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Henry Percy and Henry Lancaster of Monmouth had met when they were boys. They had settled into their natural roles as rivals who shared a name, and each boy was out to prove that he was the greater Henry. But when it became clear that he stood no chance, Hal decided that he would cease to compete, falsely display ambivalence to all things martial, and play the part of an uncaring rogue rather than be seen as second best to this better, more honorable Harry.
As the competition between the two young men died, their relationship grew more cordial, and on occasion it even felt friendly. Harry thought that, perhaps, Hal could still be won over to the side of the light, so he was careful not to shun him entirely. The pair sometimes played well off each other.
Harry had earned the name Hotspur for a reason. He was quick to anger and seldom thought before he spoke, but his dedication to his principles was fierce. Hal was cool and calculating beneath the wild and unruly surface, so in most things they balanced each other out. Hal may have even stopped Harry from killing a man in a rage once.
“Harry you can’t just go around murdering people for imagined slights to your precious honor!” Hal remembered saying.
But he could not help but admire the dedication to honor and the confidence that bounced off Harry, almost like rays that stretched outward from the sun. He hoped that one day, when the time came and he was able to reveal himself as an honorable heir to the English throne, this admiration would become mutual. The Percy family had proven useful in the past. Despite his temper, no one doubted that Harry Percy believed in his cause, whatever the cause was. When Henry took the crown from Richard, no one was surer that he had the right than young Harry Percy.
Hal was unsure if he really believed in anything. Honor and chivalry were high on the list of expected qualities in a prince, so he watched and practiced while he carefully cultivated his outward persona. For the time being, however, he believed he should avoid being perceived as a person who held those ideals in such high regard. Now was not his time to shine. Thus he donned the glove of a common whore in the joust at Oxford.
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When Harry was sent by Hal’s father to Scotland to fight and kill painted barbarians, Hal worried about him more than he was willing to admit to anyone, which seemed ridiculous, given the fearlessness that Harry had demonstrated. But although Harry may have thought himself to be immortal, Hal knew that any man could go down in battle.
Outwardly, he never mentioned their acquaintance to his new pack of charlatans at the Boors Head in Eastcheap. Why would he? The illustrious knight, son, and heir to the Earl of Northumberland was of no matter to the likes of Falstaff or Ned Poins.
But when Harry returned from the north after being summoned by the king, Hal had to restrain himself from putting himself in Harry’s way. It wouldn’t be fitting for the rouge prince, who supposedly cares about no one and nothing, to meet his childhood friend and rival at the gates like an overly eager mistress.
Hal had not expected the upstanding Harry Percy to show up at the Boors Head.
Hal woke to the sound of Harry’s voice. It was still dark out. For a minute he thought he must be dreaming, but no, there he was, Harry the Hotspur in his bedroom above the seedy tavern.
“Percy? What…the hell are you doing here?”
“I came to sample the ale. What do you think? I heard what a mess you’d become and I had to come see for myself.”
Hal stared up at him in disbelief.
“Well. Get up. Let me look at you. I need to assess the damage since I’ve been away.” Harry gestured.
Hal took care to not appear too eager, while still managing to do as he was instructed.
“It’s good to see you aren’t dead Percy. I’ve wondered if you met your end by some Scott’s axe. I’d say I’m much safer here, and you shouldn’t be the one concerned about any damage.”
“You know very well what I mean Lancaster. This place. These people. This is what you are doing with your life? I’d rather go out fighting than drink myself into an early grave like you seem intent on.”
“I don’t spend much time thinking about it, to tell the truth.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well, until some 10 minutes ago, I didn’t believe that Harry Percy would ever set foot in such an undignified establishment as this. But stranger things have happened.”
“Yes, and I’m sure you see many strange things.” Harry let out sarcastically.
“The Prince of Wales that I know is many things, but he is not one to do anything without thinking. What are you playing at?” He continued.
“Percy?” Hal said.
“Yeah?”
“Do you ever shut up?” Hal smiled, finally giving himself away.
Hal pulled him into a hard kiss. Was he still drunk from the night? Or was it the urgency that he may never see this man again that had inspired this unwonted gesture. That he had thought about him, and in the quietest hours of the night when no one was watching him, he had prayed for him. If this was their last meeting, he wanted to make it count.
And he did.
When the day light shone in and woke the sleeping prince, he opened his eyes to see Harry, already awake and staring curiously back at him, as if he could look long enough and find a worthy heir underneath the stubble and questionable-at-best accommodations. But after staring wordlessly for a while, Harry got up.
“Stay.” Hal said, breaking his silence.
“No, you come! Come to court, to sit on the counsel. Come back to where you belong.”
“I can’t Percy. I don’t really belong there. Not for now.”
“If you’ve had a rift with your father, then I’m sure it’s nothing that can’t be fixed. I could have a word. He likes me.”
“I’m sure he does, but that’s not the point. I have to stay here for now.”
“And why is that? You have an aching need to surround yourself with drunks and miscreants? You can’t resist the company of a fat old knight who wouldn’t know the truth if you slapped him across his horrible red face with it? What is it Lancaster? I’m curious?”
“How long where you here watching?”
“Long enough to know that Poins, who you’ve probably been fucking, would let you fuck his mother if he thought it would earn him a knighthood down the line. He’s using you, your Grace.“
Harry paced around the room, obviously dismayed that Hal didn’t just follow him back to court like a good little heir-to-the-throne "Lancaster.”
He then, observant of Hal’s behavior in response to his remarks, rephrased himself.
“Hal, you need to come home. This is enough. You’ve sewn your wild oats and you can COME HOME.” Harry let go of all pretense and pleaded.
“And what are your motivations in all this? What’s it to you if I’ve been fucking Poins and his mother?”
“Do I have to spell it out to you? Or have you forgotten your letters as well as your birthright?”
“My birthright…” Hal dragged out the words sarcastically and looked as though he was going to be sick.
“I loved you Hal. I did. But now, I don’t think I even know you anymore.”
Hal was taken aback.
“Please. Harry Don’t… Don’t give up on me? I have a plan. I can’t come with you. But I have a plan.”
He wanted to pour his heart out and tell Harry everything. Mostly, he wanted to tell Harry that he loved him too. Maybe he had for a long time, but he just couldn’t get the words out.
“I see. That’s how it’s going to be. I beg your leave, Your Grace.”
The words were cold and formal and cut like a knife.
Hal nodded and, without another word, Harry left.
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Their next meeting was at Shrewsbury, on the battle field. The day had come for Hal to prove his worth to his father. His plan was about it come to its conclusion.
When Hal saw Harry on the battlefield, Harry treated him as a stranger, and somehow this seemed to hurt Hal deeper than the fact that they were soon expected to fight each other until one of them was slain.
As he looked upon the battlefield, Hal wished for a moment that he hadn’t been born a Prince, or that his Father had never taken the throne for himself. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to fight the man whom he still loved. Maybe then they could have had some semblance of happiness.
When he finally drove his blade into Harry, a part of Hal died with him. The wild boy had proven himself a great murderous Lancaster Prince, but Hal had no hope left in him. He wept over the body of his former lover, estranged to Hal, and later slain by his own hand. He spoke a eulogy as if Percy’s spirit could hear, and finally know what Hal had never been able to admit while Harry had been alive. He loved him, and even more so, he admired him.
Harry’s mark upon Hal, later Henry V of England, never truly faded. When Hal thought about Harry, he remembered an honorable man. A better man than he could ever really be.
When John Falstaff called out to him in the street after his coronation, King Henry replied with a cold, “I know thee not old man.”
This was, after all, what honorable men did.