Title: Fortune's Favours
Pairing: Charles Brandon / Henry Tudor
Rating: M
Story Summary: The story follows the storyline of the show, except for the fact that the King and his favorite Duke get a little closer in its course than in the original, making everything even more complicated. ;-)
Disclaimer: The Tudors belong to Showtime, I have absolutely now claim on the characters, the storyline etc.
A/N: I know the Tudors are in many points not exactly what you'd call historically accurate, still, in this fanfiction I decided to go with the Showtime version to avoid confusions.
Thanks to all who have commented on this story so far and kept me writing. Special thanks to Karliene for her nice long e-mail and of course again to Narya for beta-reading and everything else!
Chapter Summary: Charles and Henry make a bet with unforeseen consequences and share a moment of nostalgia and lots of wine at the Field of the Cloth of Gold.
Chapter Warnings: Implicit slash... if you don't like it, why do you read this story at all? *g*
II
Two Kings, two Queens and a Fool
The ball dashed through the small tennis court faster than the eyes of the audience could follow, accompanied by the enthusiastic outcries of the four young men playing as if their life depended on it. The white shirts and their hair were already soaked with sweat, however, the game had reached its fever pitch and they were all too excited and hungry for victory to feel exhaustion.
Henry's service, William's stroke, Henry's reply and Anthony tried to catch the ball, yet…
"Thirty – love!" The small bell cheerfully rang, accompanied by a thrilled "Yeah!" from the King. The crowd applauded and Charles clapped Henry's shoulder in approval while William tore his hair in playful desperation.
"Our game, I think, Anthony," Henry teased their opponents, lifting his racket.
"Your Majesty knows, we're just letting you win," the addressed quick-wittedly replied.
"Actually, I was playing as hard as I can," William admitted with a grin.
Since they got the last point, Charles served next and dashed the ball over the net with offhandedness.
"Now there is someone I have to try," he muttered towards Henry, who was watching the ball coming back to them and sent it back over the net. "See, middle gallery, blue dress, that exquisite virginal face…"
Henry quickly glanced in the indicated direction as Charles took the next ball and caught a glimpse of a black-haired and indeed really pretty girl.
"Who is she?"
A reply from Anthony, a fierce blow from Charles…
"Forty – love. Game."
The crowd applauded the winners cheerfully and Charles threw up his arms in a pose of victory before returning to Henry with an impish grin on his face. "She's Buckingham's daughter."
Henry stared at his friend in disbelief and then burst out laughing, putting his arm around Charles' shoulders and playfully pulling him closer. "A hundred crowns you don't succeed!"
"Done!" The grey eyes of his friend flashed and his grin widened as he accepted the challenge. But since the little bell rang again, indicating that another round of the game was about to start, they both assumed their positions again. Henry quickly glanced up to the gallery and the girl again. Buckingham's daughter… he had never liked the arrogant duke who had just spoken against him in council again. The fact that he was a direct descendant of Edward II and Henry still without a male heir to the throne didn't help to improve things. It would really be fun if Charles managed to lay his daughter.
His eyes flicked from the girl to his best friend who prepared for the serving and a tiny smile curled around his lips. Of course he had sensed the hidden question behind Charles' boastful words, the careful attempt to make sure he wouldn't stir up a hornets' nest again. It felt kind of flattering and, together with the joy of victory and playing, added to an utter feeling of delight.
If only every hour could have been that merry and untroubled.
"I trust Your Majesty enjoyed hunting today," Wolsey said politely with a bow when Henry took his usual seat at the head of his study's table. The King only nodded, biting in an apple he had grabbed in passing. They had returned later than he had planned from hunting and therefore he hadn't had the time for a proper dinner before his meeting with Sir Thomas More and Cardinal Wolsey.
"How are the preparations going?" he asked.
"Very well. Both your army and fleet are assembling, stores and provisions are being laid in… You could go to war in a matter of weeks."
"Excellent. I knew I could depend on you."
"I am grateful to Your Majesty," the cardinal muttered, then took a deep breath as if he wanted to say something but stopped, instead exchanging a glance with Thomas. Henry waited for a few seconds and chewed on his apple, however, when none of the two men continued, he began to feel a little impatient.
"What is it?"
"Your Majesty," Wolsey slowly began in a pacifying tone, "wars are expensive. To pay for them you have to raise taxes. That is not always popular. What if Your Majesty could gain more power and prestige by other means?"
"Other means?" Henry asked suspiciously.
"Peaceful means."
"What! No battles? No glory?" the King flared up, yet Thomas, who finally took a seat at the table, interrupted him with a calm voice.
"I think Your Majesty should hear him out."
A little smile at his friend's comment crossed Henry's lips and, feeling conciliated, he told Wolsey to go on with a gesture of his hand.
"In the past few weeks," the cardinal began to explain, "I have conducted, on Your Majesty's behalf, an intense round of diplomatic talks. Not just with the French ambassador but also with representatives of the emperor, with envoys from Denmark, Portugal, the Italian states…"
"What for?" Henry interrupted him.
"To make a treaty."
"What kind of treaty?"
"A treaty of universal and perpetual peace."
The words hung weightily in the air when Wolsey sat down at the table, leaving Henry time to think about his chancellor's words. The King stared at the fireplace for some moments, pondering, before finally laughing out shortly. The proposal of this peace treaty instead of war somehow amused him, since it was such a complete turnaround, however, he still wasn't sure what to think about it.
"How is it to be effected?" he therefore demanded to know.
"In several stages," Wolsey readily explained. "In the first place there would be a summit meeting between the kings of France and England. At the summit, Your Majesty's daughter would be betrothed formally to the French dauphin. And at the end of the summit, you would both sign the treaty. "
"The treaty is entirely new in the history of Europe," Thomas added, "committing all its signatories to the principles of collective security and universal peace."
"How would it be enforced?"
"Should any of the signatory countries suffer aggression," Wolsey took over again, "all the others would immediately demand that the aggressor withdraws. If he refuses, within one month the rest would declare against him… and continue until peace is restored."
"The treaty also envisages the creation of pan-European institutions." This was Thomas again. Both must have planned exactly what to say, Henry realized, since they were both working as a perfect team in order to convince him. And of course they both were right… as ever. Although Henry felt a little unwilling to abandon the idea of war, of epic battles and glorious victories, he had to admit that, seen in an objective way, the arguments of his advisors were the better ones. And even he realized what advantages the proposed treaty would bring if they managed to pass it. Slowly, the King nodded.
"In some ways I like it. I recognize it – so do you, Thomas…"
"Indeed," his friend approved.
"It's the application of humanist principles to international affairs." Henry smiled appreciatively and turned toward Cardinal Wolsey again. "Your Eminence is to be congratulated."
"I don't seek praise," Wolsey replied modestly, slowly getting up again. "Your Majesty would be known as the architect of a new and modern world. That would be reward enough."
"Always be assured of our love," Henry said emphatically before rising from his chair. Thomas did the same and both he and the cardinal bowed to the King.
"Goodnight, gentlemen."
In that moment the door opened and one of the servants in black clothes with the red and white Tudor rose on his chest entered the room.
"What is it?" Henry asked, feeling a little annoyed. It was late, hunting had been exhausting and he desired nothing more than a quiet evening away from politics.
"Your Majesty, the Duke of Buckingham insists upon an audience," the servant replied tentatively and Henry sighed. The Duke was probably the last person he wanted to see right now and for an instant he toyed with the idea of simply sending his rival away. However, this would result in a lot of trouble afterwards he was not interested in either. So he let himself falling back onto his chair, announcing that he was prepared to receive Buckingham, who entered with huge steps and an expression on his face that signalized trouble.
"Your Grace," Henry greeted him coolly.
"Your Majesty ought to be made aware that I have discovered Mr. Charles Brandon in flagrante delicto with my daughter," Buckingham said dangerously low without any greeting or bow to Henry. "Mr. Brandon has brought shame to my family. I demand that Your Majesty banish him from court with whatever other punishment Your Majesty sees fit." The last word he almost spat out with so much contempt that Henry's already strained patience snapped.
"There will be no punishment!" he exclaimed, rising from his seat to take the unspoken challenge. "Unless your daughter accuses Mr. Brandon of rape. Does she so claim?" And when Buckingham didn't answer, he yelled to his face, "Does your daughter claim Mr. Brandon raped her?!"
"She doesn't need to," the Duke snapped back. "The offence is against me and against my family!"
"As far as I know, there has been no offence," Henry answered, still fuming with rage, "so there is no need for any punishment."
They stared at each other for some seconds, open hatred glaring in the dark eyes of the Duke as well as and in the cool, grey blue ones of the King. Finally, it was Buckingham who turned away first, looking quickly in Wolsey's direction but since neither the cardinal nor Thomas made any effort to interfere he looked back to Henry again.
"Your Majesty." He didn't even try to hide his repugnance.
"Your Grace," Henry hissed, not being cagey about his feelings either.
Without any other word or bow Buckingham left the chamber even more enraged than when he had come. Henry sighed and leaned against the table, for an instant closing his eyes to calm down. He knew he shouldn't have lost his temper and that Buckingham was basically right, but the arrogant, demanding tone of the Duke and the fact that he had tried to enjoin Henry on how to deal with his best friend had just made him angry.
"Be careful of Buckingham, Harry," he heard Thomas' calm voice. "He may well be stupid, but he's richer than you are, and he can call upon a private army. Not even your father crossed him."
Henry looked at Wolsey, but according to the look on his face, the cardinal agreed with More. "And what should I have done in your opinion? Have Charles flogged or sent to the Tower because Buckingham is unable to look after his lewd daughter?"
"No, of course not," Wolsey tried to appease him. "Whereas – I beg your forgiveness, Majesty, but it is not the first time Mr. Brandon stands out with a scandalous affair, isn't it?"
"So what? I'm not his nurse," Henry spat. The topic felt especially unpleasing because in this case, he knew he was at least partly accountable for Charles' behaviour since he had even encouraged him to go after the girl by offering that stupid wager. However, who could have foreseen that the idiot would have let himself get caught literally with his pants down? He curtly snorted with laughter at the thought.
"No, but you're his King," Wolsey answered meanwhile, "and you have the means to shorten his leash before he gets either himself or both of you into serious trouble, Majesty. You could, for example, command him to take a wife."
"No," Henry shook his head vigorously, disliking the idea before he even knew why. "Anyway, it would change nothing except for the fact that he'd constantly cheat on her."
"Still, if he cheated on her somewhere else, it would not be Your Majesty's problem."
"But I don't want him away from court!" Henry's eyes flashed in upcoming anger. "Is it not enough I spent most of the day discussing boring politics, bills and treaties with men about twice as old as I am or listening to annoying appeals from everyone? Can't I keep at least some of my old friends by my side to enjoy life from time to time?"
"Of course, Your Majesty. It was just a suggestion," Wolsey muttered and Henry could see that his angry words had hurt his chancellor. He took a deep breath and continued as calmly as possible.
"I promise I will think of a solution and talk to him, Your Eminence."
The two men took their leave and Henry remained alone, staring pensively out of the window and over the dark palace garden. His thoughts revolved around his cancelled war and the new treaty, around Buckingham and the open hostility in the dark eyes, still, wherever his thoughts might wander, they always came back to Charles.
He was startled when his groom entered again. "Your Majesty, Mr. Charles Brandon."
Henry nodded absent-mindedly, and waited until his friend had entered the room and bowed. He was still wearing his hunting outfit from the day and looked pretty relaxed and pleased with himself.
"Majesty. Are you so eager to see me again?"
"Indeed I am, since I have just heard that you've lightened my purse about a hundred crowns," Henry smiled, feeling how he immediately felt better at the sight of his best friend. "Why didn't you tell me before?"
"I see someone sold me out. I wonder who it was." Charles' mischievous grin widened. "Well… I thought it would be some kind of unfair if I charged you for an unfinished job so I thought I'd better do it properly again."
"Are you trying to tell me you fucked that girl again after Buckingham caught you with your pants down?!?"
"About ten minutes before your messenger found me," Charles shrugged and Henry couldn't help but laughing out loud with malicious joy, dropping on his chair again.
"He better should have kept an eye on his daughter instead of wasting my time complaining about you having offended his family."
"He did?" Charles looked amused. "Well, maybe he should have used his chance for retribution when he had me at the end of his sword."
Henry shook his head, half in denial and half to get rid of the images Charles' comment produced in his head. "No, he knew I would have killed him if he had harmed you. He wanted to embarrass me by demanding that you are to be banished from court… with whatever other punishment I see fit," he added with a telling grin.
"Mhm." Charles managed to look concerned, but his jauntily glittering eyes betrayed him as he approached Henry. "And whatever other punishment does Your Majesty see fit?"
"Hm." The King measured his friend with his gaze though still unable to hide a smile. "Since Cardinal Wolsey and Sir Thomas More have just convinced me to call off the war with France and instead sign a treaty of perpetual peace with them… I guess I'll banish you from court for as long as it takes you to accompany me to France and back."
"Sounds splendid. I mean… sounds like an appropriate punishment, Majesty."
"I knew you'd appreciate my fair judgment." Henry grinned and poured them both a cup of red wine, raising his own to Charles. "Soon we'll have French Bordeaux, my friend! Here's to perpetual peace!"
"To peace," Charles agreed and they let their cups cling, both sharing a hearty laugh.
Henry held his promise and so at the beginning of June, the sailed from Dover to Calais to meet with King Francis. And although living at the royal court of England as long as he could remember and having experienced a lot of grandiose feasts there, Charles was convinced he had never been to a feast with these amounts of debauchery and pomposity. In the midst of the Field of the Cloth of Gold, as it was quickly called because of the many tents and clothes woven with silk and gold thread, a great temporary palace had been erected. The only solid part of the so-called "Palace of Illusions" was the brick base; the rest was a deceptively real-looking creation of cloth, glass and timber. And everywhere in the Palace as well in the surrounding forest of tents, celebration, feasting, games and music was going on all day and all night without any pause. Red wine flowed from two fountains outside and for entertainment, various tournaments and performances of jousting, swordplay and wrestling were held. Beyond that, the English and the French King seemed to get along well, so the atmosphere was merry and unstressed all day. But as all good things come to an end someday, also the day of their departure drew nearer. In the morning, the two kings should sign the treaty in a grand ceremony and in the afternoon, the English would already be back on the Channel and their way home.
It was on the eve before their departure and after dinner, the tables and chairs in the middle of the hall had been removed to give room for another entertainment, a match between English and French wrestlers. Charles sat with Anthony and William in the first row, enjoying themselves and betting on the outcomes of the matches. They had already had a good deal of wine, just enough to have the pleasant feeling of warmth flowing through the bodies, loosening the tongue and making you feel entirely comfortable with yourself and the world.
"Seems our French friends wear us down," William commented when the last standing Englishman finally fell to the ground, marking a clear victory for the French.
"Nah, that's just for hospitality. And you owe me twenty for that guy," Charles grinned.
"Where's your loyalty, Charles?" Anthony teased him. "You bet against our men?"
"Someone has to." Charles shrugged and took another sip of wine when suddenly, Henry rose from his chair and his sharp voice became clearly audible for the hall and the discussions and the clapping died down.
"Do you want to prove it?
"What are you suggesting?" King Francis, looking a little uncomfortable, replied in a much lower tone. However, Henry didn't seem to be interested to keep their discussion private anymore. Charles knew what that icy gleam in his King's eyes meant: Francis had managed to stress his thin patience too far until it had finally snapped.
"I am challenging you to a wrestling match… brother," Henry said, loud enough for everyone to hear, pointing at the free space inside the hall where the wrestlers were just about to retreat.
The murmur inside the hall rose, yet as Francis still hesitated, Henry waved it off with a superior smile on his lips.
"You're a coward."
"Merde!" Outraged, Francis now rose from his chair as well, facing Henry with a dangerous glitter in his dark eyes. "French honour is at stake. I accept your challenge. Parce que tel est notre bon plaisir. Let's do it now."
"Groom!" Henry yelled and stepped aside, taking off his necklace und already opening his gold-embroidered overcoat with erratic, angry movements. The eagerness to beat his rival for whatever he had said to him was written in his face.
"Now, this is going to be fun," William murmured, amusedly rubbing his chin. Charles grinned and nodded, watching Henry removing first his waistcoat and then his shirt with the help of his groom. Sir Thomas More stepped at his side, whispering something, but Henry curtly waved him aside. When both rulers had stripped down up to their pants, they walked side by side down the small stairs into the middle of the hall where they faced each other, serious anger glittering in both eyes. Henry was almost half a head shorter than the French King, Charles noticed with slight concern. He knew that his friend was indeed energetic as well as determined, however, due to his lean built he had always lacked the strength to really succeed in sports like wrestling.
"Your majesties… gentlemen… the rules are as follows," the umpire meanwhile declared. "The first man to throw his opponent to the ground shall be declared the winner. Are you content?"
"Yes," Henry said lowly, whereas Francis only grinned.
"Then fight on!"
The two kings pushed away and then started circling each other, both observing each single move of the opponent and waiting for the slightest sign that the other one would attack. The tension was almost tangible and the noise level rose again, the crowd cheering their Kings on. "Go, Henry!" Charles yelled and then nervously bit his lower lip.
"What bet will you lay?" he heard Anthony asking behind his back.
"Two kings, two queens and a fool," William smiled whimsically.
"Who's the fool?"
"I don't know yet, but it's a full house," William answered, jumping up and a moment later, yelling, "Come on, Your Majesty!"
Nothing held Charles on his chair as well and when Henry finally jumped forward and grabbed Francis, the cheering grew even louder and more enthusiastic. Both held each other in a firm grasp, pushing and pressing in order to unbalance the opponent or make him stumble and fall.
"Henry's gonna win!" Charles shouted enthusiastically in Anthony's ear. "Go, Henry!"
"Whatever happens, he's not gonna win," Sir Thomas More muttered behind his back, but Charles was far too occupied with watching the fight than bothering to answer.
"Come on!"
The yelling and cheering grew louder and louder and so did the groaning and gasping of the two combatants whose heads turned red in exertion. For a short moment they broke away just to grab the other one an instant later and doggedly continuing to fight. And for an instant it seemed as if Henry would get the upper hand, having his arms around Francis' neck and slowly pressing the French King down… until, all of a sudden, the same leaped forward, forcefully pushing against Henry who lost balance and fell to the floor.
Exclamations of surprise, then excessive jeering and clapping came from the French in the crowd when King Francis threw up his arms in a pose of victory. Charles, Anthony and William didn't have to agree on it, they all hastened towards their overthrown king and reached him just in time to prevent him from lunging at Francis again. However, Henry was in such a rage that he tried to shake them off, over and over again yelling, "I want a re-match! I want a re-match!!"
"Henry, man, calm down…" Charles muttered reassuringly, but the King didn't even seem to hear him and just continued screaming and fighting their grip.
"Are you afraid? Are you afraid of a re-match?"
"Are you calling me afraid?" Francis called over at him contemptuously. "Of what am I supposed to be afraid?"
"Of me!" Henry yelled, throwing himself forward just to be held back again.
"Let's have it then…"
It was in that moment when Sir Thomas More rushed in, grabbing Henry and pulling him forcefully aside. The King of England seemed so surprised that he gave up his resistance.
"I'm not going to sign the treaty!" he hissed instead "I'm not gonna sign it! Go and tell them…"
Charles didn't catch what Henry wanted to tell them anymore, since Sir Thomas lowered his voice to a mutter but seemed to speak very intensely to him. He quickly glanced at Francis who wore his overcoat again, sipping from a glass of wine someone had passed him and looking very satisfied with himself. And for an instant he strongly loathed this man that had sent his best friend and king to the ground.
"Seems like More talked some sense into him again, thank God!" William muttered at his side when they watched Henry finally turning and walking away. "Not to image what would've happened if he blew the whole treaty…"
"Doesn't mean he still won't," Charles answered thoughtfully and sighed. "Well, so much for this evening, gentlemen. Shall we get drunk on Henry's behalf?"
"After you've done whatever he wants from you, gladly," Anthony answered, calling Charles' attention to Henry again who beckoned him over with a small gesture.
"Majesty…"
"I want you to bring Lady Mary Boleyn up to my room in, say, the quarter of an hour," Henry commanded curtly without even looking at Charles. His tight jaw indicated that he was still fighting his rage. "You know who she is?"
"Yes, I do." Charles hesitated a moment but the decided to try nevertheless. "Majesty, I…"
"Don't. Just don't."
Henry rushed towards one of the side exits, grabbing his overcoat while walking away without once looking back.
About two hours later, Henry lay on his bed in the darkness, idly staring at the ceiling. After the Lady Mary had left, he had extinguished the candles illuminating the richly decorated room so that he couldn't see it anymore. A desperate effort to shut out where – or who – he was.
The Boleyn girl had been a nice distraction for a while since she was both pretty and eager to please. She had managed to calm him down and released him of the tension from the fight still lasting in his body. However, she could neither drive away the nagging feeling of discomfort and self-doubt nor the loneliness. He had almost laughed out loud at the thought that he actually felt lonely although he was surrounded with people all day, still, they were not the company he would have chosen for himself if he were free to choose. All this mindless small talk with the narcissistic French King and his nobleman who were almost worst while he saw his friends of old strolling around, drinking, laughing and enjoying the celebrations. He envied them more than he would admit to himself.
A small strip of light fell through the door as it was slowly opened and Henry turned his head to gaze at the silhouette standing in the doorframe.
"Was she no good?"
"What? Oh, you mean the Lady Mary. No. No, she was fine. Well-educated in French graces, if you know what I mean."
Charles laughed a little too long and too loud to still appear sober. "Then why are you sitting in the dark while your subjects are celebrating you?"
"Don't they rather laugh at me?" Henry growled.
A little pause. "No. Of course not." It sounded rather bemused.
"Hm." Henry smiled in the dark, finally sitting up. "Actually, I was going to ask you if you'd keep me company over a glass of wine… make that a flagon. However, it seems to me you're already in advance, aren't you?"
"Don't worry about me, Majesty, I'm no lightweight." Though it was dark, Henry could exactly picture the self-confident grin that went with Charles' words. "We could grab a flagon and watch the fireworks outside. Some fresh air would suit us both, I think."
Henry grimaced. "If I wanted the company of anyone else, I could have stayed in the hall."
"We won't have company, trust me. Now why don't you get dressed and I'll take care of the wine?"
Only the quarter of an hour later they sat next to each other on a nearby hillside in the shadow of some whin bushes, overlooking the Field of the Cloth of Gold. The illuminated tents where shining like hundreds of glowing rocks on a dark sea with the Palace of Illusions as its natural centre. The sound of music and laughter still rang through the warm air of the starlit night, mingling with the chirring of hundreds of crickets sitting nearby. The flagon of wine had become two, one steadily passing between them, the other one lying yet untouched in the high grass.
"You know what? I've seen the field only once as a whole and that was the day when we arrived." Henry shook his head, taking a deep swig from the flagon. "Merde, as my very special friend King Francis would say."
"C'mon, forget the Frog," Charles mumbled, who was lying outstretched in the grass next to him. "You should rather drink…"
"Yeah, here's to all French going to hell one day!" Henry raised the flagon in a mock salute and took another swig.
"'cept the women, of course," Charles chuckled.
"Nah, our English roses are much fairer anyway."
A loud bang down on the field interrupted them and suddenly, purple cascades exploded in the air, falling down like a rain of flowers. Other colours followed, enlightening the dark night sky in a beautiful play of colours, flashing up and ceasing only moment later. Both men silently watched without saying anything, just passing the flagon from time to time and when it was finally empty, they opened a new one. Henry felt his head getting lighter and how welcome dizziness embraced him, drowning his cares, if only for a moment. How he had missed such simple things, just lying down somewhere with his best friend, making stupid jokes, getting drunk as hell…
Finally the fireworks ended with a last beautiful cascade of gold and silver, falling down like the branches of a willow and bathing the entire field in golden light. The drops slowly floated down like tiny coins, slowly going out, and then it was dark again. Down on the field there was much cheering and applause but it seemed to be so far away from them.
"I just thought of our French campaign," Henry said eventually, a thoughtful smile on his lips. "Do you remember?"
"'course," Charles muttered without even opening his eyes. "Those were the times…"
"Nothing about peace treaties and pan-European shit then," Henry agreed. "We beat them up and they whined like the damn cowardly puppies they are, crawlin' back to their bitches."
More moments passed in silence, both men lost in their thoughts. Henry gazed at Charles thoughtfully and without even noticing, his brown, always a little dishevelled-looking hair, the handsome features displaying a look of complete satisfaction, the well-toned body sprawled down on the grass…
"And do you remember the feast afterwards?"
"Vaguely." Charles grinned. "I remem'er much wine an' much… many women…"
"What, that's all?"
"'cept for the part ye' told me I should never-ever talk 'bout if I wanna keep my head," Charles mumbled and yawned loudly.
That part, yes. Henry had almost forgotten it himself, however, the last weeks it had involuntarily crept into his mind from time to time. That one evening when they had celebrated their victory wildly, as if it was the last of their days, the very evening when they had – for the first and only time so far – gone that little step too far…
They were already dead drunk and Henry couldn't even recall himself how and when Charles and he had lost the others, ending up in his own luxurious tent with three ravishingly beautiful young ladies and enough wine to make an entire company drunk. They had already repeatedly satisfied their lust and since a lot more wine had flown since then, they were now telling silly joke, toasting to themselves and bantering with their female company. Playfully solemn, Charles raised his cup.
"Here's to my most beloved friend, the most Grace- n'… 'n Bounty- an' Dreadful of all princes the world has e'er seen… King Henry VIII o' England… Hammer o' the Frogs… whom I love more than anyone else, so help me God!"
His drunken, mumbled toast was accompanied by a lot of giggle from the blond girl sitting on his lap. "Even more than me?" she asked, playfully caressing his face.
"'course he does… I'm his King," Henry replied with lazy amusement watching both from half-closed eyes while absent-mindedly playing with some strands of hair of the second girl who nimbly caressed his chest under the wide shirt.
"His Majesty's right, as ever." Charles grinned, kissing the blonde on her lips.
"And yet you prefer kissing me to him," she teased him, playfully tipping his nose.
"Hmm… Actually, can't compare, can I?"
Henry chuckled to himself, feeling far too drunk and easygoing to come up with a witty response. However, he was ripped out of that enjoyable state when he suddenly felt two strong hands encircling his jaw as Charles leaned forward to kiss him. At first, the feeling was simply strange, the touch of raspy stubbles against his skin and the kiss being so much fiercer and more controlling than he was used to. Only with half an ear he heard their female companions cheering and giggling in anticipation when his lips instinctively opened to meet his friend's and a pleasant feeling of warmth and upcoming arousal shot through his body. Slowly he reached out for Charles to dig his hand into this hair when suddenly reality hit in and he forcefully pushed him away instead. With a surprised yelp, he fell backwards down to the mattress and before he got a chance to recover, Henry was kneeling next to him with the little dagger he always wore in his boots pointing at Charles' throat. Though fury and shock were still fighting for dominance he felt completely sober in an instant. Charles stared at him with an expression of utter horror.
"Majesty… forgive me…I…"
"You will never ever speak about that again, is that understood?" Henry hissed, his lips still burning. "It never happened. Otherwise you'll not keep your head long enough to even say you're sorry. Is that understood?!?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," Charles whispered.
Henry stared at him for another moment, then got on his feet a little shakily. He grabbed his overcoat and paced out of the tent with long, angry stride, still feeling Charles' gaze on his back and his passionate kiss on his lips.
They had never talked about it again and never again had anything similar happened between them. Until the very moment over the Field of the Cloth of Gold when Henry slowly, hesitatingly reached out for his friend, gently touching his cheek and running his fingers down the line of the jaw. Charles didn't wince back, didn't even open his eyes, however, his breath stopped for a heartbeat, and was then exhaled as a soft sigh. Henry smiled to himself, and, still holding Charles' face, he finally leaned down to kiss him, not fiercely this time but a gentle, slow kiss meant to ease and to seduce. He could taste the sweet red wine on his friend's lips and again he was met with no resistance or hesitation, yet with no response either.
"Charles?" Henry whispered against his lips and as there was again neither a response nor any sign that Charles had even heard him, he let go of his face.
"Charles?!"
His friend's head sank back to the ground and, disbelieving, Henry heard a first, soft snore escaping Charles' lips.
"Charles, you damn son of a whore!"
Henry shook his head, not sure if he should burst out into laughter or be angry, but the urge to laugh was stronger with the entire situation being so absurd it was simply comical. He laughed and laughed until his stomach hurt from laughing and tears welled up in the corners of his eyes, he couldn't even think of the last time he'd felt that uncaged and free. Finally, he stretched himself out on the ground next to the snoring Charles, still chuckling to himself and watching the sleeper.
"Just you wait, my friend…"
He wasn't entirely sure himself if it was meant as a threat or as a promise.
Quick steps were approaching on the shaky planks, then a soft laughter.
"For Christ's sake, is he still feeding the fishes?"
"Well, if you can't handle your drink you probably don't deserve better," Anthony teased.
"Oh, get stuffed, Anthony," Charles managed to mutter before another wave of sickness overcame him and he had to bent over the railing again. All had gone quite well in consideration of the circumstances until they had stepped on the planks of the ships that took them over the Channel right now when Charles had discovered that a hangover and a troubled sea really were a bad match.
"Anyway… His Majesty would like to let you know that he's sorry you're sick and advises you not to overdo yourself so much in the future that you fall asleep in the middle of a conversation." William grinned mischievously, trying in vain to keep a serious face and Anthony chuckled to himself. "Also, he asked me to give you something, but I fear that if I hand it to you know, it will fall right into the Channel."
"What is it?" Charles gasped, raising his head just a little.
"Let me see." William opened the little cloth purse and whistled in approval. "Look at that, Anthony."
"Hmm… I'd say our lad must have been good last night," Anthony joked.
"Fuck, Anthony, what is it?" Charles roared, immediately sending another wave of pain through his head and made his stomach turn upside down once more.
"Easy, Charles." Anthony patted his back, not even trying to hide his amusement. "Your malaise is at least well-paid as it seems."
With substantial effort, Charles managed to fight back the nausea as well as in any way possible and turned his head to see what William held in his hands.
It was a silver ring, made for a man's hand with the top elegantly carved into the petals of the Tudor Rose with tiny red and white gemstone slivers embedded in the petals. Charles had never seen that piece of jewellery before, nor did he understand why he deserved such a royal gift right now.
"I don't get it. He falls asleep while keeping Henry company and as thanks he gets jewellery." William shook his head. "Must be doing something wrong."
"Nah, it's all fool's luck," Anthony replied and grinned. "There you have your full house, William! I just wonder if Charles goes with the Kings or with the Queens…"
The same rolled his eyes as both of his comrades roared with laughter. "Why don't you get lost, both of you?"
"Because, my dear Charles," Anthony said with a serious expression, "we could never forgive ourselves if our beloved King's favourite plunges into the sea through our fault."
"Especially since he'll probably soon try to jump voluntarily, according to his face," William added, snickering.
Another attack of nausea prevented Charles from lunging at his friends and, staring into the turbulent, darkened sea, he prayed dearly that the coast would come soon.
Dancing to the feel of the drum
Leave this world behind
We'll have a drink and toast to ourselves
Under a Violet Moon
Tudor Rose with the hair in curls
Will make you turn and stare
Try to steal a kiss at the bridge
Under a Violet Moon
~ Blackmore's Night, Under a violet moon ~