~The Last of the Lancastrians~

August 1482, Fotheringhay....

Catherine smiled as she watched Joan dance in the great hall. Sitting on her throne placed on the velvet-covered dais, Cecily sat on her lap, little fist in her mouth and her knees curled up to her chest. Joan's dancing master stood to the side, one hand stroking his grey, pointed beard as he nodded along to the melody the minstrel by him played.

For all her fascination with battle, Joan was grace itself, her steps soft and elegant. She hopped from foot to foot as if she were dancing on air, buttercup yellow skirts twirling around her, the pearls woven into her loose hair shimmering like bouncing stars. Cecily watched her with wide blue eyes, not giggling or chirping as her older siblings would have done when they were her age.

"Would you like to join in, sweeting?" Catherine offered but Cecily shook her head; nestled further into the comfort of her arms.

"Stay" She said quietly and her Mother smiled, kissing the top of her head which was covered in a mass of golden curls. One day her daughters would be gone, married to Lords, possibly even Kings! She would not deny them her embrace while they were young.
"As you wish, my love, as you wish"

Joan continued to dance, her eyes closed as they always did when she lost herself to the music surrounding her, like it had woven a spell around her mind, capturing her. The only thing that dared disturb the magic created with each flowing move was the jarring sound of clashing metal in the courtyard outside. Ever since their elder brother and Father had left, Dickon and Edward had trained from dawn till dusk!

"Noisy" Cecily murmured and Catherine chuckled, kissing her little button nose.
"It is, isn't it? Still, your brother's must train so they can one day be like your Father!" The young girl peered up at her and she was sad to see the unmistakable look of longing in her eyes. Cecily was extremely attached to all her kin and when they were separated, she was not content.

She missed her Father and brother, wondered where on earth they had gone, when on earth they would come back? Until they did she would stay stuck to her Mother's skirts, not that she ever did anything else.

"Your grace?" Catherine looked up as a serving girl stepped to the side of her throne, curtsying and holding out a sealed piece of parchment "From London, your grace" She said when the Duchess took it, curtsying before scurrying away again.

Immediately she recognised the royal seal and frowned to herself, a knot of worry tying itself tightly in the pit of her stomach. Edward could only be writing to tell her of the war but what would be his reasoning for that? Why wouldn't Richard write to her? Why couldn't Henry?

"Cecily" She murmured and the little girl frowned as she was moved from her Mother's lap, placed on the cold oak throne "Stay here, my love, I will be back soon" Cecily's frown only deepened and Catherine tried to muster a small smile "I promise" Her daughter finally nodded and she made her way from the great hall, almost tripping on her lilac skirts as she hurried up, up, up the winding stairs of the keep.

Hurrying along the corridors, she made her way to Richard's study and shut herself inside, seating herself before the fire but the flames did not warm her. Cracking open the seal, the parchment unfolded in her lap to reveal the King's elegant handwriting.

My dearest sister, Catherine,

Do not be alarmed, sister, I do not write to tell you of any ill that has befallen your husband and son, nay they are both well, I write to tell you of a matter much closer to home.

You know that Marguerite of Anjou has been kept within various households for the past eleven years, ever since of victory at Barnet and for the past two she has been held in the tower. Now, we have reached an agreement with the French King to have her returned to her homeland, after all, she is a broken soul and has no use for us. Her pain is somewhat payment for the pain she caused me, my Father and brother.

That debt will never be paid but she is little more than a ghost so there is no point to keeping her here. Let her live out her days dwelling on what she's lost.

She is set to depart in September but first she has requested to see you. I know not why but I ask you to come to London as soon as may be. You can stay as long as you wish and leave when you choose but if you wish to see the traitor before she leaves you must come soon. If you do not, I understand.

Not many people would be able to face the Mother of the son they'd taken the life of.

Your King and brother,
Edward Rex

Catherine looked up from the page, her cheeks wet with tears. Marguerite was being sold back to her country like a rotten piece of meat, one with no use, as Edward had put it. She had to admit, she'd put the Lancastrian Queen from her mind those past years, unable to think on her without being plagued with guilt.

Now Marguerite had asked for her, for her after all these years. Why?

Catherine supposed there was only one way to find out and if she never did it would plague her heart forever. No, her Queen called to her and she would go, no matter what the reason.

꧁꧂

September 1482, London....

Accompanied by her guards, Catherine rode through the streets of London, gulping as its imposing the Tower came into sight. Though the air was not uncommonly cold, she felt the urge to hide to cower and pulled her hood securely over her head to protect herself. Even she could not figure out what she needed protection from. Marguerite perhaps?

She wished Richard was with her, to encourage, perhaps even convince her to turn back, but they were countries apart, almost worlds apart in her mind. The only thing she took comfort in was the steady clip-clop of her horse's hooves on the road beneath, the buzz of the city that she usually hurried to get through. Now, she took her sweet time.

Still, the Tower gates got closer and closer and when the soldiers guarding the fortress saw her banners, they pushed them open, giving her entrance to this world of death. The last time she'd been within these walls, she'd taken the life of a Prince, watched an old man murdered in his bed and seven years later George was drowned in one of the dungeons deep beneath the ground.

A shiver ran through her.

She could not imagine a more miserable place to die. Ravens picked at the ground, sat on the battlements and squawked their melancholy call. That in itself seemed a toll of death to Catherine and she shivered again, forcing her eyes to focus on the Tower guards marching to meet her.

The Constable of the fortress stepped forward, a short, portly man with a greying ginger beard who bowed low as she slowed her horse to a halt and dismounted, landing with a quiet thud on the stone beneath.
"Your grace" She nodded her head in acknowledgment, finding her throat had run dry "You are here to see the traitor?" Again, she nodded and he sent her a short smile, green eyes twinkling "Come, your grace"

Clutching the folds of her gown and cloak between her fingers, she made to follow. Her legs felt as heavy as tree trunks and she forced each step, pushing herself onward through the draughty corridors of the white Tower. Every gust of breeze hit her skin like a stinging blow, making water well in her eyes; her hands shake.

Up and up they climbed, the sound of her guards behind her until they at last came to the top of the keep. Along a lone corridor lay a thick wooden door, metal studs hammered into the dark oak and a heavy lock she doubted even her husband would be able to lift. A soldier stood watch, snapping his pike straight when he saw the small party approach.

"At ease, Thomas" The Constable commanded with a chuckle and Catherine almost gasp as she recognised the man beneath the velvet murrey cap placed on his head. This was not just any Thomas, this was the Thomas who had guarded her all those years ago! The Thomas who'd fought for Lancaster and she'd thought dead.

Apparently he was not! Thomas appeared to recognise her too and raised his eyebrows, an amused smirk on his lips. He hadn't changed one bit.

"Your grace" He swooped into an almost comical bow and Catherine couldn't help but grin, the deadly ice seeping into her bones put at bay for a moment. It was nice to find a friend in a friendless place "It gladdens my heart to see you are well!" The Constable's eyes widened and heavy keys jangled at his thickened waist as he slid them from his belt.

"You know Thomas, your grace?" He didn't look at her, flicking through the rusted iron keys one by one. Catherine nodded all the same.

"Yes. It was a long time ago but I'm glad he's alive"
"Alive and well!" The Constable added "He spends most of his time raiding the pantry! How he remains in his lean condition I will never know, ah!" He exclaimed as he finally found the right key and slid it easily into the heavily lock, twisting it.

At once, Catherine's smile faltered somewhat and her heart skipped a beat as he pushed the door open with no hesitation, not allowing her one second to reconsider. Perhaps if he had she would've turned away.

A small room was revealed and a gust of cold air hit her face "Your grace?" Her gaze shot to the Constable and she nodded, forcing her feet forward again, focusing on the tap of her shoes as she headed inside "All you need do is call" He said when she past but she did not even look at him, too frozen in the moment to hear his words.

She swallowed and the heavy door closed behind her, trapping her in a world where heavy, pent-up grief was the ruler.

She looked around, slowly, carefully, taking in the one faded tapestry that covered the wall beside her, the tiny, arched window that looked only wide enough for an arm to fit through. And then there was the bed. It was small, narrow but surprisingly still topped with soft sheets and a crimson velvet blanket; an embroidered pillow at the top.

And sat on this bed, was the woman Catherine had come to see, the woman she'd come at the call of. A woman she'd dreaded facing for over ten years. Now that dread was overwhelmed by guilt.

Marguerite of Anjou was no more a powerful figure than a damp leaf was on a rainy windy day. She sat limp on the covers, her back to her visitor, shoulders slumped in defeat, appearing so fragile a mere breeze could probably send her crumpled to the ground. If that happened, she would have not the strength nor the will to get up, she would just lie there, the same lifeless look in her once fiery eyes that she'd held for eleven years.

Ever since the day she'd heard her son died, ever since the day she was told who'd done it.

The velvet gown she wore was once a majestic black, lined with silver embroidery that had now faded, along with the velvet that now resembled a bleak grey. This woman was once the Queen of England, powerful, rich and now reduced to a pauper, a prisoner in the country she'd once ruled. If Catherine was not so focused on trying not to let her hands shake she would've cried.

"You came then?" Her voice made her jump but it was no longer determined, no longer powerful, nor was it laced with the French accent everyone had come to know. She was like a ghost, existing without living, never belonging, not even to her homeland "I wasn't sure that you would"

"I could never refuse you, your grace" Catherine found her lips moving of her own volition, speaking before she thought and revealing the part of herself she thought had faded. Her Lancastrian side. Her knees forced her into a curtsy, making her skirts rustle but all she received was a laugh, or rather a broken cry, making her gaze dart up to see Marguerite had stood.

Bedraggled strands of grey hair lay about her thin face, highlighting the deep crescents, purple and blue like bruises, under her eyes. There was no life to her and Catherine wouldn't be surprised to find she had no heartbeat if she put a hand to her chest. It was not difficult to see Marguerite wished that were true but Edward wouldn't allow it, he wouldn't allow her to end her pain just like he never could.

"Don't bow to me" She whispered "Not you of all people....not when I know what you've done. What you did" Ice flooded Catherine's veins and she didn't have to ponder on Marguerite's words to know what she meant. She swallowed. Tears pricked her eyes "Don't cry. Don't" Marguerite's frail breaths shuddered as she took them, slowly making her way around the bed so that she and Catherine stood opposite one another.

"You killed my son" The words were cold, matter of fact with no emotion attached to them. Dark eyes watched the Duchess, moving across her face "you killed my boy" A lone tear dripped down Catherine's cheek onto her gown.

"I had to...."

The breath was knocked from her lungs as Marguerite surged forward, anger and hate suddenly coursing through her veins as she shoved Catherine against the wall. Her head hit the stone, crack, and she groaned, unable to fight back, mind spinning. Marguerite pinned her wrists against the wall, not caring the stone scraped the skin from her knuckles, making Catherine hiss with pain, feeling blood run down her fingers.

She couldn't think, couldn't move and the room spun in nauseating circles. How Marguerite had conjured such strength, she didn't know.

"Had to?" The old Queen demanded, dark eyes alight with furious fire "Had to? He was my son! My one son! He was good, he was kind and you killed him! You were forced to take his life? Ha! Don't try me with your lies, girl" Catherine wondered how the guards on the outside didn't hear the ruckus that must've been caused, realising how thick the door was, how thick the wall. Even if she screamed she doubted they would hear.

Her neck ached as she tried to nod.

"Yes...." The word was little more than a pained croak "I found them.....the sons of York" She tried to breathe again, regain a little of her strength but Marguerite slammed her against the wall once more, tearing an agonised cry from her throat "I tried!" She yelled, tears spilling freely from her eyes "I swear it, your grace! I tried to stop them! I pushed Edward of York away, I shielded your son....I wouldn't let them touch him though they demanded I leave...."

A bitter laugh escaped Marguerite and she shook her head.

"Lies!" She sneered.
"No!" Catherine cried, grimacing in pain when she shook head "No, I tell the truth! They stood above Prince Edward with a pillow, intending to smother him like they had your husband but I stopped them! Edward of York gave me a poison to finish the job I refused but your son told me he knew he had to die...."

Again, she cried out as the back of Marguerite's hand stuck a blow to the side of her face, splitting her lip.

"No!" She yelled in denial "My son would not do that! He would not do that!" Of course she didn't believe it. Edward had been the hope of Lancaster and the hope of his Mother. To think that he would give that up willingly was lunacy to her mind.

"He knew what had to happen and bade me to do it! He said he would die by the hands of one of his own and not a York! He told me to do it, your grace and I granted his last wish!" Catherine took a ragged breath "I stayed with him, I stayed with him to the end. He was not alone in death and nor did he fear it. He acted as only a true Prince could, with courage...."

A moment passed and then Marguerite's iron grip slackened somewhat. Catherine collapsed to the floor in a heap, gasping for breath, aching all over, trembling. She had expected anger but not....not this! 'Then you are a fool' her mind told her and perhaps it was right.

What Mother wouldn't wish to kill the murderer of her son? She knew full well she would put to death any person who lay a hand on any of her children!

"I didn't want to" She whispered "It broke my heart to do it I swear....look" Trembling fingers dipped into the bodice of her gown, pulling out the golden chain that held Prince Edward's ring. She heard Marguerite take a sharp breath and held it up higher, forcing her head upwards to stare into the old Queen's eyes "Would I wear this if I had his violent murder staining my hands?"

Marguerite's gaze finally locked with hers and she bit the inside of her cheek in thought, so hard she drew blood but she didn't care. What Catherine said made sense, even to her weary, furious mind and so, slowly, hesitantly, she held out a hand.

The Duchess waited a moment before she took it, noticing how rough Marguerite's once soft skin had become as she was pulled unsteadily to her feet. She swayed slightly, thankful when the older woman nodded towards the bed. She slumped down onto it, a hand to her head, knuckles stinging.

"What did he say? Before he died?"

Over ten years it had been since Edward of Lancaster whispered his last words and yet Catherine could remember them as clear as day, like her prayers.

"He told me how different life could have been if we'd had more time, that he loved me and" She almost choked on her words as another sob wormed it's way from her throat "He told me to never look back"

Marguerite almost smiled at that, a rare force pulling at the corners of her lips while Catherine tugged at the cuffs of her gown, now stained red with her blood.
"And did you? Did you look back?"
She nodded.

"I couldn't help it, your grace" She confessed "I will never forget him, nor how it tore me, how it tears my heart still to know that I was the instrument of his death even though he asked me to do it" The weary woman slumped down beside her and she almost flinched, afraid of another attack but Marguerite only shook her head, placing one trembling hand over Catherine's.

No matter how much it stung, she didn't pull away "I'm sorry for your loss" She murmured, expecting silence only to be met with convulsive sobbing that made Marguerite curl into herself, tears falling to the cold stone floor below as her free hand clawed at her heart. The heart she wished had stopped beating long ago.

"That's all I've ever wanted someone to say" She wept, finding herself leaning into the woman she'd been intent on killing just moments ago. But her words had proved a balm and the last bit of the anger hardened resolve she harboured had crumbled into dust. Just like the bodies of her husband and son and so many others she'd once known "That is all I have ever wanted"

Tears slid down Catherine's face again and she cradled Marguerite with her aching arms, resting her chin atop her grey head. She felt so thin that with a light tap her bones would be crushed, her life snatched away as quickly as a babe's could be. It made Catherine sob all the more.

This woman once wanted the world.
Now all she wanted was a kind word and a gentle death.

"Well I'm sorry" She said fiercely "I'm sorry your son died, I'm sorry the world inflicted such pain on you"

Marguerite sniffed bitterly, shoulders shaking.
"It was not the world" She whispered "It was the men in it. They gather around you like dogs and then they rip you apart. It was not the world, child, it was the men in it"

꧁꧂

November 1482, Fotheringhay....

By the time Catherine returned to the safety of Fotheringhay, her lip had healed and all trace of blood was gone from her hands but she carried a new ghost within her heart. Mere days after her visit with Marguerite, word came that the Lancastrian Queen had died and she set out for Fotheringhay without another word, leaving her household to follow behind.

Only Margery was with her, just like when they were girls, and that was how she liked it.

When she finally reached Fotheringhay, her children were playing in the bailey and rushed to greet her, just as she rushed to meet them. Gathering them close, she kissed their little heads: Joan, Dickon, Edward, Cecily, Henry was still missing and her heart ached for him. Him and her husband. Her Richard.

Again, she was plagued by guilt for the coldness between them in the weeks before he left and as she herded the children inside, she looked over her shoulder, hoping to see him riding through the gatehouse. He wasn't.

"Come, Mother!" Edward enthused, tugging her thought the great hall by the hand while the others beamed up adoringly at her "We've much to show you!"

"Well then by all means show me!" She laughed and spent the rest of the day in the nursery, looking at her sons miniatures armies, her daughters new gowns that Nell and Meg had made from silk they had commissioned from France. She smiled, she laughed, praised each of her little ones but that did not stop her from falling into her cold bed that night with a frown, wishing Richard was with her.

That was what she did that night, and every night for a month after.

The fire roared but the heated flames did nothing to warm the cold covers of the bed that surrounded her, a poor substitute for her husband's arms. So, she stared up at the embroidered canopy above, it's figures of woven silk dancing in the shadows of the fire like nimble nymphs. Reaching up, she let her fingers float around them, remembering what it felt like when she and Richard danced and he would lift her high and she would laugh....

Her hand dropped and eyes grew wide as the chamber door opened, revealing her heart's desire in its threshold. Void of armour, he only wore his shirt and breeches, as if he were simply coming to bed and had not just appeared from nowhere when she thought him in Scotland! His hair was tousled and dark stubble roughened his chin, making her grin, his skin was tanned; eyes bright but tired from travel.

"Richard!" The excited cry had left her lips before she even had time to think of it and made to throw off the covers, run to him like she'd dreamt of for months, only to see him home up a hand.
"No! No, my love!" He told her gently "Do not relinquish the warmth of our bed for me!"

She pushed off the covers anyway and jumped from the bed, her feet barely touching the floor as she leapt into Richard's embrace. His arms wrapped around her and her knew he was home.

"It wasn't warm without you anyway" She murmured, smiling when his stubble scraped her chin and she ran her fingers through his hair, along his jaw, peppering desperate kisses every inch of the way "Christ I've missed you, I've missed you every second of every minute, every hour of every day, Dickon! God, how I needed you!"

"And I needed you!" He replied. Now, he was smiling, now he was gazing down at her like she was the Goddess he had always worshipped her as "There was not a day, not an hour that went by that I wished to be within your arms! And, I have good news about our son!"

"Oh Henry!" Catherine exclaimed, gleeful laughter bubbling from her throat at the thought of her son safe and sound. He was home! Richard was home "What?" She asked "What of our boy?" Planting kiss after kiss to her lips, he finally replied, grinning the boyish grin she'd missed oh so much.

"I knighted him"

Catherine cried out in delight, wrapping her arms around her husband's neck and clasping him close. He had given their boy his greatest dream at last!
"Oh, my love! How wonderful! Our little knight is a true knight at last!"

"It is!" Richard chuckled, nuzzling into her neck before placing searing kisses along her jaw "But I have been on the road for many months, sweetheart and now there is only one thing I want" He felt her smirk.
"Oh? And what is that?"

Sliding his hands behind her, he grasped the back of her thighs and lifted her up, moving as soon as she had her legs wrapped around his waist.
"You. Naked. In that bed"