~Half of my Soul~

Francis hissed as his body entered the steaming water that filled the wooden tub. After many weeks plastered in mud and blood, his bath was a blessing but also a curse as the hot liquid flooded into the deep cuts that marred his skin. He flinched, clenching his jaw.

Without any nourishment since Bosworth, the wounds he had suffered during the battle had stubbornly refused to heal, in fact, some bled even now as he stretched his aching limbs, splitting the skin.

It was the same for Richard too and his wounds were far greater than that of his friend's, truly Francis did not know how neither of them had been taken by a festering sickness yet. God had seen fit to spare them it seemed and now England had it's true King once more, only time would tell weather they got to keep him.

Cupping his hands, Francis splashed the hot water he gathered over his face, rubbing away at the dirt until he could only feel his skin and the rough hair of his freshly grown beard again. He ran his fingers through the curled strands and almost chuckled to himself, he had never sought to grow a beard but now he had rather become accustomed to it. Perhaps he should keep it, he wondered.

Hearing the creak of the door behind him, he relaxed back into his bath and closed his eyes, waiting for the page boy (who he was sure had entered) to pour fresh water into the tub. The water never came.

What did was the gentle hands of a woman, soft and tender as they rested upon his shoulders, a cloth clasped in one, before making their way down his chest. Francis' eyes flew open and he caught the woman's wrists, he would know those hands anywhere.

"Anna...."
He could almost feel her satisfied smirk.
"Hello, my love" her voice was as warm as he remembered, honey sweet with love. Brushing a chaste kiss to his neck, Anais stood and wandered around the bath to where Francis could see her. With just one glance he knew what was to come.

They had been lovers since 1478, ever since Lady Lovell had agreed that they could both take lovers. The death of the Duke of Clarence shook many across the land and had made the unhappy pair realise how short life truly was; that they had better spend it in sin and be joyful rather than continue on with their desolate union.

And so, after six years of lingering kisses and modest touchings, Anais had finally gone to Francis' bed, never once leaving since! As a result they now knew one another as well as they knew themselves, their thoughts, their feelings, their actions and, true to what his instinct told him, Anais raised her hands to the front of her nightgown.

"Have you missed me?" She asked, tugging at the lone string and letting the thin linen slide from her lithe figure. Francis felt his tired body stir as he looked upon her, no other woman could ever ignite the same passion within him as Anais.

And by God did she know it.

She approached him with small, calculated steps, letting him gaze upon her, the soft swell of her small breasts, the slope of her hips, before she stepped into the bath and sank into the water. She was careful, making sure she did not injure the man she loved further as she straddled him and cupped his face with her soft hands.

"Have you missed me?" She asked again, her tone now light rather than lust-filled and Francis smiled.
"Never shall I miss anyone more" he admitted "to see your face is a blessing from the Lord" her high-pitched giggle filled the air and she kissed him before placing a finger to his lips.

"Good, now speak no more, love, not till your voice is strong again. You have already told Johnny how you saved his Father, have you not?" Francis gave a mute not, knowing better than to disobey Anais when it came to the care of his health, it would only serve to make her worry "Then by God I hope he tells Leena, I have hated to see her so sad" she gave a small sigh, rosebud mouth frowning when her eyes settled upon the deep gash on one side of Francis' forehead "and I have been sad, nay, heartbroken" she whispered "to think that you were lost to me....I cannot bear to lose you...."

She bowed her head as tears stung her eyes and Francis tilted his head, taking her hand. He placed it against his chest, where his heart lay, and she looked up, lacing her fingers with his. My heart is yours his loving gaze said, she understood immediately.

"As mine is yours" she murmured softly, leaning in for another longing kiss "and always will be"

꧁꧂

Eleanor paced up and down the corridor outside of her bedchamber, her arms wrapped around her middle and her eyes fixed on the skirt of her gown. Many times before Richard had been in her place, listening to her muffled screams as she gave birth to their children but now it was her that waited with a pounding heart and quacking breaths.

He would live, he had to live, she told herself firmly while she strode back and forth. She had believed him to be dead once and almost withered entirely under the excruciating pain grief brought, she could not withstand that a second time knowing his death to be true.

Now that she knew he lived, that there was still life within his beaten body and his soul was on earth with hers, there was hope within her. But that hope could either revive her or destroy her; it was all dependant on the next words that came from the chamber.

If Richard died so would she, she was sure of it, and then who would lead the country until young George came of age? Who would raise their children, little Katheryn who was not yet a month old and had never laid eyes upon her Father?

Inside of the vast chamber that they had shared for many years, Richard lay, mercifully unconscious once more while the physicians worked upon his wounded body. It seemed an eternity that they cleansed and sewed shut the deep cuts that marred their King's body, performing signs of the cross over each in the hopes infection would not seep in.

Candles lit their work, their needles glinting in the light of the flames as they rose and fell ahead a string of fresh silk. The gentle whistle of the summer wind outside was the only sound that pierced the heavy silence for the physicians knew what weight their duty carried.

And the wrath of the red headed woman who paced outside of the chamber door should they fail.

꧁꧂

As the mist that surrounded his mind and trapped him within deep sleep began to clear, Richard became aware of a figure sitting beside him. Perhaps it was one of God's angels come to claim him, he thought as he became more and more conscious of his surroundings, or perhaps he had already been claimed for the last he remembered Francis had been leaning over him begging him not to die.

Now his best friend's voice was gone and his head was laid not upon the cold earth but on a feather pillow; his body covered with soft furs that soothed his aching limbs. 'Yes' he thought as he allowed himself the rest he had been denied in the harrowing weeks that had followed Bosworth, he was dead and had ascended to heaven.

He only hoped Francis had survived and would not blame himself for his King's death.

"Dickon? Dickon, my love?"

That voice did not belong to God in heaven, not yet.

Richard forced his eyes open as he heard Eleanor's soft words call to him and then, then he remembered. He remembered glimpsing the turrets of his home, of Middleham, he remembered men shouting all around him and the familiar embrace of his wife, hot tears splashing onto his face and that voice....oh that voice.

It was like a beacon of light to a ship during a storm, the most precious thing the world could offer, beckoning him upon the sure path to safety.

Richard gasped slightly as he saw the figure sitting beside him was his beloved wife and Queen, her head tilted, brows furrowed with an unmatchable anxiety. Her features brightened with joy when she saw he was awake and Richard truly was sure in that moment that she was an Angel sent to take him to God.

"Leena...."
An angelic smiled graced her lips, she nodded.
"Yes, my love" she replied breathlessly, taking his hand. "It's me, your Leena"

"Leena" he repeated, the word a prayer upon his lips, one he would happily speak forevermore. His gaze swept his wife from what he could see of her, relishing every inch of the women he had begun to think he would never see again. He smiled as one red curl fell across her face and she pushed it back into place with an indignant huff. This could be no dream, no vision brought on by fever, Eleanor truly was here, her hand securely in his as if God has always meant for it to be there.

Perhaps he had?

"You are injured" he observed, tone full of concern while he tried to raise a hand to gently brush the crescent cut next to her eye that marred her skin only to find he had to drop it to the covers again it hurt so much "who did this to you?"

"A dead man" she told him, a look of pride crossing her features when her fingers brushed her wound "In battle, yesterday" Richard's eyes widened, almost as if he could not believe what she had said.

"Battle?" He repeated "You were in battle?"
"Aye, battle. I raised an army to crush Tudor and I won, my love, I won....it seems the lessons you gave me had some merit" A smile curved Richard's lips as he heard her words and he longed for nothing more than to take her into his arms, to hold her close and tight. But his body would not let him.

"I've never been so proud to call you my wife" he murmured "you are the strongest ruler I have ever known" pausing, he took in the sable silk of her gown and frowned slightly "You wear black, Leena, who for?" Eleanor looked down, suddenly overcome, squeezing his hand. She was crying, he realised.

"For Rob" she whispered "for Jack....for Francis....for you" a heavy tear rolled down one pale cheek, dropping onto her skirts "I thought you were dead, my love. I thought you were lost to me" Richard felt tears sting his own eyes and blinked furiously but in vain to keep them at bay. Rob and Jack truly were dead, men he had viewed as brother's, there would be no return for them.

They were lost to the world.

"I will never be lost to you" he swore, trying again to sit up but she gently pushed him back, holding him fast against the pillows.

"No" she ordered, voice tender yet firm "you are weak" Richard arched an eyebrow and she did the same, making him chuckle then grimace at the pain that struck at his chest. He would do well not to laugh while he healed "what amuses you so, Dickon?" He found he could still smile.

"Who would have thought that you would mourn me when Edward first told us we were to be wed?"
It was Eleanor's turn to laugh, the light and joyful sound echoing about the chamber that was quickly filling with rays of light.

She did not think she had ever been so happy to see the sun.

꧁꧂

Jane shrieked with laughter as Eleanor cast her black gown into the fire within the chamber she was dressing in.

"Really, my Lady!" Marie scolded, but there was no sincerity to her voice whatsoever and she soon began to giggle too as the black silk caught.

"Help me, my dearest, Jane!" Eleanor cried, throwing the new gown she had selected over her shift. It was a beautiful one, one of her favourites that Richard had bequeathed to her the year before. The bodice and skirts were of light blue silk, the elegant hanging sleeves and the sash the purest white satin.

She could barely contain her excitement, bouncing almost like a little girl, as Jane tied the laces with deft hands and Marie brushed her hair, placing a pearl circlet atop her head. Both of them laughed at her childish joy, watching her twirl around and around the sunny chamber with giggles bubbling from her lips.

"I am so very happy!" She declared as she swung around one of the chamber's bedposts before skipping towards her Ladies. She took Jane's hands first, pulling the other redhead in close before she kissed her gently on the cheek "You have been loyal to me, Jane" she said softly and Jane smiled "loyal and one of my greatest allies and to reward you for your companionship I hear by create you the Countess of Derby!"

Bright blue eyes widened in sincere shock and then in gratitude before she gave an exultant cry and flung herself into Eleanor's arms in a swirl of pink satin. She was the mere daughter of a merchant, the known whore of a dead King yet now she was to be a Countess?

It was beyond her very wildest dreams yet her Queen had made it a magnificent reality! Oh, if her parents could see her now!
"Thank you!" She cried "thank you!"

"It is for me to thank you, dear Jane" the Queen replied with a nod when she pulled away from the embrace and turned to Marie, taking her hands in her own "now, for you, my dearest Marie" the dark haired woman smiled, tears of joy pricking her eyes "you have been a sister to me and have stood by my side for almost sixteen years. I love you for it and though I know I can never repay the loyalty you have shown me I hope I can repay it a little in making you Countess of Nottingham!"

A shaky breath passed Marie's lips before she fell to her knees and pressed her forehead to her Queen's hand.
"Thank you, your grace"

"Leena" Eleanor told her softly, raising her friend to her feet and into a hug "it is Leena now as it has always been" she grinned into Marie's shoulder before pulling away "now!" She called "Where are my children?"

No sooner had she spoken the words than they burst through the door! Matilda, George, Edward, Cecily, Isabella, Nell, Thomas, Adela and even Anthony all rushed into the chamber with wide grins on their faces. Gone were their black robes of sombre mourning, now they wore bright colours of purple and blue like their Mother whom they all crowded around.

"Is it true, Mama? Is it true?" Little Adela demanded, clinging to Eleanor's long skirts while she peered up at her insistently.
"Is Papa alive?" George cried "is he really alive?" The children fell silent at that, all peering anxiously at their Mother, waiting for a sign, a small smile, a little nod, anything to confirm what John and Georgie had told them.

"He is, my little loves"

The bedchamber rang with excited squeals and cries, the pitter patter of small feet as the little ones jumped up and down in their joy while the elders clung to one another, their laughs turning into sobs of pure joy. Their Father was alive!

"Oh Mama!" Matilda wept, wrapping her slender arms around her Mother's waist "you have saved us all!"
"You have!" Edward exclaimed, trying in vain to wipe away his tears as he felt Eleanor's hand on his shoulder, squeezing tenderly "And Papa is King once more!" She smiled.

"He was always the King, my son, for he still breathed air!"
George gave an exultant laugh at that and swung little Thomas into the air, rejoicing in his high pitched squeal that made them all laugh.

"We have won!" He crowed, and Anthony clapped happily, babbling while he stamped his little feet on the floor "we have won, we have won, we have won!"