The King ~ Timothée Chalamet

Peace

King ~ Finale

Henry watched as the French coast disappeared from sight, the only comfort he could find was the soft sway as his ship mounted the waves, it's course set for England. He wished he could feel that he was returning home, but he knew everything would be incomplete once he returned. He had left behind a piece of himself. And he was afraid he would never be whole again.

~

Henry looked at Gascoigne's body as it lay in a slump upon the floor, the crimson liquid trickling from the wound he had inflicted. He closed his eyes, silently thanking Amice for looking out for him, even when she was not at his side.

A pang tore through him. It did so every time he thought back to the petite girl with a fire within her he had never seen, and had never come to find since.

It was like there was a fist wrapped tightly around his heart, strangling him, restricting him. It hurt. So fucking bad.

~

Sometimes, he wished he could be rid of it. But that would mean forgetting. Forgetting her. Forgetting the things that she taught him. Her wise quips and her argumentative nature. Her freedom. Her spirit. The feel of her against him. The passion and drive that she brought to his world.

And he quickly realised. The pain was worth it not to forget.

~

When his lips touched Catherines.
His lips remembered.

When he walked the streets of London.
His feet remembered.

When he saw the sunrise over the rooftops.
His heart remembered.

When he saw an archer.
His eyes remembered.

When he heard the chime of folk song.
His ears remembered.

When he saw a cloak, or green dress.
He soul remembered.

When he felt free.
He remembered.

~

As time passed, Henry began to live again. He showed himself to the world once more, but kept his heart, such a powerful part of him, locked away.

As days turned to weeks, weeks to months and months to years, Henry feared that she had forgotten. That he was lonesome in his anguish. That she had learned to live without him, that he was nothing but a ghost to her now. He wanted her to be happy yes, but he also wanted to know that she had not forgotten what they had had.

He had no way of contacting her, and so as time went on, he could do nothing but assume she cared not.

~

And only when a lonesome letter, sealed with the royal Siegel of his ring, found its way into his hands did he know; she remembered too.

~

Dearest Henry,

I hoped to congratulate you on the brith of your son. England is prospering, and I am thankful to hear that you are safe and well, and have found love with a family of your own.

I am well. I am in Spain now, still learning as much as I can. I am happy.

Yet I long for you. I know the distance is great, but my heart weeps for yours. I have never forgotten you Henry, and never will. I selfishly hope for the same also. The memory of you has given me purpose.

Thank you, for giving me peace.

Always yours,

Amice

~

He hid the letter, reading it at times of disheart. For a king had duties, yes, but he also had a heart. One that would never be whole again.

~

He did not know where the time went. But soon he could scarcely remember the sound of her voice, and it rocked a fear within him. Time had taken her away from him. He was sure now, that he would never be at peace.

~

He hoped every day for any sign of her. A letter at least, yet nothing came.

~

Until one day, when he rose early and wandered the castle yard, did he smile truly again. There, in the centre of a lonesome target, was a red-tailed arrow. Shot straight and true. He knew there was no point in searching for her. But in his heart, he knew she was close by, and that she still remembered.

~

And only when he was lying on his deathbed did her figure appear, taking his hand, leading him forward. He was finally whole again. His soul could move on.

He had found peace.