~Did None of it Matter?~

August 1470, London....

Baby Edward grizzled as his Mother rocked him back and forth, her gaze flicking down as her heart was once more overwhelmed by her need to protect him. Nuzzling into the golden curls crowning his head, she inhaled their sweet scent. He was so innocent, so utterly helpless without her! Why, he couldn't even lift his head by himself!

"I will never let anyone hurt you, sweet boy" She swore under her breath "Or your sister. You are mine, Edward and I will keep you safe"

"Your grace? Constance?" Dickon rushed through the nursery doors at the speed of light, out of breath and his dark hair tousled like he'd been running in the wind "Constance!" He called again when he saw her and baby Edward began to wail, little mewls escaping his small mouth. He hated being woken up.

"News from our sister, Margaret" His uncle said and the little Prince was suddenly being whisked through the palace halls. The Queen tried to shush him with gentle coos and the steady bounce her arms provided but he felt the worry bubbling inside of her, like a sixth sense binding them together. He would not be quiet.

In the King's study, Edward, James and Hastings crowded around the King's desk, the older man stroking the thick ginger beard curling on his chin. John Neville stood with them; head bent over a map with one finger tracking a path across a piece of land while James watched, murmuring something.

All looked up at the Queen's entry and Dickon quickly joined his brother.
"What is it, my Lords?" She asked, spotting the crumpled letter in her husband's hand "What does Margaret say?"

"It seems Warwick has stumbled from his shipwreck straight into the arms of Marguerite of Anjou and now Anne Neville is to marry Edward of Lancaster"

Her eyes flicked sharply to Hastings, who'd spoken, disbelief clouding their green depths, so much so she spoke nary a word of the first piece of news. Perhaps she had heard wrong? 'He would not do such a thing' Her mind told her stoutly, it's assertive reaction sprung from love 'Richard would never do such a thing! Not after Wakefield!'

"Anne? But she is not yet fourteen! She's young and fragile and...." He nodded in grim agreement, jerking his head towards Margaret's letter.

"Tis all in there, your grace. That is how the traitor is going to cement his alliance with Henry's Queen!" She shook her head. No, it was not possible, it was wrong! It had to be wrong! Margaret had to have misheard the news, it had to be a rumour, it had to be nothing more than the poisonous tales spun by nobles....

"How can he think to give his own daughter over to that monster?" Richard suddenly demanded and Constance knew she wasn't the only one surprised at the venom in his voice.

He sounded like he wanted to kill the Lancastrian Prince and one glance into his eyes only confirmed that. A hand on the hilt of his dagger, he stood rigid beside his older brother, glaring at the dark desk beneath them.

The bitter truth was it didn't matter how delicate and sweet the Kingmaker's youngest daughter was, a part had been found for her to play. Just like Constance and Marguerite before her, Anne would be used as the pawn to secure an alliance!

It mattered not that she was innocent and sweet.
That had never mattered to the men of their world but Constance had thought that it did matter to Warwick.

"After all we have endured at this woman's hands!" Edward yelled, bringing his fists down on the desk with a mighty crack that made all around him jump. Baby Edward let out another small wail but his Father didn't even glance up, beginning to pace back and forth across the study.

"He hates me so much, Dickon, is that it?" He asked bitterly "That he is driven by his hatred of me?"
"My brother is driven by his own ambition and greed" John answered when Dickon did not "As is George....."

"He would fight against me with the very woman who tore our Father, his Father and brother and Edmund apart?" Edward seethed, notes of festered grief mingling with the rage holding his voice captive, making Constance flinch at the memories of that harrowing winter almost ten years before "It was Richard who lit a fire in me" His breaths shook, his feet pounded against the floor, fists clenched, body rigid "Taught me to fight, taught me to win. To drag her down and punish her for what she did, for what she did to all of us and now, he stands with her!"

He gazed around but his dazed eyes didn't see the people surrounding him; too clouded by the hurt and rage inside, burning every ounce of love he bore his cousin "Did not of it matter?" He demanded before finally falling silent to collapse into his chair with a trembling jaw.

Did none of it matter?

That was the question Constance asked herself over and over that moment and would do so again during the days that followed. Cradling baby Edward close to her chest, she rocked him in her arms, trying to make sense of the news and the world now turned on its head.

All along she'd told herself that perhaps she was more than just a piece to play, or if she was then she'd prove more than the mere pawn women in their world were made to be.

She remembered the day she was crowned, remembered the sense of power she'd felt when the people called her name, perhaps thinking she'd finally risen from the board not as a piece but a player, yet here she was, a puppet with cut strings; disregarded.

She'd been used when needed for the entertainment of bargaining, nobles tugging at strings woven by her blood and sex, but now when war came along, a brand new toy full of excitement and intrigue, she'd been cast aside without a second thought.

She'd often felt her strings strain but she'd never believed they would snap. Did none of it matter? Was she truly the stupid girl Elizabeth Woodville had named her, still cut from the cloth of dreams when she'd thought her pain had torn her thoroughly from it into one of steel?

"Richard" She murmured sadly. Again, her heart stung with the betrayal tearing it apart and tears stung her eyes at the thought of her old friend's betrayal. Warwick had brought her to England, he'd made her Queen and stood with her against the Woodvilles at every turn!

This was the man who'd held her when she cried for the loss of her babes, this was the man who doted on Marie as if she were his own daughter! This was the man who'd made the King he now sought to raise to defeat the man same who'd near exploded with joy when she'd told him of her pregnancy at Christmas.

He'd served as a brother to Edward, a Father to Dickon and to her! Each act of kindness only made his betrayal harder to bear.

Now, he was a traitor, readying the battle lines of the enemy to attack those he was meant to love! Somewhere in their hearts, they still loved him but that love was pierced by the thorns of betrayal that made their roses of love fall petal by petal. Soon, there would be nothing left.

'If only their was nothing left' Constance thought, looking down at the weeping infant she carried. She'd lost one Father, now she was to lose a second. If she didn't care for Warwick so deeply his betrayal would certainly be made easier! Her mind still refused to believe his treason, telling her in the depths of the night that he still cared for her, that he'd been driven to action by the Woodvilles....

She soon realised they couldn't be used as an excuse anymore.

His only motive in alliance with Marguerite was to take down the House he'd helped build and that meant taking down both Edward and Constance with it. Warwick was King-making again but this time the Queen had made herself. Deadly: that what was their alliance was. Deadlier than nightshade and a knife to the gut; a double-edged blade laced with poison.

Constance and Marguerite were pieces carved by the same country into the same position, able to move across their boards with little restriction but what would happen when their boards became one? They both had sons but one was a babe, one was all but a man. Marguerite harboured years of planning for one moment. Constance did not and she shivered at the thought.

One had the Kingmaker; the ultimate player in the pack of cards every noble sought to collect.

Her baby boy continued to cry, squirming in her arms. Little fists clenched and unclenched, his young ears unused to the tirade of gruff male voices yelling all around him.

"Bring him to me" Edward murmured after a moment "Bring my Prince to me" As soon as his son was within reach he grabbed the small bundle, peppering his cherub-sweet face with small kisses "There" He soothed, though his voice trembled "Hush now, Edward, hush now...."

Surprisingly, the baby obeyed, nosing against the soft velvet of his doublet until he finally found comfort. His silence seemed to calm the others around him and for a few minutes, the study was quiet. Their hearts still raged, stung by the venom of betrayal, but their voices no longer showed it.

Content, the young Prince drowsed in his Father's arms, tucked snugly within his blankets. He knew nothing of the chaos swirling around him, blissful in innocence that allowed him to rest while his parents could not.

"What of George?" Constance asked, at length "He can't be pleased with his new set of circumstances"
"I'll wager he didn't even see them coming" James replied and Edward grimaced, watching tiny fingers curl around one of his own.

"Fucking traitor" He muttered "Yes, your beloved Uncle is a fucking traitor, isn't he, Edward?"
"Ned" Dickon murmured but his brother only raised an eyebrow, shrugging.

"If my boy is to rule this land he must know the snakes he's to deal with, and to answer your question, sweetheart" He looked to the Queen "I no longer care for George. He is a traitor twice over, a thorn in my side. Dear brother George is no longer my problem and unless I see him standing before me, I care not for his whereabouts....we must make ready for war"

Sending a slight nod in her direction, he rose to his feet, striding around the desk still holding his son.

"Is that what you will tell your Mother?" Constance's words made him pause briefly at her side but he only gave the same mundane shrug of moments ago.

"If need be. She will understand. Now, I must train our son in the art of war. Dickon?" His little brother stood up straight to attention, ready to obey "Come" And with that he was gone, Dickon and John following, and Constance sighed, flexing her fingers on the cool wood beneath in thought.

Will Hastings perched on the edge, once more stroking his beard and watching the Queen closely.
"Do you truly wish George to return? After all he's done?"

That was a question for the ages, she was sure. George was a man possessing ambition but not the wit to carry out his plans, leading to two betrayals; neither of which had turned the better for him. Edward was right, he was a thorn in their side and, more than that, a danger to his little nephew but, despite all he was still a son of York.

While bonds of loyalty could be broken with one word, bonds of blood wouldn't be so easily severed. They held firm no matter how much his brothers wished to burn them away! The glory of the three sons of York is what England clung to and a house divided couldn't stand.

Hastings knew the support the three men could bring when they only stood together. He'd seen it in the people that cheered his King through the streets, he'd seen it at the Battle of Mortimer's cross when three suns shone bright above his head.

Edward, George and Richard.
The three sons of York.

They had to be united even if it was only for appearances sake.

The eldest and youngest were powerful enough but they alone didn't fulfil the God-given image men clung to on the battlefield: one they still clung to like the dying clung to the last rites.

"We must have them united if Edward is to succeed against this treason" Constance murmured "A storm is coming that cannot be weathered by two"

"A storm is one word for it" He returned through a rueful smile crafted by bitter memories "I've seen first hand the hell Marguerite and Warwick can bring alone. Together, I'll wager they could make that hell appear paradise"

The thought made her shudder and one, paw-like hand appeared on her shoulder with a gentle squeeze. The same paw-like hand that had encased hers at countless feasts when they danced and when the Woodvilles aggravated her during the summer hawking.

"I will stand with Edward until my dying breath, I will defend him with my life and his children too. Rest assured, your grace, even if George does not return, I will fight by our King's side. I will remain loyal. You can count on that"

Her small hand joined his.
"Thank you, Will"
"I echo every word" Her brother's voice said from behind and she turned to see him leaning against a nearby cupboard, arms crossed, blowing a blonde curl from his forehead "Although my loyalties are unreservedly with you"

Will chuckled and made to follow Edward, closing the door as he left and leaving the two Bourbon siblings alone.

"Perhaps I should write to our brother" Constance murmured as James joined her at the desk, each of their faces grave. He sighed.
"You may as well, Con, but I doubt you shall receive the support you seek or perhaps any response at all!" She looked up at him and he sighed again, leaning against the cool wood.

She'd not seen their eldest brother John for over ten years but it had been only two since the eldest and the youngest of the Bourbon siblings met at the French Court. It was instinctive, James supposed, for Constance to seek aid from their kin but if she'd thought him unlikable when she was a girl, he knew she would hate him as a woman.

The Duke of Bourbon was a man of ambition and one who happened to have the favour of the French King. The two were close friends and John's new-found alliance with the crown only distanced him from the English one his sister held.

He'd never liked the English, few of their countrymen did, but with the Bourbons out of favour for their Father's part in the rebellion against the previous French King, an alliance with England had been a satisfying offer.

Now, he had no need of it.
And he had no need of her.

"He is one of the closest men to King Louis" James continued, watching his sisters face fall with a heavy heart "If Warwick has allied with Marguerite of Anjou and Louis chooses to support them, well then" He shrugged, sighing again "help will not be given from our House. He will fight for our homeland"

"He will fight for himself"

༻᯽༺

September 1470, London....

A blustery wind forced the warmth of summer to give way to the cold of Autumn; the first sign of hard times to come. Flowers wilted, leaves dropped from the trees, green to orange to a crumpled brown trodden beneath animals and men alike. The sun hid behind grey clouds and raindrops began to frequent the earth, dampening the soil so noblewomen had to keep to the palace paths or risk getting their skirts wet.

Constance grimaced as Anne tugged on the laces at the back of her gown, making her bodice ever tighter. One hand pressed against the deep emerald velvet draped over her chest, flitting over the patterns of gold thread she sometimes thought were in danger of snapping.

"God I shall relish the day my gowns fit properly again" She murmured, earning a chuckle from the York sister knelt at her feet.
"They would already if you didn't insist on feeding the Prince yourself!" Beth pointed out, tying her shoes "the milk makes your breasts swell...."

"And the construction of these bodices make them ache from dawn till dusk!" The Queen finished, scrunching up her nose when Anne gave one final tug "Still, it is only for a few more months!" And she didn't mind, not truly.

Yes, her breasts pained her so constantly that her ladies pressed warm cloths to them each evening but through that pain, she was able to feed her baby. When Edward nursed from her, when he lay in her arms, content, growing from nourishment only she could provide, she would take twice the pain or more! It was beautiful.

A soft smile curved the corners of Constance's lips at thought of her boy, her strong sweet son. Every day he grew, every day he was awake for longer, more alert, blue eyes bright like his Father's. They no longer seemed dazed, they were clear and focused on each face he saw. 

He began to reach out to the world around him with curiosity in his tiny fingertips, wanting to capture the white roses dangling above his crib. Oh those little hands clung to all they could: his Mother's hair, his Father's chains of office, a ring he'd managed to steal from Dickon and tried cramming into his mouth!

The young Duke had a hard time prying his signet ring from the little Prince's fingers while Marie giggled, making no effort at all to help!

"Already he is a warrior, striving to conquer new lands" Edward remarked one night while he and Constance watched their son sleep "he has the makings of a great King!"

She wholeheartedly agreed, but sadly, in order to become that King, his Father had to defend his Kingdom and that morning, he would set out to do so. The storm brewing across the sea had finally set its course for England and the winds were beginning to blow.

News had come that Warwick would land in the North.

Five months. Five months he'd been away, plotting, scheming and five months Constance had dwelled on this moment, wondering how she would react, praying, worrying, picking away the skin of her fingers till they bled. Now, she felt her heart had been cleaved in two, smashed into mournful pieces just like when she'd lost her Father.....

She'd lost two now....

But no matter how much she prayed for his soul, for a peaceful resolution, she had to focus on her family; her duty. Better to focus on those she loved rather than the ones that no longer loved her.

"Is my daughter risen yet, Anne?"

The Duchess of Exeter nodded, sliding the rings she'd collected from Isabella, onto the Queen's fingers "Good. Isabella, bring her forth to me, I shall be in the nursery" The polished gold against her skin was cool and, assured she was ready, Constance waved her ladies away, nodding at their curtsies.

She almost always took her trips to the nursery alone.

Enthused by the thought of her precious boy waiting for her, she walked the halls with a smile, trying her very best to ignore the sound of marching men outside. Nobles now wore armour instead of silks, the only remanence of their usual finery the velvet liveries fitted over the hard metal.

Gloved hands wrapped securely around the hilts of swords taking their last moment of rest before they were unsheathed on a battlefield. The Queen ignored them all, only meeting the eyes of a few until she reached the nursery where two guards were posted: her Prince's protection.

The doors were opened readily for her and she relished the firm thud of their closure; releasing the sigh she'd held since leaving her rooms. This little chamber, painted the prettiest shade of midnight blue with golden stars dancing across it like tiny angels, was her paradise. Curtains cut from crimson cloth of gold were pulled back from the windows, letting daylight shine through diamond shaped panes of glass.

A constant fire glowed in the ornate hearth, giving light to the three royal nursemaids, garbed in grey velvet, attending to the same intricate tapestry they'd hang on the wall come winter "Leave us" Constance commanded softly and they wordlessly set aside their work to perform three deep curtsies before leaving in a trail of freshly starched wimples.

She only bore eyes for the crib at the centre of the room with its wooden mobile dangling York roses and suns in splendour from white ribbons. A baby's gurgle sounded. Her heart leapt. Quietly, she padded across the covered floor, the black fur trimming her gown rustling until she came to a halt and peered over the edge of the crib.

Two blue eyes stared back at her. Chubby cheeks were rosy with health, lips the colour of pink petals (and just as soft) were curved into a grin and golden strands of hair glinted, sticking up like hedgehog spines after being ruffled by his pillow in sleep.

Free of his swaddling shawls, three month old Edward rolled around freely on his back, clasping the tiny, wiggling toes peeking from the end of his gown.

"Oh my sweet boy" She cooed and scooped him into her arms, enveloping his little body in the warm velvet river of her sleeves "My sweet sweet Edward" Bending her head, she nuzzled into the skin of his neck that was, like every inch of him, softer than silk; smelling sweet.

He babbled quietly in her arms, grabbing at the green velvet tickling his button nose. Each noise was the same as the last but Constance adored them all, treasuring them like precious jewels. To her, he was creating his own language in his head, her clever little boy!

"Mother?" Marie's voice called and the Queen turned to see her performing a curtsy in the doorway, hand in hand with Isabella. The blue gown she wore almost matched the hue of the walls and Constance chuckled.

Marie immediately ran to her, smiling when she was welcomed into her Mother's warm embrace "Good morning, ma Mère" She greeted, pushing herself up onto her tiptoes "Good morning baby" She gave him his morning kiss "He's grown since I last saw him, I'm sure!" The determination in her voice and stout little nod set her Mother laughing.

"You saw him just last night before you said your prayers!"
"I know!" She replied lightly, brushing a hand over Edward's silky hair "but my brother is to be a King so perhaps he grows quicker than other babies? Kings must be strong!"

Another smile lit Constance's face and she kissed the top of Marie's head, cradling Edward with one arm while the other encircled her daughter's shoulders.
"You are right, little love, and on that note, let us see your Father!"

༻᯽༺

"Ned!" The King turned from his men at the sound of his Queen's voice to see his little family hurrying down the courtyard steps. Constance smiled, Marie grinned, keeping her skirts lifted with one hand and his son, oh his precious precious son, gurgled happily like he always did.

The courtyard was thick with smoke billowing from bonfires, filled by soldiers marching back and forth, the air ringing with their Lord's barked orders.

James stood atop a cart, dressed in full armour, his heavy cloak emblazoned with Edward's Sunne in Splendour and the Bourbon crest. His face was hard, his mouth twisted into a grimace as he held his sword, staring sternly around the courtyard until Will came to his side and they headed to their horses.

It was certainly not a place for a family. The King's wife and children came anyway and, even with the threat of war causing his heart to hammer beneath his armour, Edward couldn't help but smile.

"Ma belle famille!" He greeted, a jovial edge to his voice and Marie let out a little squeal, breaking free from her Mother to run to him "My Princess!" He declared, his fine armour clanking when he swept her into his arms, high above everyone around them "La perle de mon monde!"

"The pearl of your world!" She translated without fault, practically bouncing in his embrace "Am I really, Father?" A gauntleted hand ran through her dark hair.
"Of course you are, little goose, how could you ever doubt it?"

Constance hoped their daughter wouldn't use one of her sharpened (yet innocent) quips to reply to that and felt relief when she merely cuddled into her Father's neck.

"Where are you going?" She asked and once more, Edward laughed, swinging the little girl around until she let out another squeal of laughter.
"To the stars!" He replied, the same reply he'd given her a year ago before he went to fight Warwick. Now, he did so again but unlike before, the threat was far greater.

Much greater than he cared to admit to anyone, let alone his six year old daughter!

"Richard's army has gathered to meet me outside of London" He told Constance once he'd seated Marie on his shoulders so she could occupy herself with the courtyard activities "John is with him. It is said that Marguerite of Anjou plans to follow Warwick and land in the south so I must act quickly, meet his forces in the North then turn back to defend London. We must crush him, indefinitely"

She drew in a sharp breath.
"And who....who is this news from?"
Edward's face fell a little from its merry facade and his confident gaze dropped to the baby in her arms.

"I've had word from George" He didn't need to look up again to feel her eyes light up with surprise.

God that was all they wanted! All they needed! The three sons of York reunited in battle would rouse the spirits of scores of men, perhaps even turn some from the enemy to their own ranks? A small wave of relief soothed Constance's soul for a moment but still, she hesitated. The glimmering prospect was almost too good to be true and George wasn't one of God's most trustworthy creatures.

She'd come to believe he was the equivalent of a snake with legs and a rather dim one at that! He'd only slithered back to the York nest because he found no satisfaction in the Lancastrian one.

"Do you believe him?"
Edward grimaced, gently lifting Marie down to the ground.

"I don't know....but God, Constance" He spoke her name with a breath of desperation, such a change from how he'd last reacted when his brother was mentioned "I want to....he's still my brother"

"And still a traitor" She murmured quietly, instinctively moving into his embrace. One hand clad in metal cradled the back of her neck, squeezing gently as their lips met, loving, yearning, worrying. God, she loved him, she thought, the loss of his lips against hers when he drew away, a knife to her heart.

"I will come to you when I can"
"When?" She realised she sounded like a child, knowingly asking a question that didn't have a certain answer but she couldn't help it. Her heart yearned for certainty and for Edward to stay just a moment or two longer.

His hand slid from her neck, coming to gently cup her jaw as he leant their foreheads together.
"When I have won"

That was all the answer he could give and when he looked down, baby Edward lay asleep between them, one hand clinging to his Mother's gown, the other, his Father's belt.