Title: Second Chance

Author: Cruelangel101

Disclaimer: I own nothing...Not the characters (uh maybe the ones that I make up), not the show, and certainly not the production company…can anyone own history?

Detailed Summary: Anne Stafford is a twenty-five year old successful English business woman. She was on the rise to the top; however, a freak accident sends her back into the past, the Tudor era, where she finds herself in the body of a twenty year old Anne Boleyn who was in the middle of her courtship with King Henry VIII. What is a modern girl to do in a world where men's words were law and women could do little but obey their fathers and husbands? Court, manipulations, danger, politics and the occasional humor await her. Can she fight against time itself and forever change history or would she be resigned to her fate the second time around?

Hm…time travel fics are not new again, but I don't think anyone has done a fic where Anne traveled back to the past to be herself.

Pairings: Anne/Henry VIII

AN: Thank you all who reviewed, alerted or favorited this story! Happy Reading! Please note for those who read this story a few years ago, I made a change at the end of the prologue, and have thus delayed the re-meeting between Henry and Anne.

I tried being humorous with this chapter and I hope it gets a few laughs!

Chapter One

May 19th, 1528, Hever Castle, England

The two men in front of her wore almost identical frowns after her statements. They stared at her, eyes wide with shock. The older man spoke first, "Anne, child, surely you have not forgotten who we are!"

Anne had to bite her tongue to keep herself from saying, actually I have no clue who the bloody hell you are, instead she tried to remain polite, "I'm sorry. I just feel so confused…my memories are rather fuzzy." She really wanted these men to just take a hint and answer her questions. Who were they? Where was she? And just what was going on?

"Fuzzy?" the younger man questioned almost immediately, "what is fuzzy? I have never heard of such a word before."

Anne blinked. Oh, they had not understood the American slang she had picked up at work. They were clearly English, she rephrased, "My memories are not clear but I truly don't know who you are."

"Anne, I'm your father!" The one Anne had decided to nickname the old one explained, a frantic note in his voice. He then pointed to his son, "He is your brother, George."

She didn't think this explanation was very helpful at all. Apparently, he believed that he was her father and the young man before her was her brother? As far as Anne knew, she was an only child. Maybe she was in a weird dream because she had been watching too much historical fiction shows lately. This whole situation just felt ridiculous. She felt like she was dropped into that show her mother had been watching called The Tudors with Jonathan Rhys Meyers. Yet, if it was a dream, she can certainly play along for a bit, "And Your daughter's name is Anne?" she questioned, digging for more information.

Nope, definitely not the right thing to say judging by their expressions. "Dear God," the man called George, her supposed 'brother' whispered, "You really do not know who we are?"

Anne shook her head slowly, "I just know my name is Anne." She didn't add the part where she thought they were all bloody crazy.

George looked at her sympathetically, "Perhaps the fever…" he trailed off at the solemn look on his father's face.

"Get the physician, George," his father commanded.

George nodded and rose from the bed to obey his father. He left the room quickly as a long silence fell upon the room. No one spoke until he returned with yet another strangely dressed man. The man bowed, "My Lady" before he approached her.

Anne didn't respond. She was starting to get tired of this farce. Was this perhaps one of those TV shows that played pranks on innocent unsuspecting people? She didn't find this very funny at all. Maybe her parents put them up to it. She stole a glance around the room and tried looking for any sign of cameras but had no success before the new man took her attention.

"My Lady, how are you feeling?" his voice was not unkind.

Anne shrugged, "Confused, I suppose." Apparently that was not the right thing to do or say either as the frowns on the men in the room deepened.

This new man, who Anne supposed with the physician, had a look of intrigue now on his face, "What do you remember last?"

Anne thought back. She remember going to the museum with her parents. She remembered the unveiling of the painting. That painting…it had all started with that painting. It had looked as if the painting had been done with her sitting for it. Then she had run out, gotten into her car… everything was all fragmented after that, "I remember the heat…I am not sure." Her car had been on fire. She remembered the heat before someone pulled her out it.

The doctor nodded, "Ah, yes the sweating sickness does have that effect."

Anne blinked in surprise, "The sweating sickness?" Was he speaking of the plague?

"You do not remember falling ill? My Lady?" the Doctor questioned.

Anne shook her head, "I don't remember anything." Honestly, she just wanted to get up and search for cameras but she still felt rather weak.

The older man who had called himself her father now looked almost angry and as if he wanted to say something but then thought better after giving the doctor another glance. The Doctor himself also looked rather concerned, "I have heard of cases like this. The fever from the sweating sickness can cause some to experience memory losses. Lady Anne was gravely ill, and her fever had been very great. It would not be impossible that she is now experiencing some residual effects of the illness."

"How long will this last?" the old one questioned, Anne thought she saw a calculating look in his eyes.

The doctor sighed, "This I cannot be certain. There have been records of the memories returning spontaneously once the patient has fully recovered while others…the memories are lost forever."

Anne thought the old one's face looked like someone had died, "The King will be displeased," he responded.

Personally, Anne could care less if some King is pleased or not in this current situation. She was still as confused as when she first woke up if not more so. She was also still half convinced this was some sick reality TV show. One a side not, tf it was a show, Anne thought they hired rather good actors. She found them rather convincing in their costumes and expressions. However, if…and it was a very doubtful if…if this was not a joke, then…had she somehow traveled back in time? She has read those fictional stories where someone from modern ages travels back in time and end up in the bodies of historical figures before. It's called historical fanfiction and its a rather popular genre.

The doctor now frowned as well, "Yes, the King will not be pleased that Lady Anne did not come out of the illness unharmed, but perhaps his majesty would be pleased enough with the fact that the Lady survived when many has died."

The old one nodded, "yes, yes of course, thank you Dr. Linacre."

"Wait, you haven't told me who I am. I only know my name is Anne," well that wasn't true but she wanted to know who they all thought she was.

She can see the old one was fighting a scowl but she paid him no mind. Instead, she looked to the younger man called George. He seemed friendly enough earlier. At her expectant look, the young man shifted slightly, obviously uncomfortable, but nevertheless responded, "You are the Lady Anne Boleyn," then as an after thought he added, "the King's beloved."

If Anne had thought the situation even slightly humorous previously, she certainly didn't think so any more after hearing that name. Anne felt her face pale and started feeling dizzy. Her last thought before blackness fell upon her was she certainly had no desire to have her head chopped off by a tyrannical fat man.

May 23rd, 1528, Hever Castle, England

"I met the King of England two years ago when I was introduced to court at a Masque?" Anne summed up after listening to George spent the morning telling her about her life.

It has been a few days since Anne woke up in this strange world and she has since decided to play along for now. She was in a strange land where she knew no one and as thus these people who believed her to be Anne Boleyn were her only source of protection. It was not that she had no doubts. When she had woken from the initial shock of it all and had finally been left alone she had searched high and low for cameras, but it was not to be. The first few nights, every time she fell asleep she had expected to wake up in her own time, but that never happened either. In the end, she had grudgingly accepted that she was in the past. Yet she still couldn't shake the feeling that someone will jump out at her one-day and tell her this was all one elaborate joke.

George nodded with a grin, "And His Majesty has been in love with you ever since. Father always said your eyes were like dark hooks for the soul and dear sister you have certainly sunk your hooks into the King of England." He wiggled his eyebrows at her in laughter.

Anne chuckled outwardly but cringed inwardly. How was she going to get out of this situation? They certainly never had a class in college called 'How to let a 16th century King down easy so he doesn't cut off your head'. All she knew was there was no way in hell that she would ever marry Henry VIII. She had no death wish. She needed a plan and her current family was definitely not going to be any help.

George Boleyn was a kind, lighthearted man. He was very friendly and was a doting brother. Yet, Anne had not doubt that he would run to their father with everything she said. Despite knowing this, Anne still found there was an odd familiarity about the man and an easy comfort when she spoke with him. Thomas Boleyn, on the other hand, was not someone she trusted. In the little interactions Anne had with the man and she could already see that he was a calculating and cold man. Not to mention, if history was to be trusted, this man would eventually sell out his own flesh and blood to spare his own life.

Just as Anne's thoughts turned sourly towards her supposed father in this time, the man walked into the room. His disappointment in Anne's lack of memories was still evident when he spoke, "Sweetheart, the King has heard of your recovery and has send you a letter." He handed her a yellow folded parchment sealed with red wax.

She pause in surprise but quickly settled her nerves and reached towards the object. Of course King Henry would write to Anne Boleyn. The Vatican still had records of the letters that Henry VIII had written to the woman, although no letter from Anne Boleyn to Henry VIII had survived. It was well known that the King had burned everything to do with Anne after her trial.

She traced the red seal with her finger but made no attempt to open the letter until, Thomas Boleyn coughed. She looked up at him again finding that he was staring at her expectantly. Apparently the man did not understand the word 'Privacy'. She almost arched a brow and starred back in defiance but eventually held back her rebellious urge and broke the seal. It was better not to but the man on edge yet. As she opened the letter, she let out a small sigh of relief. At least the writing inside was legible. She was almost worried that the letters of the alphabet would be written differently in the past. It was irrational.

The cause of my writing at this time, good sweetheart, is only to understand of your good health and prosperity; where of to know I would be as glad as in manner mine own, praying God that and it be His pleasure to send us shortly together,for I promise you I long for it. How be it, I trust it shall not be long to; and seeing my darling is absent, I can do no less than to send her some flesh, representing my name, which is hartflesh for Henry, prognosticating thathereafter, God willing, you may enjoy some of mine, which He pleased, I would were now.

As touching your sister's matter, I have caused Walter Welze to write to my lord my mind therein, whereby I trust that Eve shall not have power to deceive Adam; for surely, whatsoever is said, it cannot so stand with his honour but that he must needs take her, his natural daughter, now in her extreme necessity. No more to you at this time, mine own darling, but that with a wish I would we were together an evening.

With the hand of yours,

H.R.

Anne blinked a few times, and read the letter again, and then once more. It was rather long winded with scrambled words as far as she was concerned. She could barely make sense of the letter. She could make out that the King sent her something but then she had not idea what on earth he meant by "hartflesh." Then the sentence after…was he making some ancient sexual innuendo? Or was she making a modern interpretation error?

Then there was her sister's matter? Anne had not a clue what the King was going on about. Who was Walter Welze? How do Adam and Eve have anything to do with her sister's situation? This was ridiculous. Nevertheless, she struggled to remember what had happened to Mary Boleyn in 1528, racking her brain in trying to remember any details about the Tudor court that her own father had mentioned while growing up. Then, she remembered a small detail. Mary's husband Sir Carey had died from the sweating sickness in 1528. His death had left Mary Boleyn essentially penniless and it was said that the once favored mistress had been forced to pawn her own jewelry in order to pay off some of the debts that Carey had accumulated. The debt had only been settled when Anne Boleyn had arranged for a pension for Mary and eventually Mary's son was transferred to Anne as her ward. Was this the matter the King had referred to?

"Anne", Thomas Boleyn's voice held a slight edge of irritation to it, "What did the King say?" It would appear Boleyn had grown tired of waiting for Anne to explain the contents of the letter.

Anne didn't quite know how to respond. She didn't know what the King was talking about herself so how was she supposed to explain it. Finally, in response, she simply handed the letter back to Boleyn. The action seemed to have taken Boleyn by surprise. Even George was staring at her like she had grown another head. Their father quickly recovered and with a pleased smile he took the letter and began to read greedily. He finished quickly and turned his attention back to her once he was finished with a triumphant smirk.

"No doubt, Dr. Linacre would have informed the King about your memory situation, but his affections for you had not dimmed. He will even intervene on Mary's behalf for you. You must write back and assure him of your continued affections," the man ordered.

Anne blinked. She didn't know how to write a letter in the style that the King had sent her. With quick thinking she answered, "I think not. Refusal to answer would serve a much better purpose."

Boleyn regarded her carefully, before slowly nodding, "very well. I suppose no answers has always incense him far more than any declaration of love." He turned to leave, but before exiting he turned back to them like an after thought, "I will have the kitchens prepare the meats the King sent for supper."

Oh…Hartflesh…the gift that the King had sent was some type of meat. But what was a Hart? Anne felt like she was at a middle school cafeteria where the meal of the day was a serving of mystery meat.

She turned to George, intending to ask him what kind of animal a Hart is, but paused when she saw that he still had not completely wiped the look of surprise off of his face. She arched a brow, "What is wrong? Why do you look so surprised still?"

She seemed to shake him out of his stupor, he chuckled, "Its just that it has been a long time since you let father or anyone read a letter from the King to you."

This time it was Anne's turn to be surprised. She had assumed Thomas Boleyn likely read all of Anne Boleyn's letters with the King.

June 3rd, 1528, Hever Castle, England

It was summer and Anne loved summers. She couldn't let her unfortunate situation get in the way of enjoying the little things in life. So here she was, lying on the grass, under the cover of a tree, but through the branches she could feel warmth of the sun shinning on her face.

It was moments like this she actually felt content. Yet despite this small comfort, she could not erase the unease she felt. It was 1528, which meant it was 8 years before her execution. She had eight years to plan an escape. She had many plans, but none was remotely viable, some not even plausible. For example, she could try and return to her own time before the execution, but she didn't even know how she got to this time let alone how to get back.

Another plan was to act so awful that the King would abandon her for another. This plan she had given some consideration as she could claim it was a personality change due to the loss of memories and the fever. Yet it was also not a viable plan. As it turned out, she often unconsciously acted like the other Anne as George was often quick to tell her, just simply without the memories. So if she was acting too different they may even think she was possessed and burn her at the stake or something equally awful. A brief moment of the movie The Exorcist flashed in Anne's mind, before she shrugged the thought away.

Then there also was the idea of setting the King up with another woman, but that was also quickly shut down. She didn't know anyone here so how could she play matchmaker. Not to mention, knowing Henry the Eighth's nature, any other woman she chose for him, it would feel like signing their death warrant. Here she was trying to escape a murdering tyrant so how could she send another women to her death in her place?

She thought about eloping with one of Anne Boleyn's historical admirers such as Thomas Wyatt or even Henry Percy. But that would be another way to ask for death. Even if these men were willing to risk the anger of the King, when Henry VIII found out he had been made a fool he would find a way to have both of their heads.

So what was left? She couldn't supply Katherine of Aragon with fertility drugs. She couldn't run away by herself in this era as a woman. Perhaps she could ask him for a divorce when he got tire of her, but that meant she would have to marry him. She certainly could not marry a man she did not love and if she was to love him…it would be all over. Anne groaned in frustration. No, she needed a way to convince the King that he didn't want to marry her.

She didn't know how long she was there thinking, but eventually she was brought out of her own thoughts by the sound of hooves. She sat up and saw a couple riders coming her way. It didn't take long for them to reach her. She stood in confusion as the new strangers dismounted their horses. From their expressions, she had no doubt that that they recognized her. She just didn't know who they were.

Leading the noblemen was tall man of slender built. He was very fit with a head full of dark red hair. He smiled at her radiantly. It was a smile that suddenly made her feel like she was the only woman in the world. She felt her breath catch in her throat. She knew him. At least, she felt like she knew him. But they had never met…it was not possible that they had met.

Anne felt like she could not breath, as he walked towards her briskly as if fearing a step later she would evaporate into thin air and pulled her into deep embrace, "Mine own sweet heart."

In that instant, she knew exactly who he was. Anne internally grimaced. She was being embraced by King Henry the Eighth…her future executioner.

AN: Five years, that's how long its been since the first chapter was posted. I can't believe someone still asked me to update this story. Well, here it is. I'm planning on writing Nemesis primarily and will continue with this one and TKW alternatively in between. I hope any old readers of the story will find still like this story and new readers will enjoy it as well.

Please note, the letter written by the King was actually a letter that was written by him that I found. The actual date of the letter is for June 22nd, 1528, I changed the dates for fictional irony. In regards to the content of the letter, I also have no idea what Henry was talking about, so I made a few guesses. I looked up Hartflesh, and Hart is old english for deer apparently so I assumed it was deer meat. If that's not the case, well...that's what I'm going with for the story.

Please let me know how you feel about this with a review!

Happy Reading,

Cruelangel