The Last Knights of Cambria Book 5: Deaths of the Rose

Chapter 5: I am once asking you to ignore my lack of critical thinking

I wake up about half a mile from the castle stuck mostly in a bush. I pick myself out and limp towards home bleeding profusely, Jasper does the exact same thing. We find each other before they find us, but not by much. The Queen sent out search parties immediately, and on orders of King Henry we're to be brought back to him for his physician to attend to.
We both protest we're fine. But apparently because we were "found bleeding to death in the middle of a field high fiving each other after doing something unnecessarily dangerous" we're considered, by Henry, to be dangers to ourselves. Because, in his own words we "are two of the smartest people he knows individually, but collectively we've been together less than one day and already jumped off a roof".
Which is fair, I'm not going to lie. We probably are. And Henry isn't even mad, to be clear, he's not mad at us. He's just disappointed. Which is worse. It's so much worse that he talks in his raspy out of breath voice about how he's disappointed we jumped off a wall when he grew up with Courtenay he knows for a fact we didn't have to jump off that wall.
And Queen Margret, she freaking stands there. She stands there and nods like she agrees with him like her petty self didn't watch us jump off the wall and vaguely encourage us to do it. That's when I realize, standing there, bleeding while the King of England is disappointed in me, that I realize that Henry VI is the mom friend. And Queen Margret is the older sibling friend, you know, the friend who kind of knows the thing you want to do is a bad idea, but kind of wants to see how badly you're hurt so they don't stop you. Yeah. Because all the while he saying this, she's nodding and murmuring assent with a poker face like she didn't personally watch us do it.
Anyway, Henry VI determines that we're not "safe to make decisions" and "should be watched we're bleeding so much" and "probably shouldn't be left alone together or with access to each other" and he instructs us to remain in his study till bed when for whatever reason he thinks we're going to go to bed.
Jasper and I take turns with the physician, I go first because I'm bleeding worse and Jasper maintains he wants to go check on Harri. Then I report to Henry's study.
It's the same room we had breakfast in, except by now some supper things are out. Queen Margret is off dealing with, like, life. She had more armor to get out of than Jasper and I did, plus she has to lock up Warwick someplace.
I am more than pleased for the supper part of the experience, and am also pleased to find our Lancaster boys here, Prince Edward and Harri. The last of the Lancaster boys. Jasper and  Exeter will remain childless. Well. Okay. Technically the Duke of Exeter is married to none other than the York's eldest girl, Richard's much older sister. However I do not think he's seen her since maybe the wedding, when they were eight. He's never not been a Lancaster, and he's been constable of the Tower so he's not even been to their estates much. She will have given birth in 1461...and prior to this he was fighting in two major battles with the Lancasters. Remarkably no historical accounts mention the fact that unless he for whatever reason travelled deep into York territory to visit her in 1460 (which he had no reason to do), or she came to him, that is not his kid they were on opposite sides of the island. Anyway, she'll have annulled the marriage by now though the child is recorded as his as he's married to her. I am not sure if he was ever informed of the child's birth. He likely does not care nor does he want the marriage, though there are no records indicating he had an affair or anything of that kind, and no natural children.
Similarly, Jasper will not marry till Henry VII takes the throne, an arranged marriage to the Duke of Buckingham's widow (yes, little Henry Stafford has been married to Catherine Woodville since age eight, they had to be carried on steward's shoulders for the ceremony). Anyway, Jasper will have an arranged marriage to her. She has several children, and the two of them will remain childless. There's one record (I couldn't corroborate it) of Jasper Tudor having an illegitimate daughter in London, but again the girl's birth is suspect as it's not recorded till nearly a hundred years later, stating that somebody is a descendant of Ellen/Helen who was a daughter of Jasper's. Which doesn't make sense, why would that not be written down for about a hundred years? There are a couple other spotty claims but those date hundreds of years later, late for paternity to crop up. Jasper never acknowledges any children or names them in his will. Which there's no real reason not to, that said as a rebel he might not have. But he spent a good deal of time in my world at least, enjoying the privileges of his mother's station, in my reality he'll command the Welsh faction of the Lancasterian army and maintained Henry VI's ties to Wales for a number of years, there's bell tower named after him in Cardiff. Point being he's had the time to take a mistress or a wife if he choose, he does not seem to care to, his eventual marriage was clearly political. and while the couple got along well enough, they remained childless. That can be as gay as you'd want it to be, Jasper had a fairly busy life, if he had any relationships they never made it to the history books.
So our last two Lancaster boys are here. Prince Edward, who in my reality will die at age 17, in battle. He'll be mostly remembered for supposedly saying to his mother that they should cut off the heads of his father's jailers (this is dramatized by Shakespeare), but that's likely not true, considering he wouldn't have been on the battlefield, and one of the men certainly died in battle. So we know almost nothing of the young prince. He's just a boy now, eleven. And I pray he does not die in six years.
And of course Harri, Henry VII, he has our Welsh luck. Like his uncle, in my reality he lives to old age, dying of natural causes. He'll marry once and happily enough, with no known affairs or natural children. No, he'll get to grow old. Why does only one of these happy boys get to grow old?
Right now they are playing cards at a table, being good and quiet while King Henry reads and works at a far table. He's sipping wine, but not really eating much. His one arm hangs limp and the other trembles as he tries to write.
Harri is eating, and chatting quietly with the Prince, his cousin rumors of biology aside it's definitely in affection. The boys are used to the other's company and Prince Edward is being kind in playing with the much younger boy. Both are clean and dressed neatly, clearly having not been to battle or the like.
"Come and join us, Gideon," Prince Edward offers, kindly.
"Thank you," I say, nodding respectfully, as I come to sit at the table with them. They also have food so that's a major draw.
"Do you know how to play cards?" Harri asks, pushing hair out of his face with a soft hand.
Anyway, that's the story of how I teach two relatively small children how to count cards. To be clear, it's not cheating to add better than other people.
Gareth, our indispensable Welsh longbowmen who at some point started parenting me, does know how to cheat at cards and he taught me that too.
"How do you know how to play so well?" Prince Edward asks.
"When I was nine, I thought that being really good at cards would be a great way to make friends," I say, dryly, shuffling the deck and handing to Edward to deal.
"So it worked?" Harri chews his lip thoughtfully.
"Yeah," I smile actually, because up till now it never did. Nobody at school wanted to play cards with me then I got in trouble for having playing cards. It's not exactly the same as our modern set, but my criminal mind has adapted. I'm fine.
Jasper comes in after a moment, also cleaned and changed, and freshly shaved mostly to reveal a few cuts on his face which needed doctoring.
"They cut your beard off," Harri says, clearly upset.
"I know, they needed to wash the cuts, now I look like you, or something equally squishy," Jasper says, poking his nephew's cheeks. He looks as drained as I feel, pallid and eyes bloodshot. But he's smiling merrily, and his analogy was not apt. He's got a strong jaw and high cheek bones that need little facial hair to look masculine. He tips his head down to let Harri pat his smooth cheeks. The beard obscured part of the birth mark, which stretches far down his jaw, deep red against his otherwise pale skin.
"Join us, we're only just starting," Prince Edward offers.
"Glad to, but you'll have to move it to the floor, I'm not allowed on furniture by order of your mother the queen," Jasper says, going to lie down on the floor like a dog. He did that last night I didn't realize it was a standard thing. The Queen does treat him like a little brother, and forbidding him from using furniture is the most petty older sibling thing I've seen.
"You're just not allowed on furniture in her presence, also she may not really mean that. She was joking, she wouldn't," Henry coughs.
"She did, it's fine," Jasper says, cheerfully lying down and propping his head on one hand. Harri comes over as a matter of form to lean against him as a pillow. Jasper automatically brushes the boy's hair from his face. "This is getting long, do you want to cut it?"
"No," Harri puts his hands over his head protectively.
"Okay then," Jasper says, amused. His own hair is fairly short. That's personal preference I expect. For the 1300-1400s, it was common for men to have about shoulder length hair, with or without bangs. This was in part practical, that's a very easy length to trim or cut, even on your own you can manage that. Henry V was more of an anomaly to have his neck shaven and his hair cut short above the ears, which was again likely personal preference. His hair was thick and somewhat wavy, so it was probably more unmanageable long, also some people just don't like hair in their face and Henry V was very active. Also he would have had the staff or a barber to maintain it and keep it short.  There was some fashion to have it short in his period, but so far as I can tell he started it. His son always wore it longer. Just like today, individual choice comes in.  Practically speaking, bowmen would probably keep it fairly short or pulled back, other knights who often had helmets might feel the same way. Jasper's is quite short now, but it's messily cut like he did it, he might just not like it touching his face.
Farcical hair was common for men, often being depicted in beards. For whatever reason, Henry I do my own thing The Fifth was always clean shaven, likely due to his facial scarring early in life, it would have made any facial hair either not come in or come in oddly, so he shaved it all. Again, that made it something of the fashion. Henry VI similarly had little or no facial hair, same with Richard II, but they may not have been able to grow it. In his later portraits Henry VII is depicted with no facial hair, always clean shaven, while Jasper in a stained glass mural is shown with a short beard. Again, practically, you might not always have the time or tools to maintain a clean shave, on the road or whatever, but if you couldn't grow a beard well you might bother to keep it short.
The boys both have fairly long hair, by our definition, nearly reaching their shoulders. Amusingly enough in our day and age we'd call it feminine, but not so now. As with adults, page boys or working boys might need to cut it short. But Prince Edward is noble, of course. And Harri isn't a page yet even if Jasper is training him.
Prince Edward settles down next to me to deal the cards, bringing a plate of food. I brought two. I offer some to Jasper who shakes his head a little. I know Archbishop Courtenay would abstain from food for a few hours after that much magic use. I'm assuming Jasper is doing the same thing. It's like crippling stomach pain and nausea isn't a risk they're willing to take to stuff their faces with this excellent food.
"Do you think you got all of them?" Prince Edward asks, quietly, glancing at his father who is preoccupied.
"I don't know," Jasper shrugs a little, also glancing Henry's way. I'm guessing he doesn't like talk of battle around the boy. Well, probably boys I'm sure he's equally principled about Harri.
"You got 'em though?" Harri whispers, to Jasper.
"Yeah," Jasper smiles, a little, he looks at me, "You feeling all right?"
"I'm good, I've been worse," I say. I'm exhausted but it's a good tired.
"Do you play cards in Wales, Gideon?" Prince Edward asks, nicely.
"Yeah—sometimes less honestly," I mutter the last bit. Gareth is usually involved in that to be honest. We both tend to forget the Duke of Conwy can and will shake us upside down to get cards out sleeves.
Jasper smiles a little.
"My mother taught me, we usually play in the evenings," Prince Edward says.
"My arm hurts," Harri says, leaning against Jasper.
"Yeah? That's cause you and I were playing swords earlier, and they're heavy, but the more you do it, the stronger you'll get, you've just got to build up endurance," Jasper says.  I frown a little. He's right, of course that's how muscles work. But I wonder if it's the same with magic? I've been trying not to exhaust myself, but what if I need to keep pushing it a little bit more and more? That's what you do with exercise. I'm gonna try this and not run this theory past anyone because I think it's good and I don't want constructive criticism.
"I should be getting stronger by now," Harri says.
"I didn't start till I was fifteen, and now I can hold a sword for hours," I say.
"I don't touch weapons, ever," Prince Edward says.
"Ned, it's a sin to lie," Henry says, from the corner, without missing a beat.
We all jump, and grin a little.
"Okay, I touch them, but I don't believe in violence I believe in protecting myself," Prince Edward rolls his eyes.
"Better," Henry smiles tolerantly, coming to sit on the sofa, carrying a couple of letters. He limps badly, and though he smiles at his boy there's a weariness behind his eyes.
" 'I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend'," I say, smiling a little. I'm quoting Tolkien of course. The Two Towers to be specific.
"Is that scripture?" Jasper asks.
"It is to me—it's from a book," I say, quickly.
"Very good, we must sometimes fight to protect ourselves, but peace, and kindness, are always the best paths," Henry consuls. Jasper and I, we nod our dumb heads and look serious like we haven't antagonized Warwick for sport, today. It's fine, I met God during that brief interaction she seemed amused at me for being the way I am. I'm sure she loves Henry. But come on, she made me like this.
"Yes, father," Edward says, nicely. Ned is a shortening of Edward, not common now days, but it is. That's why Henry calls him that, I think Margret said it too once. It's just affectionate.
"Jasper, you're bleeding," Henry says, concerned.
"Sorry—,"
"Did you just apologize for bleeding? Jasper, we talked about this—,"
"You apologized for tripping yesterday so shut up, your worshipful majesty," Jasper mutters, wiping blood from his mouth onto his sleeve.
Henry laughs at that comment, leaning back on the sofa, looking down at us sprawled on the rug. Some sadness in his eyes. He's got an idea he won't get this for long. He knows his illness is going to take him. He probably just prays he won't have to bury any of them. I'm sure his money is on Jasper not limping home one of these days.
We play and eat mostly in silence for a bit, just to laugh at our different hands. Jasper and I do our best to keep the boy's minds off war, for Henry's sake, instead getting them giggling at the game. Jasper is tame as a Labrador with them, letting Harri sprawl against him and after a while Prince Edward lays against his legs. He's patient with both boys, not a hint of the steel in his eyes when he's with the other men or preparing for battle.
Margret finally joins us after a while. She's changed from her armor and sword, and now wears a simple deep grey dress. Her hair is partially down. As a rule, women of this age would have it coiled up, often under a hat, but just like the men that comes down to personal preference. Especially if they had heavy, thick hair, they might prefer to leave it down to prevent headaches. When in private company getting ready for the evening there's no reason she'd keep it up. Jasper and I probably rate with the dogs so far as company is concerned.
Margret enters from the bedroom or whatever this room connects to, so she comes in behind her husband. She walks up behind him, carefully, and bends to press her face to the back of his neck, as he sits reading.
He grins immediately reaching up with no words, just putting a trembling hand on top of her head. She smiles and loops his arm around her shoulders, petting it. Edward doesn't even note his parent's exchange, so it's clearly fairly common. I do note it, but avert my eyes. It was sweet, and I'm glad he has someone who loves him. Everyone deserves a family of whatever kind they can manage. I'm personally very happy with my found family comprised eighty-percent of people who have tried to kill me. I'm kidding, it's like fifty percent.
"What are you reading?" Margret asks, still holding his hand gently.
"Psalms, come, sit with me. I'll get you a cup of wine," he says, moving to do that.
"I should be putting the child in bed," she says, coming around and tugging on Edward's hair. He grins and swats at her.
"The child is a grown man," Edward says.
"Your father the king told you lying was a sin," Jasper grunts, an arm slung around Harri who is mostly asleep curled up against his uncle's stomach, perfectly content.  Every one of us men, save Henry, is built like a wrestler in off season. We're thick enough to carry sword wearing a hundred pounds of armor for twelve hours, all with a healthy layer of fat over it. That makes us as a whole very cuddly, according to my friend Dancer who thinks it's his god-given right to use me as a pillow if the pillows at hand are not satisfying for him. This has happened multiple times I've elected to find it sweet and not weird. Point being, when I describe someone like Jasper or the Duke of Exeter, as leaner than most, that just means not built like a truck, this man would be really skinny if he didn't work out for a living. That does not apply to Henry who is skin and bones comparatively and unlike the rest of us who are knights, and does not look like a professional weightlifter.
"You two stop bleeding yet?" Margret asks, sitting down next to Henry, who has succeeded in pouring her a cup of wine, which he gives to her.
"I'll keep," Jasper nods.
"I'm much better, your majesty," I say.
"Are the watches quiet, mother?" Prince Edward asks.
"Yes, all's quiet," Margret says, as Henry for all appearances just goes back to reading, which is a mood to be honest.
"Good. I should get this one to bed, before that changes," Jasper says, shifting a little bit.
"And I myself," I say, looking at the clock, "It is late."
"It is," Margret says, looking at her son.
"One more game?" The prince begs.
"One more if they agree," his mother says, tolerantly.
We settle in for one more game. Henry holds his arm out, without actually touching Margret, just holds it out generally her direction in case she wants it for something. She smiles and wraps it around her shoulders, curling up next to him, putting her head on his chest, and looking down at what he's reading. He twists his fingers into her hair.
Prince Edward wins, which pleases him. I doubt if he has many playmates, besides his very busy parents, and the odd servant who might be able to attend to him. But no one really his age. It's clear he's happy for Jasper and Harri's attention. I feel bad. We're poor company and companions for a child, especially worn as Jasper and I are.
"Good night," Jasper says, quietly, sitting up and artfully swinging the now completely sleepy boy into his arms. "Bid the King and Queen goodnight now, Harri."
"Shh, don't wake him," Queen Margret says.
"Good night your majesties, good night my prince," Harri mumbles, obviously used to this, pressing his face into his uncle's shoulder.
"Night Harri," Edward says, amiably, going to curl up on a chair.
"You're going to bed as well," Queen Margret says.
"You look busy getting a cuddle," Prince Edward says, "And I'm not moving on my own."
"I'll free myself," his mother smiles, amused though.
"Get some rest, Jasper," Henry says, without really looking up, "Gideon."
"My lord," I bow, bidding them all goodnight properly.
"This way," Jasper directs me as I start walking the other way. A few castles into my adventures and I'm very turned around.
Nobody saw fit to mention where the Duke of Exeter is or what he's doing. Which might be significant. If you ask me. Maybe I'm totally off base but I have met that guy and I now personally think someone with a large bat, should know where he is, and what he's doing, and what he's thinking at all times. Just as a little precaution. No, don't lock him up or anything, just have someone taller than him with a very large bat, follow him around, constantly, in case he finally goes feral and needs to be put down. I think that would be logical.
But nobody else seems to think that nor do we do any "Where the Duke of Exeter is and who he's thinking of eating" updates or anything remotely comforting. So I just go to bed. Well. I go to my room. I think it's fairly obvious based off of anything I've ever done in these little adventures, that I'm not gonna go to sleep.
In all seriousness, I'm not comfortable with the state of things. I need to spy. I need to see what Warwick is up to, and on a humanitarian note, I need to make sure the white rose babies are okay and comfortable and not anywhere near Warwick or the Duke of Exeter or anyone else that might kill them. I think it's just those two, but I'm not clear or taking chances. Yes, they are Yorkists. But they are also kids. They didn't start this war, and they won't even finish it. They didn't ask to be involved they just are. And technically Hal Stafford is on our side.
Let me elaborate.
Henry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, remains Richard III's BFF, for most of their adult lives. They do stuff together, they grew up together so you know, that can be as brotherly or as gay as you want it. When Richard gets the crown it's Henry Stafford who supports him all the way. Richard rewards him with various lands and castles, all very very typical.
Then with zero warning for no apparent reason, Henry Stafford defects to come and join Jasper's army, and opposes Richard. Naturally, Richard, the Boar, has spies catch him before he does this, and Richard's supporters quickly behead him (it's not clear if Richard ordered this personally or if his supporters just acted).
There's no historical context, and no clear reason for this sudden turn. Why? Why go against his lifelong best friend? In such a public way like, just leave England dude, why announce that you're turning Lancaster then bolt? It basically makes no sense. Clearly, this was a personal dispute, of some kind. For centuries partially due to Shakespeare, it's been conflated that the betrayal was prompted by the death of Richard and Henry Stafford's nephews (the fabled Princes in the Tower, both Richard and Henry Stafford were their uncles, Richard paternal, Henry Stafford maternal by marriage). But the thing is, we don't actually have reason to believe the boys were dead at this time, by all accounts they were likely still alive, and we have no real reason to believe Richard killed them or had them killed. He had no reason to they were no real threat, and if so, Henry Stafford, should not have known considering we have no records, if the boys were murdered (they weren't...at least by Richard), then how did he find out? Even erroneously assuming Richard's guilt, it was secret?
Anyway, it makes no sense, but yeah, Hal Stafford has a late redemption arc (kidding) and he dies a Lancasterian, weirdly enough. Unfortunately, like a lot of this, we're never gonna know fully why. Even a falling out about money or something, would not lead to Henry Stafford abandoning Richard so publicly and trying to flee the country. The death of the boys, has about as much historical evidence as anything else completely weird, like one having an affair with the other's wife, like we have zero evidence to support that, but fun. Whatever the reason, the Stafford boy does turn traitor in the end. I mean, maybe not in this timeline, who knows?
I'd kind of hope not, like, I'd hate for Richard to lose his friend.
Even if they do not improve as human beings as a unit.
I disincorporated and went down the stairs and figured that if I scouted out the keep outside, I could identify which window a couple of little boys were inside, bickering and not going to bed because they've got zero adult supervision.  So, anyway I'm strolling around the keep, completely invisible, only to see a third story window open and a small goth looking child with low regard for his personal safety, climbing out.
"Come on, it's only two floors," Richard is perched in the sill. One more time, it is definitely three stories.
"Richard, come on, we should just go to bed," Hal Stafford sighs, peaking his little head out and then pulling it back in.
Desperate times call for desperate measures. Richard employs one of the most effective persuasive phrases in the English lexicon, "What, are you scared?"
And I'm not being hyperbolic. That's true. Say this in any scenario the other person will immediately do the thing. It's psychology one-oh-one. If the American government utilized this method, we'd have three times the compliance with taxation and vaccination. Just big ads. Nothing else. A picture of what you want the public to do, and the phrase, "what are you, scared?" Preferably with TV spots where a middle school boy with a Yorkshire accent reads it. Because that was effective.
"I'm not scared of anything! Get out of my way!" Hal Stafford, trying to climb out the window.
"Well, I've got the rope," Richard grunts, unwinding a rope. Reader, he can use magic. Why is he not doing that? Why do these two have one brain cell that Richard uses to get them into trouble and not out? Stop looking at me like that. I know I jumped off the ramparts this morning.
Together, and there is zero reason they should be on the rope at the same time, both boys shimmy down. I'm just face palming I'm not even to wondering what they think they're doing.
"All right, shh, why are you so loud?" Richard covers Hal's mouth as he grunts and falls from the rope.
"Your mother didn't think I was too loud."
"Oh that was good, we're getting better, your form is improving, little bit quicker on the uptake and don't wince when you're done like that I'm not gonna hit you," Richard says, helping his smaller friend up.
I stand by what I previously said about braincells and not improving as a unit, but to be clear, I am fully invested in the "Adventures of the Your-Mom-Jokes-Child and the Goth-Child Show". I want to know where these two are headed. I'm sure it's a bad idea.
"Okay, we're going to want to go—this way," Richard says, carefully unfolding a map from his pocket.
"Seriously, Rich, he's gonna lock us in Ceaser's tower. He's gonna do it this time," Hal sighs.
"So? What are you, afraid?" Richard asks, disdainfully.
"I'm not stupid! He says he's gonna lock us down there with a candle and Bell says he's got gunpowder in there," Hal sighs.
"Bell makes that stuff up. Now come on, the tunnels are this way," Richard says, starting walking.
Freeze frame. Dover Castle has these excellent underground passage ways. So creepy. So cool. I also absolutely want to see them so glad we're doing this. Also, Warwick 100% has gunpowder in Ceaser's tower, I've read about that castle.
"I'm not kidding, Rich what if we die? Have you thought about that? If he finally loses his mind and blows us up?"
"He's always wanted to blow us up; he wouldn't have to lose his mind," Richard assures him, very comfortingly, as they continue walking. To be honest, they should be sneaking, but really the guards are NOT worried about a couple of boys who look like regular pages or the like. I mean Richard's all in black so he stands out a little but not a lot. It's dark.
"That's my point! We don't need to give him an excuse!"
"So what if he locks us in Ceaser's tower? It wasn't that bad."
"He locked you in for an hour! He's gonna leave us for like a week, individually," Hal Stafford sighs. Ceaser's Tower is one of the Towers of Warwick castle, it's a dungeon, got some torture equipment, very creepy. Presumably he's locking naughty children in there. "And what you say doesn't—,"
"What I say doesn't what?" Richard stops.
"Well, you always say stuff's fine! You say armor doesn't hurt, but it has to your shoulders go different ways," Hal Stafford sighs.
"It doesn't hurt. It's just the wrong shape. And it wasn't that bad—,"
"Last time you didn't listen to me and you did the thing you wound up in Ceaser's Tower for like an hour and that's just 'cause I sprung you. This time it's really important 'cause it affects both of us!" the littler boy bounces as his friend ignores him.
"The cooks made custards, and Annie wasn't gonna get any 'cause she got in trouble for laughing at that ugly guy Lady Neville had over, and you and I were never gonna get any 'cause we're always in trouble. It was the only course of action," Richard sighs, like it's a pain. Annie I am assuming is Anne Neville, his future wife, five years his junior she's six or seven now, Harri's age in fact. So, he was stealing treats for himself and the little girl. It makes sense she'd be like a little sister to him at this point.
"Wasn't she—laughing at your brother?" Hal Stafford asks, slowly.
"Oh, yeah, glad you remember. Anyway, it worked. They didn't have any proof it was me," Richard says, haughtily,  "Lord Neville just blamed me."
"And it was your fault."
"Yeah, but he couldn't prove that."
"My point is he's gonna blame us for this—,"
"But he blames us anyway! So it doesn't matter, we might as well do whatever, those custards were great—,"
"So good."
"We should get those everyday."
"D'you think the Lancasters have any sweets?"
"No, they're Lancasters, I don't. Also, forget about food, we have creepy haunted tunnels to explore," Richard says, leading the way up the hill.
"Don't say that! How can you say that? I'm never gonna forget about food!"
"Well, for a minute while I look for old tunnels I want to explore!"
"You know, Richard, if we go back now we might even live long enough to grow facial hair."
"Be quiet. Now, according to the stuff I read, the tunnels should be around here, somewhere," Richard says, spinning around a little in the dark as he looks.
"What are we gonna do inside them anyway? Get lost?" Hal asks, folding his arms.
"No! I have a very good sense of direction. Now, if the Lancasters are hiding a wizard someplace what better place to hide 'em than in an old tunnel they think I won't know about?" Richard asks, completely proud of this line of reasoning.
"Jesus, Richard. You can't fight a wizard."
"Watch me. We have met, I can fight anything. You know this about me, Henry."
"Lucifer is gonna wonder why I keep kicking you in the head when we're trapped in hell and I'm not even gonna explain it to him," Hal sighs.
"Quit saying we're going to hell. That's where Lord Neville is going. Bell said she'd pray for our souls too because what we do to her father is funny to her. Now. Shut up," Richard says, with no intention of actually making his friend be quiet.
"I need to get new friends," Hal Stafford says, not actually leaving.
"Who? Who do you think is going to talk to you? Or be half as civilized and nice as me?" Richard asks, hand on chest.
"Someone who doesn't make us explore tunnels at midnight."
"I notice you aren't going back to bed."
"No, I want to look too, I just want it noted that I was aware this was a bad idea."
"Idiot."
With such bickering, they find the entrance to the tunnels. There's a proper door which is not strictly secret, so that does not take them long, nor does the lock. It's locked from the outside, so if anything were in there it would be locked in. They do not appear to notice this.
It's pitch black inside, so Richard summons magic in one hand for light while little Hal Stafford hides slightly behind him.
"Nothing's in here. It's all dark."
"Are you narrating this or something?" Richard mutters, closing the door behind them, "Come on, it should lead outside. I think."
I am getting a little bit tired, also I figure revealing myself is better than Richard trying to find something and finding me. So, I painfully reincorporate.
"Good evening, my lords," I say, leaning against the wall behind them.
"You," Richard points a dagger at me.
"What are you doing here? Are they keeping you down here?" Hal asks, almost hopefully.
"No. I decided to follow a couple of Yorkist escapees then I found out you were more a danger to yourselves than my keep," I say, holding up my hands.
"We're looking for your hidden wizard," Richard snarls.
"Not mine. I recognize you have no reason to trust me however; I didn't burn myself out on magic today and yesterday for performance," I say, "Now, we agree something could be hiding down here, so shall we?"
"We're not going anywhere with you!" Hal says.
"You're stuck in a tunnel by your design. You were here of your own accord," I sigh.
"Fine," Richard says, but definitely like he thinks he'll get to catch me doing something.
"Onward," I motion them on. The boys are sullen maybe for half a minute before the excitement of being in an old tunnel gets the better of them. I sing the 'Secret Tunnel' song from ATLA under my breath.
"This is really neat. I want tunnels at my castle," Hal says, touching the wall.
"Why? So you can hide? That's cowardly," Richard says.
"A truly wise man knows when not to fight," or at least when to watch a charge and not in fact lead it into the middle of enemy troops. I realize I am very fixated on that incident. The thing is, when you remember where you were when a skeleton was found, the news came out, and then you sat there reading and reading about every single wound. Slices to his jaw and cheek after death. A spear driven through his pelvis, after death. Multiple sword wounds to the chest resulting in broken ribs. Missing skull fragments meaning his helmet was removed or lost before he was beaten in the head with an axe multiple times. Severe curvature of the spine reducing height by several inches, though straightened he would have stood five foot eight, this curvature almost definitely caused pain walking let alone while wearing hundreds of pounds of armor. And he did it anyway. Humiliation wounds, most of them are called. Mutilating the body after death. Richard's horse was stuck in mud, it's likely they battered him from all sides, as he slowly bled out. Fighting. All the while Henry VII was, according to legend, watching not fifty feet away, being traumatized for life and about to embark on his lifelong mission not to have that happen to him. Richard wore the Black Prince's ruby into battle, the same coronet Henry the Dramatic Fifth wore at Agincourt.
"That's what a coward says," Richard says, frowning a little.
"It is not cowardly to know your strengths," no I've never taken my own advice, shut the hell up.
"I still want tunnels at my castle. I bet we can build them. They're fun. And I wouldn't ever lock children in them," Hal says, pleased with his reasoning.
"How much child abuse has occurred at Warwick castle?" I ask.
"Lots," the boys say, in unison.
"Right," I mutter. Not anything to do about that.
"It's only when I steal sweets he says I can't have. Or chat with Hal when I'm supposed to be working. Or talk back," Richard says.
"So how many times a day?" I ask.
"Oh, not that often. He can only punish us when he's around. Usually he's off being disgusting with my ugly brother," Richard says, rolling his eyes.
"Why do you call him that?" I laugh.
"Edward the Ugly, I'm trying to start something. He'll have no way to prove it was me," Richard says, clearly pleased with himself, "And George the Simple, that has caught on in certain parts of society."
"My household," Hal raises his hand.
"Do your brothers not tire of you?" I ask, amused.
"My brothers think I am adorable," Richard says.
There is no historical evidence to support that claim.
Hal shakes his head that they do not.
I smile, they remind me of me and my friends. They're only being stupid kids. I hate that they have to be under Warwick's supervision. In reality Richard and Edward will get along well enough as adults and Edward will trust him. But as a boy Edward outsources his care, so I assume he wasn't wanting a verbal twelve year old around all the time.
"Why did you come along anyway? It's not as though you have a good time with Warwick—Lord Neville?" I ask.
"Because I overheard —never mind how—,"
"We were sneaking," Hal says.
"Shut UP—him telling Lady Neville he was coming here. And I don't trust him. So I wanted to see what he was doing in case my brother didn't know he's doing it, and that way I can tell him," Richard says, pleased with his plan.
"Will your brother believe you over him?" I ask, concerned. Warwick is rather in with Edward IV it takes a lot to convince him otherwise as I understand. Warwick is a family friend and surrogate father to the boys, albeit probably a toxic one. He's a bit younger than Henry VI, he's not quite that generation, but he's still decently older than Edward IV who at this point is just past twenty, whereas Warwick is in his mid thirties. I know I act like he's an old Disney Villain when in reality he's only like, two to three years older than Jasper. "Warwick—sorry that's what I call him—,"
"Don't. We don't. He's Lord Neville because he's only an earl because of Lady Neville, it's not like he's really nobility," Richard says.
"Duly noted. But he does have your brother's ear," I say, gently. I don't want these poor kids in more trouble than they are.
"Oh he does. But Edward has to believe me in the end, because even if he won't ever admit it out loud, he knows that I'm smarter than him and George combined and tripled," Richard says. In reality Edward will trust Richard greatly his whole life, getting along well enough with his youngest brother and trusting with the majority of the north of England. That's somewhat common in young kings, letting their brother basically take half the country. Richard the Lionheart did this to an extent with his brother, John. And Edward III did this also with his brother, also a John, giving him basically free control of the north of England. Richard will get this as well when he comes of age in a few years, and he'll be very good at it, and quite popular with his people. Current, youthful antics, and lust for battle aside, he's very responsible and a good administrator.
"Good, be sure to tell him about the fantastically handsome Welsh wizard," I say.
"Oh, I will," Richard says, lightly, tapping the wall and looking at it like trying to figure out how he can have his own secret tunnels built.
"You're not handsome," Hal informs me.
"Please, tell me how you really feel," I laugh.
"You're not really ugly like Lord Neville or Richard's brother, but you're not handsome like he is," Hal says, pointing at Richard.
"Welsh Wizard with mediocre hair, come here," Richard says, looking at the wall.
"Why does the ability to come up with insults come before puberty and the muscles to protect yourself?" I mutter, coming over.
"I don't know; my mother said I might just stop growing soon, but I don't care I'm still a threat—," Richard says, idly.
"That you are," I laugh.
"Does that look fresh—?" Richard asks, pointing at some markings.
"I can't read it," Hal says, trying elbow in.
"Well, that doesn't tell us anything as you can't read."
"Yes I can! I'm just not as fast as you!"
"I am very smart; that's true; however everyone in the world can read faster than you. Even people who can't read can read faster than you! I think your eyes might be crooked. I think it's time I tell someone."
"Shut UP."
"You're right that's fresh," I say as the boys elbow each other and tell each other to shut up, which is pointless because they both immediately keep talking.
"Boys, look, Richard, do you know Latin?" I ask. I'm terrible with Latin to be honest.
"Yes, a bit which is so much more than him—,"
"Shut up."
"—but that's not Latin, I think it's greek," Richard says, squinting at it.
"I can't read that either," I sigh. I know who would know, but he's not coming down here, "Do either of you have any paper?"
"Do I look like I carry paper?"
"Shh, he can't read, it's a sensitive subject don't bring it up," Richard says, getting a folded letter out of his pocket. "How are you going to write on it?"
"Blood? Do you have a pin or anything?" I ask.
"Yes," he sorts for pins on his jacket, which is more elaborate than mine, "You're seriously going to write a potential spell in blood?"
"Yeah, I've got nothing against being possessed by a demon."
"Guys?" Hal taps our shoulders.
"Just a minute," Richard says.
"Um, guys?"
"Something's standing behind us isn't it?" I ask, so tiredly.
"We really need to work on your reaction time," Richard, face palming, equally tired.
We both turn around, slowly. Sure enough, standing behind us, is a huge troll. I don't know it's a troll. It's an ugly monster with lots of death seething grey-green magic, and slobbering. It has no eyes but it sniffs the air, it's head hanging above ours as it crouches in the narrow tunnel. Slimy drool drips from its thick lips, landing on Hal's head.
I put my hands over their mouths, carefully. Hal is shaking in fear. Both have their hands on their swords.  The thing hasn't seen us yet. I don't know if it can hear us. It lowers its face, slowly, a huge trail of slime dripping onto Richard's head.  The boys shrink back into me, a little bit, and I put my arms around their chests, holding them back so they don't move anymore.
The creature cocks its head, slowly, and let's out a putrid breath of hot air onto our faces. We all wince but try not to cough. Hal chokes a bit.
Then it roars.
I draw my sword faster than I thought possible, diving the sword directly into the creature's nostril.
The monster swings its head, successfully throwing me halfway down the tunnel and into a wall, but at least lurching away from the boys.
I raise both hands to use magic on it, but it merely sucks the magic in. It has an effect, but a very small one. I leap to my feet and start running towards it.
"Boys! Run! The other way!" I shout. I'll finish it off.
Hal dives his sword into the monster's foot and it swats him away. I barely react in time to cushion his fall with magic so his head doesn't smack the stone wall.
Richard wastes no time, leaping onto the wall then the creatures back, propelling himself partly with magic, as he digs his sword into the monster's shoulder for hold.
"This is why you die," I mutter, under my breath, as the monster lurches around haphazardly trying to slam the boy into the walls. This partly works, forcing Richard to change position, drawing his dagger to use as another anchor in the monster's thick flesh. He recites a spell and slams his hand into the monster's head.
"Richard! Magic won't work on it!" I call, ducking as the thing swings a huge clawed hand.
"You could have told me that before!"
"I didn't know that before!"
Hal is up and diving again, he's got no magic to protect his falls so I'm watching him and myself. I dig my sword into the creature's stomach, but it's like dragging it through treacle, I feel like I'm doing no damage, and it's nearly impossible to get the sword back. I dig it deeper. This has to disembowel it doesn't it?
The monster snatches Hal up by one foot. He screams as he's suspended upside down, and the troll prepares to whack him into the stone wall.
Richard gives up his hold on the back and runs down the monster's arm, digging his sword into the creatures hand, slicing off a thumb.
Thumb and Hal fall to the ground green troll blood is spilling onto us, stinking and sticky. The monster screams in rage, bringing its arm, now spurting blood, up, snatching Richard off its wrist with its good hand and bringing the boy up to its mouth to drop in.
I give up my sword in the creature's belly, stuck as I am with the tar like blood, launching myself up using magic to the troll's mouth just as it drops Richard. I cling to a tooth, drawing my dagger and stabbing wildly at tongue. He falls and hits teeth and rolls gratefully onto me.
"Get your sword," I gasp, diving the dagger into the monster's neck.
"Really? D'you think so?" He snarls, pushing off of me and launching himself onto the monster's shoulder.
Hal gives a scream of rage, attacking again this time to stab the other ankle. The monster staggers and nearly sends me and Richard flying off. We both catch ourselves in time and he returns with the sword, to stab it directly into the troll's eye.
The troll screams in anger, smacking us with huge fists.  Attacking it with magic isn't working. Nor is killing it. But what if I took the magic out?
I draw energy from the creature, slowly at first, then rapidly.
"Richard! Steal its energy, it's working," I say.
"I can't," he growls in frustration, getting his sword free to stab the other eye. "You're doing amazing though, really well done." We're both still about to die so that's definitely sarcasm.
I draw the magic quicker. Faster and faster as I feel it flow through me.
This is wizard magic. Some wizard—made this monster. Somehow. I wonder if I can find out who?
The troll falls, and Richard just leaps free in time. I'm far too full of power to fully watch, but I force myself to check Hal who skitters to safety as the monster collapses, groaning in agony.
"You got it!" Hal is appreciative, as I lower to the ground, still in a haze of magic.
"Is it dead?" Richard asks, skeptical, breathing heavily.
"Almost, I'm going to try to see who sent it, all right?" I ask.
"It's not you?" Hal asks.
"I don't think he did, Hal, no, I don't think he sent it," Richard says, putting a hand through his hair as he joins me staring at the beast.
I dig the rest of the magic out of it, just burrowing in and drawing it all to myself. But I want to know where it came from. More than that. I want to know what it wants. I kind of know how to do that. This spring, with a little help from Joan of Arc, Courtenay and I figured out how to access dreams, and good memories. What's the thing this monster most desires?
I'm brought with a flood of magic, so much it blinds my eyes.  It remembers coming back to life, grass, darkness, darkness, a voice chanting I don't know the voice, but I would, it's low and cool and almost—an American accent? Southern? It's a wizard bringing it to life. I see the wizard now. In white robes. Haunted amber eyes and then a flash of nothing. But what does it want? It seeks... I see grass. A sky, this is a vision the wizard gave it. And I hear people screaming, overlayed, people screaming in pain, and mud running with blood, terror, anger, and then clear.
A pure blue sky, a grass field. I see a child kneeling, playing with a dog, a puppy. Is the child going to get killed? I wrack my brain, what kids have died in the War of the Roses yet? Is this something I should know? The child straightens up, as much as he can, pushing dark hair from deep, terribly dark blue eyes. Unable to fully straighten, he stands, one shoulder noticeably lower than the other.
"Richard! You said you'd come and play!" A little girl, holding a toy ball or something, she has grass in her hair and is wearing a soft blue dress, "You promised."
"I'm coming Annie, look, who I found," he picks up the puppy, smiling. The little girl cries out in delight, bouncing in a circle. He grins.
No. No.  Don't be what I think this is.
There's blood. Screaming. Screaming. Death. A woman chocking, and coughing, blood spraying a clean white bedspread. Children screaming. Death. So much death. and pain, I want it to stop. I feel every death in my bones. It happens, over and over.
Kill the boy. Kill the boy and it stops.
"No," I whisper, feeling my feet shake under me. I'm back in the passageway. The troll is well and truly dead in front of me. I look over at Richard, tears in my eyes, "They want you. The person—sending these things. Is trying to kill you."
"Me? But I've not done anything," Richard says, frowning, something like fear flashing in his dark eyes.
"No, no you haven't," I say, gently, hearing my own voice tremble. You're just a child. You haven't done anything right now, nor will you. It's all a mistake. "You know wizards sometimes know the future?"
"Yes—but that's ridiculous he hasn't done anything," Hal says.
"Yes?" Richard looks at me, "Why would it be after me?"
"Because —they've got it wrong. They've got it really wrong and—because they are confused they want to kill you, that's all," I say.
"So they're Lancasters."
"I mean no, they also about killed all of us—it's you, look—," think think think "We will not tell anyone. This isn't your fault. I'm so so sorry, this isn't your fault. At all. These people are evil. And narrow minded." And need to fact check beyond Wikipedia and one very good but historically inaccurate play.
"That can't be true," Richard frowns, "Why? I'll fight them then."
"You will not, they are my kind I will get rid of them. You need to go against your nature and for once, for me, stay out of a fight? You will not win this one," I sigh, heavily, well aware he won't do it.
"If it's me they want I'll fight them."
"That's literally what I just said not to do!" I groan.
"Why are wizards after me anyway?" He asks.
"Because people are mean, and really mean, and weird and they don't—they don't bother, to get to know you, like I do," I say, putting a hand tentatively on his shoulder. They leave your body under a parking lot for hundreds of years because nobody can be bothered to look for you. Because they don't understand you. "I'm really sorry and it's not your fault, and I will get rid of them, but you need to be careful."
"Do you know who it is?" He asks.
"No, not yet," I say.
"I do," Hal says.
"What?" We both look up and see him pointing down the hall.
At one of the hall, in white robes, stands a wizard. The one from the visions. Amber eyes, a sunken face and dark hair. I realize he's dripping wet. But his face is soft with youth, a boy, maybe my age? Younger? He's small and lean, and he stares at us out of the tops of his eyes.
"You, you need to leave him alone," I say, walking in front of the boys.
The wizard raises his hand, and I run, doing the same. We both draw magic but in an instant I realize he's trying to draw it from me. He's a ghost. Just like I was. The ghost vanishes.
I stop dead in my tracks.
"It's a ghost—that was a ghost someone summoned it— I think, to distract us," I say, turning around.
Richard nods, "This was a diversion. Do you hear that?"
Sure enough, there's tramping of feet above our heads.
"They're storming the keep, run," I say. It's needless though, the boys take off the same moment I do, running back the way we came. I bother to use magic for light for all three of us. I'm worn from killing the troll, but keep pace with the boys, who have both sheathed their swords in favor of running, pumping both arms.
"Why are we running? It's not our castle," Hal groans.
"But it's a fight!" Richard cries.
When we reach the top we burst out, all panting a bit, to a hubbub of confusion inside the walls. The alarm bells are being rung, and I see the archers running to their posts.
"Boys, look at me, you need to hide," I say, a hand on either of their shoulders.
"But—," Richard begins, frowning.
"If the monsters cannot find you, they will leave. You are very brave, and noble, and I know you will do great things. But today you will let me protect you, all right?" I ask, kneeling in front of him, "This is my fight. Let me fight it."
"But—," he bites his lip.
"You're York, we are Lancasters, we're not even your side. So why would you want to help us?" I sigh, "Look at it that way. You're our guests, but you do not need to fight. And if they are centered on you it will be too dangerous for you to be out here."
Richard nods a little, clearly disappointed.
"Now, hide, and hide well, both of you," I say, standing up. I don't know the castle well enough to specify a hiding place. They're kids they should be good at finding hiding places.
They boys run off, obediently, and I turn to run into the keep. I need armor, and more weapons if I can manage. Was it a diversion in the tunnels? I feel that Richard is right and it was. Damn them. They're inaccurate as hell as well. They keep storming the keep, attacking us and them on the road, how hard is it to find one twelve year old no matter how stubborn? Not that I want them to but like, really? I'm cursing the luck that brought this down on the Lancaster's heads. And inadvertently we're depleting our forces to protect a York boy. That said, he's a child it's not his fault, and Henry VI would absolutely knowingly do that on principal. I'm gonna tell him to ease my conscience not the others, just him.  I'd sooner do that now, but I suspect the battle needs me.
I run into the main hall of the keep, where knights are all getting into armor before progressing outside.
"Where've you been?" The Duke of Exeter asks, hitting me upside the back of the head.
"Killing a cave troll," I say, showing him the troll blood on my hands.
He laughs, so I take that to be a good sign.
I find Jasper in short order, he is in armor already, and carrying mine.
"Where've you been—is that troll blood—?"
"Yeah, found one in the tunnels, we'll skip why I was in the tunnels," I say, as he holds up my mail shirt. I can get one on myself but the things are heavy so it's easier if someone else drops it over my head.
"Good for you, they say there's apparitions beyond the walls," Jasper says, helping me buckle it and giving me a cloak as well.
"Lovely," I sigh.
"I want to fight!" Harri is at his uncle's side, tugging on his cloak. He's holding a small sword that Jasper and his MFA in Child Development, definitely gave the six year old. Ignore me, I'm being rotten because I'd have loved Jasper to parent me, when I was six. When I was six nobody taught me how to play with swords or let me pick if I cut my hair or not and I'm coming to realize these are things I should address in therapy not in 1400s England. Oh well.
"Your day for fighting will come. It is not today. Today your quest is to stay safe. Protect yourself, and you protect the future of England, and Wales," Jasper says, to Harri, tipping his chin up. That was good I'm gonna plagiarize it and use it on Richard it won't work, but I'll sound better than whatever I said that I'm sure he's going to ignore.
"Yes, Uncle," Harri says, lowering his head, fat tears on his cheeks.
"Good, now stay, I'll return for you," Jasper says, picking Harri up by the back of his shirt and basically flinging him behind a statue. The boy is clearly used to this and does catch himself. Jasper does not even look back, just striding on and motioning for me to follow him. The statue is of Henry Everyone Needs to Remember How Awesome I Am And How I Think I Looked The Fifth, by the way.
"Is he really gonna stay there?" How did you train him to do that? Will said training work on a twelve year old who doesn't like me?
"Of course. He's got no father but me, since my brother died," Jasper says, by way of explanation, "He's a good lad."
"He is," I nod a little. I don't find Jasper's single parenting unconventional, but it technically would be. Tutelage, or knighthood training, usually starts at eight or nine, much later. The excuse for Jasper taking him earlier was the boy inherited his father's estates, so he would live at those with his uncle minding him. That said, those estates are in York control now, so it's much less Bruce Wayne and Alfred, and much more Lone Wolf and Cub. In this time period, men wouldn't generally do the primary supervision of a boy until he was older, eight or nine or so. Until then governess and the like would mind the child while they did their basic education, reading writing and maybe riding lessons.
Now if you had a nice dad, he might play swords with you. Edward II was fond of hanging around his kids, and Henry VII interestingly enough was also known for spending time with them. But that wasn't the norm. Sure in lower social classes maybe a bit more, but even so the general theme was, serving women or mothers, minded the children till maybe seven to ten, and then they'd start an apprenticeship or the like. Jasper just trailing the boy around is much less common. He himself, in my reality anyway, was put in a convent to be cared for after his mother's death, then when he was eight or so, Henry VI took charge of his education, which involved hiring tutors for him (and I assume a reasonable amount of chatting with his brother). That's more common. There's not a great reason Harri isn't with his mother, beyond personal preference. She didn't care to, or her new husband didn't, and Jasper did want his nephew. Not bad, but in this time period, not as usual.
"His father died before he was born, never met him—I suppose you know all that, right? Or you don't, whatever," Jasper shrugs a little.
"Sort of," I say, evasively. Of course I know from my reality that's what happened.
"His mother—she's not bad, you have met her she's, fine," he says, diplomatically, "Anyway, unfortunately he's used to this. He'll be fine."
"Okay," I say, because slinging a child behind a statue and saying 'stay' doesn't not feel like a valid way to keep the child safe, but hey, I just sent my two off to hide and they probably aren't even going to do it.
We join the knights headed for the ramparts. This time Queen Margret isn't here, the Duke of Exeter is running the lines instead. I can see the glow of ghosts out in the dark, but there aren't that many. The Duke of Exeter is a small man, but threatening, especially now in full armor. He carries his helmet, the wind whipping his face raw already, and that usual maniac grin plastered on his face like a poorly drawn cartoon.
"Why were we called?" Warwick asks.
"Where are your pages?" Jasper replies, pulling on gloves.
"In bed, the door locked," Warwick snarls.
"Good, Exeter you want him to hold the east end?" Jasper asks.
Exeter surveys his own line one more time, "Lord Neville, take the east, you two, stay here. It's concentrating."
"I don't trust him," Jasper mutters to me.
"Yeah, nor do I," I say.
"I mean the pages, he's not good at watching them and children are stupid," Jasper predicts.
"Yeah, they better stay put," I say. Considering they were never in bed.
Jasper and I venture to the edge of the wall.
"Feel it?" the Duke of Exeter grunts, cocking his head.
"Yeah," Jasper says, holding out a hand.
"Are you a sorcerer?" I ask, the Duke of Exeter, frowning.
"I'm not telling you that story if you don't already know, Gid," Exeter nearly giggles, his gutter-clown-grin firmly in place.
"He had magic, the Archbishop Courtenay stripped it when we were boys, because he kept using it to attack people, including the Archbishop Courtenay," Jasper whispers, as Exeter walks down the line, "You knew that, I was there when the King told you. You helped heal him."
"Yeah, I'm not having a good day, sorry, time, magic, bleh, generic excuse," I say, rubbing my head.
"Whatever, point is he can still sense things—the air's like static," Jasper says.
"It is," I feel like static, I've had a night already fighting the cave troll, so I feel magic everywhere. I was thinking it was just me.
It is not just me.
At first there's nothing. Just the glowing, all imposing dark of a moonless night. Our torches do nothing to combat it. We are truly swallowed up with even no stars peaking throughout the clouds. Jasper stands next to me, face set, eyes already bloodshot with broken blood vessels, and one broken blood vessel in his cheek. Neither of us are at full strength and that is not good.
Then I see it, or rather I feel it. Rising up out of the darkness. Glowing with pure white light, white as the wizard's robes. A serpent, of the world eating variety. Big enough its tail probably dips into the channel. It's head is easily ten feet wide, and it rears its head up. Leveling it with us here on the ramparts.
Jasper and I both begin to glow with magic.
"Any idea how to fight that?" He mutters.
"None whatsoever," I say.
"You're supposed to be the greatest wizard of our age."
"I don't think there's any scientific evidence to support that. I usually wing these things and occasionally die," I say.
"That's all very comforting."
The serpent hisses, and rears back it's head, then lunges forward. Jasper and I both try to restrain it, but that does exactly nothing. It's as resistant to magic as the troll was. It swings its ugly head, smacking archers off the wall, and nearly whacking me as well. I save as many as I can and throw myself to the ground as it swings its head again, hissing a terrible loud screech  that fills my head and threatens to burst my ear drums.
I struggle to my feet. I can draw magic from it, but at what cost?
"Jasper you have to drain the magic," I shout, "Try to take its energy."
"I can't," he says, shaking his head. And the monster rears again, this time smashing down on the wall, and breaking it. I can start taking the magic and redirecting it into attacks, but that's not going to work in time. It nearly didn't with the cave troll.
The snake smashes its head down again, crushing more of the castle walls. It screams angrily, whipping its head back and forth. Ghosts pour through the opening. In the background I can hear the Duke of Exeter shouting orders to fill the gap.
Warwick has actually run to help us, based off the timing, and I'm not completely clear, but he was not that far so he definitely stood on the other end of the rampart watching us fight this thing for a solid two minutes, before choosing to come and help.
"Can you not take its energy?" I shout to him.
"No, it's pure wizard magic," Warwick shouts, over the din, "You need to kill it."
"Thank you so much, I'll remember your advice always," I snarl, before charging the snake again. I'm hot with recycling the magic but even with channeling its own magic against itself, I'm not accomplishing enough to take it out, or even slow it down much. It's still attacking our men and smashing more of the castle walls to let more ghosts in.
Then I hear a sharp whistle.
I already know what I'm going to see, but I'm an optimist, I look anyway.
Richard is standing in the middle of the courtyard, black cloak billowing out behind him in the wind, blue eyes set. In one hand he holds his sword. He puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles again, looking at the monster without fear. 
"This is why you die," I breath, wincing.
The snake screeches and throws itself forward, slithering through the gap in the castle wall.
And Richard turns and runs.
I leap onto the snake's head, and hang on. He'd better have a plan. Take that back he'd better have a good plan that is not fight it himself once he leads it away.
Richard tears around the keep. I'm sucking magic from the snake and trying to slow it down, which is half working, as I stand on its head using magic to cling on for dear life. We're heading towards—-the tunnels.
He probably thinks the snake can't fit down the tunnels? I'm hoping?
The boy darts into the tunnel, and the snake rams its head on the opening, roaring in anger.  I don't know if snakes can roar. Well, this is a magic one and it can.
Hal Stafford is there, of course, and both boys hide just past the opening, as the snake tries to bash its way in. Hal is holding something in his hand. He throws it, and it explodes on the snake. It's dynamite.
"Get it in the mouth!" I shout, clinging on for dear life. Yes, my only strategy is from Jaws, but to be fair, that movie was right, public officials would reopen a beach for personal profit. That was true, the pandemic taught us that. Let's hope the rest of the movie had equally sage advice.
"What?" Hal shouts.
"Throw the powder, in the mouth," I say.
"Is that your plan?" Richard doesn't like it either.
"What's yours?" I snarl, clinging to the snake's head.
I should not have asked that, because as I do Richard leaps into the mouth and proceeds to stab the thing in the roof of its mouth, with his sword, using sheer will power to keep the monster's jaws open.
I am clinging to the Snake's head as it whips itself back and forth in agony. It's not dying, just mad.
Hal throws another packet of explosive, and Richard whispers a spell, making the explosion bigger. I redirect snake energy into it, but the snake is wounded. Not dead. It thrashes its tail and I hear the din of battle behind us. The ghosts are swarming the keep. I can feel hot magic pouring through me like liquid mercury. But I'm still clinging to the scaly head, flying through the air as the monster lashes, Richard is still stuck in the mouth, trying to stab the thing in the brain.
"Throw it again," I shout, to Hal, who crouches to avoid getting knocked over by the snake's giant head.
He does, and the boy's aim is sound. I whisper a spell. And then I redirect every bit of magic from the snake into the spell, as the explosion centers in the snakes' mouth.
The resulting exploding is electrifying, and I'm at the center of it so I can't save the boys or myself. 
Richard does, he lands and then has enough bearing to tug me to safety on the ground as the snake disappears in a shock wave that rocks the earth beneath us.
"You all right?" I ask, rolling to my feet. Both boys are standing, and mostly unscathed, holding weapons still.
Richard nods, his breath shaking a bit as the magic drains form his eyes.
"So was the word 'hide' confusing or—?" I grin.
Richard grins too, "You're not in charge of me."
"I noticed your majesty," I bow swiftly, "To battle?"
We all three run to join the fray. Warwick is at the edge, driving ghosts back out the gap in the walls. At first he looks resigned like "I'm protecting a Lancaster Keep this might as well happen". And then he sees me and two completely unharmed minors he's responsible for and that's I think when he loses the will to live.
"I'm going to clear the keep," I say, slapping them each on the back.
"We'll clear the ward," Richard nods, with all the authority of his birth. I grin at him one more time, and he tips his lips in the start of a smile.
Then I run into the keep.
It's over run, or nearly. They are ghosts everywhere, and knights fighting them. I'm exhausted, but fueled by anger, so I carry on, ghosts are easy to clear now compared to the actual monsters that I've dealt with tonight.
I find Queen Margret on the first floor, cutting down two ghosts, sword in hand. Prince Edward is with her, in armor, unscathed and wielding a sword expertly.
"Find the King," she says to me, immediately, "Take the East Wing, go."
"Yes," I nod my head respectfully, running to do just that. I suspect she joined the men in barricading the doors, but they were overrun. Our knights are winning. But the King, however guarded, is mostly unable to protect himself.
I mount the stairs two at a time. My legs are screaming in pain and my vision is fuzzy. But I know I can't collapse just yet.
I make it to the second floor nearly in time to get knocked over by a wave of magic. Three ghosts fly into me and dispel them with a wave of my sword.
Jasper is struggling at one end of the hall, an arm looped under Henry's shoulders. There's blood all down his armor, and I can see a break in the mail near his shoulder. His face is tight with pain but his eyes still glow red. Henry looks unscathed but he also can't stand on his own.
There are five more ghosts, and I leap at them with reckless abandon. One gets me pretty good in the leg but the others quickly fall to my blade. I'm so sick on magic I'm not bothering with that anymore, I just dispatch them the old fashioned way, one at a time, using magic to block their blows as I swiftly finish them.
I spin the sword in my hand, checking for other ghosts before limping to join them.
"Took you long enough," Jasper grunts, wincing in pain as he tries to move.
"I know right? Don't—it's fine, we're winning, they're clearing the keep, we've won," I say, sheathing my sword. I'm little good anymore anyway and the battle was largely finished.
"You're bleeding," Henry puts his hand to Jasper's shoulder.
"It's not bad," Jasper says, despite being covered in blood.
"Let me take care of you for a bit?" Henry sighs, packing his hand over the wound, "I will not have you hurt, Jas."
"I'll keep," Jasper say. Henry just presses his face against Jasper's and Jasper closes his eyes for a moment, accepting the gesture.
Then they both remember I'm here.
"Gideon I—," they say at the exact same time.
"I know you're brothers," I say, taking off my shirt to wrap around Jasper's wound.
"Oh, thank god, see? I told you it was comforting, he just knows things," Henry says, patting Jasper's head.
"No! Nothing about that was at all comforting! He doesn't know anything else! More explanation is needed—ow," Jasper grunts, as I tie it tight around his shoulder.
"I think its a flesh wound. And I know because of my tricks," I say.
"Half brothers, but you knew that didn't you?" Henry asks, softly.
"Yes, suspected anyway. You didn't recognize him and Edmund because it would have spoiled your mother's reputation but  you're you, you're really nice of course you like them," I say, finishing tying it, and going to help Henry on the other side.
"Just about," Henry says, quietly, "Did you see my wife?"
"Yes, she and the prince are downstairs fine, I'll go tell her where you two are once I get you set," I say, as we help him into a room.
"You can't tell anyone you know, no one knows—it—our mother never told me about them," Henry says softly, "It was my idea. I thought we should be a family. Their father was always kind to me."
"He was a good man," I say, as we both lower Henry to a sofa. He's got a bruise on his face and looks shaken. 
"Want me to fix you up?" Jasper asks, tugging Henry's shirt a little more in place as he slumps back.
"Yes—no stop it, Jas you're bleeding, you need to see a doctor," Harry says.
"I'll keep, we've been on me being durable," Jasper smiles a little, brushing Henry's hair out of his face with one hand, and moving his limp arm to a better position.
"Find my wife and son, please, then come back," Henry says, softly.
"I will, your Majesty," I promise, bowing quickly. A few more knights and a steward move in to take charge of Henry. I nod at them to go on as they pause at us, ragged as we are.
"Rest a bit," Jasper says, smiling a little, then he follows me to the door. Once we get outside he grabs my arm with his good one in a vice, "Not. A. Word."
"Got it. Have known for ages. Do not care," I hiss, shaking him off.
"No one knows. His father knew and our mother, she had us locked up, secret, since me and Eddie were little. I didn't know who she was till the day she died and—," he shakes his head, "Whatever. The King didn't know about us either, and his brothers are less charitable than he."
"Right," everyone is less charitable than he.
"Here, I'm the bastard son of a barmaid, for all you or anyone cares," Jasper says, "Got it?"
"Got it. Super do not care. Do not really talk to anyone, but you and him. Also would not come up."
"The Queen knows, she was told. Ned—Prince Edward does not know I'm his uncle he thinks I'm just his father's friend," he says.
"Does Harri know?"
"Yes, I tell him everything," Jasper says, "But no one else does, but you obviously. The King found out after our mother died she'd written to him confessing our existence. He brought us to court and let us become knights there. He gave us both earldoms but it was as the guise of favorites, rather than ruin his mother's reputation or worse call into question his legitimacy. No one knows beyond the family and we do not speak of it. So if you say a word we'll deny it."
"You need to understand how much I do not care," I say. Also I pretty much guessed. So Catherine did have her secret sons. I mean, in my realty Henry V was long dead. In this one he was alive at least when Jasper was born. He knew, but ever practical just had the boys grow up in hiding. I feel bad. Poor Jasper, he had no clue his mother was queen that's why she left him sometimes, and his brother was to be king. Thank god Henry is Henry and welcomed his half brothers with open arms and free religion.
"Most do," Jasper shakes his head a little, as we descend the stairs. He stumbles and I have to catch him. He nods a little bit in thanks, but looks stiff.
"Don't. I don't care. I already knew."
"I don't want to bring him, more scandal. He doesn't need it," Jasper says, softly, "Not on my account. And if it came to it he wouldn't deny me. You've heard what they say about him?"
"That he's simple minded?" I say, dryly. That one will prevail in fact.
"That he's mad. That that boy isn't his."
"Hm," like I said, may not be.
"It's enough, and they make it up anyway," he sighs, "I just—-wait you've known that this whole time?"
"I mean—yeah," I think he means the last like twenty years? Or just the last few days what other things haven't I known?
"Damn. All right, guess it didn't matter then," he scoffs
"I really don't care."
"Yes, I realize that but you don't know half of the other unknowns, the King was swearing me to secrecy on them."
We limp the rest of the way down the stairs. When we reach the main hall its a flurry of commotion. It's cleared and free of ghosts, but only just, and knights are swarming to ensure it's safe and take away the injured.
The queen is in the middle of it all, with the prince, mostly directing traffic and working her way towards the stairs.
She catches sight of me across the hall and I nod, signaling that all is well. She directs a few more knights and the prince to go guard the king, then moves to join us.
"The wall is secured, for now. Go get yourselves cleaned up."
We are too weary to protest. First though, Jasper goes to fetch Harri. The little boy is, remarkably, exactly where we left him, crouched behind the superfluous statue, sword in hand. Jasper retrieves the boy by scooping him up by the back of his shirt and depositing him in front of us. Jasper then kneels in front of him.  Boy and uncle do a quick, if complicated, sort of secret handshake, as they did the first night. Proof it's Jasper and he didn't get possessed or something? Or just some sort of promise to the boy?
"You all right?" Jasper asks, checking him for injury.
"Yes, Uncle," Harri nods, obediently, "I waited like you said."
"Good boy," Jasper says, struggling to stand. I help him, even though I'm not much better myself.  "Go wait outside the king's room, he may need to send a message, all right?"
"Yes, uncle," Harri says, rubbing his face with a hand.
"Go on, I'll be up in a bit."
The little boy scurries off, and we move on to find medical care. Now, there are usually court physicians, but after a battle like this it's mostly every man for himself, especially if he can stand and walk. However, as wizards and sorcerers, we're usually granted a bit more medical aid. That usually comes in the form of food, water, but since we've lost blood they tend to give us something like honey or the like. Depends on the physician, but they'll at least give us a once over and make sure we get food and water first.