Hey guys! Okay, so I know, I know. I've been gone for ages, and now that I'm posting it's not an update on any of my Les Miserables stories, but rather a short Shakespeare one-shot. But my life has been a wild whirlwind since classes started back in August, doing two plays back to back, and I have had literally no time to sit down and write. So I am shaky on my Fanfiction legs, but I'm writing this little thing to try and warm up again before Thanksgiving and Christmas break arrives, when I'm planning to update every story I'm behind on. In the meantime, thank you all for your patience and support, and I hope you enjoy my first dive back into Fanfiction after my brief hiatus.

Disclaimer: I do not own Henry IV or Henry V, nor, alas, am I Shakespeare. Nor do I own The Hollow Crown. Nor do I own Tom Hiddleston, whom will always be my Prince Hal. Also! Mega thanks to my amazing beta reader xOwleX! Go shower her in love and sour Skittles!

~Rosey

A Home for Christmas

There was no question that Henry IV was not a warm and loving ruler. He certainly was less frivolous than Richard II was, but he was distant and cold to his people. But more than to his people, Henry IV was distant and cold to his children. Out of those children, it was his eldest son that seemed to receive the blunt of his chill. So on Christmas Eve when the stony palace was being covered in a blanket of snow, the inside was growing even colder as the fifteen-year-old prince approached the King of England with a simple request.

"Father?" Harry of Monmouth (the Prince of Wales, the future King of England, or, as he preferred, simply Hal) looked up at his father through messy blond curls as he stood next to the king's large desk that was littered in paperwork, the candle on the corner burning the last of its wick. "Father do you know what day it is?"

His Majesty Henry IV did not even look up from his work, only grunting out an "Hmm?" before dipping his pen back in the inkpot and continuing his tedious work.

"It's Christmas Eve," Hal smiled a little, hopefully. "I was hoping you might be able to take a rest from your tasks and spend some time with my siblings and me? It's only that you've been so busy lately-"

"Harry, I have no time for you at the moment," Henry IV looked down coldly at his son, the shadows from the candle casting an ominous look onto his face. "Please leave me be."

The prince frowned and ran a hand through his hair, growing more desperate now. "Father, it… It is Christmas Eve. And I know you've been busy but some tasks can surely wait until the holiday is over."

Henry IV turned to his son and frowned deeply, crossing his arms. "Harry, it is not your place to interfere with my actions as ruler. You are not any sort of authority to me, and indeed I could have you jailed for persuasion of the king if I so chose. But as you are the prince, as dangerous to England as that is, I will simply bid you good night."

His son frowned deeply at the threat, but stood his ground, shoving his hands into his tunic pockets. "It is not even sunset yet. Can you not spend a few hours with us at least before you continue with your work?"

"Harry I will only warn you one more!" the king growled, leaning forward in his chair, his crown sloping lower on his forehead. "Leave me be, boy! I haven't the time for you and your foolish holiday tidings!"

Hal hesitated a moment, biting his lip, before trying once more, jaw set. "Father, it seems to me that Kings should not forget their families while fulfilling their other duties to the throne."

The King arched a brow angrily, getting to his feet now and grabbing his son harshly by the arm, dragging him towards the door. "How dare you tell me what a King should and should not do! Trying to rob me of my crown before your time, are you?" It was frightening to the prince, really, how quickly his father's temper could turn. Frightening and infuriating at the same time.

"N-no, Father I was not… I was just hoping to spend the Christmas holiday with you," Hal spoke quieter now, trying hard to keep from wincing as his father's grip tightened. The king yelled at him often… But he had never hurt him. Not like this. Hal could already feel a bruise forming around his forearm.

Henry IV's grip grew tighter still as he shoved his son against the door, yelling now. "Get out of my sight, you selfish miscreant! There is work I have to do, and the last of my concerns is you and your childish needs!"

Hal yanked out of his grasp at this, taking a stumbling step back towards the door, his shaking hand closing around the door handle as he glared up at his father through angry blue eyes. "Very well. Forgive me for trying to spend a moment with my father. Happy Holidays, your Majesty. God save the King."

Henry IV opened his mouth to say something more, but Hal darted out the door and slammed it behind him, drowning out whatever it might have been that his father shouted with the loud boom of the wood.

XXXX

Hal hurried down the stairs of the castle, pulling on his overcoat as he ran, wincing as his bruised arm was jostled into the sleeve. The halls were frigid cold, and he knew outside the palace would be even colder, but he refused to let this stop him in his quest to get out of the castle if just for the night. It was incredible how small that gigantic palace could feel. Incredible and amazingly lonely.

As he pulled on his gloves and shoved his cap on his head, Hal darted out the front door of the palace, ignoring the guards if they did try and say anything. He continued to run through the ice and snow, the cold wind biting at his face and the snow quickly soaking through his boots. He should have worn his leather ones, he knew that, but he was in a hurry to leave and the ones made of cloth were the ones closest to the exit of the palace. It was warmer out here in the frigid December weather than it was in that blasted castle anyway.

The young prince darted to the stables, skidding to a halt at the stall of his horse Aristotle, a beautiful white stallion that had been with Hal since boyhood. The prince jumped over the stall fence to get to his horse, stroking his mane gently, out of breath from running so fast in the cold. "Hello, old friend. Want to go for a ride?"

Aristotle tossed his head and whinnied, and Hal had to smile. He knew the horse couldn't understand him… Of course horses didn't speak English. But Aristotle knew what "ride" meant. And Aristotle was the only one who loved late night rides even more than Hal did.

Hastily pulling on Aristotle's saddle, Hal jumped up onto the horse's back and pulled on the reigns, the animal going into a full run moments later, leaping over the stall gate and sprinting out into the night, the setting sun the only light to shine the pathway.

Hal had no idea where he was going, nor did he much care. Aristotle was the one truly in control, racing through the countryside, kicking up powdery snow around his hooves, showering the prince's legs in icy fluff. Hal's arm was starting to throb more, and he dreaded actually looking to inspect the damage, not because he was afraid of how it would look, but because he was afraid that once he saw it the reality of who put it there would finally and truly hit him. He felt his lip tremble and his instantly bit hard on it to still the shake, burying his face in Aristotle's mane to compose himself before throwing his head back and letting the icy night air numb his cheeks and forehead. The sun was setting ever quicker, and he knew it would soon be dark and in the back of his head he realized this meant that he should get somewhere warm or he would freeze to death. After about an hour of speeding through the countryside, his bones growing colder and his jaw now shaking uncontrollably, he had a brief thought of wondering what that would be like to freeze to death. Somebody finding the Prince of Wales's cold, frost bitten body on the back of his horse, hurrying him back to the palace, his brothers and sister wailing over losing him, his father running in and gasping at seeing his son gone forever, going to his side and running a hand through his stiff, icy hair and begging him to come back to the world of the living… His father finally saying he loved him.

It was then that Aristotle skidded to a stop, and Hal would have fallen off his back if he didn't snap back into reality and grab the reigns in an iron grasp. The prince looked up with tired eyes, and was surprised to find Aristotle had stopped right outside a small little town, certainly not of the wealthier variety. But the lights were warm and welcoming, and soft Christmas tunes could be heard being sung from somewhere deep in the little village. And so without a second thought, Hal clicked the reigns again and Aristotle slowly trotted into Eastcheap.

XXXX

Hostess Quickly mopped up some rum from the table to make room for more to come splashing down as the giant knight Falstaff thudded his mug back down and laughed up at her. "Another, Madame! 'Tis Christmas! And I will celebrate as I please!"

"Oh alright Sir John," she sighed, "one moment, won't you? There's someone at the door!" Nell chuckled fondly, ruffling the knight's wild white hair before walking to the front of the Boar's Head Tavern, still smiling warmly, laughing as a spring of holly was placed in her hair by Bardolph as she made her way to the door.

When she opened the door, she couldn't help but gasp a little. A young man with curly blond hair and a face pink from the cold was shivering in the doorway, but he was dressed much nicer than any of the customers she was used to serving, though he was foolish enough to be in cloth boots. She stared at him in shock for another brief moment before quickly opening the door wider and gesturing for him to come inside. "You poor lad, out in the cold at this hour! Do come in! Warm yourself by our fire!"

"T-thank you I'm sure, Madame," the young man chattered through clattering teeth, wrapping his coat tighter around his frame. "M-my horse is being l-lead to your stables, I a-assure you I'll p-pay-"

"Nonsense, lad! It's Christmas! It's on us, it is. Now sit over there and warm yourself, and I will get you something to warm your insides, hmm?"

The boy looked up at her with wide blue eyes, and he nodded a little, hurrying to the fire, pulling off his gloves to warm his fingers near the flames. "I c-cannot thank you enough, Madame."

"Oh, do call me Nell, lad! And what are you called?"

He hesitated for the briefest of moments before looking up with a small smile. "I'm Hal. It's a pleasure to meet you."

She smiled fondly and nodded as she hurried off to gather provisions for him. "The pleasure is mine I'm sure, Hal."

"Nell! Where's my gin that you promised me?!" a booming and cheerful voice came from a table over, and Hal glanced up with a small smile at the happiness in the tone. Is that what joy sounded like in a voice? He had forgotten. The man who was calling for Nell looked just like St. Nicolas; except his nose was red from alcohol and not from being out in the cold weather. Hal had to smile to himself. That's what he used to try and imagine his father looked like.

"Oh I'm coming, hold your dogs! Go and speak to that lad by the fire! I'd declare he needs a companion in this cruel world!" Nell called from the bar where she was pouring two mugs of gin, that smile still on her face.

"Ah!" the gargantuan man turned to face Hal with a wide grin, and he got to his feet, teetering over to sit by him at the fire's side. "Welcome, lad! First time here, is it? I've not seen you before, and I am quite the regular here, you know."

"Yes, good sir," Hal nodded, rubbing his hands closer to the flames, his teeth still chattering, wincing a little at just how much the man reeked of sweat and liquor.

"Falstaff," the rotund man laughed warmly. "Or Sir John Falstaff, if you would like to be more specific. 'M a knight! Serving our mighty King, in all his disgusting glory!"

Hal's head snapped up at this, and he blinked a little. "I beg your pardon?"

Falstaff also looked up now, and panic came into those glittering eyes. "Are you a supporter of the king? I am too, of course. We are so close, he and I, that I can make little teases like that and he will do the same right back, old dear man! The mighty eagle and its feathers, that's the king and I."

The prince quickly shook his head, though he did keep in mind to note how easy this giant was to switch sides. "No, no I would not say the king and I are on…particularly good terms at the moment. I would not say that at all."

Falstaff instantly relaxed again and laughed warmly, clapping Hal on the arm, not noticing how sharply he winced at the slap against his bruised limb. "I like you already, lad. Nell! Two drinks for this sweet wag! And keep 'em coming!"

Hal frowned a little at this, and shook his head. "No, no I insist, I should not-"

"Don't be a fool! When a body buys you a drink, you take it, by heart! Take it!"

By now Nell had returned to their sides and handed Falstaff and Hal a tankard, smiling fondly at the young prince. "Do help yourself, honey lad! It's on the house tonight!"

"Come on now, lad! It's rude to let a fellow drink alone!" Falstaff laughed warmly and downed his tankard in two swift gulps. "It is Christmas after all!"

Hal was quiet for a long moment, then, after looking around at the warmth he was finally surrounded with, he slowly raised the tankard to his lips. "Happy Christmas, then."

Falstaff chuckled and threw his head back in joy. "Happy Christmas!"

XXXX

It was around three in the morning that Prince Harry of Monmouth passed out cold and highly intoxicated on the floor of the Boar's Head Tavern. Falstaff, who was equally intoxicated but simply more used to it, fondly slung the boy over his shoulder and carried him over to one of the bedrooms. He tossed him onto the bed, chuckling down at him fondly before closing the door behind him and stepping back into the bar to down another tankard. Hostess Quickly smiled at him warmly as he stumbled to the bar, her own nose slightly red from gin and nostalgia.

"Another rum, Nell," Falstaff slurred, a smile on his face. "That boy… A regular Falstaff he's going to be!"

"Oy, better make sure he's not as foolish as you!" she laughed warmly, pouring him another gin. "Poor Hal… Already falling under your influence!"

Falstaff stilled a little, and looked up at her with more serious eyes now. "Nell… You said his name is Hal? As in… Hal, the King's son?"

Nell blinked a little and frowned. "I wouldn't think…"

But Falstaff was already darting to the room and yanking the door open, staring down at the sleeping boy with wide and shocked eyes. "Of course… Of course how didn't I see it before? Prince Harry of Monmouth. It's Prince Hal!"

Nell appeared at his shoulder and looked down at the sleeping boy herself, eyes wide. "I… I have a prince in my inn."

Falstaff, on the other hand, only smiled. And now, his smile was wicked. "And I have the key to the kingdom that I've been waiting for."

Alright, that's all I have! I hope it's enjoyed, and PLEASE do review because I have a feeling this will not have hardly any reviews! Let me know what you all think! I'll try my best to update my other stories by the end of the month!

Stay revolutionary!

~Rosey