#richardxaumerle

[themalhambird]

Chapter Twenty-Two: Embrace

Edward closed the door gently behind him and leant back against it, getting his first proper look at Richard.

Thin. 

Tired. 

Quiet. 

Head bowed, fingers running nervously through Lady’s fur. Richard used to stroke Mathe when he was nervous or upset, Edward remembered. Mathe belonged to Hal, now. Henry had had him at first, but...actually, Edward didn’t know what had happened there, but the point remained: He needed to find Richard a dog he could keep as a matter of some urgency. 

Richard raised his head. Edward smiled. Richard didn’t smile back. He did move a hand from Lady to his side, and Edward walked back over to the bed and sat down again. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out, putting his hand over Richard’s. “I’m sorry it took so long to come back to you, I’m sorry I left you at all.” Richard stared at him, uncomprehendingly, and leaned to the side, resting his head in Edward’s lap. Hesitantly, Edward raised his hand and let it hover just above Richard’s hair. “Would you like me to stroke?” he asked, and Richard nodded. Edward began to card his finger tips through Richard’s hair. ”I’ve talked with Northumberland,” he said, “I’m going to take you back to York with me.”

“Does the King know?” 

Edward froze. Richard’s voice was tiny, and wholly unexpected. “I met a friend of yours,” he replied. “a young lady called Elizabeth. She said you didn’t speak.”

Richard turned his face, half-burying it in to Edward’s thigh. “Forgot.” he mumbled. “Not supposed- sorry. Sorry-”

“No!” Edward protested, heart pounding wildly. He was messing up, Christ, he was already messing up- it had only been a minuete- “No-you can talk as much as you like, you’re allowed to, I was just- who said you weren’t supposed to-?”

Richard mumbled something that sounded like “Umberland.”

“Northumberland?” Edward asked. Richard nodded. 

“Not allowed ‘nles its him.” a tremble ran through him. Edward resumed stroking his hair. 

“Northumberland was wrong,” he said firmly. “You can talk to whoever you like. Or not talk to whoever you like.”. 

They sat  in silence for a while. 

Edward said: “We’ve agreed, him and I. We’ll work together to put you back on the throne-”

Can’t.” Richard was shuddering again. Edward frowned .

“Can’t? Why-”

“Can’t go back. Was never-not king, not a king- arrogant greedy traitor bastard deserved it, deserved what he did needed to have the delusions beaten out of me-” Richard’s voice rose in pitch as he spoke, growing more agitated and more upset as he continued- and so did Edward.

“No,” he said fiercely. He Lady down beside Richard, wrapping his cousin in his arms and hugging him tightly to his chest. “No, Richard, that isn’t true, none of that’s true. You were King. You were King, Richard. You were crowned when you were ten years old, when our grandfather died. You fell asleep. You fell asleep and Simon Burley had to carry you out-”

“Simon Burley had a dog named Argus.” 

“What? Yes, possibly, probably, I don’t know, the point is- the point is, Richard-”

“Edward.” Richard moved his hands over Edward’s. “Edward, you’re warm.” he closed his eyes. “No more talking,” he whispered. “Please, hold me?  Just hold me. Can pretend you’re real.”

“I am real.” Edward blinked as a tear spilled over on to his cheek, and he tightened his grip on Richard’s waist. 

“Exton told me. I’m a liar and a traitor and a fantasist-”

“Yeah?” Edward shot back. “Well Exton’s dead. I killed him.”

Silence hung stretched between them for several long seconds. Then Richard snorted quietly and said:

“You always did give me nice things.”

[skeleton-richard]

22 RichardxAumerle for the I love you prompts if you still want them? :)

I’m just getting to them now! 

22. Muffled, from the other side of the door

“Ned...” Your voice was muffled on the other side of the door. “Ned, it’s me, Dickon.”

I couldn’t stop the growl rising in my throat. You locked me in here. 

“Ned, it’s just for tonight, I promise. I had to--”

I paced around, not really listening anymore. My wolf form made me restless and being locked in this crummy room wasn’t helping. Finally I lay down by the door, wishing you’d just unlock it and let me out so we could play, I wouldn’t hurt you. You’re my mate.

“I love you,” you said quietly. I couldn’t respond.

[themalhambird]

Having Richard wrapped in his arms only confirms Edward’s initial fears: the King is far too thin. Edward can feel every one of his cousin’s ribs, and Richard has spent the night shivering. He's shivering still; Edward is loathe to let go of him, but his eyes are closed and he seems to be sleeping at last. Edward, on the other hand, really needs to wake up properly- Hotspur is expecting him. He sighs, and gently tries to extricate himself from the bed. 

Two hands snatch at him. As he turns, Richard claws at his shirt, a frightened query  written across his face. “I have to go,” Edward says softly. Richard’s eyes widen in alarm. His breathing becomes frantic; his lips move wordlessly before he tips his head forward and rests It against Edward’s breast, clinging to him A piteous whine escapes his throat, and Edward finds himself blinking back tears as he runs a hand through Richard’s cropped hair. He sits back down on the edge of the bed, and cradles Richard to him. “I am not leaving,” he promises, “I am not leaving you, but I have to go and talk to Henry Percy-” Richard’s grip on him tightens “-Richard, I have to go and talk to him, but I’ll be as quick as I can, I swear-look, look.” He sits back and reached down to the side of the bed, pulling up his boots. “Here.” he presses them on Richard, who hesitantly relinquishes his grasp on Edward’s shirt to take them. The welts and bruises on his wrists stand out starkly against his pale skin, and Edward makes a note to have a physician look at them as soon as possible. “I’m coming back,” he says, wishing he could ask Harry to come to him instead, “I’ll have to, for my boots, I can hardly go very far in my stockings.” he offers Richard a tentative smile. Richard ducks his head, and Edward sighs. “We’ll fix things,” he promises, though he has no idea how. They have armies and allies enough but Richard...

Richard is not well. That single thought occupies his mind for the rest of the morning, as he and Hotspur discuss tactics, provisions, supplies. Northumberland has gone back to his stronghold, trying to keep up the pretence of normalcy for King Henry, and Edward is glad he’s gone. By himself, the Hotspur is strangely likeable, and overthrowing Henry seems suddenly possible- tangible ,even. But still-

“Richard isn’t well,” he says, because it needs to be acknowledged.

Hotspur looks at him. “No, but...he’ll get better, won’t he? With help. And, and patience...”

Edward looks down at the maps spread before them, and prays to God he’s right.

[themalhambird]

Christmas fake dating au but reversed: Richard and Aumerle do their level best to hide the fact they’re  together. Featuring trying to come up with plausible excuses for Richard to be wearing Edward’s shirt, Edward trying to avoid getting set up on dates by his father, and resisting the urge to snog under all the mistletoe that’s been strung up around the place.

[themalhambird]

@verecunda, “Well, that’s tragic” for Richard II

Richard poured cream in to one of the cups of coffee on the counter, then picked them both up and carried them through to the sitting room. Edward was lying on the sofa, feet propped up on the arm and his phone to his ear. “Uh huh,” he said, turning his head and blowing Richard a kiss as he set the weaker of the two coffees down on the table in front of him. “Really?”

“Is that my dressing gown?” Richard asked quietly, as he sat in the arm chair opposite, tucking his bare feet beneath his legs.

“Someone stole mine,” Edward said, putting the phone to his chest and gazing at Richard with a fond smile and a raised eyebrow. Richard frowned, trying to process that statement, then glanced down at himself.

“Oh.”

“‘Oh’“

“I did wonder why my legs were so cold.”

“Maybe if you wore pyjamas rather than nightshirts like a normal person. Also, how do you get our dressing gowns confused, yours is silk and mine is...whatever the technical name for fluff is.”

“It smelled nice and I missed you.”

“You missed me two seconds after getting out of bed? You’re adoreable.” He put the phone back to his ear. “Yeah, hi, still here. Richard came in with coffee and distracted me, okay sure, hang on- mum says hi,” he informed him. Richard took a sip of coffee. 

“Tell her I said hi back,” he said

“He says hi back. Yeah. Yeah, breakfast. Yeah, I love you too. And dad, yes, I know, we’ll see you on Sunday and- Really? Well, that’s tragic.” he grinned, looking back over at Richard. “Mum says she got the dates confused when talking to Certain Other People, so uncle Thomas and Aunt Eleanor will not be joining us.”

“She’s an angel and I love her, shall I bring pudding?”

“You’re an angel and he loves you and do you want us to bring pudding? Okay, I’ll tell him. Yeah, okay. Okay, love you, bye. Bye!” he ended the call, put the phone down, and picked up the coffee. 

“Treacle tart, your mum’s recipe, also a bottle of wine.” 

“Done. God, I love her.”

“She’s the best.”

They smiled at each other. Richard put his cup down on the table. “Croissants?”

“Cheers, love.”

Richard stood up and walked back to the kitchen, stopping to press a kiss to the top of Edward’s head on the way. “Good Morning.”

“Good morning.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Go away and do breakfast, I’m trying to drink my coffee.”

Richard smiled, and went to move, only for Edward to catch his waist. “Hey you,” he stood up and caressed the side of Richard’s face, before tucking a strand of hair back behind Richard’s ear and leaning in. They kissed each other gently, then broke apart. Richard picked up his empty coffee cup and went back in to the kitchen, singing to himself as he did so.

[themalhambird]

concept: Aumerle giving Richard shoulder massages whenever the King is stressed or tense. Only he has to stand on tiptoe to do it probably because Richard is too tall (though Richard, of course, maintains that it’s Aumerle who’s too short)

[themalhambird]

In Which The Duke of Aumerle Contrives to hide the deposed Richard In his Bedchamber Without The Knowledge of his Father, Mother, Their Servants and Most Notably His Cousin Bolingbroke (part 11/19)

@roofbeams

Northumberland sneered as Rutland continued to fuss over Richard’s dog. He wondered why the thing had come over- normally it avoided him at all costs- but then, perhaps it had recognised the kindred spirit in York’s son. Or Perhaps he was right and Richard was somewhere in the castle, and Mathe could smell his old master on Rutland. Henry might not want to believe his cousin would conspire against him, but why not? Henry had conspired against his cousin. With Northumberland’s support. If this conspiracy to put Richard back on the throne worked, Northumberland had no illusions that he’d be able to talk himself out of it. Richard would have no mercy on those who had betrayed him- save perhaps York, for Edward’s sake- and Northumberland had no intention of finding himself on the chopping block. If Rutland knew where Richard was, he would find out, and then he would watch happily as the other man swung for it. “I’m going to find him,” he promised, leaning in to Rutland and speaking quietly Nothing he had said do far had managed to get a rise from the other man so far, but if he kept pushing, Rutland might snap and give him something that he could use to persuade Henry it was at least worth considering an interrogation of one of Richard’s closest friends. “I’m going to find him, and when I do, I’m going to take his hands and break his precious , slender fingers until he gives up the names of the people who helped him escape; I bet he’ll be sobbing for mercy and telling us everything I want to hear before we even start  -“ “You filthy-“ “Edward!” York called down the table do get his son’s attention. The Duke looked worried, Henry exasperated; Rutland leaned forward, peering past Northumberland. “Yes, sir?” “Edward, if you’re going to insist on feeding the dog instead of yourself, why don’t you take him down to the kitchens and find him a bone?” York said. Rutland slowly unclenched his fists. “Yes, sir.” Aumerle quickly pushed his chair back and stood up, “Come on Mathe,” he said, and the dog followed him out, tail wagging frantically. As they left, he heard Henry say “Northumeberland, I seem to recall telling you not…” Bastard, Aumerle thought savagely; never mind what Northumberland was going to do to Richard,  he should be worried about what Aumerle was going to do to him. He would kill him, painfully and slowly and- Mathe barked up at him, nosing his hand for more treats. Aumerle’s lips curled. “Come one then.” He took Mathe down to the kitchens, and cook promptly found him a nice bone to gnaw on- at least, Aumerle assumed it was nice, since Mathe was attacking it with vigour, tail still wagging. “Milord asked me to make these for you,” Cook said, disappearing through the bustle of the kitchen and reappearing at Aumerle’s elbow with a plate of jam tarts. “Said to give them to you when he set you down. Your favourites, he said,” Cook paused. “Though you always told me your favourite were gingerbread.” She looked at him suspiciously, as if offended by the thought that one of her charges might dare deceive her about his tastes. Aumerle laughed. “Anything you cook is my favourite,” he said gallantly, “The feast tonight was wonderful, even if the company…” he trailed off. “Northumberland,” he clarified, lest she thought he meant Henry, “Northumberland is a pain. One made bearable by your wonderful soused herrings.” Cook harrumphed, pleased. “By off with you,” she ordered. “I’ve more courses to sort out and I can’t be doing with you underfoot, milord, take your tarts and scat,” Aumerle bowed, taking the tarts from her as he left and feeling faintly amused. First, because his father had clearly been expecting to have to send him out of the feast. Second, because jam tarts were one of Richard’s favourites. He made his way up to Richard’s tower and knocked before slipping through the door. Richard, who had been lying on the bed, sat up expectatly when Aumerle came in. “How fares our cousin?” he asked lightly. “Terribly dull,” Aumerle said, joining Richard on the bed. “He brought Northumberland, and my father sent me from the feast for fear I would stab him. I come bearing gifts.” He added, extending the plate. Richard’s eyes lit up. “Have I told you you’re wonderful?” he asked. “Not today.” Aumerle plucked up a tart and bit of almost half;  Richard did likewise and nibbled the pastry as delicately as he had ever done, and Aumerle found himself laughing. Through a mouthful of crumbs. Richard looked up. “What?” “Nothing,” Aumerle shook his head. “Just- I was remembering. That picnic, shortly after Isabel came, you bit in to a tart-“ “-the jam hadn’t set,”  Richard groaned at the memory. “Or it had melted in the heat, and when I took a bite-“ “-the jam spilled out and all down your sleeve. You swore-“ “-and Isabel laughed,” Richard finished. “It was the first time I’d seen her really smile,” he took another bite of tart. “So I put the tart down and licked the jam off my wrist, and she laughed some more.” An easy silence fell between them, the memory lingering. “You miss her,” Aumerle said eventually. “I could speak with Henry, he might know how she is…” “Would you?” Richard asked quietly, and Aumerle smiled. “Anything for you.” “Anything?” Richard raised an eyebrow and finished off his tart, took the plate from the bed, and moved it to the table at side. Aumerle’s smile grew wider. “Anything.” *** Aumerle nuzzled Richard’s hair. “I should probably go,” he murmured regretfully, “Before the feat ends and someone wonders where I am.” Richard groaned. “Mmmmh,” he said, “You probably should.” Aumerle  waited for a moment. “Richard?” “Mmmmh?” “I can’t go anywhere if you fall asleep on my chest.” “Mmmh.” Richard turned his face and placed a kiss above Aumerle’s heart. Then he shifted- to sit astride Aumerle’s hips, and thread his fingers through Aumerle’s hair, kissing him again, on the lips this time. Aumerle returned the kiss readily, placing his own hands on Richard’s back and pulling Richard closer- Something scratched at the door. Richard pulled back, and glanced over his shoulder. Aumerle peered round him as the scratching game again, followed by a bark. “I don’t believe it,” Aumerle muttered. “Northumberland’s cleverer than he looks.” “That’s not hard,” Richard muttered, climbing off Aumerle. “What is it?” “I think…” Aumerle slipped off the bed and padded over to the door, opening it. Mathe bounded past him, sprung up on to the bed, and licked Richard’s face.  Richard spluutered, then smiled tentatively and patted the greyhound’s neck. “I’ve missed you,” he said, “Yes I have...”   “Northumberland brought him here to try and track you down,” Aumerle said quietly. Richard stilled, looking up at Aumerle though he kept slowly stroking Mathe’s fur. Heavy silence fell between them. Richard inhaled, then pressed a kiss to Mathe’s nose. “You’d best take him out of here before he’s missed,” he said. “You go with Edward,” he murmered. “You stay with Edward, I’m not here” Mathe whined, but went as Richard gently pushed him away. “I’ll come back tonight If I can,” Aumerle promised. Richard nodded, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. Aumerle smiled sympathetically and slipped out of the room. He made it out of the tower and halfway back to the kitchens when Northumberland stepped in to  his path. “Rutland.” “What are you doing up here?” Aumerle snarled. “What are you doing up here? With Mathe.” Northumberland stepped right up to Aumerle; Mathe growled, hackles rising. “It doesn’t matter; I just came to tell you that I’m going to be talking to the imposter tomorrow. The King has told me to use whatever force necessary; we’ll get to the bottom of things soon enough.” He stepped aside, gesturing for Aumerle to carry on. “Well, you’ve told me,” Aumerle said bluntly. “Why don’t we go back to the feast together?” Northumberland smiled tightly. “Why don’t we?” he agreed. Aumerle gestured for him to go ahead, and Northumberland did so. Aumerle followed, Mathe at his heels. He didn’t doubt that Northumberland would be able to get some sort of answer from the imposter, even if it was just what he thought Northumberland would want to hear. Either way, Richard could be in danger. Unless…Northumberland never got the chance to speak to the imposter…

[themalhambird]

Iiiiiiiit’s quarter to five in the morning, the sun is shining in Oxford, birds are tweeting (very loudly) and I’ve just finished writing a sonnet from one long dead very gay English nobleman to another even longer dead even more gay English nobleman. Guess which one’s i’m talking about?

[themalhambird]

In Which The Duke of Aumerle Contrives to hide the deposed Richard In his Bedchamber Without The Knowledge of his Father, Mother, Their Servants and Most Notably His Cousin Bolingbroke (part 7 /19)

It was early evening; mist and fine drizzle hung in the air as York rode in to the castle courtyard in a foul temper. He was tired, sore, damp, and splattered with mud, and trying and failing to recall why being cooped up in a carriage had seemed such an intolerable burden this morning. Nevertheless, the sight of home warmed him a little, and the sight of his lady wife emerging from the keep to greet him as he dismounted warmed him even further. Isabel swept a brief curtsey for proprieties’ sake, then took his hands in hers. “My Lord,” she beamed, as he pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek.

“My Lady,” he greeted her warmly, squeezing her fingers. “Are you well.” “Quite, my Lord. And you?” “I am…well as can be expected. This business with Richard…” York shook his head. “Speaking of which, where is our son?” “Here, sir.” Edward emerged from behind his mother. The boy- York should probably stop thinking of him as ‘the boy’, but it was difficult when the boy’s hair was sticking up in all directions and his clothes were all rumpled-York frowned. “Are you just out of bed, boy?” he asked. “Only in the sense that I didn’t reach bed until an hour or so past, sir. Stag hunting is so much more difficult when there are no tracks, no scent for the hounds to track down, and absolutely no indication of where we ought to start.” Edward sighed, looking down at his feet. York clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I suggest we start by getting out of the wet,” he said. ”I take it the searches haven’t found anything?” “Nothing,” Edward said, “Nothing at all. There’s no trace of him, either around Pomfret, or anywhere else on the estates. Of course there’s been a lot of rain, so any tracks will have been washed away, and we don’t know when he escaped. The jailors are bloody useless.” “Language!” York and Isabel snapped at exactly the same time, and Edward ducked his head in apology as York moved his hand to Isabel’s back. Little progress had been made in the time it had taken York to return home; Edward gave his father a quick summary- Richard had (most likely) been gone a month, when two priests had come to visit Richard: the guards thought it unlikely (though not impossible) that Richard would have been able to walk far by himself. One of the priests must have been the imposter, and Richard would have replaced him when they left.  And talking of the imposter: they had no clue where he was from, who he was, or who had arranged for him to take Richard’s place, and he wasn’t talking. “He could be in France by now for all we know,” York grumbled. “If whoever he was with was smart, they’ll have taken him straight to the coast and put him on the first ship across the channel and out of Henry’s reach. Still, you’ve done well, Edward, I’m proud of you.” For a moment, York could have sworn his son looked guilty. He asked to be excused; York dismissed him with a wave, sinking back in to the seat. Isabel toed her shoes off and put her stockinged feet up in his lap, jabbing his thigh with her heel. York took the hint and began to stroke her feet. “How is he?” he asked, looking in the direction their son had vanished. “Honestly? I’m not sure.” Isabel curled her toes. “He didn’t like you very much, up until Richard’s vanishing act, now…I suspect part of him hopes Richard is safe and sound somewhere.” “Part of me feels the same.” York admitted. “He’s my brother’s son, after all.  I can’t help wondering…if Edward hadn’t died, and Richard had had a father to look up to, to teach him how to rule properly...he was too young, Isabel, I think that was part of the problem. And all the time in London, it was Edward’s face staring back at me, looking at me with reproachful eyes…” he trailed off. Isabel took his hand and held it as he sighed. “What could I have done, Isabel? What could I have done? What am I going to do if we catch him?” ***      

“How is your father?” Richard asked far too casually as he propped himself up on one elbow and watched Aumerle undress. “Well, he seems tired. He thinks you’re in France.” Aumerle flashed a smile at Richard as he pulled his nightshirt over his head, expecting a smile in return. He was disappointed; Richard collapsed on to his back and stared up at the canopy instead. Aumerle frowned as he padded over to the bed and sat next to Richard, reaching across to stroke his hair. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “I should leave,” Richard mumbled.  “The searches- it’s only so long before someone -probably Northumberland- remembers you like me and has the castle torn apart looking for me. I can’t be found here.” “You won’t be,” Aumerle promised. “Bolingbroke won’t offend my father like that, he can’t afford to.” “And if it’s your father who finds me here?” Richard challenged. The hardened look in his eyes told Aumerle that Richard hadn’t forgotten that he had left York in charge of his kingdom and York had handed it over. “I won’t let him have you,” Aumerle vowed. “I’ll keep you safe.” Never mind the foolishness of the words, the impracticalities. He meant them, and his cousin knew he meant them. “My Knight in shining armour.” Richard murmured, drawing Aumerle down on top of him. He ran his hands over Aumerle’s back and nuzzled the crook of his neck. *I would bestow favours upon you but I don’t actually have any,” he said, nipping at Aumerle’s ear. “One lock of hair from your beautiful head?” Aumerle asked, running his fingers through Aumerle’s head. Richard chuckled. “Really, cousin?” Aumerle sat up, straddling Richard’s hips. “Yes.” He said, rolling his hips. Richard huffed out a laugh. “Go on then,” he said. Aumerle climbed off him and retrieved a pair of scissors from the draw in his desk, along with a locket he had hidden there since his return from London, and brought them back to the bed. Richard sat up and reached for the locket. “I gave you this,” he said, turning it over in his fingers. Aumerle snatched it from his fingers and put it on the side. “Yes, you did,” he said, sitting back on Richard’s waist. He ran his fingers through Richard’s hair again, finding a lock of hair beneath Richard’s ear and running it between forefinger and thumb until he was an inch or so from the bottom. Then he picked up the scissors, and cut the end. The snip was audible in the silence of the room; Aumerle could swear he heard the strands of hair severing as Richard’s breath hitched in his throat. Aumerle smiled, kissed the lock of hair, and placed it in to the locket, snapping the two halves shut. “You’re a hopeless romantic,” Richard said. “You were the one talking about knights and favours,” Aumerle retorted, fastening the locket around his neck. Richard smiled. “Touché,” he conceded, and wrapped his arms around Aumerle’s neck to bring him down for a kiss.

[themalhambird]

In Which The Duke of Aumerle Contrives to hide the deposed Richard In his Bedchamber Without The Knowledge of his Father, Mother, Their Servants and Most Notably His Cousin Bolingbroke (part 9 /19)

“This is Richard’s.” It wasn’t a question, and the fury in his father’s voice made Aumerle shrink. He fought to come up with a suitable excuse but his mind was a blank; there was nothing except for the chain cutting in to the back of his neck as his father pulled the locket towards him. “I…” “Are you hiding him boy?”

No, of course not. That was absurd. The lock of hair was old “I can explain-“ Aumerle heard his mouth say while his brain was still coming up with excuses. “Villain! Traitor-!” Aumerle choked as his father’s fist closed around the locket’s chain and he was hauled to his feet. “Where is he, where did you send him?” Aumerle’s heart pounded against his ribcage as his father shook him violently. “Tell me boy! You tell me this instant, and pray that when the King arrives it’s only Richard I thrown to him and not you as well!” And Aumerle found himself laughing hysterically—as if he had any interest in outliving Richard- though that wasn’t strictly true of course, the thought of being executed filled him with terror. Dying- he didn’t wish to, but then he didn’t want Richard to die either- He fell to his father’s feet and clutched at his robes. “You can’t tell the King, please, father, please, you can’t- Richard- father, he’s – he’s not- I don’t – this isn’t- we don’t – Richard- father, I wanted him safe, I wanted him somewhere where Henry couldn’t make him just- disappear, and father, Richard doesn’t want the throne back; he doesn’t intend to threaten the king. Father, please, you cannot tell the King he is here-“ “He is here?” Aumerle fell sideways as his father kicked him away, anger clear in his voice. “You have an escaped prisoner sheltered beneath my roof?” Shit. “Where is he, exactly?” His father demanded. Aumerle cringed down and stared at the dirt. “My chamber?” “Your chamber. You’ve been hiding a deposed King in your BEDCHAMER?”  The shade of puce his father was turning would be amusing if Aumerle wasn’t the cause of it and his ire was directed at some other unfortunate. As it was, the vein in his father’s temple was throbbing furiously: Aumerle had never seen him this angry before and hoped fervently never to see him this angry again. “Where in your bedchamber, pray? The linin chest?” Aumerle bit his lip and said nothing. “Get on your horse,” his father ordered. Aumerle climbed unsteadily to his feet and did as he was told. “We are going home.” *** His father marched inside. At a loss of what else to do, Aumerle followed him. His father continued to march right up the stairs and towards Aumerle’s chambers. “Father?” Aumerle asked, working to keep up. “For the time being, you forfeit the right to call me that boy, I will not have a traitor for a son.” He marched in to Aumerle’s chambers and slammed the door shut behind him as Aumerle slipped through. For a moment, the room appeared empty. And then Richard unfurled himself from the window seat, bare feet touching the floor. He had dressed- Aumerle’s trousers skimmed just above his ankles and the sleeves of his too-baggy shirt skimmed just below half way down his forearms and somehow, as Richard stood, at seemingly perfect ease as he faced the Duke of York, he managed to look regal. Richard’s regal gaze flickered briefly over to Aumerle, and the corners of his eyes crinkled in a reassuring smile. And then he bowed to York, a graceful bending of one leg and his waist. “My Lord Uncle. I’m pleased to see you again. I never thought I would, after you allowed your other nephew to depose me.” His eyes flicked to Aumerle again and he frowned. “Are you hurt, dear heart?” Aumerle started, and realised he was rubbing his elbow. “I’m fine, I fell from my horse an hour or so ago-“ Richard was by his side in an instant, taking Aumerle’s hand and gently pushing his sleeve up. “It is not broken?” “My Lord- “ York began “No not anymore, not ever again now hush I wish to make sure my Edward is not hurt.” “Your Edward?” York asked, at the same time as Aumerle said “I’m fine, Richard”, and Richard gently kissed Aumerle’s elbow. “Oh, Christ have mercy on you both.” Aumerle’s father whispered, a tortured expression on his face as he looked at them, the way they leant towards each other- as Richard and Robert de Vere had once leant towards one another. Richard straightened to look at York. “Christ? Aye, in time but for the now, I’m more concerned about you, uncle? Will you have mercy on us both? Or will you throw me to my cousin and your son along with me? Or will you have mercy on your son and simply tell the King your men caught me hiding in a haystack somewhere?” York frowned. “That depends,” he said slowly. “On what?” “On two things. First, do you intend to reclaim the crown from Henry?” Richard gave a light, bitter laugh. “Oh, uncle. All the waters of the rough rude sea cannot wash the balm from an anointed King, and I have already expended an ocean’s worth of tears un-kinging myself. Un-kinging Bolingbroke likewise would take far too much effort. Besides which- were you not listening? The crown is a well. A deep, deep, deep well- Harry can keep it; if I am in luck he will drown in it- and if he doesn’t drown in the well, but in fact does well with it- well then. That is well for England, is it not? And as I still love England well, though she did not love me well then no, York, I don’t intend to reclaim the crown. It was made perfectly clear to me by you and others that it fitted ill upon my head. What is your second query?” “Do you love my son, or have you just been sodomising him because you’ve been bored stuck in this room?” Whatever Richard had been expecting this clearly wasn’t it; he stopped short. Aumerle himself felt as if the air had been punched from his lungs; York glared fiercely at Richard in silent demand for an answer. Richard exhaled through his teeth. “I love your son,” he ground out, and Aumerle felt his heart skip a beat as Richard continued. “I have always loved your son, in one way or another; I have known myself to be in love with him since we kissed at Flint Castle, when I fell in love I cannot say, but I hope that answers your question satisfactorily.” Aumerle looked between Richard and his father, hope fluttering in his chest. There was a chance that all was not lost then, that his father wouldn’t turn Richard over to Henry- “You told me your intention in having Richard brought here was primarily to keep him safe,” York asked. Aumerle startled as he realised his father was addressing him. “Yes, sir,” he replied after a moment’s pause, wherein he recalled the garbled pleas he had made to his father earlier. “I knew of a plot being formed to place Richard back on the throne; in principle I supported it- “– he pressed on despite the look of outrage that crossed his father’s face- “my concern was what would become of Richard if the plot was uncovered before it could become successful. Henry usurped the throne, you can’t get around that. And while Richard is alive, he’s a reminder that Henry usurped the throne. Henry can’t possibly have been planning to let Richard live all that long anyway, he would certainly have had him killed if he caught wind of a conspiracy around him. I wasn’t rebelling against Henry so much as I was saving Richard.” York harrumphed. Richard whispered: “That’s not much of a distinction”. “Aumerle whispered back: “Shut up you’re not helping.” “The King is coming here,” York said slowly. Richard’s eyes widened. “Then I can’t stay,” he said. “I’ll leave, immediately- “ “Don’t be foolish,” York snapped. “You won’t make it out of Yorkshire; my men are combing the pale  looking for you and you’re bound to be caught be someone. No, the garret in the South Tower flooded a few years back, the room hasn’t been repaired yet and no one goes up there, not even the servants. You can hide up there until he’s gone and been persuaded that you’re lost. After that, we’ll work out what to do with you.” Aumerle felt a grin spread across his face. Richard nodded his head. “Thank you, uncle,” he said softly. “And- I’m sorry. For any and all pains I’ve put to you.” York looked at him, and Richard held his gaze. The silence between them was charged with gravitas, and Aumerle looked away from them both, feeling he was trespassing on something important. Finally, York harrumphed again. “Get yourself settled in that tower tonight,” he instructed. “And for goodness sake, Edward, if you must wear that locket, keep it tucked beneath your shirt and don’t get yourself flung from any horses.” With that, he left, closing the door behind him with a thud, leaving Richard and Aumerle to stare at each other. “Well,” Richard sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Well,” Aumerle agreed. “You didn’t want to correct him then?” Edward frowned. “Correct him about what?” “His assertion that I sodomise you,” Richard said, mouth curling in to a mischievous smirk as he turned towards the bed. “As far as I can recall from last night, you were the one sodomising me.”

[themalhambird]

In Which The Duke of Aumerle Contrives to hide the deposed Richard In his Bedchamber Without The Knowledge of his Father, Mother, Their Servants and Most Notably His Cousin Bolingbroke (part 8 /19)

“I don’t believe this,” Henry muttered. “A month. He’s been gone a month!” He crumpled York’s letter in his hand and flung it in to the fire. The flames hissed and crackled as they consumed the parchment in seconds and turned it in to pile of smouldering ash. If only his cousin were so easily dealt with. “This is ridiculous; how can he have been gone a month without anyone noticing?” “At least when you catch him you’ll be able to hang him.” Northumberland lounged idly against a pillar.

“When? If. Richard was helped out of Pomfret by unknown persons; an unknown nobleman paid an imposter to pretend to be him, we have no idea where he was taken to-“ “Don’t we?” Henry looked sharply at Northumberland, feeling irritated with the man’s smug demeanour.  “If you have something to say, say it.” “Rutland-“ “Not again.” Henry said sharply. “No, listen. Rutland could have gone to Pomfret, got Richard, and taken him back to York castle. That’s the only part of the estates that hasn’t been searched. Aumerle always was one of Richard’s favourites-“Northumberland’s mouth twisted as he emphasised the word ‘favourite’- “he was with Richard at Flint Castle; York sent him home because he didn’t trust him to behave with you.” “And then York insisted on going home by himself,” Henry finished. “And sound as his reasoning was…” He sighed. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t considered the possibility that Edward was responsible, though he didn’t want him to be… “We ought to at least rule it out,” Northumberland persisted. “We’ll go to York; if Richard is hidden in the castle, we’ll find out. If not… I doubt York has thought to try and torture his paymaster out of the false king.” No. York was far too gentle for that. Henry nodded. “I’ll make the arrangements, and send word to my uncle to expect us.” ***                                                    

“The King is coming here?” Aumerle repeated, feeling his stomach tying itself in knots. His father nodded. “Aye, with Northumberland and a consortium of a fifty or so other men,” Aumerle’s father continued to slurp his soup as if completely oblivious to the problems he had just dumped in to Aumerle’s lap. “He writes that he is considering restoring your previous titles to you. As your efforts in tracing Richard, though not successful, at least proves your loyalty. You’ve done well, Edward.” Aumerle looked down at the table and stirred his own soup with his spoon, feeling guilty. His father’s praise was wholly undeserved, and Bolingbroke’s apparent belief in his loyalty equally undeserved. But then, Aumerle thought, remembering the feel of Richard’s spine beneath his fingers, Henry didn’t deserve his loyalty. And his Father…Aumerle forced himself to swallow a spoonful of soup, and not think about letting his father down, which was difficult when his father was smiling at him from across the table and asking what his plans for the day were. Climb out of the bedroom window with Richard and get the former King out of the Castle before the new King reached it, or else lie on Richard’s back and pepper his shoulders with kisses while Richard sketched out illustrations for the hunting manual Aumerle had been working on.  “I thought I might go for a ride,” Aumerle told his father. “That’s not a bad idea,” York said. “I might join you.” Aumerle spluttered in to his soup. His mother kicked his ankle beneath the table. “That’s a wonderful idea,” she said forcefully. “It will be good for the pair of you. You can talk to each other about…things.” And by things his mother meant Richard’s deposition, Aumerle assumed: this would be an extension of her making him write letters. And since it wasn’t as if Aumerle enjoyed being mad at his father, he sat back in his chair with a smile. “I’d like that,” he said. York smiled back at him. Edward always had been able to ride well, since he was a small boy learning to ride on a small pony he had insisted on naming Dragon. York chuckled with delight as he lost the race and Edward nudged his bay horse in to a victory canter around his father, a triumphant grin on his face. “I WIN!” Edward crowed as he slowed his horse to a halt beside York, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. A silvery chain glinted at his neck- a crucifix, perhaps, though York didn’t recall wearing his son wearing one before. York dismissed it from his mind, and patted Blackthorn’s neck. Blackthorn whickered softly and flicked his tail. “Cheeky boy,” he harrumphed, “I let you win.” “Of course, sir.” Edward inclined his head solemnly, masking a grin, and York let a chuckle escape. “Ach, away with you. Do you feel like a rematch?” He dug his heels in to Blackthorn’s side and cantered off, leaving Edward to holler in protest about cheating before spurring his own horse to try and catch up. Despite Isabel’s insistence that he talk to Edward about what had happened in London, there was no sign of the stony silence that Edward had been treating him to in London  and Edward’s attempts to track Richard down suggested that his son had come to accept what had happened. Hopefully, if Richard was going to be caught on this estate, it would now be Henry who caught him, and Edward could be kept away from it. Hopefully, Richard had gone far away from here by now: he remembered Edward’s suggestion that Richard could be in France by now, and if that were true, and Richard stayed in France and out of Henry’s way, York wouldn’t be happier. It seemed, as the wind whistled past him, and his son gave a triumphant yell as he rode past him, that all was right with the world. What happened next, York would never quite understand it was all so fast. Edward’s horse gave an inhuman scream as he reared suddenly and York heard himself yelling from very far away as his son was thrown from his saddle and slammed in to the ground directly in to the path of Blackthorn’s hooves. “Edward!” he roared as he pulled Blackthorn sharply to the side, tripping in his haste to dismount and rush to his son. “Edward, are you well, are you hurt-“  Edward groaned as he uncurled himself and rolled on to his back. “I’m fine,” he croaked. “I think I’m fine-“ he seemed pale and shaken, but that was to be expected; York was terrified something was broken. “Can you sit up?” he asked. “Are you hurt? Edward, did you hit your head?” “No, I, I’m just bruised, I think, I, uh…”  York helped Edward sit upright, placing firm hands on his son’s shoulders. As Edward sat up, York noticed a pendant swing from the chain around Edward’s neck and he caught it in his hand. Edward’s eyes widened. “No-“ he began and York frowned. “What is this?” he asked, turning it over. It was a locket of some sort, in the shape of a York Rose-it was beautiful, looked costly, and York had never seen it before.  “Where is this from?” he demanded. “Nowhere, it’s nothing, it’s—it’s nothing.” Tension was suddenly rolling off Edward in waves and York frowned. “Tell me what this is about. “ he demanded, and Edward gave the worst attempt at an innocent smile York had ever seen. “It is nothing, just a trinket which for some reason I would keep to myself.” He protested. “And for which reason I would know what it is!” York retorted, flipping open the locket. A lock of copper-brown hair was curled inside it, and York felt fury rising up inside him as he realised just who’s hair it was.

[themalhambird]

In Which The Duke of Aumerle Contrives to hide the deposed Richard In his Bedchamber Without The Knowledge of his Father, Mother, Their Servants and Most Notably His Cousin Bolingbroke (part 1/19)

@fiftysevenacademics

Rain lashed against the castle walls like an army laying siege, the noise a constant, insistent drumming of water against stone, accompanied by the whistle and roar of the wind and the rumble of thunder as lightning flashed; momentary streaks of blinding light which split the seething skies in two and then vanished in to nothing. Aumerle strode in to the kitchens and set his candle on the corner of the large wooden table that stood in the room’s centre before hurrying to unlock the back door and pull it open. Two figures, their clothing sodden and their features indistinguishable in the shadows hurried in, one, who by his robes appeared to be a friar, half carrying, half dragging his companion. Aumerle shut the door behind them as soon as they were clear of it. The candle did little to dispel the gloom; Aumerle went back to it and picked it up, and lit some of the torches that hung on the wall before turning back to his visitors. “Your father’s men are lax,” Salisbury said as he passed his companion over to Aumerle. “We strolled right in.” “Father is still at Court with Bolingbroke; I suggested that given the weather and the relative peace of the Kingdom they take the night off,” Aumerle took the shivering man in his arms and held him tight, pulling down his hood and tangling his fingers in to the man’s hair. It was coarser than Aumerle could remember it being, more tangled- and Aumerle felt anger tighten his chest, though of course, it was to be expected. Incarceration would not have allowed for vanity. “Your Majesty,” he whispered, trying not to choke at the stale, unwashed stench that hung about Richard as the deposed king wrapped his own arms around Aumerle. “Cousin?” Richard murmured. “I’m not king…” “You are God’s anointed, sire,” Salisbury broke in. “We will see you restored, I swear it by the Virgin Mary…now you are free the nobles will rally to our side and- “ Even in the flickering light Salisbury caught the Look Aumerle through him over Richard’s shoulder. Now was not the time nor the place: God’s anointed had laid his head on Aumerle’s shoulder and was clearly paying no attention, and Salisbury’s voice had grown to loud. He fell abruptly silent, and spoke again more quietly, this time to Aumerle. “With luck the news of the King’s disappearance from Pomfret will not be discovered for some time,” he said, “I found a man, of similar height and build- some peasant, I promised I would pay his family a stipend each week he remained undiscovered. The usurper believes he has the King under lock and key, let us show our allies that he does not, that he is a fool- this was a sound idea, Ned, a sound one indeed- we have the advantage now.” Aumerle hadn’t been concerned with giving themselves an advantage; he had worried that their plans would be discovered before they were ready to act upon them and that Henry would have Richard murdered in his dungeon before he could be saved. “Go cautiously,” he warned Salisbury. “Only speak of this to those you trust absolutely- Richard’s freedom is a secret that must be protected at all costs.” His cousin was too thin; Aumerle could feel it through his waterlogged clothes. “Can I offer you a bed for the night, Salisbury?” he asked. “You can’t ride in this weather; you must take shelter somewhere- “ “Somewhere, but not here,” Salisbury gave a roguish smile. “I don’t want my presence remarked on, as far as the rest of the world is concerned I am abed with a fever and have been the last two weeks. Will probably remain so for another two weeks at least, or so my doctors say, and will say, if any of the usurper’s men come asking. Not that they’re likely to, but as you say, it pays to be cautious.” He paused. “You are sure I can leave him with you?” he asked, a little anxious now. “I can take him to the coast, we can board a ship to France- “ “He’s staying here,” Aumerle said firmly, as Richard tightened his grip on the back of Aumerle’s shirt and swallowed. Aumerle resumed petting his hair. “I will take care of him until the time comes for us to join with an army, I owe him that. And you cannot disappear off to France, nothing would make Bolingbroke more suspicious.” Salisbury nodded, sighing. “You’re right, of course. Well then, I will leave you. The best of luck, Aumerle- “ “-Rutland,” Aumerle corrected with a wry twist of his lips. “It’s Rutland, now. Bolingbroke seemed to think my loyalty dis-loyal.” Salisbury scoffed. “Treacherous bastard. Still, it will make killing him all the more sweet. Your Majesty…” he bowed at Richard’s back,  hesitated, then, as he remained unacknowledged, turned and opened the door, stepping out in to the storm and vanishing as the door closed before him with a resounding thud. Aumerle shivered, a sudden chill crawling over his flesh as he listened to the storm outside and the dead silence within the castle walls, holding the deposed king close. The last time he had been alone with Richard, the king was holding him as he wept, before Northumberland’s appearance and Richard… Richard kissed me, the last time we were this close. Aumerle gently moved back from Richard, disentangling himself from his cousin’s limbs. “I just need to lock the door, my lord, then I’ll take you upstairs,” Aumerle explained, going over to the door. “How did Salisbury get you out anyway?” he asked, twisting the key in the lock, mostly to himself. “He told the guards he and the…the other me were priests, sent by the King to pray with me,” Richard’s voice was rusty, croaking with disuse- but still melodious. Still one of the most beautiful things Aumerle had heard in a long time. He turned back to see Richard swaying back and forth on the balls of his feet, arms wrapped tightly around himself. “The other me stayed and I left in his place, we weren’t stopped I…I thought…is this a dream?” He looked at Aumerle with such intensity Aumerle could only shake his head and step back to him. “I’m real. I’m here. And you’re hear, your safe. C’mon, let’s, let’s get you upstairs and in to some dry things. He took the candle in one hand and Richard’s hand with the other, leading him up a series of narrow corridors designed for the servants to use, out on to the corridor that led to his bedchamber. His heart pounded furiously and his mouth had been drained of any moisture as he listened for any sign of movement that might suggest someone else in the castle was awake when they ought not to have done. He ushered Richard inside his chamber and bolted the door shut behind them, directing the former king to take off his clothes as he hurried to stoke up the fire. Richard pulled the robes off and dropped them on to the floor in a sodden heap, stripping down to his small clothes and hugging himself again as he shivered. Aumerle cast around for a towel and couldn’t find one so he pulled the rug from his bed and wrapped it around Richard’s shoulders. Richard took it from him and pulled it tight across his chest. “I’ll get you a nightshirt,” Aumerle told him, heading for the linen chest and lifting the lid, rummaging around until he found one and brought it back to Richard, who slipped out a hand from beneath the sheet to take it from him. As Aumerle gathered up Richard’s discarded things and shoved them in to his wardrobe, Richard pulled on the nightshirt and picked the blanket up again, wrapping it back around himself and then waiting, looking at Aumerle without saying a word. “Errrr,” Aumerle cleared his throat, looking towards the bed and then back at Richard. “Do you want to sleep? Or we can sit and…I can tell you what’s been going on since…” “I’m tired,” Richard said softly, and Aumerle nodded, striding over to the bed and pulling the covers back, kneeling on the mattress as he leaned across to pull the curtains on the far side closed. Then he grabbed his own nightshirt from beneath the pillows. “ “I’ll just,” he brandished his nightshirt then swallowed, cheeks warming with embarrassment, “get changed. You get in to bed. My Lord.” Marry, this was impossible- how on earth was he meant to address Richard? To talk to him? After everything that had happened, everything that Richard had done and he had done and Bolingbroke had done and Aumerle’s father had done- how was this meant to work, the former, rightful King who was meant to be sleeping in a cell tonight instead sharing the bed of one of the men who had watched and done nothing as he was dragged to that cell, and then again, after their kiss- Richard had got in to the bed, and burrowed beneath the covers, pulling them up to his chin. Aumerle sighed softly and tugged at the hem of his nightshirt, then kicked his clothes to the side and clambered in beside him, pulling the curtains closed and slipping beneath the sheets, staring up at the canopy. He flinched in surprise when an icy hand touched his, and turned his face to look at Richard, who lay ridged on his back, fingertips frozen in place on Aumerle’s knuckles. Aumerle inhaled, and swiped his tongue between his lips, and turned the palm of his hand up to meet Richard’s so that the other man could hold his hand.

[themalhambird]

In Which The Duke of Aumerle Contrives to hide the deposed Richard In his Bedchamber Without The Knowledge of his Father, Mother, Their Servants and Most Notably His Cousin Bolingbroke (part 5/19)  (part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

“Christ!” Aumerle slammed the bedroom door behind him, panting as Richard leant against the wall and laughed in breathless exhilaration. They had been a good half hour’s walk from the castle when the heavens had opened and rain had come pouring down in torrents, and they had run all the way back to the castle and up to Aumerle’s chambers, soaked to the skin and gloriously alive. Richard continued to laugh quietly as he pushed away from the wall, letting his cloak slide to the floor and peeling off his dress. Aumerle likewise began to remove his wet clothes.

The sudden downpour reminded him of the storm that had been raging the night Salisbury had brought Richard to him more than a month ago now: how weak Richard had been, how tired, how ruined the body King Richard had once taken so much pride in. Richard was still too thin, and their regular night time exertions cost a lot of energy- the excitement of the downpour and the race back to the castle having worn off, Richard collapsed back in to the piles of pillows on their bed, eyes closing and chest heaving and Aumerle knew it wouldn’t be long until his breathing evened out and he dozed off to sleep- but his cousin looked better, as if he were slowly recovering from a deadly illness rather than succumbing to one. He slid in to bed next to Richard, nudging him in an attempt to get him to budge up a little. Richard obliged, then snuggled up to Aumerle’s side as Aumerle settled. Aumerle’s hand was ready and waiting to start stroking Richard’s hair a few seconds before Richard had rested his head on it’s customary spot on Aumerle’s chest. It was difficult to remember that Richard was, to all intents and purposes, his King, that the reason Richard Plantagenet was curled up against his side was because he intended to overthrow their cousin and place Richard back on the throne, irrevocably out of his reach: a King once more and not merely a person. Salisbury would be in contact, , and Aumerle would have to get used to sharing Richard’s attention with other people again. And even if Salisbury wasn’t ready for another year, another two years, Richard could not be hidden in his bedchamber forever. Aumerle’s father would return from Court, at some point, and he would be far more suspicious in Aumerle’s new habits than his mother was. Aumerle ever been good at lying to his father: there had been a time, before King Henry, when his father’s love and respect had meant everything to him. Still, they had time, Aumerle reflected: his father would likely be at Court for another two months at least. Richard had left the realm in a rather sorry state, as everyone was so fond of saying, and his successor needed all the help he could get. He played with Richard’s hair. It was slightly damp from the rain.

Aumerle woke to banging at the door and frantic shouts of “Millord!” He sat up, dislodging Richard, who sat up next to him and grabbed his hand, looking at Aumerle with silent fear on his face. “Milord!” “Who disturbs me at this hour?” Aumerle called as the hammering ceased for a moment. “Milord, a rider from Pomfret castle not fifteen minuetes since! The King! The old one, he’s gone, milord, you must come at once-“ Aumerle and Richard exchanged glances. It might have been funny if Aumerle weren’t suddenly so afraid, if Richard wasn’t shaking. Aumerle found himself gripped by panic, unable to respond, or even move- Richard cupped his cheek. “Go do what is expected of you,” he murmured. “You have not seen me since London, you did not open the door to my lord Salisbury, I will not be waiting in bed for you when you come back to it as swiftly as you are able.” Aumerle nodded, fear gripping his throat and making it difficult to swallow as he swung out of bed and Richard pulled the duvet over his head despite the fact he would be hidden from view by the curtains. Aumerle took his dressing gown from the back his door and unbolted it. “The devil do you mean, ‘Richard’s gone?’” he asked incredulously as he and the guard who had woken to him set off all haste to see the rider from Pomfret. “I thought he was chained up in the dungeons of Pomfret Castle and no one could see him but those who had a seal from the King himself?” “And so he was milord but he’s gone all the same,” the guard replied. Aumerle nodded. “Have a man prepared to go south to the King; the moment we have all the information he must set off at once.” “Beg pardon milord but would it not be quicker to send word with a bird?” Yes, it would be, far quicker: the slower the news got to Court, the better. “A bird is too greater risk,” Aumerle said. “If the letter should somehow go astray, or fall in to the hands of the King’s enemies, it could be a disaster. Find a man who rides well, a man you trust, and give him the fastest horse in our stables- King Henry’s safety must be our main concern now.” His mouth tasted sour with his deception, but for all that it would be his own life at the very least that would be forfeited should the lies be discovered, he could not bring himself to regret them. Not when they were necessary to keep Richard alive, and safe, and breathing, and anyway he didn’t particularly care about how the man he was lying to thought of him. The rider from Pomfret Castle was soaked from the rain. He stood and bowed as Aumerle walked in to the antechamber, twisting his cap nervously in his hands. “Milord….” He was a weedy little. Aumerle schooled his features in to his best Plantagenet glare, the one both his Kingly cousins excelled at giving just as John of Gaunt had done before them. Aumerle’s always felt a little less  effective, but it was enough to make the other man cringe before him. “King Richard has escaped?” he asked sharply. The man nodded. “Yes, milord. And- I cannot tell you as to when-“ “Only today, surely?” Aumerle interrupted. “Or yesterday at the very latest? Someone must have brought him food-“ “Aye, they did my Lord, but it were a double-“ “A double?” “’T’was only noticed today, milord!” the man wailed. “The King Richard we thought we had in out dungeons weren’t the real King Richard… the man who gives the King his food, he noticed today…” “Noticed what?” Aumerle asked, curious as to what it was that had given Salisbury’s Richard-Look-Alike away. “The chains were too long.” Aumerle frowned, not quite following. The rider caught his look and hastened to elaborate. “The chains binding the King to the walls, milord. They were made to bind the King to the wall- his measurements-“ (I’m going to murder Henry, Aumerle thought grimly”) “-and the imposter, he’s smaller than the real King; his wrists are lower, there’s more give in the chains.” Aumerle nodded, struggling to conceal his anger. “Where is this imposter now?” he asked. “Still at the castle, milord.” “Have you questioned him?” “…aye, milord, but got nothing.” “Have him brought here.” Aumerle ordered. “I will question him myself. In the meantime, organise a search of the surrounding area, but for heaven’s sake, be discreet. Keep this as quiet as possible until the King gives us leave to do otherwise. What was your name?” “I-it’s Robin, milord.” “Robin.” Aumerle nodded. “I will want to question the guards, as well as your prisoner. Provide me with a list and make sure they are ready to attend me when I send for them.” He dismissed Robin with a wave of his hand even as the man acknowledged his last command, and set about sending as many of his men as far away from the castle and the concealed king as he was able. It was early morning by the time he returned to his chambers: hours had vanished as he had organised searches and interviews and informed his mother of what was going on. She had given him a look which worried him, a shrewd, questioning gaze as if asking if he had had any part in Richard’s escape. Aumerle rested his forehead against the door as he bolted it shut, tired and drained of energy. With a sigh, he walked back to his bed, crawled through the curtains, and slipped back in next to Richard who immediately opened his eyes. “Hold me,” Aumerle muttered, and Richard did, drawing Aumerle close and wrapping his arms around him, tangling their legs. “You’ll be safe. I promise.” Aumerle mumbled. “No one has any reason to think you might be here, unless your double talks, and if he does that- he’ll talk to me. ‘M having him brought here…’ll question him m’self…” “Sleep,” Richard soothed him, fingers tangling in to Aumerle’s dark hair and stroking gently. ”Sleep darling Aumerle…”

[themalhambird]

In Which The Duke of Aumerle Contrives to hide the deposed Richard In his Bedchamber Without The Knowledge of his Father, Mother, Their Servants and Most Notably His Cousin Bolingbroke (part 2/19) (part 1)

Aumerle wrinkled his nose, aware that something was repeatedly brushing up and down his chest, drawing out a line an inch or two in length and pulling him from his sleep as it did so. He groaned, squeezing his eyes tight and then tighter still at the sleep crusting his eyelids and let his head loll to the right, the soft pillow cushioning his cheek as he opened his eyes to find himself squinting at his cousin’s face. Richard rested on his side, ice cold feet brushing Aumerle’s own cold foot as he stroked Aumerle’s chest. Aumerle twitched his right hand and found his fingers still entwined with Richard; Richard stopped stroking and slid his arm right across Aumerle’s chest. “You snore,” he said. “I liked hearing you snore, it reminded me that you are real.”

“I’m real,” Aumerle promised, squeezing Richard’s hand. Richard gave a tiny smile. “Why am I here?” he asked as the smile faded. “Why save me?” “Because I…we…because you’re the rightful King,” Aumerle said, surprised. He’s have thought their intentions were obvious.  “Bolingbroke has no right to sit on the throne, none at all. And now you’re free, we can mount a proper challenge, and he won’t be able to touch you-“ “I was a bad king,” Richard murmured. “I can see that now. In the castle, in the dark, I had a lot of time to think-“ “Milord?” A hammering at the door interrupted him and Aumerle swore under his breath, sitting bolt upright. “Milord, are you well? Only your lady mother….” a man called through the door, sounding faintly apologetic. Aumerle swore again. “Stay there,” he said firmly, swinging out of bed. “Get under the duvet-“ he padded over the rushes that lined his floor and unbolted the door, opening it a crack to peer bleary eyed at the servant. “Milord,” the man began. “Your lady mother sent me, to check you were-“ “I heard,” Aumerle snapped. “I’m fine, I was sleeping.” the man bowed, murmuring another ‘milord’ of acknowledgment and looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him as Aumerle scowled ferociously. “Tell her I’m fine. Have someone go and fetch water for a bath. And bring up some bread, and cold meats.”  With that Aumerle slammed the door on the outside world, bolting it shut again. He hurried back to the bed and pulled open the curtains as Richard emerged from beneath the covers and looked enquiringly at him. “The servants are going to bring up some food and draw a bath-“ at the magical word ‘bath’ Richard’s face lit up, and Aumerle chuckled. “While they’re in here…” he trailed off, laughter fading abruptly as he imagined what would happen if Richard were discovered. “I’ll keep out of sight,” Richard promised, eyes flitting around the room looking for a place to hide. “You think you can fit under the bed?” Aumerle asked. Richard swung out of bed and ducked down, disappearing from view, and then he grabbed Aumerle’s ankle, making him jump. “I can fit,” Richard’s muffled voice came from beneath the bed as Aumerle exhaled. “Good,” Aumerle said. Richard withdrew his hand as a knock came at the door again, and Aumerle opened it to allow the servants in. The next half hour or so while the bath was filled and the fire lit was torture for Aumerle. His heart was in his throat and he sat on the edge of his bed to stop any one else going near it, terrified that someone would drop to the floor and peer beneath the bed even as he knew It was completely absurd to think anyone would do such a thing. He picked at a slice of cold ham and watched the bustle. Fortunately, it seemed as if his mood was scaring everyone off; the servants disappeared as soon as possible and Aumerle’s manservant seemed to sigh with relief when Aumerle said he would bathe by himself. Aumerle hastened to lock the door, and Richard crawled out from under the bed, dust added to the rest of the grime accumulated on his skin. His legs shook slightly as he used the bed to push himself up, and Aumerle got his first proper look at his cousin in daylight. His cousin’s skin was tinged with grey. His hair was matted and dull- Aumerle had felt it last night, but seeing it hang loose around and knotted around his hollow face…Aumerle swallowed and stepped forward as Richard clung to the bedpost, Aumerle’s nightshirt hanging off his body in odd folds. Richard had always been slighter than Aumerle, but his cousin looked like a child in his father’s clothes. Aumerle remembered how thin and brittle his cousin had felt last night. Richard pushed away from the bedpost, waving away Aumerle’s attempt to help him as he walked towards the steaming tub on shaking legs. Aumerle followed behind him, worried that his legs might give way. “Do you need to eat first-?” he began; Richard shook his head. “I haven’t walked, or- moved this much in- a long time, I want to get the filth off-“ he pulled the nightshirt over his head and let it fall. Aumerle bit his lip as he stared at Richard’s back. He could count the ridges of Richard’s spine and see the outline of his ribs pushing beneath skin and wasted muscle. “We’ll have to feed you up,” he said, as Richard sank in to the tub with a groan. “Do I look terrible?” he asked. Aumerle shook his head. “You’re alive. You’re here.” “Hm.” Richard sank lower in to the copper tub, staring blankly in front of him for a few moments before reaching for the soap. He picked it up, only for it to slip from his hands and on to the floor. Richard transferred his gaze to the soap, making no move to reach for it. Instead, his hands remained frozen where they had been before the soap had slipped. Aumerle cleared his throat and picked the soap up, holding it up. “Shall I-um? Do you want me to help?” he offered. Richard nodded, and Aumerle rolled the sleeves of his nightshirt up before the dipping the soap in the warm water and taking the cloth from the side of the bath, working a lather on to it. “Give me a leg,” he instructed. Richard obediently lifted a leg from the water so that Aumerle could wipe it down. They worked in a companiable silence, Aumerle gently and methodically rinsing the dirt from his cousin’s body, starting with his feet. Even when the grime was gone, the soles remained marked with cuts and scars. Richard twitched and huffed quietly as Aumerle scrubbed, and Aumerle had a sudden flash of suspicion that his cousin’s feet were ticklish. Once one leg was finished, Richard lowered it back in to the water and lifted the other one, and once Aumerle had finished Richard’s legs, he took Richard’s hand to start on his arms and froze, mouth parting in a silent ‘o’ as he stared at the sores that circled Richard’s frail wrist, a bracelet of skin rubbed raw, with only one possible explanation as to the cause. “He kept you in chains?” he spat, venom in his voice. “He kept you in chains!?” “I suppose he thought I might escape,” Richard said lightly. Aumerle  flicked his gaze up to Richard’s face. Richard met his gaze and swallowed, the apple in his throat bobbing and his dark eyes wide. “It’s done, cousin.” “I’m going to kill him,” Aumerle swore, picking up the cloth again. Richard hissed when Aumerle cleaned over the marks and Aumerle said “I swear, I’m going to kill him.” “It’s done, cousin.” Richard insisted. “Wash my hair.” He snatched the cloth from Aumerle and began to wash his own chest. Aumerle sighed and picked up the jug of water that stood next to the bath. “Lean forward,” he sighed, and Richard obeyed. Aumerle poured the water over Richard’s head, and reached for the tallow, worked it up in to a lather and began to work the soap through Richard’s hair. Richard relaxed back in to Aumerle’s touch as Aumerle tried to untangle the knots in his hair. They lapsed back in to silence again, Aumerle brooding over how unnecessary it had been of Bolingbroke to have Richard bound in irons when he had been thrown in a dungeon and locked away from every other living soul. What had he thought Richard might do, escape? The irony of scoffing at that thought whilst washing the escaped king’s hair wasn’t lost on him, but the fact the restraints didn’t appear to have hampered Salisbury’s springing Richard free just proved how pointless the manacles had been. Richard winced as Aumerle tugged his hair a little too hard and Aumerle winced in sympathy. “Sorry.” “Does York know I’m here Aumerle?” Richard asked suddenly, picking at the dirt beneath his nails. Aumerle coughed. “Uh…no. No, I’m the only one who knows you’re here. And my father has thrown his lot completely behind Bolingbroke.” His mouth twisted. Richard made no response and Aumerle sighed. “Tilt your head back?” Richard didn’t move and Aumerle licked his lips. “My lord?” he said. “Yes?” “I need to wash the soap out of your hair,” Aumerle prodded, and Richard tipped his head back, closing his eyes as Aumerle tipped the remainder of the water over his head, rinsing his hair clean.  He set the jug back down on the floor and wrung the water from Richard’s hair then took the towel from the fire screen and held it out for Richard. Richard stood up, water droplets running down his body as he climbed out the bath and Aumerle wrapped him up in the towel. “Thank you,” Richard said softly, “Edward, thank you for the bath.” Aumerle looked away, blinking rapidly as he realised that was the first time he could ever recall hearing Richard say thank you, and for it to be over something so- so simple, a bath… “Aumerle?” his cousin sounded alarmed. “Aumerle, are you- are you going to cry?” “I let them take you!” Aumerle sniffed, looking back at Richard, eyes stinging. “I let them take you away and I didn’t even attempt to challenge Henry taking your crown-“ “Henry took nothing,” Richard said. “I undid myself, cousin. And you…” he reached out and stroked Aumerle’s cheek; Aumerle’s skin seemed to tingle beneath Richard’s fingertips. “I would not have had you hurt on my account. After Green and Bushy-” His eyes widened, then he snapped his mouth shut and pushed away from Aumerle, readjusting the towel so it was wrapped around his waist. He snatched up the plate of bread and meat and sat on the edge of Aumerle’s bed. He tore in to the food, scoffing it and swallowing without bothering to chew as far as Aumerle could tell. Aumerle sighed and turned back to the bath, stripping off his own nightshirt and using the tepid water to quickly wash himself. “I had better emerge from this room at some point before my mother learns I’ve been scaring the servants and comes to enquire as to the reason for my mood.,” he said, dressing. “The, uh, the servants will have to come back in to retrieve the bath and change the bed linin and things…” “I can go back under the bed,” Richard said through a mouthful of ham. “I’ll sleep, I think…I’m tired.” Aumerle nodded, pulling on his clothes as Richard scraped the last few crumbs from the plate. “I’ll come back as soon as I can,” Aumerle promised, and Richard nodded, setting the plate to the side. Aumerle smiled, and headed for the door. “Aumerle.” Richard’s voice called him back and Aumerle twisted round. Richard’s fingers were gripping the edge of the mattress his knuckles had turned white. “Isabel…” “Bolingbroke sent her back to France, she is safe, and well, I believe.” Aumerle told him. Richard nodded, then spoke again, his tone hesitant. “Bagot….” Aumerle closed his eyes briefly, not wanting to have this conversation. Richard must have misinterpreted the silence because he moaned “Oh God…” and Aumerle quickly shook his head. “No. No, Richard, he isn’t dead, he uh, Henry didn’t kill him.” Richard sighed with relief and the next words to leave Aumerle’s mouth did so in a rush he hoped Richard wouldn’t be able to understand. “Henry didn’t kill him because he told Bolingbroke that I helped you murder our uncle Gloucester. He swore before a gathering of nobles that he had heard us discussing it.” Richard’s lips parted. “Bolingbroke does not believe that I would have involved you in such a thing?” “Well,” Aumerle swallowed. “Judgement is being reserved. A lot of people challenged a lot of other people to duels and…” Richards eyes closed. “Go,” he said softly. “Reassure your lady mother that you are well and go about your life as you normally would. I thank you for telling me, I would like to be left alone now.”

[themalhambird]

In Which The Duke of Aumerle Contrives to hide the deposed Richard In his Bedchamber Without The Knowledge of his Father, Mother, Their Servants and Most Notably His Cousin Bolingbroke (part 4/19) (part 1) (part 2) (part 3)

“Where have you been?” Richard cut off his pacing and glared, eyes flashing as Aumerle shut the door behind him with a self-satisfied grin on his face. He was far later back than normal; it had grown late in the evening and Richard’s mouth was drawn in to a petulant sulk, which only made Aumerle smile more. “I was talking to the master at arms,” he said. “Asking him to keep the guards out of the gardens from now on in order to protect the reputation of a, uh, Lady, I wish to meet there.”

The sulkiness of Richard’s expression increased tenfold. Aumerle threw the dress he had hidden behind his back at Richard’s face and as the startled man caught it, Aumerle raised his eyebrows. “It’s a good idea, no? They back off, it will be dark…if you’re seen it will only be your silhouette and from a distance, everyone will assume I’m just taking a moonlight stroll with a mistress; we shan’t be disturbed.” Richard stared and made no response. As his silence and staring stretched in to minuets, Aumerle’s self-congratulatory feelings faded and he shifted, suddenly embarrassed. “I just thought…if you wanted to go outside we could-“ and suddenly Richard was hugging him, tightly, fiercely, the dress held rumpled in one hand, and his mouth pressed to Aumerle’s in a kiss that ended far too quickly as Richard pulled away before Aumerle had really registered that it was happening, and gone to lay the dress out on the bed. It was a simple gown, but elegant, cut from green cloth. Richard ran his fingers over it gently, hair rippling down his back. “Was it your mother’s?” he asked. “My sister’s. She left it behind when she married; our mother keeps all her old things in case she decides she wants them.” Aumerle said. Richard stood, pulling his shirt over his head in one graceful movement, and pulling the dress over his head in a far less elegant manner as he wriggled in to it. Aumerle huffed with quiet laughter as Richard turned, adjusting his skirt. His wrists extended a good few inches from the cuffs, and the hemline skimmed his calves, but it would do. Richard raised an eyebrow, and Aumerle shrugged. “You’re taller than my sister was, and she was not so slender as you.It will serve well but looks a little ill.” Richard smirked and raised his hands, quickly braiding his hair. “I believe you are meant to compliment a lady’s appearance, cousin, not demean it. Especially if you intend to risk her reputation with moonlight strolls.” Aumerle sniggered, and went to his wardrobe, pulling out two cloaks putting one on himself, and taking the other to Richard, shaking it out and wrapping it around his shoulders, doing up the clasp, and then pulling up the hood and concealing his cousin’s face. “We can sneak outside through the servant’s corridors,” he said, striding to the door. As he realised that Richard had stayed where he was, he turned. “Cousin?” “I don’t remember the last time I was outside,” he said softly. “I know, I must have been, when Salisbury brought me hither…” Aumerle held out a hand. “Do you not wish to feel the air on your face? We shall not be seen,” he promised. Richard shook his head. “I’m not afraid of being caught, Aumerle, I…” he stepped forward, strides restricted by his skirt., and taking Aumerle’s fingertips. “I am afraid that I remember air as being sweeter than it was.” Aumerle squeezed his fingers. “Shall we go?” he asked. Richard nodded, and Aumerle tugged him out of the door, hurrying him to the servant’s staircase. They walked swiftly outside the same way Aumerle had brought Richard up, slipping out through the kitchen. A scullery made had been awake scrubbing pans still; she had looked around as they came in, frozen, and then bobbed a curtsey and muttered, “My Lord…Madame…”, blushing pink as Aumerle had put a finger to his lips and smiled crookedly as he tugged Richard to the door, chuckling silently in relief that their disguise had worked. Richard stopped as they stepped outside, face tilted to gaze up at the moon, a silvery orb hanging in the ink-black sky and shedding light down upon them. “Edward,” he breathed, and Aumerle smiled. “As good as you remember, my lord?” he teased, and Richard looked at him, tears glistening in his eyes, a smile spread wide across his face. Aumerle smiled back , and held out his hand. “Come, cousin.” They wandered through the kitchen garden and out in to the open land behind it. The night was clear and crisp, and Richard kept a hold of Aumerle’s hand as he savoured this newfound freedom.

[themalhambird]

In Which The Duke of Aumerle Contrives to hide the deposed Richard In his Bedchamber Without The Knowledge of his Father, Mother, Their Servants and Most Notably His Cousin Bolingbroke (part 3/19) (part 1) (part 2)

Richard vomited. Aumerle held Richard’s hair back and tried to sooth him as everything he had eaten was expelled from his stomach. Richard retched again, spluttering as he did his best to be sick quietly. Aumerle stroked Richard’s back and worried about the fact that over the past seven days, Richard had scarcely been able to keep any of his food down.

Whether it was simply Richard’s body struggling to adjust to proper food again or if there was some other, underlying sickness lurking in Richard’s body Aumerle didn’t know, but he dreaded the latter; he had no idea how he would even begin trying to get Richard seen by a physician. Richard spat, bile trailing from his lips. He wiped his mouth on the back his hand and leant in to Aumerle. “I think that’s the last of it,” he said wearily and Aumerle pressed his lips to the top of his head. They settled in to a pattern, of sorts: Aumerle now insisted on having food to break his fast sent up to his chambers, ordering increasingly simple fare in the hopes of finding something that would settle Richard’s stomach. Then he would have to leave- he loved his mother dearly but her concern for his wellbeing could be smothering at times and if he kept to his rooms all day like he so desperately wanted to she would come wading in, demanding to know what was wrong. So he left his chambers and carried on with the rest of his day as he would have before Richard’s dethronement. In the meantime, his cousin his under the bed and then, when the servants had been and left, curled himself up on the window seat in Aumerle’s room and read the books Aumerle snatched from his father’s study. They would go to bed together and wake again in a tangle of limbs. Richard liked to lay his head on Aumerle’s chest and listen to his breathing. Aumerle liked to run his fingers through Richard’s hair, enjoying the feeling of it getting a little glossier as Richard began to be able to keep porridge and brown bread in his stomach once it was down, and then the meat and vegetables that Aumerle smuggled up from dinner.   Part of Aumerle could scarcely believe he was getting away with this. He had heard nothing further from Salisbury and lived in fear of the day the deception at Pomfret was discovered, but in the meantime he filched scraps of parchment for Richard to draw on and took perverse delight in re-shelving the books Richard had finished with in the wrong order on his father’s shelf. Richard rearranged Aumerle’s wardrobe according to colour, and Aumerle found himself facing a new worry: as Richard regained a little weight and health, and his spirits were restored a little he began to grow restless, Aumerle could see it in the way Richard’s movements became a little more agitated, the way his gaze would drift towards the window without even seeming to be aware of it. He contemplated snatching a set of livery from one of the servants and dressing Richard up as his retainer, then sneaking out in to the town to allow Richard to stretch his legs, but he knew even as he thought it that the idea was too risky. A retainer none of the other retainers had seen before, springing from nowhere? It would at cause gossip in the servants’ hall at the very least, and any gossip there had a nasty way of winding up in his mother’s sitting room. He sighed, mulling the problem over in his head as he wrote- at his mother’s insistence- to his father. “Come dear, it’s not that bad,” his mother chided as she threaded her needle through her hoop of cloth. “I have nothing to say to him,” Aumerle muttered, scratching out the sentence he had spent the last quarter of an hour writing out. “He is your father, Aumerle, you owe him the courtesy of responding to his letters,” his mother said sharply. “I know it’s difficult- “ “No it’s not difficult Henry had no right and father is wrong to support him it’s easy,” Aumerle snapped, slamming his quill down and twisting in his seat to glare at her as ink flew everywhere. Everything he had been burning to write down in his letter came spewing out at his mother. “Bolingbroke is a liar, and a traitor, he swore, he swore he had only come back for Lancaster and he takes the whole of England? Usurping Richard- his own cousin, my cousin- and Father lets him! He doesn’t even attempt to offer a challenge, the King trusted him and- “Aumerle didn’t realise he had leapt to his feet until his mother was shaking him, gaze bright and ferocious. “You be careful what you say, and how loudly you say it, you understand me boy?” she said. “Whether you like it or not Richard is imprisoned in Pontefract and Henry is crowned in Westminster and you would do well to keep your thoughts in your head if you wish for it to remain attached, do you understand me?” Aumerle scoffed. “Father is a coward,” he spat- and gasped as his head swung to the side and a tingling pain blossomed across his cheek. “You never speak of your father like that again,” his mother said, shaking out her hand. “You’re not too old for a good hiding you know.” Aumerle raised a hand to the warmed skin, speechless with shock and fury. After what felt like an age he drew himself up then went on one knee before his mother and bowed his head. “I must beg your pardon, madam,” he said. “I spoke out of anger and was not myself.” His mother smiled sympathetically and, with much creaking of bones, lowered herself to the floor in front of him and pulled him in to a hug. “I don’t want to lose you, “she whispered, as Aumerle hugged her back as if he were a small child again. “I don’t know if what your father did was right or…I don’t think he knows himself. But whatever the rights and wrongs of it, it has happened, and your father made the choices he made because he had no wish to go to battle against his own family, and even if he had- how ought he to have done it? With no men, and no money?” She sat back and brushed the hair back from his forehead, hesitating. “Edward, these past few weeks, I’ve been meaning to ask…you haven’t been yourself. I mean, bolting the chamber door at night and disappearing back to your bedchamber at the earliest opportunities…” Aumerle swallowed, feeling cold as he braced himself for interrogation as his mother gave what he imagined she imagined to be a reassuring smile. “I’ve been wanting to ask, were you in love with him, Edward? Richard, I mean?” Aumerle felt his insides twist. Out of all the questions she might have asked… There was no judgement in her eyes, though, and for her to even be asking means she must have already suspected. And so he nodded: “Yes, mother, I’m in love him. And- “he bit his lip. “And?” the Duchess prompted. Aumerle could recall the exact sensation of Richard lying his head on Aumerle’s chest to listen to his breathing as they slept: the weight of it, the way his hair would sprawl over Aumerle’s arm; and how Richard would take his hand as they dozed off, and would still be holding it in the morning. “And for what it’s worth, I think he loves me. Loved me, I mean.” He caught his use of present tense just in time and stood up rapidly, stepping away from his mother. “I have to go.” He had to see Richard, to make sure he was alright, to find some way of letting him get air and exercise… His mother grasped at his hand. “He is in my prayers, Aumerle,” she said firmly. “Never doubt that.” Aumerle smiled tightly and pulled away practically racing up the stairs and slipping in to his room. At first glance, it appeared empty, but then at the sound of footsteps Richard would have vacated the window seat in favour of ducking behind the clothescreen that stood next to it. Aumerle bolted the door shut behind him, and walked around the screen. “Do you like it?” Richard asked, standing up and slowly turning three hundred and sixty degrees. Aumerle stared, transfixed by the way Richard had woven his hair: slim, untidy plaits piled up and falling down, pinned haphazardly in place with rushes plucked from the floor. Richard’s hands fidgeted, tugging at his nightshirt. “I was remembering…with the others…” The others. Bushy, Bagot and Green, of whom nothing more had been spoken since the morning after Richard’s arrival? Or did he mean Isabel, had he styled her hair like that for her once? Pinned it in place with flowers and an indulgent smile for his child-queen as they sat in the gardens with her dolls- or was Aumerle’s imagination simply conjuring up images of a happier time and a happier Richard because he wanted Richard to be that happy again, somehow? Did it really matter? Aumerle smiled, examining Richard’s hair again and wondering how it might look if it were held in lace with proper pins and had been done with the aid of a mirror. “It’s perfect,” he said softly, and Richard smiled.