#Richard is a mess and we've barely gotten started yet

[themalhambird]

King Richard read through the papers in stony silence. 

York licked his lips and clasped his hands together as he watched his nephew’s jaw grow tighter with every page he turned. By the time Richard came to the single, smaller sheet of parchment that they had written the letter on, he was shifting from foot to foot as though fighting the urge to storm out, or at the very least pace. “What is this?” he demanded, as he quickly scanned the page and looked up. “This,” he added, snatching the letter up from the rest of the pile and brandishing it. “The rest of it, we understand- it is treason dressed up as reasonable argument and nothing we have not quashed under foot before-  but this-?”

“It is a letter, your majesty.” Blood rushed in to Richard’s cheeks and took a breath to retort in much the same manner as seething clouds rolled across the heavens at the onset of a storm. Sensing that an outburst of temper that would help nobody was about to crash down, York continued hastily: “It is written to the Duke of Lancaster- to Henry Bolingbroke- as your majesty can no doubt see for himself. It has been backdated to just a little while after- after John died-”

“ ‘To our beloved cousin Bolingbroke, it is with great regret that we must inform you, la di dah, we fear that a sickness grows in our mind, and do not know the physic ? We have quickly come to deeply regret our actions regarding your inher-’ we do no such thing, we were will within our rights and you know it! Otherwise you wouldn’t be looking so guilty--”

 York resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

“--’blah blah blah, ‘we therefore beg of you to return to us in England and help shoulder the burden of government, the weight of which we fear is crushing us-this has been written in our name.” Richard looked up, blazing with incredulous fury. “You expect me to sign this.” he said. “You expect us to sign it, uncle? To have it suggested that I invited Bolingbroke here to depose me- to legitimise his treason?”

“When  it is become treason to claim one’s rights then there is something rotten with the kingdom,” York said sharply. 

“Henry Bolingbroke has no right to dictate the actions of his King”

“When the King is little better than a spoiled child who cannot share his toys clearly someone needs to.” York retorted. “That letter offers you a chance to save face, to claim you saw the error of your ways and begged for help righting yourself!”

Richard stopped pacing and glared at him. York gripped his own fingers more tightly but refused to look away or back down. That, much to his surprise, actually seemed to calm the King: Richard closed his eyes and exhaled softly, pressing a palm to his forehead before glancing at the papers in his hand again. “We need some time to think.”

“You have none,” York said, “The Earl of Northumberland is less than subtlety hinting that Henry ought to take your head, and he is far from the only person who wouldn’t care if Henry usurped and killed you. I’m not convinced that Henry knows what it is he’s after, so if you start making things difficult then there is every chance-”

“Henry wants to be King. He always has.” Richard’s gaze dropped bitterly to his hand as he splayed out his fingers and looked at his coronation ring. “Perhaps we should let him. Resign the crown to him, and ourself to the grave-”

“There’s no need for melodrama. You’re faced with a crisis, yes, but hardly your own crucifixion.”

His uncle’s tart tone almost made Richard snort with laughter. It wasn’t that it was amusing, as such. It was that he suddenly thought of Aumerle. Of how a little less than an hour ago he had performed similar melodramatics for York’s son and won soft kisses, rather than harsh words, for his efforts. He found himself thinking of Aumerle’s hands on his arm, on his face, how nice it had been- how nice it had been to hold his sobbing kinsman in his arms and know that someone needed Richard, wanted Richard. And that thought was interrupted by the notion that if York knew what he was thinking- if York knew that if Northumberland hadn’t come to play Henry’s errand boy and announce the Duke of York’s coming when he had, then right now Richard would be with York’s son in the first moderately comfortable bedchamber they could have found in this woefully ill equipped, empty castle. He would have fucked Aumerle until they had both forgotten about everything except each other- and if York knew that Richard was thinking all of these things, his uncle probably would crucify him, or at least join Northumberland in less than subtly hinting to Henry that he ought to have his head hacked off. 

What York would never be able to understand was that for Richard, in many ways losing his head would be preferable to losing even a fraction of his power. He was the King. The King existed to rule. If he signed away ‘the burden of government’ to other people then he might as well stop existing. The papers he had been had outlined a proposal that Henry be created Lord Protector, that he govern Richard because Richard was incapable of governing by himself...

Essentially, it was the Appellants all over again.

It wasn’t fair. Why could they not just let him be? He was ruling exactly as he was meant to- he had to be. They had anointed him, God’s chosen representative on Earth, he had been born to-

This. 

It had all led him to this. His uncle looking at him with that wet, anxious look of his that meant Richard had to wrestle down an overwhelming urge to punch him, because if he had done his job and arrested Bolingbroke for setting foot on English soil contrary to the King’s very clear and specific prohibition on him doing exactly that then none of this would be happening. “If I refuse to cooperate?” he said, “Will Henry kill me and claim the crown through right of conquest?” He was completely at his cousin’s mercy, he knew that. He had known it from the moment that he had learned Henry was coming for him with an army whilst his own had fled, but there was still some part of him that held out hope that his uncle would cry : of course not! This is all just a suggestion, and if you want to tell Harry to go jump in the Thames and drown, he will of course do so straight away...

York remained silent. Richard’s stomach twisted. 

I don’t want to die, he thought, and felt sick. He wanted to want to. He wanted to want to go out with his head held high, spitting defiance at the traitors who would burn in hell for all eternity after matyring their own king and kinsman. But at the end, it seemed, the Earl of Arundel had been right all along. 

Richard was a coward. 

He closed his eyes. It would only be for a short while, he told himself. He only had to play along until he could raise the support to crush Harry underfoot and confiscate every inch of property belonging to Lancaster, to Northumberland- to anyone else who preferred his cousin to him- fine! Let them enjoy it while it lasted; he would leave them with nothing but ash! “Well then, Uncle,” he said, as he opened his eyes and forced back the tears that prickled across their surface. “It would appear that we need to borrow a pen.”

#Richard ii #long post #fanfiction #puppet king au #chapter one #the Duke of York #sex mention tw #suicide ideation tw #to be safe? #Richard is a mess and we've barely gotten started yet #happy new year!