~Waking Nightmares~

Her husband was a serious thing, that much she had always known but she had not realised the extent to which his quiet nature extended until she spent her days with him. Dickon was like a ghost when someone tried to find him, slipping through corridors and doors until he found a place where he could curl up with a book undisturbed. George teased him for it but his little brother did not care, he saw his reading as an advantage to him.

He read of knights and damsels, of fine quests performed by the knights of the round table that danced across his dreams at a height he wished to reach. Whenever Catherine found him, he would be smiling (albeit softly), running his fingers along the parchment as if to paint himself into the colourful pages.

When he saw her, he would invite her to sit with him, not in words but in a gentle glance she quickly came to know meant a warm welcome. Sometimes, he would read to her, showing her, with enthusiasm, the books he held and, in those moments, some of his stern facade would yield to childish excitement.
"One day, I shall be just as they are!" He would say, blue eyes alight with determination as he stared at the book in his hands "I shall wield a sword and fight in battles that shall bring my family glory!"

"I'm sure you shall, my Lord" She'd reply, placing a hand on his arm and smiling her encouragement. Their names for one another was another step in their marriage. Before, they called each other by their names and now they were 'my Lord' and 'my Lady', titles of marriage and a certain fondness but nothing more than that. There indeed was a certain fondness between them, a form of friendship that bound them together through matrimony.

It soon became quite often that when she was tired in an evening and Dickon was reading to her, Catherine's head would loll against his shoulder, resting there. She did not wake up as she would have done if she was frightened, sleep held her in a gentle grip and her young husband allowed it to, making sure there was always a blanket at hand that he could cover her with.

They had slept in separate chambers since their wedding night, Catherine being provided with her own now that she was a royal Duchess.

Still, it was common that as the sky became dark with the inky blackness of night, that she would wander through to Dickon's room, searching for a person to talk to or simply a passage from his books. The tales of dashing knights and beautiful ladies helped her to sleep, settling her mind until she could return to her own rooms.

During the light hours of day, she spent her time amongst the company of her Mother in law and Princess Margaret, each of whom treated her like one of their own. They fussed over her as they would a babe, praising her at each chance they received, Cecily naming her needlework as 'exquisite' which Dickon later told her was the equivalent to receiving a crown from the Duchess!

Now, two weeks into her marriage she thought of the fondness she had developed for the York girl and her illustrious Mother. She sat beside Dickon on his bed, as usual, her head laid on his shoulder while she attended to her needlework and he his book. He was reading the Canterbury tales that night, his own copy with white roses painted around the boarder of each page while she stitched red ones onto a length of cream silk Cecily had given her.

Catherine smiled at her work, content to sew the crimson thread onto the soft fabric, stitching a circle of light yellow to the centre. Her heart warmed at the sight of the beautiful flowers and she brushed a finger along the three she had completed since the silk and thread had been given to her. How she missed wearing such a magnificent bloom pinned to her gown.

If she was to wear any now it would have to be the one of York.

"You should embroider white roses" Dickon suddenly murmured, not looking up from the pages of black ink.
"What?"
A smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
"I said, you should embroider white roses, my Lady!"

Catherine raised her eyebrows, laying down her work on her lap with a small huff before she turned to her husband.
"And why should I do that, my Lord?" She asked, rolling her eyes when Dickon shut his book with an imitation of her little huff. Blue eyes filled with amusement met hers.

"Because you're my wife" He replied with a small laugh, brushing a hand across the silk Catherine held "But you truly are for Lancaster....just like Ned told me"
She could not help but nod, almost feeling guilty at the small shake of his head he gave.
"Have you not been with Yorkists since you were six?"
"Against my will" She snapped, her slight smile turning into a frown as quickly as lighting struck the earth.

Dickon simply sighed, not appearing angry outwardly. The expression on his face told more of disappointment, as if he had harboured a secret hope that was the opposite of the truth "Tell me, husband" She continued, a little gentler than before "If you had been taken by Lancastrians at six, would you still be faithful to York? Just because you were separated from those you loved and belonged with does not mean your heart would be swayed"

Her small smile returned and Dickon's did too, all trace of sadness gone from his face as he took her hand and gently pressed a kiss to it, as had become his custom.

"Did you know you are the highest Lady in the land now?" He asked and she tilted her head curiously, not having thought of her new marriage through the rout of power before "You are higher than my Mother and sisters and my brother George has no wife, though she would be equal to you. The only woman that could be higher would be the Queen and Edward has no Queen. You are the First Lady of England! Does that not bring you some happiness?"

A small gasp escaped Catherine's lips and she began to laugh in shock, shaking her head while she did so.
"I never thought of that!" She admitted and truly she never had.

Throughout the fourteen days she had been wed, she had never considered the fact that she, Catherine Percy now held the highest female position in the land! Once there was a Queen, of course she would be below her but, at least in the ruling York court, she was the only royal Duchess! Princess Catherine, Duchess of Gloucester.

She was higher than her Mother, higher than almost any she knew....higher than Warwick. This was almost all her parents had dreamt for her, only one step below and with a York.

Dickon smiled, moving to put an arm around her when he suddenly let out a hiss, clutching his right shoulder and breaking Catherine's reverent thoughts.
"Dickon?" She asked frantically, instinctively reaching out only to have him flinch away from her touch. "Dickon what is it? Tell me!"

"My shoulder...." He groaned "My shoulder and my back....it hurts...." Hot tears began to pool in his eyes and Catherine felt a surge of pity, just the same as she had felt for Edmund when she had seen him.
"Come here"

Reaching towards him again slowly, she took hold of his shoulders, being careful not to apply pressure to the one that pained him so that he did not flinch as she turned his back to her. Just as she had done to Agnes when her joints pained her, she began to massage his shoulder, gentle kneading the forming muscle beneath his shirt.

"You are growing strong" She remarked to distract him and Dickon smiled a little, shrugging only for him to let out another pained hiss "Stay still" Catherine told him and he obeyed, breathing a shaking sigh at the relief that flooded through his back and shoulder when she continued.

"Where did you learn?" He asked while she worked, leaning his head against the pillows beside him.
"Agnes" Catherine replied simply, finding tears flooded her eyes at her deceased companion's name. Shaking her head, she determinedly forced herself to blink them back, focusing on the task in hand "Let us not talk of her. I must see to your shoulder"

Her husband gave a small nod she was grateful for and once she was done, she took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze just like she did to Georgie.
"Thank you, Catherine"
With another sigh, Dickon turned to face her again, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he looked at her. Their hands still joined, he brought hers to his lips, bestowing his usual kiss to it before he leant forth and brushed a chaste kiss against her cheek.

"You do not hate me as I thought you might" He murmured "You are a Lancastrian and yet you seek out my company. You sit by me with your head upon my shoulder as if you are fond of me, or you feel safe with me" Catherine's face began to flush as she realised he spoke the truth and knew she would have to admit it. She did not bear the same hatred for Dickon that she had been taught to keep within her heart.

The strongest feeling she had ever felt was an imbedded resentment that nagged at her heart at night, deeming her a traitor to her family. Perhaps it was true fondness, as Dickon had said, or perhaps her determined spirit had been corroded over time, like a rock on the shore.

"I do not hate you" She confessed "How could I? You who has shown me only kindness since the first day that we met. I am fond of you, my Lord, truly I am but I also think that all my hatred may be used up. It is focused upon the Nevilles and is a hatred so strong that I do not think even the opposing forces of York and Lancaster could match it!" A wry smile crossed her lips and Dickon squeezed her hand again.

"I am fond of you too" He admitted "Perhaps in time, we may become friends?"
"Perhaps" Catherine replied.

A quiet knock at the door made the two look up and Dickon called for whoever was there to enter. A pageboy stepped into the room, bowing low to the Duke and Duchess while they watched him curiously from the bed, both wondering what he was doing there when the castle was readying for sleep.

"The King has sent for you, your graces" He announced when he rose and Dickon groaned a little, pressing a hand to his forehead.
"I forgot" He said when Catherine frowned, thinking his head might be hurting "Ned wanted to see you and I this evening! I do not know why"

"But I cannot!" She exclaimed, looking down at the nightgown she wore "I am not dressed, my Lord!" Dickon murmured his agreement at that, waving the pageboy while he hopped down from the bed.
"Tell his grace we shall be with him shortly" He instructed, rummaging through his coffers until he found a velvet bed robe and pulled it out into the torchlight "Wear this"

Catherine nodded, slipping from the bed and reaching for the robe only to have Dickon hold it out for her, gentling her arms through the sleeves before he placed the velvet mantle on her shoulders "There" He said, satisfied when she tied the sash at her waist "You look a true Duchess"

Taking the arm that he offered, the two set off to the King's chambers, strolling along the corridors which were void of courtiers, now retired to bed. As she walked, Catherine wondered what it could be that Edward wished to speak to them of. She could only guess at a few things, that he wanted to extend Dickon's duties as Duke or send them to their own household.

Within one of the Yorks great strongholds, Raby, Fotheringhay or Ludlow, he could place his own men and while Dickon became a man, a leader of the land, the York King could keep an eye upon her. It would prevent her family or any Lancastrian from retrieving her back to their side even if they tried.

Even if they tried....

Ever since her Father had died there had been no rumblings of Percy uprising in the North nor anywhere else for that matter! To the best of her knowledge, her family had relinquished their war for her, leaving her to the Yorks. Her brother was young, she admitted, but she knew him now to be fifteen, almost a man and thought that he would at least try for her!

Surely he had not forgotten....surely her own dear brother had not lost his memory of 'tiny Cate' the girl he used to protect, the babe he used to hold in his arms.

She shook her head as she and her husband came to the King's doors and were admitted entry by the guards there, banishing all thoughts of darkness from her mind.

The chamber they entered was warm, richly furnished with an ornate door which led to the King's bedchamber where a large four poster bed lay. Edward himself sat beside the fire in his solar, his golden hair turned amber by the flames that flickered in the hearth beside him. He was simply dressed in his shirt and breeches, a goblet in one hand and an open letter in the other that he read until he heard footsteps behind him.

Immediately, he cast the parchment to the side, standing with a smile and opening his arms in welcome.
"Well well!" He exclaimed "Brother Dickon and his new little wife! You have come at my command!"
"Of course, Ned" Dickon replied solemnly, sweeping a practiced bow while Catherine bobbed a small curtsy. "What is it you wish to speak with us about?"

The York King's smile widened and he gestured to the two chairs laid out opposite him, sitting down again while they took their places. He smiled at their interlinked arms, how they changed so that Dickon had his hand gently atop hers when they sat. It seemed a thing that was to calm her for, as bold as she could be, Edward could see the way her chest rose and fell quickly with nerves.

Somehow he had a feeling he would unfortunately cause that to worsen within the next few minutes and took a swig of wine from his goblet as a precaution.
"What is it, brother?" Dickon asked and then he could not help but smile. His youngest brother was always so attentive, never more so than to him. In all honesty, he was like a hound, a loyal hound always trotting by his heels, ears pricked up in case an order was spoken.

He wondered if he would be as loyal to his little wife.

Looking to Catherine, he could see that she would blossom into a beautiful woman, how the childish features of her face would turn into one's of delicate pleasure. The golden tresses she owned, along with her pale skin, were already deemed as ideals of their society and while Dickon devoutly claimed not to be swayed by beauty, he was still a boy and would one day begin to turn into a man, Edward knew. Then he would recognise beauty to be a virtue as valuable as honour and loyalty were.

When he discovered lust he would not be so blind, the King decided and continued to look at the couple before him.

They did not appear to hate one another but, then again, nor did they appear to be close friends. He knew Catherine would often go to his brother's chambers in an evening but in the light of day there was hardly a word spoken between them. His Mother was to blame for that, too busy fussing over Catherine as if she were her own to release her to her young husband! The news he was about to break would remedy that for certain.

"Well?" Catherine prompted and Edward caught the smile that tugged at the corners of his youngest brother's lips. So he knew she was bold too, it seemed? Straightening himself up in his regal chair, he took up the letter he was holding once more, gazing at the red seal bearing the Neville arms.

"I have news" He said softly "News from the North"
"Oh?" The young girl murmured, her voice now quietly fearful as she thought of the desolate world he spoke of "And what news might that be? Good? Bad?"

The York King tilted his head, studying her again for a moment until he felt his brother's eyes on him, curious and slightly worried.
"Good for some, bad for others" He admitted at last, his strong voice wavering "You are to return to Middleham"

꧁꧂

Catherine groaned in her sleep as she writhed around on her pillows, Duchess Cecily and Princess Margaret by her side, each watching her with concern.
"What on earth was he thinking?" The latter hissed while she pressed a cool cloth to the girl's forehead "The fool! And now she is within the grip of a fever we do not even know how to begin to cure!"

"It is grief" Her Mother answered, her voice distant as if she were gazing into another world and not upon the body of her sick daughter in law "Torturous grief from memories too hard to tell....I have seen it in soldiers and now I see it in her"
"I did not know cousin Richard could be so cruel"

Cecily laughed at that, a harsh bitter laugh that filled the chamber while Catherine jerked, tears leaking from the corners of her closed eyes.
"Although I love him as my nephew, he is a man who craves power, for his family and himself. Dear Catherine was merely another pawn for him to use in his never ending game. She's nothing more than an asset to him. But Edward loves him. And Edward trusts him"

Margaret frowned in earnest, her heart twisting painfully at the sight of the little girl that had fainted at the name of one great Northern Castle, or so her brothers had said. Edward had carried her to her room and it was there she had awoken, screams of terror breaking from her throat while she wept. Dickon tried to speak to her, Cecily tried to calm her but she did not listen.

Or rather....she did not hear.

It was if she was trapped within another world and when she fainted once more, she did not awaken again. For almost a day she had lain upon her bed, sick with a fever that had crept up on her like the Neville brothers. Her husband had not known what to do and had stayed away, praying within the chapel for her life while Edward paced back and forth in his study. George merely went about his business as usual.

Duchess Cecily and her daughter watched over the young girl, her guardian angels that prayed and cared for her through day and through night. They could do nothing else, it seemed, apart from watch her suffer, watch her small body jerk and shudder while sweat stuck her shift to her skin. Throughout the night and day she had remained that way and when Dickon arrived in the evening she was no better.

Gazing on her with worry, he walked to her side, almost pushing his sister out of the way to take his young wife's hand.

"Is she any better, ma mére?"
"No, my son" Cecily replied gently, placing a tender hand atop her youngest boy's mass of curls that were exactly like his Father's had been. He clutched Catherine's hand tighter, pressing a kiss to it before snatching the cold cloth from Margaret and placing it upon her forehead again.

"It is shock" The Princess murmured "Something has happened....something so bad that her mind and body will not let her return to the North...."
"I didn't know she was locked away for so long....I thought it was just a week or two" She heard her brother whisper, his voice barely audible above the rustle of the covers as Catherine jerked again "Christ what was Ned thinking?" He suddenly exclaimed.

"I wasn't thinking"

Three pairs of blue, York eyes turned towards the door where the King of England stood, his arms crossed and his teeth chewing the inside of his cheek in worry. He could feel his Mother's glare upon him as he stepped forth into the chamber, a glare that followed him while he traipsed to the other side of the bed "She and Dickon are to leave for the North tomorrow"

"Edward!" Margaret exclaimed "She is not fit to travel!"
"And you think she will be when she wakes?" He retorted "I have made a deal with our cousin, a deal he has fairly earned. He wants Dickon's guardianship until his knightly training is over....he wanted Catherine's too but I refused"

"And who have you given it to?" Dickon asked, suddenly peering up, wide eyed at his elder brother.
"Our cousin, John"

The boy simply nodded, looking back down to his wife as he head lolled to one side upon the pillows "It will be a mercy to move her now" Edward continued, determined to see his actions proved right "she may have relaxed by the time the journey is afoot. To prolong departure would only prolong her pain. Oh, and I'm sending George with them"

His sister suddenly groaned, frowning at him.
"Why George?" She complained "I need him here! He is the only living soul I talk to other than Catherine or Mother!"
"Dickon needs his brother and he is a ward of Warwick too, Meg, do not forget that"

With a scowl, Margaret looked down at her hands, playing with the rings she wore until she gave a taut nod and her King was satisfied "Good" He murmured shortly, uncomfortable under the insistent gaze of his Mother that made him feel like a small boy again, a small boy in trouble. Avoiding her icy eyes, he strode out before another word could be spoken, guilt plaguing his heart.

'She shall be well' He told himself firmly, fiddling with his rings just as his sister had done 'She shall be safe and used to Middleham' Dickon would care for her and so would George. John would look after her too and keep her from the ambitions of his older brother. With any luck Warwick would be away from Middleham by the time that they arrived and besides....he knew that the little Duchess would be returned to Westminster soon.

But no one else did.

꧁꧂

July 1464, the English Midlands....

The party that trundled along the road from London to the north was one of eerie silence, lead by two young boys, followed by a carriage surrounded by armed soldiers. The carriage's curtains were closed, the heavy velvet shutting out almost all of the light that tried to dare enter the small space piled high with blankets and containing the young Duchess of Gloucester.

The two brothers sometimes spoke, talking quietly to one another and often glancing over their shoulders to where the carriage lay. It was not an easy nor short journey for any to embark upon, especially in silence and as the days glided by in a blur of riding and uneven roads, even the soldiers began to tire.

Inside of the small carriage they guarded, lay Catherine Percy, the highest Lady in the land yet the one lowest in spirits.

When she had awoken to find herself bundled in furs and upon the road she had almost died of fright but found she was too weak to try and escape, still gripped by fever. By the third day her sickness had cleared, leaving her tired and rather thin, shocking her husband at how quickly she had managed to shed what little weight she had; withering like a flower in winter.

Her arms and legs resembled twigs and hurt to move, her head spun when she tried to stand. She was limited to the furs that covered her upon the cushioned carriage seats but for once she did not care to be restricted. All life had been drained from within her, all strength, all courage, all sprit. She knew well what the memories of her incarceration brought, attacks of panic that were frightening but passed all the same.

This one had stayed, trapping her within an ever worsening world that revolved around fear.

She had not spoken a word, not one word throughout the entire journey, finding any words she tried to conjure simply dried upon her tongue. She hardly ate, hardly drank, her skin became sallow and red in places, the same as her eyes that were puffy and sore from the relentless crying that filled her silent days.

At night, the party would stay in a manor or a castle and Dickon would help her from the carriage, his arm around her waist as he guided her inside. She would spend the night in her own bed but she did not sleep, she hardly ever slept, letting dark crescents resembling bruises form under her eyes. In the morning, a maid would come to dress her. Still, she did not speak and nor did she smile, she would simply let herself be moved like a doll, just as she had done on her first wedding day....

George would then come to collect her, swinging her up into his arms and carrying her to the carriage once more; settling her into her bed of furs.

Once or twice he tried to coax her to speak, to smile, but his efforts were fruitless just as Dickon's were. In Catherine's mind, she was travelling to her doom, to her execution almost and what cause was there to smile when one faced their death? The carriage was her prison, the furs the chains that bound her to it, the soldiers the angels of death that carried her towards the stone fortress that would be her jail once and for all. 

She could not face Warwick, she knew she could not. He was the ghoul that plagued her nightmares, his grasping hands the things that curled around her arms, dragging her away to the Far Tower. What if she was sent back there? Dickon was a boy close to his Neville cousins, if they wanted her back in her Tower, her young husband would be powerful to stop them.

When she closed her eyes she could feel Warwick's nails digging into her shoulders, grabbing at her braid while she was thrust into darkness; isolation. Every time the dark thoughts crossed her mind, she would shudder, shrinking further and further into the sea of blankets that covered her.

Then, she would cry.