Year 3 of the SuaChie Calendar.
August 21st, 1485, Kingdom of England.
The calm before the storm settled over the local nobleman's house. The air, thick with the anticipation of the coming war, was almost palpable.
Henry, his hands clasped behind his back, paced the great hall, his steps measured and firm. The candlelight flickered, casting dancing shadows on the tapestries that adorned the walls. It was not his home, but soon, if the gods willed it, the entire kingdom would be his.
A messenger, a lesser noble who supported his cause, approached the residence, and a servant went ahead to announce him.
"Your Highness, the lord of the house has arrived," the servant said in a grave voice.
Henry nodded, his face expressionless. The noble was permitted to enter.
"Your Highness, it is an honor to have you here. My house is your house," the noble said, kneeling before him.
Henry gestured with his hand for him to stand.
"Courtesies are no longer necessary, my friend. The fate of the kingdom is at stake."
The noble nodded, and his eyes settled on Henry, filled with a devotion he valued more than gold.
"The troops are prepared, Your Highness. Tomorrow will be the day your blood, the blood of the House of Lancaster, puts an end to the reign of the House of York."
A smile, which did not reach Henry's eyes, formed on his lips.
"So it shall be," he said, his voice as firm as oak. "Tomorrow, we will put an end to this war. Let the scribes be prepared. Let them detail our battle, and let it be written that August 22nd, 1485, is the day Henry Tudor is the victor of this dispute."
The noble nodded, visibly moved.
"It is an honor for me and my men, Your Highness," he said, then lightened the mood with a jest. "Let's hope the French mercenaries don't lose heart as they always do. We don't want them to fail us at this crucial moment."
Henry laughed, a dry and emotionless sound.
"My victory will not depend on them, my friend. It will depend on me. And on my destiny."
The next day.
The afternoon sun fell upon the Bosworth battlefield, a place that would soon be remembered in history books. The rumble of cavalry, the cries of soldiers, the neighing of horses, the sound of distant drums... all of it decorated what appeared to be a difficult victory for Henry.
He watched the battlefield from a hill. He had chosen the spot wisely. The position was favorable. The muddy terrain and the river crossings would render the House of York's large, heavily armed numbers useless.
The numerical superiority was theirs, but their confidence had blinded them, and they had accepted the fight on a territory that was to their detriment.
However, what worried him most was the intervention of the Stanley brothers. Sir Thomas Stanley and Sir William Stanley, both very powerful brothers, had not yet made their support clear.
Their men were on the flank, observing the battle. They did not seem to be on the side of the Yorks, but neither did they join the battle. The fate of the kingdom, Henry's fate, depended on their decision. And the wait was a torture.
1 hour later.
The roar of battle was the only sound that mattered.
From his strategic position, Henry watched the organized chaos, a whirlwind of spears, swords, and standards. He turned to his aide, a young man with a serious face.
"Tell me, what move are the Stanley brothers making?" Henry asked, his voice a whisper amid the din.
The aide, in an equally low voice, responded with precision.
"Your Highness, they seem to be paying attention to the movement of the Earl of Northumberland's troops. Their position is strategic; they are watching his every step."
"And what of the Earl's position in the rear?"
"I have been informed, Your Highness, that if the Earl does not enter the battle, the Stanleys will. They want to define the battle."
Although he felt his prominence depended on them, he knew that without their help he would hardly be able to win, and it would be much worse if they joined Richard III, the leader of the House of York. A smile of satisfaction, of pure satisfaction, appeared on Henry's face. His faith in destiny was strong, and this move was the confirmation he needed.
He looked up at the sky, his gaze deep and serious, and in a whisper that only the wind could hear, he said: "Thank God."
Then, his gaze turned to the front, to the heart of the chaos. The Duke of Norfolk, one of the most loyal men to the House of York, led the attack.
"What is known of the Duke of Norfolk?" Henry asked, his voice filled with a mixture of curiosity and concern.
"He is at the front, Your Highness," the aide replied, his voice full of anxiety. "His troops are falling, it seems they won't hold out for long."
Just then, screams of panic were heard from the battlefield, screams that spread like wildfire.
"The Duke of Norfolk has fallen!" a soldier shouted.
"The Duke has fallen!" another shouted.
Panic seized the York troops. Morale broke in an instant. And then, a new cry, a cry of victory, was heard in the air.
"Long live Henry Tudor!" his men shouted.
Henry, upon noticing all this, gave a quick and precise order to his aide.
"Send a messenger. Tell the Stanleys to form a joint front with us. The battle must end."
Two hours later.
The battle had ended.
Silence was replaced by the celebratory shouts of the soldiers, a mixture of relief and euphoria. Henry, with a serious face, joined his noble allies, who now included the Stanley brothers. Together, they walked the battlefield.
Henry's soldiers guided the captured York soldiers and collected the spoils of battle.
The air smelled of death, but the scent of victory was much stronger.
Henry stopped for a moment, his gaze fixed on the body of a fallen soldier. He had not won by superiority, but by strategy. He had fulfilled his destiny. The House of York had fallen; Richard III had fallen in battle.
2 months later.
The air inside Westminster Abbey was dense with history and incense.
Two months had passed since the Bosworth battlefield, and the echo of war drums had been replaced by the solemn music of coronation hymns. Henry Tudor, of the House of Lancaster, stood in the center of the abbey, about to be crowned King of England.
The ceremony was ostentatious. Nobles from all over the kingdom attended, their clothes in the colors of their respective houses, a mosaic of power and loyalty. Even members of the House of York, his former enemies, were present.
Edward IV, the Prince of York, was there with his daughter Elizabeth, his future wife, a beautiful young woman with an air of nobility she could not hide. Henry looked at them with confidence, but from time to time, his gaze lingered on some of the nobles who were formerly of the York faction.
He saw them smile, saw them bow, but his mind was already planning how to weaken their dukedoms and earldoms. Trust was something earned, not given, and Henry trusted no one.
Then, his gaze fell on Elizabeth again. The princess was beautiful; her hair was reddish-gold, her eyes, a blue that reminded him of the clear sky. For a moment, Henry hesitated. While he desired her, he wanted to assert his right to the throne on his own merit, by the victory he had obtained on the battlefield.
But he knew that marrying her would give him that validation and, more importantly, it would keep the House of York at bay as long as he had a legitimate heir. Parliament would soon urge him to formalize their engagement. Resigned, Henry smiled at Elizabeth. It was not an act of love; it was an act of politics.
The highest representative of the Church in England stood before everyone, his voice resonating with authority in the abbey.
"Lords and ladies! With the power granted to me by God, I, the representative of the Holy Church, proclaim Henry VII the legitimate King of England!"
Henry knelt before him, and he felt the weight of the crown.
He heard the man's words of blessing, and then, with the help of his attendants, the crown was placed on his head. He rose, and an air of superior nobility invaded him. Now he was the legitimate king, and his family, the House of Tudor, would endure for centuries.
He looked at all those present, listening to their words of congratulation, their bows, their smiles.
In a whisper that only he could hear, he said: "Here begins the Tudor Era."
5 years later, year 1492. Year 10 of the SuaChie Calendar.
The afternoon sun filtered through the great windows of the council room, illuminating the parchment Henry held in his hands.
Five years had passed since his coronation, and Henry Tudor, now Henry VII, King of England, was with his aides and counselors, discussing the next steps for the kingdom in the year 1490.
The previous year had been a busy one for Henry.
His attempt to fund an expedition against France with taxes had caused a rebellion in the kingdom, a rebellion that had tested his authority.
The execution of the Earl of Northumberland, one of the most influential nobles, had given stability to the kingdom, but it had also shown Henry the limitations he had in controlling all the nobles. He could not simply strip them of all their wealth, because this could cause a civil war he did not desire.
Although the law he himself promoted allowed him to take all the wealth from opposing nobles, it curbed small-scale rebellions, but this did not allow him to attack neutral nobles or those who opposed his reign in the shadows.
Henry thought of ways to control the nobles, of how he could grant more power to his family, the House of Tudor.
While his counselors spoke about trade agreements with the Holy Roman Empire, Henry was absorbed in his thoughts. The stability of his reign depended on his ability to subdue the nobles, to turn them into his servants.
One of the counselors, an elderly man, cleared his throat and addressed him.
"Your Highness, when will the treaty with the Catholic Monarchs of Aragon and Castile be formalized?"
Henry looked up from the parchment and at him.
"I am waiting to discuss better conditions for England," he replied, his voice full of diplomacy. "But I know I won't get much more. The Treaty of Medina del Campo is the best I can get."
Then, he looked at all those present and continued.
"Furthermore, I also want to improve the conditions of my firstborn son, Arthur's, marriage to Princess Catherine of Aragon. This marriage will seal our alliance with Aragon and Castile."
The counselors looked at each other and smiled. The marriage was something that had given them much optimism, and they had been talking about it for a while.
"King Henry VII, this marriage will give even more validity to your kingdom," said one of them.
"And it will bring you even closer to the church," another added.
"It will ensure our legitimacy and also that of the kingdom," Henry said, with a smile that did not reach his eyes.
Just as he was about to end the meeting, one of the younger nobles, a man who was at the back of the room, spoke.
"Your Highness, why don't we try to negotiate with the Ottomans? Perhaps they will allow us access to the Silk Road and open a market to obtain resources directly from the Indies."
Henry, without saying a word, looked at him with narrowed eyes. Then, his face filled with rage.
"I will not speak with the Ottomans. They are barbarians. My kingdom will have no dealings with them."
The young noble, ashamed, bowed his head.
Henry continued, his voice strong, full of the authority he had earned.
"Furthermore, we must focus on the expeditions of the Kingdoms of Portugal, Aragon, and Castile. While we cannot fund them, we can take advantage of the trade agreements in the Treaty of Medina del Campo. We will obtain resources from the Indies without having to invest in those expensive ships."
The counselors nodded, visibly impressed.
Henry, with his sharp mind and his vision for the future, was once again one step ahead of everyone.
The meeting ended, and Henry was left alone in the room, his thoughts filled with plans and strategies.
The kingdom was his.
The Tudor Era would endure, and he would see to it.
.
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Hello everyone.
Here we have Henry VII's perspective.
You might be wondering why him? Well, this has more to do with his son than with him. Since his son will be the one who will create the Anglican Church, following the wave of church reformism.
Unnecessary Fact of the Day: Henry Tudor, despite being from a minor house of Lancaster, took the throne of England and began the Tudor era, which would bring about many important reforms for similar monarchies in Europe. Also, as far as I understand, the death of Richard III, before he was King of England, was the last death in battle of a king. The rest would be decided diplomatically.
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Read my other novels.
#The Walking Dead: Vision of the Future. (Chapter 75)
#The Walking Dead: Emily's Metamorphosis. (Chapter 23)
#The Walking Dead: Patient 0 - Lyra File (Chapter 8)
You can find them on my profile.]