None Other

[shadow-truths.livejournal.com]

Fandom: The Lion in Winter
Title: None Other
Author: shadow_truths
Pairing: Richard/Philip
Rating: R
Notes: Originally written for Yuletide 2007. A DVD commentary version is available at my journal, if you're interested in the historical nitty-gritty behind all of this ;)

totz tems vos ai dezirada,
que res autra no m'agrada
autr' amor no volh nien

I've always wanted only you,
none other is agreeable,
and I can want no other love.

July 4, 1190, Vézelay

"Finished saying your prayers?" Richard's horse snorted and stamped the ground, as anxious to be gone as its master.

"You don't want to take a few moments to see the Magdalen's sacred relics? I'm surprised at you." Philip smiled as he mounted his own steed, swinging easily up into the saddle.

"I've seen enough dry whores in my life," Richard replied, stiff and prickly.

Philip only laughed. "If you set off to recapture the Holy Land with such blasphemous words on your lips, I fear that we shall fare very ill indeed."

"What should I say, as I prepare to slaughter helpless heathens by the thousands? This whole crusade is a blasphemy."

"Not according to the Pope. We have all been granted indulgences for our multitude of sins in exchange for our bravery and sacrifice throughout this magnificent undertaking." Philip nudged his horse to sidle up alongside Richard's, so close that their knees were touching.

Richard gave him a sidelong glance, but didn't move away. "So has everyone who's staying safe at home and sending their gold to perish on the field of battle. It's a piece of paper - it means nothing."

"Then why are you here?" Philip's smile was almost unbearably smug. "Don't say you only came because I asked you."

Richard bristled. "What does it matter?"

"Not one whit. Personally, I'm here for the plunder. We will be splitting everything equally, will we not?"

"Fine, as long as we also swear to no backstabbing, no sneak attacks, and no conspiracies back home while we're away."

"Come, Richard, do we even need to swear such an oath?"

"Yes."

"Very well, then. There will be nothing but the purest peace between us, and our realms, for the duration of this journey."

"Good. Now, my men are assembled and ready to set out. Why are we still sitting here?" He set off at a brisk trot, leaving Philip in the dust.

July 15, 1190, Lyons

The sun was setting, and Philip sat overlooking the Rhône. He didn't turn as Richard approached and sat down beside him.

"Do you want me to say I came because of you? Would that solve things?"

"No."

"I took my crusader's vows after I heard that Geoffrey had died. It seemed to make sense at the time." Richard pressed his lips together, making a thin line. "I'm sorry about Geoffrey."

"Why? He was your brother, I should be the one offering the condolences."

"You were there with him when it happened." Richard shrugged. "You were closer to him than I ever was."

"Mm," said Philip, looking away. "But you have to admit, it was rather foolhardy of you to take those vows seriously. Leaving John at large... you know he'll try and seize power." He shook his head in dismay.

"If he does, then let everyone see what he's like when he's in charge. It will cure them of wishing for his rule ever again. Besides, Eleanor is the Regent - surely she can keep him in line if anyone can."

"You sound almost petulant. It doesn't suit you. Are you cross that Geoffrey's son..."

"Arthur."

"...that Arthur isn't old enough to take up the reins yet?"

"He's not a bad lad, all things considered."

"He's only three, give it time. And if you'd ever get around to marrying my dear sister, you could have an heir of your own." Richard stood at that, as if to leave, but Philip caught him by the sleeve. "Don't go."

"Not Alais again. It's been talked to death. You already know my thoughts on the matter. Leave it be."

"Your father, God rest his lecherous soul, is no longer around to intrude on the sanctity of your marriage bed."

"I won't take any woman to bed who's got Henry's grimy fingerprints in every crevice of her body."

"Afraid she'll compare the two of you and you'll come up short?" Philip regretted the cruel words as soon as they'd left his mouth, but he had no way to apologize without losing face, so he was forced to brazen it out with one of his customary smirks.

"Fuck you," said Richard cordially, and walked away. He and his troops departed for Marseilles in the morning. Philip and his men, on the other hand, set off for Genoa.

September 23, 1190, Messina

Richard's anger had cooled, at least slightly, by the time they both reached Sicily. The temperatures, however, had not, and the nights were stifling. Sweating, he threw off his blanket, strode to the window, and enjoyed the comparative coolness of the outside air.

The knock at his door was barely audible, but it made him whip around, startled and ready to defend himself. He pulled his shirt over his head and opened the door a crack. He wasn't entirely surprised to see Philip there, his face lit by the flickering taper he carried.

"Can I come in?"

"Only if it's business you want to discuss," Richard answered, keeping his weight against the door.

"Fine. Let it be business, then. Your sister Joan's dowry money - how badly do you want it?"

"You know." But Richard opened the door wide enough for Philip to enter, then shut it quickly, hoping no one had seen. "Put out that damned light."

"Tancred's approached me with an offer - his daughter to marry my son. He wants to cut you out of the picture, understandably enough." Philip waited to see Richard's reaction to that, but was met with a stony face. "I thought it might please you to know that I've refused him," he continued casually, as he snuffed the candle and set it aside. "You'll have him over a barrel if you press him now, and the dowry will be secured."

"Is this your way of apologizing?"

Philip shrugged. "Consider it a favour, if you prefer." He stepped closer to Richard, looking fearlessly up into those steely eyes. "You could thank me."

"Thank you how?" Richard's hands itched to grab him, throw him down on the bed, but he kept his fists clenched by his sides instead.

"Any way you wish," said Philip, running one sly finger down his chest. "Like old times?"

Richard turned away. "Your wife dies, and you come running back to me."

Philip blinked, stung. "Isabelle never stood between us, only your pig-headedness."

"And your lies."

"Not this again! I had to tell your father that. It was an impossible situation. What else could I possibly say? If he'd found out about us any other way, he would have used it as a weapon against me - unless it served him better as a weapon against you. So I told him you forced me, that I never loved you. It was years ago, it doesn't matter what either of us said."

"It still matters to me."

"You never did know how to let go, Richard."

"Neither do you, it would seem."

Philip turned to leave, but Richard caught him by the wrist and pulled him back. Running a calloused finger down Philip's cheek, he could still see the traces of the beautiful boy he'd once known beneath the grown man's coarser, though still handsome, features. "Let me go," said Philip, sounding resigned rather than angry.

"If we could let one another go, this wouldn't be nearly so hard." Their lips met roughly, and Philip, almost against his will, pressed himself close to Richard. "No one's eavesdropping now," murmured Richard. "So say it. No lies."

"I...I loved you then."

"And now?"

"Now, you bristle whenever I touch you. You hide your feelings, whatever they might be, behind that damnable mask you always wear. You infuriate me, and I don't trust you half as far as I could throw you."

"Isn't that what all the greatest loves are like?" Richard sighed. "Speaking of which, did I mention my dear mother is on her way here?"

"How is the old she-wolf?"

"Indestructible. She'll cackle over both our graves, no doubt."

"Is she coming here to see us into them, or just to enjoy the balmy weather?"

"Neither." Richard's eyes slid away from Philip's. "She's bringing my bride with her."

"Your..."

"Intended. Betrothed. Wife-to-be."

"I understood you the first time, I just can't believe it. Who on earth has she dug up to marry you?"

"Berengaria of Navarre. You needn't sound so shocked - most women wouldn't turn up their noses at the prospect of wedding the king of England."

"They haven't met you."

"This is hardly the first woman I've been betrothed to. You're the one who says that women will never come between us. It's not as if I'm taking up with another man, after all."

"No, I know," said Philip, shifting awkwardly. "It's just that you've never actually married any of them before."

"And I haven't decided if I'll marry this one. I've only met her once, for about a quarter of an hour, and to be honest, I can't remember a single thing about her, other than that she has dark hair." He brushed Philip's black locks back from his temple.

"You're letting Eleanor bring her all this way," Philip persisted. "You can't mean to string her along for years like you've done with the others."

"Do you honestly think I let Eleanor do anything? She's the driver of this cart, I'm only the mule with the crown."

"Last I checked, the groom still had to say 'I do' before he could be married off. Besides, if we wait here for them to arrive, it could delay everything - we won't make it to the Holy Land before spring."

"Listen to you. You've spent years trying to persuade me to marry your blasted sister, but now that it seems as though I might actually walk down the aisle, you're singing another tune. You got married, why shouldn't I?"

"Because it won't suit you. You'll probably hate her - or at least find her deadly dull."

"I'll hardly see her, my opinion of her shouldn't much matter."

"You'll have to see her at least once," said Philip, arching a wry eyebrow. "Will you be able to fulfill your marital duties?" He pressed one thigh between Richard's legs, felt him already half-hard.

"Are you jealous?" Richard asked gruffly, reaching one large hand down to grasp his arse. "Do you want me to pretend she's you while I fuck her?"

"You won't be able to fool yourself," replied Philip, letting himself be pushed and steered over to the rumpled bed.

"No, she's unlikely to follow our lovemaking with an attempt to seize my lands, ally with my brother, or topple me from my throne. Nothing like you." Richard pushed up his tunic, his face scratching against Philip's stomach in a way that still made him shiver.

"Ohh... But Richard, she's your mother's choice, and they'll have spent months together, no doubt with the old hag pouring her poison in the innocent girl's ears. What if she's a second Eleanor to dog your steps?"

"I've dealt with the original Eleanor all my life, I can handle another if need be. Lie back, just let me...there. But I don't think my mother would inflict that on me. Remember, I'm her favourite. This girl will probably be bland and milky and biddable."

"So nothing like me," teased Philip, running his hand through Richard's thick, coarse hair.

"Nothing like you," Richard agreed, and took him in his mouth, silencing them both.

December 24, 1190, Messina

"So, how do you like your bride-to-be, now that you've met her again?" Philip asked on a chilly Christmas Eve as they ate a late supper of warm, buttered bread and salted herring.

"Fine," Richard replied noncommittally.

"Only 'fine'? I think she's lovely. Your mother chose well."

"Three months ago, you didn't even want us to wait for them."

"No, but now that I've had a chance to meet the young woman, I've reconsidered my position. I think she will make you a very...suitable wife. You might like her if you spent any time talking to her. I had a most interesting conversation with her this afternoon while you were reviewing your troops for the hundredth time."

Richard shrugged. "I don't know if she'll be quite as docile as I'd hoped."

Laughing, Philip agreed. "There's a certain spark in those dark eyes, isn't there? I think she might be the scratching, biting sort if she was, ah, properly motivated."

Richard eyed him sharply. "Keep your hands off her."

"Please, I wouldn't dream of it - unless you were there too. Remember that time with the milkmaid when we..."

Richard cut him off. "The contents of your wet dreams are of supreme indifference to me."

"You could consider it a Christmas present. You do owe me something rather marvelous for releasing you from your obligation to Alais."

Richard suspected Philip was joking, but he couldn't be certain. "I've already gotten you a gift," he said.

"Oh? Tell me what it is, please!"

"And spoil the surprise? Never."

"Don't be so grim, Richard, it's Christmas. It wouldn't hurt you to smile, would it?"

Richard mustered a tight-lipped grin. "Happy now?"

"I'd be happier if you gave me my present."

"Fine," Richard sighed. "I suppose it wouldn't do to parade it out in front of Mother, a few dozen knights, and the archbishop of Rouen after mass tomorrow." He went into an adjoining room and returned bearing a small bronze statuette.

Philip took it, eyes wide. "Is it Roman?"

Richard nodded. "So they say, anyhow. I bought it off some farmer who turned it up in his field. If I hadn't, it would probably have been melted down by now."

Philip turned it about in his hands to examine it from all angles. "Jupiter and Ganymede, am I right?"

"It seemed fitting."

"It's very, ah, detailed. I don't think I'll be able to display it publicly - it might shock the ladies."

"Then keep it for yourself. Or toss it out the window the moment I leave, it doesn't matter to me."

Philip smiled. "I'll treasure it. Thank you." He took Richard's hand and pressed it to his lips. "Shall we try that later, then?"

Richard grimaced, sitting down again. "I don't think I have the strength to lift you like that. You're not as light as you used to be, you know. Besides," he added, "now that the ladies have arrived, I think we ought to be more discreet."

"And will the ladies be accompanying us to the Holy Land come spring?"

"Berengaria will, and my sister Joan. My mother, however, will be returning to England. She is meant to be in charge while I'm away, after all."

"Oh, pity. I heard that the last crusade she went on, with my late father, she rode bare-breasted like an Amazon across the desert."

"Yes, she tells everyone that story. I think if she tried that trick now, though, she'd wind up hiding half the sand in Syria under those flapping dugs."

Philip laughed. "She's still a fine-looking woman, for her age."

"Go flirt with her, then, and stop ogling my wife-to-be. Eleanor isn't choosy, she'll just be flattered that anyone's paying attention to her."

"I rather think it's your wife-to-be who's doing the ogling. After all, we're both eligible monarchs these days..."

"Don't even think of it, Philip."

"You haven't decided who Joan should marry for her second go at wedded bliss, have you?"

"No, but I've been giving some thought to the matter."

"Good, so have I. I could use a new wife, my little Louis should have a mother..."

"Philip," said Richard in a warning tone.

"What? Obviously you're not going to marry my sister, but I could still marry yours. We could be brothers, and add incest to the ever-growing list of sins the Pope is already indulging us for."

"I'd sooner marry her to Saladin."

"Unfortunately he's already got one wife, and I don't imagine you'd want your sister to be his second one, it wouldn't befit her rank. I hear his brother, on the other hand, is unwed..."

"It's worth considering."

"I wasn't being serious." He fiddled idly with the crust of his bread. "But come now, I'm sure your intended would have eyes for no one but you if you would just pay a little court to her."

"We're already betrothed. Eleanor did the courting on my behalf."

"That's only a formality, though. Haven't you learned anything from all your damned poetry? The woman wants to believe that you love her, not her dowry."

"Kings don't marry for love."

"Your father did."

"And look where it got him."

Philip waved a dismissive hand. "You could at least tell her she's pretty. Tell her she sets your heart aflame. Tell her you want to fuck her - not in precisely those words, of course, you don't want her to faint dead away from horror at your ghastly manners, but I'm sure you can get the message across." Philip let his foot brush against Richard's leg beneath the table. "Toy with her a little. Make it into a game, if that's easier for you."

"It's not a game, it's a marriage. And what I've learned from my 'damned poetry' is that marriage has no part to play in love, except to stand in its way. Love is truest when it's impossible. Forbidden."

"Why Richard," said Philip, sliding his foot higher, "how sweet. Are you actually trying to say that you love me?"

Richard stood hastily, moving away from the impertinently questing foot, leaving Philip momentarily puzzled until he noticed the female figure in the doorway. "My lady," said Richard politely, bowing to her. Philip rose and did likewise.

Berengaria was just about Philip's own age, twenty-five, plump but delicately-featured. She wore a cheerful gown of soft red wool, and a few unruly black curls peeked out from beneath her modest coif. "I hope I am not interrupting," she said in her lightly-accented French.

"Not at all," said Philip smoothly, ignoring Richard's glare. "We were just talking about you."

She smiled, then, and cross the room to warm her hands at the fire. "Do you not find it cold here?" she asked no one in particular.

"Most cold, my lady," agreed Philip, giving Richard a significant look behind her back, urging him to join in the conversation.

"Very cold," echoed Richard dutifully. "I hope you are finding your bedchamber warm enough, though."

Berengaria turned to gaze at him over her shoulder. "No, I am afraid it is somewhat cool there as well." Her smile was just slightly more saucy than was proper.

"We must make sure that you're kept warmer tonight." He ignored Philip's insufferable smirk, and cleared his throat. "More blankets, perhaps."

"Thank you, my lord," she replied, glancing over at Philip, who immediately composed his face into a perfectly demure expression. "I would appreciate that." There was a silence of several heartbeats' length. "Well, I shall not trouble you any longer," she finally said, turning to depart.

"Wait," said Richard, crossing to intercept her. "Please," he added belatedly, seeing Philip's slight frown. "I... Your gown is very becoming."

"Thank you, my lord," she said modestly, but he noticed that she was looking up at him through her thick eyelashes.

"I wanted to let you know how glad I am that you traveled all this way to join me. It must have been a difficult journey." On the other side of the chamber, Philip mimed taking someone's hand, so Richard did as instructed, plucking the young woman's hand from where it rested at her side. It was small and dimpled and delicate, making him feel oafish in comparison, but she seemed pleased by the gesture.

"It was not so very difficult. We had fair weather much of the way, and your mother was a most...entertaining companion. She spoke much of you, my lord."

"Oh?" Richard felt an anxious tightness in his chest, but persevered. "What did she have to say?"

"She told me certain amusing stories of when you were a boy. As well, she had her troubadour recite some of your poetry to me. You have much skill with beautiful words."

"You'd never know it," muttered Philip under his breath, but Richard ignored him.

"Also," Berengaria continued, looking up more directly at her intended husband, "she told me of your great friendship with King Philip."

"Ah." Richard blinked. "What did she tell you, exactly?"

"She told me all there is to know, my lord. I believe her precise words were that 'I deserved to know the mess I was getting in to.'" Seeing the slight hint of panic on Richard's face, Berengaria smiled charmingly. "You need not worry, Richard. I will not come between you. Unless you wish it." Leaving him slack-jawed, she swept out of the room.

"Philip," Richard began angrily, only to be interrupted by his lover's ringing laugh. "You knew that she knew, didn't you?"

"Yes, I knew that she knew, and I knew that you didn't know that she knew. It was splendid to watch, truly."

"Sometimes you can be an utter bastard."

"And sometimes you have no sense of humour."

"You're not jealous of her any longer, I take it."

"Oh, I never was," Philip replied breezily. "You know, women. They're inevitable in our line of work, like death and collecting taxes. But you keep coming back to me for the sheer joy of it."

"'Joy' is not the word I'd necessarily choose."

Philip smiled. "So, do you intend to take her up on her offer? That was an offer just now, in case you missed it."

"I am not nearly as oblivious as you seem to think I am - I can tell when a woman's throwing herself at me."

"Mm-hm." Philip waited, a curious look on his face.

"In any case, no. I won't be going near her bedchamber until everything's properly solemnized. And you won't be anywhere in the vicinity."

"What a shame. It's sweet that you're so jealous over her already, though."

Richard favoured him with of one of his rare smiles. "I'm jealous over you, you fool, you should enjoy it. I'm not inclined to share you with anyone." He crossed the room to catch Philip up in his arms. "Hm, perhaps you're not too heavy after all."

Philip only laughed and let himself be carried away.

June 8, 1191, Acre

"You took your sweet time getting here."

"I'm sorry, I had to rescue my fiancée, my sister, and the ship holding the entire contents of my treasury from bandits, get married, and conquer Cyprus. I'd have been here sooner if I could have." Richard surveyed the dusty walls of the besieged city, shielding his eyes against the bright sun. "And what have you been doing in the meanwhile?"

"I had those built." Philip stepped aside to give him an unobstructed view of the plain.

"Mangonels and battering rams. Nicely done. So why haven't you taken the city yet?"

"I was waiting for you, I though you might enjoy the sack," said Philip flippantly. "It's not as easy as you might think." He gave Richard a quizzical glance. "What do you intend to do with your half of Cyprus, then?"

"My half? I control the whole bloody island."

"Ah, but I believe we agreed that all of our spoils on this campaign would be divided equally between us, did we not?"

Richard arched an eyebrow. "I heard that the count of Flanders was killed last week. His lands now fall to you, if I'm not mistaken. I think with my half of Flanders, I'll build a jolly huge palace..."

"Fine, fine, point taken." Philip turned, started to take a step, and stumbled.

Richard was at his elbow in an instant, holding him up. "Are you all right?"

"I've been ill, that's all. Nothing dramatic enough to be worth mentioning. I just shouldn't be standing out here in my armour in the midday sun.

"Let's go to your tent."

Philip let himself be escorted, though he shrugged off Richard's offer of his arm to lean on. In the tent it was cooler, and once he was stripped of his mail he began to feel slightly better. Richard fetched him a drink of watered wine and held it out to him. "Thank you," Philip said, accepting it gratefully. His skin was pale, with sweat-dark hair plastered against his forehead.

They sat in silence for several minutes while Philip sipped his drink. "How is wedded life treating you?" he asked eventually.

"Well enough," Richard said with a shrug. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and staring fixedly at his feet.

"Was I right about her? Let me see your shoulders, are they covered with barely-healed scratches?"

"Stop it," said Richard, more sharply than seemed warranted. Philip fell silent, surprised by his vehemence. "There's something I need to know," Richard continued, lowering his voice once more.

"What?"

"What was Geoffrey doing in Paris when he died?"

"It was a tournament, you know that. He fell from his horse during the joust, and..."

"God's wounds, why do you always have to lie?!" Richard shouted suddenly.

"I'm not. This time, anyway," Philip said, affronted. "It's the truth."

"But why was he there in the first place, hm?"

"What are you getting at?"

"They say you were grief-stricken when he died. That you threw yourself on the coffin. So what the hell was going on between you two?"

Philip sat in silence, his eyes not meeting Richard's. "Who is 'they'?" he asked eventually.

"Eleanor, if you must know. She told me all about it before she left Sicily."

"And you actually believed her? And you've been brooding over it since then? She was just trying to poison you against me, maybe to goad you into actually marrying Berengaria, I don't know. I can't pretend to understand how that twisted rat's nest she calls her mind works, but you should know better than to take anything she says at face value."

Richard stood, towering over Philip with a face like a thunderstorm, and knocked the goblet out of his hand. It clattered to the ground, spilling the dregs of the wine, and rolled out of sight under the cot. "What was there between you and my brother?"

Philip sat up straight, holding his ground before the onslaught of Richard's temper. "We talked. Weighed our options. He wanted me to join him in an attack on Normandy, but..."

"I don't give a good goddamn about Normandy!"

"Really? Can I have it, in that case?"

The blow across the face struck Philip before he could react to defend himself, knocking him back against the cot. "You whore," snarled Richard.

Philip pulled himself back up, arms raised to block any future attacks. "You will never strike me again," he said coldly. "And damn it, you weren't even speaking to me! We were practically at war."

"So you went to Geoffrey? Or did he come to you first?"

"You don't honestly want to know, do you?" There was only silence. "I invited him. We did talk about Normandy, and, later, after rather a lot of wine, about you. He said that you were a fool for quarreling with me, and I could see in his eyes that he didn't just mean over territory. And I told him how beautiful I'd always found him...." Richard gave a noise somewhere between a groan and a roar as he turned away, but Philip kept talking over him, his voice rising ever louder and louder. "You always ignored him, all of you did, and I never understood why, he was better than any of you! If you came here looking for an excuse to be quit of me, I'll damn well give it to you. Geoffrey kissed so softly at first, like a maiden, but his hands were hard on my arms as I pulled him into my bed, and his tongue was clever when he sucked me. He was bigger than you...."

"Stop it, damn you, stop talking!"

"...I came to love him, Richard, I couldn't help myself. He made me love him. I thought you were gone from me for good, and how was I supposed to guess you'd come back? He's dead now, and all of that is buried with him. Let it stay there."

"I can't. I can't."

"Then let's end this, once and for all."

"Damn it, don't you think I would if I could?" He pounded one heavy fist into the small wooden table beside the bed, smashing in its top, then hung his head. "It's not working, Philip. I can't be her husband when it's you who's constantly in my thoughts. There's nothing I want more than to storm away from you properly." Instead, Richard sank down on his knees, defeated.

"It would make for a better scene," Philip agreed. "Of course, the soldiers will gossip."

"Let them. They've probably already heard your yelling across half the camp."

Philip stood and placed one gentle hand on Richard's slumped shoulder. "If you can't walk away, I'll do it for you. As soon as we've captured the city, I'll beg off and go back to France. I've been sick, it's a good enough excuse. Don't worry," he added, seeing Richard's anxious glance, "I'll leave the bulk of my troops with you. You can wage holy war to your heart's content. Maybe it'll be a healing experience."

Richard gave a short, bitter sob of a laugh. "Only you, Philip. Only you could tell me precisely how you've betrayed me, then abandon me, and make me thank you for it."

"You can thank me when you come home. Now go. I should get some rest, and you have a city to capture, and a wife to bed."

Richard nodded and rose. He walked away quickly enough that he only heard a single whimper from Philip's tent, and he could almost pretend it was nothing more than the wind blowing over the sands.