Chapter 5: ...that one might read the book of fate

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Somerset
Ah England. Good old, England. Land of my forefathers. I have not graced these shores in perhaps, five months time. Since I last smuggled myself back over, really, fantastically easy to do when everyone thinks you're dead and you now have disfiguring facial scarring because a dog ate your face. I wasn't even planning to come back this soon there's not much for me here in fact pretty much all I do is send Beaufort creepy messages, cheaper, than I would if I were overseas which as I say it out, is a terrible reason to come all the way here that's not a saving. Oh well. I've done it like eleven times now.
Harry's note said to meet him at Windsor castle and to come alone, and to stop no where Richard is looking for me it isn't safe. I asked why Richard is looking for me he said it was because of something he'd done stop sending these messages use the code blah blah blah I stopped reading he's rather long winded even without Devon.
When I get to Windsor it's mostly shut up. Plague signs? Placards warning of the plague I didn't know it had returned to England.
I have nothing against hopping the odd wall to get into a place in fact it's my preferred method of entry. I clamber over a couple of walls and find myself surprisingly unhindered. Where are the royal guards? Richard always keeps the winter season here he lives here he's not creative enough to live other places.
I walk in the side gates, and up to the keep. All completely quiet. Not a servant in sight. How can that even be? Even when Richard went and stayed with my father or wherever he certainly didn't close it down this much. Some people need to run the place.
I walk inside the empty hall. All is quiet. there's leaves scattered on the floor. No one is here?
The door creaks closed behind me. I jump, turning. It must have been the wind. No one is there.
I keep walking on. Down the old familiar hallways. Surely someone is at the banquet hall? Something? But there's not even a servant.
I smell smoke. Candles at least. That means there's someone here.
The throne room is well lit. Light even spills out the great double doors. I walk forward, slowly, hand on my sword.
The banquet hall is empty. No table. No chairs. Just at the head of the room the throne. And in it sits a lone figure, crookedly, one leg slung over the arm rest. Wearing a crown. And a plague mask.
"This is dramatic," I say, stopping in the middle of the room.
"Oh I know," Harry says, taking off the mask and tossing it to the floor.
"What's going on here?" I ask, "Where's King Richard?"
"Dead. Of the plague, so is the queen," Harry says.
The doors of the hall swing shut behind me. I jump.
"I didn't get word— there's been no talk," I say, granted I haven't been in London. But even so.
"I haven't released, official word yet," Harry says, stepping forward idly, hand on the hilt of his sword. He's dressed in honestly very dramatic, black velvet and silk. He's even wearing a cape.
"Which means the throne is yours," I say, frowning, "You got tall."
"Is me being tall that relevant?"
"Not really no," I shrug.
"Did you think I didn't know that? It's a non statement I know how tall I am," Harry says.
"Well yeah now that you say it, but we did get through official business oh yes what happened to Devon?" I ask.
"Why should anything have happened to him?" He asks.
"He's not writing your messages anymore, is he?" I ask, "So that means you threw him over or he's dead. Oh god it's the second one isn't it?"
"Hmm, yes, you're very clever, drink?" He asks, picking up a couple of cups of wine.
"Why do you think I'd trust that?" I laugh.
"Don't know really," Harry shrugs, putting them down.
"What am I doing here?" I ask.
"Maybe you're visiting your beloved nephew who wishes to be filled with memories of his dear dead father," Harry says.
We both laugh.
He walks forward and kisses my lips, embracing me quickly, "How was the journey?"
"Oh you know merchant ships, all 'it's fine to go up on deck' then you're blasted with water, no intelligent conversation it's all 'oh god what are you doing in my bunk' really ridiculous, how'd Devon die?" I ask, frowning.
"Plague," Harry says, idly.
"What?" I ask.
"Plague. He died of plague," Harry says, calmly, "Now so will you."
"What?" I take a step back, slowly.
Harry laughs, rolling up the sleeve of his tunic. Dreaded black marks on skin.
"You brought me here to kill me, I mean I did expect that to be honest but this—," I look around. The hall is empty. We are the only ones here.
"Yes. Nice isn't it? We brought the plague back with us when we returned from France. All of them. Dead within a few weeks, I've, held out a bit longer," he says, examining his own sword.
"Why? I mean I do realize why you brought me here you hardly wanted me to survive if you did not but—you must have known your ship was infected," I say.
Harry nods, "Beautiful isn't it?"
"That's not you," I say, taking a step back, "No—no this is some sort of trick. It isn't you."
"Are you familiar with the legend of Minos, uncle? Of course you are. He was the judge of the dead. But in life he was a great king. A king of equal fame, who ruled over Crete. Of course he is famous, for slighting Neptune, the god of the sea. After Neptune, stopped the great waves from ruining Minos' palace, Minos refused to pay him. For this, Neptune sent a bull, which bred with Minos' wife. And from that union, the Minotaur was born. A monster, which Minos kept locked up in a maze, of course which was conquered the hero Theseus. And Theseus took when he left Minos' daughter, only to abandon her to be carried off by Dionysus that part's not relevant but it's there that's what happened to her. Minos on the other hands, he died, and when he died, due to his cruelty in life, Pluto made him Judge of the dead."
"We both know this," I say, taking another step back. I can't duel him that's the trouble. He's stronger than me even stricken with plague.
"You know the land of the dead looked different to ancient Greeks. Original documents simply describe it, as a land boarded by two rivers, and a lake. And that the pit of Tartarus held the most terrible offenders. It was only the advent of Christianity, Catholicism that brought about this division, this dream of Elysium, some divine reward or punishment. In the days of Ancient Greece there was merely a judge, sorting where you should go. A damned man man himself, weighing the damned," Harry says.
"What do you even think that means? We're both damned if this place is stricken with the plague as you say," I say, taking another step back.
"Uncle. Uncle. It doesn't matter. That's the point. As we stand here we may as well look not upon an empty chamber but instead Pluto's Lake. That is all there is waiting for us on the other side. Not a heaven. Not a hell. Not a reward. Nor a torment. Merely emptiness as we have now. But nothing to fill it. No worlds left to conquer. The eternal torture for men like us. We shall be forced to simply exist, for eternity," he says, walking over smoothly and wrapping an arm about my neck.
"You can't believe that," I duck away from him, "You had that priest—,"
"What do you think that means?" Harry asks.
"You loved him. If you loved anything you loved that boy you don't think I saw you? You were twelve the first time I saw you smile in your life was for him. You believe he waits for you in heaven," I say, shaking my head.
"Why would I think that? Why would I care for anything at all? I lived for this," he takes the crown from his head, "And now we both die for it tell me how does it feel for you, uncle? For me it feels so fucking glorious."
"It wasn't for the crown. You don't understand. It was just a game. It was just taking what they had Richard was never worthy," I say, backing to the door. If I'm going to die I want to go. For some reason I want to go.
"They're going to be looking for you," he says, wrapping his hands around my wrists, "They know you came into England. Soon the plague will spread to London. Where do you think you're going to run to? Who would hold you now as the final hour draws near? Infected, cursed, an outlaw?"
He's right. I have nowhere to run to.
"Duel me. Just die in battle. It'll be better that way. A good death," he says, stroking my cheek.
"What happened to your face?" I ask.
"What?"
"What happened to your face?"
"Oh this? An axe," he says, touching some it's really horrendous scarring, across his face. It's barely healing it does in fact look like he was hit head on in the face by an axe.
"Did it hurt?" I ask.
"No," I shake my head.
"I've seen it, Harry. The other side. There wasn't anything at all," I say, hand on my belly. Where the now decades old scar is. Well. Decade. Decade and a half. Something like that. "It was empty. And I hate the quiet."
"Fight me, with the strength I have left," Harry says, lifting his sword, "Let's die as we lived."
"No," I back up, "No I wouldn't even harm you I mean look at you have you not looked at yourself Harry? You're a bloody soldier now. You're a warrior. It must be nice. I wasn't ever anything."
"Wait," he holds up a hand.
"Do. You know what my father told me—?" I ask, holding my dagger to my own belly, "He said that I should enjoy myself, if I wasn't going to be sane. I should be happy."
"Don't, not like this," Harry says, stumbling, but moving closer to me.
"I want to finish what I started," I say, "Just like the Roman's. Fall upon our swords."
"Don't do this," Harry says, holding out a hand, "You might have a few days I've been infected for over a day—you still have time—,"
"This is my time. And my choice. I'll see you at the lakeshore," I say, and then I dive the dagger into my gut.


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