Chapter 7
The king sat in his hot bath drinking deeply from his wide, hoping to melt the frost that seemed stuck in his body. He wanted to get drunk. He wanted to forget that day, hoping to wake up and find it a dream. "So what was that at the riverside today, sire?" Charles asked, "Are you holding a torch for the boy? Or is your cock?"
"I don't know..." Henry sighed.
"You must know," Charles replied, "Do you want to fuck the boy, or court him?"
Truth be told, Henry though, the young hunter awakened every dormant protective instinct in his being.
The only thing he didn't want to do him, was hurt him. "Oh lord, you are developing something other than lust-"
"Guilt may be much of it," Henry admitted.
"Whatever for? Did you bed him and break his heart?"
"I only bedded him... I don't remember exactly." Charles just stared at him. "It was the night the queen miscarried -"
"Oh fuck... you took advantage of him?"
"I don't know - I know I hurt him. Probably both..."
"How do you know you hurt him?"
Henry glared at him, "There was blood on my bed - and me."
"And you thought that the best way of asking forgiveness was forcing your tongue down his throat?" Charles asked, frustrated. It certainly explained the boys hostile attitude. "You really need to get control of your cock..."
"I needed to apologise..."
"Not the best way to do it - why don't you try the non-invasive traditional ways? Send letter, show up on his doorstep, gifts?"
"He is so beautiful..." Henry muttered, tipsy.
Charles made a face. Oh lord...
~*~
It was several weeks later, when Dean was vomiting into a chamber pot that Sam waked into his room, only to see several crisp letters on his desk and beautifully wrapped boxes on the floor, unopened. "Dean," he said, "You shoulder seriously go to a doctor. Dad is coming home and you know he'll swear up and down that you've been cursed by something" He looked at the obviously stupidly expensive things on the table, "And who is sending you these things? Aren't you gonna open the letters?"
Dean's only reply was another groan as he tried to not throw up again. He just waved at his brother, hoping he would leave him alone.
Instead Sam took it as permission to read a letter.
Dear Dean,
My courier tells me that my letters and parcels are on your desk, unopened. While it does not surprise me, as many were returned, and I've been told, all attempted, my soul is aching for your company and any living being within these walls can tell you of what your absence makes of me. I beg of you, as a man who misses you sorely and is truly bathing in the deepest rivers of regret, to please join me for dinner the coming Saturday.
With everything I have to give,
Henry
Sam's eyebrows flew to his hairline. He folded the letter neatly and put it back in its envelope. Who was this Henry guy? With renewed curiosity, he picked up the letter at the bottom of the pile.
Dear Dean,
I am deeply sorry for my behaviour during this mornings hunt, and that of Brandon and Compton, who also offer their sincere apologies. I also hope you know of my most sincere regret and remorse for our previous encounter. I hope that you can find it in your heart, if not forgive, then accept my gift.
I accept you decision to leave my employment, but I cannot stress enough that should you decide to return, you will be welcomed with open arms and grateful stomachs. Your hunting skill is unsurpassed by any, and no one has any unkind words of you.
Your presence is like sunshine within the walls of this dreary castle and I fear the maids are aiming their scorned glares at me for causing your absence. Your beauty is a thing of legend, and the power of your spirit shines through, only strengthening your enchanting charm.
Please join me for dinner in the gardens this Sunday, after mass. The Chef informed me that steak and cheesed bread is your favourite. I find myself is drawn to you, and wishing to know you better- or know you at all. You are honest, unassuming and kind hearted, even as my tongue is cut and swollen.
The very best of wishes,
Henry Tudor, VIII
Sam gaped. This letter was for all intents and purposes a love letter. From the king of England, to his brother. "Dean," he called, "This is from the king!" he said, "And you have not even read them! Or replied!" He yelled in frustration. He counted the letters and found one for every day of the week- except the three from his first to the day of the dinner.
Dean just sighed and rest his head on his knee. His brother, his supposed-to-be-innocent little brother, was so concerned with social standing it was almost ridiculous. In many ways he was innocent. He was jaded because he had seen more than most, but he was innocent in the sense of that he was naive of how cruel the world could truly be. He seemed to think it could not happen to him. Dean thought that perhaps that was his fault, as he had been the one to shelter him so.
"Because he is a selfish, arrogant inconsiderate brute who - oh my god -" he retched.
With a sigh Sam sat down at his desk and started writing a responding letter to the king.
~*~