The Element of Surprise (Henry/Catherine)
Sep. 25th, 2014 04:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dollsomeIf I had not written this, I would not be me.
Honestly, friends, there’s a part of me that thinks this story is what happened, and another part of me that is totally just like, ‘Yeah, they totally got it on in order to celebrate their successful effort at rebranding manslaughter as suicide. What about that is not normal married couple behavior? Date night, baby!’
I guess we’ll never know for sure. Isn’t it splendid??
For those of you who haven’t seen the scene yet, you can watch it on YouTube in this compilation of deleted scenes featuring Catherine; it’s at around the 2:00 mark.
The Element of Surprise - Reign ; Henry/Catherine ; 1,300 words. Why, exactly, was Catherine hanging out naked in Henry’s bed in the deleted scene from “Dirty Laundry”?
As soon as they return to his chambers, Henry wastes no time in collapsing on top of his bed. The promise of sleep is welcome. He’s had a relentless headache for days now, and nothing about tonight soothed that affliction. Not only does his head hurt worse than ever, but now it’s filled with a host of disturbing new memories starring a dead duchess and his diabolical mastermind of a wife. It’s hard to say which woman made for more unsettling company.
“Get up.”
Scratch that. The duchess had been far more agreeable. Even after the window incident.
“No,” Henry says, voice muffled by pillows.
“We’re not finished yet.”
“What else could we possibly need to do?”
“They’ve surely found her by now. What we need is something that absolves us of involvement entirely. An alibi.”
“The King of France is above suspicion.”
“Really? Because the King of France did toss the woman out the window. Or were your nether regions acting of their own accord? Is the rest of you perfectly innocent?”
Henry briefly considers pointing out that he is the king and answers to no one. That she nearly died at his hands once and he’d be all too happy to finish the job. Then he gives up. In this matter and this matter alone, it’s best to defer to Catherine’s judgment. He twists around until he’s resting on his back, facing her. “What should we do?”
Catherine is already pacing back and forth. “We simply need to prove that we’ve been otherwise occupied tonight. Something that will absolve us of any suspicion.”
“And what do you suggest?”
There’s a sudden swell of sound outside. The duchess has been found, then, and the news is spreading like a pestilence.
Catherine swears under her breath. Then, louder: “Get up. Get undressed.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” She begins attacking the fastenings of her gown with frightening speed. “Now. Move.”
It takes Henry a moment to realize what she’s getting at. “And you really think anyone will believe that we’d share a bed voluntarily these days?”
“You’re underestimating the element of surprise. They won’t dare to question what we’re up to. If you can make people uncomfortable, Henry, they’ll be far less likely to give you trouble. I have no doubt that’s how you’ve collected so many young lovers over the years.”
Henry scowls, but sets to work on the laces of his shirt.
“You’ll need to act as if you’ve just had a night of violent lovemaking. Can you do that? And by violent,” Catherine adds lightly, “I don’t mean accidentally homicidal. I mean ardent. I know you have trouble with that distinction.”
“Ha ha,” Henry says bitterly.
“Can you fool them?” Catherine demands, stripped to her shift now. “Because—”
Henry takes off his shirt and tosses it across the room. She stares at him for a too-long moment.
Well, well, well. Despite everything, he does enjoy that.
“Oh, never mind,” she says then. “Pretend to be asleep. Or is that too much for you to handle?”
“I don’t need to suffer this kind of abuse,” Henry mutters.
“Henry, I assure you, you’ve earned every bit of it.”
She throws the blanket over him. And then pulls it up around his neck. That seems excessive.
“How are we to convince them of all this violent lovemaking when I’m swaddled like an infant?” he complains.
“I’ll convince them. Close your eyes.”
He does.
At first.
Then he takes a peek.
Catherine sits beside him in bed – naked now, which rouses his interest in spite of everything. She’s pulling pins from her hair with a speed both alarming and intriguing. Once she’s removed them all, she runs her fingers through her hair, mussing it vigorously. He never knew that the simple act of a woman taking her hair down could be so arousing.
Well. Maybe the past has given him reason to suspect as much, and this just confirms it.
“What do you think?” she asks.
“Good,” Henry says dimly.
She puts a finger beneath his chin, impatiently steering his gaze northward. “I meant my hair. Is it convincing?”
“It lacks authenticity,” Henry says after a moment. His fingers suddenly itch to touch her hair. To touch her anything, really. He’s not feeling picky.
Catherine shrugs. “Well, it will have to do.”
“Unless—” Henry begins, the beginning of a truly wise proposition, when he’s interrupted by the sound of footsteps outside their door.
“Shhh! Get down,” Catherine orders, pushing him down into the mattress with more strength than any woman should possess.
Henry’s not left much choice.
The door creaks open, and in come their visitors. “Your Majesty.”
Henry keeps his eyes firmly shut.
To his surprise, Catherine moves beside him sleepily.
The envoy continues, “I have grave news about the Duchess of Bohemia.”
Catherine rests against Henry. Languidly, she says, “Poor dear. The king does not have much stamina, I’m afraid.” She caresses his cheek with far too much flourish. Henry very determinedly keeps his eyes shut. It’s a challenge. He would like to see the look on the man’s face. “Apparently I’ve exhausted him over the last few hours. So what were you saying about the Duchess of Bohemia?”
There’s a long and awkward pause before the envoy answers. “I’ll give you and the king time to wake and—um—dress. Then we can discuss the matter.”
“Thank you. We won’t be long.”
There is the awkward shuffle of footsteps, and then the sound of the door closing.
Catherine pulls away from him at once. "There. All done."
Henry opens his eyes. “I have plenty of stamina.”
Catherine sighs impatiently, gathering her clothes from the floor. “Yes, by all means, let’s focus on that.”
“You’re so determined to undermine my reputation in that department. Why?” He watches as she slips into her shift. “Are you trying to get me all to yourself?”
Catherine smiles saccharinely. “Please. I learned long ago that there’s no greater lost cause.” Her face turns serious. “Now let’s get to work.”
Henry nods, but doesn’t hurry to obey. He quite likes being caught up in the sight of her. It makes him feel young again in a way nothing else quite does.
Catherine doesn’t seem to share the feeling. She glares at him; when it gets her nothing, she announces, “Actually, I’ll change in my room. I could use a dress without the stench of my husband’s dead whore all over it.”
Henry considers what she said earlier. The element of surprise. And so instead of snapping back at her, he chuckles lightly at the remark. (He would admire her wit if it wasn’t so often aimed at him.)
It works. Catherine’s eyes brighten with surprise, and she gives him a slight, pleased smile. He wonders if she’s aware that she’s doing it.
“Hurry up,” she orders, pressing a hand to his chest as she brushes past him. “We’re not out of the woods just yet.”
“But we will be. I have faith in your abilities.”
“Well, aren’t you lucky,” she says, leaning against the doorframe, “to have such a wife?”
He admits, “On rare occasions, I almost think so.”
“What gallantry. Excuse me while I swoon.” She smirks at him, her gaze lingering a little long. Before she opens the door, she says, “Get ready.”
He doesn’t realize until after she’s gone that she was referring to all this ghastly duchess business.
The room seems to devour him without her, in some odd way; the shadows are too dark, the candlelight too bright. The fire crackling in the grate is too loud. More like some beast’s roar than a fire should be. And there is a dreadful hint of cold in the air; he looks around the room and discovers that the window still hangs open.
Someone really should close it.
But not him, not now. He is reacquainted with his headache. For awhile, he had almost forgotten it. Now that Catherine is gone, it overtakes him in full force. He almost wonders whether he should fear it, this angry thing in his skull.
He massages his temples idly. No matter. If his wife is the cure to his ills, well—he knows where to find her.
Perhaps, at long last, she might let him.
He smiles to himself at the thought.
Honestly, friends, there’s a part of me that thinks this story is what happened, and another part of me that is totally just like, ‘Yeah, they totally got it on in order to celebrate their successful effort at rebranding manslaughter as suicide. What about that is not normal married couple behavior? Date night, baby!’
I guess we’ll never know for sure. Isn’t it splendid??
For those of you who haven’t seen the scene yet, you can watch it on YouTube in this compilation of deleted scenes featuring Catherine; it’s at around the 2:00 mark.
The Element of Surprise - Reign ; Henry/Catherine ; 1,300 words. Why, exactly, was Catherine hanging out naked in Henry’s bed in the deleted scene from “Dirty Laundry”?
As soon as they return to his chambers, Henry wastes no time in collapsing on top of his bed. The promise of sleep is welcome. He’s had a relentless headache for days now, and nothing about tonight soothed that affliction. Not only does his head hurt worse than ever, but now it’s filled with a host of disturbing new memories starring a dead duchess and his diabolical mastermind of a wife. It’s hard to say which woman made for more unsettling company.
“Get up.”
Scratch that. The duchess had been far more agreeable. Even after the window incident.
“No,” Henry says, voice muffled by pillows.
“We’re not finished yet.”
“What else could we possibly need to do?”
“They’ve surely found her by now. What we need is something that absolves us of involvement entirely. An alibi.”
“The King of France is above suspicion.”
“Really? Because the King of France did toss the woman out the window. Or were your nether regions acting of their own accord? Is the rest of you perfectly innocent?”
Henry briefly considers pointing out that he is the king and answers to no one. That she nearly died at his hands once and he’d be all too happy to finish the job. Then he gives up. In this matter and this matter alone, it’s best to defer to Catherine’s judgment. He twists around until he’s resting on his back, facing her. “What should we do?”
Catherine is already pacing back and forth. “We simply need to prove that we’ve been otherwise occupied tonight. Something that will absolve us of any suspicion.”
“And what do you suggest?”
There’s a sudden swell of sound outside. The duchess has been found, then, and the news is spreading like a pestilence.
Catherine swears under her breath. Then, louder: “Get up. Get undressed.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” She begins attacking the fastenings of her gown with frightening speed. “Now. Move.”
It takes Henry a moment to realize what she’s getting at. “And you really think anyone will believe that we’d share a bed voluntarily these days?”
“You’re underestimating the element of surprise. They won’t dare to question what we’re up to. If you can make people uncomfortable, Henry, they’ll be far less likely to give you trouble. I have no doubt that’s how you’ve collected so many young lovers over the years.”
Henry scowls, but sets to work on the laces of his shirt.
“You’ll need to act as if you’ve just had a night of violent lovemaking. Can you do that? And by violent,” Catherine adds lightly, “I don’t mean accidentally homicidal. I mean ardent. I know you have trouble with that distinction.”
“Ha ha,” Henry says bitterly.
“Can you fool them?” Catherine demands, stripped to her shift now. “Because—”
Henry takes off his shirt and tosses it across the room. She stares at him for a too-long moment.
Well, well, well. Despite everything, he does enjoy that.
“Oh, never mind,” she says then. “Pretend to be asleep. Or is that too much for you to handle?”
“I don’t need to suffer this kind of abuse,” Henry mutters.
“Henry, I assure you, you’ve earned every bit of it.”
She throws the blanket over him. And then pulls it up around his neck. That seems excessive.
“How are we to convince them of all this violent lovemaking when I’m swaddled like an infant?” he complains.
“I’ll convince them. Close your eyes.”
He does.
At first.
Then he takes a peek.
Catherine sits beside him in bed – naked now, which rouses his interest in spite of everything. She’s pulling pins from her hair with a speed both alarming and intriguing. Once she’s removed them all, she runs her fingers through her hair, mussing it vigorously. He never knew that the simple act of a woman taking her hair down could be so arousing.
Well. Maybe the past has given him reason to suspect as much, and this just confirms it.
“What do you think?” she asks.
“Good,” Henry says dimly.
She puts a finger beneath his chin, impatiently steering his gaze northward. “I meant my hair. Is it convincing?”
“It lacks authenticity,” Henry says after a moment. His fingers suddenly itch to touch her hair. To touch her anything, really. He’s not feeling picky.
Catherine shrugs. “Well, it will have to do.”
“Unless—” Henry begins, the beginning of a truly wise proposition, when he’s interrupted by the sound of footsteps outside their door.
“Shhh! Get down,” Catherine orders, pushing him down into the mattress with more strength than any woman should possess.
Henry’s not left much choice.
The door creaks open, and in come their visitors. “Your Majesty.”
Henry keeps his eyes firmly shut.
To his surprise, Catherine moves beside him sleepily.
The envoy continues, “I have grave news about the Duchess of Bohemia.”
Catherine rests against Henry. Languidly, she says, “Poor dear. The king does not have much stamina, I’m afraid.” She caresses his cheek with far too much flourish. Henry very determinedly keeps his eyes shut. It’s a challenge. He would like to see the look on the man’s face. “Apparently I’ve exhausted him over the last few hours. So what were you saying about the Duchess of Bohemia?”
There’s a long and awkward pause before the envoy answers. “I’ll give you and the king time to wake and—um—dress. Then we can discuss the matter.”
“Thank you. We won’t be long.”
There is the awkward shuffle of footsteps, and then the sound of the door closing.
Catherine pulls away from him at once. "There. All done."
Henry opens his eyes. “I have plenty of stamina.”
Catherine sighs impatiently, gathering her clothes from the floor. “Yes, by all means, let’s focus on that.”
“You’re so determined to undermine my reputation in that department. Why?” He watches as she slips into her shift. “Are you trying to get me all to yourself?”
Catherine smiles saccharinely. “Please. I learned long ago that there’s no greater lost cause.” Her face turns serious. “Now let’s get to work.”
Henry nods, but doesn’t hurry to obey. He quite likes being caught up in the sight of her. It makes him feel young again in a way nothing else quite does.
Catherine doesn’t seem to share the feeling. She glares at him; when it gets her nothing, she announces, “Actually, I’ll change in my room. I could use a dress without the stench of my husband’s dead whore all over it.”
Henry considers what she said earlier. The element of surprise. And so instead of snapping back at her, he chuckles lightly at the remark. (He would admire her wit if it wasn’t so often aimed at him.)
It works. Catherine’s eyes brighten with surprise, and she gives him a slight, pleased smile. He wonders if she’s aware that she’s doing it.
“Hurry up,” she orders, pressing a hand to his chest as she brushes past him. “We’re not out of the woods just yet.”
“But we will be. I have faith in your abilities.”
“Well, aren’t you lucky,” she says, leaning against the doorframe, “to have such a wife?”
He admits, “On rare occasions, I almost think so.”
“What gallantry. Excuse me while I swoon.” She smirks at him, her gaze lingering a little long. Before she opens the door, she says, “Get ready.”
He doesn’t realize until after she’s gone that she was referring to all this ghastly duchess business.
The room seems to devour him without her, in some odd way; the shadows are too dark, the candlelight too bright. The fire crackling in the grate is too loud. More like some beast’s roar than a fire should be. And there is a dreadful hint of cold in the air; he looks around the room and discovers that the window still hangs open.
Someone really should close it.
But not him, not now. He is reacquainted with his headache. For awhile, he had almost forgotten it. Now that Catherine is gone, it overtakes him in full force. He almost wonders whether he should fear it, this angry thing in his skull.
He massages his temples idly. No matter. If his wife is the cure to his ills, well—he knows where to find her.
Perhaps, at long last, she might let him.
He smiles to himself at the thought.
