~Those who Trespass Against us~

George was dragged to the Tower, without a moment to lose and without ceremony. He had called for the King the whole way there according to Richard (who had had to try with all his strength to refrain from hitting his brother again), throwing accusations here, there and everywhere!

While the rest of the court buzzed, the royal family retreated behind closed doors, causing more speculation then they would've done had they been out in the open. They knew how important appearances were, how much of a difference they could make to a situation but this was one with no happy endings.

If they appeared, they did not care about the traitor and were unable to dispense justice. If they locked themselves away they were either, plotting his death or plotting against one another.

Either way made the House of York appear weak and Catherine knew as she woke the morning after her that she could not face the court. Not only had her boy's life been threatened but her darkest secret had been revealed to the prying eyes she thought would never know, had prayed would never know. Now they did and she knew it would take less than a day for the rumour (for that was it was in the eyes of the court since it had been spouted by a madman) to reach the Tower where the imprisoned Marguerite would hear it.

Only she would know it was true and Catherine could still hardly bear the thought of the Lancastrian Queen thinking ill of her.

So, she and Richard spent the next two days in their rooms, with their children and in one another's arms. They created the same warmth and comfort they had when at Fotheringhay, when they were young and new in the ways of love, when everything was bright and untainted.

Henry, while he tried to put on a brave face, was shaken to the core and stayed abed for most of the first day. Joan, ever one to look out for her older brother, had worried for him, sitting at his door and waiting for him to appear. When he didn't, she snuck into his room to find him crying on his pillows and promptly slid into bed beside him. He'd clung to her, she'd clung to him and that was how their parents found them that evening, sound asleep.

Dickon and Edward were the only two of the household that did not notice a strange shift in their daily routine! At four and one they were not much bothered and simply happy they had more time to play! Their parents watched them from the window seat in their bedchamber, Catherine curled up in Richard's arms, her head on his chest.

Neither of them spoke much but they didn't need to. They knew that had each other and that was all they truly wanted in those moments.

꧁꧂

Richard was silent as he let Catherine dress him for the morning his brother's trial would begin. Black velvet trimmed with white fur. Day to night, pure to tainted, life to death. The colours of mourning in England and in France. If she disapproved, she didn't say a word and in all sense, he wasn't sure if he approved himself.

He stared into the flames of the hearth before him, barely noticing the encouraging smiles she gave or the butterfly soft kisses pressed to his cheeks. He twisted his rings, carded a hand through his hair, so much she told him repeatedly to stop fiddling. But he couldn't, so took to shuffling from foot to foot instead.

It had been two days since George's outburst and now, on the third, Edward had declared their brother's trial would begin. His own brother's trial, now that was something he never thought he would be presiding over! It was true, there was no love lost between him and George and hadn't been for some years but the possibility of having to condemn him to death was enough to turn his stomach.

And what of their Mother? She had lost brothers, countless cousins and friends, a husband, a son, what would she think now that her remaining children were butchering one another? It couldn't be denied, Cecily Neville was a strong woman but her youngest son suspected the days following could be the straw to break the camel's back.

If that happened, he was not sure he would ever be able to forgive himself. Would Edward? For all his free and easy facade he still had a conscience, or at least Richard hoped he did.

He looked at his knuckles, still swollen from the night when he'd hit George until he was black and blue. The evidence of that beating would still be visible now, he was sure and shook his head at the thought of seeing it. He'd done no wrong, after all, his brother threatened his son and heir but he knew it certainly wouldn't paint him in the best light with some of the nobles and that was the last thing he needed.

Could Edward be swayed to mercy? Did he even want Edward to be swayed to mercy? Richard did not know and it troubled him more than he could say. He had to admit, he doubted the former was possible. If it were any other man, he would've already been put to death for treason and perhaps (as a Royal Duke) if this had been George's first offence it could be forgiven.

But it wasn't.

Time and time again he had betrayed his family and their cause, time and time again he had slighted his monarch, played the game of rebellion like it was chess, taken measures that made a mockery of Edward's rule. The King had let it go unpunished for the sake of unity before, but now, he wouldn't let it go so easily. He couldn't unless he wanted his nobles to lose faith in him.

That alone could cause a war.
A breath of insecurity was enough to turn the wheel of fortune against the crown.

So was George to be made an example of? Would he even be given a fair trial or be subjected to a kangaroo court? Surely Edward wouldn't do him that disservice, although he'd certainly done enough to warrant it.

"There" Catherine's soft voice called to through the mist that swirled around his conflicted mind and Richard finally found the energy to smile slightly "You are ready, my love"

"Am I?" He replied, taking her in his arms to try and gain the strength he needed "I'm not so sure" She shook her head against his doublet and peered upwards, taking his face in her hands.

"I know you are conflicted, that is your nature as it always has been Dickon, but you must do what is right for England and what is right for our children!" She tilted his head towards where their five little ones were playing in the window seat and he nodded "I know you will" She continued "But he will not stop, he's gone mad....we both know this and it could bring our house burning to the ground with our babes inside it"

꧁꧂

Three days later....

"No! You cannot execute him! He's your brother!" Frowning with worry, Catherine picked up her skirts and quickened her pace at the sound of her Mother in law's voice echoing through the hallway. Never had she heard the Duchess's voice falter as it did, sound desperate as it did.

Proud Cis did not beg.

"Let me past" She ordered the guards who stood at the entrance to the great hall and they obeyed, pushing open the doors. Catherine all but ran inside at the sight of Cecily, standing before the King and Queen on their thrones and trembling. Actually trembling.

She shook her head, almost wildly, so forcefully her hennin near fell from her head.
"You will forgive him!" She said "Edward, you will" the King's face was harder than stone and when his eyes flicked to his approaching sister in law it did not soften. Not one bit.

So George was to be executed.

So the second son of York would die?

"I'm sorry for your loss, Mother" He returned cooly, glancing back to Cecily "but I will not" Even Elizabeth looked slightly surprised at that. No one could doubt her hatred for George and Catherine knew of the curse that lay in the locket around her neck. Nine long years they had both waited for that curse to take hold but now that it did, neither seemed to truly want it.

Not for him, of course, but to heal the wound tearing their family into two.

A small sniffle escaped Cecily's lips and she almost stumbled forward towards her son's throne, heartbreak in her eyes. Even treason could not erase a Mother's love.

"You will forgive him" She whispered, trying to take hold of her trembling voice "I command it"
"You don't command me" Edward replied, as cold as before.

"I am your Mother!"
"And I am your King!" He shouted, leaning forward on his throne so threateningly that Cecily took a step or two back. Looking over her shoulder, Catherine could see the plea in her tear-filled eyes, the desperate need to save a soul she'd created.

"Please" She whispered but before her daughter could go to her, she turned away, a sudden panic taking hold. Her breaths quickened and she looked around the hall, at the two on their thrones. Edward still looked unloved while Elizabeth refused to meet her eye, staring at her skirts instead "Oh God" She murmured as if the situation had truly dawned on her in that moment "Oh God...."

"The only mercy I can give him is to choose the means of his own death" Edward told her and she shook her head "Weather it be the sword or the scaffold or the block or whatever he chooses" A trembling finger pointed at the Queen.

"You did this!" Elizabeth's head shot up in denial "Please Edward!" Cecily begged "Please, you're my son!" Her voice was so desperate even the heart of the devil would split in two. She reached out, trying to cradle Edward's cheek but he pulled away, forcing a small sob from her lips as she took his face in both her hands instead "You can't do this to me! You can't kill him! Please!"

Edward shook his head, trying to push her away but she held him, clung to him and he stood, forcing her away with his mighty strength so that she had to retreat. Stumbling across the hall, she turned to where her son strode toward her, trying to leave and held out her arms "No!" She screamed and fell to her knees.

"I will beg you" She whispered, beginning to lower herself to the ground, a true act of submission, discarding her pride.
"Mother....." His face had softened somewhat "Mother don't...." Cecily only kept her eyes on him, lowering herself until her body was pressed against the icy floor and her tears splashed on the polished marble.

"I beg you, Ned....please" Edward watched her, hesitating only a moment before he strode past and Cecily began to scream. Unable to rise she only cried, begging through words that became more and more slurred the less air her lungs allowed her to take, the more her sobs snatched strength from her "Edward!" She screamed, her shrill voice filling the hall as he walked away shaking his head "Edward please!"

Without thinking, Catherine's feet moved, carrying her not to the Queen, who was now crying herself, but to Cecily. The grieving Duchess had comforted her so many times as a girl, as a woman, soothed her fears and held her tight. Now it was Catherine's turn. Kneeling down, she pulled her into her arms, feeling tears begin to stream down her cheeks as Proud Cis sobbed into her gown.

"My son" She whispered over and over "My boy....my child....my George" She shook her head, dampening the silk of Catherine's bodice "Look after him, Richard. Look after our boy...." And after that there were no more words spoken, not a single one for Cecily did not have the strength and passed out in her daughter's embrace.

꧁꧂

18th of February 1478, Westminster....

Richard had been missing all morning. So had Edward. So had Elizabeth. So had Cecily and every other York she searched for. She'd woken to find the space beside her cold and had waited for her husband's return ever since, wishing to comfort him for no matter how much discord lay between he and George, she had to admit they were still brothers.

And that very day was the day George was to be executed at his older brother's hand. That would be something scholars and historians would be talking over for centuries, she was sure, but she never wanted to even think on it again.

Drowned in a barrel of malmsey wine. The death of a fool. True to his word, Edward had allowed George to choose the means of his death and that was what he had chosen, to be put to death in a crimson ocean of his only comfort. The comfort that would become his torture as he drowned in the bitter depths. Had he thought it through? Of course not but Catherine was not sure weather George truly believed he would die.

He had never been one to take responsibility for his own actions and had slipped away from justice so many times, why would he not do so again now? If only he knew he'd pushed Edward too far and torn his family apart because of it. Cecily had sworn never to utter one syllable to her eldest son again and Catherine knew she meant her venomous words.

Proud Cis was not one to speak without determination. She was a Neville and Nevilles never backed down.

Richard would return sooner or later, perhaps before the Tower cannon boomed for George's death or perhaps after. For once she could not read his mind and it troubled her greatly. To distract herself, she fetched her youngest child from the nursery and sat with little Edward in the window seat of her bedchamber, holding his small waist as he peered at the sky above.

"Birdy" He murmured, one chubby finger pressing against the frosted glass and she nodded, stroking his head of flaxen curls. How she envied the innocence of her children, the hope glistening in their eyes that widened in wonder at every turn. To them, everything was exciting, everything was pure and new.

She didn't remember a time she'd possessed such an untainted outlook on life (or if she did it was in flashes only caught in dreams and lost again when the sun rose) because it had been ripped away when she was six. Her children would lose it one day, she knew, and had a feeling Henry already had, but she would ensure they would be able to retain a remanence of it for as long as the world allowed.

"I love you, Neddy" She murmured and the little boy turned to beam at her, now familiar with the nickname the King bestowed on him when he was first born.
"Mama" He replied quietly and flopped down by her side, bouncing on the small cushions as he crawled into her lap.

Again, she ran a hand through his golden curls, kissing the fine strands that slipped like silk between her fingers. One day soon, she hoped to give Edward a little brother or sister and her free hand slipped to the front of her gown where her womb lay. Empty.

And she found she could not think of new life while another was being taken. No matter how much she hated him. Would he struggle? Would he weep or would he let death take him? Did he truly believe he would die? Did he think a last minute reprieve would be sent for him?

If he did he was the only one.

The boom of a cannon, though distant and muffled by the thick palace walls, shook Catherine to the core and she flinched. Her heart pounded, her hands shook and little Edward found himself suddenly clasped to her chest, countless kisses pressed to his face.

"Nell!" She called "Eleanor!" The door of the nursery swung open and Nell walked through, a understanding frown on her face. Without a word, she gently took baby Edward and carried him away to his siblings.
"Mama...." He murmured, reaching a hand over Nell's shoulder but all his Mother could do was wave and sigh as he disappeared and the door closed once more.

At least she knew her children were safe, with Margery, Nell and Meg. That was all that mattered, she should
not be affected by George's death. After all, he had threatened her eldest mere days ago!

So why....why did she feel so numb? So empty and sad?

"Mother!" Catherine spun sharply on her heels and almost jumped at the sight of Henry standing right behind her, hands clasped behind his back, face as serious as his Father's. She reached out, placing a tender hand on his shoulder.

"Henry?"

"I've...." He hesitated a little, shuffling from foot to foot and his Mother frowned, slipping her hand around both his shoulders, drawing him close. No, she would not have her boy troubled for even one moment, she thought, drawing him to the window seat and settling him beside her. He gazed up at her with implicit trust, with a love his eyes had been filled with since his birth.

"I've been with Father" He admitted quietly "In the chapel and when" He hesitated again and she gave his right shoulder a gentle squeeze "When the cannon sounded he began to cry Mother. He was asking God for forgiveness, for him, for Edward. He said himself he didn't know why it hurt so much but it did....he's still there now"

"Oh, my boy" Catherine whispered, pulling Henry close and feeling his arms wrap around her. He'd been embroiled in more upset that past week than he ever had in his life and she hated to see him sad. He was only nine "My dear, sweet little Prince....how I hate to see you suffer"

"I only suffer because Father does so. I will be well" He mumbled against her shoulder, filling her heart with more love for him, if that were possible.
"You are a true knight and if you ever need to raise your sword on a battlefield you will you our house proud, although you know I wish for that to never happen"

That, at least, made Henry smile a little bit.

Their heads jerked up as a knock came at the door and Catherine called entry, hoping it would be Richard only for her heart to sink when a page came forth instead.

"Your grace. My Lord" He bowed, stopping at the window and holding out a letter in his hand, one without a seal, without a name on the front. Catherine frowned but took it all the same, looking to the page for an explanation he didn't provide "from the Tower, your grace" Was all he said before scurrying from the room as if staying a moment longer would get himself sent to that dreaded fortress himself.

"Mother?" Henry questioned, frowning when she removed her arm from around his shoulders. Unfolding the parchment, she saw only two words but they were words that swayed her heart, tortured her mind and filled her eyes with tears. She clasped a hand to her mouth.

'I'm sorry' It said, signed with a simple flourish of a pen forming a G, a G for George. The George that now lay dead, his soul with God or with Satan. For some reason, the latter thought made her face crumple and her mind was flooded with memories, good memories she had long shut away. Memories of their childhood when he let her ride his horse on the way to Middleham, when he made her laugh to soothe her fears, when he was kind and almost good....

All memories before Warwick had taken his soul.

"Did you do it?" Even though his voice was quiet, her head turned as sharply as if he'd screamed and she stared at her son blankly. He blinked "Kill the Lancastrian Prince?"

Tears began to stream down her face but all she could do was nod. She would not lie to him, she could not lie to him, not her Henry, not her boy.
"Yes" She replied, as if she were the child between the two of them "It was the only way but much different then how it was with George. Edward of Lancaster was kind, gentle even...."

Henry nodded and her voice faded into silence. Looking once more at the note again, he leant up and kissed her cheek, taking her hand in his.
"My uncle is dead, Mother, he's paid for his crimes....I forgive him....perhaps you should too" Giving her hand a quick squeeze, he slipped away, disappearing through the nursery doors before she could speak.

And when she heard the handle click, she burst into sobs. A hand came to cover her mouth, to hide the tears and the mangled sounds tearing from her throat. She shook her head 'perhaps you should too' she shook her head again. How could she forgive George? Even if she wanted to, even if it would give her peace? After everything he'd done, how could she....

"Your grace?" Through vision blurred by tears, Catherine looked up to see a shadowy female figure standing in the doorway of her chambers.

She wore a simple blue gown, trimmed with sable fur and her hair was scraped tightly back, hidden, as if one strand left showing would condemn her immortal soul for the flames. Her hands were folded submissively in front of her and while Catherine suspected that beneath her facade lay an intelligent woman, there was no doubting the true concern that filled her dark eyes as she approached.

The young Duchess clung to it in her time of need. For all the times she'd thought her a fanatic, her mind told her she could seek comfort in Lady Margaret's words; in her wisdom of the word of God. They had only spoken once and their short conversation had been nothing short of unnerving but now that was all forgotten and the present was what mattered.

Rising shakily from the window, Catherine watched as Lady Margaret closed the door softer than a ghost would and approached, a sympathetic frown on her face "Your grace what is it?" The other woman's breath hitched, her lower lip trembling as she sniffed and her chest heaved.

"Tell me" She said "how should we find the strength to bear the wrongs people do us?" Lady Margaret stepped closer, tilting her head "He rose against my husband, all but forced him into exile, took him into war, away from me and my children, betrayed all the trust I had in him and held a knife to my boy's neck....so why should I find it in my heart to forgive him?" She shook her head and her voice dropped to a whisper "why should I even try? Have you known loss, Lady Margaret?"

"I've buried two husbands" Margaret replied quietly, her voice possessing a kindness to it Catherine did not think it could hold "And my only son is forced to live away from me" Her eyes flicked to the nursery door to where four children played.

To have one taken would be a torture but to only have one and then have them taken would be a hell "He is the heir to the House of Lancaster, an enemy of the King, so I was not allowed to see him" The statuesque woman swallowed slightly and as she stepped into the window's light, her eyes glistened with unshed tears "Was not allowed to raise him....he may as well be lost to me"

If her children were taken, Catherine knew she would go mad, would wither in sorrow until she died and deny the light of the earth for her children were that light. But Margaret had not taken that rout, no, here she was, a courtier, a lady in waiting to the Queen and arguably the most pious woman in England.

"And yet you have your faith?"

She stepped a little closer, now only a foot away.
"The Bible tells us 'an eye for an eye' but it also tells us love your enemies, bless those who curse you and pray for those who spitefully use you" As she spoke, Catherine's tears slowly stopped and she nodded, forcing her breaths to steady: soothed somewhat.

Perhaps she could not forget but perhaps she could forgive?

"Lady Margaret?" She asked and Margaret smiled slightly "Will you pray with me?" Her alabaster hands reached out, clasping Catherine's in their icy grasp and yet it was comforting, calming and there was a kind depth to her eyes when she nodded.
"It would be an honour"

Together, the two women gathered their skirts and sunk down to the floor, clasping their hands and bowing their heads. Catherine closed her eyes, letting Margaret's steady voice lull her to calmness and eventually, sway her heart to the beginnings of forgiveness.

'No more death' She told herself 'After this there will be no more death'