Chapter Text
“As future king, you must learn to take responsibility.” James says. “Your duties come first. Nothing else. Do you understand, Phillip?” He asks, looking at his grandson sternly.
“Yes.”
…
There had once been a time when Phillip and Henry were close. When they were children, Henry had a habit of following Phillip everywhere he went, chattering away about whatever his mind was focused on that day.
Phillip had always looked after Bea and Henry, keeping a close eye on his siblings so that they would not get themselves into trouble. Despite their responsibilities as heirs, they remained close, keeping their close bonds.
But then their father died.
The loss tore the once close trio apart, leaving Phillip helpless and unable to protect Bea and Henry.
His Grandfather kept him busy, adding more and more responsibilities to Phillip's burdened shoulders, not giving him the chance to grieve his father, as it was not important to the Crown’s reputation.
So he hid those feelings away, burying them deep in his heart, locking them in a place they could never be freed.
He was the future king. That was what mattered. It was the only thing he could focus on. But between planning for his wedding and public appearances, Phillip silently worried for his little brother.
Henry had grown quiet in his adult years, nothing like the happy young boy Phillip had once known.
Their relationship grew cold and distant as Phillip's exterior hardened. Perhaps Henry’s now closed off personality was how he protected himself, like Phillip's now brittle exterior.
He decided not to pry, but failed to show Henry that he could talk to him if he wanted to.
His first mistake.
…
“Pip!” Henry cheers, his chubby toddler legs carrying him over to Phillip's side. Then, upon seeing that Phillip was sitting at the piano, Henry’s face lights up. “Can I play?!” He practically shouts, his eyes wide with excitement.
“Sure.” Phillip says with a smile, scooting over on the stool to make room. He helps his brother up, who in turn sits directly beside him, leaning against him affectionately.
Henry’s small frame is warm, and Phillip takes in his little brother's appearance. Messy blonde hair, a slight overbite, his front two teeth poking out from under his top lip.
Per usual, Henry’s face is smudged with dirt, and his knees are stained green with grass. Phillip wipes off the dirt, and turns his attention back to the piano.
He plays a simple scale, watching as Henry’s face scrunches up. “It makes a funny noise.” Henry remarks, pressing down on the keys.
Phillip nods. “I suppose it does.” He agrees with a small smile. Henry looks up at him, his gray-blue eyes wide and pleading.
“I wanna learn how to play piano like you, Pip.” Henry says. “Can I take lessons like you?” He begs.
“I think you're a little too young for piano lessons.” Phillip replies. Then, seeing the pout on Henry’s face, he quickly comes up with a compromise. “But maybe you can watch me when I go to lessons?” He suggests.
Henry’s face lights up. “Really?!” He exclaims loudly. “You’re the best brother ever, Pip!”
…
“Unbelievable!” Phillip shouts, tossing the newspaper aside. “You’re all over the news! It's bad enough that you made Martha and I look like a fool, but what's worse is you have made a mockery of yourself!” He scolds.
Henry sighs heavily. “It was a misunderstanding.” He says, fiddling with his signet ring. Phillip stops pacing and stares at his brother with furious eyes.
“A misunderstanding?!” He shouts. “You two were on the floor! Covered in my wedding cake!” He says. “It’s all the Press can talk about, Henry!” He says.
Bea, who had been quiet up until now, speaks up to come to the defense of Henry. “I understand that you’re upset over your wedding, but don’t shout at Henry.” She says, narrowing her eyes at Phillip, who scoffs.
Phillip crosses his arms. “Maybe you would like to keep an eye on him.” He scoffs. “Haven’t you learned anything from me?” He sneers, looking down at Henry.
Having enough of the conversation, Henry stands, adjusting his tie. “I’m sorry.” He mumbles under his breath before he strides out of the room, his head hung low.
Bea whips her head around to glare at Phillip. “Now look at what you’ve done.” She scolds. “You’ve upset him. Big surprise there.” She adds before she too storms out of the room to follow their little brother.
Silently, Phillip picks up the newspaper, staring at the headline, mocking Henry. Angrily, Phillip crumples the paper and throws it into the fire, watching as it burns.
Nobody makes a mockery of my little brother.
…
It was Henry’s first public appearance. Their mother had spent all morning dressing him up nice, and Bea and Phillip had spent the car ride keeping Henry neat.
Henry wasn’t the biggest fan of his suit, and was constantly squirming in his car seat. He had stopped, however, when Phillip promised to share his biscuits during tea time later, leaving him hopeful about the day.
That is, until they arrived at the theatre hall. As they were climbing the large cobblestone staircase, Henry had tripped, falling face first onto the stairs.
Even as he fell, cameras continued to click and flash, zeroing in on the young prince. Their parents rushed to shield him, lifting him off the stairs.
Phillip watches as the crowds refuse to stop taking photos, determined to document every detail. He scowls in a very unprince-like way, glaring at the paparazzi.
Authur holds out a hand. “Come on, Pip.” He says, his voice hurried. “Let's get away from these pesky crowds.” He says.
Once they’re inside, Phillip can properly assess the situation. Henry is inconsolable, crying out in pain as blood runs from his nose. Their mother does her best to gently place a cloth over his nose to stop the bleeding, instructing him to hold it in place.
“Authur—“ Cathrine begins, stopping as she sees that her husband is speaking urgently with a staffer. She turns to Phillip. “Pip, keep an eye on Henry and Bea. I’m going to find something for Henry’s nose.” She instructs before hurrying off.
“He’s going to be all over the news.” Bea whispers, her brows furrowed. Phillip looks back at their little brother, angry at the thought of the Press making fun of him, patronizing him.
Phillip moves to stand beside Henry, who looks up at him with tearful eyes. “I wan’ go home.” Henry sniffs, his voice muffled.
“I know you do.” Phillip replies, taking Henry’s free hand, not caring if his hand is bloody. “And when we do, you can have all my biscuits at tea time.” He promises.
Henry’s eyes go wide. “R-really?” He asks, his voice quiet. “All of them?” He exclaims in disbelief.
Phillip tucks Henry close to his side, keeping a firm hand on his shoulder. “Yes.” He replies. “All of them.”
…
Henry was quiet. More so than usual, and Phillip’s worry sprang up once more. He had questioned Bea, who seemed to know more than she was letting on. She had deflected the question, scolding Phillip for his choice of wording when asking her.
“You would know ‘what’s the matter with him,’ if you actually talked to him.”
So he did just that.
He finds Henry playing the piano. Phillip knocks softly on the doorway, and Henry glances up only briefly. “Yes, Phillip?” He says in a tired sort of way, still focused intently on the piano.
“You’ve been quiet.” Phillip says, feeling awkward. It had been years since they spoke like this, and he was unsure of where to begin.
“How very observant, Phillip.” Henry replies with malice in his voice. “I had no idea you cared so much.” He adds coldly.
Phillip crosses his arms. “I’m starting to regret this conversation.” He says without thinking. Henry doesn’t react, but Phillip can tell that the words cut deep. He doesn’t say anything.
As he watches his brother, Phillip is reminded of a simpler time. When there were no titles and responsibilities. When it was just them, Pip and Henry.
Phillip remembers the countless hours Henry would spend sitting beside him, watching in awe as he played the piano.
“You’re getting good.” Phillip says softly, listening intently to Henry’s playing. It's a simple melody, one Phillip had taught him.
“Sod off, Phillip.” Henry says, his voice brittle. “I don’t need your empty praise.” He says.
Phillip scowls. “Fine.” He responds, turning on his heel. But before he leaves, he pauses in the doorway to look at his brother.
“You better not have done something.” Phillip warns. “We don’t need you making a mockery of yourself.”
…
The days following their father’s death, Henry had been silent. Phillip did his best to stay close despite the rift that had grown between them.
But now that silence had exploded into anger, filling the room. Phillip couldn’t even recall what set Henry off, but he supposed it didn’t matter now. What was important was that he consoled his angry brother. But before Phillip can get another word out, Henry says it.
“This is all your fault! He would still be here if it wasn’t for you!”
Henry falls silent, his breathing heavy. Phillip stares at Henry, his throat dry. Henry’s anger flares up again. “Piss off, Phillip. I don’t need you hovering around me, telling me what to do.”
…
‘The Waterloo Letters’
Phillip was terrified. This time, it wasn’t just a trip on the stairs or a fallen cake. This time, there wasn’t anything they could do to distract the media. There was nothing he could do to protect Henry.
He didn’t know what he was saying. It was all a jumbled mass, nothing coming out the way he wanted it to.
“I can’t believe this!”
I can't believe you didn’t tell me.
“When grandfather finds out…”
I can’t protect you from him, don’t you know what he’ll do to you?
“What were you thinking?!”
You should have been more careful.
Henry threatened to abdicate, and the thought sent another uneasy ripple through Phillip.
Not you too.
…
He hadn’t seen his mother in weeks. Overcome by grief, she hid herself away, leaving her children to fend for themselves.
One could imagine Phillip’s shock when she suddenly reappeared, a suitcase in one hand, and a smile on her face.
“I’m off to see the world, Pip. I’ll be sure to write to you!”
And with that, she was gone.
The palace walls had never felt more empty. Bea was out in town, burying her grief with addiction, and Henry was constantly paraded around at public events.
Nobody had respect for Henry’s greif. Phillip had tried talking to his grandfather, who had brushed off his concerns.
“Your responsibilities come first. You three are no longer children, which means you no longer need to look after them. Do you understand, Phillip?”
So he did as he was told. He continued to be the responsible prince, taking care of his duties. He fought in the army. Worked hard to maintain the Crown’s image.
Yet nobody ever stopped to ask him how he felt. Nobody ever stopped to wonder. Nobody cared.
But that was okay. His duties came first. Nothing else mattered.
…
Phillip storms through the palace, determined to find Henry. Shortly after the meeting, after presenting himself and Alex to the crowd of supporting onlookers, Henry had declared abdication.
“You can’t go out there.”
I can’t protect you if you go out there.
“Abdication is out of the question! You can’t abandon your country!”
You can’t abandon me.
Phillip finds Henry in his study, seated beside Alex at the piano. Phillip feels a flicker of jealousy. He glares at Alex. “You,” He says. “Out.” He steps aside and points at the door, still staring Alex down.
Alex returns the glare, and rests a protective hand on Henry’s shoulder. “It’s all right, dear.” Henry says, squeezing Alex's hand. “I can handle him.” He says.
Alex is reluctant, but nods his head. “Love you, Hen.” He says, kissing Henry’s cheek.
Henry smiles, his expression warm. “I love you too, Alex.” He responds.
A tense silence hangs in the air as Alex walks out of the room. Neither Phillip or Alex breaks eye contact, and they stare each other down angrily. “Dick.” Alex mutters under his breath.
The door shuts behind them, and Phillip turns his attention to Henry. His hands curl into fists. “How dare you.” He begins, his voice shaking. “You’re abandoning the Crown. Your country.” He says.
You’re abandoning me.
“I’m twenty three, Phillip. I can make my own choices.” Henry replies. “You don’t get to come in here and try and tell me what to do.” He continues, his voice calm but angry.
Phillip’s anger flares up. “So you’re just going to leave!?” He shouts. “You will be at the mercy of the Press! What will they say!? I don’t want to pick up the paper and see them mocking you!” He says.
Henry crosses his arms. “You only care about the Crown’s reputation.” He states, sounding a little hurt. “It’s always about the Crown with you, isn’t it?” He asks.
“Because it's my future!” Phillip practically screams, silencing Henry. “You may be the spare, but even you should know that the Crown is my duty. It was decided before I was even born. I don’t have the luxury you have to make a choice.”
Phillip is silent, his breathing heavy. “Mum is gone. Father is dead. Bea hates me, and now…” He breathes in a shaky breath. “Now you’re leaving, like everyone else.” He says. “If you walk out that door…there’s nothing I can do to protect you.”
For the first time, the anger on Henry’s face fades. His brows furrow, an understanding and realization sparking his gray-blue eyes. He speaks again, but his voice is softer. Tender. “Pip.”
“No.” Phillip responds, crossing his arms, holding onto himself tightly. “Don’t.” He whispers. “Just go. Like everyone else. I’ll be okay without you.” He says, looking away.
Phillip stares at the floor, his eyes hot with tears. He listens to Henry’s footsteps, waiting for him to walk out the room.
There’s arms around him. Phillip jumps a little, as it had been years since he and Henry had been this close.
Henry’s hold is gentle and steady, and Phillip finds it harder and harder to keep himself together. His mind is screaming at him to push Henry away, to put his attention back on his duties.
But a smaller, quieter part of his mind, which he had long since abandoned, urges him to finally let go, to allow himself to fall apart.
He breaks.
They’re on the floor now, and Phillip clings to Henry like a lifeline. Years of pent up grief pour out of him, sobbing loudly as the tears overtake him. Henry is silent but reassuring, offering only gentleness.
…
“There you go.” Phillip says, placing the bandage over Henry’s knee. “All better.” He says, pulling Henry into his arms.
Henry sniffs, “It still hurts, Pip.” He says, snuggling into his brother’s embrace.
“I know.” Phillip agrees, nodding his head. “But it will get better with time. Soon it won’t hurt, and you’ll feel all better again.” He says. “You just have to be patient.”
…
Alex had only returned briefly, long enough for Henry to explain that they needed some alone time, a consideration Phillip was grateful for. Alex was loud and enthusiastic, and he wasn’t the greatest fan of the American, especially after the wedding catastrophe.
Now it was just them, Pip and Henry, together like old times. Except now, there were years of silence and anger hanging between them.
“I’m sorry.” Phillip says softly, picking at his biscuit. “I’ve been a proper arse to you for so long.” He says. “After dad died, I just didn’t know how to talk to you. I could never manage to say the right things.” He explains, shaking his head.
Phillip’s hands begin to shake. “Mum left us, Bea wouldn’t talk to me, and…it was all my fault.” He says, holding back tears. “We would still be a family if it weren’t for me.” He says.
Guilt crashes over Henry’s features, and he moves to put his arms around his brother. “It’s not your fault, Phillip.” Henry says, knowing full well he could never undo the damage he had done. “I shouldn’t have said that to you, and I am so sorry.” He says.
“After Dad died, Grandfather told me to focus on my future as king.” Phillip says. “He told me that my responsibilities were the thing that should come first.” He explains. “It was all I had. So I went along with it.”
Phillip lets out a shuddering breath, and says the words he had always harbored deep within. “I don’t want to be king.” He admits, his voice soft. “But I don’t have a choice. It's already been written out for me.” He says, tears rolling down his cheeks.
Henry pulls back to look at his older brother. He brushes the hair away from Phillip’s face, and looks him in the eye. “You always have a choice.” Henry says.
“You deserve to have a choice. To have a say in your future. The Crown may be our prison, but we shouldn’t let it keep us from doing what we want with our lives.” Henry continues, holding Phillip close. “Your future is yours to decide. No one else’s. If Grandfather takes an issue, then I will defend you.”
Henry’s words are a shock to Phillip. Up until now, everything had been decided for him. The idea that he could make his own choice was both terrifying and liberating.
But what truly shocked him was Henry’s willingness to defend him, despite the last few years. “You…would defend me?” Phillip asks in disbelief. “Why?” He asks.
Henry sighs. “You’ve always looked after us. But we never looked after you. We didn’t see how much you needed us.” He begins, sounding guilty. “I’m sorry, Pip. That it took me so long to see that you were in as much pain as I was.” He says.
“To be fair, I was a knob to you. I don’t blame you for not wanting to talk.” Phillip replies, wiping his eyes with a tissue.
Henry nods, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “We were both knobs.” He says, leaning against Phillip. “But I think we can change things. Don’t you?” He asks, his voice hopeful.
Phillip nods, allowing himself to smile a little. “I think we can.” He agrees. “We’ve already taken the first step.”