The Rose of Lancaster | The White Queen

Love Conquers All

"Wait, where am I actually going?" Marian whispered as she trotted out of the stables, Elizabeth walking briskly beside her.
"Bosworth" she answered grinning as her friend raised an eyebrow "I have spies everywhere" she continued, answering the question that had been about to spring forth the other woman's lips.

"Thank you, Elizabeth" she whispered, smiling "I hope we shall meet again soon...if anything should happen to me, though I doubt it will... look after my children...Maggie and Teddy too... and if anything should happen to his father, look after little Francis Lovell"
"Of course I shall" Elizabeth stated, taking Marian's hand and squeezing it "there is nothing that would give me a greater joy to do...now be off with you Marian, and good luck"
"You have always been a true friend to me, Elizabeth, I have come to view you as a mother of sorts...thank you for all you have done...I don't know where I would be if you hadn't shown my the kindness you did when I was a child"

Marian smiled and kicked her horse into a canter, reigning in the animal and looking back one last time at Grafton as she reached the end of the small bridge. Her friend waved to her, she waved back, and as she looked up at the highest window she could just make out the figure of her eldest daughter looking down upon her.

The girl blew her a kiss, her mother pretended to catch it, pressed her hand to her mouth and then blew a kiss back to her daughter who smiled and watched as her mother turned and galloped away into the night.

༒༒༒

Bosworth, the the next day...

"Tis nothing but a mongrel army! Their numbers are made up largely of convicts taken from French prisons. They have not a chance in hell or heaven!" Rob laughed as he entered one of the battle tents in the morning with Francis where the King was currently discussing his battle plans with his advisors.

"How many?" He asked, looking up from a detailed map that was rife with smudged scribbles from late night concepts.
"Half your numbers" Francis answered "even less I bet if we were to count heads"

"And yet we still do not have Stanley" Richard grumbled. Rob let out an exuberant laugh and cocked an eyebrow.
"I'm surprised you bother to worry, my friend!" He remarked "we do not need Stanley!"
"Percy is right" Sir Robert agreed, placing down a stack of papers he had been examining and looking between the three men "you do not need Stanley, your grace, if anything I think it good that he's not here!"

"Aye" Francis said "he's a slippery bastard that one. Wouldn't want him having any sudden epiphanies about sides on the battlefield now would we?"
"Even so..." the King muttered "I have sent three messengers in past three days ordering him to join us yet have received no reply. I shall not have it" he straightened up, frowning as he looked at Brackenbury "Find me Stanley's son, Lord Strange, bring him here and let's see what he has to say about his father's reluctance to join his King"

Francis could not help but grin a little, his animosity for Stanley and his family had only grown after his dear Anne had died when the man did not offer a word of condolence, simply suggested that he get to marrying again and producing another heir. This particular coversation had made Francis want to throw the Lord into a river after throttling him with all his strength and so he was now greatly looking forward to this approaching encounter between his King and the old sod's spawn.

"This should be interesting. Let's see what the little son of a bitch has to say, shall we?" He murmured to Rob who chuckled.
"Ten shillings that he grovels at Richard's feet?" He whispered back.
"Done" Francis replied.

༒༒༒

"Please, your grace" Lord Strange pleaded, upon his knees in the battle tent as darkness filled the sky, his head bowed "upon my honour"
"It is your father's honour that is the issue here" Richard cut in icily, glaring down at the young man. He stepped forward, hand on the hilt of his sword while Rob and Francis watched on from behind, their faces stoic. "Has he gone to Henry Tudor?"