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[never_promised]

Harry Monmouth has not been pining in Viola's absence.

No, honestly. He hasn't. He's gone for rides on old Barbary; he's practiced tennis, hitting balls against a wall; he's eaten his meals and read books and slept perfectly soundly. And just now he's been watching the football on one of the screens in the main room. Football, followed by some odd tragicomic ceremony, something to do with the closing of the fields? At any rate, it had ended with a rainbow, which surely pleased everyone, being good theater.

He's chasing down some last scraps of a venison pasty, and wondering what he might do to spend the rest of the afternoon. Or is it evening already?

Comments

[livinginmyglass]

"What festival is this?" comes Viola's voice, without preamble, from somewhere over his shoulder.

She draws up to the bar, peering curiously at the TV screen. She hasn't paid the television much mind so far, nor any of the technology here. Is that a rainbow?

[never_promised]

Much as he hasn't been pining in Viola's absence, he doesn't start up or turn pale upon her sudden unexpected arrival. He answers with admirable calm: "Why, it marks the ending of an era, or so the heralds tell us. This is the battlefield of a football team, called Hotspur; here they have played since time immemorial, or some hundred years, but innovation has come at last and a new field must be laid out."

Also there's a rainbow?

"...They call it White Hart Lane," he adds quietly. "'twas the emblem of Richard that was king before my father. It must now be eclipsed, the old shadowed by the new."

also like

hey viola how are you

see how calm and not-jumping-out-of-his-seat he is

[livinginmyglass]

She slides onto the stool next to him. "He that was king before thy father was not thy grandfather?"

[never_promised]

"Why, no," he answers, a little startled. Haven't they talked this over before? Well--maybe not. Maybe not. "Richard was cousin to my father; his father and my father's father were sons of King Edward."

That's hardly a full story, is it. "He--gave up the throne, without issue."

And that's hardly a full story. Is it.

[livinginmyglass]

"Thou wast not born in expectation of a throne," she says, startled. Wow, okay, yeah that... explains a lot.

[never_promised]

"I was not. Have we never--" Have they really never talked about this? (Had he really teased out her story and her secrets, and not given any stories and secrets back? He rubs his jaw.) "My father was duke; he was not king until I was nearer manhood than boyhood."

It goes too much against the grain to volunteer all the circumstances, but for once Harry almost hopes someone will ask.

[livinginmyglass]

"And so thou didst at once become a man, and a prince." She smiles a little, tentatively. "A strange inheritance. And-- joyed you in the elevation?"

...yeah, she knows the answer to that.

[never_promised]

"Ehhh..."

Yeah. "Thou didst see what use I made of my elevation, when first we met."

[livinginmyglass]

She grins. "A most lofty manner thou hadst."

[never_promised]

"Some may have said 'twas not princely," he says--mildly, mildly. This is delicate ground. "--But I heard no such murmuring when I was king."

Very delicate ground. "But come now! Good my lady, thou camest not from the Illyria court for this! How fare you, Viola? What news?"

[livinginmyglass]

"Methinks a crown doth muffle whispering wondrous well," Viola cannot help but note. Buuut moving on from what would probably be treason if she were his subject!

(Which she's not. He's a king, but not her king... not even a king of her own era. That makes certain liberties permissible, right?)

"O, all remains unchanged in Illyria. We have no great revolts to speak of."

[never_promised]

His sideways glance at her, amused, suggests that he heard that whisper, crown or no. "No great revolts? What of small ones? Page has not turned against master?"

[livinginmyglass]

She goes a bit pink. Okay, yes, too far.

"No, indeed, I prove a stout and loyal soul."

[never_promised]

"Ay, I see how thou dost flush with pride at the very thought of thy service."

(Argh, now she's blushing, and he's not sure why. So many things can go into a blush. Something he'd said? The thought of the dear Duke?)

[livinginmyglass]

"O, ay," she says. "But lest I grow over-proud, I must from time to time slip away, as I do now."

[never_promised]

He gives her a thoughtful look. "But I hope thou dost not find this place too humbling?"

[livinginmyglass]

"And who doth not feel humble in the presence of a king!"

[never_promised]

He laughs, a whining half-strangled laugh. "Thou'lt never forgive me my crown!"

[livinginmyglass]

"I confess I am too common not to hold it in some awe, though my father was a gentleman."

She tilts her head curiously. "What befell he that was king, he that ruled before thy father?"

[never_promised]

"Well, the crown is not here, only I--and thou shalt never make me believe thou holdest me in awe." Right? Yes? "Thou hast seen altogether too much of me."

And--mmmh. "Richard was made to give up his crown, and died my father's captive."

Yeah.

[livinginmyglass]

"Ah." Funny how that happens.

Sooo, let's return to the topic of Hal, that's better, right?

"But doth not think I must hold thee in some special respect, knowing as thou dost all my close-kept secrets?"

[never_promised]

Hal is generally a big fan of Hal as the subject of conversation! But at the moment he looks a little less easy with it than usual. "A trust I have kept passing well, I hope?"

[livinginmyglass]

Viola looks startled. "Why, yes!" She leans in earnestly, "O, yes indeed-- I trust thee entirely."

[never_promised]

It's a symptom of something that Hal's first impulse is to declare his worthiness of that trust. Then comes the impulse to deny all trustworthiness entirely.

He ducks his head and rubs a hand through his hair, making it stick up. Which he suspects is unlike him, and--

"Well. Thou knowest better than most who say such things, whether I merit thy trust."

[livinginmyglass]

Viola laughs. "What a quibbling reply! As if thou wouldst have me to deny thy truthfulness. Hast thou some confession, sir, to make? Play we now a scene wherein the lady swears her trust, and the lookers-on all sigh and shake their heads, knowing her deceived?"