Violent Ends (Violent Delights Book 19)

Chapter 7: the Death according to Henry, King of England

"Go away," I breath, opening my eyes. The room is empty save him. Standing there as though he still lives. Fine, almost girlish face, soft curls, an arrogant, all too ready smile. "Bastard."
"I can't. I'm right here, you put me here, remember?" He asks, drawing a line across his bloody throat. Then he raises the stump of his right hand. "Like this. Forever. Look upon your sins, Henry."
"You were no sin. You're a monster."
"Yes I am. And so are you, that's how you know. That's how the story goes you see. Good men don't conquer evil. Evil requires a greater evil. And so Hector dies, dooming Achilles for his god-like rage. You should not have played the games of gods, if you too didn't want to be cursed by Apollo's arrow," he says, pacing closer to the bed.
"You're a phantom."
"I am the weight of all your sins," he laughs, spreading out his arms, "You are undone. One siege too many. You finally, after all these years, crossed the wrong man. Me. How does it feel to be bested by a bastard from nowhere?"
"I won. I took the city. I killed you. You lost."
"I won. I win. I win forever. That's how it goes you see. The villains lose. We were both villains but I'm well with that. It seems you aren't," he says, sitting down at the foot of the bed.
"You hung innocent men in your tree. You were a monster. I freed Meaux of its cruel governor."
"You burned Meaux to the ground," he says.
"You set fire to the market."
"To save it from you, Henry, Henry," he shakes his head, very nicely, "I knew what you did to the non-combatants at Rouen. The women and children, herded into ditches. At Cean your men raped, pillaged, and rounded them up in the market to kill them. So I put my beautiful city to death. Better I burn it, than you. I fought you and they had the chance to run for the fields. At least they had the chance. I killed my city with a kiss, rather than let you drag it kicking and screaming to the pyre."
"You starved your men. Condemned them and your cousin to death. And now you burn in hell," I say.
"Why do you think that is?" He sings the words, flopping down to lie next to me, "I burn in hell because I wish to be there. Everything is by my design. You didn't think you were special did you Henry? Took you a while I admit. But you finally found someone more than half as clever as you, and twice as evil. Finally. After all this time. You've found your match."
"You are evil. You had nothing. No one prays for you. No one mourns you. No one ever loved you," I say.
"Your words cannot touch me for I accept truth. It hurts me not for I am not afraid. I know no fear for I am the shadow of death," he says, putting his only hand to my cheek, "What about you, Henry? In your life you did nothing but inflict pain. It is a blessing your son never met you. And your wife did not love you she rejoices at your death. Our pretty french princess. You told all the world you loved her."
"You know nothing of love. I have loved," I say, hate burning in my chest, "I had guards stand by your body. No one buried you. No one mourned you. Not a soul cared. Your life was but a shadow. You had no wife, no lover, no children."
"You miss again, Henry. I loved them all, completely. My city, Meaux, my France. I loved my cousin. The children that would play in the street. The Frenchmen who died defending our country from you. I could not have done what I did if I did not love them," he says, sitting up, "Come walk with me. One more time. You know you wish to escape the pain."
"You're a demon," I say, not moving.
He holds out his hand, the left one. His right is gone, "Yes."
I take his hand.
We're no longer standing in my chamber. I can see Meaux, the broken burnt market. All ash. And his hanging tree, far and tall at the end of the city.
"Why are you showing me this?" I ask.
"I thought you might enjoy it. A taste of what's to come," he backs up, "Tell me, did you ever think of what might be to come?"
"What are you talking about?" I ask, following him through the rubble. It's not like walking. It's like a dream state. I still feel the pain of my illness but it's far fainter than it was.
"Hell. What you said earlier. We're circling back," he says, waving his stump of a hand idly.
"Is that not where you burn?" I ask.
"Oh yes."
"Because you could not be absolved," I say, following him through the wreckage. Sweet smoke fills the air, and a few fires even still burn. It was beautiful that night he burned it.
"Henry, Henry, Henry," he purrs, "I didn't confess."
"What? You surrendered—," I frown. He surrendered he had plenty of time to take last rites before doing so he knew it meant his death. They had churchmen still in the keep and he and his cousin could have given the other holy communion.
"I didn't confess. I had to be waiting for you," he says, nicely, "One hundred and fourteen days. You didn't even make me wait too long, Harry dear."
"You're mad," I say, softly, "You burn in hell—,"
"So that I can wait there. For you! We were doomed eternally, Henry. Your final conquest. And the poets will say you died of flux, just like a common man. But we are not common men," he places his good hand on my chest, face leaning close to mine. He smells of death, and the sulfurous fires of hell, "We are not common men, are we?"
He pushes my chest and we are back in my death chamber. I stumble a bit, the pain is returning to my body and I can barely stand.  Yet I know this is still a dream of some kind.
"You aren't real," I whisper.
"I'm very real. I'm fashioned specifically for you. It was terrible for so long. But then, in the end, when I met you, it was all worth it. All the pain the screaming, the endless nights. All worth it. I was learning to be the man, terrible enough, to destroy you. And I have. Look at you," he laughs, "Look at you. If only the dead of Rouen could see you now."
"You're pathetic. You didn't destroy me. Only God could take my life. If you were fashioned to best me, you'd have done it at Meaux," I back away as he advances on me.
"But this is so much more fun isn't it? An assassin's blade, some bastard tugging you over the wall, that would be epic. This is a flux. A pox. You're just another weak man, dying of disease because he was too stupid to stop campaigning. To see when he'd won. So you lose. You lose. You lose. You lose again and again. Achilles falls to Paris's arrow. Alexander dies of a fever. You die from St. Antony's fire," he sings the last few words, kneeling as I stumble to the floor.
"You aren't real. This is all my dream only I could torment myself thus," I say.
"I'm real. I'm very very very very real and I'm in your head," he says, putting his hand to my face. I try to move away but the pain is too intense.
"If you're real then tell me your name. If you're real you can speak your name," I say, "I'll tell them to bury you. Have a mass said for your soul I can still do that."
"No, no, no, not when I can torment you forevermore, in hell, where you shall descend," he says, cold hand still on my cheek "I have everything I want."
"I'm not going to hell, I will not go to hell, I am a god's chosen servant," I say, sweat running down my face.
"You still believe that? I thought that was just a line. I'm shocked. You're going to have such a shock it'll be nice. It'll be really nice when you get here," he says, cool hand to my cheek so gently.
"If you're real and not a demon. Speak your name," I say.
"That's it? That's all you want to ask not what our new home is like?"
"Tell me who you are," I say, leaning against the bed, struggling to move away from him.
"My dear Henry," he bends close to whisper into my ear, "I am everything."
Then he tips his head and kisses my lips with his cold ones.
I struggle to push him away and he rolls back to the floor, laughing. Just laughing, tipping his head back to shake the curls from his face.
"We're going to have such a nice time when you get here. And on the other side they won't even look for you. They shan't even wonder. The children of Rouen who starved in your pits. They laugh and play in the sun. Save your jibs I know no one waits for me. But they most certainly don't wait for you. Your own mother won't even wonder. She knows what she bred. This is how it ends. This is how it was always going to end. Just you. And me. Because you're alone now. Just like you always wanted. The world was not enough, so you get the fires of hell,"  he says, crawling back towards me.
"Don't look at him. Look at me," Richard's hands are on my shoulders.
"You're not here either," I whisper, my voice shaking.
"Do not look at him. Look at me. You're coming to me," he says, pressing his forehead against mine, urgently, blocking my view of the bastard who is crawling closer across the floor.
"You're not here. You left me," I breath.
"I am here. I am by your side as I always swore I would be. This beautiful life we had together but it was far, far too short for us. The world was not enough he is right. But we are enough. You are joining me. You're just early Henry," he says, tears filling his eyes, "You were not meant to meet me again yet. But I have missed you."
"Say you're here," I say, hands gripping his shoulders.
"He's not here. He's in your mind protecting you as he did in life," the Bastard says, looming over me, "It is you. And it is me. It is us. I am the ending you deserve."
"He's not here. He's a demon. Nothing more," Richard says, clinging to my shoulders.
"Don't let him take me," I whisper.
"I'm not taking you anywhere, love. You bought yourself your seat in hell. You're coming home, that's all. You're coming home to me. If you didn't want to spend eternity in my arms, you should never have killed me," the Bastard says, laughing, flames reflected in his dark eyes.
"No, no, no, do not believe him. You are mine, and I am yours. You are beautiful, you've always been so beautiful," Richard says, gripping my shoulders, "Cast him off. You can do anything. You can do anything in the world."
"I'll be waiting Henry. You're almost home to me. It's marvelous. Oh don't weep. You chose me. You did this to us both so why are you weeping? Don't be afraid of the dark when it's you who snuffed out the light. You made us."
"We are us, not him, he isn't here he never was. We are the light, you are the once and future king, Arthur reborn, my glorious son of Mars," Richard strokes my scarred cheek, gently, "And when you do let go I'll be waiting for you. Right by your side where you left me sleeping."
"He's not really here. There is no comfort for you. Think of it, what could love you? What soul could seek to care for something like us? Come chase me, Achilles. We'll run forevermore."
"Me, I am that which can love you. For your faults for your sins. It's me," Richard says, "I've held onto you so long don't let me go. By my love alone you are redeemed."
"You are damned," the Bastard says, dragging me from Richard's arms by the back of my neck.
"You lie! You lie! My portion is with Jesus Christ," I cry, and I feel his cold hands still on my neck even as his laugh echoes in my ears.
I'm in bed, twisting in the sheets, pain racking my body. Every breath is more painful than the last. The room is crowded, my brothers, weeping. My uncle, my cousins, Jack has dropped to his knees sobbing. I'm so terribly hot. I can't breath it's as though the air has gone out of my lungs. I clutch the crucifix to my chest, struggling to utter a few final words.
"I commend to soul to god."