~Namesake~

19th of August 1476, Fotheringhay Castle....

A sob escaped Constance as she took in shaky breaths, gripping onto the back of the birthing chair as she laboured to bring her twelfth child into the world. The strands of hair that had escaped her messy braid stuck to her face, coated in sweat and tears and the icy water her Ladies dabbed across her skin.

"Only an hour and a half since your labours began and already the babe seems ready to greet the world!" Florence said happily, taking Constance's arm and helping her to the front of the birthing chair "Sit, your grace"

"Thank you, Florence" She replied shakily, one hand rubbing over her belly as the other clawed her shift to her waist and a midwife knelt between her legs "Lord you are right, this little one is eager" She gritted her teeth, biting out an animalistic groan as another contraction tore through her belly, forcing her head back.

"All is well, sister" Beth whispered, wiping her forehead with a fresh cloth doused in cold water "Just think of it as a blessing that after so many babes your labours are thoroughly shortened, I know I do"
"I know I hope" Lizzy murmured, only ever having given birth to her dear Anne.
"And your hope will be rewarded" Isabella told her, pressing another cold cloth to the Queen's neck and chest "There now, Con, does that feel better?"

Constance gave a small nod, squeezing her eyes tightly shut as her body forced her to push and she let out a scream, hands clutching at the birthing chair.
"Margaret?" Beth called as Margaret placed down freshly fetched towels on the bed "Would you pray? You know how it soothes her to hear them" 

"Of course!" Margaret returned and hurried to the prie-dieu, fetching the rosary from her belt "Lord, deliver your good Queen Constance and her child safely through this birth" She began as she crossed herself.

"There, you have prayer to ease your babe into the world" Beth said, pressing a quick kiss to Constance's burning cheek before she pushed again and blood leaked from between her legs.
"The head is out!" The midwife called "only the shoulders now, your grace!"

Constance tried to nod but was cut short by another construction that made her cry out, her fingernails digging into the wood of the chair, tearing away its polished finished "Just once more!" The woman said and the Queen's eyes opened.
"Margaret!" She cried, reaching out a trembling hand to the kneeling woman who immediately looked up "Margaret I need you"

She was by her side in a second, binding their hands together with the beads of her rosary and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
"You will see this child born" She said "You will have another son, another Prince and you will live"

With all of her will, Constance pushed for the last time, gritting her teeth so hard she feared they would break until the child between her legs suddenly came loose and she collapsed against Margaret's shoulder.

Immediately, a baby's mewling cry filled the air and she looked around, dazed but nonetheless desperate to hold her child.

"A Prince!" The midwife announced and the room erupted into happy laughs and applause, the words making the tired Queen smile with relief. She'd done it, she'd had another son, given England another heir at last!

"Give him to me!" She ordered, forcing herself upright and, once he was cleaned, he was passed into the arms of Margaret who gentled him into his Mother's embrace "oh....hello, my love, my dear sweet boy! My beautiful boy! My son...."
"He is healthy!" Beth observed, smiling down at the child, watching as his little limbs stretched and wiggled in the confines of his blankets and Constance laughed.

"He is! He truly is!"

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With his wisps of dark brown hair and green eyes, there could be no doubt this little one was her son. He stared up at her with wonder, his tiny mouth puckered into a small O and all Constance could do was stare back, beaming.

"You are most welcome to this world, my love" She whispered, tucking his blankets more securely around his little head "Your Father will be so very happy! He's been waiting for you for so long, you see"
"He's a fine boy" Beth chuckled "A fine York Prince for England to love"

The baby began to mewl a little, smacking his lips as they tried to latch around the air hungrily.
"Ah" Constance cooed "You must be hungry, my love, let me feed you!" It was to be the first time she'd fed a babe for three years and she couldn't help feeling excited but, as she tried to move, pain racked her body, making her groan.

"Here, let me" A tender voice said and she looked up to see Edward walking toward the bed, smiling from ear to ear as he carefully sat beside her "You may leave us, Beth" He added and Beth curtsied before gliding from the chamber, eyes gleaming with happiness.

With a loving sigh, Edward gazed down at his boy, his second son, he mused. He finally had a second son to continue his dynasty! "Thank you, my love" He whispered, kissing Constance's cheek "You truly are the perfect wife and Queen" She smiled "Now, let me help you"

Untying the strings of her clean nightgown, he gently slipped the soft material from her right shoulder, revealing her swelled breast.
"There, my love, have your fill" She said, holding the babe to her soft skin and chuckling as he eagerly latched onto her "He's hungry, Ned!"

"He is!" Edward returned, delighted to see his son feeding so well "and I have a name for him!"
"You do? Then tell me!"
He grinned.
"My little brother has always been loyal to me, always devoted and true. I think it only right he be given a royal namesake and it honours our Father too. He shall be named Richard!"

"Richard" Constance breathed, stroking a finger along the little boy's cheek "Prince Richard of York" It certainly suited him, she thought and Richard certainly deserved the tribute! "It will make your brother, most happy! He shall stand as Godfather at the christening!"

"Of course!" Edward readily agreed "And once he is full, are you well enough to let the children see their little brother? Or would you rather rest?"
"I do not feel I have the energy" She admitted "But you may show him to them, by the hearth perhaps? They can all fit there!"

Soon, the little babe had finished his feed and slipped into a gentle sleep his Mother soon joined him in. Edward sat at their side, cradling his wife's face, kissing baby Richard on the cheek, letting them rest a while before he slowly took the babe into his arms. Constance groaned, her hands blindly reaching after the blankets but Edward gently hushed her, assuring her their boy was safe.

After a moment, she groaned again and turned over, pulling the covers up around her and Edward smiled, gazing down at her with all the love in his heart.
"You see?" He cooed softly to his son "You've tired your dear Mother out! Let us greet your brother and sisters! They shall adore you, Dickon....my own little Dickon"

Padding over to the chamber door, he carefully opened it to find his children staring up at him like eager little chicks from their nest.
"Is there...." Neddy began but his Father put a finger to his lips, shaking his head.
"You must all be quiet, your Mother is sleeping. She's very tired after giving birth to your brother" The little boy's eyes lit up.
"Brother!" He exclaimed before Isabella smacked a hand over his mouth.

"Shush!" She ordered "Mama needs rest!" When he nodded, she took her hand away and peered up at their Father who was watching her with amusement "May we enter now, Father?" He nodded.
"Of course you may, but remember, be quiet"

They all nodded and, one by one, tiptoed inside, glancing over at their Mother's sleeping form before following their Father to the fire. He sat in the great oak chair by the hearth and they settled by his feet, Marie then Edward, then Isabella and Cecily. Aliénor still virtually a baby herself was still in the nursery.

"A boy?" Marie asked and her Father nodded, lowering the little Prince so she and the others could see.
"His name is Richard"
"After Dickon?"
"Yes, Marie, after your Uncle"

"He's my brother?" Neddy asked, sticking his neck up, sitting high up on his knees to stare at the baby. He frowned "He's a small thing. I want to teach him swords like Uncle taught me!" His Father chuckled at that. His boy was always eager!

"You will have to wait until he's a little older, lad! Just as your Uncle and I waited for you to grow!"
"I think him sweet" Isabella decided, peeking over his bundle of blankets to see his little face "He's very red Father, like strawberry, is he well?"
"Aye, sweeting, he is well. You all looked thus when you were born!"

"I did not!" Cecily protested, crossing her arms with a little pout but Edward only laughed softly, cradling the babe with one arm and ruffling her golden hair with the other "Cissy no strawberry!"

"We know you're not, silly!" Marie said "You are a perfect Princess!" That seemed to sort Cecily out and her happy smile returned, assured she did not look like the wrinkled rodent she was sure she was looking upon. Was it really her brother?

"I like his nose" Neddy murmured, giving it a quick poke with his finger. Richard let out a disgruntled grizzle, twisting in his blankets and opening his eyes to see who'd disturbed his sleep as his Father chuckled.
"Gentle, now!" He told his brother, pushing his small hand away "He may be a Prince of York but he's very delicate"

"May I hold him?" Marie asked and Edward readily obliged, passing the baby into her arms and grinning when the others crowded around her "Hello, little Dickon" She murmured "I will love you very well"

He knew she would, just as she did all of her siblings. She was almost as protective of them as their Mother and loved them fiercely. They were her cubs and she lead the pride.

"Yes you, will, little lion" He said.

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October 1476, The Tower of London....

Pulling the hood of her cloak further over her head as she dismounted from her palfrey, Constance grumbled to herself, feeling cold raindrops strike the heavy wool and fur.

"Damned English weather" She hissed beneath her breath. She'd never warmed to the hated rain, the dark clouds and icy water, not in all of her sixteen years in England and she never would. She wondered if Marguerite of Anjou felt the same. Had she grown to accept the English weather? Like it even?

She could ask her, she supposed, for she was the reason she was at the Tower.

The French had paid the deposed Queen's ransom and in a week she was to be shipped back to her homeland. Constance had never met her but when she heard she was to be freed, she knew she had to, just the once. Perhaps it was because they were both Queens, perhaps it was because they were both Mothers, perhaps it was because they were both women.

She didn't quite know why the need arose.

"Your grace" The guard that let her inside bowed low and took a torch from its bracket on the stone wall, beginning to lead her through the halls of the white Tower.

Marguerite lived in a single chamber and while it certainly wasn't hell - being furnished and warm - Constance thought she would perhaps go mad in such a small space, especially will all her loved ones dead. Perhaps the former Queen had preserved her sanity out of spite, it certainly seemed within character from what she'd heard.

"Would you like me to accompany you?" The guard asked as they approached the heavy, bolted door Marguerite lived behind and, despite her nerves, Constance shook her head.
"No, thank you, I shall call if needed"
"Very good, your grace"

This was the second time she was to meet a Queen (albeit Marguerite was a deposed one) and, as with Charlotte, she wouldn't allow a man to intrude.

The sliding of locks and turning of keys echoed around the passage and when the door swung open, creaking on its hinges, Constance took a shaking breath.
"I shall knock when I'm ready" She said and stepped inside.

The door closed with a bang behind her and she peered around the chamber, a moderate size with a comfortable four poster bed, a small vanity and a table by one of the three small windows. It was there Marguerite of Anjou sat, staring through the diamond panes of glass in a gown of dark burgundy, one hand on the chair arm, void of jewels.

"So, you have come?" She spoke in the language of their homeland, knowing who had entered her cell without even having to look up. Perhaps she'd seen her arrive?

Swallowing heavily, Constance advanced across the bare floor, noticing as she drew closer that Marguerite's burgundy gown was actually red, the strong hue faded and dulled from the glorious crimson it once was. Like Marguerite herself.

Unclasping her cloak, Constance draped it over the chair opposite Marguerite and sat, never taking her eyes from the fallen Queen.
"I have" She said "We're you expecting me?"
Marguerite sighed.

"I've been waiting for you for years" At last she turned from the window and Constance was forced to look upon the full extent of her misery. Her once brown hair was almost fully grey, deep lines were etched into her pale skin and the corners of her mouth were turned down as if set in a permanent frown.

Her dark eyes were mournful, only the ashes of the fire that had once burned bright remaining.

Constance sucked in a sharp breath, sympathy stinging her heart as she tried to decipher the older woman's words "I am surprised you didn't come sooner" She continued and Constance frowned.
"Why would I?"

Marguerite let out a humourless laugh, shaking her head.

"Because I thought you would perhaps want to take a look at your fallen rival. The Queen that came before you." Her eyes flicked up and down Constance's form "If I am completely honest, I have wondered what you would be like, particularly after what you did to Somerset"

"He took my children and helped to oust my husband from the throne" Constance returned sharply, unsure weather she should be angry or not, unable to decipher the other woman's tone "I wanted him dead and dead I made him"
"You certainly did. I thought you would be as many others are, a trembling flower who would bend to the will of men, of Yorks" She spat the name like it was poison "Oh I just know Cecily adores you"

Constance's eyes widened. She knew her Mother in law had helped to conduct Marguerite to England before she became Queen but she never thought she truly knew her, would have the knowledge to speak of her as she did, with a scathing scorn that suggested it hadn't always been that way.

"You look as if I've just condemned her to the flames of hell for all eternity" Marguerite said with a shake of her head "It will come as no surprise that I hate her, for who she is, for the spawn she gave life to, for the husband she supported" If she were to ask, Constance was sure Cecily would feel the same about the fallen Queen "but that hatred does not blind me to the fact that I admire her. She is a strong woman, a brave woman, she was my friend and I looked up to her....for a time. I assume you admire her too?" She nodded.

"She treats me as her daughter and I love her as a Mother"
"Well, she didn't try to steal your crown did she? But you lost it all the same" Marguerite sighed, her hard expression softening a little as she tilted her head "I remember the day I was told you'd had a son, how joyous you were and then but a few months later you lost everything" She paused for a moment before sliding a slender hand across the table and taking the one Constance had placed on her side. She didn't pull away.

"You believed safety came in the form of a babe, that a male heir would secure all you had and I do not blame you for that, I once too thought my son would save all I held dear from York flames. Alas, it was not to be" Tears pricked her eyes but they were blinked away as soon as they appeared, replaced with the last ounce of strength she possessed, bordering on desperation "but let no one say I didn't spend every moment I had trying to quench those flames for my kin. You have learnt what I learnt long ago and I caution you never to forget it. Safety does not come in the form of a babe, it comes in the form of blood. Blood spilt by blades for your own means. Mercy is a noble to those who can afford it but once a heart is stopped, it cannot be started again"

She squeezed Constance's hand and the younger woman stared in shock, hardly breathing as she took in all Marguerite had said, trying to make it make sense in her mind. She spoke the truth, reading the mind of the young Queen she'd been as if she could peer into her memories, into the thoughts of youth. Her words seemed kind....concerned, searching to aid her.

But for what end?

"Why would you help me?" She asked "I thought you would hate me...." The ghost of a smile flickered across Marguerite's tired face and she sighed again.

"Why would I hate my own reflection? You and I are one and the same, Constance, we are the same girls shipped to a foreign land as an offering of peace that has failed to hold. We carry the same duties, we bear the same crown, I only hope that crown will not be taken from you as it was me. No, I do not hate you. I hate your husband I will not deny that, I hate his house, his cause and his kin but I do not hate you. I wish you the luxury of the life I did not have. My son is dead" She grimaced, pulling her hand away "My husband is dead. There is no one of Lancaster left to oppose you, I have no strength left to fight"

"And yet I must still be careful" Constance breathed, grasping onto Marguerite's meaning. She was warning her.

"Always" She replied sternly "Keep your children close and your allies closer...." A flash of remembrance flickered across her careworn face and her fingers slipped up the fraying cuff of her gown, drawing a necklace from it "Here, I believe this is now yours"

Constance's eyes widened again as she took in the jewellery, the only piece Marguerite seemed to own - three rounds of polished pearls with sapphires between them and a great emerald in the shape of a raindrop hanging from the bottom. Tears pooled in her eyes.

"I once gave this to Anne...." She whispered, the jewels tearing open the scar in her heart; allowing grief to pour out as she stared.
"I did not believe it was yours to give and I took it from her" Marguerite admitted "but now I give it to you so you may do as you please. Give it to the Neville girl if you wish but I believe you should keep it. Keep it to remember what came before and how you can secure what comes after"

'Give it to the Neville girl' The words echoed in Constance's ears and she looked up, just as tears spilled onto her cheeks.
"Anne..." She began, her voice fading "Anne is dead"

For a woman who had seen all, it was a surprise to see true shock and confusion coat Marguerite's face as it fell at the news, the necklace slipping from her hand and onto the table with a clunk.

"Dead?" The word echoed around the room.
"She died in childbirth, these two years past....I thought you knew...."
"No one deigns to tell me anything anymore but I'm glad you did...." Marguerite replied, her blunt bitterness returning as her shock faded "I hope she has found peace"

"I hope you may find it, here on earth" Grasping the handkerchief from her sleeve, Constance wiped clumsily at her face while the other woman leant back in her chair, defeated, sad.
"Peace is a prospect that shall forever evade me here, I shall be glad when the Lord calls me home to him....to my son....to my Henry...."

Constance nodded.
"I'm sorry" She said but Marguerite only tilted her head again, such words meaning nothing to her.
"Apologies cannot bring back what I've lost, Constance, but I did not lose them by your hand....I wish you luck....luck that was not granted to me"

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Warming herself by her bedchamber fire, Constance turned the necklace Marguerite had given her over and over in her hands, passing it from one to the other, staring at the pearls and gems. She remembered the day she gave it to Anne, the day the Neville's returned to court in the Christmas of 1469. It had been snowing, the air was cold and they'd taken a walk in the gardens together.

She'd given Anne the necklace as a token of their friendship and now it had been returned to her, her dear friend dead.

Glancing to the side, she peered over into the cradle where her son slept, perfectly angelic in sleep, little fists balled and held up to his chubby face.
"I wish I could protect you from the world, sweet boy" She whispered, brushing a fingers lightly across his wisps of dark hair "I wish I could wrap you up in the softest blankets and keep you safe forever"

With a sigh, she looked to the small table on her other side where an open letter lay, long since read but not replied to. Constance had received it two weeks prior and, in truth, had not expected it then or ever.

It was from her Mother.

She hadn't heard from Agnes in many years and hadn't much thought about her for Cecily had become the only Mother she needed. Perhaps if the contents had been different she would've ignored it, cast it into the hearth, but it revealed her Mother was sick, very sick. She would not last to see the next year she said and wished to spend her final days in England. Why? Constance could not say. Agnes had always loved their home if not the people in it.

"I suppose I must invite her" She murmured aloud "She is, by blood, my Mother and I would not be doing my duty if I did not" Baby Richard gurgled in his sleep and she smiled "Don't worry, my love, she shan't cast a shadow over us"