king henry viii of england (kingofengland) wrote in angelgrove, @ 2009-02-07 12:14:00 |
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There was one thing Henry knew of for sure: this was most certainly not Greenwich Palace or anywhere in England that he was familiar with and Henry knew his own country. Where on Earth was he, then? These buildings...the people and their manner of dress and strange accents, the horseless carriages...this was not home. Nor was it a dream--or was it? He'd pinched himself and felt it, kicked his boot against the side of a building and felt the pain throbbing away in his toes, as real as anything else he'd felt before. Then...if it was not a dream, a strange fabrication of his own imagination, then what was it?
Had he been kidnapped? Was this a ploy of the French King or the Spanish Emperor? Was one angry with his arrangements with the other and took him and placed him here in revenge? We they working together? Oh, if either were the case, it was war. No one kidnapped the King of England and got away with it.
And if people didn't stop looking at him like he was a jester outside of court while still wearing his costume, he'd take out his sword and show them just how amusing he could be. What he wore certainly was not meant for this sort of weather, he knew, but it was not as ridiculous as those stares made it out to be. His clothing was made of the finest silks and furs! He was a king, for God's sake! People should be envious of what he wore, not mocking! Did they not see the crown upon his brow?
"Fools," Henry said, brushing past a stranger on the street, a hand decorated with rings gripping the hilt of the sword at his hip. If threatened, he'd draw it. Hell, he may draw it to use to gain himself answers. Violence was an effective means, after all. Very effective.