Diana's Foresters

Chapter 3: yet herein will I imitate the sun....

Richard

I wake up with my face in Bernard's soft shoulder. The sun is shining in. At least two dogs are curled up in bed with us. A perfectly lovely way to rise on a fine spring morning. Just warm enough to be comfortably warm what with the fire going. I snuggle closer to Bernard.
He shifts a little but does not wake. I shall miss this when we go to France.
I stroke his hair gently, before sitting up myself. Blount is already laying out clothes and things for us, and some breakfast. I stretch, not looking down at myself, instead gratefully accepting an undershirt to put on.
"Her Majesty the queen is waiting to see you," Blount says.
"Oh damn it—oh right, out there," I say, shaking Bernard then pausing. We really do have to be more careful the kids are awake at all hours it would seem.
"Yes, your Majesty, I told her you'd meet her in the rotunda," Blount says, primly, setting out the rest of my things, and Bernard's.
"Thank you, wake him in a few minutes, slowly," I say, dressing quickly.
Isabela is waiting, wearing a deep green dress, arms folded.
"We do need to talk about Bolingbroke," she says, the moment I approach.
"Yes, office," I say, nodding.
She falls into step beside me, "This is delaying France which is important to all of us."
"I know, I've put out warrants, that's all I can do," I say, "We are civilized people we do not simply—send assassins after the man."
"Exeter isn't an assassin," she mutters.
"Look for the last time, I believe he didn't—kill my uncle that time," I mutter.
"You always believe the best in people," she says, as we reach my office, "It's dangerous."
"I'm not believing the best in Bolingbroke and I resent the implication that I'm naive," I say, approaching my desk.
There's a note on it, Harry's handwriting.
" 'Tom ran off to kill our father who we believe in is in Brittany I had no choice but to follow him and stop him, Duke of Lancaster' Harry, I know who you are," I breath.
Then Isabela says, "How stupid does he think you are?"
While I say, at the exact same time, "Well, I suppose he had no choice."
We look at each other.
"He definitely made that up," Isabela says, pointing at the note, "Tom would never do something like that, that is completely Harry."
"He knows I told him not to," I reason, "We have to get him back—,"
"Look," Isabela holds up a hand, "Possibly not? He's defying you as it is."
"Technically he's running after his brother, I have to hear Harry's side of it before I condemn him," I say.
"He's going to go and duel him, and that idiot had better win," Isabela says.
"No, I'll write to Brittany that he may be coming—," I say.
"Look just leave it maybe? It's Harry's stupid decision," she says.
"I can't leave it, he's fifteen, I know, I know, he and you are clever and you're both very capable but I protect you, do you understand? That is why, why I am king I protect, everyone," I say, struggling not to stammer. I don't usually stammer around her.
"It's not your fight though it's his father!"
"No I'm—," I cut myself off just in time. No I'm his father.
"You're not alone anymore," Isabela says, quietly, probably well aware of what I was going to say, "And you're not Harry's father. Or mine."
"I didn't—," I begin, but she walks out while I'm struggling for the words.
"What did I do?" I ask, shaking my head. Why is she angry with me? And why is Harry running away?
And it isn't fair. I look after them. I care about them, both of them. I want them to be mine I admit it I'm selfish. But they are here both here. I feel tears slipping down my face. And now Harry's going to get himself killed. That idiot had better be all right. The note had better be true.

Devon

"I cannot BELIEVE you're doing this to me, Harry!" Tom calls, as we walk our horses towards the ship. We're in Dover. Of course we are, we've ridden half the night.
"Why not? I have been your brother for fourteen years you shouldn't even be surprised," Harry says.
Tom growls, sinking to the back of the group which Harry is of course leading.
"You're useless," Porter breaths, to me, "One night."
"Okay but you're not considering how adorable he looks when he's coming up with ideas that will get him and all of us killed," I say, gesturing generally to Harry who is glowing right now with happiness.
"Useless, barely past midnight, knocking on my door, waking us up," Porter breaths.
"Oh I'm not awake," Warwick says, his eyes are half closed, "Still. Useless priest."
"I couldn't stop him," I say.
"You bloody helped him!" Porter says.
"Again with how happy he gets when he's coming up with dangerous plans," I say.
"A word, DEVON," Tom growls, he's leading his horse slowly, still seething with anger. Harry woke him up personally I don't think it went well.
"Yeah?" I ask, dropping back to talk with him while Warwick and Porter continue to bicker. "To be clear it was Harry's idea—,"
"No, not about this, I blame him. Fully," Tom says, glaring up at his brother, "But he's still my brother."
"Yes, well he would be—,"
"Stop. The silver tongue bit, not in the mood," Tom says, waving a hand generally at my face. He's a good head shorter than me, but lean and feral looking like Harry, my point is I couldn't take him in a fight.
"Right," I say.
"I know you were in his room all night, last night," he says.
"Well as you know I'm your brother's clerk—,"
"Stop. Seriously. Stop," he says, "I don't want to know, okay?"
"Okay," I nod. Why is this happening to me? I don't think Harry gets these bloody chats it was his room. I feel myself tense with anger.
"He's my brother, and unfortunately my best friend. Because he's my brother, I don't really care who or what he takes back to his room to have fun with all right?" Tom says.
I nod because I was told not to speak.
"But I do care what people say. And I think you're clever enough to know what they already say, and think, about the Flower of Devon, right?" He asks.
"Yes," I say, my voice tight.
"Harry doesn't need that," he says, "He doesn't need your reputation attached to him."
"He kissed me," I say, feeling heat rise to my face, "His bedroom. You think a man like me gets bloody choices in this world? Yes, I think boys are pretty, I think girls are pretty too. I don't like any people but him. I actually really like him and in case you hadn't noticed he's a bloody idiot. I say no, and I don't have a job anymore and I lose my only friend. I say yes and I'm his whore. Forever. That is my fucking choice. That is what it is like to be me, that is what it always be like, for anyone who has no power. If we say no we're sacked or worse. If we say yes then it's life behind closed doors."
"He'll have his fun and get rid of you, and you're going to leave. You're right that is how the world works, and I have the power, you don't. He's my bloody brother. If I want you gone you will be. And soon. And you're going to go and never look back, that is the message, got it? Because he's going to be someone great. And he doesn't need you," Tom snarls.
"You can't make him get rid of me," I say, feeling my heart leap.
"Watch me. One more time. I'm his fucking brother. You're a sodomite, you always will be," he says, then he walks on ahead to join the others.
I don't. I feel tears gathering in my eyes.
Because of course I don't want to go. Harry is my only friend. If he sacks me Beaufort won't let me hang about either and I stay at his house in London I don't have anywhere else to go to get away from school. And I'd miss Harry. He's the only one who understands, who likes when I talk, who doesn't stare when I rock and focus on numbers. I like it when he puts his hand through my hair and rests his head on my shoulder to read what I've been working on I like helping him. I don't know how to be happy another way and I don't want to.