Two Kings (History Plays, Book 4)

10: let us sit upon the ground, and tell sad stories of the death of kings

Henry— present

No.
Start again. Take it back. Take it all back. Why am I fighting with him? He's my best friend. He's my only friend. Except now he's off his drugs so I can't let him out right now and I don't know why he's off his drugs and where's Harry and what's he been doing with Harry? Where had they been all night when I found them? I need to talk to Richard. I need to talk to Harry. I don't deserve either of them to talk to me. If only Mary were here.
I need Mary here. I need someone here with me, but I'm alone. I'm alone again and I'm cleaning up the mess always. Just think damn it. Think. Why am I even here? Why am I even doing this I don't want all this I don't want to rule anything. I don't want to be in charge of anyone. I want—I don't know what I want that's probably half the problem. Where's Harry?
Calm.
Calm.
I pace my office, my feet crunching on the broken glass of the globe. The contents of my desk still scattered on the floor. And all I want to do is stare out the window willing the clock to reset so I have a second chance. A second chance at what? What would I change if I could turn back the time? I don't know but something. Somewhere I went wrong I just don't know where. What am I supposed to do? Talk to my son, no fuck that I can't deal with him right now. Talk to Richard? About what? Say what? If he even has come to his senses then he'll be as angry with me as I am at him. Or I was. I don't know I'm not angry anymore am I? I don't even know that. Fuck it.
I rub my face, forcing myself to stop staring out the window at the fields, where Jon and Rey are running around with toy swords, and a now broken wooden crown. Why is it broken? Why does it look like the one Richard and I had— it can't be can it? No that was lost long ago.
Talk to Richard. No, he's not sane he's fine there right now. Why isn't he taking his pills? We have to get him back on his pills. He thought they were trying to poison him. They wouldn't actually try to kill him, would they?

Richard—present

"Hello, villain, have you come here to kill me?" I say, recognizing Exeton's footsteps, and that of maybe six more, as they open the doors to the cell. Heavy, footsteps. With the slight clink of weapons. Oh yes. They are here to kill me. I may be mad. I may be beyond my mind. But I know that. My father's blood runs in my veins. I do not die like a dog on a chain. I die a warrior. I die a knight. I die a king.
But wait.
Please wait. Five more minutes.
My Anne, what will she think when I am gone? What did I last tell her? I bid her my love? That's good at least I did that.
Edmund, my son, my boy. I never meant to leave you. What did I tell him? I told him to stay with Harry, I bid them walk me through the house so I could keep my promise to him. And I knelt and touched his hair and said I'd be back later and to stay with our Harry and that I was off to speak with my Harry. He's small perhaps that's sweet enough memory to be left with.
Robert, awaiting me in heaven or in hell no doubt.
My uncle, dead as well no doubt in heaven he'd have already bought a place there.
My father and mother, well interred in their rightful place. They should not welcome their troubled boy so soon.
Little Harry, my fierce prince, what is the world going to do with you? It'll never tame you Harry, please Harry live. Live on for me for you blessed mother, and most of all live for Harry. Don't weep when I'm gone I'm glad of the time I got to have with you I hope it was enough. God let it be enough and God look out for my boy.
And what of Harry? My Harry did he send them here? Would he? Oh, perhaps he would. I care not anymore. My poor Harry you never did know what you did in anger, perhaps you'll regret it later. Perhaps not.
Perhaps it's better off this way that I do go. Perhaps it is your time Harry, I was always blocking you from the sun.
I spin as they come at me, snatching the axe from the hands of one and goring him with it. They were not ready for me to be so lucid. They don't know generations of malice and warcraft are bred into my very sinews. I could be half dead, out of my mind as I am, and I would still fight.
"Go, fill another room in hell," I say, smashing in the head of another as they pour onto me. They have all manner of instruments of death, but I care not for wounds anymore. I'm well aware I'm not going to win forever. But I'll be damned if I go down without a fight.