Becoming Elizabeth

Ha!

Yah!

Whoa. Whoa, you.

Take it.

Let's go get the children, then.

Is he dead?

Open the gates!

Come on, Edward.

-Where are we going, Uncle? -This way.

Elizabeth.

Elizabeth.

You have to come now.

What's happening?

I don't know.

Brother.

Bar the door.

Why did you bring us all here?

What do you mean to do to us?

Is this it?

The king is dead.

Long live the king.

[hooves clopping, horses whinnying]

Thank you.

- This way. - I know.

Princess Elizabeth.

My lady.

- Lord Somerset, - Elizabeth, please.

Edward.

Forgive me, Princess.

The king has an early start.

There. You've said your goodbyes now.

Where are you two going?

Your Grace should get dressed.

Where are you going, Edward?

With his uncle, Your Grace. You can see this.

Can a king not speak for himself?

Your Majesty, your sister wishes for you

to speak for yourself.

I don't know where I'm going.

Exactly why I was speaking for him.

Excuse us, Your Grace.

The king must take priority.

Your Grace must be very cold.

You should go inside.

Wait for instructions, and have faith.

In what, sir?

- - Come!

Already the wheels are turning,

and no one even takes breath to grieve.

We grieve.

His subjects for their king.

His children for their father.

The queen, she will be grieving.

Who's he with?

Catherine fucking Parr.

Drink.

So did the old king make you come like that?

Hmm?

He'd had enough practice.

Did his servants have to prop him up for you?

I have dreamt of this day.

Why spoil it with talk of him?

Hmm?

They won't make us wait to marry, will they?

I can't wait for you again, Thomas.

There'd be no reason.

Everyone would know there's no way I could be pregnant.

Everyone saw the state of him.

The servants could bear witness.

Tell the world the king couldn't fuck his own wife?

Do be sensible, my love.

And I'll be damned if you go back to France

or, worse, up to Scotland.

Enough blood and money has been spent.

I'll tell Edward.

Mm, don't tell Edward anything. He's the new king.

We mustn't make him feel pushed around.

He is a child,

and I am the only mother he has ever known.

Who else would speak to him or for him but me?

And you, you're his favorite uncle.

It's not difficult. You've met my brother.

We've sent for Elizabeth and Edward,

so we're ahead of them all for now.

-Mm. -We need to keep it that way.

Where the Lord Dudley is. Where your brother is.

Asleep... three rooms down from here.

- -I, um...

Do you mean your brother, Sir Thomas?

The Lord Somerset?

- -Listen in, why don't you?

Yeah.

Pull up a chair. Have some wine.

Take your trousers off.

Your brother left in the night, sir,

to go to the new king.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Don't let them see you doing that.

You're not Edward anymore. You're not a boy anymore.

You're the king of England.

Do you think your father cried?

No, sir.

No, sir, he did not.

We're to meet with the council.

Your father's will assigned 16 of us to rule for you.

Do you understand?

-Y-yes. -Yes.

Now, 16 is many voices.

The court can be a forest of opinion.

No clear path through it.

Even your father could get lost.

You saw how they swarmed around him,

even as he was dying.

Now he's gone.

A great hole has opened up in the world.

Men are going to be scrambling to fill it,

but the more you let in,

the more you leave yourself exposed.

You need one voice.

Are you listening, Edward?

-Yes. - Yes?

One voice.

So permit me to be that voice.

Your voice.

The king's voice.

[hooves clopping, horses whinnying]

"A most gracious lady,"

you said to me when you first met her.

She takes you into her home.

Queen Catherine.

She's not queen anymore.

A queen is made by marriage to a king.

Whether he's dead or alive is not the issue.

But I suppose I can excuse your perversity.

Your father's death weighs on you.

It's just the target that his death

has placed on my back.

My brother, my sister, and me.

It's a great game of "keep or kill" to them all.

I will not be killed.

Why else do they bring me here?

Washerwomen, not princesses, run their houses at your age.

To act like age

is any protection from the designs of men.

Oh, the designs of men.

Let me see you.

You look thin, and you look sad.

I am very grateful for your invitation for me

to stay here at Chelsea with you.

My loving mother.

But I am not, am I?

But I can be, as good as.

So pay no attention to the designs of men.

They forget them as quickly as they make them.

My designs, however...

these, you should worry about.

What are they, may I ask?

For you to live here

and to be happy

and to be safe.

Your father and my husband may be dead,

but he made his wishes for you and this country plain.

And they will be followed

as if they were writ by God himself.

I mean, 16 is a lot.

Is it even 16, though? Who knows what it says?