~Banners of Black~

Westminster Abbey, London....

Bonfires burned in the streets, the people danced, ale flowed freely as the city sang of the York King's victory, but inside the impregnable walls of the Tower of London, the celebration was muted.

Edward had returned all smiles and waves, always his people's charismatic King, but when the Tower doors were closed, his tall frame became heavy and his proud shoulders slumped. He all but fell into Constance's embrace when they were alone and for hours she held him in their rooms, still covered in the dirt and blood of battle, his tears drawing murky streaks through the drying mud.

He was a man who'd had his heart torn in two, a man forced to his knees by a grief he wasn't meant to feel. Not for a traitor.

But that traitor was his oldest friend, his mentor, his brother and no matter what he'd become, the memories of their brotherhood would never fade. It was those memories that were mourned for with the death of Warwick, came the death of any chance those memories could repeat themselves.

He stared into another realm when she removed his armour and bloodied clothes, eyes dull and mouth set into a sorrowful frown. He was the same while she washed him, sitting in the steaming water with nary a word passing his lips apart from a few 'thank you's. When he was dried and dressed, he had the Prince and Princess brought to him, sitting before the fire with Marie on one knee, Edward on the other.

He gazed at his children with loving eyes, stroking their hair, speaking soft words to them, answering every question Marie had with patience - though she was clever enough not to ask of the battle.

How on earth would they tell her of Warwick's death? How would they tell her that she couldn't wear black, that she couldn't defend him from the poisonous words the court would now speak against him? Neither of her parents knew and they certainly didn't bear the strength to do it there and then.

As day fell to night, Constance invited Richard to the royal chambers to dress his wound. Barnet had been his first battle, his first true test of strength and endurance; his years of training at Middleham and, to add more weight to his young shoulders, Edward had given him command of the Yorkist vanguard, the first line of attack.

He was eighteen and knew many of the men thought the King a fool for placing him in such a high position (particularly George though his objection was borne more from jealousy) and, secretly, he doubted himself too. The fears he'd confessed to Constance in Bruges had not faded but when he'd set foot on the battlefield, when he'd heard his men cheer for him, seen them ready to fight by him, he'd been determined to do his duty.

And he had, even if it ended in his blood being spilt.

Constance felt her stomach turn when she unravelled the blood-soaked bandages his men had clumsily wrapped around his right arm on the battlefield and momentarily considered having the children taken to the nursery but Marie was unperturbed.

Hopping from her Father's lap, she walked to the stool her Uncle perched on by her Mother's chair next to the fire and knelt by him.

"Here" She instructed "Hold my hand, Dickon, you can squeeze it if ma Mère hurts you" The young man tried to smile but his mood was much the same as his brother's: dark and brooding. Constance could tell from glancing at his reddened eyes as she ripped fresh bandages into strips that he'd been crying too and knew it wasn't from pain of the body, it was pain of the heart.

His wound was open and bloody, a gaping gash angling from elbow to wrist on the inside of his right arm, deep, oozing red liquid into the bandages on her lap.
"How are you not screeching?" She asked, threading a length of cotton through the eye of her needle and Richard shrugged, grimacing when his injured arm moved.

"In truth, I have not been able to feel it much for the past four hours, Connie, and on the battlefield I only remember the blood dripping from my gauntlet before the most excruciating pain I've ever experienced!"

"You still didn't screech though" Edward murmured from behind and Richard mustered a small smile.
"Dickon is too brave for that!" Marie chirped at his side and gave his hand a quick squeeze before reminding him he could do the same if he needed.

When Constance's needle pricked his skin, he hissed, biting his tongue but no more than that. Marie felt the pressure on her hand increase a little and smiled, glad she could be of some help, though she hated to see her Uncle in pain "Will said that you fought very bravely today" She said to distract him and, while Richard kept his eyes firmly on the stitches the Queen was weaving, a small smile twitched at the corners of his lips.

"He did?"
"He did" Edward confirmed "All the men are saying it, particularly the ones you led, I was right to give you command of the vanguard" There was no praise higher than that for Richard and a bright pink flush of pride appeared on his face, making Marie giggle.

"Well done" Constance murmured as she worked, a certain pride of her own blossoming in her chest at his achievement "It is hard to face your first battle, harder still to lead during it yet you have seemed to do it effortlessly!" Their eyes met for a moment in a gaze of an understanding found the morning in Bruges and he nodded his thanks.

His Mother would be proud of him, his Father too, he knew it and hoped the late Duke could see his part in Edward's victory from heaven "Perhaps George shall shut up now?"

"That will never happen" Edward grumbled and Richard hissed again as Constance's needle slid through a particularly deep track in the wound "The man is insufferable but we must stand untied and we will"

"You and I will" Richard replied "As for George...."

"George is lucky to be alive" Constance interrupted "Let us hope he has learnt to stay at your side and talk no more of him! You have both had enough troubles today without dealing with the burden of his treason yet again in conversation" Edward sighed, gazing down at his son who'd fallen asleep on his chest, one little fist curled into the fabric of his shirt.

"You are right, of course, sweetheart, thank you"

༻᯽༺

Westminster Abbey....

With her ladies in waiting, the Queen stood in Westminster Abbey, staring at the cold stone slab on which Warwick's body was laid out. In her fingers was clasped her rosary and the trembling hand of Isabel Neville who sobbed pitifully at her side.

She was not the only Neville there, John was too, standing stoically on the other side of the Queen with a sombre expression.
"I'm sorry" Constance told him but he only shook his head, never breaking his gaze from his brother's corpse.

"He knew the cost of defeat" He said and the Abbey fell to silence again, the quietness only pierced by Isabel's stifled sobs. None present were dressed in black and neither would the sons of York be when they arrived but still Constance managed to weave mourning into her garb.

She did not grieve the man who'd died, she grieved the man she'd known, the Father she'd lost, the man she'd loved and who had loved her. Beneath her gown of deep blue silk was a kirtle and partlet of white only visible through her sleeves and neckline. It was one of the prominent colours of mourning in her homeland and when she'd chosen it that morning, she'd thought it more than fitting.

In the silence she wondered how Marie fared. She'd been told the day after the battle of her Godfather's death wept in her Mother's arms until she'd had no tears left. She'd refused to meet her Father's eyes since or his brothers for that matter - avoiding the three sons of York like they were the very blades that had struck Warwick down and bore his blood even after she learnt her Father had sent orders to bring him in alive.

Constance wondered if she blamed them for her Godfather's departure. If she did, she would learn not to as she grew older, she would understand why her Godfather had died.

The sound of footsteps made her look up to see the three men she thought of approaching, dressed in their usual courtly garb but with expressions of deep grief.
"I can't" Isabel whispered and offered her Queen a hurried curtsy before she scurried away with her own ladies, the back of her hand pressed to her mouth.

"Poor girl" John murmured as the three sons of York came to stand before his brother's body "I wonder if Annie has heard yet" Constance prayed she hadn't.

"His head should be torn off and skewered on the Tower gates for all to see" She felt Anne of York roll her eyes at George's words as she came to stand beside her. Would he ever learn to hold his tongue? "That's the only way to punish traitors"

"Bit rich, George" Richard murmured "Even for you"
"What was that, little brother?"
"You went against us" He hissed "Down on your knees for Warwick when you thought he would make you King"

"Richard" Edward warned, keeping his gaze firmly forward as his brothers relinquished their glares at one another "You would rather your dear wife saw her Father carved up and sent on a tour of England?" He asked and George glanced back to where Isabel had stood, a flicker of genuine guilt clouding his face.

"No" He muttered, turning back "Obviously" Edward gave him a curt nod and the three returned their attention to the body of their dead kinsman.
"We are here to honour one of the finest warriors this country has ever known. He fought with our Father and each of us would be nothing without him"

Despite herself, Constance felt herself nodding at her husband's words. Though he had sought to take her crown, without Warwick, it would've never been placed upon her head. Over the years she'd had much to thank him for.

"He may have only been an in law to you but he was a brother to us - a Father to me" Richard murmured when George dared to tut "We must remember him for the hero he was and not the traitor he became...." His voice quietened a little "and we are not savages"
"Just the ones that put him to the sword a tad excessively, no?" 

"Remember where you are!" Edward hissed, cutting George's words clean away so they died on his lips "We have won this battle but we have yet to win the war and I cannot have this!" Constance watched the three sons of York with bated breath, waiting to see how long their peace would hold, how long George could sate his ambitions on the crumbs of peace.

"So, the three sons of York are united once more?" Anne quipped and Constance arched her eyebrows.

"In body perhaps but not in spirit. Edward will mayhap forgive George but Dickon....he told me after George's first rebellion he wouldn't be able to forgive him and now, now all I see when he looks at him is hatred"

"Hatred to cover the pain of betrayal" Anne sighed, watching her little brothers with a certain form of pity "We are Yorks. Our blood binds us together, making us bleed all the more when one of our own tears away"

"Constance?" Her attention was taken at the sound of Edward's voice to find his blue eyes staring at her, almost pleading, a hand outstretched towards her "Will you join us?" Even without thought, her feet began to move and within moments she was at Edward's side, her rosary nestled against their palms as their fingers intertwined.

Her breath caught in her throat as her gaze fell on Warwick's body, so still, so pale, his eyes permanently closed. If the Lord had sent an angel a year prior to tell her she would be standing over his body that day and he would die a traitor - well, she would've laughed. He wasn't meant to be dead, he shouldn't be, she thought. If only Edward's orders had gotten to him before his men his heart may still have been beating.

But would it have been beating for long or would it only have been a matter of days before he faced the executioner's axe?

"I pray the goodness in his soul is reborn at God's side" She said and Edward nodded, swallowing thickly.
"I shall pay to have masses said for his soul"
"Which is just as it should be" She agreed, squeezing his hand "Now, you must focus on the road ahead and the trials to come, you all must"

༻᯽༺

"You may go" Constance instructed softly, watching Edward from her dressing table mirror and Katherine curtsied, laying down the Queen's delicate ivory comb before she took her leave.

Brushing her long hair behind her shoulders, she stood and wandered over to where her husband sat before the fire in his great, carved armchair, a goblet of wine in hand.

"What can I do to aid you, my love?" She asked, plucking the silver cup from his grasp, taking a slow sip as she sat on his lap. Draping an arm around his neck, her fingers played with his hair and Edward settled a hand on her waist, slowly stroking her hip through her nightgown "What can I do?" She asked again "I hate to see you so despondent"

She was too but Edward's grief was paramount to her.

"My greatest friend turned out to be my greatest enemy" He murmured "the man who gave me my crown took it away"

"And you reclaimed it" Constance replied swiftly "You reclaimed your rightful throne and defeated your enemies in battle" She sighed "Marguerite still stands, but you will win, I know you will!"
"I must depart soon" He said and she nodded "I've had word Marguerite landed the day of Barnet so I must gather my men and march to meet her"

His gaze drifted away from the fire to her face and he tilted his head "I wish for you to remain here, with the children" Constance's eyes widened.
"I...." She began in protest but Edward only shook his head, squeezing her hip.

"No, sweetheart. I know you wish to remain with me and your loyalty is admirable but you will be safer in London"
"That is what we thought this past October!"
"An event that will not repeat itself"
She shook her head, still playing with his hair.

"No....of course not....but I wish to to be at your side! I care not for danger, God is with you and he shall see you are victorious, as shall your loyal men!"

A small, adoring smile graced Edward's lips but he shook his head all the same. He'd love nothing more than to have his beloved wife at his side the night before a battle with her prayers and gentle words but he couldn't, he wouldn't risk her safety.

"You are needed here, with our people and our children" He told her softly and she didn't have the inclination to argue with him, not when he was already so downcast. If he commanded her to stay, she would stay, even if it was against her own wishes and would make her worry all the more while he was away.

"As you wish, Ned"
His small smile widened a little more and his free hand came to cradle her cheek, gently stroking the soft skin beneath his thumb.

"You are perfection, Constance, you know that don't you?" His eyes searched hers as she blushed a pretty shade of pink "You have my heart, you always will"
"I know that you are a seasoned flatterer" She teased before her voice grew soft "And I know that I love you, that I was lucky the day God chose you as my husband"

Suddenly, his lips were on hers, demanding, all consuming, desperate. One hand cupped the back of her head while the other held her waist, trailing down to squeeze her hip as she tangled hers in his hair.

He didn't want to focus on the road ahead, at least not that night, he didn't want to think of Warwick or of betrayal or the loss that could still come knocking on his door. He wanted peace. Just for a moment.

"I want to forget" He whispered, trailing heated kisses down her neck. Wrapping his arms around her, he was about to carry her to the bed when he felt a small push on his chest. Raising his head, he found Constance's face tender and she brushed a kiss to his lips as she swiftly straddled him, keeping him seated.

"Let me" She said gently, tugging her nightgown up to her thighs "let me help you forget" Taking his hand, she guided it to the front of her nightgown and his fingers instinctively pulled the laces free, gently pushing the soft cotton from her shoulders so it fell to her waist. She let out a small gasp as he cupped her left breast, rolling her hips against the hardness concealed beneath his breeches.

"Connie...." He groaned, gently taking her nipple into his mouth and she tangled her hands in his golden hair again, cradling his head to her chest while he pleasured her. Reaching down, she undid the front of his breeches and grasped his cock, gently stroking him in a way that had him throwing his head back in pleasure, lips parted, eyes close "Sweet hell" He gasped and she couldn't help smiling.

"It is just me and you" She told him, lining him up with her entrance "Just Ned and Connie"

They both gasped as she sank down onto him, winding their arms tightly around one another so they could never be torn apart. Pressed tightly together, drowning in sweet kisses, Constance began to roll her hips, eliciting moans from them both as pleasure thrummed through their veins.

While Edward's caresses had been desperate and quick, their lovemaking was slow and gentle. Soon, his hands were on her hips, guiding her up and down while he watched, whispering her name like a prayer. She looked so beautiful above him, head tilted back breasts rising and falling and he buried his head between them, kissing her soft skin.

He loved her and she loved him and in that moment, that was all that mattered, that was all he knew.

She'd promised to make him forget and, as always, she'd delivered.

༻᯽༺

"Have you seen Ned this morn?" Constance asked as Beth arranged her hair, weaving pearls on golden thread through the intricate braid she'd woven at the back of her head. The Duchess shook her head and the Queen frowned a little. She and Edward had slept little that night but when she'd woken, he'd been gone from her side and hadn't returned thus far.

"Last I heard from Kat he was in the nursery" Anne said, dabbing perfume onto her wrists and neck before Isabella secured a golden pendant around the Queen's throat "That was only a half hour ago so I believe he should still be there!"
"I see" Constance murmured "Thank you Anne! Pray, where is Katherine?" Anne grinned, arching a dark eyebrow.

"With her husband, you know what they are like before William goes to battle!"
"Like rabbits!" Beth answered and Constance couldn't help but laugh, nor could she blame Katherine for her absence - she would spend every second with Edward if it were permissible!

"Well I shall go and find mine!" She chuckled, rising from her seat as her ladies curtsied. Brushing down the skirts of her crimson gown, adorned with a golden girdle, she nodded to them "I shall see you in chapel" Gliding from the chamber, she made her way through the never ending hallways of the white tower, looking out onto the green whenever she passed a window.

It was a pleasant building but no matter how hard she tried, she could never banish the feeling of sorrow when she was within the mighty fortress's walls. As soon as she could, she and the children would return to Westminster, she resolved. That, of course, would be once Edward had won!

Soon enough, she reached the nursery and entered the spacious chamber to shrieks of childish laughter playing in her ears.

Sprawled beneath a window was her nine month old son in a little gown of white cotton, hair shining in the morning son. His Father was laid comfortably next to him, propped up on his elbow while he piled the wooden blocks between them into a tall tower.

"Are you ready, Edward?" Constance heard him say and a moment later, he pushed the tower so it fell to the floor with a small crash. The baby on the floor shrieked with laughter, using his chubby little hands to push himself upright and clap wildly, kicking his tiny feet on the floor.

He babbled his delight, grinning, and his Father laughed, a deep, loving rumble that warmed Constance's heart "Shall we do it again?" He asked and his son continued his happy gurgles, slowly placing himself on all fours before crawling towards him "Ah, my clever boy!" Edward exclaimed, whisking the baby from the floor and onto his lap as he sat up "You will be walking soon!"

"Then he shall say his first word!" Another happy voice chimed in and Marie came skipping through from the anti chamber, a leather-bound book in hand.
"Ah, what have we here?" Edward asked, pouring his attention over the book that was presented to him "The Canterbury Tales! A fine choice!" She smiled proudly at the praise and promptly seated herself by her Father.

Her little brother, rather taken with the book's red leather cover and gold lettering, reached out for it, babbling curiously.
"This isn't for you, Neddy!" Marie giggled, taking his little hand and pressing a kiss to it "You cannot read!"

"He cannot read yet!" Constance laughed, finally deciding to step into the room, much to the delight of her daughter who jumped to her feet.
"Ma Mère!"

"Good morning, little love!" She replied, catching her in her arms and squeezing tight for a moment "I trust you are well?" Marie nodded and eagerly led her to the space beneath the window, pulling her to sit.

"You are as beautiful as ever, my Queen" Edward remarked as she arranged her skirts, sending a wink her way, and she couldn't help but blush, smiling.
"A good morning to you too, Ned!"

Upon seeing her, her son began to gurgle happily, clapping his hands and reaching out for her "Ah, my sweet boy" She cooed, lifting him into her arms and covering his cherub face with kisses "Have you been good for your Father and sister this morning?"

"He has!" Marie confirmed, turning the book's aging pages until she found a story to her liking "Father has been building towers with him and then knocking them down! You've had fun, haven't you, Neddy?" She smiled and her brother grinned back at her, trying to grab his wiggling toes with his little fingers "He grows stronger by the day, Mother!"

"He will make a fine warrior" Edward said, ruffling his hair to make him giggle and Constance smiled, catching his hand.
"He will" She affirmed, pressing a kiss to his knuckles "just like his Father"