Hello Baby Birds. I did not plan on writing this, it just sorta came to me when I was writing my other Charles and Anne story. I may add more to this as time goes by, but for now it is staying as a one shot.

Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Tudors. Some production company does. I just really miss it.

Even as she stood on the scaffold looking down at him with reluctant acceptance in her eyes and an amused smile on her lips, he couldn't decide if he hated her or loved her more. Part of him was in agony at what was to come. Surely a world without Anne Boleyn's sarcastic smile and witty remarks was not much of a world at all. Another part, the part that had caused him to do this, was rejoicing in finally being free of her.

Many times he had wondered if she really was a witch. He was not a superstitious man by any means, but no woman had ever made him bow down to them like Anne Boleyn had. How else had she been able to make Henry divorce his wife and make her Queen? Every man who ever came into her presence became enamoured with her, whether they hated her or loved her she captured their attention. Whilst she could be cold and ruthless when she needed to be, she was also kind and loving. He had long ago realised that it was her charm that attracted others.

His hand tightened around his son's shoulder as he thought about what he had done, what he would never forgive himself for doing. Going to Henry with concerns over the Queen of England's behaviour was not meant to end like this. He had hoped that he would send her away, somewhere Charles would not see her. Maybe to a nunnery, or in exile.

He could have any woman he wanted, he had had dozens of women before and during his marriage. But he couldn't have her, the one he truly wanted. He did not want to feel this way, especially about his friends wife, more importantly the King's wife. Charles Brandon did not handle jealously well, and his jealousy had gotten four innocent men killed, and a woman who had captured his heart for a decade would soon be following them.

They both knew that she was guilty of adultery, she had shared the bed of another. She was every bit of the whore as she has been described in the past. But only the two of them would know that he should be standing up there right next to her. She knew what he had done, just looking into her cool eyes he could tell that she knew that it was him that had caused her death, caused the death of her brother and three others. He knew that they were the only two who were guilty. Her eyes swung away from him and regarded the unusually quiet crowd.

She looked untouchable gazing down at the crowd with eyes that suggested that they should feel privileged to watch her die. Her face was the same cold, elegant mask she wore when she wanted to hide her emotions, demanding the crowds attention. Her words captivate the crowd as her mouth formed each word with her steady and strong voice. She controlled them just as she controls everyone she has ever met, even moments before her death. She looked beautiful and regal standing there before her subjects, every bit the Queen that she was born to be.

As her eyes came back to look at him for the last time, the cold mask slipped for just a moment, and in that moment it was just the two of them alone again in a bed in France with a roaring fire lighting up a room so many years ago. A small hesitant smile that he had never seen before formed on her mouth, a smile that said I forgive you.

And so, as Anne Boleyn stood there waiting for her impending execution, Charles Brandon knew that he had made the biggest mistake of his life.