Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story, and made it such a pleasure to write. I really, really appreciate it, so thank you again. This is the final chapter of "Hope Springs Eternal," but the epilogue contains a rough idea I have for a sequel, which I may begin work on, if I can flesh it out a little more. Again, I own none of the characters, TV show, or history. Thank you, again.

Chapter Nine: Hope Springs Eternal.

Smoke inhalation, poisoned wine, a hefty bang on the head, and finally a cat fight that left livid purple bruises streaking down her face. Queen Anne had borne it all in the previous night. But, as she sat in the Royal Nursery, rocking the Prince in her arms, she knew she would do it all again in a trice, to protect the child in her arms.

Even now, a full day later, she can barely remember the King carrying her down from the balustrades of the Tower. The young guard who'd escorted she, and Jane Parker, to where the Prince was being held, had raised the alarm as quickly as possible, and the fire was extinguished by a chain of Yeomen and worried citizens, all passing buckets of water up to the spot. Still, the fire had burned long into the early hours of the morning, and the whole top floor of the White Tower was gutted by the flames.

What remained of Mary Talbot was removed from Tower Hill, even before the sun had risen. She's free now, Anne thinks to herself. Madge, was an altogether more complicated proposition. One that Anne simply didn't want to think about, right now. Not while she sat in the dying rays of early evening summer sun, rocking her son in her arms, singing him back to sleep. But, she will be shown mercy. Blackmail is hard to resist, and Madge was never mentally robust.

Countless times, maids had come in and tried to compel the Queen to relinquish Prince Arthur into their care. Each time, her heart had raced with fear, and she had clutched him all the tighter. She will let go of him, eventually. Talbot won't win. Anne won't let herself be ruled by fear for long. But just for today, she wants to hold him, and gaze at him, all day long.

Prince Arthur grizzled all through the first night. He had been tossed about like a rag doll for the last week, but he knew Anne's scent. He remembered the sound of her voice. Something deep inside him remembered his mother, because he is part of her like the second side of a coin. She soothes him with the fact of her physical presence.

Arthur won't remember what happened. He will blossom, and flourish, and he need never know about Mary Talbot. He has his whole life ahead of him, and hope springs eternal when a babe is born as strong, and as resilient as he.

Even George and Jane are talking, now. They had talked, and cried into each other's shoulders. They'd each got the wrong end of the stick. They loved each other, really, and they just had a funny way of showing it. Then, the two had disappeared into their chambers. Anne listened, with an embarrassed grin on her face, to the slow, rhythmic thump of their bed's headboard banging against the connecting wall.

Henry arrives at dusk. His leg is bad. The wound from the joust seems to have reopened of its' own accord.

"Did you knock it, last night?" Anne asks, as she tears her gaze away from Arthur to look over the weeping sore.

"I honestly don't know," He answers, shaking his head sadly. "I could have done, and I was so angry, so pent up with fury I wouldn't have noticed."

She can barely remember Henry picking her up from the balustrade of the White Tower. He had picked her up as though she were a fallen, autumn twig. It'd been so long since she had felt those arms around her. It lets her know that they love each other, still.

"Not to worry, my love," Anne assures him. "Get doctor Butts to drain out the poison, and it will soon heal again."

All wounds heal, in the end.

Epilogue.

July, 1537 (One Year Later).

Anne lies back against the stout trunk of an old oak tree, sheltering from the heat of the afternoon sun. She exhales slowly, relishing the cool shelter beneath the thick, green boughs and glances up at the dappled sunlight that filters in shafts through the gaps in the leaves. She dare not close her eyes with Henry's hunting hounds so close by. As soon as she shows signs of being asleep, the great beasts will bound over, and start licking and slobbering at her face. Her belly, swollen once again with child, doesn't allow for hasty retreats.

Arthur is nearby. Once he'd been safely returned to her, a master craftsman in London had made for him a special chair, with wheels connected to it. An ingenious contraption, meaning that even as Arthur got too big to carry, he could simply be put in the chair and a Lady could push him. Now, he is standing. His auburn curls made golden by the sun, as he grips the back of the chair for dear life. He is looking all about him, his deep blue eyes darting hither and thither, getting the lay of the land at his wobbly feet. He is debating whether or not to have another go at taking his first steps.

Princess Elizabeth stands over him, her arms outstretched. She is an old pro at the walking business, now. And she is passing the talent on to her baby brother. She is a dutiful sister.

"Darling," Henry's voice takes her by surprise.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to alarm you," He explains as he eases himself down at her side.

"He's going to walk!" Anne grins and nods at their son. Henry laughs as he watches his little Prince, with pride shining in his eyes.

"He is the best son a man could wish for, King or no," He sighs wistfully as he puts his arm around Anne's shoulders.

"Oh!" Anne starts with a gasp. "I promised Jane Parker I would visit her in her confinement. The child is due any day now."

She starts to gather herself up, but Henry places a hand on her shoulder, stopping her. She looks at him, and senses the worry that he is trying to mask from her. After ten years together, she knows him too well. "Harry," She reverts to her old, familiar pet name for him. She addresses him as a wife, worried for her husband. "Sweetheart, what is it?"

"Its' probably nothing," He smiles, his eyes twinkling again. "But, there was an illegal assembly in Yorkshire over the weekend. They're making a few demands, and causing a bit of trouble."

"What kind of demands?"

"That I cast you off," He replies, bluntly. "That I stop the reforms. That I hand Cromwell over to them, to face their version of justice. That I return England to the Holy See. That I renounce Prince Arthur as my son."

Anne looks over at him, utterly aghast.

"Send the Royal Army out immediately, raise men from the city and pack them off to the North immediately!" But surely, Anne thinks, this has already been done. "Be done with these traitors!"

"They have an army of ten thousand men," Henry flushes with embarrassment. Anne feels her blood turn to ice in her veins. "Sweetheart, do not worry yourself. I will ride north myself, and deal with this once, and for all."

"Henry, no!"

"It will be all right!" Henry assures her, giving her shoulders a tight squeeze. "They won't take up arms against their King. And when I get there, I will hang them by the roadside in every town, village and hamlet in the whole of York."

"If I wasn't with child, I'd come and help you," She manages a dry laugh. Surely, no rabble of peasants would defeat her husband.

Henry heaves a great bark of laugher. He doesn't doubt that she would. But, he calms and kisses her, and bids her to go and visit her sister in law. Nothing will change.

Before she walks away, Anne surveys the scene before her. Her children play before their faffing nurses. The hunting hounds snuffle at the undergrowth, picking up the scent of nothing in particular. The sun continues to beat down on the earth. Insects buzz in the languid heat, while butterflies hover among the rose beds. And, in Yorkshire, a vast, ever swelling army of rebels amass.

Everything is fine. Nothing is as it should be.