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Chapter Text

Hal had been home for a few weeks—almost a month, now. He’d been wandering around Westminster like a ghost. The pallor of being inside for a year straight didn’t help, but odds were the emptiness in his eyes and the listlessness in his gait and direction were a bigger part of it.

The family didn’t know what to do with him. Thomas tried to be present and supportive, but they’d never been that close, so when Thomas reached his depths, he disappeared. John was more forceful, and Hal tried, he really did, but he was just so tired. Humphrey kept trying to get him to play at swords with him, but Hal didn’t have the strength yet, even to roughhouse with his thirteen-year-old brother. The girls had tried to baby him at first, now they were just clueless as what to do. And father had retreated back to his old coldness.

Outside of that, his father quietly insisted (without saying anything directly) that he eat more, but everything landed in his stomach like an iron weight. He’d need to work up to his eating habits of before. For now, his clothes would continue to hang on him like rags on a pole.

He found himself walking the streets of London late at night with nowhere to go.

Long as it had been, the cobbles still felt familiar as old friends as he passed homes and businesses and molls standing on their corners, ready for business. He stopped under a familiar sign and looked up at the ‘Boar’s Head’.

Was he ready for this? It didn’t much matter, he supposed, he was here already. He wasn’t hungry, but God, he was so thirsty. Thirsty for beer and oblivion, both of which he knew he could get here.

He took a deep breath and stepped through the door.

Falstaff was gabbing at the bar, Bardolph captured under the man’s arm. The old man’s voice boomed in the room, filling every corner of the space. He glanced over his shoulder when he heard the door, then did a double take, releasing the red-nosed, pox-marked Bardolph.

“Hal!” Falstaff exclaimed, turning around and throwing open his arms. A shadow flitted across the man’s face as he took in Hal’s scar, but it was gone just as quickly. “My sweet wag, God’s Blood, I’d despaired of ever seeing you alive, and ‘tis the truth.”

Hal crossed over to the old man, accepting the hug and the rough clap on the shoulder that came after. “You were not the only one, despairing, you bombard of sack.”

Again, a shadow dashed across the old man’s face, holding Hal at arm’s length. It was quickly replaced by the good humor and sharp eye Hal had known. “I once called you a starveling, and I think you’ve proved my right, Hal. One fierce gust may knock you over.”

“One fierce gust from you, certainly,” Hal smirked, elbowing the man.

Bardolph snickered and Falstaff threw his head back in a roaring laugh. “Ah, our Prince of Wales truly has returned at last!” he said.

“Hal?” he heard at his shoulder. Hal turned around to find the wiry person of Ned Poins.

“Ned?”

“Oh, God, Hal,” he said, pulling Hal into a hug. If Hal had been just a little lighter, Ned would have crushed every bone in his body. As it was, the hug felt bruising, and not just to his person.

When Ned finally let him go, he looked in Hal’s face, concern deepening the lines of his face. “You must believe me when I say I tried to visit, Hal.”

Hal took a step back. “What do you mean?”

“I was afraid they wouldn’t tell you,” he said, grabbing Hal’s arms tightly.

“We tried to visit too,” Falstaff said, leaning against the bar, almost annoyed that Ned was getting all of the attention.

Hal looked back at Ned, questioning. Ned nodded. “They did, I saw it myself.”

The Prince’s eyes burned, and he blinked quickly. “I didn’t—I didn’t know.”

Ned squeezed his arms again and Falstaff gripped his thin shoulder. “You are ours, you vile standing tuck,” Falstaff said, gruffly.

Hal suddenly felt a pit open in his stomach and his head grew a bit light-headed. “Come, sit with me,” Ned said. “Leave these foul villains to follow dear Reverend Vice.”

“Wait!” Falstaff commanded, dramatically. He leaned at the bar towards Mistress Quickly. “A beer for the Prince of Wales, Mistress. And on my tab,” he said with all magnanimity.

“I don’t let you have a tab, you big nit,” she said with a huff. When she saw Hal, she nearly dropped the mugs she was holding. “Oh, your worshipfulness! Oh, Hal, you’re back!” She quickly put them down behind her and wiped her hands on her apron. Tearfully, she reached across the bar, taking his hands in hers. “Hal, thank God and all his precious angels, I’ve been so worried!”

His vision doubled with the tears collecting in his eyes. He pulled his hands from hers and took a step back and bowed to her, lower and with more flourish than he would to the Queen of France. “It is a pleasure and relief to be back in your fine establishment, Mistress Quickly.”

As he looked up, he saw she was blushing. She swatted at him. “You troublemaker.” He leaned across the bar as far as he could and kissed her cheek. “Oh, have whatever you’d like, Hal. On the house.”

Hal couldn’t keep the cheeky grin off his face as he looked to the corner of the room. “What about Nell Reese?”

She lightly smacked his arm. “You know what I mean.”

“A beer then, ma’am,” he said.

“I’ll have it brought over,” she said, shooing him away. “I still remember your usual,” she winked.

Hal gripped Falstaff’s shoulder. “Pout not so, Father Ruffian. Return I shall, then we shall share quite a sacrament, don’t you think?”

Falstaff rolled his eyes. “Go, begone with you, foul sinner, who would tempt the very devil to foulest sin.”

Hal chuckled as he followed Ned to a booth in the corner. They settled in across from each other, Hal leaning back comfortably, while Ned leaned forward. “My brother John had said that you were back at the palace, but hadn’t seen you at court, yet.”

“I’ve not gone to court,” Hal said.

“Was it—was it really as bad as they said?”

Hal swallowed painfully. “I’d rather not discuss it. Tell me about what I’ve missed. God knows I have nothing to talk about.”

“Merciful Lord, what haven’t they gotten into?” Ned said. He regaled the prince with tales of the illegal and terrible things Falstaff had gotten up to, along with the innumerable tricks Ned had played on them.

Hal had forgotten how to smile in the last year. He had checked in the looking glass before they left Shrewsbury, and it looked like a rather painful grimace. His laugh wasn’t much better, these days. But, Ned’s stories slowly loosened the tight muscles of his face, and he felt more himself than he had in an eon. One of the barmaids brought his beer. “Well, hello, your highness,” she greeted as she set the mug down.

Hal felt the heat in his blood rise at the look of her. “Hello, Nell,” he said, reaching for her hand.

Ned cleared his throat, giving a warning look. Hal looked back at him. “Oh, come on. I almost died.”

“Did the physician clear you for ‘strenuous activity’?”

“It doesn’t have to be that strenuous,” Hal answered.

“Hal…”

Hal groaned. “Fine.”

Nell’s hand lingered on his own, and she leaned over to kiss his cheek. “It’s good to have you back, your highness,” she whispered in his ear. She winked at him, then walked away.

He groaned again. “God, you’re no fun.”

“I’m just looking out for you,” Ned said.

“Let me live, Ned. I’ve done so little of it, of late.” Ned sat back, an unreadable look on his face. Hal sighed, rubbing at his forehead. “Well, enough of that. Tell me more stories.”

Ned was hesitant, but he started up where he’d left off. Hal found his new found smile dwindling, despite himself, and that pit from earlier opened up again in his stomach. Ned leaned forward again, a hand on his arm. “Hal?”

The prince shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

Ned searched his face, then seemed to settle on his thoughts. “You don’t have to feel guilty, you know.”

“Guilty for what?” Hal asked, affronted that Ned would think he was guilty at all.

Ned sighed and looked towards the bar. “They’re harmless, really. And they mean well. As much as any thief can mean well, at least. But, they hope they can hitch themselves to your star. They don’t realize…” Ned hesitated, taking a deep breath. “You can’t take us with you.”

Hal screwed his eyes shut. He knew Ned was right, but he didn’t want to admit it. “What do you mean?”

“Hal, why did you start coming here, in the first place?”

“I wanted a damned drink,” Hal answered, sharply.

“I may not come from an influential family, Hal, but I’m not stupid,” Ned insisted. “Your relationship with your father has always been strained. If you turn to whoring and drink in your youth, you can make a miraculous turn when you ascend, which will make you look all the better.”

Hal looked at him, shocked. “Am I really so transparent?”

“To those who truly know you,” Ned answered. “I know that, while you may enjoy this for now, this isn’t really where you’d prefer to be.”

Hal looked sullenly into his glass.

“John said your father was…unwell.”

Hal looked up sharply then back to his glass. “He carried me to bed not three weeks ago. Now, he can barely get out of bed, himself. Thomas won’t leave his side.”

“Pray God’s mercy he recovers,” Ned said, “but, when you ascend, you mustn’t feel guilty for not taking us with you. We’ll muddy the Court and people will always question your discernment.”

“But you, Ned—”

“Not even me,” he said, firmly. “Not that I wouldn’t want to. But I’m still one of your Eastcheap friends, right or no.” Ned looked down at his hands, wringing them, despite himself. “Your time with us is precious short, I know. Selfishly, I hope for as much of it as possible.”

“What will you do, Ned?”

Ned met Hal’s eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. What I do know is, on my death bed, I’ll tell my grandchildren I was best friends with the King. They won’t believe me, saying it’s the lies of a doddering old man. They’ll be half right. Because I wasn’t friends with the King, I was friends with Hal, and that was enough for me.”

A tear tracked down Hal’s nose and landed in his beer. His heart twisted, but the guilt did ease. Perhaps Falstaff and the others wouldn’t understand, but Ned did. And it would hurt to leave them behind, but Ned understood. “Curse you, Ned,” he said gruffly.

Ned scoffed. “I’m being so nice to you, and that’s all you have to say?”

Hal rubbed at his eyes roughly. “I’ll never forget you, how’s that?”

“I’ll take it, and to the grave, at that.”

The rest of the night was spent drinking and laughing and singing long into the night, the pains and cares of the world forgotten in the low lights of the ‘Boars Head’.

Chapter Text

Hal sat across from his father in the council meeting. “My Lord Father, I don’t think—”

“Enough,” his father said, sharply.

“Your majesty, you must see that—”

“I said enough, Harry!” his father exclaimed, slamming his hands on the table. Then he clutched his chest, his breathing labored. Thomas put a hand on his arm, but father shrugged it off.

Hal wasn’t a child anymore. His father’s displeasure or frustration didn’t scare him like it once had. In the last ten years or so since Shrewsbury, he’d proven himself an able counselor and executor of his father’s will. The issue was when their wills differed. They’d been at loggerheads on issues of policy often enough, Hal was very familiar with this side of his father and was secure that behind it was a man who wanted what was best. And more importantly, a father that loved him, even if that love was quiet and reserved.

No, that wasn’t what scared him, these days. His father’s health on the other hand…

Henry IV looked like a corpse. As thin as Hal had been after the arrow, his father was thinner. Paler. Greyer. Henry leaned back in his chair, still trying to catch his breath.

Hal exchanged a look with Thomas and John. Thomas nodded. “Your Majesty, do retire, and we shall return to the conversation, presently.”

Henry opened his eyes and looked down the table at his eldest son. They exchanged a knowing look and Henry gave him a nod.

Thomas took that as ascent and motioned to his litter bearers to take the King away. The King couldn’t swallow the groan that crawled out of his throat when they moved him. Hal’s own heart jumped painfully into his throat. When the King was out of the room, Hal stood. “Enough, we shall return to this topic another time. You will be assembled when the time is right.”

The other lords all stood and bowed to him, the Prince of Wales, and quietly exited.

The only ones who stayed were Thomas, John, and Humphrey.

Hal removed himself from the table, leaning back against the wall next to the window. Thomas kept looking towards the door. “Leave, if it pleases you, Clarence,” Hal said.

Thomas looked up at him. “My prince—”

“Thomas, go. Report back what the physicians say,” Hal ordered, casually.

Hal could see the emotion barely contained on his brother’s face, but gave a deep nod and followed their father, quickly.

The Prince scrubbed at his face with a deep sigh. “Do you think…?” Humphrey started, not daring to finish the question.

“Who knows?” John said. “He’s been near as bad as this and still come back from the brink. He’s tough as they come, there’s no way of knowing.”

“I have a bad feeling about it, this time,” Hal heard himself say.

His brothers turned and looked at him. “What do you mean?” Humphrey asked, sounding small.

Hal leaned his head back against the wall. “I don’t know, it’s just a feeling.”

John sat down at the table, his head in his hands. “God, I guess we always knew it would come.”

“But, why does it feel so awful,” Humphrey said, emphatically.

“It was bound to,” Hal said. “Cause we love him.”

The three brothers sat in silence for some odd minutes until the door opened again and Thomas returned. “They won’t let me sit with him,” Thomas said, “but Lady Joan is with him.”

Hal nodded. “Good, I’m glad he’s not alone.”

“Joan wouldn’t allow it,” John scoffed.

They waited for Thomas to say more. He placed his hands on the table, practically holding himself up. “The physicians said… it’s in God’s hands now.”

John threw his hands up. “Well, I’d like to ask when anything isn’t in the hands of Almighty Providence.”

“They’re physicians, John, not clerics,” Hal said, offhandedly.

Thomas’s eyes were watery as he looked up at them. “I think—I think it’s different this time.”

Hal felt ice water pour through his heart and he pulled up a chair at the table, sitting in it heavily. His brothers looked at him, expectantly, and he felt like a kid again. God damn it, he was nearly thirty! He’d been Prince of Wales almost half his life! He was used to giving orders and being looked to for direction. He’d led soldiers and knights in battle, why did he feel lost and directionless now?

Well, he knew why. The source of that direction was hanging precariously in the balance. He scrubbed at his face with a sigh. “All we can do is wait,” he said.

John set his jaw and nodded. “You’re right.” He gripped Humphrey’s shoulder. “Let’s to chapel; light a few candles in prayer.”

Humphrey looked lost, his eyes wide as he looked from one brother to the next. He looked back at John and stood, nodding. “Bedford, I go with you.”

John looked back and forth at Hal and Thomas, hesitating to leave his hot-headed brothers alone.

Hal waved him away. “Go. We’ll follow.”

As the door latched behind them, Hal turned to Thomas. “You waited, I assume there was something you wanted to discuss?”

Thomas looked uncertain, not meeting his eyes.

“Tom, what is it? You’re never like this.”

Thomas finally looked up at him. “If you’ve a desire to go to Eastcheap, this is your last chance.”

Hal stepped back like he’d been struck. It had been months since the last time he went to the ‘Boar’s Head’. He’d been going less and less since he’d become an active member of his father’s council, nearly serving as regent more than once. There just hadn’t been time. And he couldn’t face them wanting more from him than he could give.

He dragged a hand over his face. “You think so?” he asked.

Thomas nodded, seriously. “Yes, Hal. I do.”

Hal couldn’t fit the tears in his eyes as they threatened to fall. “You hate Eastcheap,” he said.

Thomas shrugged. “But you don’t.” Hal pulled his brother into a fierce hug, trying to marshal his own breathing. Thomas hugged him back. “Everything’s about to change, Hal,” Thomas said.

“You’re one to talk,” Hal tried to say lightly, but it came out a bit sharper than intended.

“The son of a king and brother to one may be a slight change, but it is one, all the same,” Thomas said.

“I know,” Hal said. He kissed his brother’s cheek and let him go. “I’ll be quick as I can.”

“If anything changes, significantly, I’ll send for you,” Thomas said.

“Thank you, Thomas,” he said, seriously.

Thomas motioned to the door. “Go. And be quick about it.”

~~

He often walked to the ‘Boar’s Head’, but he didn’t dare, today. Not when so much was unknown. He didn’t greet anyone, he went straight to the booth where he knew he’d find Poins. He slipped in, surprising the other man, who nearly choked on his beer.

“Hal,” he said, still coughing, “God, Hal, you gave me a fright. What—”

“My father is dying,” Hal said, seriously.

Ned looked taken aback. “Forgive me if this is insensitive or treasonous, but hasn’t he been dying for quite some time?”

Hal shook his head. “This is different, Ned.”

“I’m really sorry, Hal,” Ned said. “I know your relationship was tense, but that doesn’t make it easier.”

“You’d know, I guess,” Hal said. The Baron Poins had died about five years before, leaving Ned’s older brother, John, to inherit. To say the late Baron’s relationship with Ned had been complicated was the understatement of the century.

Ned looked at the corner of the booth as though he was looking at a ghost. He nodded with a sniff and took a sip of his beer. “What brings you here, and now, of all times?”

“Thomas suggested it,” Hal said.

Ned looked back at him, shocked. “Thomas? Thomas hates this place. He’s a fucking stick in the mud, if you’ll forgive me.”

Hal shrugged. “God knows he got it honestly.” He leaned forward looking at his hands. “He knows what this place has meant to me. He said he wanted me to have this one last visit.”

If Ned could look more serious, he did. “I knew it was coming. Damn if I don’t wish there could have been more time.”

Hal reached across the table, gripping Ned’s arm. “Ned, but I could—”

Ned shook his head. “No, Hal. You can’t. Look at Edward II. Hell, you remember what it was like when it was Richard. Being a king’s favorite never goes well; for the favorite or the king.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that,” Hal said, quietly.

Ned sniffed. “For all our fun, Hal, you are an Angevin and a Lancaster. There are only so many ways this can end. Let it end here with a night of revelry.”

Hal squeezed his friend’s arm. “If you need evidence for those kids of yours of our friendship, ask for anything, and it’s yours.”

Ned tried to fight a smile, but his eyes were practically glowing. “I hadn’t had the chance to tell you,” he started, “but Margret’s pregnant.”

The Prince leaned back. “Really? Congratulations, Ned!”

“We’re very excited,” he said. “She’s been trying names on the poor child every other day. Keeps trying find the perfect one for them.”

“What has she tried so far?” Hal smirked.

“Clement for a boy,” Ned said, his nose scrunched in displeasure, but his eyes still full of mirth. “And Eleanor for a girl.”

“Well, your sister’s name is Eleanor,” Hal said.

“Eleanor is fine,” Ned said with a shrug, “but I don’t have strong opinions on girl names.”

“Then your opinion of boy names?” Hal asked. It was almost surreal to be having this conversation. He’d seen Ned’s ‘romantic’ misses for years; it had been a surprise when he settled down with Margret Penn. The woman was beautiful and perfectly suited to Ned’s sense of humor, which was all he could ask for his friend. But, to think of the children they had been, traipsing across Eastcheap getting into all manner of trouble, now raising children. It beggared belief.

Ned looked sheepish at the question. “There’s been more than one Henry in the family. It may be time to bring the old name back.”

Hal’s eyes burned with the suggestion. He sniffed, hard. “Well, it’s a fine name. Served me well enough, at least,” he said. “Besides, then you’ll always have a ‘Hal’ around to get you into trouble.”

Ned threw his head back with a laugh. “Oh, you’re right about that.”

Hal smirked, wiping at his eyes. “Does everyone know?”

“Some do,” Ned answered. “But, I haven’t made an announcement.”

“When is she due?”

“Autumn, it would seem.”

Hal nodded, sagely, than jumped up from the booth. “Everyone, your attention, please.”

“Hal, what in Hell are you doing?” Ned demanded, looking up at him, aghast.

The Prince of Wales looked down at him with a winning smile. “Whatever I’d like,” he said. Everyone in the bar turned toward the Prince, some calling out greetings. “My dear friend here and long-time patron of our Mistress’s fine establishment,” he started, “is expecting a child!”

The bar cheered, raising their glasses, if they had them.

“In celebration of so fine an occasion,” Hal continued, “I say a round of drinks are in order. On me!”

The cheers were louder for the drinking, and Hal made his way to the bar, dropping his whole purse in the Mistress’s hand. “This should cover it, Mistress Quickly.”

“Oh, Hal,” she said, patting his arm and pinching his unscarred cheek. “You are such a good boy.”

Hal found himself beaming at her, his laugh easy. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around. The large Falstaff loomed before him, Bardolph and Pistol like gnats behind him. “Hal! Greetings, man,” he said, squeezing the younger man’s shoulder.

Time had not been kind to Falstaff. The man had been old when they’d met, but he was certainly worse for wear. The man wheezed, his breathing labored. His skin was covered in liver spots, and his hair was thinning. His eyes were sunken and puffy, his nose and cheeks a bright red, and not just from the drink.

Hal clapped his arm. “Good even, you old white bearded devil.”

Falstaff raised a hand to his brow and bowed to the Prince, his eyes still twinkling, even as they began to cloud with cataracts.

“Oh, so you know the man?” Ned said, leaning in.

“We’ve been acquainted, or so my father says,” Hal answered.

“Oh, you wound me, Hal,” Falstaff said in mock offence. “A good Christian man as myself, associated with that enemy of charity and goodness—”

“Because your thieving is so well intentioned,” Hal said.

“I’m merely helping my fellow Christian relieve themselves of the sin of greed,” Falstaff said.

“How very charitable of you,” Ned said while making eye contact with Hal. Hal scoffed, nearly breaking the half-serious affect they used when teasing each other.

“I think so,” Falstaff said. “My work helps men to heaven, circumventing that road of mortal sin.”

“By committing sin yourself,” Ned said.

Falstaff shrugged. “A sacrifice, to be sure.”

“So, Deacon Indignity shall instruct us on the virtue of theft,” Hal said.

“Better than the ignoble sin of poverty,” Falstaff answered.

“Hal!” Mistress Quickly said, getting his attention from the other side of the bar. She offered his purse back. “I counted out the drinks for everyone here; here’s the rest.”

Hal shook his head. “No, no, Mistress, you’ll keep it and be doing me a favor.”

She blanched. “Oh, Hal, I couldn’t, I wouldn’t dare—”

He folded the purse in her hand. “You can and you will. I insist.”

Tears filled her eyes. “You really are such a sweet boy, Hal, and you always have been, I swear.”

He patted her hand and turned back to Ned. His eyes shone in the low light. Hal elbowed him. “Did you hear that? I’m a sweet boy.”

Ned rolled his eyes. “A mad prince of mischief, more like.”

The pain of their parting hit Hal like an arrow to the chest, sudden and sharp. He looked around the old bar; its dark woods, its dull colors, it smell of stale beer. He did what he could to shake off that sharpness. There were still some hours before he would have to return to the palace, and there was no point exacerbating the wound before it was truly made.

Chapter Text

Some months after the King’s death and the coronation, Margaret did give birth to a little boy. Ned couldn’t have been more happy if God himself came down in the clouds and made him king of the universe. They had had multiple conversations over the months about names, but Margaret knew Ned really was set on one name, and she was more than happy to agree.

At their son’s baptism, Margaret saw a strange man standing in the back of the church. It wasn’t anyone she recognized, but she could tell his clothes were fine, though not ostentatious. She leaned in towards Ned, motioning to the stranger. “Do you know who that is?” She asked.

Ned peeled his eyes away from their boy and looked up. A look of confusion crossed his face. “No, darling, I don’t.”

“Strange,” Margaret said with all suspicion, but she left it alone.

At the baptismal font, they named their son Henry.

After service, there was a small box on a table with a note attached. Margaret went over and picked up the note. “Ned?” she called to him.

Ned was at her side, quickly. “My love?” he said, their son in his arms.

She held the note out to him. It was addressed to ‘Edward Poins’ in a hand she did not recognize, and it looked like Ned didn’t recognize it, either.

“Strange,” he said, opening the note. His confusion turned to shock as he read the note, one handed. “Take Harry,” he said, mystified.

Margaret quickly took their boy from him. Ned offered her the note and she read it, quickly. It read: ‘Ned. Since I can’t be there, I think this may be all the proof you’ll need. Can’t let the boy think you’re exaggerating, can we? Yours,’ and then the King’s cipher.

She nearly dropped the note as her head shot up to look at Ned. He had picked up the small box with a trembling hand. He opened it slowly to reveal a ring with the lions of England enameled on it. It wasn’t the chancellor’s ring or the seal, but one assumed that when your family crest was the crest of England, you likely had a couple of rings and jewels with lions on them.

His eyes were still wide with shock as he met her eyes. “Oh, sh--, ahem, good God,” he said, catching himself before he cursed before her and God.

She hid her smirk.

His shock turned to wonder. “We can’t—we can’t accept this. I mean, we can’t.”

She frowned, looking at the note. “I would tend to agree with you, but it seems your friend has left us no alternative.”

“I mean—”

“Ned,” she said, sharply, to catch his attention. She held the note carefully but reached out for his hand. He stepped closer, taking the note from her hand and replacing it with his own. “Ned, I think our gentleman stranger was an agent of your friend’s. If he had given it to you, directly, you could have refused it. I’m sure he was given direct instructions to leave it so you couldn’t reject his gift.”

“But—”

“Ned, my dear, how would we begin to return it?” she said. “And offend the King?”

He sighed, holding the ring box between them. “Why does it feel like he won?” Ned asked, looking down at the enameled lions.

“Probably because he has,” she smirked. “All he really needed was our Harry’s name and I think that’s a pretty strong win, already.”

“I’ll have you know, in our little games, I won most of the time. I just have no way of getting back at him,” he said. He pouted at her, but his eyes shone in jest.

She patted his arm, comfortingly. “Oh, I’m sure, my darling. I’m sure.”

The baby began to fuss in her arms and Ned quickly scooped his son from her, cooing at him. “Hullo, Harry, hullo, what is it, my son?”

She smiled broadly. “By the saints, you’re going to spoil that child.”

“As is my right as his father,” he said. He leaned in and captured her lips in a kiss. “What a perfect son you’ve crafted for us, my dear.”

She kissed him back. “I love you, Ned.”

“And I you,” he said, slipping the ring box in his pocket and wrapping his free arm around her waist.