The Resolute Heart: The Saint John Fisher Screenplay

INT. ROCHESTER'S STUDY - DAY

Sunlight, thick with dancing dust motes, streams into a

venerable study. JOHN FISHER 60s, Bishop of Rochester, sits

at a large wooden desk. His clerical robes are simple, yet

of fine quality. His gnarled hands, bearing the marks of age

and study, trace the vellum pages of an ancient text. The

room is a sanctuary, lined with towering bookshelves,

religious artifacts glinting in the light. The air is still,

pregnant with devotion and intellect.

A distant bell tolls, its resonance a steady beat marking

the passage of time and the unwavering rhythm of Fisher's

life. He pauses, his brow furrowed in concentration, then

slowly turns a page.

FISHER

...and the Word was made flesh, and dwelt

among us...

He closes his eyes, a flicker of a smile gracing his lips,

then opens them, his gaze sharp and focused as he returns to

his reading.

FADE OUT.

INT. GREAT HALL - DAY

The Great Hall of Greenwich Palace is a spectacle of

opulence. Sunlight streams through arched windows,

illuminating a throng of courtiers, their silks and velvets

a riot of color. Amidst the buzz of conversations and the

clinking of goblets, KING HENRY VIII, late 20s, a force of

nature in rich velvet and ermine, strides purposefully. He

is undeniably regal, his presence commanding.

Henry spots JOHN FISHER, Bishop of Rochester, standing

slightly apart from the main throng. He claps Fisher

heartily on the shoulder, a gesture of familiar camaraderie

that draws surprised glances.

HENRY VIII

Ah, Bishop! Just the man I was seeking. Still

poring over your books, I imagine?

Fisher turns, a practiced, composed smile on his face. He

inclines his head respectfully, his gaze steady.

FISHER Your Majesty.

Always ready to serve.

HENRY VIII

Serve, yes, but also to advise! This matter of

the French alliance... it weighs on my mind.

3.

Their king is a slippery eel, and our

counselors offer only conflicting tides. What

say you, wise Bishop? Your counsel has never

failed me.

Henry leans in, his tone conspiratorial, his eyes bright

with anticipation. Fisher considers the King, the gilded

tapestries of royal triumphs behind him a silent testament

to Henry's ambition.

FISHER

Your Majesty, alliances are like a house built

on sand if the foundation is not prayer and

righteous intent. France may offer much, but

at what spiritual cost?

Fisher's words are calm, measured, a quiet counterpoint to

Henry's boisterous energy. Henry chuckles, a deep, rumbling

sound.

HENRY VIII

Spiritual cost, eh? Always the voice of God's

own vicar. Yet, a king must be pragmatic.

Still, your point is noted, Bishop. Your

words, as always, are a stone in the turbulent

waters of my thoughts.

FADE TO BLACK.