My Dream For England

by Extraho

Henry has a dream. A dream for England. With his love in mind, he writes a letter for the man who five hundred years later will open his grave. mild slash. Henry/Charles

1. Chapter 1

TITLE; My Dream for England

CHARACTERS; Henry/Charles

RATING: T

WIP OR COMPLETE; WIP

WARNINGS. m/m

DISCLAIMER; I don't own anything. None of this (EVER!) happened. I'm just a poor student with an annual fee of £ 22 200 for my money-sucking university. Suing me wont do much good.

SUMMARY; Henry has a dream. A dream for England. With his love in mind, he writes a letter for the man who five hundred years later will open his grave.

Henry lay shaking in bed. What he had seen... His beautiful England in such shambles. Charles lay sleeping peacefully, like a stated jungle cat, on his belly besides him, knowing nothing of his king's worry.

The king got out of bed, biting his lip at the soreness he felt with each step. He pulled a blanket around himself and found parchment, some ink and a pen. He took a deep breath and started writing.

To my dear archeologist,

I regret that I do not know the name of the man who will make my dream for England known to the people. I had the most odd dream. In a different tomb than the one I intended for myself, I see my grave and a red haired man pushing off the lid of my coffin. With black boxes shooting light, but causing no harm. And a letter on my chest.

This letter, I am now writing to you, my dear red haired voice of England.

I despair of what I have seen in my dream. The once beautiful, although sometime muddy, streets of London are grey. Everywhere I see there is grey; the colour of grief and illness.

While the sight of joyous children warms my heart, the sight of this city of dead steel and stone puts ice in my belly. The though of fighting a war on behalf of the land that will one day call themselves the United States of America makes my pride shrivel and my self respect cringe. To heed my advice, cover your own feet from the frost bite before giving shoes to another. Further, seek not shelter from the lightning in the forest.

But in my dream, I also saw so many wonderful things I wish we had here, in my present; strong women not needing to stand behind their man, hoping he do as instructed for the best of us all. Children allowed to play, and people allowed to love.

To love.

Love is not something that has come easily to me. Faith is something I struggle with every day.

I found my true love at the age one nine. Faith... faith I have fought since my birth.

If God is almighty and all knowing and created everything in our realm, then why did he create the Devil, knowing what harm he would cause us. Why, I pray to God, answer me please, does he justify rape, incest and murder?

Most people try to live as morally good and just as they can, regardless of faith. If heaven is meant for those who worship God in the way of the Vatican, but for no one else, does that mean, for the sake of argument that as I sit in heaven, which I am certain I never will for reason I will tell you, I will be at peace with that people I know and love with burn in eternal torment for not following the preaching of "God's representation on Earth"?

For me, living eternally, knowing of my loved ones eternal torment, would not be paradise, but torture. And what if heaven in some what evaporated my pain, so that I would not longer feel this torment, but only indifference to these suffering souls, then this person would not be me, for the love and compassion I feel for my loved ones is a significant part of who I am. But if I am the kind of person who thinks that people would indeed suffer eternal torment, despite being good people, because not following the ways of the Vatican, or if Paradise should turn me into this person, then this being is something I would despise and loathe.

I cannot justify to myself worshipping a God as hypocritical and contradicting as this. I do my best for the people, and as a compromise, I established the Protestant Church of England.

I want the people of England to be the freest and the happiest people in the world. I want them to be free in a way I am not allowed to be. I hope, that one day in what will probably be a far away future, that all men and women are to be free to love, marry and divorce who they like. I pray that one day marriage will be an institution of love, not one of political gain and breeding.

I have married six times. Each of those time my hand was forced to a bride I did not favour nor loved. England needed an heir, and according to my council, a male heir. But now, resting reassured that my dreams are true, I will not remarry. My first born daughter Mary will, upon my death, be an excellent queen, and my daughter Elizabeth the First, will also make me proud and bring England to its potential.

In all this time, I only had eyes for my love. Charles. It may be a surprise to you, my dear red-haired fellow, but Charles has been my love throughout my live, and will be until my dying day.

We met one a rainy spring day and we became instant friends, despite my father's disapproval. My brothers would tease and jostle, the way brothers do. I think they knew. They knew before we knew.

Upon my eleventh birthday, we shared our first kiss. Before my wedding to Katherine of Aragon, we shared a bed for the first time.

My father and brothers always told me, despite the harsh ramblings of men in the court, than any persons first should be one they love, because it will be a night you will remember for the rest of your life, regardless of how great or how disappointing. Their words rang true.

I held a great respect for Katherine, and we shared grief for my brother. I loved her like a sister, but never as a wife. I curse the day we were forced to marry, for one day she would have met a man who could make her happy, rather than a boy half her age whose heart was already taken.

Charles was furious with me for marrying Katherine, and we did not speak for weeks. Those were the worst weeks of my life. I always knew that I could handle anything as long as I had him by my side. I proved then that I could not handle supervising the supervisors preparations for my own wedding or even getting out of bed for a bath without him. Without my Charles, I am a useless man.

I used to daydream as a young man, before my marriage to Katherine, that one day, one miraculous day I would be allowed to marry Charles. I had no dream of becoming king, or conquering the world, or establishing a church, all I wanted was to marry the one I loved.

My brother asked me, "But if you should be king, how are you supposed to have your heir, carry him in your own belly?"

If I could, I would. I could take on a ward, train him and educate him in the ways of science, politics and war. Kings have done it before, why should not I? The child needs a mother? Nonsense. A child needs stability and care, the gender of those providing that care is a non-issue.

Love is Love.

All love is equal.

I just woke from my dream, and I felt the need to write this to you, my red-haired friend. I dreamed that in the future England, men are allowed to walk with men in public, and women with women. That their love is not met with hatred, torture and the noose. Last I heard, a man in the North East of England was caught in the act with his lover, and they were both killed. The giving man had his genitals cut off and stuffed down his throat, causing him to choke to death, while the receiving man was impaled on a spike, through his rear and out his neck.

I tell you, the court still talk of the day I vomited in the Great Hall, though I have a suspicion it was not put to public record.

I rarely admit to weakness, but that day I crawled into our bed and in my lovers arms I cried.

I cried for the injustice and the hatred. I hope that one day my England will become a place of safety and prosperity. I hope that one day I will look up from the burning fires of our eternal torments and see an England the that I dreamed of.

I will rather burn eternally alongside the one I love, than be in paradise alone.

Now, dawn is nearing and Charles is leaning over my shoulder, reading my letter to you and the future England.

We wear our god rings under our shirts, for while Charles and I may never legally wed, we are wed in our hearts, and for what its worth, before God.

With Loving Regards,

King Henry VIII

Charles kissed henry's shoulder, "Now will you come back to bed," he asked, "It is freezing and I do have some things I want done before we have to rise for the day," he said and slipped his hands down Henry's chest.

Henry felt the warmth return to his cold skin and dropped the pen. Forgetting to seal the ink well he let Charles sweep him off his feet and carry him back to bed.

Wrapping his legs around Charles' waist, taking him deep into his body, Henry threw his head back in bliss. Pleasure tore through his body, but it did not compare to the almost painful pressure of emotion that rose in his chest as they held each other close, rocking gently while whispering words of love.

Henry trembled like a child as they gently kissed.

No words could describe what he felt, but Charles knew exactly what he meant.

This was paradise

Dr. Harry Fredicks gaped as he saw not one, but two male bodies laying close together within the stone coffin. With great curiosity saw parchments tucked into the inside pocket of one of the men. Gently, he wiggled them out and carefully opened them.

Dear whoever finds this.

I always trusted my father when he knew things no one else knew. And I trust him in this as well. When he presented me with his letter to lay in his coffin upon his death, he told me not to read it, fearing I would not understand. I did not have to read it, for I do understand.

I've seen the way they look at each other, and I wish, from the bottom of my heart, that my father at least in the afterlife will be happy with his beloved; that his smiles need not be hidden, and his laugher and passion subdued.

I told my father I'd seen them, and that I am happy for him; that he, at least in those moments that came so few and far in between, was happy. I had never seen my father cry until that day, and I had never seen anyone cry of happiness.

I pray for the day when acceptance, not rejection, from ones family is expected. It pains my heart that my very own father lived with such worries.

Today we bury my father and his beloved, as per their wishes, together. Not man know. Only the advisors, those who have been around since my father was a boy, and my mother. Charles, poor Charles, felt the loss of my father so strongly, he drank poison. A love so strong deserves to be honoured.

I too dream of an England were men and women can walk free with their heads high with the one they love.

With Loving Regards,

Queen Mary.

Harry stood wide eyed as he read the letters.

"What did you find?" his colleague asked.

"I think..." he whispered, "I think things are about to change..."

A/N;

I hope you like it, and here is an alternate end line, because I couldn't decide which I should keep.

"I think we need to get this to the parliament and the press fast," he said, "Henry the VII approved of gay marriage. If that won't make them make it legal, fuck if I know what will."