Henry (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
necrowmantic) wrote2020-09-30 05:03 am
necrowmantic) wrote2020-09-30 05:03 am
Entry tags:
Analysis | "The one with the lowest heart rate."
Cheerful and optimistic, Henry can seem something of an oddity of a dark mage. He's not about the gloom, doesn't care about preserving the cool mystique of the profession; he'll hex you with a smile, talk about the people he's murdered with a laugh--and it's from there that all that good-natured humor breaks down.
It rarely takes more than a few words from him to tell that something's off about Henry. His fascination with violence and death is nothing short of obsession, and his ability to really connect with others is minimal. His laughter is said to be hollow, and his smile fake--both claims he denies and ignores. He's shameless about his attitude, accidentally callous, and views murder as a perfectly good solution to most problems.
But despite these issues, he's capable of an odd (with an emphasis on the "odd") degree of caring, and a slow integration with at least a few select people. And while it's unlikely he'll ever recover to anything resembling normalcy, there's more to him than being only a joking madman.
Morbidity and Affection
Henry doesn't think much, he doesn't dwell. It's not to say that he's unintelligent, or incapable of planning--but neither worries about the future, nor memories of the past consume him. Whenever someone questions his goals or intent, he often has to consider it right then, as consequences to actions aren't something that occur to him. It adds to the sense that nothing really bothers him. Not enough to influence him, not enough to get him to think in any depth. It's possible he developed this trait as a defense, a way of dealing with (by not dealing with) the trauma he's experienced. Rather than falling into angst and despair, or covering it up and pretending it didn't exist--he talks about his history in such an easy, casual way, it's hard to tell if he feels much about it at all.
Which is a recurring theme with Henry: he really doesn't feel much. This is true in the literal, physical sense, as nerve damage has inhibited his ability to notice much in the way of pain. But moreover, his cheerfulness and glee--if not exactly an act--is shallow. And morbid. Extremely morbid. Even so, it doesn't dominate him, for all that he loves talking about it, how he ties nearly every conversation into death. But for all that enjoyment, he doesn't lose control, doesn't murder passersby on a whim. He kills because it's fun and easy, but it's not exciting, it's not a thrill. It's more thoughtless than that; a casual, everyday sort of activity, entertaining in a completely empty sort of way.
It's not to say that he's secretly a ball of angst who hates every continued moment of his existence--but he's not excitable. Underneath a surface of cheerful morbidity, he's extremely calm, easygoing. Hollow. His roster description summarizes this: "the one with the lowest heart rate." Nothing excites him; nothing bothers him. Regardless of how friendly Henry seems, once you dip past the surface, there's little emotion left.
Which makes it hard to have a serious conversation with him. Anything potentially heart-felt or personal is glossed over or ignored, and he's good at changing the subject when something like it comes up.
Henry's inability to talk about it doesn't help either, and having a significant attachment to someone doesn't seem to change this; his marriage proposals are as abrupt and casual as any other suggestion he makes. What is clear though, is that he does genuinely mean them, and that when he feels an actual emotion he feels it a lot.
He's still unlikely to think about it, though.
But that straightforwardness could be considered one of Henry's positive traits. If he likes someone, he'll tell them, without shame or self-consciousness. He's open about what he actually wants from things (that wanting usually involving murder), and doesn't hide behind his facade. In a way, he's become his facade, smothered or denied anything remotely negative about his life, treated it like something that's turned out just fine. Cheerful and happy and perfectly hollow. So despite being so open, Henry ends up an odd duality. The serious (even powerful) attachment he can form to some people is genuine, though potentially not entirely healthy itself (in the Japanese version, his confession quote includes the line: "My love is heavy." Recognizing that your affection for someone could be considered a weight, a burden--it shows both the degree of his attachment, and a measure of self-awareness.). And on the opposite side is his utter indifference to absolutely everyone else. Empathy for some in no way means empathy for all, and a little thing like marriage isn't about to fix all of his problems.
Especially when you don't recognize most of them as being problems.
Henry has claimed that he's just a happy person, and genuinely doesn't seem to understand (or care, in lower ranking supports) why some of his offers or comments go over poorly. Why it's inappropriate to offer murder as a solution to... just about every situation out there.
And if he does actively want someone's company or approval, he'll do anything to obtain it.
There are no Social Workers in Plegia
Growing up in Plegia, Henry's parents neglected him. As in, left him to the mercy of the outdoors, abandoning him for the most part, to nature. Henry has more in common with animals than people, and he credits the creatures of the forest for raising him. Even to the present day, he bonds much more easily with them than people, even claiming the ability to speak to anything that's alive--be it bird, tree, or flower. He plays with crows between battles, the birds having a particular attachment to him. And it does speak to him having a genuine talent with wildlife, as he was basically adopted as a child by a wolf, instead of mauled and killed.
It could be considered, oddly enough, one of the more positive parts of his life. Even if his parents didn't want him, the animals weren't going to judge him, and he claims to have never been bored. He learned to both entertain himself, and make friends with the local critters. And with a large female wolf as his closest companion, things weren't all bad.
Until she came too close to his village, looking for him, and was killed. That this could be considered a tragedy for everyone involved never occurs to him (A wolf entering a human settlement on its own? It's likely to be sick, dangerous, not looking for a friend.). The hunters probably thought they were protecting the village. But from Henry's perspective, it would've been murder, his only friend taken away from him. And his reaction was violent; it's implied that he slaughtered anyone who'd been involved, possibly uncontrollably.
It's likely that this event was what caused his parents to give him up entirely, sending him off to an orphanage (Japanese) or mage school (localization). In either case, he was out of their hair, and Henry never gives any details about what his parents were actually like, only that they didn't care about him.
And it all went downhill from there.
Henry is vague about what exactly happened to him at the place his parents sent him. The one thing that's certain is that it was abusive, and that he nearly died at least once. He'll mention the occasional odd detail, but when pressed, tends to claim to not remember much about that time. Like everything else, he brushes it off as nothing, treats it like it was just another great experience. He was punished severely and creatively, his caretakers having little patience for 'naughty' children. In the Japanese, he even credits it for developing his "gentle and cheerful personality." In any case, it's clear that much of what he is, is because of his time there.
What's not clear is how much he actually does remember, whether he's suppressing the memories, or just lying when he doesn't feel like talking about it. To Miriel, he brings up killing a hundred people with a single curse in connection to the facility, as an example of his power. But when she inquires further, he backs off almost immediately, saying that he didn't recall much else about that time, but that it probably happened. Henry never specifies how or when he left the orphanage/school, but it's likely that this event was connected. With a hundred people dead, how many could really be left to keep him there?
But the damage had already been done. Not just mentally, but also physically--as in a support with Olivia, it's revealed that he has little-to-no ability to feel pain. A deep wound on his back had gone entirely unnoticed until she pointed it out, and he explained about the punishments he'd received, leaving him with permanent nerve damage. Which, as far as he's concerned, is probably a good thing--as several times he specifies that he doesn't like pain at all.
Dark Mage of Plegia
The possible exception was one particular commander.
During Chapter 10, when the Shepherds are busy fleeing Plegia after the botched rescue of Emmeryn, they're forced into a battle with Mustafa--a commander who has no choice but to fight, knowing that Gangrel would have his family executed otherwise. He gives his soldiers the opportunity to defect and escape, and to a man they decide to stay; he was that kind of commander. Overall, it's a miserable battle--the Ylissens angry and hurting at the death of their exalt, the Plegians forced into a fight they don't want to have.
But it's after this that the events of the Drama CD take place, "Marth" staying behind to handle any remaining Plegian forces, while the Ylissens complete their escape. But this time she's outnumbered; these forces are unrelated to Mustafa, and certainly have no issue with fighting.
It's at this point that Henry appears, and makes his break with the Plegian army--by abruptly murdering those former comrades. Not because he'd been struck by Emmeryn's words, or felt sympathy for the Ylissen--but only because he was bored. The masked Marth seemed way more interesting than wandering around just looking for a bunch of enemy soldiers. Here was a fight, and a fun one, and what did it matter that he had to switch sides to have it? The other soldiers, naturally, curse him for it, wondering what had gotten into him, that under Mustafa he'd always been so docile and subservient. Remarking that ever since his death, Henry had been causing trouble.
It would be too much to claim that his reaction was out of any sort of grief or emotional attachment. He certainly doesn't express anything like it then, and even in retrospect, Mustafa was just another person the Ylissens killed. But it's likely that the man was the first--and at that point, the only--positive human influence in his life. Since Mustafa treated Henry like family, this could've been his first experience with being considered as a person. With some degree of caring. And even if Henry was incapable of returning that sort of investment, Mustafa was still someone that he listened to. Something about him caused the amoral mage to follow his direction; without that presence, he had nothing holding him back, no reason not to wander off to bloodier pastures on a whim.
It's impossible to know for sure, but it's possible that Mustafa's influence laid some kind of groundwork for his later development. Henry's personality, his experiences aren't something that can be 'fixed', but a human showing genuine concern for his welfare--it could've made him more receptive to similar overtures in the future. Small, unconscious steps.
After helping Marth a couple times, they amicably part ways--Henry leaving to find some other place where there's people to be killed. Two years later, he joins the Shepherds on Carrion Isle.
"Egoist"
And once accepted there, his experience probably starts out much as it did in Plegia. For all his lack of loyalty to a cause, a country--as he expresses no concern over being a Plegian fighting for Ylisse--he'll obediently and tirelessly follow any order given to him. As long as it doesn't involve not fighting an enemy (which provokes a sudden and violent disobedience), he'll go along with just about anything. It's a pervasive enough attitude that it goes from being unnaturally good-natured, to demonstrating a lack of concern towards his own self.
Henry doesn't have the best self-image. While he'll agree that his curses are top-notch, and happily recount how many people he killed in the last battle, he doesn't seem to set any value towards these abilities. They're facts, not something of particular worth, and are in their way a diversionary tactic. He both expects attention, and wants it for the wrong reason--to confirm a particular image he has of himself.
And along with this, Henry also doesn't consider himself to be without morals. While it's likely something that he developed only recently, after he started making friends with the Shepherds--he claims that obedience is not, in itself, the only thing that matters. For someone as subservient as he is, it can seem like an odd statement to make, but it fits in with the reasoning behind his obedience. In the present, it can come from loyalty to a person or people, a protectiveness and willingness to do terrible things for someone else's sake. And even in the past, he followed orders because it was easier and convenient, because it gave him targets to slaughter, without having to think about it. Obedience itself was never the point. And Henry is aware that his rationale isn't entirely normal, even describing his morality as "a little messed up."
And another part of this attitude comes across in how unconfrontational he is. He almost never outright contradicts someone, never tells someone no. Even if he disagrees, he's more likely to just laugh and ignore it, or find something non-committal to say. He never brings up someone's faults, and is not the sort to mock or insult. It's possible that he doesn't see faults in other people at all; Henry is entirely nonjudgmental. Even if it can't be mistaken for active consideration (as his empathetic sense is extremely hit-or-miss), he is, oddly enough, not particularly cruel. Or at least, it's not a consistent cruelty--as for all his talks about torture, he's more likely to tell the enemy that he'll kill them quickly. That it's not fun to suffer for too long. He agrees that pain is unpleasant, and recognizes the desire to avoid it--to the point of designing a curse that would kill someone instantly if they were mortally wounded, sparing them the agony. But when it comes to gruesomely extended torments? That's something reserved for himself.
Another demonstration of a disturbed self-image is then clear in how much he loves talking about his own gory demise. It's the one thing he dreams about, and every threat he receives is treated like the sweetest offering. If someone has a disease? He's excited to see if it's contagious. A powerful new foe approaches? Maybe it'll manage to splatter him everywhere. Weapons are tools to kill, and implements to imagine himself impaled upon. He wants to change shape, to lose limbs and grow extra ones, to be struck with every horrible fate imaginable.
It's something that's easy to lump in with the rest of his morbidity, as he approaches and treats it in the same way--by smiling and laughing about it. But if held in connection with a less-than-healthy self-image, it becomes something a little darker. For some reason, he wants to suffer (painlessly).
That's not to say that he particularly wants to die. For all that he looks forward to a violent death, he's not about to give up killing to get there too soon. But he doesn't view his life as particularly valuable, and he doesn't fear death whatsoever. He'd easily sacrifice himself to save someone he happened to actually care about, and is more than happy to bring this up.
Twisted Mind
Conclusion
Henry's character type is one that can come across as one-note, superficially humorous. It doesn't help that his attitude in canon encourages this, as he plays off most attempts to get past it, his morbidity a handy excuse to keep himself unapproachable. It's not a case of something only turning up in the localization--as while the English version does use a few more puns to get the point across, the essential core of his character is the same across versions. Henry is friendly and murderous and completely broken, yet potentially capable of finding some piece of genuine happiness in the middle of it.
It rarely takes more than a few words from him to tell that something's off about Henry. His fascination with violence and death is nothing short of obsession, and his ability to really connect with others is minimal. His laughter is said to be hollow, and his smile fake--both claims he denies and ignores. He's shameless about his attitude, accidentally callous, and views murder as a perfectly good solution to most problems.
But despite these issues, he's capable of an odd (with an emphasis on the "odd") degree of caring, and a slow integration with at least a few select people. And while it's unlikely he'll ever recover to anything resembling normalcy, there's more to him than being only a joking madman.
Morbidity and Affection
Henry doesn't think much, he doesn't dwell. It's not to say that he's unintelligent, or incapable of planning--but neither worries about the future, nor memories of the past consume him. Whenever someone questions his goals or intent, he often has to consider it right then, as consequences to actions aren't something that occur to him. It adds to the sense that nothing really bothers him. Not enough to influence him, not enough to get him to think in any depth. It's possible he developed this trait as a defense, a way of dealing with (by not dealing with) the trauma he's experienced. Rather than falling into angst and despair, or covering it up and pretending it didn't exist--he talks about his history in such an easy, casual way, it's hard to tell if he feels much about it at all.
Which is a recurring theme with Henry: he really doesn't feel much. This is true in the literal, physical sense, as nerve damage has inhibited his ability to notice much in the way of pain. But moreover, his cheerfulness and glee--if not exactly an act--is shallow. And morbid. Extremely morbid. Even so, it doesn't dominate him, for all that he loves talking about it, how he ties nearly every conversation into death. But for all that enjoyment, he doesn't lose control, doesn't murder passersby on a whim. He kills because it's fun and easy, but it's not exciting, it's not a thrill. It's more thoughtless than that; a casual, everyday sort of activity, entertaining in a completely empty sort of way.
It's not to say that he's secretly a ball of angst who hates every continued moment of his existence--but he's not excitable. Underneath a surface of cheerful morbidity, he's extremely calm, easygoing. Hollow. His roster description summarizes this: "the one with the lowest heart rate." Nothing excites him; nothing bothers him. Regardless of how friendly Henry seems, once you dip past the surface, there's little emotion left.
Which makes it hard to have a serious conversation with him. Anything potentially heart-felt or personal is glossed over or ignored, and he's good at changing the subject when something like it comes up.
Ricken: Do you think of me as a friend?And he's not subtle about it, as he alternates between saying that he's not good at those sorts of conversations, and outright denying that there's a problem when his lack of depth is brought up.
Henry: I guess, sure. Honestly, I'm not much good with this touchy-feely stuff. You know what I'd rather talk about? The next battle!
Ricken: I suppose it wouldn't be bad to plan a little strategy. In the end, victory is the only thing that can justify all this death...
(Ricken/Henry A)
Cherche: ...So now that you're here, Henry, I hope you'll let me ask you something. You're always smiling and laughing and acting as if you hadn't a care in the world. Yet, you never seem to make friends with people or allow them to get close. ...Even me.Cherche isn't the only one to call him out on it, as several others comment on how difficult he is to read, to get to know. That once they're used to his surface personality (finding it either unpleasant or just bizarre), they prod a little and don't find anything. That for all that good nature, they're no closer to actually feeling like they know who he is.
Henry: What? You think so? Nya ha ha! I'm not like that at all!
Cherche: There you go with that laugh again. It just sounds so hollow... I wonder if it's even possible for someone to be your true friend?
Henry: Sheesh, Cherche. It's not like that! We're already friends! Anyway, I'm glad we had that chat, but are we going on patrol today? I want to fly on Minerva's back again!
(Cherche/Henry A)
Henry's inability to talk about it doesn't help either, and having a significant attachment to someone doesn't seem to change this; his marriage proposals are as abrupt and casual as any other suggestion he makes. What is clear though, is that he does genuinely mean them, and that when he feels an actual emotion he feels it a lot.
He's still unlikely to think about it, though.
But that straightforwardness could be considered one of Henry's positive traits. If he likes someone, he'll tell them, without shame or self-consciousness. He's open about what he actually wants from things (that wanting usually involving murder), and doesn't hide behind his facade. In a way, he's become his facade, smothered or denied anything remotely negative about his life, treated it like something that's turned out just fine. Cheerful and happy and perfectly hollow. So despite being so open, Henry ends up an odd duality. The serious (even powerful) attachment he can form to some people is genuine, though potentially not entirely healthy itself (in the Japanese version, his confession quote includes the line: "My love is heavy." Recognizing that your affection for someone could be considered a weight, a burden--it shows both the degree of his attachment, and a measure of self-awareness.). And on the opposite side is his utter indifference to absolutely everyone else. Empathy for some in no way means empathy for all, and a little thing like marriage isn't about to fix all of his problems.
Especially when you don't recognize most of them as being problems.
Henry has claimed that he's just a happy person, and genuinely doesn't seem to understand (or care, in lower ranking supports) why some of his offers or comments go over poorly. Why it's inappropriate to offer murder as a solution to... just about every situation out there.
Cordelia: Well, now that I think about it, the gift probably isn't such a good idea.His way of showing interest at all is... unusual, sometimes manifesting as a specific desire to fight someone, especially to a gruesome death. He holds back only because they might be more interesting to talk to. Maybe. That is the beginning of friendship to Henry: you might be better to hang around than murder.
Henry: Aw, but it's so beautifully made! I'm sure he'd love it.
Cordelia: Yes, but I doubt his wife would.
Henry: Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh. Say, what if the wife was dead? Could you give it to him then?
Cordelia: Henry, that's terrible! Never say that again! ..... And in any case, it's a moot point, because I'm giving it to you. ...Thank you, Henry. [Cordelia leaves]
Henry: What a weirdo. Why'd she thank ME for taking HER present?!
(Cordelia/Henry C)
And if he does actively want someone's company or approval, he'll do anything to obtain it.
Panne: But understand this--I have no intention of forgiving what you Grimleal have done.Countries or politics matter little to him. Individuals are more important than sides, and he only stuck with the Plegian army for as long as they provided a source of targets to slaughter. And he initially joined the Shepherds for the same reason--and it's only under their influence that he really began developing beyond a gleefully remorseless killer. But then, becoming the person he was didn't happen overnight either.
Henry: So if I went out and killed them all, could we be friends?
Panne: Are you mad? Have you no sense of fealty to your warren?
Henry: Eh, not really. I'd kill pretty much whoever you want me to, Panne.
(Panne/Henry B)
There are no Social Workers in Plegia
Growing up in Plegia, Henry's parents neglected him. As in, left him to the mercy of the outdoors, abandoning him for the most part, to nature. Henry has more in common with animals than people, and he credits the creatures of the forest for raising him. Even to the present day, he bonds much more easily with them than people, even claiming the ability to speak to anything that's alive--be it bird, tree, or flower. He plays with crows between battles, the birds having a particular attachment to him. And it does speak to him having a genuine talent with wildlife, as he was basically adopted as a child by a wolf, instead of mauled and killed.
It could be considered, oddly enough, one of the more positive parts of his life. Even if his parents didn't want him, the animals weren't going to judge him, and he claims to have never been bored. He learned to both entertain himself, and make friends with the local critters. And with a large female wolf as his closest companion, things weren't all bad.
Until she came too close to his village, looking for him, and was killed. That this could be considered a tragedy for everyone involved never occurs to him (A wolf entering a human settlement on its own? It's likely to be sick, dangerous, not looking for a friend.). The hunters probably thought they were protecting the village. But from Henry's perspective, it would've been murder, his only friend taken away from him. And his reaction was violent; it's implied that he slaughtered anyone who'd been involved, possibly uncontrollably.
It's likely that this event was what caused his parents to give him up entirely, sending him off to an orphanage (Japanese) or mage school (localization). In either case, he was out of their hair, and Henry never gives any details about what his parents were actually like, only that they didn't care about him.
And it all went downhill from there.
Henry is vague about what exactly happened to him at the place his parents sent him. The one thing that's certain is that it was abusive, and that he nearly died at least once. He'll mention the occasional odd detail, but when pressed, tends to claim to not remember much about that time. Like everything else, he brushes it off as nothing, treats it like it was just another great experience. He was punished severely and creatively, his caretakers having little patience for 'naughty' children. In the Japanese, he even credits it for developing his "gentle and cheerful personality." In any case, it's clear that much of what he is, is because of his time there.
What's not clear is how much he actually does remember, whether he's suppressing the memories, or just lying when he doesn't feel like talking about it. To Miriel, he brings up killing a hundred people with a single curse in connection to the facility, as an example of his power. But when she inquires further, he backs off almost immediately, saying that he didn't recall much else about that time, but that it probably happened. Henry never specifies how or when he left the orphanage/school, but it's likely that this event was connected. With a hundred people dead, how many could really be left to keep him there?
But the damage had already been done. Not just mentally, but also physically--as in a support with Olivia, it's revealed that he has little-to-no ability to feel pain. A deep wound on his back had gone entirely unnoticed until she pointed it out, and he explained about the punishments he'd received, leaving him with permanent nerve damage. Which, as far as he's concerned, is probably a good thing--as several times he specifies that he doesn't like pain at all.
Dark Mage of Plegia
Tharja: When I still fought for Plegia, we heard all sorts of stories about you. A silver-haired youth with a knowledge of curses and an extraordinary gift for magic. A man guarded by fierce crows so that very few had seen the true extent of his powers.It's unknown when Henry entered the Plegian army, but while he was there long enough to know who people were, he never formed any real attachments. But he was an excellent soldier, unquestioning and obedient, more than happy to kill anyone and everyone he was told to. Not because he gave a single damn about Plegia, or about his comrades-in-arms; it was purely about the slaughter. He didn't make friends, and was likely incapable of it at that point; 'fresh' from all his previous trauma, Henry was at his most callous and amoral. His 'allies' were no more important than the enemy.
(Tharja/Henry C)
The possible exception was one particular commander.
Henry: Then there was Mustafa. He always gave me a bag of peaches whenever I visited. He said I reminded him of his son and that I should consider myself part of his family.If so, it's not a strong investment. Henry doesn't care that the Shepherds were the ones to kill him, and apart from that single comment he doesn't mention him. If not for the Drama CD, Mustafa could have been lumped in with every other Plegian the Ylissens are responsible for killing.
(Ricken/Henry B)
During Chapter 10, when the Shepherds are busy fleeing Plegia after the botched rescue of Emmeryn, they're forced into a battle with Mustafa--a commander who has no choice but to fight, knowing that Gangrel would have his family executed otherwise. He gives his soldiers the opportunity to defect and escape, and to a man they decide to stay; he was that kind of commander. Overall, it's a miserable battle--the Ylissens angry and hurting at the death of their exalt, the Plegians forced into a fight they don't want to have.
But it's after this that the events of the Drama CD take place, "Marth" staying behind to handle any remaining Plegian forces, while the Ylissens complete their escape. But this time she's outnumbered; these forces are unrelated to Mustafa, and certainly have no issue with fighting.
It's at this point that Henry appears, and makes his break with the Plegian army--by abruptly murdering those former comrades. Not because he'd been struck by Emmeryn's words, or felt sympathy for the Ylissen--but only because he was bored. The masked Marth seemed way more interesting than wandering around just looking for a bunch of enemy soldiers. Here was a fight, and a fun one, and what did it matter that he had to switch sides to have it? The other soldiers, naturally, curse him for it, wondering what had gotten into him, that under Mustafa he'd always been so docile and subservient. Remarking that ever since his death, Henry had been causing trouble.
It would be too much to claim that his reaction was out of any sort of grief or emotional attachment. He certainly doesn't express anything like it then, and even in retrospect, Mustafa was just another person the Ylissens killed. But it's likely that the man was the first--and at that point, the only--positive human influence in his life. Since Mustafa treated Henry like family, this could've been his first experience with being considered as a person. With some degree of caring. And even if Henry was incapable of returning that sort of investment, Mustafa was still someone that he listened to. Something about him caused the amoral mage to follow his direction; without that presence, he had nothing holding him back, no reason not to wander off to bloodier pastures on a whim.
It's impossible to know for sure, but it's possible that Mustafa's influence laid some kind of groundwork for his later development. Henry's personality, his experiences aren't something that can be 'fixed', but a human showing genuine concern for his welfare--it could've made him more receptive to similar overtures in the future. Small, unconscious steps.
After helping Marth a couple times, they amicably part ways--Henry leaving to find some other place where there's people to be killed. Two years later, he joins the Shepherds on Carrion Isle.
"Egoist"
And once accepted there, his experience probably starts out much as it did in Plegia. For all his lack of loyalty to a cause, a country--as he expresses no concern over being a Plegian fighting for Ylisse--he'll obediently and tirelessly follow any order given to him. As long as it doesn't involve not fighting an enemy (which provokes a sudden and violent disobedience), he'll go along with just about anything. It's a pervasive enough attitude that it goes from being unnaturally good-natured, to demonstrating a lack of concern towards his own self.
Henry doesn't have the best self-image. While he'll agree that his curses are top-notch, and happily recount how many people he killed in the last battle, he doesn't seem to set any value towards these abilities. They're facts, not something of particular worth, and are in their way a diversionary tactic. He both expects attention, and wants it for the wrong reason--to confirm a particular image he has of himself.
Henry: I mean, I guess it's hard for an altruist like yourself to respect an egoist like me, but...As when someone questions his feelings, or tries to get him to talk about them, Henry is likely to laugh off or ignore the comments. In the above conversation, Libra very specifically calls out his actions, in a way he can't outright deny--and it's one of the only times in the game where Henry is actually struck silent.
Libra: Not at all. In fact, I would say we have the same core philosophy. We simply justify it differently.
Henry: Oh yeah? Go on--this should be good...
Libra: You're no egoist. Don't forget that I've seen you fight. I've seen you risk your life to save others--civilian and comrade alike. That's hardly a display of self-centered behavior.
Henry: Psh! You probably just saw some of my wanton slaughter save someone by chance!
Libra: No. I've seen you observing the battlefield and moving in to help those in peril. You can say that it's because you love fighting or because it's all just a game. But I know the truth, Henry. You're deliberately saving lives.
Henry: ......
Libra: And the gods know it too.
(Libra/Henry, "Summer Scramble" DLC)
Sully: No anger, no frustration, an unusually upbeat attitude... I'm starting to see how you beat me in the willpower department. I've got all kinds of anger and frustration flying around. It's tough to keep 'em in check.Whether it's a healthy humility or not, Henry again doesn't take credit for anything positive he is or does. Other characters will at times thank or compliment him, and he treats it all the same--by turning the focus back on the other party, complimenting them instead. Apart from specific, negative facts (like how good he is at hexing people to death), he consistently downplays any of his good aspects. If he claims to have anything, it's honesty. In the Japanese version, when Tharja questions the source of his magical power, Henry claims it's due to his "pure and wholesome heart." A similar idea comes up in the localization--and in both cases, even this 'positive' trait isn't necessarily good. Insanity can be pure.
Henry: Aw, you're going to make me blush. I'm nothing special.
Sully: I think it's your humility that I envy the most, actually. I feel like I'm always in a desperate struggle against my own pride.
Henry: Yeah, but you're a knight, right? You kind of HAVE to be prideful. You've got goals and focus and honor and stuff. Can't have that without pride. I think that's super great, myself! I've never had anything like that.
(Sully/Henry A)
And along with this, Henry also doesn't consider himself to be without morals. While it's likely something that he developed only recently, after he started making friends with the Shepherds--he claims that obedience is not, in itself, the only thing that matters. For someone as subservient as he is, it can seem like an odd statement to make, but it fits in with the reasoning behind his obedience. In the present, it can come from loyalty to a person or people, a protectiveness and willingness to do terrible things for someone else's sake. And even in the past, he followed orders because it was easier and convenient, because it gave him targets to slaughter, without having to think about it. Obedience itself was never the point. And Henry is aware that his rationale isn't entirely normal, even describing his morality as "a little messed up."
And another part of this attitude comes across in how unconfrontational he is. He almost never outright contradicts someone, never tells someone no. Even if he disagrees, he's more likely to just laugh and ignore it, or find something non-committal to say. He never brings up someone's faults, and is not the sort to mock or insult. It's possible that he doesn't see faults in other people at all; Henry is entirely nonjudgmental. Even if it can't be mistaken for active consideration (as his empathetic sense is extremely hit-or-miss), he is, oddly enough, not particularly cruel. Or at least, it's not a consistent cruelty--as for all his talks about torture, he's more likely to tell the enemy that he'll kill them quickly. That it's not fun to suffer for too long. He agrees that pain is unpleasant, and recognizes the desire to avoid it--to the point of designing a curse that would kill someone instantly if they were mortally wounded, sparing them the agony. But when it comes to gruesomely extended torments? That's something reserved for himself.
Another demonstration of a disturbed self-image is then clear in how much he loves talking about his own gory demise. It's the one thing he dreams about, and every threat he receives is treated like the sweetest offering. If someone has a disease? He's excited to see if it's contagious. A powerful new foe approaches? Maybe it'll manage to splatter him everywhere. Weapons are tools to kill, and implements to imagine himself impaled upon. He wants to change shape, to lose limbs and grow extra ones, to be struck with every horrible fate imaginable.
It's something that's easy to lump in with the rest of his morbidity, as he approaches and treats it in the same way--by smiling and laughing about it. But if held in connection with a less-than-healthy self-image, it becomes something a little darker. For some reason, he wants to suffer (painlessly).
That's not to say that he particularly wants to die. For all that he looks forward to a violent death, he's not about to give up killing to get there too soon. But he doesn't view his life as particularly valuable, and he doesn't fear death whatsoever. He'd easily sacrifice himself to save someone he happened to actually care about, and is more than happy to bring this up.
Twisted Mind
"After Grima's demise, Henry made a cold, clean break with history, never to stain its pages again."In the post game, if Henry is unmarried, he simply disappears and his ultimate fate is unknown. If married, he's said to have become "a surprisingly good father," and the family unit is apparently a happy one. How he gets a chance to develop further is not otherwise specified, but the comments from his children from an alternate, ruined future, where everyone of his generation already perished--provide a few additional hints.
(Henry, Solitary Ending)
Kjelle: You do look like him...and he did smile like that...but you seem...different. The father I knew was much calmer... He always had a kindly air about him.It's unknown if this would be a change that would only happen in a marriage to Sully, but it at least seems to imply that Henry is capable of developing beyond what's shown in game. Not to the point of being 'healed' or becoming an objectively different person, but continuing to mellow out a little. Apparently he was still very odd though, and skilled with hexes--as just about every kid questions whether he'd resurrected himself with some weird, forbidden curse or another.
Henry: Huh! Is that right? Actually, that doesn't really surprise me... Sometimes I feel like being married to Sully may have softened me up a bit... Seems like it's only going to get worse! Nya ha!
Kjelle: M-my father used to say the same thing about being married to Mother... I guess you...you really are him... *sniff* Oh, Father... *sob*
Henry: Now, now, Kjelle... Take it easy with the weepy stuff, okay?
Kjelle: I'm sorry... I know you aren't really him, but...I'm just so happy to see you. It's nice to see you're a lot like he was. After he married Mom, he changed a lot. His family became everything to him.
(Kjelle/Henry, "The Future Past 1" DLC)
Severa: I'm not worried! I'm trying to warn you! Ugh, did you have to remind me of how completely weird you are?Even as someone with the potential for growth, for attachment, some aspects are unlikely to change.
Henry: So the Henry in this world was just like me?
Severa: Yes! He always had that same stupid grin and talked about losing fingers and stuff. I couldn't count on him for anything.
Henry: Oh. I'm really sorry about that.
Severa: But after we lost Mother, Daddy never left my side. "Don't worry," he'd say. "Daddy will always protect you." And then what did he go and do? He died! He left me to fend for myself! *sniff* Why did every last thing he ever said have to be nonsense? Ahh... *sob*
(Severa/Henry, "The Future Past 3" DLC)
Conclusion
Henry's character type is one that can come across as one-note, superficially humorous. It doesn't help that his attitude in canon encourages this, as he plays off most attempts to get past it, his morbidity a handy excuse to keep himself unapproachable. It's not a case of something only turning up in the localization--as while the English version does use a few more puns to get the point across, the essential core of his character is the same across versions. Henry is friendly and murderous and completely broken, yet potentially capable of finding some piece of genuine happiness in the middle of it.