Warnings: use of contraceptives/birth control, plotting to commit infanticide (later), possible infanticide, cold-hearted characters, plotting, gore (possible), violence, poison use, attempted/possibly successful assassinations, and very, very Alternate Universe-ness, Ooc-ness too (as much as I'd like to avoid that, it's inevitable considering what I'm writing).
This is an alternate/parallel reality or universe where several key things happen:
The nations actually exists (big difference already).
Mary and Philip manage to have an heir.
England, hates the baby. She will absolutely loath it in the beginning (England is Protestant then, also just dislikes what the baby will mean for her). She has also tried preventing a baby (using birth control methods on Mary, without Mary's permission) and trying to put things in Mary's food/drink that will make Mary have a miscarriage. If you find this very disturbing/wrong/cruel/inhumane, please don't read.
Plotting to kill an innocent child. Not exactly morally right behavior. Also, plotting an assassination.
So, basically, my England, isn't very tsundere-like at first. In a way, yes, she has a soft-side. But, she isn't very kind/nice/soft sided towards certain characters. Maybe later... (or never!).
She doesn't have pigtails in here. Pigtails/bunches/whatever you call them, weren't popular then. Woman wore their hair up (after being curled, according to Wikipedia) pinned down under head wear? Apparently, if I remember correctly.
A/N: Spanish isn't my first, second or third language. My knowledge of Spanish is basically: Hola, Adios, and Amigos. Oh, and Inglaterra. So, I'm really hoping Google Translate worked.
Also, Charles V was the Holy Roman Emperor, but also ruled Spain, the Netherlands, Belgium and parts of Italy. His heir, Philip/Felipe/whatever-version-you-prefer II only inherited Spain, the Netherlands, Belgium and the parts of Italy (as I believe, hoping Wikipedia has it right). The HRE didn't go to Philip, but to a relative of his who belonged to the same family: The House of Hapsburg. Later on, Philip/Felipe would become King of Portugal, but not yet in the story. So, kind of confused, to have HRE appear briefly when Charles V still rules or not? Since I have no idea if it would all fit within canon nicely.
Translations are at the bottom, if any of you have a pet peeve about translations in the middle of the story. All Spanish that's spoken will be like this:
She wanted to kill something right then and there. Preferably the cold king that was striding down the aisle like he owned it; what arrogance! He didn't own it, not yet.
And if she had her way, Philip II of Spain (Spain, not England, but Spain) would never own it. One certainly couldn't own something if they were dead, could they?
Sadly, she couldn't kill him. She could have slipped poison into his food and drink (with her power and influence, bypassing all the usual precautions would've been easy), shot him with her bow and a carefully aimed arrow or simply jumped down, overpower the guards and kill him now with her sword. Although the sword was more ornate than the one she normally used for battle, it was carefully sharpened last night (she couldn't sleep, she had nothing to do and had tried everything already) and was as deadly as any other.
England grimaced for a second at the uncomfortable feeling of the unfamiliar material on her skin, the embroidery felt odd on her skin. The dress was heavy and hot; with all the people inside and the rich, insulating fabric itself, it was wonder she wasn't drenched with sweat already. A tanned, Spanish man closer to her watched the wedding like she did; seemingly coldly. But she could see the slight flash of greed in his green eyes.
England also wished that she could kill Spain. That wouldn't be so easily achieved as killing the Prince of Spain; but still, she could kill him, separate his body parts and keep them separated to prevent his revival for as long as possible. Spain would naturally manage somehow to revive, but he would revive in the land of Spain, not England.
He dressed opulently in finery; the gold so much like his king's apparel with the red accents (ironically, his clothes matched the decorations). That contrasted starkly with her less lavish red and white gown that she wore on top of uncomfortable petticoats. Wide trumpet sleeves (worn deliberately, since she knew that they weren't in fashion in Spain) hid the knives she had sheathed up her sleeves.
Although England couldn't see Spain's battle-axe, she had the niggling suspicion he brought it with him to Britain. After all, years of existence had probably left him somewhat paranoid of everything. Assassinations could easily happen, although he wouldn't die, it would certainly raise a lot of questions.
Impatiently, she tapped her fingers against the wood of the pew. It seemed that the wedding was dragging on and on, like time had deliberately slowed down to torture her. Slowly, it passed by.
The vows felt like a death sentence for an execution. Soon, she would no longer be ruled by a queen but by a foreigner king, a foreigner king who wasn't even Protestant and couldn't even speak English. The man had absolutely no interest in her queen, even she could admit she had met many a woman more beautiful in some way than her queen. Letting her eyes wander around, she found herself glancing past the cloth-of-gold decorations hanging everywhere and the mountains of finery sitting on the pews; her eyes landed on a pair of familiar eyes.
They were Wales'. Those green eyes so like hers stared right back at hers, she could see the sadness in them that probably was reflecting back. If Mary were to have a child... Well, she prayed to God that Mary wouldn't. Even though it was cruel (who was to say she couldn't have the happiness of a child?) but she had no wish for a Catholic monarchy again. Protestantism was admittedly easier on the coin purse than Catholicism (she had never been very appreciative of the decorations nor remembering all the saints, and that was merely the small things).
She looked away, partly for respect of her brother's privacy. The other part was to morbidly watch the wedding slowly progress. Soon, as all vows and words spoken and done with, she closed her eyes so she couldn't see the faces where some of the forced cheers came from. Getting up, she moved through the crush of bodies to avoid the other nation at the wedding. Fingering the satchel carefully hidden under her stuffy layers, she hoped for the best that this plan would work.
The wild carrot seeds she had personally harvested; England desperately hoped would work. It wasn't an act of cruelty or revenge that drove her to this; it was an act of necessity. Although Mary had stopped her cross dressing (which none of her previous monarchs actually tried to control, as they had become so accustomed to the idea when they were young); she couldn't find the hatred or anger in herself to blame her. England was very well aware of what most people would think of her wearing the garments of the wrong gender; so for the first time in the long history of her kinds, she became "Lady Kirkland" instead of "Lord Kirkland".
Still, along with some of her people, she wished and hoped that the marriage would never be fruitful. She didn't want a baby born to Spain, that was Catholic, but a ruler that was Protestant like her.
Hopefully this simple plan would work. The disgust charms she had sneakily attached to Philip II to get his attentions away from the queen seemed to work; as the cold, calculating look in his eyes were the only thing she could see in them. Although she couldn't quite pin the same charms on her queen (events had conspired together to vanquish all her attempts) she would try her best to do the next best thing; contraceptives.
Although she had sworn allegiance to her queen, her true allegiance would always be to her people.
"What!" The queen screeched in anger.
England sat still like a stone statue in her seat, there was no emotion in her eyes. She didn't fear the angry queen in front of her, nor the sharp metal kiss of an executioner's axe. Things like that would only put her in a temporary state of death, England couldn't really die unless something happened to her people.
"Leave. Now." The harsh command came from painted lips as the rest of the people in the room left.
Although England stood more than a good head taller than the queen, it seemed the other way now. The slight, short woman had a fury like her father's in her eyes, something that wasn't all like the Mary of twenty years ago. A usually gentle woman, over the years she had slowly turned bitter. The possible heir was Mary's way of redeeming herself in her eyes.
"Why did you do it? What did you even try achieving? Answer me!"
England simply sat there looking blankly at her queen.
"There is no benefit for you and Philip to have an heir." Those cold words flew out her own lips easily. "The people don't like him, the nobles don't like him; so why marry him? The benefits of a marriage to them far outweigh any benefits for us. He's using us to help keep the Low Countries, probably specifically Belgium for Antwerp, for himself. The man isn't King of Spain himself, it's his father Charles V that is. He's only the King of Naples."
"He is your king now."
"And what a fine king he is, leaving you in England while he probably is frolicking with his mistresses in Spain."
"How dare you, he wouldn't do that!"
"You think he would be happy with a woman eleven years his elder? You think he wants to spend what maybe his prime with a wife older than him, when he can spend it with young, pretty wenches? I understand you both have accepted this would not be a marriage of love, but you think he would be faithful when he clearly doesn't have to?"
The slap that came with that England had expected. A cold, clear ultimatum Mary gave after it wasn't a surprise either.
"It's only because you are my country that I will not throw you into the Tower of London and execute you. However, I cannot deny that your sabotage of any attempts to give an heir for you and your people shall not go unpunished. I confine you to your lands and estate for now."
England hastily left with a vague murmured comment of how gracious and merciful her queen was.
"Spain." She said in what she hoped was a diplomatic tone that didn't imply her hatred of the nation in front of her.
"Ah, I came here to help the ambassador recently, so I thought, why not pop a visit to the country I'm now apparently in married with and have a little chat?"
He probably was just here to butter her up and manipulate her like puppet and he, the puppet master. Trying not to grit her teeth, she refrained from insulting him using the dirtiest language possible.
"We're not married. First of all, we have never exchanged a single vow, ever. Second of all, why would I ever marry you? I like your brother better than yourself. He's easier to get along with and he isn't as obnoxiously stupid either."
"Well you're not the easiest person to get along with either, are you? You deserve your title of the Black Sheep of Europe, since it's obvious you don't fit in with the rest of us."
"And you do?"
He puffed his chest out arrogantly, "Well, isn't it obvious, Black Sheep of Europe?"
In England's defence, he really did deserve the broken nose he got for that. However, that was the first of their many fights.
The queen was pregnant.
The god damn queen, was bloody pregnant!
She wasn't sure to cry, to scream or to rage in pure, utter anger and despair.
Damn it! Damn it! The queen was pregnant, this, this-
Why? She wanted to scream that to the heavens, why? WHY? Why give the queen an heir after two false pregnancies now, why did they have to finally have an heir now? Why?
The wetness sliding down her cheeks told her she was crying. She didn't care, she barely had any servants in the castle, her manservant Robert was loyal to her, and the maid was also loyal. They didn't whisper, and in turn she entrusted them with many of her secrets.
Still, this didn't ease the bitterness nor the ache in her heart as she cried in the small, empty room.
It was when the queen was well into her fourth month of pregnancy that she finally had another meeting with Spain.
The Iberian nation was as cocky and arrogant as ever, light olive eyes sparkling with a smug victory over her. However, since there were more people than just the two of them there (the servants the Spaniard had insisted on being inside room) she couldn't punch him and give him a piece of herself.
"Hello Spain." She said cordially.
"Only five months left before the heir, eh?" He said cheerfully, rubbing the fact in her face.
"Yes..." She drawled out the word slowly.
"I was thinking about asking your queen if she could let you come to my place during the pregnancy, since soon we'll have an heir to rule both of us."
"And here I thought Philip was next in line for the Spanish throne, after your King Charles finally falls over and dies."
"Well, you know what I mean, si?"
She hummed, staring past the Iberian nation at the wall. A glazed look appeared in her eyes, revealing that she wasn't paying any attention at all to what Spain was saying. Occasionally she would hum to sound like she was listening, but Spain fell silent after realizing that.
"Inglaterra, it's polite to listen when someone's talking, or is that different in your barbaric land?"
"Yes it is, but we let go when it comes to idiots? Or was that word too difficult for your English vocabulary? I think the word for that is idiota."
His smile became a little fixed after that comment, forced and plastered on.
"My, a lady shouldn't say such hurtful things, Señora ."
"I'm not married, I thought even someone with such minuscule intelligence would be able to know that."
"Forgive me. Of course you're not married, who would every want to marry you?"
The was the start of another argument, this time harsher than any they had ever had before. They both ignored the others in the room, it was only them then. Fortunately, it never got to the physical level though, as they both had to go for some reason or another soon after. With burning glares, they parted.
Crashing waves rocked the ship back and forth, swaying it like a mother with a babe in her arms. Except this was no kind, caring mother rocking her baby to sleep, unless you could count sleep as death. The newest cabin boy staggered around, desperately trying to find something to throw up into; his older, more experienced snickering at the show.
Alice sat on the bed in the captain's cabin, uncaring of how grand the room would look to the rest of the crew. She had become used to the sea and it's moods; years of sailing the briny waves had taught her many lessons about it. Sitting on the bed's soft sheets and blankets, England absently stared at the wall.
They were around a day away from Spain, almost there. Her queen had sent her away, probably for the best as she hadn't raised a finger in her queen's defense at the last assassination attempt.
At least her Queen's had been false. Though as cruel as it was to find pleasure in someone else's pain, she did. England had laughed hysterically to herself when she found out, not bothering to cover up her delight. Soon after a long list of events that happened by shortly, the Queen decided that it was best for her country to leave her own shores.
She sighed as she heard the frantic yelling of men, working hard to save the ship from the storm. All this would pass. All this would certainly pass...
It was warmer, far warmer, than her place.
Spain lived in a grand palace, near Madrid. She could see the servants he had bustling around, and the estate was now in bloom, and England would have to admit it looked rather fetching.
At least the bastard didn't live in some cold, wet cave. Then again, it would be poetic justice if he did.
When she was first introduced to the siblings Belgium and Holland, she felt surprised. Then she felt stupid at her surprise. Of course Spain didn't live just by himself, with no other countries around. He was an empire, of course he would have them around.
"So Inglaterra, what do you think? You probably have nothing like this at your place." He boasted to her, with a lazy smirk.
"Of course I wouldn't. Why would I spend good money on such useless, frivolous things?" She shot back.
"You know, it would be far easier to say you like the estates and find them beautiful as they are. Just admit the truth."
She gritted her teeth and walked away, but not before tossing out a hissed reply.
England stared at her hands, folded on her lap. The feeling of wearing female garments still felt strange, but a bit more normal now.
The fabric bunched around her hands, which were shaking a bit.
She had heard wrong. She had obviously heard wrong. It was nothing, just a statement that she probably had heard wrong.
England acknowledged that she probably should try to stop deluding herself, but it felt better than to acknowledge the truth.
The Queen was pregnant again, and this time, England was too late to try to stop the baby. No spell or potion she knew could help her now.
A/N: Yes, another author's note. You're probably sick of them.
Here, the translations I'm (hoping) will be right.
Hola, Inglaterra -Hello, England
The pregnancy first mentioned was the first false pregnancy, but the one after was a pregnancy made up by myself. I hope nobody takes offence to that. Yes, there will be a lot of events that will historically innacurate due to: A) creative license B) me just having no idea of that C) some random combination of both. So, please, tell me if I was.