I'll Look After You

Henry VIII the king of England lied on his back staring absent-mindedly at the ceiling. It was February 1536 when things started to crumble even more for Henry. The boy who he was supposed to have was dead from a miscarriage. He started to believe that his marriage was a lie, above all…it was that very moment he started to realize how much he missed Sir Thomas More, his dear friend and mentor and the man who Henry considered a father figure.

Sir Thomas had been gone for almost seven months by then. He vanished without a trace. The only few things Henry had left of him was a tiny silver cross he found in Thomas’ pool of blood and memories. But it wasn’t enough.

Henry remembered what Thomas told him one time. If Thomas were gone, that Henry should remember what Thomas would say if times were down. But it was useless; he needed him now more than ever.

A single tear rolled down his eye as Henry started to open the first three buttons of his doublet and tuck himself into bed.

“Thomas could you hear me, wherever you are,” Henry whispered, “I know, we are still unsure but I have a glimmer of hope this can get to you. I need you. I am hurting inside and out.”

The pain in his stomach, that had followed him since Thomas’ disappearance, escalated again. It felt like a stabbing pain. It throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Henry bit his lip and tried not to scream as he clutched his stomach. It would have been easier if he were in the palace. But since he was a guest at someone’s manor he had no choice but to grit his teeth and bear it this time.

“See the guilt and grief I bear from loosing you,” Henry whispered again. “I’m in pain Thomas, pain that you can’t even begin to imagine. You said you would be there for me always but you lied.”

Tears spilt like rivers down the King’s blue eyes. He curled himself up into a protective ball. The sounds of his whimpers echoed off the walls. Cruel reality struck him like the axe. The world was crumbling around him and no one was there to pick up the pieces. He felt so alone.

And in his misery he closed his eyes. His quiet sobs then slowly died down whimpers. And like he for many nights during his period in hell, he cried himself to sleep.

“Harry,” He heard a familiar voice say in the darkness.

Henry fluttered his eyes opened. He rubbed his eyes for a second and gasped. It was Thomas More. He had a sad smile on his face. He was sitting on the edge of the bed. He ran a hand through his hair.

“You answered my prayers,” Henry whispered, “I thought I would never see you again.”

He was about to cry but Thomas put a finger to his lips.

“Sh, don’t cry Harry, I am here now.”

Thomas was now reassuringly stroking his cheek. Henry leaned his head in lovingly to the touch. Like a young child receiving comfort from a parent.

“Is it peaceful up in heaven?”

Henry watched as Thomas looked to the floor. His hand shaking as he continued to stroke Henry’s cheek. He looked nervous, scared as if he was doing some wrong.

“Oh Harry if only you knew.”

Henry slowly sat up and tilted his head in confusion.

“Thomas? What you talking about? Are you being held captive somewhere? Tell me!”

Thomas sighed.

“I can’t tell you Harry, you are going to have to figure that one out for yourself. But I didn’t come to tell you where I am nor what is happening to me. I came to give you some comfort in your time of need.”

Henry looked down in frustration and sighed. Was this just some other dream giving him another puzzle to solve? Was this some mind trick to take him away from reality? It couldn’t be. There had to be a reason as to why Thomas More was visiting him in his dreams. The man was dead.

Not held hostage somewhere, not hiding from the religious turmoil, he was dead!

“Harry I know times are hard for you,” Thomas said again lifting Henry’s chin, “but you had overcome much harder obstacles in your lifetime. Though I am deep peril, suffering, you are still in my heart Harry. I will always support you no matter where I am, no matter how much pain I am in, until yours and my dying breath I will always look after you.”

The words so powerful a tear fell down Henry’s eye. Thomas wiped it away. But Henry completely let go and wrapped his arms around the other man’s neck and cried into his chest. Henry felt the familiar comfort of his dear friend and mentor rocking him back and forth, the gentle hand patting him on the back and his chin buried in the King’s hair. The gentle voice kept cooing him.

It was that moment Henry knew that no matter where Thomas was, he was there for him.

And in that moment for the first time in months, everything in Henry’s world seemed to make sense.

Oblivious to Henry in his dream state, a man stared down at him. This man took a dangerous and deadly risk to see his king, even if he was asleep. He knew if his captor found him in there, another beating was in his future. But he didn’t care, he wanted to see his “Harry” to remind himself of the last glimmer of hope of survival he had left.

He slowly bent down to kiss his king on the crown of his head.

“Good night Harry,” the man whispered in his ear, “we’ll see each other soon and you will save me from this hell. I know you will.”

He reluctantly stood up and walked towards the open door. He looked back one last time to see Henry smiling in his sleep. The man smirked amongst his tears, looking at his king, he knew he was going to survive. He looked ahead before scurrying out the door before he was caught.

Both men knew, the end of the storm was near.