Since Time Immemorial

#1: Comfort

Rated: T

Genres: Family, Horror, Tragedy, Hurt/Comfort

Characters: Henry VIII; Henry VII; Elizabeth of York; Margaret Tudor (mentioned); Arthur Tudor (mentioned); Mary Tudor (mentioned); Margaret Beaufort (mentioned)

Pairings: Slight Elizabeth of York/Henry VII

~*~

HENRY couldn't sleep tonight, for the fifth time in a row.

The eight-year-old boy tossed and turned in his bed and tried counting sheep (it was a childish game, Henry knew that, but he couldn't think of anything else - and secretly, I'm still a child, a child in mind and spirit) like his mother told him to do if he had a hard time falling sleeping but he was getting a headache trying to conjure imaginary sheep, so he stopped. He resorted to a favorite method of his father's in trying to sleep after a long and weary night in court - inhaling and exhaling deeply and clearing his mind of all thoughts - but it was no use as his mind was still preoccupied with the events that had passed three days before and so the boy gave up and simply closed his eyes, trying to shut out the memories.

But he couldn't. He never seemed to be able to. Henry could still see Margaret's horrified face and the shocked expression Arthur wore, could still envision the dead greyhounds' corpses trampled underneath the hooves of horses and the wheels of carriages. Henry couldn't understand it, really. Why would anyone want to harm two innocent dogs - dogs which were his mother's favorite?

His mother had been stunned upon being presented with the bodies. For a moment, she simply stood there, tall and silent, then she had broke down sobbing. Henry had not understood what was truly happening. He knew something big - and bad - had occurred, but he could not quite put his finger to it. "Mama, why are you crying?" a confused and bewildered Henry had wondered aloud. The auburn-haired boy patted her back, as he had seen Papa do to Mama whenever she was upset or sad, but this action only seemed to make her weep more, not cheer her up as Henry wished she would. The child did not like seeing his proud and beautiful and strong mother like this, all unhappy and miserable - the complete opposite of how she behaved on normal days. "Mama, what's wrong?"

"Oh, Henry, my dearest child!" she had gasped and out of the blue, she had nearly crushed her second son in a hug that left Henry gasping for air afterwards. The boy, still in the dark about what was causing his mother's mood, touched her soft red-gold hair gently and said, "Mama, don't cry, it's all right. Are you sad because Papa's away?" His father was indeed away, visiting his mother (and Henry's paternal grandmother) the Countess Margaret Beaufort in the sanctuary of Collyweston alone, and leaving his advisers and wife to manage the court in his absence along with his four children.

Elizabeth brushed away her tears with the back of her hand. "Yes, yes, I do miss your father very much - and dearly so, as a wife should her beloved husband. But that's another story - the reason why I'm sad is because of these hounds? Do you not see, my son?" she said, indicating the dogs' corpses on the tray before them. "They are Gawain and William, the greyhounds that your grandmother Margaret Regina gifted us for Christmas last year."

"Ah!" And it suddenly dawned on Henry that these were the hounds that his mother had been looking for since last week, offering a generous reward to whoever found them. He remembered his mother frantically running through the halls of the palace, inquiring everyone she met on the way if they had seen her two greyhounds around. Everyone had replied that no, they hadn't and asked what was her problem. His mother had responded that the hounds, named for Gawain of the Arthurian legend and William the Conqueror, had gone missing since that morning and she was desperate to find them. Henry knew how much she cherished those dogs, even though they had been a present from one Mama was not so close to. The boy himself loved them, often feeding and playing with them whenever he had the time or after his lessons with his tutors. They sometimes joined him in his crazy and wild antics but more often than not his parents would send the greyhounds after him when he was too restless and naughty, usually ending up with him covered in muck and dirt when they cornered him in the gardens or rolling on the floor laughing as the dogs barked and licked him.