~The Little Queen~

6th of October 1484, Berkhamstead....

They rode for fifteen long days and while their limbs were tired and the weather cooled, their spirits were only raised with each mile south they made.

Everywhere he went, the King was greeted with fine feasts and lavish pageants, shouts of love and rose petals raining down upon him. He waved and smiled, laid a hand upon babies heads, winked at women. He indulged himself, as Constance thought he had a right to, let himself be carried away into the evenings by fine wine and lively music but in the quiet moments she could see a new heaviness to him, a weight that clouded his eyes once he was in his cups and made his shoulders slump.

He wore it like a mantle never to be taken off and his mother suspected it never would be. He was king and no amount of days, months or years could remove Sutton Bank from his mind. The most present reminder was Arthur's body, dragged behind them on a cart from the time they mounted their horses at dawn until the time they came to a halt at night, allowing all it passed by to see the usurper was slain and the rightful king victorious, never to be cast down again - a warning to any that would seek to repeat the traitor's treason.

After two weeks his skin was turning a strange shade of green and his wounds were rotting, filled with flies and maggots and carrying a scent that made any who strayed within its reach wrinkle their noses in disgust.

But still, each morn Edward rose from his bed, dressed in his finery and mounted his horse to ride ever closer to London, waving and smiling as he went.

News of celebration across the land reached them but the most joyous of all (though not surprising to its receivers) was word that Marie had taken London - if such could be said for there was no need for taking! The gates opened immediately to her, leaving the remaining Woodville men there to flee or be captured, the latter of which the majority were.

Welcomed with open arms by the people, she prepared for her brother's return and coronation, a ceremony Constance had no doubt would be even greater than she and Ned's had been with her daughter at the helm!

Constance rose that morning with a renewed spirit, barely able to stay still as she was dressed and her hair tucked beneath her hennin. She found herself glancing at her reflection in the mirror at least thrice every minute for she was determined to look perfect. She would not have cared for her looks if it were only her sons she was to reunite with for she would worry for nothing but having them safe in her arms!

However, that day was the day she was to meet her daughter in law, the new Queen of England. Anne of Brittany had landed at Great Yarmouth only five days prior with a vast entourage and her brothers in law and made great hate to Berkhamstead so she would enter London with her husband.

Constance had her finest jewels placed about her neck and adorning her fingers, selected the hennin studded with pearls and gown of green velvet hemmed and cuffed with ermine. She'd only received it three days prior, a gift from Edward to her which made the donning of it all the more special. In her mind it showed her approval of him, her acceptance of his rule and change - acceptance of his wife.

It also served as a reminder of her rank, her new position: Queen Regent and the King's Mother. She sought not to strike fear into the little girl she was to bow before in the afternoon sun, no, she sought to make her see how great the royal women of England could be, how great she would be in time with age and being under Constance's tutelage. She felt rather like Cecily and prayed she could carry herself with the same poise and distinction that inspired reverence with every step.

'Of course you can!' A voice in her head told her firmly 'You've done so for almost twenty five years!' Whether it was Edward or herself that spoke, she didn't know.

She hoped it hadn't rained for young Anne, the dismal droplets had thoroughly dampened her welcome to England and that was the last thing the little queen needed! She would show her the grace and majesty of England's queens then make her feel welcome, ask after her journey and health, speak kind words of comfort to her!

As Beth fashioned a diamond broach to her black placket, she wondered if she need remind Edward to greet his wife with the same warmth and found it decided she did not. She trusted him to show respect to his young bride and make her feel welcome in the new land she was to forevermore call home. Yes, he knew what it like to be in unfamiliar waters amongst unfamiliar people, he would show her kindness, she was sure.

She rode at the head of their grand procession beside Edward who couldn't go two minutes without singing his brothers praises, telling her how tall they'd grown, how accomplished they were at everything they laid their young hands to! It was clear he was almost as eager as she to embrace them but she was pleased to hear he talked too of Anne!

"Are you ready to meet her?" He asked once finished with describing her kindness and sweet disposition with ample wit which promised to grow.
"My replacement?" Constance laughed.
"Your successor!" He corrected, smiling at her and she winked, glancing at the locket resting at the front of his cloth of gold doublet.

"A pretty word of the same meaning, my love! But never fear, I am prepared! I'm rather looking forward to it! To see the girl I shall make your queen!" Now it was his turn to laugh.
"I believe I did that by wedding her and winning the battle!"

"That you did but I am to raise her, to make her a queen worthy of sitting beside you! A woman who shall give you valuable council as well as sons, be the crown of your court instead of just a jewel!" Smiling, she tilted her face up to the blessed sun and high walls of Berkhamstead Castle in the near distance "By the time she is ready to bear your heirs I will give you a queen more than worthy of her crown and your affection, I promise you that."

Edward chuckled.
"And I do not doubt you, ma Mère!"
Her eyes were drawn to his hands. His little finger was healing well (she was relieved to know), the stitches atop what was left almost ready to be taken out! He wore gloves that day so she couldn't see it and couldn't tell whether they were to repel the cold or to prevent his young wife from fainting!
"I will treat her as my daughter." She said before looking ahead again "And like all of my daughters she will be great."

They rode through the outer bailey to cheers and bows from servants, the bells of the nearby village church ringing out to welcome them. When they reached the inner, Anne was already awaiting them with her servants, standing before the gatehouse that shielded the whitewashed stairs to the keep on its high motte.

Constance could see the joy that lit up the girls eyes when she saw her husband, the poised hands clasped before her almost breaking free to return the jovial wave he sent but she limited herself to a nod and smile. Constance liked that.

Anne was dressed in a gown of velvet crimson cloth of gold with a soft square neckline edged with rectangular diamonds, the cuffs and hem trimmed with ermine. Her hair was covered by a truncated hennin with a golden coronet around the base and around her throat was clasped a stunning necklace of diamonds; almost every finger adorned with a ring.

As she dismounted, Constance worried that her heavy garb would crush her for her gown especially seemed to drown the little girl (who truly was small in stature and slim like a little twig) but when Edward also dismounted and she moved forward, she bore the weight with a surprising regality, head held high and face serene.

"Ready?" Edward asked as Constance stepped around the horses to meet him and took his offered hand. She gave a nod and they strode forward, stopping when Anne and her servants fell into deep curtsies. Edward released his mother's hand to meet her, stepping forth and offering both of his to his wife who took them and was swiftly raised to her feet.

"Wife!" He brought her delicate hands to her lips, kissing them. Constance felt her heart swell with pride and noticed that just above the fur on the girl's cuffs was embroidered Edward's emblem in gold thread, the falcon argent in an open golden fetterlock wearing its crown and clutching its rose catching the sun's rays. She saw Edward brush his thumb over one.

"My lord husband!" Anne replied, her Breton accent unmistakable and her smile sweet as honey "My king! It gladdens my heart to see you returned to me safe and victorious, I had no doubt you would be!"
"As it gladdens mine to see you in good health, my Queen. I hope your journey was not too arduous?" She shook her head, smile widening.
"No, my lord. How could it be when I had such joy ahead? Your brothers were most kind and I am eager to be reunited with the Princess Marie!"

Constance felt herself smile at the praise given to her children, at the fondness with which they were spoken. She had raised them well!

Edward told Anne he was glad to hear such words and turned toward the awaiting crowd with a hand clasped around hers, bringing her forward.
"This day I present to you my lady wife and your new queen, Anne. God save the Queen!" His cry was echoed by all present and Edward then turned to his mother, urging Anne forward a little more "Anne, may I present my beloved lady mother, Queen Constance."

"Your grace."
Gathering her skirts, Constance bowed her head and made to curtsy only to find a small, but firm, hand curling around her elbow; pulling her upright. She was met with a concerned little face and a shake of its owner's young head.

"Nay, Madame! Do not bow to me this day!" Anne exclaimed, pulling her hand from Edward's "You are the King's Mother, the anointed Queen of England!" She gathered her crimson skirts "Today is for me to bow to you." And she did just that, dipping her head and sinking down into a graceful curtsy that brought tears of surprise to Constance's eyes. Edward grinned at her, helping his wife rise after a moment "It is an honour to meet you, Queen Constance." Anne said.

"The honour is all mine, your grace." Constance returned, reaching out and cupping the young girl's cheek, stroking her thumb across the smooth skin beneath her fingers. This was a girl she could easily love and would take great pride in guiding. She could see the intelligence in her lovely gaze, an eagerness to please and learn that made her give a soft nod "You will do well, child." She told her gently "I can see it in your eyes." Anne smiled.

"Ma Mère!"
"Mama!"

Her head snapped up to see two boys running down the stone steps and under the gatehouse, one in blue, the other in red, great smiles on their rosy faces. Richard and Charles.

"Oh my...." She gasped "My boys!"
She ran between Edward and Anne, rushing towards her sons and falling onto her knees on the cobbles, opening her arms with a beam as bright as the sun. They all but tumbled into them and she laughed, clutching them close, kissing their cheeks, breathing in the sweet scent of their hair.

Sixteen months.
Sixteen long, heartbreaking months it had been since she'd seen them, held them. Richard was now eight, Charlie was almost three, their curls had grown back from when she'd cut them away through tears, in fact they were longer and tickled her neck.

Pulling back, she looked at their faces, looked them up and down, taking in every inch they'd grown, they looked healthy! Their cheeks were filled with colour and stances strong, why, Charlie could run without aid now, almost completely lacking any wobbles!

"My sweet boys! You've grown so much!" She laughed and couldn't resist pulling them back into her arms. They held her even tighter.
"Mama." Charles murmured against her neck, his breath warm, real, and she fought to hold back a sob "Charlie missed you!"
"Mama missed Charlie!" She whispered, rubbing his back "I missed you so very much, my love, more than I can say! And you too, Richard, my darling boy!" What joy it gave her to say their names! "Let me look at you again!"

Drawing back she took in her sons, the eldest with tears in his eyes (though he stubbornly refused to let them fall), the younger grinning from ear to ear.

Clutching their velvet covered arms, she smiled, only keeping the true depths of her joy at bay for the sake of decorum "Mes amours! Mes doux fils! Combien de jours j'ai désiré t'avoir dans mes bras et maintenant, tu es là! Vous êtes si courageux! Si fort! Les plus beaux princes que la chrétienté ait jamais vus!" 'My loves! My sweet sons! How many days I have longed to have you in my arms and now, here you are! You are so brave! So strong! The finest princes that Christendom has ever seen!' "Have you been working hard at your sword craft?" She asked eagerly "Do you remember your father in your prayers day and night?"

"Every hour, Mother!" Charlie replied with vigorous nods of his blonde head, the golden shade so like Ned's!

"And our sword craft every day!" Richard enthused "Well, more I than Charlie! I gave him a dagger and he threw it in the moat because he liked the splash it made!" She laughed, beaming up at him. Her babies, how sweet they were! How warm and kind and real! "Maximilian ensured my knightly training was the finest while we've been away!"

"Has he been good to you? Treated you as Princes of England, payed you every respect?" Marie and Margaret would've allowed no different but she still had to ask, had to hear from her son's own lips that they'd been well.
"He did! We were given only the very best, our positions always respected! Edward was always called King!"

"I'm glad to hear it!" She said with a firm nod before her lips split into another smile "But not as glad as I am to have you in my arms." Again, she gathered them to her, finally exhaling the pain and anxiety her chest had harboured every day apart from them "Mes fils." 'My sons.' She whispered into their hair "Mes précieux garçons. Personne ne te prendra plus jamais de moi." 'My precious boys. No one will ever take you from me again.'

༻᯽༺

8th of October 1484, London....

Constance was sure the crowds of London had deafened every man in their retinue as they processed through London streets where bonfires still burned and wine flowed in the gutters, men stumbled from ale houses, toasting their king as he road by. Their movement through the city was slow, every man, woman and child wanting a glimpse of their king, a nod of his head, a wink, a wave, a smile, a touch of his hand.

"Do they think he's the messiah?" John had laughed at which Richard had thwacked his arm and Constance shrugged.
"He is to them." She said, watching her boy bask in the adoration of his people, thousands of fingers reaching up towards him, straining for just a brush of his fingers or clothes, the fur of his destrier. Just like they once did to Ned.

They also welcomed Anne with warmth, showering her with fresh blossoms and shouts of praise, making her blush, her wide eyes unsure of where to look at every turn. Mummers performed in the streets, banners were flown from windows, flower petals raining down on her from every hand up high. She kept her horse close to Edward's, his name filling their ears as it did everyone else's until they could think of nothing but their king and captain.

"How long have they been so?" Constance cried when they entered Westminster's courtyard to Marie awaiting them on the freshly swept steps. The army had dispersed to revel in the streets, Arthur's rotting body taken to be laid upon the steps of Westminster Abbey and Elizabeth hauled to the Tower.

"There was much noise when I arrived! And for grandmother two days ago when she entered!" She called back and smiled that wonderful smile that was the very image of her mother's "Though that was nothing compared to the day news came of our little Neddy's victory! That is," She grinned at her broths and swept a curtsy "the King's victory!"

"Ah, so don't like to name me your King then?" He laughed, jumping from his horse and lifting Anne from hers. The girl immediately went to Marie, waving away her second curtsy and embracing her about the waist.

"I have no king but an emperor!" His sister replied and then welcomed him into her arms, kissing his cheeks "Although my heart will always be with you and our house." She told him, lowering her voice a little, and patted the side of his face which he jerked away at, flushing. Laughing, she looked up and opened her arms in welcome "Come!" She invited jovially "The people are indulging and so shall we! There is much merriment to be had inside!"

Edward nodded and offered Anne his arm, ascending the steps with her while Marie greeted their mother, the two women clasping one another close before they followed, observing with pride the care the King showed for his queen. He'd tweaked his tune Constance said, making her daughter throw back her dark head with a laugh.

Marie had told no word of a lie, the great hall was filled with merriment, jugglers, fire eaters, acrobats, mummers, dancing monkeys and a feast certainly befitting a king awaited them with lively music. Along every wall hung Edward's banners emblazoned with his motto 'Ordo et Abundantia' (Order and Plenty) and Anne pointed at them, explaining happily at which Edward nodded, helping her settle into her seat upon the dais before he took his own place.

The Yorkist nobles followed, many accompanied by their wives and children who'd joined the army as they marched south, filling the hall with merry chatter, not one bleak look or sad word among them.
"Your grace?" Marie called, ascending the dais and walking to her brother's side where he was piling meat onto his plate and ordering his goblet filled to the brim.

"Oh don't you start!" He chuckled, shaking a slice of venison from his knife and pointing it at her "Not today! Do it tomorrow or the day after or any time when I am not about to merrily drown myself in my cups! I think I should like a dance later!" He declared, turning to the Queen "Should you, Anne?" His little wife grinned at the proposal, nodding eagerly.
"Oh! Yes please!"

"Well, you can dance as much as you like after you've seen what I have!" Marie returned and Edward looked at her then around the hall.
"Where are Mother and Dickon?"
"Waiting for you!" She replied and he looked ruefully at his full plate then sighed, slapping his hands on the chair arms "Right!" He declared, standing, waving the nobles back to their merriment when they did the same "Take me to them!"

She led him through a side door and linked his arm with hers, conducting them to a chamber he recognised, long, ornately decorated with a throne at the end from which he'd entered beneath a royal canopy. His father had sometimes received men here. His mother and uncle stood waiting for him before the throne with John and Francis - George too who sent him a smile Edward returned but he could already feel his spirits sinking.

Why had his sister brought him here?

Releasing his arm, Marie nodded to herself.
"Bring him forward!" She called into the hall and Edward frowned a moment, confused when all of a sudden the great doors at the opposite end were thrown open and through strode Brackenbury and young Henry Scrope, between them a pitiful figure, hands bound in chains, golden hair tangled, barely able to walk so that his feet dragged on the floor and he stumbled, earning rough jerks from his handlers that made him cry out.

Down the hall he was marched, silver doublet torn and dirtied, blue eyes looking around him, bloodshot and terrified. His lips were chapped and trembling, wrists bleeding from the chains and Edward drew in a sharp breath as the boy was thrown to the floor before him, hand instinctively grasping at the dagger on his belt.

It was the bastard Anthony.

"Kneel before your king!" Brackenbury ordered and Anthony trembled all the more, head bent.
"Y-your grace," He began, voice small and weak "I humbly beg your pardon and m-mercy and swear my fealty to you as the one true king of England."

Edward stared at him and swallowed, eyes stinging. He could feel the eyes of his kin on him, bile rising in his throat instead of the hatred he'd been sure he'd feel; he'd felt. Why on earth did he feel pity? It would not do.

"Take him to the Tower."
Anthony was hauled to his feet and finally his frightened eyes met Edward's, rooting the King to the spot as he cried out like a child, trying to resist the hands that dragged him away with what little strength he had.

"Please!" He begged. Out of the corner of his eye, Edward saw his mother turn away, one hand covering her mouth, the other on Richard's arm "Have mercy! Please!" A desperate cry tore from Anthony's throat as he made to do the same "Brother!"

Silence fell, even Brackenbury and Scrope being stunned to stillness and Edward sucked in a breath. Turning back towards his foe, hand still on his dagger, he made careful steps towards him, trying to breath, trying so hard to give his air his lungs screamed for. In a few moments he was face to face with the youngest bastard, smaller than him but unmistakably his father's, just as Arthur had been.

Anthony was only a few months older than him and yet he seemed younger, his wide gaze pleading, shining with that painful last ray of hope as Edward looked at him.

While the King's eyes glistened with tears his face was harder than stone but when his lips parted, what emerged was little more than whisper, voice breaking. He shook his head.

"You never have been....and never will be my brother."

He turned away, Anthony's cries forcing him to almost flee the room as the desperate screams filled his ears. He hardly knew where his feet were taking him as he shoved open the painted door and burst back into the hallway. He no longer wanted to dance till the blackbird sang or drown himself in his cups or dine on a rich meal. He wanted to be sick.

"Edward...." That was Marie.
"Leave me."
"Neddy, please-"
"I said, leave me!" He roared, vision blurred, head pounding, heart screaming: 'Why? Why! Why! Why!'. Why had it affected him so? Why did he feel as if he were being torn in two? As if he had just sentenced Richard to death or Charlie? Why did he feel pity for a demon? Why had his desperate gaze pierced his heart? Why had he allowed it to? Why couldn't he breathe?

Images flashed across his mind - blood, armour, mud, the blonde boy's face, Arthur's face, Arthur's corpse, Rob's jerking body, armoured men lunging at him, seeking his blood with their blades, his enemies head on spikes, their entrails being dragged from their bodies. He heard the roar of battle, the thunder of horses hooves, the whistle of flying arrows, the cries of dying men, Arthur's last scream.

He tried to breathe, tried to force air into his body but his throat felt squeezed shut, his chest impossibly tight as if he was wrapped in his father's shroud and it was smothering him, crushing all life from his body.

He stumbled almost blind through the corridors, ears ringing with Anthony's cries, hands on the walls, trying to find his was as his chest heaved and he tried desperately to suppress the sobs begging to escape. Suddenly his fingers found raised lines of embroidery and the wall fell through, almost causing him to fall.

He yanked the tapestry hanging on the wall back, only to see it was covering a dark alcove. Face crumpling, he felt his knees weaken and dragged himself inside, letting the tapestry fall heavily behind him, drenching him in darkness.

The alcove was small, he shuffled to the back corner, drew up his knees and hid his face in them, clasping his arms around his legs just as a sob slipped past his lips and hot tears seeped into his breeches.