To Lily : Thank you for your kind words. The Bible is a great source of inspiration, of course, for those who know where to look.

"Philipp!" Anne exclaimed, throwing her arms around her kin with a great deal of enthusiasm. Her bulging middle kept her from successfully enveloping the young man in a hug, but he was nevertheless offered a great deal of certainty that his reception was a positive one. "I did not expect you so very soon." He'd arrived with her possessions and, Anne presumed, was to impart some news of her sister and the woman's husband.

"Well met," he responded, stepping away from her in order to give proper bows. "I almost did not recognise you." For a brief moment, she was alarmed. "Motherhood suits you." They were kind words; meant to put her at ease, she perceived. He eyed her rounded middle with a great deal of intensity before venturing any further. "If there is anything at all I may do for you," Philipp trailed off. She knew his meaning well enough.

"You are a kind man." In fairness, Anne knew she had no means of escape thus caught in the courtly games of her king. Still, her soul clung to the crumbs offered as though they were a piece of wood adrift in a story sea and she a drowning mariner. "But it seems one not kind enough not to play games. Why do I see no sight of my sister?"

"Amalia would have made a scene." He had come before the others to assure himself of her continued health. It was not unlike him. Philipp was a generous enough soul, but he too had the blood of their forefathers running through his veins and was by no means a tame creature. "How soon before the babe sees sunlight for the first time?" They both sat down as pastries and drinks were carried in.

The passing of turns had alleviated some of the more unpleasant symptoms of her condition. She ate her fill these days without fear of being ill afterwards. The more she grew round, the more her dresses were altered and the more inactivity she was forced to endure. Her chambers were comfortable; her ladies in waiting careful and Henry truly attentive when he deigned to visit with her. Yet all the same she feared that his attention would drift to some young fresh thing. And there was yet the wedding. She would resemble more a cart than she did a woman by the time she spoke her vows, Anne was sure. Yet all the same she would like to have them spoken, to have some assurance, no matter how tenuous, that her position would not be easily shaken. Not unless she gave birth to a daughter.

"Not before I have my wedding. And you have come just in time, Philipp, to stand up with me." Reaching out, Anne paced her hand on his sleeve, patting gently. "It is good to have a beloved face one may look upon in times of need. You cannot imagine the shivers this whole business gives me."

He chose to remain blind to her meaning, she perceived, when his answer came. "There is some pleasure in anticipation." Anne stared at him, understanding and yet not; anticipation hurt and she would have liked to be blind to it all so the pain might stop.

"And yet once the object has been reached we oft find ourselves diverted, already searching for the next thrill, the next great hunt before even the joy of our victory has vanished." Her musings were met with a gentle smile and an outstretched hand for which she reached with her own. His thumb pressed into the white perfumed flesh of hers. "Listen to me; here I should be rejoicing like Rachel when God smiled upon her."

"And you are equally deserving as was Rachel," Philipp commented, "you need no longer doubt as Sarah ever doubted, though I know you have in the past. God protects those of us whose heart remains open to Him." He spoke with conviction and she liked that in him as ever she liked it in her Henry; that spines of steel should keep such men upright was a gift. "Come now, tell me of the wedding."

"What is there to tell? Time runs out and preparations are finally at an end. It shall be a wedding as all weddings are, with feasting and drinking and all that is proper." She spoke not of the matter which pressed her most, that she wished she might keep her husband at her side during that time for she had seen his eyes wander, had seen him admiring a painted smile or a heaving bosom. And how could he not, she wondered, for it was the nature of beauty to attract attention. And she fretted still even as her hour of glory drew near. Her thoughts returned to a matter more pleasing. "I have not the patience of Sarah or Rachel, I fear. I can but count the hours until I hold my child."

Her kin was about to make some manner of response when the doors blew open. Henry stood there as she rose upon heavy legs, visibly less agile than Philipp. His face having assumed the mantle of impenetrable serenity most befitting a king, he tore through the distance between them and came to stand before her, keeping his gaze locked upon her for one long moment. "Lo, that I have come, and I find you not alone." The tone was jovial enough. And then he turned to the other. "Are you happy now, my Anna, that you have your kin with you?" he addressed her still. There was something in the tone of voice she could not place. "Long has she awaited your arrival, I understand." The two men measured one another at length, as was the way of men when they came upon a potential foe. Anne watched quietly, knowing better than to interrupt.

There was a time for sowing the seeds of peace and it would surely show itself to her were she but patient enough to wait. Upon that bit of wisdom she lowered her gaze to the ground and smiled to herself to feel Henry's hand upon hers. She felt him lift it and bring it to his lips, the kiss soft and slow, more making love than greeting and blushed to hear him speak after. "Why is it that you do not look me in the eye?" He pulled her with him to a settee so they might be side by side. Hooking one finger beneath her chin, he lifted her head. With a sight he looked to her guest. "Loathe as I am to cut this visit short, I would have words with Anna."

Philipp bowed his way out of the chamber, his face betraying naught, not even the quick fear flashing in his eyes that Anne caught the tail-end of. And then Henry's lips were upon hers, beguiling and demanding by turn. It was as though silent promises passed between them. And then he drew back. "Where are your women? Why do I not see them here?"

"I would not have them with me when I rest," she said honestly enough, "and certainly not when I knew you may come at any moment." Leaning into him, Anne pressed her head to his chest, squeezing herself as much as she could to better fit against him. "I am as I am and I would not see your layers peeled away before them."

For a moment there was silence and then a bark of laughter. "How that you should be the one harbouring jealousy when I am the one to find you alone with a man in your chambers." Hands came to grip her shoulders tightly. "I care not whether he is your father, cousin or brother; no man is to monopolise you in such a manner unless he be Henry, King of England."

Gentle as before, she lifted her weight from him and looked into his eyes. "Of course; I will heed your words as any good wife would." She did not need to ask to know his reasoning and could not help but feel foolish. "But there is something I would ask of you, Heinrich." He nodded. "Let then Philipp stand with me and give me away."

"You are fond of him." She fervently hoped he drew no comparison between her own person and his past queen. But even so, Anne did not hurried with soothing words but regarded him in silence, waiting. Henry touched a hand to her middle as though to feel the life beneath the thin veil of flesh. "It is only good and proper to be fond of one's family. Very well; we shall do as you wish." His smile grew radiant and true and she felt her own lips stretch in response. "But I shall have a price of you for this service rendered."

"A price?" she questioned, smile still pinned to her mouth. "Whatever else would you have of me, Heinrich?" His hands moved to cup her face and he drew her in for a kiss like the one he had placed upon her hand, bringing his tongue to mate with hers and leave her woozy when he had finally retreated.

"You sell yourself short. There is yet much in you to give me."

What a curious thing it was to see Anna's sister stand at her side. Henry could but compare one to the other. A sliver shorter, Amalia looked at her sister with such a full gaze that he feared his soon-to-be-again-wife might crumble beneath the weight of it. But Anna gazed at her sister with amused serenity as though chiding her for some transgression of remote import. Red-gold ringlets unlike Anne's reliable dark tresses framed a pinched oval of pale flesh. They shared the same eyes though; dark and deep. And then the younger put her arms about the elder and they smiled one at the other. Something in his chest eased at the display of obvious affection and he finally cut in.

Anna smiled to see him and he gave his attention to her sister after he had greeted her. "It is not long now," he spoke to the both of them, "and we must make out way if we are to avoid the oncoming shower."

All things considered, there was much understanding to be found between the two sisters. The unencumbered one helped her kin to her feet. They were to make the journey in two separate carriages. It was the only inch Henry was about to give custom and he regretted it deeply, but was forced to concede his bride might need some time to settle herself.

And thus it was that as he stood before Edward Lee awaiting the arrival of his one true wife so that they may proceed on to more important matters. He turned with the rest of the room to see her treading the distance between them upon the arm of her kin. She bore herself with exquisite grace in spite of the heaviness of her movements. Haloed by the light streaming through stained glass, she wore a rainbow upon the cloth of her raiment. And then she stood at his side, shyly looking at him. Henry took her by the hand and together they looked to the archbishop who began presiding over the affair.

The vows he moved through with great speed and heard not one third of it all, he was certain, but knew certain relief when they were over and he might help his queen kneel so she may be anointed as custom dictated. Rich fragrant oils touched the top of her head and lost their way in her hair and she was touched by God then even as he himself touched a hand to her shoulder.

The crown was lifted from its seat upon a velvet cushion. The circlet found its way to his wife's head and she was helped to her feet. "England," Henry addressed the gathered crowd, "I give you your Queen." A cheer went up for her and then cries of long live rang out loud enough to reach the heavens. And so it was he once more had a queen and a wife and Henry turned to kiss the top of her head even as his arm moved to her lower back, offering support.

The good cheer followed them back to the banquet hall where lords and ladies, pages and squires and all manners of wealthy dignitaries made merry with the King's best wine and the Queen's gentle smiles and there was not one soul in the land of all of England that did not bear themselves joyfully. Henry, seated at the high table, one hand upon Anna's knee beneath the cloth covering dark wood and the other occupied with a goblet looked over his people. He turned then to his bride and finding her looking at him was yet again elevated in his happiness. "I am robbed of speech, my lady, in the face of such," he said at lengths, the hand beneath the cloth pressing her more firmly.

"As am I," she spoke, her voice quiet in the din, full of warmth and affection. And then the first strains of popular song reached their ears. "Your Majesty, I cannot join you in dance, but I would fain have you enjoy this evening." He protested; the only person whose company he needed was her, after all, and yet Anna insisted and he saw no recourse but to give in gracefully to her encouragement.

He picked from among their many well-wishers a woman he thought not quite ugly, but not quite breath-taking either. She was tall and fair-haired, slim and dressed in sombre colours. A woman he saw eye-to-eye with and yet to whom he had naught to say; even so, Henry listened to her with great politeness, this wife of the late Lord Latimer's.

"Your Majesty, pray allow me to once again express my joy and give felicitations upon this happy occasion." Her voice was pleasant enough, he supposed. It did not hold a candle to Anna's dulcet tones, but if he were forced from the side of the woman he most wanted, this one would do just fine. Leaning in to better catch her words, he was surprised when she continued without waiting for a response. "And Her Majesty must be overwhelmed herself with the good fortune God has granted her in His Mercy."

"Whatever can you mean by that?" Was there ever any doubt that his Anna would breed, and breed true at that? Intrigued to be spoken to with such unguarded daring, Henry locked eyes with the Lady Catherine.

"Only that Her Majesty is a fortunate woman," the lady before him demurred as they circled one another, "and that one can hope to one day have even a crumb of such good fortune." Her smile, very different from Anna's, but no less winsome hit him squarely in the chest like a great weight. Inclining his head, he murmured a reply under his breath and would have taken the discussion yet further if a great commotion did not break out just then.

Turning towards what seemed to be the origin point of the disturbance, he was horrified to see his Anna leaning heavily upon one of her ladies, locked in desperate embrace with the woman as another one of her creatures was helping support her weight. He abandoned his partner without a second look and was at Anna's side before long, yelling for the physician to attend them at once. Arms stronger than his would have lifted his bride, but Henry pushed one and all away to heave her himself and onto his bad leg and tired body tool the whole of her weight, carrying his wife away from the sight of speculating eyes.

With the gathering of physicians, he was ever so gently coaxed away from his wife's side, for though he as loathe to leave her, he knew her moans of pain could mean but few things. His wife would deliver him babes, Henry decided; there was no other outcome he would accept. And left her he did then with a kiss to her forehead and a few words of praise. Away he went, insisting that none follow him.

It was Charles that came to him then nevertheless. The man placed on hand upon his shoulder. "God smiles upon you, Your Majesty," the man entertained out loud, "and you frown by way of praise?" Henry scoffed; he needed a drink.

"God may yet turn that smile into a frown." Childbed was a matter most veiled. "I cannot help thinking of Jane." Ever back to Jane did the circle round. He saw some understanding in Brandon's face and was reminded why it was their friendship had endured over so long a stretch in spite of their many differences. "I need sons and a wife who will not prove a faithless wretch. Surely, I do not ask for the impossible."

"But of course not; Lady Anne is young and hale; women give birth all the time and many fill their husband's home with children. She hasn't Jane's delicate constitution." His friend jumped from one argument to another, visibly at pains to ease his mind. The wine came and they both drank as the conversation gently slanted into other topics and before long Henry found himself relieving memories of his youth, back when pain was but a name and sorrow not yet deeply rooted in his mind. He could not help laughter at the recounting of their antics and thus it was the squire come to share news found the both of them, drunk on mirth and memory.

At the youth's entrance, Henry's pleasant mien melted away. "Speak you now," he demanded of the ashen faced fellow, heart squeezing in his chest.

"Begging Your Majesty's pardon but word has come from the Queen's chambers." Bowing from one man to the other, the squire continued, "'Tis with great pleasure I announce, Your Majesty, that the Queen has given birth. To sons. Two of them."

"Two?" the word rushed from his mouth, expelled upon .a breathy sound. "Twins. Sons. Two boys," he looked to Brandon and smiled incredulously to his oldest friend. The man had a similar expression to his own, he did not doubt. Clapping one hand to the man's shoulder and the other to his cheek, Henry laughed for pure joy.

He made haste to his wife's chambers, wishing to behold the sons God had given him in his old age; and two were they as the squire had said. One rested upon his mother's bosom, the other lying in a basket at her side. One suckled at her breast and the other slept. Henry looked upon them and was struck speechless. Anna, who had noted his approach, was looking at him with lambent eyes, as though awaiting some manner of work. But Henry could do little more than come nearer at a pace much slower.

He sat by her bedside, each hand going out to a head, the touch feather-light. "This one shall be named John and this one James." Something like a sob left Anna's throat and Henry, unable to keep from her, but leaned until their foreheads were touching. "My wife, my good wife whose worth surpasses all others; tell me you are as happy as I."

"So very happy," she whispered back and he felt the words reverberating through him. His heart swelled with pride and he was filled with the light of love. "I am a mother Henry. You have made me a mother." Her words touched him as naught else ever could have.

He should have never sent her from his side to begin with. Pulling back from the three, Henry watched them with rapt attention. If only the Devil hadn't tempted him; he cursed the day he ever set eyes on his previous wife and wished her a long stay in Hell for surely her soul wandered those merciless deserts even as he enjoyed the grace of the Lord. But he knew better than before; he would never look away from this wife of his for she was God's gift to him for all that he had endured.

At long last Henry stood. "All must know of our joy," he declared and to the servants within the bower he called, demanding the gathering of his lords. "There is much to do, my Queen and I must leave you to your rest." She nodded, her eyes returning to her sons. And John had fallen asleep even as James had. Henry left them then, for if the whole of his country was to ring with the sounds of joy, he had indeed much to do.