A Thorn In The Rose: A War Of The Roses TL
- Thread starter VVD0D95
- Start date
Well, both houses of Lancaster and York were Plantagenet branches, but Lancastrian cause is just!!!!!
It is indeed. I don’t know when fighting for the rightful King hasn’t been just.
And hopefully Henry VI/Westminster would sit their rightful throne once again.
Yes, with many, many children, and with Somerset 2.0 as their chief advisor.
Too shay, but you never know when a good timeline will stop.
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Chapter 158: A King's Concern
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Chapter 158: A King’s Concern
October, 1462
October, 1462
Edmund could still smell the blood and the guts. The stench of corpses piling on top of one another. He could still hear the screams from desperate men trying to survive. He could still remember feeling terrified as he cut a bloody path toward his brother, he could remember seeing him fall. And then there was darkness.
Edmund had woken up in a bed in the Lord’s Chamber in Ludlow, covered in bandages, his eyes bruised, and his body sore. Nobody had told him what had happened. They’d refused to do so, until he’d ordered Ralph Hastings to tell him. The man had told him through broken sobs about the fight, about the death of Edward.
Edmund hadn’t believed him initially, had ordered him to bring Edward to him, and in return Ralph had brought his brother’s sword. That had crushed him. His brother, his closest companion was dead, and he hadn’t been there to save him. Edmund had ordered everyone gone then. He had wanted time to grieve.
It was only weeks later, when the pain was less raw that it had dawned on him that he was the King now. That he was the head of the family and that everything depended on him. The weight had been crushing. It still was. He woke up panting at night, sweat on his brow, desperately trying to figure out what to do.
He was no longer bedridden now. The doctors having cleared him to walk and move. He was putting on weight again, and he needed to deal with that. But right now, there were other things he needed to handle.
Edmund looked at the two men in front of him and asked. “What news?”
“The Lancastrians have been driven from our southern flank, Sire.” The Earl of Pembroke said.
Hearing himself being referred to as Sire was quite odd, it didn’t sit right with him. “And where have they gone?”
“Into the forests on the border. I think it is safe to say they will try and wait us out.” Pembroke said.
“And the Welsh?” Edmund asked.
“They are moving back into their mountain homes.” Pembroke said. “They aren’t committing to a fight, but they are trying to lure us into one.”
“Explain.” Edmund said, though he suspected he knew what the man was on about.
“Wales is mountainous, and our soldiers aren’t equipped for that sort of fighting, at least not now anyway. The Welsh led by Tudor are hoping in an attempt to sort things out now, we will follow them into the mountains, and thus be picked off one by one.” Pembroke said.
Edmund sighed. He got where Tudor was coming from, the man was smarter than any of them had given him credit for. “We can’t follow them into Wales, that would be madness. But we cannot just leave them in our rear.” If they did that, then all hell would break loose.
“I agree, Sire.” Pembroke answered.
“There must be some sort of middle ground that can be found. Somewhere where we can both protect our interests and not be broken through the storm.” Edmund mused.
“If I might make a suggestion, Sire?” Sir William Hastings said.
Edmund looked at the other man, he had been close to Edward, though Edmund wasn’t sure what to make of him. “Speak.” He commanded.
“Perhaps it would be wise to keep a portion of the army here, under someone Your Majesty trusts. Let that person and army wage a campaign against the Welsh, breaking them down and reducing them to nothingness. Whilst the rest of the army returns to London, as Your Majesty has said you wish to do.” Sir William said.
Edmund considered this. It didn’t seem that daft a proposal. He had written to his wife and his mother to let them know he still lived, and his mother had suggested he come back to London as soon as he was able to be crowned King and all. His injuries and the Welsh issue had stopped that from happening sooner.
“The question arises then, who should I appoint as commander for Wales.” Edmund said. There were choices, Hastings of course, Pembroke, maybe his brother in law Exeter, though he still didn’t trust the man.
“I would recommend either myself or Lord Pembroke, Sire.” Hastings said.
You certainly don’t lack for ambition. Edmund thought to himself. “And why is that?” He asked aloud.
“We are the two people who know this area very well, we’ve been leading the campaigns as well, we would be trusted by the men and know what strategy to follow.” Hastings said.
Edmund looked at Pembroke to gain his thoughts on the matter, and was slightly surprised when the man said. “I agree with Sir William, Sire. We are the two candidates who make the most sense.”
Edmund thought on it for a moment. Pembroke was capable, and his lands were on the marches. He had the trust of the people here, and of course, he was capable. Sir William was also capable, but his skills would be needed in London with the courtiers that Edmund loathed. As such, he took a breath and said. “Lord Pembroke you shall command the force that remains at Ludlow. Drive the Welsh into the ground. William, you are to come with me.”
“Sire.” Both men replied.
“We are to leave by the end of the week.” Edmund decided. He wanted to go home.
Chapter 159: George
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Chapter 159: George
November, 1462
November, 1462
“Why is Edmund coming home but Edward isn’t?” Richard asked.
George stopped what he was doing and looked at his youngest brother. Richard was ten years old now, old enough to understand things, but still young enough not to quite remember the reason for them. George shared a look with Thomas, the middle of the three of them and saw him raise an eyebrow. Thomas was eleven, George was thirteen, it was his job to explain all of this.
He took a breath and then said. “Edmund is coming home because he is the King and this is his capital. He became the King when Edward died.”
“And how did Edward die?” Richard asked.
“He died in battle, fighting the bad men.” George said. That was the easiest way to explain it. He didn’t quite understand it himself, but he knew enough to know that anyone that his older brothers fought was bad.
“Why?” Richard asked.
George didn’t know how to answer that. He looked at Thomas and then cursed himself for looking at his brother, the boy wouldn’t know either. Instead, he tried to answer the question as best as he could. “Because that’s what happens sometimes in war. People die.”
“But Edmund didn’t die.” Richard said.
“Edmund was lucky.” George said.
“Why?” Richard asked. “I thought our family was blessed by God to rule, why would he need luck if God was on his side?”
George didn’t know how to answer that. He truly didn’t. Their father had been blessed by God and he’d died, as had Edward, why had Edmund, boring old Edmund survived? George sighed. “Because that’s how the world works.” Was all he ended up saying.
“Why?” Richard asked.
“I don’t fucking know, Richard!” George swore, his anger getting the better of him.
His brother’s eyes widened. “I was just asking.”
“Well don’t ask so many fucking stupid questions, you idiot.” George snarled.
Richard’s lip started to tremble, but before he could cry, he got up and ran away, the door slamming shut behind him.
George sighed and then looked at Thomas, and saw the younger boy frowning at him.
“What?!” George barked.
“You shouldn’t talk like that to him.” Thomas said.
“Why not? He was asking an idiotic question.” George said.
“He’s a baby!” Thomas exclaimed. “He doesn’t know up from down.”
“Well, he should. We both did at that age.” George replied, it was true, Edward and Edmund had hammered it into them.
“Well, they’re not here, and I thought we both said we’d be different to them?” Thomas replied.
George sighed. “Fine, I’ll go and apologise to him.” He made to get up but stopped when Thomas raised a hand.
“Don’t go now, give it a few minutes.” Thomas said.
“Why?” George asked.
Thomas sighed, in a manner that was too heavy for an eleven-year-old boy. “I think we need to give him some space.”
“Space?” George scoffed, getting up. “He’s ten, not twenty.” And besides, he was younger than George, that meant he didn’t get space.
Chapter 160: A Mother's Worry
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Chapter 160: A Mother’s Worry
December, 1462
December, 1462
Margaret bit back a yawn, and very slowly, asked. “What report do you have for me on the Prince of Wales’ progress?”
Her son’s tutor, Henry Brandon took a deep breath and then replied. “His Royal Highness is doing well in the fields of history and warfare, but is struggling in the fields of mathematics and art.”
Margaret raised an eyebrow. Her husband had insisted that their nine-year-old son be taught art, for reasons she couldn’t understand, and as such she asked. “In what way is he struggling?”
“His attention does not last long on the field of mathematics. He understands the subject, but he does not always listen long enough to figure out the problems.” Henry Brandon answered.
Margaret frowned. Her son was nine years old, she could remember being nine and not having the greatest of attention spans for something. “But you say he gets it right when he focuses?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Henry Brandon replied. “Every single time.”
“And what are you doing to ensure he focuses then?” Margaret asked.
“Majesty?” Brandon replied uncertainly.
“If the Prince of Wales is distracted but still manages to get the topic right, then is it not your duty as his tutor to ensure that he doesn’t get distracted?” Margaret asked.
“It is, Your Majesty.” Brandon admitted.
“So, what are you doing to ensure this?” Margaret pressed.
Brandon didn’t say anything immediately, indeed, his brow furrowed and he looked quite concerned. Eventually, when he did reply, his words were slow as if he was creating them then and there. “I am….I am devising a strategy, Your Majesty.”
Margaret suspected Brandon was lying that he had expected her to be sympathetic. But she would not be. Her son was the future King of England, and his tutor needed to ensure that he was prepared. That meant installing discipline, not just blindly accepting a fault, especially when her son had shown he was capable. “Good.” Was all she said.
Brandon nodded, and then waited, Margaret looked at him, and realised he was waiting for her to dismiss him. “You may go.” She said then.
Brandon rose, bowed. “Your Majesty.” And then turned and walked off.
Margaret waited until she was sure he was gone before picking up the bell to her right-hand side and giving it a little ring. A door behind her opened and a figure walked in. The figure, Sir William Paston, brother in law to the Duke of Somerset, and a man she was considering naming her son’s Attorney General, bowed. “Your Majesty.” The man said.
“Sit.” Margaret commanded, pointing to the chair that Brandon had vacated.
Paston sat down, he was tall, with piercing eyes, and the beginnings of stubble on his face. He was a handsome man; Margaret would give him that. But it was his brain that interested her now. “What news do you bring from England?”
Paston had fled from England, arriving in Brittany perhaps three days’ ago. His arrival had lifted her spirits, he would bring fresh information with him, something they desperately needed.
Paston took a breath and then said. “Edmund of York’s man in Wales has succeeded in driving out most of Your Majesty’s supporters from Wales.”
Margaret exhaled, that was not good. “Who is left?”
“Owen Tudor, Majesty, he is harassing the Yorkist lines. The King and the Duke of Somerset remain in Wales as well.” Paston said.
“So, all is not lost?” Margaret asked. If her husband fled, then they were finished, of that she was sure.
“I believe so, Majesty.” Paston replied. “There is other news as well.”
“Speak.” Margaret commanded.
“It appears that Edmund of York intends to present a complete overhaul of the existing governmental structure in England. How he intends to do that I do not know, but if Your Majesty is willing, I shall get in touch with friends in London and elsewhere, and encourage them to spread rumours discrediting the man.” Paston said.
“And do you think this will help our cause?” Margaret asked. She didn’t want to do anything that would hurt her son’s chances.
“I do, Your Majesty.” Paston said. “The English are a conservative people, we do not like change. Phrase it in the right way, and we can discredit Edmund of York completely.”
Margaret thought on that for a moment. The English might be conservative but they had had no problem abandoning her husband for a usurper. But perhaps if York played into their hands this might work. She would have to take a gamble. “Very well, go for it.” She commanded.
“Majesty.” Paston replied, bowing his head low.
Margaret just hoped it worked.