Hey all! This is my first The Tudors fanfiction, and I hope you will like it! It strongly inspired by 'The Haunting', by , because I loved that one. Read it if you haven't yet! As Anne died 19th May 1536, I wanted Anne to visit Henry every year after on that date till Henry dies. So this is the first of 10 chapters, though I am considering to add one for Anne and Henry to visit Elizabeth together. Let me know what you thought of it!

19 May 1537:

'Your Majesty.'

An oh so familiar, alluring voice intruded His Majesty King Henry VIII's thoughts, on a rather rainy 19th May. The king of England had been going over the preparations Cromwell had made for the birth of the future King of England, but had somehow not been able to concentrate.

'Who is that?'

'Oh, your Majesty,' and for a second he swore he heard a treasonous mocking in the voice,' have you forgotten me already?'

'I demand you make yourself known, madam.'

'Ah. 10 years of courting, 3 years of marriage…and one year without me and he seems to have forgotten me. I suppose such is the love of a great king.'

'Anne…' The identification of the voice by the king was barely a whisper, yet his frantic searching for her implicated more. His eyes darted from corner to corner, till he was suddenly met by an image of the past. Henry and Anne various years ago, her sitting on the very same desk he had been working on a few minutes ago in the present, him kissing her thighs, holding her dress up with both of his hands. Anne was smiling at him, both in ecstasy and love.

'You loved me so, back then.'

Anne's ghost appeared next to the moving memory, looking at it tenderly.

'Go away shade.'

Henry's voice was brusque and cold, contradicting his earlier frantic searching for her.

'You do not know what day it is, do you now, Henry? '

'I shall not talk to the dead, and especially not treasonous ones.'

'Oh I see. Well, in that case you will have more time to listen. God knows you rarely did so once you had me. You see, your Majesty, today I celebrate the day of my death. Or, rather, my murder. A murder committed by none other than my own Lord Husband. And though poets say there is no better way to die than to die by the hands of the one you love, I say it is the worst. But, the pain his hate gives is bigger than any sword. It really is, my lord.'

The moving memory faded away, leaving Anne only in his office. She moved towards him, and though he desperately tried to keep his gaze on document he pretended to be reading, he was still amazed by the elegance in her every step. Suddenly he recognized her dress. It was the yellow dress, the golden dress she had worn when she had believed to be with child again and Katherine had died.

'Why are you wearing that dress? I don't believe that is what you were wearing when you were punished for your sins.'

'I am wearing this for the same reason I wore it when Katherine died.'

Henry's eyes shot up now, looking her in the eyes directly.

'What are you saying? Am I to die?'

Anne took place on the desk, on the same spot the younger version of her had sat all those years ago.

'Contrary to others; I would mourn your death, my love. Even though you caused mine. Do not worry, you are not to die. '

'So who is?'

'The one person you forsake me for.'

'Jane? Jane is not to die! Jane is doing what you FAILED to do! Jane has God's mercy and love, she is not to die.'

'Oh but she is. And yes, she will be giving you your precious son, but she will die only a few days after.'

'You are a lying. You, madam, are treasonous lying whore who failed to give me an heir because GOD has known you will only poison England. So now I tell you for once and all: GO. LEAVE!'

'Again you forsake my love and goodwill. But alas. I shall take my leave now, my cruel love. But I will be back, Henry. This day, next year, we shall be united again. And then you shall see the truth in my words and my love. All I beg from you is one thing: spare our daughter. She had goodness, and goodness only in her. She is only 4 years old, but the perfect result of our love. Of us. She is only a child, Henry, but what a beautiful one! Spare Elizabeth; don't punish her for the sins you think I committed. She is your daughter too.'

And with those words, Anne Boleyn was once again gone out of the life of the King of England, only now with the promise of returning.

Review, pretty please?