Seat of Mars

Chapter 1: ...and now doth time waste me

Roger

The halls of Windsor are dark and eerily quiet. Where once the throngs of staff bustled, and laughter echoed, all is now quiet as a tomb. Or perhaps as quiet as we hope tombs will be. I've nothing against shadows, but my brother is usually a source of life. And the quiet of the castle feels like a death in itself. Like the past twenty years don't even matter. After all we've fought for and now it looks as though we'll die for, is silence. As if none of it meant anything at all. That's the story the shadows tell me tonight. Your dreams didn't matter. You can become a ghost in the span of a moment.
But we haven't lost. Not yet. Nor shall we while there's breath still left in my body.
I run down the darkened halls, not bothering with a torch nor fearing for the shadows. I've known for many years I'm one of the worse things to appear from the dark. Right now I have a message for my king.
I dart past the guards who recognize me at the last moment, and let me by. I should break the habit of a lifetime and wait to be admitted somewhere rather than simply materializing from the darkest corner. I do not. I also don't have the luxury of skulking tonight. None of us have the luxury of anything on a night like this.
"Your Majesty," I say, falling to a knee, in the center of the room. All turn to look at me, of course I entered nearly silently.
"Well?" My brother, the king turns from where he was gazing into the fire. Rough riding clothes like all of us he's still half in armor, red gold hair slicked back with rainwater. His answer is characteristically terse and I'm surprised he got that much out. It's been quite a week for us. I'm his senior, by a solid ten years, but I'm a bastard. And so my life is little more than an echo of his.
"Windsor is secure itself, but we are likely surrounded," I say, rising slowly as he waves me up. We're the same height, or thereabouts, but I keep my head ducked as is respectful.
He breaths out slowly, looking down at his hand. Likely trying to compose words.
"I have the men preparing for a siege," Exeter. My step brother, and boyhood rival. He's simply a terrible person. I like him just fine. The king and he share a mother, legitimately, the king and I share a father, albeit I'm illegitimate. That makes our family complicated as it sounds.
"Yes—yes—yes do that," Richard says. King Richard. Richard who I used to carry on my back when he was small. Who was sure his big brother could make all the monsters go away and stop haunting the shadows of his room. I am doing my best to fight the monster, Richard. I'm still trying. I don't say that I don't say most things I probably should. He's laconic by force of his stammer me by some perversity of my character.
"I can clear the wood come dawn, but we have no reason to believe they're not out there. They will surrounded us," I say. It's what I'd do. And it's what he'd do too.
"No. No—they—they have my wife—we can't fight them," Richard says, face going red as he struggles to get the words out. It's painful to listen to in that I know how frustrating it is for him. The stammer usually isn't this bad, we're also not usually a few hours away from losing all our heads.
"I can't—I must—must make a deal —deal with him I can't let anything happen—happen to them. Or to—or to you if we—we negotiate then —then that's that— fuck," he puts his shaking hands to his face, clearly angry he can't even get words out. We're a ragged band of his remaining men but the general trauma is too much.
"Bolingbroke's not going to make any deals, whispers are he wants the crown not just the Lancaster dukedom," Exeter sighs, equally frustrated and showing it more than I. I'm stone faced, as ever. My expression doesn't change that's usually a bit of a curse I come off threatening but then I am usually threatening someone so it works.
"It's—my—my crown," Richard nearly snarls.
"We know," I say, with enough authority to cool his temper. He and Exeter are both red headed, so's Bolingbroke it's been a long lifetime for me to be perfectly honest. The upside is next to either of my brothers I seem calm and I'm perfectly not I'm just not red haired. "He wants it. Because Bolingbroke's a Lancaster he wants things that aren't his."
"He's—he's insane if he thinks that'll that'll work," Richard says, still stammering but to irritated to care about it.
"Once more, he's a Lancaster, but that doesn't change the fact that there's no terms we can reach with him, which are agreeable to us. Say we hand him Lancaster? What then he owns half of England and we already know he's not to be trusted and wants your crown?" Exeter asks, reasonably, swallowing his own anger. He's not angry at us that's entirely general for him I've known him for over thirty years he's been angry every single day of those thirty odd years.
"Well, he has the women so—so some—some negotiation must happen!" Richard says.
"My spies say they got out," I say, folding my arms.
"What?" Richard frowns, a bit hopeful.
"What?" Exeter asks, staring daggers at me. He claims he can tell when I'm lying. He can't I just lie to him a lot and so he was bound to catch me at it now and again, the odds were not in my favor.
"Yeah, the—my spies said that the women got out, probably to one of the houses in the country, but we've no reason to believe he has them," I say, shrugging.
"We have received no ransom demands. Which is a usual thing, to do, when one has family members of the person they are fighting. The normal, not even cruel thing—," Exeter begins.
"The twelve and eleven year old children—were not—not our hostages," Richard growls.
Bolingbroke's two underfed greasy Lancaster offspring were serving as squires with our army. Against popular vote which doesn't count apparently because he's king, Richard sent them back to Bolingbroke because Richard has chivalry and morals and said the boys "shouldn't be involved" and "were innocent" and other nice things that I couldn't hear past the sound of my mind telling me I could probably kill both kids and make it look like an accident.
"They—they didn't do—anything. And—and this way we—we acted honorably," Richard sighs, putting a hand through his hair, eyes closed, "So help me god Roger if you just just shrugged."
I did shrug, "It's done now. No one has captives."
"I'll secure the castle in anticipation of a siege, and we'll reassess what men we have in the morning," Exeter says, "We've sent out word to rally support."
"Yes—yes all right how—how many men now?" Richard asks.
"Six hundred," Exeter says.
Richard swears under his breath. We know fully well Bolingbroke has twice that many.
"Go, go see to your men—eat—something," Richard says, looking down at his trembling hands.
"Your grace," I bow swiftly, and attempt to leave before Exeter. It does not work. He shadows me immediately, quiet and determined as a bird dog. He takes my arm as we clear the doors and enter the darkened hall.
"Unhand me," I say, shaking my arm.
"Why did you just tell the king that we have word the women are safe?" He snarls.
I shrug a little.
"Roger," he shakes me, "Why did you lie to him?"
"It could be true!" I say, as innocently as I can manage.
"Roger!"
"Look, he was going to negotiate with Bolingbroke otherwise, will you stop?" I ask, shaking my arm free. He just puts his hand on my back so I don't escape. It's awful manhandling not at all honorable however it's a little hard to take offense when otherwise I was absolutely going to walk away.
"Just like you had intelligence to flee Conwy?" He asks.
"It worked didn't it?" I ask.
"Just and that excuse wears thin, brother, when you mysteriously knew Bolingbroke's movements where'd you get the information?" He growls. That's bad. He only calls me 'brother' to prevent himself from strangling me. His mother taught him to do it because she didn't want to explain to my father that her son had killed me. It was insulting she thought I'd be the one to die, but I chose to actively appreciate the sentiment, for what it was worth.
"Someone told me, I've friends in low places you know this," I say, dismissively. I am not, about, to give away how I got my contact.
"I don't actually I can't believe in good conscience anyone is your friend," he snarls, "And given the state of things I think I have every right to ask who your contact is in the Lancaster camp because I assume there's a damn good reason you're not telling me and whatever it is I don't like it when we're all about to be fucking murdered by those bastards!"
"I have a spy, I'm sworn to secrecy," I say, "To protect my contact I'm not about to speak a name not to you not to the king, not when it's saved our lives."
"And why would you have a contact in Bolingbroke's party in the first places?" Exeter asks, shaking me.
"Are you really accusing me of being a traitor when my information has done nothing but save our necks?" I ask, wrestling him off. A couple of people simply walk past us, because this sort of brotherly exchange is not even uncommon.
"I don't like secrets, don't care why, but they never lead to any good," he says.
"Well you're going to have to live with it. I'm not endangering my contact merely to make you feel better. It's done, and given the state of things I'm not getting any more information," I say.
"It is someone in Bolingbroke's band of traitors then," he frowns.
I shrug.
He pushes my chest.
"Look I just told the king the women are safe, our spies are out, by morning we may know if they are safe or not, ergo we need to find out where they are and get them," I say, "Then if they are safe, we're not technically lying to the king, it's making what I already said true."
" 'We' are not currently lying, you, lied," Exeter growls.
This has worked since we were both ten I truly do not know why he's falling for it again, "Ah, but now you know, and you didn't go tell him nor are you going to because then I'd say you're lying then he'd have to question us both and you look guilty when you're telling the truth and I seem honest despite constant falsehood ergo you're not going to tell him either, because you can't ergo you're also lying to him by omission ergo you're involved now."
"If you say 'ergo' one more time—," Exeter says, face going nearly as red as his hair. He knows I'm right.
"Ergo, you're helping me get the girls to safety," I say.
He sighs.
"You know I'm right," I say.
"What if they're not safe?" He asks.
"The queen can handle herself," I say.
"The queen is nine years old," Exeter snarls. A few years ago, due to grief, and a latent Plantagenet desire for the throne of France, Richard married the six year old French Princess. Isabela. Tiny thing, has made a great substitute for a son for my childless brother. He's not a threat, well not off the battlefield, certainly not to women certainly not to a little girl. She's a charming thing we're all fond of her and it's not as though he'll have any children of his own.
"And she's got our cousin, Philippa and the other women. She's not alone and even Bolingbroke wouldn't stoop so low as to harm a princess of France, and Aueen of England," I say.
"I don't know why you think that when we both agree he'd harm a king of England," Exeter growls.
"Because a woman is different, besides which fact he's here with a french army, he'd not harm their princess she's safe by association and in his mind at least too young to be a political threat," I say.
He sighs.
"Just as his sons were no political threat to us, in theory, going back," I say, "They know our movements and our number but I'm not supposed to talk about that."
"I agreed with you on that one, but we got rid of Edward of York," he scoffs.
"Yes, we do agree that man is not present enough to be a threat," I say.
"Entirely, and I wouldn't trust him so they may as well have him," he says.
"Fair. Where's his father?" I ask.
"York's in a room, nicely, under guard, he's still saying he had no choice but to hand over the castle to Bolingbroke," Exeter scoffs.
"He's ten years our senior and has not been involved in anything in his life, I may give him that," I say.
"Aye, well he was protector and he didn't protect, I think I should get to have him in the Tower, King says keep him locked up for now," Exeter sighs.
"He's useless but so's a lot of people at the moment, all right, our next move is to find out how surrounded we actually are, and hope our spies get in and out," I sigh.
"I still don't like not knowing where the queen is," Exeter says.
"Well, nor do I. I don't like anything just now but mostly the part where we're under attack in our own home," I say, folding my arms.
"But the king thinks she and the other women are safe and they aren't," he growls.
"Which does no one any good right now. That knowledge, or lack there of? Does him no good," I sigh, "All right? It's not changing anything and I've got spies searching for them hopefully we'll know soon and be able to go and get them."
"We'd better," he sighs.
"Look, he'd not actually hurt them, so at worst they're just locked up someplace fearing for us that's well enough given we're fearing for us," I say, "Worst case, they wait till we quell the rebellion and we fetch them home and tell the king our sources? They were bad. Best case my men can go and find them."
"Even so," he says.
"Even so what? Oh, you're worried aren't you? Your only working emotion is sympathizing because now that you've got little girls you feel protective that's nice. I thought you only got happy about killing things and only felt protective of the instruments of torture in the Tower," I say, very nicely, despite the sentence. He's constable of the Tower, Richard at some point decided to utilize our brother's unique lack of empathy and he loves his work.
"Shut up," Exeter snarls, "Yeah, I've got little girls at home. And you know what? Little girls get scared."
"Shame?" I shrug.
"And everyone thinks I'm the one without any touch of pity," he scoffs.
"I've got pity when it'll do us good. It won't just now, pity doesn't do them any good, we're working on getting them back but for the present Richard bargaining to get the girls back or us racing to them ourselves, doesn't do us any good," I say, "They're fine as they are."
"What if they're not?" He asks, "Bolingbroke isn't a kind man."
"He's got little girls too," I say, "Little kids. He's met children. He's not going to frighten her when he could use her. He'd have to be a total idiot to do that."
"He is a total idiot! It's his defining personality trait!"
"Aye well he's a total idiot, who's got us boxed into a corner at the moment, so, at the moment, this is my concern about a little girl and a pack of women, who are by rights perfectly comfortable in a room somewhere just worrying about us," I say, holding my hands very close together.
"They're not perfectly comfortable, Roger, Christ. Have you not met little girls? Mine weep if I'm injured in a joust. They're gentle kind creatures, they get scared, especially when kidnapped out of their home by strange men," he sighs.
"Well your prayers are all that are going to reach them tonight," I say, coldly, "So best get on with that because we can't do anything else for them."
"You don't pray?"
"I'm busy answering prayers."
"You're such an ass, just—who've you got looking for them? How many men?" He asks.
I sigh.
"Roger of Clarendon."
"One all right? He'll find them," I say.
"Is this some horrible person you just happen to know?"
"It's a personal friend," I say.
"So that's a yes, damn it what did we just say about terrifying girls?" He sighs.
"Look if they're sobbing and comforting each other lovely, so shall we, I'm working on the situation," I say.
"I don't like this, any of this, damn it, they'd better be all right," he sighs.
"I mean we're not all right, but," I say.
"I'm talking about a nine year old girl being terrorized by Bolingbroke's men."