𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄 || 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑯𝑰𝑻𝑬 𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑬𝑵

𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑃𝑇𝐸𝑅 𝐶𝐼

~Battle Lines~

26th of August 1484, below Sutton Bank....

Since he'd mounted his horse that morning under a scorching sun, Edward had wished for nothing more than to be rid of his golden robes.

His shirt and braies clung uncomfortably to his skin, sticky with sweat and strands of fair hair, turned a dark gold stuck to his forehead. It seemed everyone else felt much the same. His kin mopped at their faces and skin with damp handkerchiefs, every so often looking up into the sky as if silently cursing the sun.

Edward knew he should probably be grateful for it. To have the young York King riding under his Father's emblem certainly made a spectacular image to gaze upon. If only it wasn't so bloody hot! The sun was probably shining down on Arthur too but oh well, he thought, it wouldn't be for much longer. May he burn while it did!

He glanced back at his little sisters who'd joined them the day before. Isabella, mounted on a palfrey, seemed to be faring well enough out of sheer determination, looking stonily onwards seemingly without a care for the beads of sweat on her forehead. Cecily was a little worse, her damp head resting against her elder sister's back, eyes screwed shut. Aliénor was riding in front of their Mother, her little body curled into Constance's front and completely hidden by the thin cloak that had been put over her.

Every so often a little hand would peek out, asking for the leather waterskin.

Sighing, he turned around with a grimace, damp collar rubbing against his neck, and looked to the sheer face of Sutton bank they were to ascend up a rather narrow passage in order to get to his Uncle's castle at Helmsley. All around were fields dotted here and there with trees, a sheep or two, and sun-scorched grass with only a few flecks of lively green.

The ground rose and fell a little but overall it was relatively flat and suddenly, an idea struck him. Looking to the bank then back to the surrounding land, he halted his steed and held up a hand, ordering his army to halt.

This, he thought, this could work and kicked his horse into a canter, flying from the beaten track and into the fields to the right of him. His eyes stared all about him, surveying the land, the stone of the cliff, its height and the openness of the fields. The more he looked the more he grinned, the more he could see his quickly formed idea come to fruition and pulled his horse to a halt in the center of a field.

Laughing quietly to himself, his fingers reached for the front of his doublet and he tugged it open a little, relishing the cooler air that touched his skin at last.

"Are you well, your grace?"
For once the title didn't irritate him. He turned with a grin to his Uncle as he rode up to him, a small frown on his heat flushed face.
"Of course, Uncle! In fact, I find myself quite taken with this land!"
He could practically feel Richard's frown deepen which only made him giddier.