Work Text:
'To Live forever’ Henry had whispered into Camillas ear. Death is the mother of beauty as had been said once by him and he would live by what he said. He had decided as he pulled the trigger to take the last Bow. He pulled the trigger and before another thought could strike him the bullets had.
Once a murder has been committed in any shape or form it almost always gets easier to do it again. Whether it be of oneself or otherwise. The worst part is, if you do it again. It becomes a choice. That's what happened with the farmer, with Bunny and what would have ultimately happened with Charles had he not been interrupted and what eventually happened by Henry himself.
Suicide he had decided before he blew his brains out was an ugly word for such a sacred act, poetical almost. The gun shots had fired through the room imitating the lyrics of his demise.
He imagined and would have preferred it, that all the classists pin the sins on his death. To betray him if not in life then death. He had hoped that they would be smart enough to say that Henry had acted on his own accord, with the will of a Greek and the nature of a roman. He would have done the same. They knew it and they worshipped him for it.
To live forever.
Henry although was by habits a Greek but by nature? He was a true roman. To fight, to win, to conquer. To take an elegance in Death and in terror, beauty. To take the ardent way out rather than have everyone see him at his worst was his true assertion. He lived by duty. The duty which he owed to Julian and to Richard,Francis, and to Charles also in a sickening sort of way and most he owed to Camilla who reminded his that his heart had been beating steadily in his bosom. Camilla his Clytemnestra. To get them out of what he had gotten them into.