~Dying Embers, Rising Flames~

The door creaked open an hour after the dowager Queen's screams had ceased and she was a sorrowful sight. Her hair was loose, a mess around her face, her skin was alabaster, eyes puffy and red, cheeks streaked with tears. Her footsteps were slow and she gave not one glance to the Lords who awaited her - the children having long been herded away by Beth as soon as their Mother's grief began.

James wished to go to her as he bowed with the rest, to wrap his arms around her but resisted for fear that if he touched her she would shatter into a new river of tears and he knew she had to retain every sliver of strength she had left in that moment. Not only for herself but her position, a Queen Regent had to be as strong as any King; without weakness.

He could see her lips faintly moving, trying to form words, sounds, and failing as she stared at the ornate tiles beneath her feet. Tiles she and Edward had trodden together for twenty three years.

"The King is...."

Her voice was lower than a whisper and James was sure not even half the Lords had heard it when she faltered, fists clenching at her sides in a desperate effort not to cry.

"The King....."

Her voice was a little louder this time but nonetheless faded into the intoxicating silence filling the palace.

She shook her head, closing her eyes and, from beneath them, two tears glided slowly down her cheeks before she opened them, forcing her chin to rise.

"The King is dead....long live the King!" She cried and all the men immediately went down upon their knees, bowing their heads.
"Long live the King!" They bellowed.
James stood.

"And long live the Queen Regent!"

Her eyes caught his.
A moment of silence passed and then....

"Long live the Queen Regent!" The Lords boomed and James strode up to his sister, bending down on one knee and kissing her hand.
"I pledge my allegiance to you, to God and the realm's mighty sovereign Lord, King Edward the fifth!"

Will was quick to join him and, as soon as he stood, knelt at Constance's skirts, kissing her hand and repeating the same words, fulfilling his friend's wishes. The other Lords followed, each kissing her hand and pledging their allegiance but James wasn't sure his sister heard them, or saw them for that matter. She seemed blind to all but her grief - despite the small nods of acknowledgment she gave.

"Come, your grace" He said once all the Lords had spoken and knelt, offering his arm "Allow me to escort you to your chambers" She nodded silently, placing a limp hand around his elbow and let him guide her ghost into the gloom of the palace halls.

༻᯽༺

17th of April 1483....

Constance stood statuesque as her ladies placed a shift over her head, gentling it over her thinning, freshly washed, form. During the eight days since Edward.... since Edward had died, she'd fasted as much as her body could physically take and her ladies would allow.

She spent her days speaking to the Lords of the realm, planning her son's coronation and preparing the country for the transition of power from a man to a boy.

Nights were far far worse, a waking nightmare that was worse than anything her bereaved mind could conjure - she was sure of it. She spent them knelt at her prie-dieu, sobbing out prayers with her rosary wrapped so tightly around her hands, the cord holding the onyx beads cut into her skin, leaving trails of blood on her fingers and wrists. She would have preferred a true nightmare, at least then she would be asleep but that was what her mind told her, her heart did not want to sleep.

It did not want anything but Edward.

She wanted him back. She needed him back.
She needed her Ned!

But he was no longer there.
He never would be.

That single lingering thought had proved to be the one that never failed to bring her to tears. What use was sleep anyway, she would think angrily, she would only wake up expecting to feel Edward beside her and slowly become aware that all to be found was cold sheets, the painful shards of memory seeping into her brain again. It was easier to remember every hour of every day than forget and feel the pain anew each time she awoke.

That was what she thought as two heavy tears slid down her cheeks as the sun set and her ladies laced her into a kirtle of black silk before a heavy gown of black velvet with long trailing sleeves and fastened a girdle made entirely of onyx beads around her waist. She waved away any jewels offered, only wearing her wedding ring and insisting her hair be tightly bound in braids and coiled at the back of her head, covered with a black velvet coif before a black veil was placed over her head.

It made her look a shadow, a ghost, floating almost to the floor, hiding her figure and face from the world so it may crumple and twist into whatever grief commanded it to; a thin barrier between her and her people but a barrier all the same. A gauzy armour that made her appear an Angel of death.

She wished the true Angel of death would take her and end her suffering but that could not be, not with her children in need of her; England in need of her.

The veil would have to do.

It was what she would wear for Edward's funeral on the morrow where he would be buried in a tomb not yet finished, in the same chapel at Windsor as four of their lost babes.

At least they had their Father now. At least he could care for them, could hold her two Princes, her Princess, little Edmund and James who slept at Baynards.

She would have no time to dress on the morrow for she would not be at Westminster Palace, she would be at the Abbey where her husbands body had laid in state that past week where his people, nobility and peasants alike could pay their respects. Constance had wished to forbid it, to cling onto her husband, to keep him to herself one last time, to not have to leave his side until she was truly forced but it was what England expected and needed.

That night no one but she and her ladies would see Edward. Constance would lead a vigil over his body from sunset til sunrise. She would be with him one last time.

Beth placed the Queen's crown atop her head (it would likely be the last time she ever wore it she thought mournfully) and she was ready.
"Connie, I...."
She held up a hand at her sister's words, commanding silence.
"I do not wish to speak nor be spoken to" She said bluntly "The only words that should be said tonight are those of prayer in our heads"
"Yes, your grace"

Her ladies curtsied.

༻᯽༺

Each woman held a candle as they processed from Westminster Palace to Westminster Abbey, their steps muffled on the black velvet carpet laid beneath their feet, the tender flames burning on the wicks flickering in the evening breeze.

Many lined the streets to see the Queen and her ladies glide by at sunset but there were no cheers, there were no calls of her name or cries of 'God Save the Queen'. There was only silence, the odd cough and splutter and the rustle of garments as the people bowed and curtsied.

Constance only looked ahead of her, the train of her veil flowing in gentle wind, her mind filled with her need to see her Ned, to kneel at his side and have silence, pure silence in a sanctuary of God where she may find some solace.

When she entered the Abbey, a coolness, an unparalleled calmness washed over her. Shrouded in candlelight, her footsteps still muffled by velvet, she felt herself breathe for the very first time since Edward breathed his last. There was nothing but silence all around her, even the presence of her ladies faded away. All there was were her steady breaths and the heavy alter of polished marble in the near distance, in the very same spot where they had been crowned.....

There he was, dressed in his robes of royal purple and ermine, encrusted with jewels, a matching cap with a white plume and his hands placed neatly on his broad chest, his sword beneath them - her Edward, her Ned, her heart.

She wanted to run, to sprint with open arms towards him, she was so very sure that if she squinted she could see his chest rising and falling! But her legs (and lit candle in her hands) wouldn't allow it and she only managed a small quickening of pace that put her ahead of the others, bringing her beloved closer and closer, nearer and nearer until....until it was clear his chest was as still as the stone surrounding them but, somehow, she was not entirely disheartened, all that mattered in that moment was she was with him.

Setting her candle in one of the great golden candle holders beside him and knelt on one of the cushioned blocks set out for them, right by his shoulders, so she could gaze on his face, just as she used to to when he was sleeping.

Used....
It brought tears to her eyes, blurring her vision as she looked down on him and she tried to blink them away, she did not want another moment keeping her from Edward!

"I'm here!" She whispered as the tears broke free and rolled down her cheeks "I'm here my beloved, my sweetheart, my dearest darling. I'm here with you, I'm here now, Ned" She tried to imagine he was sleeping but even though the candlelight gave his skin a little colour, he was grey, his lips a strange purple, his round cheeks sallow, not rosy as they used to be.

Used. There is was again.

It was a word she would have to use so often it was likely to become her greatest friend. Or enemy.

Her other ladies joined her but she payed no mind to them, holding eyes for Edward alone. Her darling darling Edward. 'Please come back!' her mind cried even though she was truly beginning to realise he wouldn't 'Please come back!' and his corpse payed her no heed, lying still as she reached out and placed her hand atop his, her sob echoing into the darkness when she found his skin had become ice.

"Oh, Edward....."

With trembling hands she reached into her bodice and retrieved a golden locket in the shape of a heart, a rose of York engraved on the front, an intertwined E and C at its centre hanging on a long black ribbon of silk. A gift from James bestowed upon her that morning.

A pair of hands, she presumed were Beth's, produced a pair of silver scissors and she tried to grasp them but her fingers wouldn't move, she couldn't move....

"Would you allow me to do it, your grace?" That was Margaret's voice but she instantly shook her head.
"No....no I wouldn't....his hair was always so soft....so nice...." It was still nice even then, she could see it under his cap, curls resting on the cold marble, just touching the backs of his shoulders. She didn't know how many times she'd carded her hands through them, tugged on them, felt them tickle her nose and cheeks when he held her.

Reaching out, she weakly grasped the scissors and placed the locked beside Edward, breaths shuddering with sobs as she cradled a single golden lock between her shaking fingers. It was soft as silk, just as she remembered....

A single snip and it slipped in the palm of her hand, a small, curly ray of sunshine that Beth's hands offered a thin murrey ribbon for it to be tied with.

"Margaret...." Constance whispered, knowing she couldn't tie a bow or knot if she tried, and Margaret plucked the hair from her hand, tightly tying a neat bow around it to keep it in place for the rest of her days. Constance opened the locket before her and, when Margaret placed the lock of hair back in her hand, she gently nestled it inside, bringing the locket to her lips, kissing it, before closing it.

That would be her comfort.

Lifting her veil a little, she slipped the locket back into the front of her bodice, right next to her heart. That was where it would stay until his funeral was over. A part of him next to the part of her that needed him most.

Taking a breath, she raised her head again.

"Let us pray" She said, crossing herself, and the vigil began.

༻᯽༺

She remembered little of the funeral even before it had ended, her vision endlessly blurred by tears, her heart so slow she felt it would stop beating. She'd wished it would, more than once, more than twice, a thousand times over as she saw her husband's coffin being lowered into the ground.

Little hands clung to her skirts, small sobs mingled with endless Latin and it was for their children that she hung onto the last thread of life she felt she had, it was for them she stood tall and said prayers for Edward's soul. It was for them she didn't allow hers to join his.

The thousands of people that lined the roads had been silent as she and the funeral procession made its way from Westminster to Windsor, most dressed in the best clothes they owned but bearing solemn expressions, men holding their caps to their chest. As she and Edward's coffin passed by, they bowed or curtsied, some kneeling and crossing themselves, praying for the King's immortal soul and his everlasting peace by God's side.

When Constance's head hit her pillow that night, she did not expect to sleep (however weary she was) and certainly did not expect to hear a distant din disturbing her from her dreary thoughts. Her world was black and grey and the noise was a pinprick of unwelcome colour trying to force itself in. She huffed, sitting upright, still in her clothes as she'd sent her ladies away as soon as they'd returned.

Much of the court had stayed on at Windsor but she couldn't face it, being so close to Edward when he was beneath stone and earth - out of reach.

The people lining the roads had been so solemn that day, so transparent in their grief.....she could hear shouting as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, wandering over to her windows (which weren't shuttered) and peered through the frosted glass. She could see small lights dancing in the darkness, a partner to the shouting that only seemed to increase.

A frown creased her brow.

Reaching for the nearest latch, her fingers wound around the cold iron and lifted, squeaking as she pushed open the window and was hit by a rush of icy air sprinkled with snow.

And shouting.
A storm of shouting, yelling.....screaming.

The small lights no longer danced, they hunted, darting through streets, in, out, in out, leaving chaos in their wake.

And they were growing closer to the palace, hunting her!

Something was wrong, very wrong.

The night - this night of all - was meant to be still, quiet, a refuge for her from life not....not this and certainly not this close. Something was wrong.

"Your grace! Constance!"

She turned at a muffled, panicked called, just in time to see her bedchamber doors fly open and Katherine rush through in a flash of red hair and the billow of her black gown, James on her heels, hurriedly dressed with his sword drawn.

"Jamie? Kate? What on earth...."
"It's soldiers!" Katherine cried, already dashing around the room, picking up small chests and throwing them on the beds, grasping jewels and combs from the dressing table and throwing them in. Constance looked at her brother, utterly bewildered by her ladies actions. What was she doing? Why was she....

"Woodvilles" He said pointedly "There are Woodville soldiers in the city" Her eyes blew wide and her heart dropped into her stomach with such speed she was sure her legs would give way for a moment.
"Woodvilles?" She turned and hurried back over to the window where the torches and cries had only increased "Woodvilles...." She murmured to herself before turning back to her brother "What do you mean? Why are they here?"

"Oh help me, James!" Katherine ordered, grabbing his arm and hauling him over to help her "Or make yourself useful and go and aid my husband in our defence?"
"Our defence?" Constance cried "Will someone tell me what is going on?"
"They are inside! Here! Inside the palace!"
"What?"

"The Woodvilles have mounted a rebellion it seems, sister" James called, putting anything and everything Katherine have him into coffers and velvet bags "The bastards have mustered an army, how I could not tell you but they have slipped into the city with the masses that flooded here for Edward's funeral. Like a specific grain of sand on a beach, they would've looked identical to the crowds and now have decided to spring in the dead of night. They've broken into the palace and you must flee"

Flee? Her mind screamed, frozen to the spot as she watched her friend and brother dash back and forth. Flee from Westminster because of the Woodvilles? And they'd mounted a rebellion? For what? For who? Her heart sunk into the soles of her feet....

Oh no.....
They couldn't possibly.....
They wouldn't, couldn't....the couldn't possibly be holding the notion in their heads that....that Arthur, their bastard boy Arthur might be King.....
Surely they didn't seek to steal the throne from her son.....

They'd been silent for years, she'd thought (or rather hoped) Elizabeth had relented.....

It had to be Elizabeth, there was no other person who would do such a thing. She'd always thought herself above her station, the Queen of England although she did not hold the crown....the crown!

"The crowns!" She yelled, looking to where they rested on her dressing table, or used to, they were gone!
"Already seen to!" Katherine replied and she nodded.

Her boy, her Edward, what of her boy, the King with his Uncle. What of....

"My children! Where are my children?" Panic struck her heart and she made for the door only for James to catch her arm.
"Your ladies are readying them" He told her firmly, pushing her towards her dressing room "Gather some gowns, put them on over yours if you can! Get shoes, get shifts, stockings, anything, just be ready to run in two minutes!"

She nodded, hurrying into the room and throwing open the nearest coffers, her body sparked to life at the thought of her children being hurt by Woodvilles, the memories of the night Edward and Marie had been taken from her.....not one of her babes would ever be taken from her again! If she had to flee, she would flee and then she would fight! They simply had to be away as quickly as could be, she wouldn't be stopped like last time.

She hauled gowns over her arm, threw shifts and kirtles over her head, a cloak over that, shoes into velvet bags, and forced on as many pairs of stockings her feet would allow as quickly as she could, the faces of her children flashing through her head.

Rushing back to the bedchamber, Katherine stood with her arms full of bags and chests, an almost maddened look flashing in her eyes.
"Come on, Connie!" She cried making for the door and Constance snatched her dagger from beneath her pillow before following. She frowned when James made to separate from them in the corridor.

"Where are you going?"
"To Will!" He told her, sighing before rushing back and pulling her into his arms. Of course he would stay and fight, she realised, there was still a chance they could vanquish the men, he'd never said how many there were....

"Come to me as soon as you can" She whispered and he nodded into her shoulder, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
"I love you, Connie, and I will fight for you and your children"
"I love you too....be safe, Jamie"

And then he was gone, running down the hallway and out of sight.
"Come on!" Katherine cried, taking her hand and dragging her away and as her children's faces flashed through her mind again, the excruciating memories of Marie and Edward being clawed away from her embrace.

"Not again...." She whispered as they broke into a run "Not again, not again"

It was more dangerous than she could've imagined.

The place became a maze of traps, dark shadows they had to hide from, pulling each other back before they turned corners in order not to be caught. They were sure they would die of fright when Constance pulled Katherine back mere moments before a man stormed by. Luckily the clank of his armour seemed to conceal the rustle of their hasty movements and they went unnoticed but the two knew their hearts had stopped, even if for a moment.

The Woodville men were everywhere, brandishing blades, blood smeared on their skin and armour, demons sprung from the darkest depths of hell searching for them, for her sons and daughters. They wouldn't have them, not for one moment.

"Get back!" Katherine hissed, pulling her from rounding another corner as a group of footsteps approached, hurtling along at an alarming pace, hushed voices whispering....but not men's.....women and children's.....

Shaking her friend away, Constance peeked around the wall and her trembling heart sprang to life at the sight of her five little ones, dressed in layers upon layers of clothing, confused faces (still bleary eyed from sleep) almost completely hidden by bags and chests.

"Oh, my darlings!" She was careful not to call out like she wanted too and it seemed they had been warned to do the same as they ran to her with beaming smiles but no whoops of joy or Charlie's happy babbles. Beth - who was holding him - had skilfully given him a candied orange slice to suck on so he only reached out for his Mother and if she'd had room in her arms she would've taken him in an instant!

"My sweet, sweet loves!" She whispered, kissing them all on the foreheads, feeling little cheeks rub against her cloak.
"What's happening, Mother?" Cecily asked quietly.
"I'm scared" Aliénor whimpered.
"You needn't be, children" Margaret soothed "The Lord is our shepherd and he will guide you and keep you safe. As will your Mother"
"And I!" Richard declared valiantly (though his voice was soft; nonetheless determined) drawing his dagger "I will fight for God, for my Father and my brothers and sisters!"

She had them, Constance thought but there was no triumph in it, she was still reeling from shock. She had them and that was what mattered. Now she had to keep them.

They had to flee.

"Thank you, Beth, Margaret, Florrie, Kate, Isabella" She panted as Beth gave Charlie to Isabella "You have all served me well and now I wish to repay you by bidding you to run, run as fast as you can and as far away!" She gave a nod and was about to turn when she realised her ladies had made not one move and looked around warily, ears primed for the sound of heavy footsteps "What are you doing? Flee, damn you!"

"We will not leave you now!" Beth protested.
"We are sworn to you!" Margaret agreed, clutching her rosary. Constance shook her head, both pained and warmed by their devotion. It could cost them their lives!

"You must go or they will harm you, I am sure of it" She insisted "These men are worse than ordinary soldiers, they are Woodville men. I would hate to see any of you harmed...."

"And do you think for one moment we will allow you or the children to come to harm?" Katherine countered, stepping closer to her side, arms still full "No it will not do. If you will not sort this, I will" She turned to the others, her gaze firm and voice commanding as she spoke "Florence, take Beth and flee together, head North to the Neville lands or your own. Margaret, Isabella, you two flee together, head north as well. It is best if the two pairs travel separately it will make you more difficult to track and capture. And For heaven's sake and mine, stick together!"

"And what of you?"
"I am coming with you" She replied matter-o-factly, facing Constance again.
"No! Your children...."
"We do not have time to argue!" She hissed "I am coming with you and that is final, Constance!"
"I have no children, I should...." Florence began only to be silenced by Katherine's stony glare.
"No! Now go! All of you! Or they will have our heads on spikes"

Before another word could be said she turned and hurried away, leaving Constance to only nod at her ladies as she did the same, rushing with her children while the others fled in the opposite direction.

"Where are we going?" Isabella asked but her Mother didn't have time to reply, she was far more focused on pulling four of her children back from exposed corners and into the shadows. Her heart was racing, pounding against her ribs so hard she was sure it would leave bruises or break free of her body completely in its thousands of jagged pieces.

She heard footsteps echoing all around her, unable to tell weather they belonged to friend or foe, only being able to pray it wasn't the latter. They headed for the servants passageways, intending to make their way out through the kitchens. How Katherine knew the way, Constance did not know but she did not question it, it was a path to safety.

They rushed though a plain wooden door, closing it firmly and rushing down the spiral staircase behind it, leading to the bowels of the palace. Constance had never ventured there before, it smelt stale and the air was blurred, the smoke from the torches unable to escape the tight passage.

"It's not far from here" Katherine whispered, snatching one of the torches from its brackets to light their way as they hurried into the kitchen "we should gather some food. Cecily, Richard, Margaret said you had some bags for it?" The two children presented their satchels and Constance and Katherine immediately began to rush around the kitchen, grasping bread and cheese, apples and plums, anything they could lay their hands to easily before throwing it into the two bags.

Constance spied a small basket of tarts and candied fruit at the back of the kitchen and tiptoed over to the shelf they were on, reaching up, fingertips grasping the wicker.

"Well, what do we have here?"

Her entire body froze at the sound of a deep maze voice, the clank of armour accompanied by heavy footsteps that headed towards where Katherine and her children stood near the door. Enshrouded in shadow, she shrank back, certain he hadn't seen her, feeling the blade of her dagger slide along her palm from her sleeve, fingers clasping the bejewelled hilt.

She didn't see his face, only his silhouette, a menacing demon the children stepped back at the sight of, Richard shielding his sisters with an arm drawing his dagger.

"The Royal children, I'll wager my Lady Elizabeth shall be glad to see you"

No

Before she knew what she was doing, Constance's feet sprang her forward, arm raised, blade flashing in the torchlight as she brought it down with a cry, plunging her dagger straight into the soldiers neck.

The children screamed, Katherine gasped, Constance blinked as warm blood sprayed over her face, oozing over her wrists, seeping into the velvet cuffs of her gown and the man groaned, the same deadly liquid spilling from his mouth as he fell to the floor, writhing on the floor like a fish out of water.

She stared down at him, at the wound she'd inflicted, gushing blood onto the floor. The pounding of her heart filled her ears, adrenaline rushing through her veins. She bent down, wiping her dagger on the man's tabard as his body stilled.

She'd killed a man.

She never believed she would but when he'd mentioned Elizabeth, the thought of her babes being hauled before her....no. Something inside of her had snapped, pure instinct flooding her mind.

She'd protected her children.

"Let us go" She commanded, striding past them and hauling open the kitchen door, breathing in the cold air of the outside. Not one of them said a word as they ran out.

Though the city was filled with chaos, people running here and there, cries all around, they encountered no other hindrances, making the small journey from the palace to Westminster Abbey in one frightening run that had them all panting by the time they reached one the side doors. Without hesitation, Constance grasped the brass knocker and pounded on the door, glancing around her for fear they were being stalked by more Woodville shadows.

"Come on....come on" She hissed, slamming the knocker against the wood again "Come on...."
The door swung open, revealing a monk, clearly startled from his sleep who's eyes blew so wide when he saw her face, she thought they would pop out of his skull.

"Your grace" He gasped, stumbling into a bow as he tried to grasp his bearings; decide weather she was real or a hallucination.
"We claim sanctuary" Constance declared and he hesitated for a moment, clearly bewildered before he shook himself from his stupor and stepped aside.
"Of course, your grace, please enter"

There had never been a relief stronger than the one in that moment.

And neither had she ever been so scared.

༻᯽༺

19th of April 1483, Middleham Castle, Wensleydale, North Yorkshire....

He had loved his brother, there was no denying it.
He was not perfect.
He was no Saint.

He disgraced the sanctity of marriage, sought war when there was none and even put their own blood to the sword.

But he was Ned and Richard had loved him.

He loved him still.

Glancing up at the night sky from the ramparts of Middleham Castle, he stared at the stars, hoping, praying his brother's soul had entered heaven. Eyes roving across the sea of midnight blue and jet black, he sought the brightest one.

If Ned were a star he would certainly make sure he put the others to shame in dazzling the people of earth. That was Ned.

Ned was dead, his fire of life reduced to ashes that Richard was sure would never cool. He would never forget his brother, not ever.

The rays of starlight twinkled, stretching across the sky as tears clouded his vision, sending trails of grief gliding down his cheeks like shooting stars across the heavens. Quick to fly across his skin, quick to die as they dropped one by one to the ground below.

"Oh Ned...."

He'd thought him as great as God when he was little, when their Father and brother were killed, it was Edward that saved their family, Edward that raised them up and kept them safe, Edward whom he'd been adamant could do no wrong.

He put him on a pedestal higher than the clouds and when that had come crashing down, the very foundations of his earth had been shaken.

Still, he loved him.

He was too young to die, only forty. His youngest child was one, his eldest son twelve and now a King. A King Richard had not yet finished raising. The boy was eager, a wise minded individual, but there was still so much for him to learn! He couldn't rule a Kingdom, he couldn't command men on a battlefield!

Richard was glad Edward had named Constance as Queen Regent before his death, providing what little stability he could to the realm and his son. He would stand by her and so would their loyal supporters. Together, they could perhaps avoid the curse boy King's brought with them: chaos.

They would leave on the morrow for London, his young son included, and Richard wondered weather he would ever see Middleham again. If he did it would not be for many moons, his life now lay with the King and he could not guide him, keep the court in order, from the North, could he?

No, it would be a long while before he saw the blissful hills of Wendsleydale again, felt the cool morning breeze brush against his neck, heard nothing but the sweet song of birds accompanied by the babbling of a clear brook.

He could wait.
For his brother, for his nephew, for Constance and for England he could wait.

But he couldn't sleep.

Perhaps he should walk down to the village church, he wondered, say goodbye to his Anne? It had become a tradition that he visited her before he left or whenever any change occurred. Though he knew her spirit was in the heavens, that her body had long ceased the ability to listen, he still felt she did when he sat by her grave, telling her of their son, of the world. It had been a balm to his heart over the years.

"Your grace?"

Had he not been a seasoned warrior, he would've flinched at the voice calling out from the gloom around him, but he was so he didn't. He only blinked, sighing. A servant only appeared at this hour when there was something to take his attention. No visit to Anne that night then.

"Approach"

He heard footsteps walk across the ramparts and soon became aware of one of his servants standing by him, bowing. He held out a letter.

"This arrived mere moments ago, your grace, it is from London, from Baron Hastings"

Richard sighed again.
If Will had written urging him to hurry up, he had wasted good parchment and ink.

Still, he took the letter, waving the servant away without glancing at him once. He was gone within moments.

Moving closer to one of the battlement torches, he snapped the wax seal (which did indeed bear Will's emblem) and prepared himself for the man's insistence he reach London as soon as could be.

But there was no such plea.

Will did not greet him, did not demand to know where he was. There was barely what he considered a letter at all on the page!

Only three lines were scrawled upon the parchment, hastily written and only signed with a plain WH.

Woodville rebellion, taken London in the name of Arthur.
The Queen and her children have fled into sanctuary.
Protect the King.

His brow creased into a frown as he read, heart stuttering almost to a stop in his chest. Woodvilles? Rebellion? Taken London? Constance and the children in sanctuary? He'd hoped to never hear the name Woodville again and certainly not at a time such as this! How could they have possibly mustered a force strong enough to rebel? And in the name of the bastard boy Arthur? God they knew no bounds.

His head snapped up as the distant sound of a horn was carried on the wind to his ears, calling eerily through the gloom. The night was suddenly colder, the breeze stronger and he leant on the battlements, squinting into the darkness as the horn called out again.

Only moments later lights appeared in the blackness, blazing blooms of orange and red he instantly knew were torches. One....two.....ten....twenty.....fifty....one hundred....and a sound any man who had set foot on a battlefield would know in a heartbeat. One that tumbled through the ground, pounding the earth, growing louder with each second.

The sound of mounted men charging.

His lips parted.

They were no York force, they would've sent word, they would've made themselves known.

He knew who they were.

They were Woodvilles. And they were coming.

They were coming for the King.

The letter fell from his fingers, lost to the wind as he bolted to the other side of the battlements, leaning over and yelling as loud as his lungs could muster.

"To arms! To arms! Men approaching! Armed men on horseback approaching!"

As if he'd lit a fire, the castle was suddenly ablaze with life. Guards snapped from their statuesque watches, staring up at their Lord before rushing to action in a blur of armour and panic.

"Awake the castle! Awake the King! Prepare for defence" Richard demanded, rushing along the ramparts and disappearing into the East tower, rushing down its winding steps, taking two at a time, not caring to worry about falling, and ran across the wooden bridge from the walls into the keep "Bring my armour!" He dashed to his chambers where, the halls roughly forced into life, filled with bleary eyed servants and his men who were hurrying to put on their armour, grab their weapons.

He'd never been harsh with his squires and tried to restrain himself as they readied him, hands unusually clumsy as they tried to strap on his armour as quickly as possibly "Careful, damn you!" He barked as one of the boys fingers slipped, almost sending his pauldron crashing to the ground. The squire didn't reply, only hurried to right his wrong.

A thousand thoughts raced through Richard's head. Had his son and the King been awoken? Was Francis' readying for battle as he was? The Woodville forces were twenty minutes away at the most, not enough time by half to ready the castle, the village for an attack!

He would protect the King, just as Will said, and he would protect his son too. He would stay and fight, that way he could perhaps buy some time for the boys to escape. Fleeing was their only option. They were not prepared for a siege. He would charge Francis with their care, he would take them far away. If the Woodvilles held England they would have to go to Burgundy to his sister Margaret.

Exile was an atrocious start to his nephews reign but it would give him the chance to be alive to lead one! He did not doubt the Woodvilles would cut his throat as soon as they saw him, they were cold blooded creatures, ambitious devils willing to sacrifice any for their own gain. He would not gamble on their mercy for a moment. Fleeing was the only option.

As soon as his sword slid into place, he was away, rushing through the castle once more where he almost collided with a fully armoured Francis who'd clearly been heading to his chambers to meet him.
"Dickon!" He panted as they turned and strode through the corridors "What do you wish me to do! I will stand by your side until death, you know I will"

"And I thank you for it" Richard replied quickly "But I need you far from my side tonight. The Woodvilles have mounted a rebellion and taken London. Constance had fled into sanctuary with the children and now they are coming for us. I want you to take the boys, I want you to ready horses for them and I want you to take them to Burgundy, to my sister"
"Exile?" Francis exclaimed "But...."

He found himself slammed up against the nearest wall, his oldest and dearest friend glaring into his eyes with a fire he feared.

"Do not question me, Francis!" He roared "Would you rather see them dead? The Woodvilles are coming and they will spare not a single soul who stands in their way of power! Take them, damn it! Go and ready their horses and your own! Take food from the kitchens!"

He shoved his friend towards the nearby stairs and carried on down the corridor, to his nephew's chambers.

"Edward?" He shouted, barging into the room and relived to see the boy was awake, his son with him being dressed by servants and both clearly confused, utterly bewildered at the sight of him in armour "Edward, thank God you are awake!" The boy opened his mouth but he shook his head "We have no time for your questions, lad, I need you to only listen and obey. The Woodvilles have mounted a rebellion and taken London in the name of your bastard brother, Arthur. Your Mother and siblings have been forced into sanctuary and now a force are coming for you, Edward"

He knelt before the boy who's eyes were blown wide as his belt was buckled, his dagger placed "You are the rightful King and they seek to take that from you. Francis will take you and my son to Burgundy, to your Aunt Margaret. Fear not, she will not relent and neither I nor your Mother will bow to the Woodvilles. We will defeat this pretender and then we will fetch you back to England and put you on your throne!"

The horn sounded again, it's threatening sound filling the castle, much closer this time.

"You must go! Now!"

Grabbing both boys, he hauled them out of the chamber, snatching their cloaks from their servants and tossing them to the two as they ran "Put them on!" He ordered as the hurried down the stairs "Hurry, lads, hurry!" They did as they were bade and the three ran out into the courtyard, packed with men, the air crowded with yells and suffocating panic.

They ran do the stables and Richard almost breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Francis with four horses saddled, each of them carrying bags of blankets and food.

"Come with us!" He urged, offering the reins of one to his friend but without any real enthusiasm. He knew Richard would say no.

"I will not abandon my people" He returned, hoisting the two boys up into their saddles "I will buy you time. A Royal Duke is nearly as worthy a catch as a King, I'll wager!" He tried to smile but Edward caught his arm, eyes frightened but alight with the same determination his Father's had held.

"I don't want to leave you!" He shouted "I want to fight for my throne, for my house! It is what my Father would have wanted!"

"Your Father would've wanted you to live!" Richard replied, gasping his hand, squeezing it as tears filled his nephew's eyes "You will have ample chance to prove your bravery lad and the true mark of a King is not to raise his sword at every battle but to know when to keep it sheathed for another day. That day will come, Edward, I promise you"

"Loyaulte me lie" Edward said and stinging tears blurred Richard's vision. Loyalty binds me. His motto. He nodded fiercely.
"It does, lad, and I will see you on the throne as my rightful King, I swear it"

"I love you, Father!" His son called as the horn blared again, mere minutes away. Richard looked at him, forcing a smile.
"I love you, too, son. Be brave. Your Mother and I will always be with you! She will protect you on this journey!"

Screams pierced the air and he knew they only had moments left before oblivion.

"Go!" He yelled and Francis and the boys kicked their steeds into motion, riding out of the stables.
"Open the gates!" Richard yelled as a squire brought him his war horse and he mounted it, the few soldiers he had around him doing the same. They didn't have a chance in hell. His helmet was passed to him and he forced it down onto his head, waiting for just a moment to see Francis, Edward and his dear boy, gallop through the opening gates and into the night before snapping his visor shut.

He drew his sword with a screech of metal, praying for their safety, and his men looked to him.

"For God, for England and for King Edward the Fifth! Long live the King!" He bellowed.

They raised their weapons with a cry.

"Long live the King!"