~An Ocean of Calm Before a Storm~

January 1471, France....

Anne was quiet as she gazed earnestly at her young husband from across the window seat of which they sat at opposite ends. He was a quiet thing, civil, but never overly so, almost as if he feared the intimacy of friendship.

Despite his outward coolness, she could tell there was a warmth to him, a delicate warmth he kept close and did not allow her to share in. Another had claimed it, that much she knew.

She'd known it since their wedding in December. He'd been kind to her that day, possessing a gentleness towards her that she'd rarely seen since but at their wedding feast there'd been a distance in his gaze, in the way his eyes stared blankly ahead of him instead of the festivities or his new little wife.

Not that she'd expected him to be gazing adoringly at her. At fourteen she was little more than a child to him. When she spoke what little words that she did, he turned to her almost in surprise, a hope in his eyes that dimmed when he saw it was her addressing him, though smiled kindly. He wanted another at his side.

Now, with his formidable Mother shut away with her council and the soft breeze of April blowing through the window, stirring her thoughts, she decided she wished to know who that other was. Edward was her husband, despite not being her choice nor she his, and if their union was to be a success she had to know the contents of his heart. Even if she was never to own it.

"Who is this woman? The one who had captured your heart?"

Two pairs of blue eyes met across the window seat, one questioning, the other surprised. She had never spoke to candidly before.

"What?"

His voice was little more than a breath in the air.

"I do not ask out of impertinence, my lord, only I can see her" Anne said "in your eyes. You love her" He took a sharp breath, those blue eyes of his frosting over slightly. Only then did she hesitate "W-who is she?" Edward blinked, clearly taken aback by her questions if not her willingness to speak to him which until then had been rather limited. Theirs was a quiet union.

Still, he could not deny the look of slight confusion that crossed his young face. He'd thought she'd known, at least guessed perhaps?

"I would have thought you knew her" He sighed bitterly, carding a hand through his tawny hair "Although I suppose she will have not been at liberty to speak of me" Now it was young Anne's turn to partake in the confusion and her rosebud mouth dipped into a frown.

"I know her?"

He nodded, slowly, carefully, letting his eyes linger on hers before he turned to the open window beside him and indulged himself in a rare smile. It was soft on his lips, like melting butter and Anne tilted her head, watching him.

"She has a smile like the sun" He murmed, his usually gruff voice honeyed with an affection she had never heard "the voice of an angel, eyes I dream of...." a sigh passed his lips, one of an ever enduring longing, the sigh of a dreamer waiting for his dream to come true, Anne thought "I have never forgotten those blue eyes"

A secret warmth blossomed in his chest but it turned to ice at the sound of his young wife's surprised gasp. Turning from the window, he let their eyes meet again to see hers filled with shock, rosy lips slightly parted as her voice sought the strength for words.

"Catherine...."

He could only nod, turning in silence to the window where the spring breeze blew cool against his face, ruffling his hair. The name stirred something in his heart, a long claimed feeling he'd never felt for any other and flooded his veins, his mind.

"Always"

꧁꧂

February 1471, The Tower of London....

Even though he was young, from the day of the King's visit, Henry noticed a change in his Mother. She was merrier, calmer, walking with a certain spring to her step and speaking with a new lightness in her voice. When he asked for his Father, tears no longer filled her eyes, she smiled, and would cuddle him close, whispering that he would see his Father soon.

That thought made him giddy with glee and now, each day, he clambered up to the window by his bed and sat, waiting for his Father to appear.

Catherine did the same.

If King Henry knew that Elizabeth had had a son then the court did and if the court did then the whole of England knew which meant news had most likely travelled across the channel! How could it not when the birth of this little Prince carried so much importance? So much hope? His life was now the beating heart of the Yorkist cause and Catherine felt a new will to fight at his coming.

Before, everything had been murky and uncertain, with a mist clouding the future, so thick she could not see the fate of the next day. Before she had felt defeat all but claim her, her hope abandon her. She had felt lifeless but now, she felt someone had stretched out a hand and brought her into the light once more.

It was only a matter of time before Edward returned, she told herself each day and night, it was only a matter of time before Richard returned! And when he did, she would never let him go again, the King's orders and all of that rot be damned! Not even the Lord could take her husband from her once she had him in her arms!

While she was hesitant to accept it, she felt happiness begin to simmer within her heart again and would've eventually let it consume her had it not been for one thing. One person.

King Henry.

For all of the world she could not wish him harm and in the weeks that stretched between his visit in early January and the end of February a protectiveness for him had grown within her heart. His brief visit to the Tower had not been his last, in fact, it had been his first and soon it was expected that the King would grace the Tower with his presence every three days or so.

Rather quickly, any tension between he and Catherine melted away and they soon found themselves at ease with one another, chatting as old friends did. They took walks in the gardens while Henry ran ahead and found that both conversation and silence suited them. Comfortable in each other's company, Catherine could not deny that she began to look forward to the Lancastrian King's visits.

He was so gentle, so kind and he simply adored Henry!

The little boy was the prime reason he came (she quickly concluded) for once he was admitted to the garden Tower, he hardly left his small namesake's side. Little Henry seemed to bring a peace to his mind that no other could give, his youthful innocence of war and politics serving as a balm, or shield almost, from the world in which there were naught but those things.

In an evening, the King would sit on the rug by the hearth and watch the little boy play, often joining in when he built a tower from wooden bricks or a little castle. The worried lines etched in his face would relax and the stoop in his shoulders, that almost made it appear he wished to curl into himself, would fade considerably.

Even his laughs were carefree!

It made Catherine's happy to see it but also her heart twist with pain when she thought of what would become of her friend if the Yorks regained power once more. When they regained power.

The potential answer was so terrible that she refused to think on it each time it dared to enter her mind and she would force herself to find distraction. Weather it was embroidery, prayer or playing with her son, she did not care. Anything to keep her safe from her grisly thoughts.

Luckily, they did not enter her mind as she and King Henry walked through the gardens of the Tower one day in late February.

Arm in arm, as had become their custom, they strolled easily along, cloaks wrapped around their shoulders to protect against the winter cold while Henry played ahead. The day was cool and clear, the air crisp and pleasant to breathe.

King Henry had not been there long, only arriving half an hour before but he had declared he longed for a simple stroll and so there they were! Catherine wore her gloves and she could not help but look at the ostrich feathers stitched onto their wrists as she walked steadily along. The leather was smooth against her skin and the fur trimmed cuffs as soft as duckling down.

They were gloves made for a Queen and she once more tried to decipher their meaning until Henry sighed, glancing up at the sky with despondent eyes.
"What troubles you?" She asked, squeezing his arm and he smiled his gentle smile, shaking his head.
"I'm thinking of my court and council" He replied, sighing a second time "Of Lord Warwick"

"Lord Warwick?" Catherine exclaimed and a smile of slight amusement touched the corners of the King's lips. Clearly she had thought him gone, pushed aside by his other advisors and, admittedly, he had been in the beginning. But Warwick was a clever man, astute and like a snake in the way he was able to slip through cracks to reach his desired ends. He'd wheedled his way to power and for many months had all but taken the power of the court for himself!

It was something the Lancastrian Lords resented and if they were permitted their way, he would be six feet beneath the ground with his head on London Bridge! Henry could not say he completely disagreed with them but he had not their taste for violence, nor the will to govern his own life. He never had done, even as a boy.

Still, the Earl served to do little more than infuriate him, grating his fragile nerves until he felt almost swayed to rare anger! He trotted at his heels like an irritating hound, always present, always whispering into his ear, trying to curry favour for himself and his kin.

At least Henry knew his indomitable Queen would be able to deal with the man upon her return. He firmly believed Marguerite could command God himself (worshiping her the same way he did his holy Lord) and doubted Warwick or any of his mighty kin would see the year's end when she returned.

"I may be more weak willed than other King's before me" He admitted, kicking at the grass beneath his feet as he walked "and not possess the blood-thirsty nature of my cousins; their apt minds for battlefield politics...." He sighed again, shaking his head out of pure irritation "I may be out of my wits at points but that does not mean I am out of my wits at every turn, my dear! Warwick treats me as if I were still a boy in a schoolroom! I've never liked the man and I like him even less so now!"

Catherine nodded in understanding, letting a sigh of her own escape her lips, though she tried to smile when little Henry ran to them, holding up a black beetle for the King's inspection. Letting his annoyance dissipate, the man smiled and patted his namesake fondly on the head, praising him for his find before smiling when the boy took his hand.

Little Henry often liked to walk beside him, he found, and Catherine's heart warmed at the endearing sight.
"I think you know my feelings on Lord Warwick, your grace" She said and the King looked to her "I have lived through my fair share of cruelty at his hand"

"I know" He replied softly, a glimmer of sympathy in his eyes "But that is also why I speak to you now" Coming to a halt, he drew his arm gently from his friend's and looked down to the little boy by his side, lifting him up.

He held him with surprising ease and when he began to walk again, Catherine followed with a smile on her face "I feel you and my little namesake are my only true friends at times and I wish to protect you" He continued "Both Oxford and Somerset have suggested that I force you to divorce your York husband but....I know that is not what you want"

"No" She admitted, clasping her hands in front of her "I admit it is not, nor never shall be"

"Nor do I think you would be content to stay at my court once it is reformed completely" Henry replied, nodding at the certain shake of her head "I may not be able to provide much but I do believe I could provide a comfortable life for you in the country. Now your brother is once more an Earl, you could have Berkeley perhaps" He paused for a moment "I would value your advice, in truth"

Catherine looked up from where she had been staring at the ground, feeling her heart warm at his kind proposition. It was one she wished never to be but it was sweet all the same for who would he be to think that the Yorks would return? He would be a fool if he thought they wouldn't try but he certainly wouldn't pray that they succeeded as she did.

Still, his last words took her aback somewhat and she frowned, wondering if she'd heard him correctly.
"Mine?" She asked "You would value my advice, your grace?"

"Indeed" Henry answered, as if a King asking for the advice of a woman were in any way the normal order of things. At least it meant he favoured her, she supposed, but then she began to wonder, what advice could she give? While she had an apt mind for politics she knew none of the events of the Lancastrian court and was educated very little in the ways of battle.

Not that battle was the subject she thought he wished to pursue. That would have been more of a shock than his request for her council "You do not spit the same poison as the men whom surround me" He explained at long last, smiling at his young namesake when the boy began to play with the golden collar around his neck "I am fond of some of them, knowing most since childhood, but all they speak of is hate while you, you see both sides of York and Lancaster"

"And you would wish for me to help you see those sides?"

A wry smile crossed his lips and their eyes met.
"I would wish for peace, my dear. For myself, for God, for England and for little Henry here. I will see he is close by my son as he grows. He is, after all, your brother's heir"

'And his Father's' Catherine thought, glancing thoughtfully at a rose bush they passed, its branches bare of the bright blooms that would soon adorn it.

Just as England was bare of the York power that would soon claim it again. When the flowers blossomed, Edward would return and England would once more blossom too but one look at the man beside her reminded her that there was one thing that would not.

His life.

"Come, my friend" She murmured warmly, tugging gently on Henry's arm as he put her son back on his feet "Let us head inside and enjoy some spiced wine"
A happy smile graced his lips and her heart twinged with pain.
"I think that an excellent idea!"

꧁꧂

March 1471....

Rain pattered in heavy droplets against the tower window, a familiar melody that often lulled Catherine to sleep at night after she said her prayers. All day the great grey clouds that covered the sky like a great woollen blanket had loomed over England, showering their contents relentlessly onto the earth.

So wet it had become (and remained) that by the evening, the green was turned to a field of mud and the usual outing for air was impossible. Of course, that had put little Henry in dull spirits and he knelt upon the cushions that softened the window seat by their bed. Hands clasping the stone ledge before him, his little nose pressed against the glass, painting a layer of mist upon it every time he breathed.

He was bored, his Mother knew, but she could not help the weather and so simply prayed that by the next morn the rain would have ceased its attack on England. The distant rumble of thunder gave way to the strong possibility her prayers would go unanswered.

Placing the book she held aside with a sigh, Catherine rose from her seat by the fire, relinquishing it's warmth for the company of her beloved son. She walked quietly to his side through the candlelit chamber, sinking down onto the window seat cushions and arranging her skirts about her while Henry continued to stare through the glass with his dark blue eyes.

'Richard's eyes' She thought, brushing a finger across one of his rosy cheeks with a heavy heart 'Oh, my beloved Dickon'. How much longer would she have to wait to feel his arms about her? How much longer would she have to wait to see his face?

His kisses brushed along her skin when she closed her eyes, his voice spoke to her through her dreams. When she woke in a morning she was sure she could feel the ghost of his arms around her body and then she would smile until the familiar coldness of reality seeped into her skin. Her heart ached for him, her body longed for him and her soul yearned for him, craving just one glance of his face, one note of his voice.

Would she ever have such things again?

'Of course I will' She told herself, continuing to watch her son as he began to draw patterns through the veil of mist resting upon the window. Richard would return, for she and their son and she would bear him more children.

In truth, when her menses had arrived in October she was sure she had never felt a greater relief. The blood that so often proved a pain or a disappointment was nothing short of a joy to her and she had let out a laugh at the sight of it staining her kirtle. To find herself pregnant within the Lancastrian court would have been a curse but she knew that once her family was safe again, a babe in her belly would be her greatest joy.

Their greatest joy.
They would be happy.

"Does Papa like rain?"

Her son's gentle voice startled her from her thoughts and she felt her heart swell in her chest at the question. Once again, she thanked God that little Henry had not forgotten his Father, for he was so young and Richard had been away so long, she often feared he would forget. But he did not and his question proved that.

"He does" She replied softly, coming to kneel beside him so they both stared out at the waterlogged green, at the river of rainwater that ran down the cobbled Tower paths "Your Father often trained in the rain when he was younger and whenever there has been heavy rainfall, he walks amongst the aftermath" A small, reminiscent smile flitted across her lips "He says the air smells nice, that it helps him think"

Gazing across the expanse of the sodden yard below, she could almost picture the figure of her husband, hands clasped, head bowed while he walked. He wore a small frown and his brows were furrowed in thought, making him look most disgruntled when in truth he was only thinking. Her husband the brooder. Aside from swordsmanship and hunting, she was sure it was his main talent!

Henry hummed to himself, pressing his button nose against the frosted glass again.
"If Papa like rain, I do too" He said quietly and his Mother smiled, brushing a hand through his golden hair.

The rattle of keys in the chamber door startled her from her thoughts and she looked up, smiling at the servant that walked through the door.

"Dinner!" Henry exclaimed happily, looking with hungry eyes at the tray the servant carried, holding two wooden bowls filled with hot rabbit stew and a pitcher of golden ale. Clambering down from the window, he rushed eagerly to the table where they dined, hauling himself into his seat while his Mother chuckled.

"You're eager, my little one!" She called, quickly joining him and nodding her thanks as the food was laid out before her. With the chamber door open she could hear the chatter of the guards outside and turned to nod her greetings to them. After having them trail about after her for five months, she knew them well and they sometimes talked as equals, friends even.

"How are you this evening, Thomas?" She called to one and a dark haired soldier looked up from the hand of cards he held.
"Well, my Lady!" He replied, inclining his head which prompted the other two beside him to do the same. "Although I will admit, I doubt I shall be here much longer!"

Catherine's airy laugh filled the air and she tilted her head while Henry spooned his stew eagerly into his little mouth.
"Oh?" She asked "And why might that be?"

The three young men exchanged glances, ones that were undoubtedly of excitement. An excitement for war only held by those who had not yet seen it; an eagerness for the battlefield that would be dashed as soon as one foot was set upon it.

"Edward of York has landed in Yorkshire with an army they say!" Thomas replied, far too engrossed in his own words to see the way Catherine's face paled, hear the way her breath stuttered "The traitor Clarence has slunk to his side and soon we shall all be called to the banner of Lancaster!" His fist hit the table before him with a triumphant cry that had the others groaning as he took the golden coins on offer.

Turning around in her chair, Catherine's eyes darted to her son, her young heart quickening in her chest as the words spoken moments before whirled around and around in her mind. Edward was here! He had landed on English soil with men at arms, an army....and Richard.

There could be no doubt that Richard was with him, no doubt at all for he would follow his elder brother to hell if need be. In all honesty, Catherine wondered if that was not what he had done but she did not dwell on that thought, all she could dwell upon was joy, a simmering excitement that bubbled in her chest, preparing to explode like a million fireworks that would give light the darkness around her.

He was home.
Her Richard was home.

And soon, he would come to her, she knew he would.