[FICATHON] Mea Culpa, for cesario
Title: Mea culpa
Author: lareinenoire
Play: Henry VI, all three parts
Recipient: cesario
Character(s)/Pairing(s): King Henry VI
Rating: G, I think. Nothing in here except gen and angst.
Summary: Henry had only ever wanted to be good. And that was not enough for kings.
Once upon a time, a Henry killed a Richard.
It was not a story he heard for many years. As a child, his nurses told him instead of his father and Henry imagined him as a shooting star sweeping across the heavens before vanishing into the horizon. Beautiful, but frightening. He wondered if stars cast shadows, for his father surely did.
He would sit by his father's effigy in Westminster for hours, but he never dared to voice his questions. Everyone said his father was a good king, a great king in fact. King Henry the Fifth, victor of Agincourt. What great things, they would add, can we expect from his son?
For his part, Henry found his grandfather's tomb less intimidating. But there were always shadows around that tomb, led by the ghost of murdered Richard.
But he was still a king, his uncle Gloucester pointed out when he explained to Henry the origins of the House of Lancaster. A good king forced to repair the excesses and the wrongs done by his predecessor. Most importantly, he had a son of his own who conquered France.
Henry could not bear to kill anything, let alone countenance the killing of a king. Thankfully, that was an unlikely prospect. Still, it seemed to him that very often when his uncle Gloucester looked at him, it was with disappointment. And though Henry tried to explain that God himself had decreed Thou shalt not kill, nobody seemed to understand. Not Gloucester, not the rest of the peers or even Cardinal Beaufort, who of all the men in the world ought to have understood.
He never admitted it, but ever since hearing that story, every time he met a man named Richard, he gave a small, inward shudder. And there were so many. Salisbury and his son, proud Warwick; and Richard of York about whom there were whispers.
Henry had only ever wanted to be good. And that was not enough for kings.
It was said the sins of the fathers shall be visited on the sons. But Henry's father had been perfect; why, then, had it all gone so very wrong? And he would look around him to the bevy of Richards and that was when he knew.
When Richard killed Henry, the story would come full circle.
But perhaps, he thought, there needn't be any killing. My title's weak, he heard himself confess, and it felt as though a weight lifted from his shoulders at the admittance. And, God help him, there had been relief when he held the crown out to Richard of York.
Once upon a time, Richard deposed Henry, but shed no further blood.
His men turned away in disgust, his wife abandoned him, and his son looked at him with hatred in his eyes. Someday they might understand. Surely they must understand.
He looked up as the messenger from Wakefield entered.
Author: lareinenoire
Play: Henry VI, all three parts
Recipient: cesario
Character(s)/Pairing(s): King Henry VI
Rating: G, I think. Nothing in here except gen and angst.
Summary: Henry had only ever wanted to be good. And that was not enough for kings.
Once upon a time, a Henry killed a Richard.
It was not a story he heard for many years. As a child, his nurses told him instead of his father and Henry imagined him as a shooting star sweeping across the heavens before vanishing into the horizon. Beautiful, but frightening. He wondered if stars cast shadows, for his father surely did.
He would sit by his father's effigy in Westminster for hours, but he never dared to voice his questions. Everyone said his father was a good king, a great king in fact. King Henry the Fifth, victor of Agincourt. What great things, they would add, can we expect from his son?
For his part, Henry found his grandfather's tomb less intimidating. But there were always shadows around that tomb, led by the ghost of murdered Richard.
But he was still a king, his uncle Gloucester pointed out when he explained to Henry the origins of the House of Lancaster. A good king forced to repair the excesses and the wrongs done by his predecessor. Most importantly, he had a son of his own who conquered France.
Henry could not bear to kill anything, let alone countenance the killing of a king. Thankfully, that was an unlikely prospect. Still, it seemed to him that very often when his uncle Gloucester looked at him, it was with disappointment. And though Henry tried to explain that God himself had decreed Thou shalt not kill, nobody seemed to understand. Not Gloucester, not the rest of the peers or even Cardinal Beaufort, who of all the men in the world ought to have understood.
He never admitted it, but ever since hearing that story, every time he met a man named Richard, he gave a small, inward shudder. And there were so many. Salisbury and his son, proud Warwick; and Richard of York about whom there were whispers.
Henry had only ever wanted to be good. And that was not enough for kings.
It was said the sins of the fathers shall be visited on the sons. But Henry's father had been perfect; why, then, had it all gone so very wrong? And he would look around him to the bevy of Richards and that was when he knew.
When Richard killed Henry, the story would come full circle.
But perhaps, he thought, there needn't be any killing. My title's weak, he heard himself confess, and it felt as though a weight lifted from his shoulders at the admittance. And, God help him, there had been relief when he held the crown out to Richard of York.
Once upon a time, Richard deposed Henry, but shed no further blood.
His men turned away in disgust, his wife abandoned him, and his son looked at him with hatred in his eyes. Someday they might understand. Surely they must understand.
He looked up as the messenger from Wakefield entered.