[Henry looks at both of them in disbelief, lips parting, then frowns.]
I pray thee moved on to lovers worthy of you.
[Maybe he is a little scandalised, but mostly it seems to him an affront that either of them were used so. And certainly he is still not soused enough to learn these details. He tips back the shot poured for him without unlinking either arm. Afterwards, he taps the empty glass against his forehead.]
Oh, and for my turn.
[Setting aside the shot glass with a small thump, he jumps straight into it.]
When I landed in France, I was the current subject of the mercenaries' gossip. Following that first battle at Harfleur, I overheard more than one of their sort say, "Is that Hotspur of England? I heard tell that he would cut down all in his path, be they friend or foe. Even his own commanders! He is thoroughly merciless.” Hmph. An unsubtle lot. Unwise too, when one considers that repute.
[That is false – but only because that had been at the start of the battle. After its end the rumour mill was busy wagering whether Iamarl would try to assassinate him without Edward's blessing. Of course she would not, but she had later appeared out of seemingly thin air to warn him off turning on Edward. It is amusing to look back on. How absurd their beginnings were. Much too drunk to have self-control, he chuckles to himself. He and Iamarl had been so serious about it all. Only Edward had possessed the good sense to find it funny from the very start.]
'Twas not merely the mercenaries who failed to be circumspect. When Iamarl ventured alone into enemy territory, I set out to fetch her back with a force comprised mainly of mercenaries and a small number of voluntary English soldiers. At the onset of our foray, one of the latter said within range of me, “I believe it not! Hotspur is aiding another! I suppose people truly can change.” Evidently there for the spoils, that one.
no subject
I pray thee moved on to lovers worthy of you.
[Maybe he is a little scandalised, but mostly it seems to him an affront that either of them were used so. And certainly he is still not soused enough to learn these details. He tips back the shot poured for him without unlinking either arm. Afterwards, he taps the empty glass against his forehead.]
Oh, and for my turn.
[Setting aside the shot glass with a small thump, he jumps straight into it.]
When I landed in France, I was the current subject of the mercenaries' gossip. Following that first battle at Harfleur, I overheard more than one of their sort say, "Is that Hotspur of England? I heard tell that he would cut down all in his path, be they friend or foe. Even his own commanders! He is thoroughly merciless.” Hmph. An unsubtle lot. Unwise too, when one considers that repute.
[That is false – but only because that had been at the start of the battle. After its end the rumour mill was busy wagering whether Iamarl would try to assassinate him without Edward's blessing. Of course she would not, but she had later appeared out of seemingly thin air to warn him off turning on Edward. It is amusing to look back on. How absurd their beginnings were. Much too drunk to have self-control, he chuckles to himself. He and Iamarl had been so serious about it all. Only Edward had possessed the good sense to find it funny from the very start.]
'Twas not merely the mercenaries who failed to be circumspect. When Iamarl ventured alone into enemy territory, I set out to fetch her back with a force comprised mainly of mercenaries and a small number of voluntary English soldiers. At the onset of our foray, one of the latter said within range of me, “I believe it not! Hotspur is aiding another! I suppose people truly can change.” Evidently there for the spoils, that one.
[Henry scoffs, then jostles both captured arms.]
Which is truth?