In which King Edward IV finds himself captivated by a woman he cannot have and no matter how many years pass or how hard he tries, he is unable to give up on their love. For she had a place in his heart no one else could have, a place not even his o...
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It was the end of the battle. The battle that the Yorkists believed would mean the beginning of Edward IV's reign. He defeated the Lancastrians at the Battle of Towton that same day.
The snowstorm had worked in their favor. They had used the direction and strength of the wind to cause the volley of arrows shot by archers to travel further than they normally would if the battle had occurred in any other weather condition.
Despite having the larger numbers, the Lancastrians lost and the Yorks were victorious. It was a good day for most, except those who were still loyal to the Lancastrians, especially those who shared close blood relations with them.
In the aftermath of the Battle of Towton, Edward wasn't able to leave just yet. He walked amongst the bodies of foes and friend, finding himself to be in deep thought as Lord Fauconberg talked his ears off about their victorious battle.
Edward had relied on the man recently. He was Lord Warwick's uncle, a veteran of the Anglo-French Wars. Edward knew it was wise to take his council, especially when Warwick himself hadn't taken part in the battle.
After all, he was still suffering from the leg wound he had gotten at Ferrybridge.
Hearing the agonizing screams and pleas of an unknown man, Edward whipped himself around. He squinted his eyes, finding the source of the noise to be a Lancastrian soldier who was having his boot removed by what Edward presumed to be a nurse.
Edward briefly glanced over at Lord Fauconberg, just before he found himself walking closer to the scene unfolding just a dozen feet to his left.
"No, don't. Don't!" The man shouted and the blonde woman shushed him while attempting to set his foot down. She knew she needed to saw it off before the rot caused an infection that would surely kill him, "It'll get better, my lady. I know it! It doesn't even hurt. You don't have to do it."
"Perhaps it doesn't hurt now, but it will," She assured him in a calm tone, a serious look on her face, "The rot will spread and when it does, you'll die."
The man's eyes widened in fear. He froze briefly, only to begin to attempt to fight her off once more.
"No, please, you can't!" He cried out, trying to swat her hands away from his wounded leg.
The woman froze, slowly looking up to see Edward of York standing before her. She sighed, trying to contain her anger as she gave him a pleading look.
Edward kept his eyes fixed on her for a moment, just before he knelt down next to the man with the intention of helping the woman perform the amputation.
He roughly grabbed the Lancastrian soldier by the arms, just before forcing him back on the mud, flat on his back. "Please, please!" He cried out to Edward, which gave the York male the inkling that the man had no clue who he was.
