#Seymour having a pretense of studying it in case more of them show up but really he's just letting it fuel his mental health issues

[the-quiet-winds]

The Gravity of Tempered Grace (part two)

[Didn’t get a whole lot of response from part one, but I’ve worked too much on this fic to not post all of it, so I will keep posting it anyway!]

[part one]

[Part 2: I See the Devil in Me, Saying What I Want to Hear]

The Life and Times of Jane the Queen, Chapter 4 - The Lady of Wulfhall

“Not much is truly known of Jane’s early years living at Wulfhall. Most records of her life don’t begin until she arrived at the court of King Henry and began to serve Catherine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn before becoming queen. It is likely she did not receive a formal education, especially not one to compare to Henry’s other wives. She was barely literate, and her formal signature is notable for backwards E’s in both her name and her spelling of “Quene.” Where she faltered in academics, however, she thrived in household work and needlepoint. Some of her embroidery was so well-made, it survived into the 1650s, over one hundred years after her death.”

There she goes again, Catherine can’t help but notice. More needlepoint.

It’s almost hypnotizing, in a way. Jane works with such poise and precision, it’s truly a work of art to behold.

She’ll look up, tilt her head slightly to the side as she studies the subject of today’s endeavor, then turn her head back down to her needlepoint. She does this over and over, never getting dizzy, never deviating.

She only embroiders what she sees, Catherine notes. No imagination or, seemingly, memories of her past life.

Jane remembers her first pass through this Earth, all of them do, but she seems detached from it. She can discuss the painful birth of her son and her prolonged, almost agonizing death without batting an eye. 

Aside from maybe Katherine, Jane has the most emotional song in their show. She has outbursts of anger, one of which directed at Catherine of Aragon herself.

Even in those heated moments, though, Catherine can see that she’s only acting. Jane’s eyes are gray and lifeless, even as she screams in Catherine’s face. During rehearsals, it was clear that her tears during her song were produced on demand. 

“Did you need something?”

Catherine snaps back to the present at Jane’s voice, and those cold eyes are fixed straight on her.

“You were staring off into space,” Jane says. “Did you need something?”

“Oh, uh, no. Thank you, though. Didn’t realize I zoned out.”

Jane simply hums and returns to her needlepoint.

---

Henry knows that his wife - wives, if you want to get technical - is halfway across the world, but what he needs is here. 

It’s well into the witching hour when he stands outside the window separating him from his lost treasure.

He drops his knapsack to the ground and goes to work.

---

They’re just getting home after the show when Jane starts acting strange.

Strange, in this case, is somewhat relative, considering that Aragon and Anne would have classified almost all of her behavior up until now as “strange.”

“Did any of you love Henry?” She asks, sitting on the couch with tea in her hands, as casually as one would ask about the weather.

All the eyes in the room turn to her. “What do you mean?” Anna asks.

“Did you love him?” Jane repeats. “I did, but… did any of you?”

There’s something almost like sincerity in her eyes, and it’s the most emotion and life Catherine has seen out of her since they all came back.

“No,” Katherine says immediately, flatly, nearly offended at the question in the first place.

“Not really,” Anna says.

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Parr adds softly.

It’s quiet, then, and all attention turns to the first two wives.

“I guess I did,” Catherine admits. “I mean, I was married to him for twenty-four years. You don’t get over that easily.”

“I did, at first,” Anne adds. “But I think I loved the danger and sneaking around more than I loved him.”

Jane looks at the both of them, cocks her head slightly to the side, and then, of all things, laughs.

Catherine bristles, and Anne couldn’t look more confused. 

“What’s so funny?”

“You know he didn’t love either of you, right?” Jane asks. “It’s true that I’m the only one he loved.”

“Only because you had a living son,” Anne quips.

“A legitimate living son,” Catherine grumbles.

Jane smirks. “I also knew when to shut my mouth and not flirt with courtiers,” she says to Anne. 

“Jane, chill,” Cathy pipes in. “I don’t know why you’re trying to rile her-”

She stops talking when Jane turns sharply to her. “I’m simply trying to figure out what my husband saw in these wenches.”

“Woah,” Anna stands up, “that was over the line. Apologize, Jane.”

“Why would I apologize? It’s true.”

“We’re a family, Jane,” Katherine butts in. “You don’t say shit like that to your family.”

Jane rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Goodnight.”

With no apology, no afterthoughts, no anything, Jane rises gracefully and makes her exit.

The other five all look to each other in disbelief. “What the hell was that?” Anna asks, dropping back into her seat. 

“That was insane,” Katherine mutters.

“It was incredible,” Aragon whispers, staring blankly at where the wall meets the floor. “That’s the most emotion I’ve seen out of her since we all came back.”

“I have to agree with you there,” Anne mumbles. 

“Is this… is this what she’s really like?” Cathy asks hesitantly.

No one can answer her, because no one knows.

The two who knew Jane in the last life… well, they aren’t all that sure they knew her at all.

---

Jane lays down on her bed and closes her eyes. When she opens them again, she has no idea where she is.

She’s standing up, first of all, with no memory of getting off the bed. And she’s outside. 

Did she sleepwalk?

“Hello, sweetheart.”

A shiver runs down Jane’s spine, although she isn’t sure if it’s from delight or worry.

Delight, she finds herself deciding, despite her ambivalence about the whole thing, and turns around to face her husband. 

He looks the same as she remembers, just as tall and ruggedly handsome, although perhaps slightly less aged.

Henry takes both of her hands in his, pressing kisses to her knuckles. “I’ve missed you, my love.”

Jane doesn’t answer.

“Didn’t you miss me too?”

“I don’t know.”

He tugs her softly against him. “I know, my love. I know.” So gently, he kisses her forehead. “But you’re here with me, now. Everything is alright.”

Resting her head on his chest, she tries to relax. But there are too many questions burning and flitting through her mind for her to ignore. “How are you here?” She asks. “And… and where are we?”

“I’m here by the same twist of fate you are,” he answers quietly. “I can’t say I understand it either. And we’re home, my darling. Doesn’t it look different now?”

Jane squints in the dark, and she can vaguely make out the city skyline. It definitely isn’t New York, that’s for sure.

“We’re in London,” he explains. “Back in our once-home.”

Jane’s eyes blow wide and she pries herself out of Henry’s arms. “How… what? London?”

“I’m here, love, you’re okay,” he tries to soothe. “I can’t tell you how, yet, but it’ll all make sense soon.” He leans in to kiss her head again, and Jane is in such shock she can’t move. 

Henry reaches a hand into the satchel at his side and looks into Jane’s eyes. “Now go back home and forget all of this happened.”

---

Jane heaves a deep breath as she settles deeper into her bed. Another long day gone, another dreamless night ahead. 

Without much pretense, Jane Seymour turns over and falls asleep.

And somewhere else, Henry smiles.