Tumultuous.
If there was one word to describe King Henry II, it'd be thus. His brash mood swings, his fleeting flights of fancy. How he saunters around the castle one moment and storms into his room the next.
He seeks escape from his tumultuous feelings. The way bile runs up his throat the morn after a bout of French wine, or the waves of ecstasy riding down his body and frightening the little boy who lives inside.
For one so free with his feelings, Henry keeps so much inside.
He runs to an old friend—a confidante of sorts. He sheds his inhibitions as he enters Thomas Becket's chambers, becoming not King Henry II but just simply Henry.
Henry cannot tell if Becket does the same around him, becomes Thomas. He hopes so.
Henry and Thomas take the time to become Henry and Thomas, and Henry can't help but laugh in the face of all of Europe at the prospect of them possibly taking away his kingdom, and henceforth his happiness.
Because his happiness does not stem from his kingdom, but from his companion.
Someone to tell secrets to. Someone to visit in the dead of night out of trivial boredom. Someone to run to when in grief so intense it can only be helped by—
Thomas.
A name to hate, a name to scorn. A name to cherish, and to love. Betrayer of souls, slayer of personal demons, Thomas leaves Henry for more thrilling obligations. He leaves Henry to his kingdom, and Henry finds reason to loathe every crack in his castle wall, every spider creeping in the corners, every insolent little brat who dares tell him to stop bloody pining for a lost saint.
Henry hates Thomas, and loves Thomas. Henry pines and mourns and plans the demise of Thomas, doing so each day before breakfast.
If he runs out of ways to kill him… well, let the batter burn.
If he runs out of things to admire him for, from the news he gets of Thomas's every action, every blink and breath… the kitchenmaids take a fortnight off, and Henry eats scraps to punish himself.
Henry hates scraps.
Henry climbs mountains of emotion each moment, each day, going insane in his own eloquently kingly way. He smiles at a memory of Thomas on one of their escapades and then scowls in indignance, muttering to himself about black bishops and traitors. He tears through Thomas's old quarters, vacating the room of anything remotely Thomas, and he stops to take in Thomas's scent, that which still lingers.
Like Thomas lingers. If I'm going to mourn you, I'd rather you be dead!
He doesn't want Thomas dead.
He'd never want Thomas dead.
Henry loves Thomas, and he hates Thomas.
Thomas doesn't love Henry.
Thomas is just another foolish clergyman who put a deity before his Prince and kingdom, seeking justice in an androgynous stranger in the sky instead of a good, solid man with whom he can relate, and talk to, and love…
Henry loves Thomas, and Henry misses Thomas. Henry raves drunkenly about him to the monkeys of his court and condemns the only person who could ever wring the wet coldness from Henry's heart.
Now Henry won't ever regain Thomas's friendship, and this time he mourns in actuality the loss of a great lover, a lifetime friend, and a sainted Man.
You have me on my knees, my hands. Now won't you give me that foolhardy man back? He who so willingly served you, can he not return to serve me for just a day? One day, back in the light of sanity. One more day with the honorable Thomas Becket.
Fin.
A/N: Hello! Yes, it was a much shorter wait this time. No, I still haven't completed a Star Trek fic. What? I'm not stalling—how could you ever think that?
Anyway, this, drabble stemmed from my watching "Becket", which is a movie made in 1964 about Thomas Becket and his King (no, seriously, that's what it says on the box) Henry II. It's utterly fantastic with great composition and color scheme; the acting is stupendous and Toole's (the man who played Henry) expressions are to die for; the script manages to be funny as well as old-fashioned (e.g., fit for 1100, which is when King Henry II and Becket actually lived); and did I mention just how gay it is?
I have a Word document 8 pages long filled with quotes and my thoughts on what those meant from the movie. I had to pause it like twenty times because Henry spoke so fast when emotional, and he's very emotional. I just love him.
So. I ship this hard, and you'll probably be seeing another one like this by the end of the day. Except maybe next time it'll be in Becket's point of view. I've always found it harder to portray soft-spoken, relatively-pedestrian characters…
(Oh, yeah, and go see "Becket". Seriously. I don't care how, just see it.)