This is my first "Tudors"-ff so I'd be very thankful for any comments!
"Yes, your majesty."
He smiled as he left the smaller audience hall, despite the harshness of his voice. A few paces behind, Charles followed, his steps firm and strong and by no means as humble as he had just claimed to be.
It didn't matter.
When Henry turned around and took off his gown the smile was gone, replaced by the mask of rage and power he had learnt to wear, and sometimes couldn't control anymore.
"Yes, your majesty."
He could easily count the times Charles Brandon had sounded so devout, had not dared to meet his king's eyes.
The first time had been almost twenty years ago, he realized, with sudden horror. How old they had become! And still no heir… and still Brandon looking so young and beautiful. Henry had the power and the intellect, but Charles had always had the looks and the charm. They had wonderfully served each other when on the countryside in summertime, hunting deer at day and women at night.
That time was long gone. He was a king, responsible for hundreds of thousands of people, he could no longer play games.
Except for this last time.
Henry sat down, waiting for the duke to do the same. His eyes never left Charles' handsome yet bewildered face, enjoying every moment of anxiety in the other's eyes. He should feel how it was to fear every move. He should feel how it was to be let down and hurt by those he loved the most.
Charles' grip on his hand was strong and desperate - a drowning man holding onto a piece of driftwood. He finally looked into the eyes of his sovereign, searching for traces of his friend. For a moment, Henry was tempted to simply embrace the man in front of him. His most loyal, if most thoughtless, servant. His best friend. His brother.
How many stupid things had they done together?
Then he remembered his sister lying in his arms, not only as the sweet ending of a rough journey but as Charles' wife, blessed by the church who would not give him, the king, the wife he wanted.
No, he mustn't go weak now! He must hide his feelings towards the man in front of him, even though it hurt to see Charles' desperation. The servant had come to his master, and as his master Henry had to act.
"If you can beat me, you can come back to court."
The humbleness in Brandon's face disappeared, washed away by the devotion and sincerity Henry had come to love, more even than his dirty jokes.
He kept his eyes on Charles as he slowly bore him down. The handsome face reddened and contorted with exertion, yet Henry knew he would never give up. He would lose, possibly, he had never before won against Henry. But he would never give up on him.
Faking exhaustion Henry gave way, slowly letting Charles turn the tide while he kept staring at him with intact mask of horribly anger. He would make the duke win, but there was no need to make it easy for him. Tears of frustration and physical pain pearled up in Brandon's eyes, and finally, Henry let go. His hand went down, and Charles smiled in ignorant triumph.
The smile made everything clear. Enraged again, but this time at the whole world Henry jumped up. Not even to his closest friend he could be honest. Not even Charles could know the truth behind the mask. They might tell each other dark and dirty secrets but in the end, Henry would always be the king, and Charles would be his servant, depending on his master's grace and therefore never as free in mind with him as he was with William. Or Margaret.
"Do you hate me that much? Henry?"
Charles' voice was barely audible, he was crying openly. For a moment he held his king's glance, then he looked down. "Your majesty?"
The hopelessness in his voice cut deeper into Henry's heart than the betrayal had.
Henry turned around. "There is one thing you should know, Suffolk" he said, not half as harsh as before, "kings don't lose. Never. Unless they want to."
He smiled at the relief in Charles' face. "Welcome back."