The Other Henry VIII

Run and I Shall Follow

10th March 1523
Margaret could not stir her head more than a little to either side without feeling fatigued. She had asked them to position the crib almost immediate beside the bed, just so that she could cast her eyes upon that sweet tiny baby that writhed within.
His name was William; William Henry George Westerly. There was the boy that her brother desired so deeply, produced with little effort and even fewer motives. Margaret had wanted to name her son George, after John's generously loving father, but the thought of bringing back the memories of her brother's lost baby was too heavy a burden to carry. Perhaps his nickname could be Georgie, Will, or even Billy, when he grew. The only problem was that Margaret feared she would not be there to watch him, to make certain that her husband did not corrupt or spoil him. Loving a man like John had inflicted suffering upon none other than herself and Princess Margaret was at peace with that. She had even taken pleasure in caring for him like the good little wife the kingdom had reared her to be.
But where was John when she lay dying, with his heir beside her? Gallivanting, most likely.

"I love you, Will," Margaret whispered faintly, her throat course and dry like a sun-starved cave. She reached out her hand to touch his smooth pink cheek but it suddenly seemed miles away. Was this what it felt like to be delirious? "I lived, before, and Henry died. Suppose I die—will you promise me you will thrive into the strongest, kindest boy in the kingdom? Don't mind your father. In honesty, ignore him. He'll have two mistresses on each knee at my funeral, perhaps more afterwards. Will, do you think he will have to grow longer legs to fit them all?"
Margaret laughed weakly at her own ramblings. Her whole world lay in that cradle and he seemed to giggle as well, plump arms outstretched, kicking into the air. "Where is everyone, Will? I am glad I sounded sane when I ordered them to leave you in here, otherwise I would have no-one to talk to..." Then, suddenly, Margaret cried out, "Leia!" from her cracked lips. She screamed that one word so many times, hoping but not knowing if anyone could hear or cared. Everything about the chamber was swimming in mist; all that was clear was that baby, wrestling with his white sheets  as if it was his archenemy.

Then, there were icy fingers enveloping Margaret's hands; she could every bit of their skin sliding over each other like a thousand needle-prices. "My Lady?" echoed an eerie voice about the room, making her want to climb out of bed and hold Will tightly. "My Lady? My Lady, you asked for me?" The words were becoming clearer... sharper... Margaret turned her head fractionally and came face-to-face with Leia Westover. She was so young, it made the princess-turned-countess forget that she was a widowed duchess. "Are you alright, My Lady?"
"No... I suppose I never...shall be...again," murmured Margaret, staring firmly into Leia's eyes. Up close, they appeared endless, the type of place one could easily get lost in. "But you... and that foolish brother... of mine could be. I do not...understand why you flee from... happiness."
"You must be delirious, My Lady, these are merely hallucinations," said Leia without the slightest bit of belief in her words. In truth, the young woman was almost certain of what Margaret was trying to say and she decided to downplay it as much as possible
"Do not... play the fool, Leia... It does not become... you," Margaret groaned and tried to pull herself together, though it felt as though everything in her body was an obstacle. "He loves you... You love him... What are you... waiting for? The sun to... rise in the west?" She pulled Leia closer and whispered into her ear, "Look after... Henry... for me."

"I won't need to because you shall not die," the girl replied fiercely, squeezing Margaret's hand to prove her determination. "My Lady, I know you can fight this. Please, so many people love you!" Her voice was becoming more desperate.
"Yes," was the princess's resigned answer, her eyelids flickering. Leia's face was becoming even more blurred than before, as was the rest of the room they were in. "But that should not concern you, Duchess. I do not think I could bear watching my brother run around in circles chasing you." Margaret pleased herself with her smooth speech, though it made her so exhausted.
"He cannot love me," Leia answered flatly, releasing the other woman's hand. "I love Richard. I want to marry Richard." All that she earned was a heavy sigh as Margaret closed her eyes with the faintest of smiles upon her lips.