Fic: Don't Let Them Begin
A tag to Shooting Grouse In August by gileonnen, who kindly let me play in her AU.
Title: Don't Let Them Begin
Author: speak_me_fair
Play: Richard II
Characters: Hotspur, implied Richard/Hal, implied Hotspur/Kate
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Hotspur's not oblivious. He wishes he was. Written in the Richer Dust AU.
Warnings: Implied sexual contact between an adult and a person below the age of consent in the U.S.
and now when I hear people curse the chance that was wasted
I know but too well what they mean…
….so don't let them begin the beguine.
He knows that whatever they are talking about is important - not in the way he thinks of importance, but in the way the rest of the world seems to. He knows it, and he cannot bear to make himself listen any longer, and so he kneels, and grips the back of the spaniel's neck - a good gun-dog, needs no reminder to stay, but he needs to touch, to hold, to blot out the sense of sound with something better.
He does not want it to start here, not here where he is happy. He knows it must be somewhere, but the child in him cries not yet, not yet! and knows it for futility.
I am not here. If this has to be here, then I am not.
It's the only form of reality he can accept. He feels the fur under his fingers, soft coat under the longer, coarser hairs, and heat and skin under that, and gentles his grip before it can betray him with an uncharacteristic whine.
No longer sure whether it will be his or the dog's involuntary sound of pain that escapes first, he breathes in earth, and the warm familiar smell of damp dog, and the traces of cordite, and the linseed oil upon his jacket.
He breathes in deep, and thinks of how war must come, and how it needs to be fought by him.
He breathes, and thinks of Kate, and freedom, and speaking without fear of what new way his tongue will find to betray him.
He thinks of Kate, the touch of her, the life of her, the way she responds to his hand as swiftly as a gun, how he can swing her into his arms and catch fire from her flame.
He thinks of Kate, and keeps his head turned, and pretends obliviousness to all. He does not think of escaped and absent Hal, who will lose his only current joy. He does not think of what he has seen, or what he is condoning by staying silent.
He does not think of how he is becoming a betrayer. He does not think of Richard. He does not think of the long Good Friday sermons in the little church, nor of the love Judas must have once held for Christ.
He thinks of Kate.
And breathes.
Title: Don't Let Them Begin
Author: speak_me_fair
Play: Richard II
Characters: Hotspur, implied Richard/Hal, implied Hotspur/Kate
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Hotspur's not oblivious. He wishes he was. Written in the Richer Dust AU.
Warnings: Implied sexual contact between an adult and a person below the age of consent in the U.S.
and now when I hear people curse the chance that was wasted
I know but too well what they mean…
….so don't let them begin the beguine.
He knows that whatever they are talking about is important - not in the way he thinks of importance, but in the way the rest of the world seems to. He knows it, and he cannot bear to make himself listen any longer, and so he kneels, and grips the back of the spaniel's neck - a good gun-dog, needs no reminder to stay, but he needs to touch, to hold, to blot out the sense of sound with something better.
He does not want it to start here, not here where he is happy. He knows it must be somewhere, but the child in him cries not yet, not yet! and knows it for futility.
I am not here. If this has to be here, then I am not.
It's the only form of reality he can accept. He feels the fur under his fingers, soft coat under the longer, coarser hairs, and heat and skin under that, and gentles his grip before it can betray him with an uncharacteristic whine.
No longer sure whether it will be his or the dog's involuntary sound of pain that escapes first, he breathes in earth, and the warm familiar smell of damp dog, and the traces of cordite, and the linseed oil upon his jacket.
He breathes in deep, and thinks of how war must come, and how it needs to be fought by him.
He breathes, and thinks of Kate, and freedom, and speaking without fear of what new way his tongue will find to betray him.
He thinks of Kate, the touch of her, the life of her, the way she responds to his hand as swiftly as a gun, how he can swing her into his arms and catch fire from her flame.
He thinks of Kate, and keeps his head turned, and pretends obliviousness to all. He does not think of escaped and absent Hal, who will lose his only current joy. He does not think of what he has seen, or what he is condoning by staying silent.
He does not think of how he is becoming a betrayer. He does not think of Richard. He does not think of the long Good Friday sermons in the little church, nor of the love Judas must have once held for Christ.
He thinks of Kate.
And breathes.