𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄 || 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑯𝑰𝑻𝑬 𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑬𝑵

𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑃𝑇𝐸𝑅 𝐶𝐼𝑉

~Bastardus Rex~

14th of September 1484....

Scouts came riding like hell up the bank a few hours before dawn, yelling for the King and duke of Gloucester. The men were quickly roused from their beds and servants fetched Constance who ran to her son's tent, a shawl wrapped hurriedly about her.

"The Woodvilles are coming" the scouts said between gulps of the wine they'd been given. "The Woodvilles are coming."

"The bastard is here" Edward had breathed, stirring a hunger in his eyes as his hand travelled across the map in front of him like he sought to squash them under his fingers there and then "How far? How many miles?"

"Twelve or so, sire." One panted "They'll be here by this eve."

And he was right.

Constance, Edward, Richard and John stood at the edge of the bank as they watched a force of around nine and a half thousand approach in the near distance. Cavalry, infantry, longbow men, artillery and at the head, a figure in gold on a white steed, the descending sun making his armour almost blinding. None of them looked away.

"Arthur." Edward murmured through gritted teeth with such malice none would be surprised if poison dripped from his tongue. His mother's hand found the top of his arm.

"I knew it was a fine idea to have you don black." Richard said, arms crossed, face grim as he watched the bastard ride forth. They'd sent around two thousand down to the bottom of the bank to keep the enemy back.

Constance would've voiced her agreement had her heart not began an erratic beat beneath the confines of her taffeta gown. She could not tear her eyes from the sight or quell the rising fear in her chest - the cruel realisation that the future of her house and safety of her children had now been firmly placed on the unsteady scales of battle.

She swallowed the bile rising in her throat.
They'd come to take her son from her.
They'd come to take her heart again.

No doubt Elizabeth was amongst the rabble, she would not let her little bastard go prancing where she could not pull on his strings. What if she used her sorcery? Constance would defeat it with sheer will. The witch wouldn't take another son from her.

Clenching her teeth, a shiver ran through her and Edward's hand covered the one she had on his arm, squeezing tightly. He was trying to reassure them both.

"Be brave, my son." She told him "The time has come."

"And I will rise to it." He said though his certainty was marred by the slight tremor in his voice. No one could reproach him for that. After all this time, after all the months waiting, watching, grieving, fearing, smouldering in his own anger, the man he hated more than any other on earth was almost within his grasp to crush to a bloody dust. Or Arthur would crush him.