Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, I really appreciate all of the feedback I get, so thank you. As ever, I own none of the characters, events or the history. Please read and review, thank you!

Chapter Fifteen: Still Life/Epilogue.

The Archbishop's news came as no surprise to King Henry. He absorbed the impact of the latest body blow with a brave face, and a grim sense of the inevitable. Princess Katherine had died four days after her birth. Her short life had been spent curled up alone in her cradle, as her parents looked on helplessly as death slowly took her. He had been too scared to hold her, too scared to get close to her, because there is only so much grief and loss a man can take.

Henry dismissed the Archbishop, only to have him replaced by a hand wringing physician with a face a like condemned man. He sunk into a low bow, like he was trying to kiss the flagstones without bending his knees, as he approached the King.

"Your Grace, the Queen grows weaker," His voice was sombre, his face stricken. "We have done all we can."

"Then do it all again," Henry commanded as he slumped further in his chair, massaging the ache between his eyes. "Just save her."

The physician looked, for a moment, as though he were going to protest, or to try and reason with the King. But one look from Henry silenced the man, and he bowed out of the chamber, still wringing his hands.

Alone again, Henry screwed his eyes shut but let the tears leak out anyway. Since the birth, Elizabeth weakened, and rallied, but then weakened again as the fever took hold of her. All the while, he paced the Tower of London, waiting for news. All of his duties were delegated to whoever was free, the laws and the realm could wait for him, for once.

A few days after Princess Katherine died, the children were brought by barge to the Tower by their grandmother. They lined up quietly outside their mother's chamber, as each waited their turn to be ushered inside to kiss their mother goodbye, and whisper their final farewells softly in her ear as she slipped further and further away. Henry watched them in the adjacent ante chamber, not wanting to intrude on their final moments with Elizabeth, but watching fearfully for their reactions.

"She is going to die. You realise that, don't you?" Margaret Beaufort spoke softly so the children could not hear. "You must be prepared for it, Henry."

He didn't reply, and kept his attention fixed on his children who prayed at Elizabeth's bedside. Masses for her soul. Prayers for her safe passage to the angels. God rest her soul. Amen.

"If she wakes again, tell her nothing of Katherine. She doesn't need to know that," Margaret advised.

"For goodness sake, mother, I am not heartless!" Henry hissed back at her. "Take the children and go."

"But Henry-"

"Leave!"

Margaret's brow creased into a frown, but nonetheless, she walked back into the main chamber, and ushered the children away. Elizabeth slept on, oblivious to it all. Henry watched, numb with grief, as his world continued to crumble.

Once he was alone with his wife, he sat beside her in a rickety wooden chair, and covered her hand with his own. Elizabeth feebly stirred as he kissed her forehead, but she did not wake. Nothing more than a soft moan could escape her lips, and her body was completely still. Only the shallow rise and fall of her chest betrayed her beating heart.

"Elizabeth," He breathed her name into her ear as he leant in close to talk to her. "Elizabeth, please … if you can hear me …"

He felt foolish, and his words failed him, just when he needed his grip on the English language more than ever before. But as the hot tears burned his eyes again, a rush of memories from long ago flooded his mind, memories he wanted to share with her one more time before she left him for ever.

"I remember the first time I saw you. You were with your mother, in the procession when I returned to London after Bosworth. All I could see was the top of your head, and when I raised you up, the first time you looked at me and I saw you you properly; it felt like being hit by lightning. And every time you have looked at me since, it's always felt the same. From that day, I knew that everything would be just fine, because I had you at my side."

As the past relived itself in his mind, King Henry made no effort to stem the flow of his tears. Elizabeth muttered in her sleep, and he thought that she even opened her eyes, and whispered his name. So, he carried on talking to her, long in to the night. If only love alone was enough to save a person.

As the dawn broke on Elizabeth's thirty seventh birthday, Henry could clearly see that the rise and fall of her chest was slowing. He felt her pulse, and found barely a trace. He tilted her beautiful face towards him, and kissed her lips for what he knew would be the final time.

"You are my heart, my soul, my everything," He whispered in her ear again, one final secret between two lovers. "You always will be."

And she was gone.

They banged on the door of the Privy Chamber, again. But, Henry continued to ignore them. He pulled the hood of his cloak up over his head, and lay in heap on the floor of the Privy Chamber. He wiped his tears on his sleeve, and covered his ears as his Councillors bellowed at him through the locked doors.

"Your Grace, please, open the door!" The Archbishop of Canterbury shouted. "We just want to see that you are well."

Let them stew, Henry thought to himself as he clamped his hands harder over his ears and the tears continued to drip down his long nose. Finally, they all gave up on him again. Henry scurried over to the door, and listened to their footsteps receding down the stone passageway outside the door, and breathed a deep sigh of relief. Now that they were gone, he could get back to work on his plans for the Chapel.

He pulled the room's one remaining candelabra across the floor to his desk, and plunged the remainder of the room into complete darkness. He poured himself more wine, and looked over the design one more time. He picked up his pen, and made alterations here and there, adding in what he wanted, to his own specific requirements.

For days, he'd been scratching at these plans. He didn't want this Chapel to be just another Chapel, because it was for her. For Elizabeth. He wanted it to be a living, breathing monument to her, where together they would rest in peace for all eternity. He downed his wine, and ignored his spinning head as he focussed every ounce of his love, grief, and loss into his grand designs.

"Well, what do you think, Your Grace?" Lady Catherine asked the King as they stepped inside the Lady Chapel for the first time.

Together, they stood in the centre aisle of the newly completed Chapel, and walked around in a circle, taking in every inch of space, and every fine detail. They looked up, high above their heads at the stunningly detailed pendant shaped, fan vaulted ceiling that arched endlessly above their heads. It seemed to capture, and hold, the very light as it spilled in through the vast stained glass windows that were set in great bays along each wall. The buttresses, and columns soared upwards, seemingly up to the heavens themselves. The stalls were panelled with hand crafted, finely detailed misercordia depicting saints, mythical beasts and scenes of domesticity. The very essence of life was depicted here, from the insignificant, to the grand, and brought to life for the whole of the realm to see.

For the first time in a long time, King Henry smiled as he took in the whole space. This Chapel, built in honour of Queen Elizabeth, was a whisper of God. As he breathed in the cool, dusty air, he savoured the light that pooled down, showering them in a riot of colour. In the vast, grandeur of the structure, he tried to imagine the countless generations of feet that would walk through those doors, and stand beneath that same spectacular ceiling, and let themselves be bathed in the same heavenly light as he was at that moment. It was all beyond one mind.

Henry, with an awestruck Catherine at his side, moved through the space and came to rest at the magnificent bronze tomb. Elizabeth. Alone for now. Her features lovingly wrought into her effigy, now she lay at peace in the sacred Abbey, where one day, Henry knew he would join her. Together, they would lie oblivious to the ever changing world around them. Their love for each other, frozen in time.

Because, where there is still life, there is still hope for a better future. And Henry knows, no matter how much he still loves Elizabeth, and Arthur, and Princess Katherine, and all the others he has mourned; the world will carry on. But this, this monument will stand for centuries to come. It will be their legacy, even when their names are nought but the faintest of traces on the pages of history.

"I think Elizabeth would have approved of this," Henry finally answered Catherine's question with a renewed flourish of confidence.

Author's Note: Thank you, once again, to everyone who has read, and reviewed this story. I hope everyone enjoyed it, as I know I enjoyed writing it. Thank you, once again!