Diana's Foresters

Chapter 6: ...thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave...

Richard

I did not know this would be this much fun. I did suspect, but I had no idea how fulfilling it would be. I can't stop laughing. Seriously.
"I did not have odds on the Devon boy being less of a princess at this, than Harry," Exeter says, arms folded.
"I was not made to dig ditches," Harry, simply, frothing with hate, as he digs very poorly. He and Devon are standing in a grave, they are digging, for Devon's murder victim, in the middle of the woods, wearing normal clothing, using small shovels. Harry hates it. He really hates it. "I was bent for a sword in my hands and a quill in my hand. I am a commander."
"Yes, and doing a little physical activity in which you are not management is your punishment for let's see, lying to me, disobeying me, and poisoning my entire feast do you not see how you are getting off easy?" I ask.
"I could go into exile," Harry says, not digging effectively at all, "Obviously Devon would come with me."
"No, I'm not sending you into exile where you'd find some poor country and run the place within a week, or declare yourself Holy Roman Emporer, no I quite like you, I'm keeping you, we shall take France together, but you're also learning about consequences," I am laughing.
"It's not technically a ditch it's a grave there's a different—you don't want to talk about this got it," Devon says, as Harry glares at him, "Why do I have to do it again?"
"Because you not only definitely helped him do all those things, but also because you forgot to tell us you'd killed someone, so I want it to be memorable. Also he'd be more miserable without you in there," I say.
"Here you've got to—I won't give you help," Devon says, as Harry glares at him with unrestrained rage.
"Why are you so bloody good at this?" Harry asks, switching shovels for some reason.
"Please don't tell us more about your childhood I can't cope," Exeter says.
Devon, at the same time, says, "When I had too much energy my mum would make me go dig holes in the yard."
"That wasn't so bad," I say.
"For the people who sometimes tried to kill my father for money," Devon says.
"And it got awful," Exeter sighs.
"Look the sun is coming up—I think my skin is going to react to these garments," Harry says. We're making him wear normal clothes because he can't wear silk in a ditch.
"I mean it's a bit fun isn't it? More fun than being thrown in the Tower," Devon says, weakly, as Harry glares at him.
"In the Tower I'd have my clothes. Also I could get out," Harry breaths.
"Which is why you're in there, keep digging," Exeter says.
"I was born for finer things," Harry mutters.
"Here, have a drink," Exeter hands him down a flask.
Harry takes it readily, and then immediately chokes, "What —IS that?"
"Milk," I laugh.
"He's not drunk anything but wine since he was six," Devon says, patting Harry's shoulder.
"I'll die," Harry says, staring at the flask in horror, "You're trying to kill me."
"Look —I can't believe I'm saying this—I'm letting you kill your dad you're lucky I'm still letting you do that my god we  all need to go to confession," I say.
"We do actually," Exeter laughs.
"If you hold it a bit farther down—I'll stop giving you advice right why don't we chat in Latin?" Devon asks, trying to cheer Harry up.
"Look I could have brought Isabela out here to laugh with me that'd be worse," I say.
"Oh really? What's her punishment it was her bloody idea," Harry asks, just burning with hate.
I am quiet.
"Oh my god," Harry growls.
"All right fine, her punishment is not getting to watch you dig a ditch and wear something other than silk, she actually wept, there are you happy?" I ask.
"Not at all!" Harry says, digging completely ineffectively, "I shouldn't have to do this it's his murder victim."
"It was self defense," Devon squeaks, avoiding dirt Harry probably intentionally throws at him.
"Still murder. You're still going to hell," Harry says, primly.
"I'll meet you there then," Devon says, cheerfully.
"I don't commit sins," Harry says, "Not ever. I'm basically perfect. I'm Christ like."
"You're believing my own propaganda now?" Devon asks, cheekily, getting more dirt in his face.
"You look ridiculous," Harry informs him.
"You look—lovely?" Devon offers.
I laugh, "Should have done this last time he acted out."
"I'll rebel," Harry says, flatly.
"I'm letting you have your duel. Don't poison an Easter feast next time," I say.
Harry growls something about it being Isabela's idea.
"Look, we can have fun. Think about what a learning experience this is—," Devon tries.
"I already knew I never wanted to do this ever! I was born for finer things," Harry growls.
"Is my punishment being in here with him?" Devon asks.
"Yes, actually," I laugh.
"Your majesty!" A messenger runs up, "Something's happened."