The Forgotten Rose {COMPLETED}

Part I: Chapter Thirty-Two - A Most Royal Murder

Richard could smell death.

He was walking through the prison within the tower of London. Murderers and thieves were cowering in their cells; their clothes in rags and their skin broken and covered in filth. Did they ever wash? He did the best he could to block out the cries of pain from the dungeons and the constant squeak of the large rats which scuttled about in the filth. How could anyone live like this? It disgusted him. Amongst the convicts had been his brother.

Up a stair case and down a corridor, far from the others George had been escorted for his final days to a private cell.

At least George had a little luxury. There were no bars on his cell. There was no murderer with whom he had to share his fleas. Just George and thick stone walls, there was the guard; a man dressed in his full armour wielding a great sword. Because if a man who had been locked away for almost a year could manage to break down the stone wall, of course he would still have the strength to take out a giant soldier..

"I am Richard, Duke of Gloucester." Richard tried not to choke on the rotten air which swam within the prison building. "I am here to see my brother." He demanded covering his mouth with his handkerchief. This was pure hell.

"Yes, your grace." The guard took the keys from his belt and unlocked the heavy wooden door which kept George from society. He pushed the door open.

Richard peered inside all that lit the room was the torch he held in his hand. He hoped it wouldn't burn out before his visit had ended. George was sat in the far corner of the room, he looked so old, so tired he looked like he may as well have already been dead.

He was away from the bed; from the desk from any comfort he chose the floor. The cold stone floor.

The door slammed shut behind him and Richard shivered.

"George?" Richard asked as he approached his brother. "It is me."

"Richard." George looked up, his eyes hurt with the light. "Is it really you?"

"Yes, brother, it is me." He told George as he went about the room lighting up the candles so he could see his way. It was a mess. George had torn everything from the walls. The plates and goblets were slung across the floor. He must have gone mad.

George managed a slight smile as Richard came and crouched at his side.

Richard looked shamefully at his elder brother, he should have known. Was this George's second attempt? Was he to starve himself to death this time?

"Come here, brother." Richard placed his arm around George and lifted him to his feet. George stumbled about. When was the last time he stood? Richard looked his brother up and down, he hadn't changed in days. George wiped a little dirt from his face before almost collapsing on Richard. "Over here." Richard guided George across the room and to the desk. He pulled out the chair with his free hand before helping George to sit on it. George slumped down.

 His head would not hold itself and it rolled backwards. Rocking from side to side, like that of a young child.

 "Guard." Richard called as he held his brothers head up. The door opened immediately and the burly guard hurried in fearing Richard was in danger. "Bring him food, meat, meat and veg hot. Well-cooked. A good meal. And wine. Malmsey wine." The guard nodded to acknowledge Richards order and just as he was about to leave Richard called him again. "Water too, a jug of water. Fresh water."

He rubbed his elder brothers back. He wanted him to be well again but George was only a body, his soul seemed to have faded. His blue eyes had clouded to grey and his face was white like snow. His hair had turned from golden to white and was thinning. How did Edward let him fall into this state?