For My Sins
Title: For My Sins
Rating: G
Fandom: Historical Fiction [Wars of the Roses]
Pairing(s): Mentioned/implied Edward IV/Elizabeth Woodville
Summary: Playroom scene.
Genre: Fluff/Angst [Minor]
Warnings: Unimaginative naming
Notes: [549 words] There are two Edwards and two Richards. I try to distinguish by having Richard Duke of Gloucester called Dickon, but not all the time.
Ask if you don't understand anything, I'm happy to explain.
“Elizabeth thinks you’ll poison her.” Edward stood awkwardly in the playroom - in his own sons’ playroom - watching his younger brother playing with his precious sons. “Dickon? Richard.”
“Well, I shall not.” The younger man sat back on his haunches. “I have respect for her, if not anything else.” He gave his older brother a wry smile, raising a dark eyebrow in challenge before looking at the two fair haired boys tumbling on the ground. “Besides. Fear of poisoning was George’s role.” He grabbed the youngest boy before he fell into the fire. “Come, brother, sit a while.”
“Ordering me in my own playroom, Dickon?” Nevertheless, the king sat down on the stone floor. “You are the only man who doesn’t address me by my titles. I should have you executed.”
“George addressed you by your titles. George fawned over you - and look what happened.” Richard said simply. He reached out for the little boy that shared his name, and the younger Richard scampered over to sit with him, resting his head on his uncle’s lap. “I’ve called you Edward all my life, brother, and I’m not going to stop now.”
“Oh Dickon.” Edward laughed fondly, putting an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “How is your boy?” The look on Richard’s face was enough to answer that question.
“He is - not well.” The Duke of Gloucester said in a faltering voice. “I think... I sometimes think, that God is punishing me, for my past antics.” Edward tried to interrupt, but his brother, his only surviving brother, cut across. Richard was the only one who ever interrupted him. “Remember, remember when I was born, and they never thought I’d survive?”
“Call him Richard.” Edward closed his eyes, repeating the words he’d heard his father say. “Call him Richard, for he is a sickly child, and he will not last the winter.” The dark haired young man inclined his head, watching the two boys play with their soldiers. “He will be ok, Richard. He will live, I know it.”
“What did George and I do?” Richard’s voice was thick with sorrow. “His Edward was born simple, mine was born dying. George the traitor, but far after Edward was born. Richard... Richard the hunchback, crooked back, God’s punishment for my sins.”
Edward placed a finger against his brother’s lips, raised the younger man’s chin so they were staring eye to eye. “You do not have a crooked back, and we’ve been telling you this since you were born. You would not be the decorated soldier you are with a crooked back. You were not supposed to last the winter, but you are no weaker than me. Edward will follow.” Richard gave him a smile, a true smile, and Edward was suddenly remembering the little dark haired boy who’d been born into war, the boy who listened to tales of King Arthur with wide eyes and stabbed George’s hand with a toy soldier aged just four.
“Father.” The younger Edward, heir apparent, broke the silence, staring at the two of them. “What are you-?”
Richard broke in. “Edward, Richard, how would you like to hear about King Arthur?”
“And Robin Hood!” The six year old begged. “Uncle Richard, tell us about Robin Hood again. You do the voices better than Father and Uncle Anthony!”