|Henry Tudor | King Henry VIII (lucky_number_7) wrote in nevermore_logs,|
@ 2012-06-16 05:13:00
|Entry tags:||henry tudor, saint george|
Who: George, Henry the Eighth
Where: Central Park
What: NO NO YOU NEED TO LEAVE
The thing George loved about New York was that there was always something weird going on, no matter where he went. The mini Ren Faire set up in Central Park was no exception, and George was delighted by it. All the people running around with roasted turkey legs, mangling Elizabethan English made him so very happy. He had a special place in his heart for ridiculous medieval re-enactments.
He was sprawled across a park bench, eating a turkey leg of his own and considering calling Richard down to see it too. Richard would definitely be disappointed by the lack of jousting, but the odds of him picking a fight with one of the 'knights' were high. It would be worth it.
Henry had been in the city mere weeks and already he was well shot of it. It was noisy and dirty and no one knew who he was. How could they not know who he was?!
The Ren-faire had caught his eye as he walked through the park, desperate for some trees and greenery instead of stone and glass. The silly plebs, thinking they knew anything about the past. He watched with a sneer until he gaze fell on someone familiar. He could feel an immortal and there waas no mistaking the giant form on the park bench.
Henry strode over immediately and in a dark tone he ordered, "Saint George, you bow for your king."
George had, on a few occasions beforehand, gotten so angry that he lost control of most higher functions that did not include smashing and stabbing. That kind of rage didn't quite explain the numb, cold feeling that shot through him upon recognize just who was addressing him, but it came close.
Somewhere across the city, Wrath was probably wondering what the hell had just happened.
George had about a million things he wanted to articulate to Henry, but all that came out was "Oh, you fucking fuck."
Henry's eyes widened as Saint George disrespected him. He was more shocked than angry, at least at first. "Excuse me?" he asked, aghast. "How dare you speak to me like that?"
George's fists were clenching with the desire to literally punch Henry's head off his shoulders, but his legs were too numb to stand. The turkey leg had dropped to the ground, forgotten, which was probably for the best. George might have swung it at his former king.
"You're here," George finally managed, his teeth gritted.
Henry did not understand why George would have any quarrel with him. He knew George had not approved of his choices late in hie reign, but that is why Henry had placed him under house arrest. To teach the Saint his place. He wondered if he would have to do so again.
"And you are still standing," Henry reminded the man.
George breathed in. Breathed out. Decapitating someone in the middle of Central Park in broad daylight was a good way to end up the subject of a nationwide manhunt. But Henry was just. So. Infuriating.
George finally regained control of his legs long enough to stand. He looked at Henry for a long, tense moment before punching him right in the gut.
"I should have done that a long time ago," George hissed.
Henry bent over with the force of George's punch. His breath whistled out of him and the moaned before leaning back into the park bench and crossing his arms across his stomach.
After several moments trying to regain his breath, he finally managed to grit out, "I see the centuries have made a traitor of you. You commit treason in the open in broad daylight!"
"Treason?" George said, his voice a lot more shrill than he liked. "Treason?! I would be killing you if we weren't in the middle of Central Park, you arrogant dick. Oh my God. Oh Jesus. You're here to ruin my life again."
Henry couldn't believe his ears. His saint would kill him? How dare he say such a thing! He was committing treason twice over. "Your life is not your own. You belong to king and country. To me. Do I need to teach you how to be loyal again? Or perhaps I should teach your brother?" Where George was, Patrick was. Henry knew that. He hadn't been aware of Patrick's identity until he had had the saint put to death and then the man had been seen again a few months later. But he was all too aware now.
George felt the kind of flat, cold rage that always preceded something very morally questionable. And he would have felt bad or tried to fight it, really, but...Patrick.
He leaned over the bench, placing what could have been mistaken for a friendly hand on Henry's shoulder. "Henry. Sire. My king." His grip tightened on Henry's shoulder, so hard that the bones had to be grinding together. "We aren't in England anymore. The rules have changed."
His other hand came up, tight around Henry's throat, and George thought about how easy it would be to just squeeze and not let go. "If you go near Patrick? If you even breathe on him or any of my brothers? I will kill you. And I'll keep killing you. I've had a lot more practice than you ever did, and I am very, very creative when I need to be. Do you understand?"
Henry was not someone who yielded, even when beaten and embarrassed. As his saint accosted him, Henry flailed his arms out to break the painful hold George had on him. "How dare you threaten me!"
George squeezed harder. "I'm gonna do a lot more than threaten you if you go near my brother. Do you understand? You want to order me around, go ahead and try. But you are never hurting Patrick again."
"Patrick betrayed his sovereign," Henry gasped as the grip tightened. "I had no choice! I would have executed you if I weren't already aware you were immortal and it would mean nothing! And it seems you learned nothing from your incarceration."
George wanted to just keep squeezing until Henry stopped talking, stopped moving entirely. It would be easy. Let him feel what it was like to be helpless and scared for once. Let him be the one to suffer.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out. George let go of Henry's throat.
"There's nothing you can do to him anymore," George said, voice sounding flat and strange to his own ears. "Or me."
Henry cricked his neck and he rubbed it while he glared at George. "You were always disolyal scum," he grunted. "Worthless and weak." He knew George was right though. There was nothing he could do. Yet. Not until he took his place as king again.
The 'disloyal' part was what stuck, catching on George's attention like a burr on his skin.
"Disloyal?" he hissed. "I stood by you while you fucking tore England away from the Church! I tortured my brother rather than publicly rebel against you! For fuck's sake, the Vatican asked me to assassinate you and I said no!"
He was yelling. He needed to stop that. A little calmer, he added, "I did it because you were my king, and that meant something. And the fact that I was your Saint never meant a damn thing to you."
Henry glared at George, ignoring everything he said because to Henry it meant nothing. "No it didn't," he said pointedly. "You meant nothing to me."
George threw his hands into the air. He was going to start strangling Henry again out of sheer frustration. He had forgotten about this, forgotten about how infuriating it could be to try and talk sense into Henry when he was convinced he was right.
"You are the worst, God damn it. Your daughter tortured me and set people on fire and I still like her better than you."
Henry frowned when George spoke of Mary. When he read of her reign, he felt only regret that he hadn't kept her disinherited. "Then you are stupid as well as worthless."
"Argh!" Man, Wrath was probably so confused. George's rage kept spiking and fading. "You are such a bad person! Just all the way down to your core!"
"No, George. I am king and chosen by God. And soon he will raise me up again. Pray you are in hiding when it happens." And Henry stood to leave.
"This is America! There's not even a monarchy! England already has a royal family." George's voice was edging into shrill again. "God, just go. Leave the saints alone and just go."