AN: I have attempted to make the speech in keeping with the plays but still readable to today's audience. If you have difficulties reading or understanding it, let me know and I'll make it a little more modern.

The Henry plays are not very factually accurate but mostly, I have gone with their events over the truth.

I'm not entirely sure where this is going yet but I have a few ideas.

Chapter One

The room was empty of visitors and so after a quick glance to be sure she was alone, Meg dared to sit upon King Edward's Chair, also known as the coronation throne. Legend had it that chair, which had witnessed the coronation of every British monarch since 1308, would grant one wish to the worthy.

Meg didn't have any specific wishes, she was happy with her life, imperfect though it was, but her thoughts drifted to Philip. She didn't miss him but she did miss being in a relationship and in the beginning, it had been good.

Her thoughts distracted her from her wrongdoing and it was only the clattering of something from the next room that reminded her that she would be in trouble if caught. She practically ran from the room, almost as if afraid that anyone who happened upon her would see the misdemeanour written on her face.

In her haste, she didn't notice that the Stone of Destiny, missing from the chair for 50 years since it was returned to the Scots, was back in its home below the seat.

As she ran out of the Abbey, she came upon a scene from the past; the streets thronged with people dressed in period costume and she smiled as she reasoned that in her haste, she must have left by a different door and happened upon a re-enactment.

She wandered around, looking at the stalls and people, taking the atmosphere in. Her garments were a little too new compared to what everyone else was wearing, but in a black maxi dress, a blue cardigan and her leather jacket, currently seated over her handbag, she didn't look too out of place.

A man in red leather caught her eye as she walked and he winked at her. She returned his smile and he changed direction and walked beside her.

"Good Morrow, fair maiden."

She decided to play along. "Good Morrow, kind Sir."

"From whence has't thou come?"

"Hammersmith."

He frowned. "I do not know it."

She smiled, for he must be joking. "Surely you jest."

"I, jest!?" He sounded insulted but he was grinning. "Not I, by my faith. How dare you besmirch my good name."

"Then I beg your pardon, sir."

"And I will grant thou my pardon, just this once, if you provide me with your name."

He was charming, she'd give him that.

"Meg," she answered. "And you are?"

"Rarely does a gentlewoman give up her Christian name so easily, but I suppose it only fitting to reveal my own. Thou may call me Hal."

"Then it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Hal." She gestured around her. "So what is all this?"

"Um, market stalls?" It sounded more like a question than an answer.

"And do they do this often?"

"Almost daily."

She gave him an odd look, certain that they did not have these re-enactments every day.

"So, is there jousting later or something?"

"Uh, no, it is not a popular sport with my father."

"So your father organised this, did he?" She assumed he organised the renaissance fair, or whatever this was.

"Um, well, I suppose in a manner of speaking. He certainly has responsibility for everything you see before you."

He was such good company that she had hardly noticed as they walked from street to street, but eventually she began to realise that she had travelled a fair distance and when she turned back to see how far she was from the abbey, she felt the first pangs of disquiet. She should be in Parliament Square, or have passed through it by now, but she knew she hadn't. Reasoning that perhaps she hadn't gone as far as she thought, she turned to look at Westminster Palace, seeking Big Ben to better orientate herself, and her heart lurched.

It wasn't there.

She turned about in a blind panic, wondering where she was.

"Meg? My lady?"

Now she thought of it, she hadn't seen St Margaret's Church either, so perhaps she was simply turned about and had exited the wrong side of the Abbey. She ran back and around the end of the Abbey and although the road was nothing like the St Margaret's street she knew, she forced her worries down, certain that she had made some kind of mistake.

Her blood ran cold when she happened on another familiar building, Jewell Tower, one of the few buildings from the original Palace of Westminster that had survived the fire in the 1800s.

She stopped abruptly and stared at the stone structure, causing those behind her to knock into her and she fell to the ground, skinning her knees.

"Meg!"

A chorus of insults and cries came from those behind her, either stopped or jostled by her abrupt halt.

"Meg." Hal knelt down beside her and helped her to her feet and numbly, she allowed it. "Are you well?"

"I- I-" No, no she wasn't well at all. She was hallucinating, she must be.

"Here, you dropped your bag and coat," he said, putting her leather jacket around her shoulders then guiding her to the side of the street. "Now, tell me what ails you."

"What year is it?"

He frowned at the peculiar question but answered her. "The year of our lord, 1412."

"Seriously?"

"I don't understand."

"Is it honestly 1412 or is this part of some Renaissance fair?"

"Though some say tis rare, I speak the truth."

She searched his eyes, looking for signs of deception but she could detect no hint of a lie.

"Why hast that turned thy countenance so ashen."

She opened her mouth to reply but honestly, what could she say that he would believe?

Her knees stung and she lifted her skirt to see.

"You're bleeding," he noted.

"Not badly." She took her bag back and hunted for a tissue, which she used to mop up the blood.

Passers-by stared to see a woman exposing her calves but seeing Prince Hal with her, they didn't upbraid her.

Hal was puzzled by the curious woman and didn't know what to make of her. She was beautiful, clean, she smelled of something floral yet delicate and her dress, while not that of a noble, was far better than the sirrah around them.

"I wonder, is there a boarding house somewhere near?" she asked.

"Of course. What price range?"

She cursed softly and he guessed that she didn't have any money, despite her new and unusual garments.

"Were you hoping to work for your keep?" he asked.

She frowned for a moment. "I suppose I could, just until I find my way."

"I know just the place." He offered her his elbow and she slipped her arms into her coat and accepted. "I have a room there myself and if you were to offer me your services, I could grant you free room and board, for a while at least."

"You mean, share your room?" she asked, sounding guarded.

"Yes. But if thou had no wish to serve only one, the tavern is full of men who will gladly partake of your services, and Mistress Quickley is always after reliable girls."

She stopped walking and he had little choice but to stop too since she held his arm, and turn to face her.

"Let me get this straight, you think I'm a prostitute?" she disentangled her arm from his and he frowned at her question.

"A what?"

"A whore, a harlot, a woman of the night, a fallen woman!" she elaborated.

"Well, aren't you?"

The hand that struck his cheek took him by surprise and worse, it stung. By the time he had his wits about him though, she was striding away, the crowd parting easily; most had witnessed her strike the prince and were unwilling to get involved in the conflict.

He strode after her but she was moving quickly and he lost her in the crowd. He continued to search for her although he was unsure why. He had nothing else to do today, other than to wait for Falstaff to appear at the inn some time this evening, full of lies about this morning's robbery, but that didn't explain why he was wasting his time chasing a wench who was no better than she ought to be.

She wasn't easy to find and he was about to give up when he heard crying. Curiosity urged him into the stable whence it came and he found her, sitting on a hay bale, a strange object clutched in her hands.

He sat beside her in silence and looked at the object she held. It was a small square box but lit from within, and that light revealed writing on the screen.

"No signal," she said, sniffing.

He didn't know how to reply to that.

"I was supposed to me meeting a friend for coffee but I had time to spare and got there way too early, thinking I'd look around the abbey. She'll wonder where I am. She'll have to report me missing, and my family! Oh God, they'll be so worried."

"I'm sure there is a solution to thy problems."

"Like becoming a prostitute?"

"My apologies. A woman alone with nice clothes but no money, I made assumptions."

"I have money," she answered. "It just isn't any good here."

She pulled her purse out and opened it, handing him notes and coins.

"Where are these from?" he asked, examining a coin.

"My home."

"Hammersmith?"

"Yes," she answered with a sigh.

"And these?" he looked at the notes.

"Paper money.

"I promise to pay the bearer on demand, twenty pounds sterling!" he was shocked and he leafed through the rest of the notes she had given him. "Thou hast enough here to employ at least a dozen for a year!"

"A pound is worth less where I'm from," she said, her voice flat and emotionless.

He whistled. "Thy pound must be worth only a few pence here," he answered.

She didn't reply.

"This is not legal tender," he answered, handing her the notes back. "Is this gold?" he showed her a pound coin.

"No. Its value is a pound but I'm not sure what it's made of."

"Dost thou have anything else you could trade or barter?"

"I have a two month old iPhone," she showed him the slim box in her hand.

"I am afeard I know not what that is," he said, taking it from her.

"No." She sighed and he began to examine the device, turning it over.

"It'll run out of battery soon anyway."

"So, where are you from?" he asked.

"Hammersmith."

"And where is that, exactly."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Hal sighed. "Then allow me to make reparations for my earlier offence. I will cover the cost of your rooms and board at the tavern, not with me," he added when she turned to him, seemingly angry again, "for one month and hopefully in that time, you will have found a solution to your troubles."

She considered his offer for a few moments. "No sexual favours owed?"

"By my troth."

"Then I accept, but I'll pay you back."

He doubted it but he didn't argue with her.

He didn't know quite why, but he felt… something for her. It wasn't quite a need to protect her, but it wasn't just an attraction for her either.

"Come now, The Boar's Head isn't luxury and you may have to fend off a few drunks as the night wears on, but it's warm and the sack flows freely."

"I think I can handle a few drunks."

"Good." He got to his feet and offered her his arm again and after a moment's hesitation, she accepted.

It didn't take Meg long to settle into the tavern, it was just a single room and she had no possessions, other than what she wore, or was in her handbag. Her room was next to Hal's in the rear of the tavern, in what might once have been stables.

Chamber pots would take some getting used to but everyone here had been welcoming and just as Hal said, they didn't ask awkward questions. It was clear that some were prostitutes but she wasn't about to judge them for it.

Hal invited her to share diner with him in his room and the food was simple, rather bland but filling.

"Here," he filled her goblet from a clay jug. "Have some sack."

She sipped it and grimaced. "Ugh, sherry, I hate sherry."

"There isn't much else on offer here," he said, seemingly amused by her distaste.

"Water?"

"Tis rather a dull tipple."

"Do you have tea of coffee?"

"What are they?"

"An England without tea," she murmured.

"I'm sure we can find something else. Ale, beer, cider, mead? If thou dislike strong drink, we can get thee a small beer."

"I think I'll stick with water."

He called for Mistress Quickly and asked for some water, which she seemed surprised by but she sent a boy up with it nonetheless.

He smiled as she poured her sack into his cup and poured herself some water. She drank it down quickly and almost gagged.

"Ugh, that's vile," she said, taking his cup and drowning the taste of stagnant water (and a few other tastes that she didn't want to think about) with the sack. Hal was grinning at her plight.

"Perhaps a small beer?"

"Cider?" she asked.

When it came, it wasn't exactly what she was used to, but it didn't taste too bad either.

When they were finished, he invited her downstairs and introduced her to a few of the regulars.

"I'd stay close if I were thee," he told her. "A friend of mine is coming later and will spin such a tall tale, that it will amuse even those who do not know him."

"Okay, I'll hang around," she assured him. She didn't have anything better to do, after all. "Do you have any libraries around here?"

"I'm sure, but I doubt they would open them to thee."

"Why not?"

"Because they do not know thee. I doubt I could even obtain entrance for thee into my father's library."

The penny dropped; no public libraries, only personal ones. She wondered when printing was invented, and what her chances were of finding a book seller, but since she had no money anyway, she didn't say anything.

"Now, if thou shalt excuse me, I must to carouse with these tinkers a while."

"Of course," she smiled. "And thank you for your help today."

"By my faith, twas my pleasure."

The language of everyone here was archaic but she understood most of what was said to her and was able to converse with a few patrons. There only seemed to be a handful of women in the place, and all the others were servers or prostitutes. The men were all respectful to Meg for the moment though, and she hoped that didn't change.

It wasn't long until the laughter of Hal could be heard coming from the basement and he emerged a few minutes later, soaking wet.

She watched Hal and his friend teasing Francis, the server, and was amused until he offered the man a thousand pounds. Seeing the look of hope on the servers face, which Hal and his friend soon crushed, she thought his joke was rather cruel.

Not long after, his friend, Falstaff, arrived and she enjoyed his tall tale for a time too, until the insults began.

Hal really did have a rather sharp tongue on him, even if Falstaff seemed to deserve the ridicule.

The change in him when he heard that the Earl of Worcester was "stolen away" was odd, he almost seemed maudlin for a moment. She assumed that this Worcester was a friend, and that was why his being kidnapped upset him.

When the moment of quiet was over and the bar was thronged with people, all preparing for the play Falstaff suggested (Worcester obviously wasn't that close a friend) she caught Poins arm.

"Who is Worcester?" she asked.

"A rebel who intends to unseat the king."

"And he's been kidnapped?"

"No," Poins looked confused. "He's left to raise an army."

"Thank you." She let him go. She wondered why Hal cared about the king but she soon had her answer when the play began, and she realised that Hal was a prince.

"Is he really a prince?" she asked of Dick, a server who was seated next to her in the audience.

"Aye, but he's no proud jack, he's a good boy."

When Flastaff and Hal changed places, she had to admit, she felt a spark of attraction when Hal jumped from the floor onto the table.

His tongue was just as sharp as he insulted Falstaff while playing his father though.

Things became serious a few seconds later, and Meg wondered what she was missing. Clearly, there were hidden depths to this prince and he was more than just a party boy, and she found herself torn between curiosity for what they were, and fear of getting too close to him. She felt drawn to him but like a moth to a flame, she had feeling that she would get burnt if she got too close.

Besides, she still needed to find a way home and it wouldn't do to forge too many relationships here.

Suddenly someone announced that the night watch were here and everyone began to scramble.

"What's going on." she asked Dick.

"Tis the sheriff, thou needs to hide."

"But I've done nothing wrong!"

"Aye, that's as maybe, but everyone else in here probably has. Hide!"

She ran up the stairs with the others but found herself shut out of the rooms, so she opted to stand against the wall and watch the events below. Seeing Hal make out with Doll was… interesting, but she pushed her feelings of disquiet down. Hal meant nothing to her, so what did it matter if he slept with Doll. Honestly though, it seemed to be an act. And even if it wasn't, Hal was nothing to her, so she had no right to be jealous. She wasn't jealous.

When Hal stood up, she saw her first glimpse of nobility in his countenance as he challenged the Sheriff.

While he and his friends rifled through Falstaff's pockets, she marvelled at how he was able to change from happy go a lucky scamp, to a strong and regal prince, in a heartbeat.

She wasn't sure how she felt about his friends robbing those people, and since he and Poins had robbed them, presumably Hal now had that money. He was a prince, so he didn't need it, so why keep it?

The many facets of him could probably puzzle her for days, so she opted to ignore them and return to her room for the night.

The following morning, Hal awoke her by pounding on her door. She had slept clothed since it was so cold, so she didn't have to worry about decency.

She opened the door and stood back for him to enter.

"I come bearing gifts," he grinned.

"Oh?" Meg was wary.

"Quiet thy suspicions, woman, I have no ill intentions."

"Do you have a toothbrush?" she asked.

"A tooth brush?" he laughed. "Thou comb your teeth, same as your hair?"

"Clean, not comb" she corrected with a smile. "We have small, soft brushes to clean our teeth."

"Ah, well, that I do not have, but I did think of it." He brandished a box, a bottle and a cloth. "The cloth to wipe, the lovage to chew and the wine to rinse."

Well, it was better than nothing. "Thank you."

He grinned. "Now, thy wardrobe is odd and makes thee stand out, so I procured thee some garments when I came from the palace. They shall mark you as a merchant's daughter and no worse."

"You really didn't have to."

"Hush, I did so because I wished to. Now mark this, if thou wishes to procure anything in my absence, simply put it on my tab, Mistress Quickly will speak for thee."

"That's very kind of you."

"Finally," he handed her a large satchel which she opened to find books. "I hope you find something in there to your liking."

"Thank you," she smiled as she pulled a large book out. "It's in Latin."

"Most books are, but there is some Chaucer in there, in English, if thou canst not read Latin."

"I can read it, I'm just rusty." Meg leafed through the Latin book, a small smile on her lips. "This brings back my school days," she told him.

"Thou went to school?" he laughed. "What a strange land you come from."

"All children go to school where I come from, of both sexes, until age 16 at least."

"Why?" he asked. "What use have the masses for education?"

"Because a country prospers better when the population is educated."

"Even servants and peasants."

"There are no peasants and very few servants."

"Few servants? Who does the labour?"

"Machines mostly."

"Machines?"

"Uh, tools that help us do tasks, so they require far fewer people."

He nodded, although he didn't appear to understand. How could he?

"And the royalty of this Hammersmith allow this schooling, do they?"

"Yes, although our parliament has far more power than our monarchy."

"Thou harks from the strangest place. When I return from Shrewsbury, thou must tell me all about it."

"I will." 'If I'm still here,' she added silently.

"Come through to the tavern once you're dressed, they should have bread and sack to help break our fast."

He turned to leave but Meg caught his sleeve. "How did things go with your father?"

He grinned. "My father and I are good friends once more."

"Are you?"

His smile dimmed a little but he didn't reply.

"What of the rebels," she asked.

His smile left completely. "I away to battle shortly."

Meg had been searching her memory for this time period but her knowledge of the middle ages was limited. She did know that Henry IV had deposed Richard II and she was fairly certain that one of Henry the fourths children would become Henry V, but was this him? They called him Hal and Harry, not Henry.

"What's your full name?" she asked.

"Why? Does thou wish to see it on my headstone?"

"No!" she said with feeling. "Just curious."

"Henry Plantagenet."

She released a breath she hadn't known she was holding. Hal was Henry V, which at least meant he would survive this battle.

Still, other than names and dates of significant events, she remembered little of this time period. He could have been badly hurt and she would not remember.

"Be careful, Hal," she said with feeling.

"I have no plans to die," he assured her in his usual cavalier attitude.

"Maybe not, but that doesn't mean you can't be hurt."

He smiled. "I'll do my best. Try to stay out of trouble while I'm gone, won't you?"

"What trouble have I caused?" she demanded, although she was more amused than offended.

"Tis simply a reflection of my desire to return to you."

She smiled and stepped closer to him then on impulse, she stretched forward and kissed his cheek.

It was meant to be quick, a playful peck of the kind she might give her brother, but this did not feel fraternal and she felt embarrassed as she unwillingly pulled away.

"What was that for?" he asked, a soft and genuine smile on his lips.

"A kiss for luck," she answered. "It's tradition where I come from."

"A kiss for luck," he repeated, as if sounding it out, the fingers of one hand grazing his cheek. "A strange tradition indeed, but undeniably pleasant." His smile widened. "Farewell, fair Meg."

"Goodbye, Hal."