripping the reigns tightly as I can, but Asgard veers away from the rest of the men, and tries to turn back towards the palace.

"Stupid horse, listen to me,"I mutter, trying almost desperately to hide my struggle, but Asgard pulls away from the parade firmly and begins to canter crazily back to the palace.
I pull the reins back, but Asgard rears up disobediently, trying to shake me off. I hold on tight, sweating forming on my forehead, and suddenly, Asgard stops. I raise one eyebrow, and peer down to see why he stopped. There, standing oh-so calmly next to Asgard's head, and stroking his mane gently with not a care in the world, is a tall stable boy of ten or thereabouts.
"Boy, what are you doing? I am going to war, you must not pet a warhorse! Get your—" I stop, studying the boy's face a little harder. It seems so familiar...
"I am sorry, Your Majesty. You were in trouble, I thought you needed assistance—"
"I? Need assistance? With my horse? No thank you, boy." I tug the reins, moving Asgard's head out of the boy's hands, and we gallop back towards the other men as if nothing had happened.
Only when the pages are putting armour on myself and the other generals do I realise that the boy who calmed Asgard was indeed familiar to me.

He was James Goodwin, the boy who found Sophia's body in Bushy Park so many years ago.

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Clara's POV
I can see Papa out of the window on his horse, looking as handsome and powerful as ever. I see Asgard sometimes when I pass him as I mount my own horse Mercy. The poor horse is harshly treated, being a warhorse, because he needs to be used to strict conditions.
Papa usually rides Knight when he does ride with me, a jet-black stallion taller than any of the other horses.
I do love Diana's horse though. I cannot quite bring myself to call her Mother yet, seeing as I barely knew my own Mother, but Papa spoils her anyway. Diana is very beautiful, even I know that much, and Papa likes making her look impressive. But Diana is so lucky, her horse is nearly pure white, and as gentle and submissive as any good horse should be.

Papa is struggling, I can tell, but wait! There is a boy down there, touching my papa's horse! They are talking now, and I wish I could hear what they're saying, but presently, Papa turns away and gallops smartly back to his men as if nothing has happened. I peer at the boy, curious to see who he is, for though I am at court very rarely, I have never seen such a boy before. Oh joy, he looks at me! Well, probably he just glances at the palace, but I can just make out a blurred, tiny little face gazing vaguely in my direction.