~Draw him Close~

5th of September 1484....

Rolling the beads of her rosary between her fingers, Constance paced back and forth at the end of her bed as her ladies packed around her. After nine days of relative respite at Helmsley Castle it was finally decided the king's army would join the men stationed at Sutton Bank. To there they would march and set up camp, survey the land and concoct the best strategy to ensure her son's victory.

At least try to ensure it.
Secure it.

Dear Martha was not there. She'd sent her with coin and a kiss back to Middleham for her own safety, clasping her hands tight and telling her when victory was seen, she too would reap the rewards.

Picking up her book of hours which was beside her bed, rosary draped over it and passed into her other hand, the turned it back and forth. It was probably best to take it with her. If nothing else she could stare at the illuminated pages and hope.

"Margaret?" The dark-haired woman appeared at her side "See this safely wrapped for the journey."
"Of course, your grace."

"Mother?" She looked up to see Edward entering her bedchamber, Richard close behind, and walked around the bed to greet them, pushing herself onto her toes to place a kiss to his cheek "Ma Mère," He looked around the room, the floor and furniture strewn with gowns and chests "what are you doing?"

"Preparing, of course!" Oh Lord, he hadn't forgotten their departure on the morrow, had he? No, Richard wouldn't allow that! "Would you have me leve without fresh gowns or jewels?"

"I would not have you leave at all!" He quickly replied "Nor did I intend you to! You are to stay here, with the girls." The world about her stilled a moment and she blinked in confusion, looking past Edward to Richard who appeared to be a little too preoccupied with the pointed toes of his shoes.

Her face hardened.
"Leave us." She ordered and the servants and her ladies bobbed hurried curtsies before shuffling past the King and his Uncle, Beth and Margaret looking as confused as their mistress. The door shut. She took a step back "What do you mean, Edward?"

"I do not wish to see you hurt, Mother!" He said in earnest, flashing a loving smile "It is my battle to win!"

"And have I not fought it well enough for you this past year and a half? Now you would cut me off and imprison me here like a child or a frightened hen?" Not leave with him and the army? Ha! What a notion. Remain? She would do no such thing! What on earth had put that into his head?
"I would protect you, as I failed to do in Burgundy."

Frowning, she only looked past her son to Richard again, demanding his attention with her stern tone.

"And you agree with this? This folly?"
He looked up - almost sheepish.

"It would be safer, Con." He replied quietly "You are the master of many plans, your mind is invaluable to our cause, and you have been a leader of an army but you have not seen battle nor been on a field where one is to be fought. It is brutal, it is dangerous beyond measure-"

"We are to let my fourteen year old son stroll merrily onto it but you would bar me?"
"I am the King!"
"Et je suis ta mère." 'And I am your mother.' She snapped, narrowing her eyes at his cool tone. Rage began to bubble inside her as Edward folded his hands behind his back, tilted up his chin. Her sharp change to her native language had unnerved him a little. Good, she thought.

"J'ai l'oncle Dickon pour me guider," 'I have Uncle Dickon to guide me' He replied in French as perfect as hers "et me voir en sécurité. Il n'est pas nécessaire-" 'and see me safe. There is no need-"

"Il y a tout le besoin!" 'There is every need!' She cried and took his chin firmly between her fingers, drawing him toward her. He had to understand, she would make him understand! "Il faut que je constate par moi-même votre victoire, votre sécurité ! Je me suis battu dur et longtemps pour t'avoir et je fais tout ce qu'il faut pour te garder! 'I must see for myself your victory, your safety! I fought hard and long to have you and I will do everything it takes to keep you!'

His gaze faltered a little at that but he pulled away all the same, lips fixed in a deepening frown.

"Et mes hommes doivent voir que je suis un homme! Pas un enfant qui a besoin d'être dorloté, accroché aux jupes de sa mère! Vous l'avez dit vous-même!" 'And my men must see that I am a man! Not a child in need of coddling, clinging to his mother's skirts! You've said it yourself!' His voice was beginning to rise as well. She'd never heard him shout. Not in anger. Surely he would not shout at her? Not in defence of this farce he'd conjured? Not before he went to battle... 'Combien d'autres rois amènent leur mère sur le champ de bataille, hm ? Ils sont parfois proches mais jamais dans le camp!' How many other kings bring their mothers to the battlefield, hm? They are sometimes close but never in the camp!'

"Ton père m'a emmené en France." 'Your father took me to France.'
"You took yourself to France!" He cried, throwing his hands up in despair. She couldn't deny, he spoke the truth but felt no less indignant.

"Il n'est pas tout à fait inhabituel que les rois emmènent leurs femmes à la guerre avec eux." 'It is not entirely unusual for kings to take their wives to war with them.'

"Mais pas leurs mères!" 'But not their mothers!' "For Christ's sake, tell her Dickon!" He demanded, turning to his Uncle.

"No!" Constance ordered, pointing a finger at him "N'ose rien me dire!" 'Don't you dare tell me anything!' But she could feel a niggling itch in her heart, telling her there may be some rays of truth to what her son said. That he may be right....no!
"Ma Mère, please!"
"Constance..."

"Not another word!" She yelled and was sure Edward jumped, his shoulders flinching and eyes blowing wide for a second. Swallowing thickly, she stepped toward him. He may have been taller than her but she had no less power than he. He was her son. He would listen to her whether she were as small as a mouse or large as a giant. She could see the care for her in his eyes, the worry she knew plagued him, the guilt Richard told her he carried that he was not able to keep her and his sisters from harm.

But the battle was fast approaching and she would not surrender herself as his shield until the very last moment when danger clawed him from her - iron clad and gleaming on horseback.

"Ne me défie pas, mon fils." 'Do not defy me, my son.' She told him, voice quiet but hard "Je cherche seulement à te garder en sécurité, mais je ne t'aurai pas à mes jupes. Je veux seulement regarder, savoir ce qui se passe car je ne supporte pas d'être dans l'obscurité. Attendre ici en se demandant si tu es vivant ou si le bâtard a pris ton trône et chevauche pour tuer tes sœurs et moi!" 'I only seek to keep you safe but I will not have you at my skirts! I only wish to watch, to know what happens for I cannot bear to be in the dark. To be waiting here wondering whether you live or the bastard has taken your throne and is riding to kill your sisters and I!' She shook her head 'Non. Il n'en sera pas ainsi. Je chevaucherai avec vous jusqu'à Sutton Bank, contre vents et marées, et si vous l'interdites, vous vous êtes dit vous-même, je me suis emmené en France et je me rendrai à votre campement!" 'No. It will not be so. I will ride with you to Sutton Bank come hell or high water and if you forbid it, you said yourself, I took myself to France and I will take myself to your camp!'

Lips pressed thin, Edward stared down at her, searching for something to say, a rebuff that would quieten her objections, assure her of his intentions so she would accept but no words would come. His fingers flexed across the velvet draped over his lower back.

They'd never been at odds. Not once. His mother had been an angel forever watching over him, clasping him close in warm embraces, brushing kisses against his forehead, commending him for all he did. Protecting him. It felt odd. It felt wrong.

But he had to protect her now! She had done much and more for him, more than he could ever repay and it was time for her to rest, to finally be able to mourn his father! He could not fail him again. It was his duty! His mouth ran dry. There were tears in her eyes.

'Don't cry.' His mind begged 'Please don't cry!'

"Edward." Came the steady voice of his uncle "Leave us awhile." He turned.
"But-"
"Ned. Please."
His chin dropped and he finally nodded. Looking back to his mother, he implored her to "Think on it." and then left the room with quick, heavy strides, shutting the door heavily behind him.

"You call him Ned now?" Constance asked icily, arms crossed and staring at Richard through narrowed eyes from which she'd furiously blinked away her tears. How could he have stood by and let that transpire? How could he not have talked sense into her son, protested against his words when surely he knew it was wrong? Why had he agreed?

"Force of habit." He murmured "It's hard not to. Whenever I look at him I see my brother."
"And I my dead husband." He stepped towards her but she moved swiftly away with a shake of her head "I will not let him die, Richard!" She cried "I will not be away from him when he may die! You know how many boys I lost, how many children! He's my son! My first living son! I cannot lose him! I have to be there!"

"I have told you, an army camp is a harsh place-"
"I am not a maiden who would shy away from blood, Richard. Ive seen much in my lifetime, shed much of my own! How would my presence make him look a child?" She demanded "His men are growing to respect him and I have been at his side since he arrived at Middleham! Not one objection has been made, not one snide remark and yet you would cut me loose at the last leap? It would only keep consistency if I were there! The House of York united and strong! They respect me more than they respect him, they know me better than him! All of them! When did you concoct this plot, hm? At Middleham? Along the road? Before either when he was in exile?"

"It is no plot, Connie!" He sighed, reaching for her again but she batted his hand away with a decidedly firm slap "It is a decision born from the great love he has for you! His earnest desire to protect you! He feels he's failed you and his sisters! He wants to keep you safe now."

"And prove himself." She snapped.
"What young man does not? And is that not in line with what we have told him each and every day since he came to us? To show his men and England the king he will be, the man he is? That he is stronger than all others?" Her eyes were filled with tears again.

"Was it your suggestion?" A whisper. He shook his head, no.

"I have no objection to you accompanying us other than for fears of your safety should anything go awry."
"Then for heaven's sake, tell him that!" She yelled throwing a hand towards the door "How can you think to let him deny me this?" She asked when it dropped back to her side "How, Richard?" Sighing, she turned away to the window, looking through the panes of glass, across the moat and to the fields beyond. Her chest hurt, aching.

"Come here." His voice was soft, the tone he used when his arms were about her and his lips caressed her skin.
"No."

A moment of silent passed then his shoes were on the rushes, then the wooden floor. He stopped behind her and his hands slid around her waist, chest pressing against her back as they wound together across her stomach. Despite her anger, her body relaxed back against his and her head fell softly onto his shoulder. Her hands covered his and squeezed.

"Si je ne suis pas là, il mourra, Richard." 'If I'm not there, he will die, Richard.'
"You do not trust me, sweetheart?"

"I do not trust battle" Only fools did. Only fools believed they held all the cards and they couldn't be snatched away by one stab of a dagger, one swing of an axe. "However many advantages we hold. Fortune's wheel is cruel, I've felt its turns over and over. I will not let it fall on him. Never." She turned her head a little "Speak to him. Tell him he must let me come."

"Of course I will. Now he has that out of himself he should be more amenable to suggestions. He is growing, we've told him to grow. He wants to keep you safe, be the man we've told him he must be seen to be."

She sighed, nodded. They had told him that and he'd heeded their words.
"But all the same he is young." She murmured "And he still needs his Mother." He kissed the top of her head.

"I need you too."

༻᯽༺

6th of September, 1484....

She'd won. Of course she'd won - with Richard's help - and despite the worried (and sometimes vexed) glances her son kept throwing her, she was mounted on a horse only a few paces behind his in a parti-coloured Burgundian gown. One half bore the arms of England on red samite, the other the arms of her late husband on blue samite. The sound of marching men rumbled in her ears. Her son now led seventeen thousand men, surpassing the number they'd held before Marie left with well over three thousand of them!

The men of England were eager to see her son on the throne she thought every time she looked at them. They knew he would bring them peace and plenty. They knew he was God's ordained king.

Margaret and Beth accompanied her, adamant they would serve their queen wherever she was and Constance was glad to have them, to hear their quiet chatter behind them. Richard had rode on ahead.

"Be brave." She'd told her girls before they'd set out at dawn. They'd been in their nightgowns, sleep in their eyes. Aliénor was holding the handkerchief she'd given her.

They would be well at Helmsley, she told herself and nudged her horse to quicken its steady pace. She could see smoke rising from between trees in the distance.

"I will see you shortly" She said to Edward and as he opened his mouth to speak, confused, she rode away, the breeze tearing through the folds of her gown and cloak as she sped into a gallop.

It didn't take long after that and soon she was trotting amongst groups of soldiers leaning on pikes, polishing armour or sitting around fires with large cauldrons held atop them by sturdy logs. It was a sparse encampment (that would soon change) with a few round tents here and there and only one large rectangular one at the centre where commanders could gather, emblazoned with the arms of England. Richard's horse was tied up outside.

She pulled her steed to a halt beside the magnificent beast and gracefully slipped from her saddle, nodding at the deep bow the man under the entrance awning.

"Where is my lord of Gloucester? Be he inside?"
The man shook his head.
"Nay, your grace." He pointed towards the bank's edge through the trees "He went in the direction of the cliff where arrows are being shot."
"Thank you, sir."

Pulling off her riding gloves, she tucked them into her belt and walked toward the edge of the bank. Soon enough she heard the familiar twang of a bowstring and the occasional whistle of an arrow. It sounded like they were firing away from the camp but why on earth would they wish to fire them off the cliff? She made a mental note to send out an order to retrieve them. Not a single one could be wasted.

Emerging from the woodland, she could see her instincts were proven right and indeed soldiers were firing arrows from their longbows off the bank and into the fields below. She would ask Richard what they were doing. Where was Richard? He wasn't amongst the men there.

"Ah, Rob!" Thank heavens Rob was! He'd gone to the camp a day ahead of them to help prepare it for the army and was now watching the arrows fly. He turned towards her, grinned and bowed.
"Looking for Richard, your grace?"
Of course he knew.
"Yes. Where on earth is he?"
He pointed away to his right.

"Just beyond those trees." He said before hooking his thumbs into his belt "He said he wanted to think."
"To think?"
"To think."
"About what?"
Rob shrugged, still grinning.
"Only God knows, Madam, he's an odd thing at times as you know. He's being odd now."
That's just what they needed!

"Well, I'll tell him to resume his normal self when I find him! We need him level headed now more than ever! Oh" She remembered as she gathered her skirts to leave "The King will be arriving shortly with all of his men. You are prepared, I hope? I know you will be."

"And I am!" He replied "We are ready to fight, ready to win and ready to establish a camp worthy of the lord himself!" She couldn't resist a chuckle.
"Thank you, Rob" Patting him on the arm she turned away with a smile and playful shake of her head, walking toward the trees he'd pointed to.

It was only a little thicket and soon she was through to be greeted with the sight of her lover sat right at the edge of the cliff, his legs swinging back and forth like a child's, dangling off the side while he stared into the distance. It was a wonderful view, she couldn't deny that, but something told her Richard was a world away from the clear sky and lush fields.

She approached him slowly, daring not to look over the edge for fear she would fall off, her stomach was already doing somersaults and sat beside him, arranging her skirts about her, tucking her legs to the side, bent at the knee. Glancing quickly about her to ensure their privacy, she placed her hand atop his which were folded in his lap.

"What bothers you, my darling?" She asked "Rob says you are quite preoccupied. Edward will be here soon and we must be there to greet him, you must be in the best of spirits or he will be unnerved."
"It is Edward I'm thinking of." He murmured "Not," A shake of the head "Not your son Edward but Edward. Ned."

"Our Edward."
A nod.
"Yes."
She shuffled on the ground, finding a more comfortable position.
"He is in my mind every day as he is no doubt in yours but what has brought this on so? This melancholy?" She stroked the back of his hands, tilting her head as she watched his face. His expression remained stoic.

"It is Edward's first battle. I was with Ned at mine. He guided me, told me we would win even though he wasn't certain himself....he always guided me. I did look to him so when I was young. I....I wish I'd made my peace with him. That we had been reconciled. So much time that we...." His head fell to his chest "so much time wasted, Connie."

Her heart twisted, sending bolts of pain through her body. She too had long wished to see the brothers reconciled but understood all too well why Richard had kept his distance. And of course Edward had been too stubborn (like most men) to truly extend the hand of peace. He'd always asserted that in the end Richard would return to his side where he'd always been and turned his nose up at any other suggestion.

When Richard went to Scotland for him Constance listened to his hopes that once victory was won they would embrace as brothers once more and all would be well. Everyone but him knew Richard had only gone to Scotland out of honour and loyalty to his king - to England. His stubbornness had been childish and so was his hope.

Only in the Christmas of 1482 had there been the beginnings of peace and mere months later it was snatched away, leaving forever a wound that would never fully heal. Not until they were both with God.

"You were grieving, mon chéri, not only for George but for the man you'd always believed Edward to be! You feared for his immortal soul and the fate of our family! But you still saw to your duty. You fought well in Scotland and you raised our boy to be the finest of men!"

"I want so much to talk to him. To have just one embrace. I try to will him into my dreams but he never comes."
"Does anyone?"
"You." He looked up at her with an expression that was almost innocent, wide eyed and loving "You keep me steady, Con" His hand came to cradle the side of her face, his thumb stroking across her cheek, rough skin against smooth. His voice dropped to a whisper.

"When all of this is over I....I don't know how I will grieve him. My heart cannot take it. I cannot let him go. How? How can I grieve him?"

"A question I've asked many times and still don't know the answer to, chéri." She shook her head, shrugged. The mere idea of grieving Edward still moved her to tears and it did Richard too, leaving his eyes glassy "I don't want to let him go either and I don't know how to mourn him. Not properly. All I can think to do is scream and cry and pound my fists against the walls. I don't know how to find peace." Leaning forward, he brushed his lips against hers in the softest of kisses before resting their foreheads together.

They sighed. Closed their eyes.

"Did we ever have it?" It was hard to tell "I don't know how to remember him."
Gently, she pulled away from him, took his hand.

"Do you remember him when he was young? When he was our golden king sung of throughout the land?"
"For the skill of his sword and his cock - yes I remember." A smirk twitched at his lips. Constance nodded and squeezed his hand.
"He cut through scores of men with ease, charmed all who met him and spoke to commoners as easily as the nobility," She gave a slight chuckle "and bedded them too!"

"I remember he always spoke so highly of you." Richard said, raising his head "Especially when he was in his cups, we couldn't get him to shut up! Connie, Connie, Connie he'd say there can be no sweet a maid as mine! And then he'd reach for another cup! George slapped his hand away once! Edward through a log meant for the fire at him! And" He grinned "And they laughed! They did not fight, nor curse one another, they laughed!"

Oh she remembered those times too, when the three sons of York stood united, shoulder to shoulder in council and ale houses! 'Connie, Connie, Connie, there can be no sweet a maid as mine!' Her head sung causing her to giggle, she could hear exactly what he would sound like when such things flowed from his lips as easily as wine flowed into them - slightly slurred but merry, accompanied by a grin and starry eyes.

He'd say such things to her after their lovemaking, breathe sweet words into her hair and neck, drunk on her body and their lust. And to hear they were spoken when all else fled his mind, that he remembered her, loved her, was a balm incomparable to any other.

By God she missed the feel of his arms around her, the way he'd say her name! He could turn it into whatever he wished, a song, a poem, a prayer. Sometimes she thought she could hear it on the wind.

"He spoke highly of you too, Dickon." She told him and a small, bashful smile on his lips, like the one that used to emerge whenever Ned complimented him when he was young. One almost identical to the one her son wore when he received praise. "There was hardly a day that went by that he did not commend your loyalty, speak of his great love for you! Why, I wish you had been able to hear all he said after Barnet and Tewksbury, he would have given you the sun, the moon and stars had you asked for them! At times, it was like he was your father." The smile grew a little.

"At times I felt he was. What....what do you think he would think of this? Of us?"
Ah, there it was, she thought, drawing in a sharp breath, the question neither had ever wanted to ask. Constance bit her lip, looking down at the short blades of grass beneath her skirt, littered with daisies.

"I think...." She swallowed "I shan't deny I have felt guilt for what transpires between us, Richard but I don't think he would want us to be lonely. He loved us both and would not wish for us to wander through life, through grief without a companion. He would want us to take care of one another, make one another happy. And if there are any who do not have the right to judge the bedfellows of others it is Ned. I loved him, I love him still but by god he fell prey to lust quicker than a cat to cream. Remember the Edward you loved." She told him "The golden giant who towered above us all and saved our house from destruction and our lives from Lancaster."

"The same as we remember Warwick."
"I don't remember him." She replied bluntly "Not unless I have to and there is no need now." Leaning forward, she captured his lips in a soft kiss, smiling into it when his free hand came to cradle her neck, gently caressing the tender flesh. In the distance royal trumpets announced their king's arrival and when they broke apart they smiled at one another. "You will always hold a place in my heart, Dickon. One none can usurp and never will."

"And you know the truth of my heart." He replied. She nodded then stood and brushed down her skirts. His eyes wandered over the sigils and shields upon it before flicking to the hand she extended towards him.

"Come, mon chéri, let us go to our king. He needs us." She smiled "And I need you at my side." His hand held fast in hers, he clambered to his feet and pulled her close, sneaking another kiss she giggled into, finding purchase in the curls of his hair. "We must go" She whispered against his lips and following a reluctant groan of agreement, they parted.

He offered her his arm, she took it and they strode back through the thicket to the sound of approaching horses and the song of Edward's laughter.