#when I finally finished I was more lancastrian than ever

[redrosewhiterose]

How were King Henry VII and his wife Elizabeth of York related?

Inspired by the "How were the Romanovs and their spouses related?" series by @graceofromanovs

Henry Tudor was the only child of Edmund Tudor, Earl of Richmond, the half-brother of King Henry VI, and Margaret Beaufort, a rich heiress and a 2nd cousin of Henry VI. Elizabeth of York was the oldest child of King Edward IV and his Queen, Elizabeth Woodville. The background of their childhood was what it's now known anachronistically as the "Wars of the Roses", a series of civil wars between Lancasters and Yorks for the throne of England. This conflict deeply affected Henry and Elizabeth's lives: Henry was forced to live in exile, since he as Lancaster was a possible (although not really serious) threat to the reign of Edward IV, and Elizabeth had to go into Sanctuary many times during her life.

In 1483 Elizabeth's uncle, the Duke of Gloucester, deposed Elizabeth's brother Edward V. Gloucester, now Richard III, declared Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville's marriage invalid and all their children bastards, excluding them from the line of succesion. After the subsequent disappearence and very likely murder of the two sons of King Edward and Queen Elizabeth, many turned their eyes towards the exiled Henry, now seen as a serious candidate for the throne.

Henry and Elizabeth's mothers negotiated their childrens bethrotal in secrecy: Elizabeth was also seen by many as the legitimate succesor of her father, and her marriage to Henry Tudor was crucial to get support for his claim. In exile, Henry vowed to marry Elizabeth after winning the crown.

In August 1485 Henry defeated Richard III in the Battle of Bosworth. Now as King Henry VII, he repelled the act that made Elizabeth's parents marriage invalid, thus restoring her a her sisters status as princesses. Months later he fulfilled his vow and married her on January 1486. Their wedding signified the union of the rival Houses of Lancaster and York, and the end of the Wars of Roses (legitimacy and succesion conflicts, however, were far from over: Henry would have to deal with yorkist pretenders for half of his reign).

Although at the beginning theirs was a political union, it grew into a loving marriage. They had seven children, of whom four survived infancy, including the future King Henry VIII. Their two surviving daughters, Margaret and Mary, became Queen consorts of Scotland and France respectively. The current royal families of several countries descend from them.

Elizabeth died of puerperal fever the day of her thirty seven birthday, 11 January of 1503, her baby saddly also dying a few days after being born. Henry was absolutely devastated after the death of his beloved wife, and went into a deep mourning. There were plans for a possible remarriage, but he never seemed to have consider it too seriously and died a widower on the 21 April of 1509, outliving Elizabeth for six years. They are buried together in Westminster Abbey.

Henry and Elizabeth were 3rd cousins, as well as 4th cousins. Their closest common ancestors were John of Gaunt and Katherine Swynford, and Edward III and Philippa of Hainault.

[foreversillythings]

roses are red, roses are white chapter nine

roses are red, roses are white part two the thorns of lancaster chapter four of kings and queens

Though not quite as opulent as their victory celebration, the Lancastrians in France still manage a festive banquet to ring in the new year of 1471. Lively music plays, desserts and sugary confections lie heaped on tables and Queen Enobaria holds court at the far end of the room, everyone of importance crowded around her gilded throne.

Madge is not among them.

She is off to the side of the room by the tall windows, the cold air leaking through the glass and chilling her skin. She watches her mother-in-law and squeezes the gift she’d bought Cato for New Year’s, though she doubts she’ll be able to give it to him. Ever since the details of her wedding night had been made public (owing, of course, to Cato and Clove making sure to spread the story far and wide), Madge had lost whatever prestige she’d managed to gain. Every eye that touches her now has a mocking glow and snickers haunt her every step, Cato and Clove’s victory seemingly complete. Even Enobaria has pulled away, for if Madge cannot get her own husband to bed her, she is obviously not worth the Queen’s time.

Madge is of decidedly mixed feelings. She knows she must consummate her marriage and she is more than ready for her humiliation to end (not to mention Cato and Clove’s smugness), but on the other hand, she is not exactly burning with the urge to go to bed with Cato. Not to mention she still has no idea how exactly she is supposed to get him into bed in the first place. Attempting to seduce him is out of the question, for even if he could be won by her charms (which she doubts), he is never without Clove, who is determined to guard him against every one of Madge’s advances. It is beyond frustrating, but in the weeks of her marriage she has not been alone with Cato once. He avoids her like the plague and when she manages to find him, Clove is there, claws out and ready for war. Madge could wait until they reach England and hope that Coriolanus can be swayed into ordering Cato to bed her, but the risks of such a strategy leave her cold. Cato will be searching for a way to secure an annulment; the more time she gives him the more likely he is to succeed. And she has no guarantee that she’ll be able to win over Coriolanus either. No, if she wants to keep this marriage afloat, she must do something soon. But what?

She stares at the glittery knot of nobles around Enobaria and finds Cato and Clove easily, her husband red faced and pawing at Clove as she giggles. Madge has to remind herself to keep her face neutral, for it will only make things worse if she lets her displeasure show. Her nails sink into Cato’s gift as she smoothes out her face, not a hint of her anger or frustration showing. She is a laughing stock because of them, the abandoned wife whose husband lavishes affection so very publicly on his mistress. What a joke. Many men have mistresses but most can at least offer their wife some modicum of respect. Cato will not even do that.

“Any ideas?” Annie asks as she joins Madge by the window. Madge inhales sharply and then blows it out slowly, her eyes never leaving her errant husband.

“No. Whatever I try, Clove is always there to make sure I never have the chance to make any progress.”

Annie frowns in sympathy and offers up her plate of sweets. Madge feels her heart warm a little to see her favourite sugary strawberries piled beside Annie’s honeyed pears. She pops one in her mouth and wishes this problem wasn’t so vexing. There must be something she’s not thinking of, but what?

“It’s terrible,” Annie says in a low voice so as not to be overheard. “Cato is behaving appallingly. Finnick always said some men weren’t meant to be husbands and he was right that Cato is one of them.”

Madge nods and feels Annie’s outrage on her behalf like a balm against the worst stings of Cato’s disrespect. At least she does not have to face this challenge alone.

“Still, Clove is my main obstacle now,” Madge says and feels sudden realization hit her like a hammer as the words slip off her tongue. Clove is her main obstacle. She’ll never get at Cato with Clove blocking the way and even trying is a waste of precious time. If she wants Cato, she’ll have to conquer Clove first.

“What? What is it?” Annie asks at Madge’s wide eyes and open mouth.

“I’ve been going at this all wrong,” she breathes and oh, how hadn’t she seen it? “I’ve been focusing on winning Cato, but I never will.  Not as long as he’s so determined to prove to Clove he’ll never betray her and not with Clove sabotaging my every chance. But if I can get Clove on my side, I won’t have to worry about her anymore and Cato will do whatever she asks. She’s the ally I need.”

It is so obvious and Madge feels hope crash down on her like a wave. If she has Clove, she will have Cato. They come as a pair, how had she not realized it sooner?

“But how on earth are you going to win over Clove?” Annie asks and for a moment Madge’s hope shrivels. Clove hates me and she doesn’t want anyone touching Cato. How can I get her to help me? She wants Cato more than anything, just as he wants her. Madge gasps. That’s it, that’s it!

"What?" Annie asks as Madge starts to smile.

“I’m going to make her a deal she can’t say no to. I’m going to give them both exactly what they want," she explains and Annie furrows her brow.

It is to be a deal with the devil, but then, I've made plenty of those already.

*

(When Margaret, Duchess of Clarence, Countess of Warwick and Dowager Duchess of Bedford had been a little girl, she used to sit at her window and stare up at the stars. Every night she’d watch them twinkle and feel like every one of her dreams might come true, her heart beating with hope. She’d make a wish on those winking stars, the same one every night.

Let me live a quiet life far from my uncle’s shadow

Now, widowed, exiled and suffocating in her own blood, her one wish has changed.

Let me see Madge happy and secure in England)

(deep down, she fears this wish will not be granted either)

*

For the last few weeks Madge’s days have followed a set pattern. Only her mother and Annie will speak to her, so most of her time is spent in their company, but for at least several hours every day, when she is certain Clove will be stuck attending Enobaria, Madge searches for Cato.

She never finds him.

Sometimes he is out hunting or riding, but other times he is simply hidden away so well she can never find him, no matter how long she searches. It is beyond frustrating, but with no other ideas as to how to safeguard her marriage, she had persisted. Today, finally, she breaks the pattern. She does not bother to look for Cato and instead waits for Clove to finish with Enobaria, studiously ignoring the laughing looks sent in her direction as she makes her way to the queen’s chambers. If she succeeds today all those looks will stop, the disrespect will finally be at an end. There won’t be an insolent edge to every voice that says her title, their tongues curling with giggles over ‘Princess of Wales’ and ‘your Highness’. She will be secure and she will be able to protect herself and those she loves. Finally, finally, she is going to win.

She has to.

Madge tucks herself into the doorway of a room just next to Enobaria’s chambers and waits. Sunlight stretches across the stone floor and makes dust motes sparkle as Madge runs over everything she plans to say, for she cannot afford a mistake today. She’s not sure how long she’s been waiting when Clove finally slips out of Enobaria’s room, her face stormy and her eyes dark. She shuts the door behind her and some of the tension fades from her posture, her expression softening just the slightest bit. She turns and begins to walk down the hall, passing Madge in her hiding place.

“Mistress Clove, might I have a word?” Madge asks and Clove stiffens again. She turns and the look she rests on Madge is black and murderous.

“No, you might not,” she grinds out and turns to leave, only for Madge to snag her sleeve between her fingers.

“You’ll want to hear this, trust me. And anyways I’m Princess of Wales now; you have no right to refuse me.”

Clove swivels her head around to glare at Madge, her eyes molten with fury. Madge doesn’t flinch.

“It won’t take long, I promise,” she says and then steps through the door into the empty room beside Enobaria’s. She pulls Clove gently after her and she comes, the rage on her face promising as much suffering as she can inflict.

“What do you want?” she demands and shakes away Madge’s grip. Madge steps behind her to close the door before she answers and takes a steadying breath.

“I want to talk about Cato,” she says and Clove whirls around, her eyes flashing.

“You’ll never have him! He’s mine and you’re not going to have him! Your marriage is doomed; I won’t let you have him!” she shouts, her whole body quivering.

“And then what?” Madge asks and Clove blinks at her, her explosive fury momentarily checked.

“What?”

“When you’ve had my marriage dissolved, then what?”

Clove blinks again and opens her mouth, but no words come out. Madge seizes her chance.

“You won’t be able to marry him Clove, you must know that. If you get rid of me, Cato’s parents will immediately arrange for him to marry someone else. Someone very rich and with foreign connections. They need money and allies, preferably royal allies. You can’t give them either of those things. Maybe it will be a French princess to thank King Louis for his help, maybe Princess Margaret of Scotland again to safeguard the border or maybe an Italian or a German or a Castilian, but it won’t be you. It’ll never be you.”

Clove balls her fists and bares her teeth, but Madge plows ahead. “And you know what’s worse? Not only will you never be his wife, but you’ll be lucky if they even let you stay his mistress. Foreign royalty will never tolerate the treatment you’ve meted out to me. Coriolanus will force Cato to consummate his marriage and if you try to sabotage her as you’ve done me, well, you’ll be fortunate if all the King does is banish you from court, never to be seen again. They will need this new marriage to work out, to solidify their precarious position in England and they will not stand for you causing any trouble. You might beat me, but you’ll lose Cato forever. I know you’re smart enough to realize that.”

“Cato will never abandon me,” Clove says fiercely but there is a tremble in her voice, one Madge knows she must exploit.

“He won’t have a choice. Which is why I want to offer you a deal.”

Clove recoils and barks out a laugh, her teeth flashing in the light from the window. “A deal? What the hell can you offer me?”

Madge doesn’t smile, at least not outwardly, but oh Clove, I can offer you everything you want. Just you wait and see.

*

(Glimmer has always, always loved gossip.

Nothing has the power to titillate quite like a good scandal and quite delightfully, it is a passion Marvel shares. Their letters across the Channel are filled with every exciting tidbit they can find, scurrilous rumours passed back and forth between them. It is exhilarating. With little to do and with that wicked witch Enobaria not inviting her to be a part of her household, Glimmer spends most of her days wandering the palace in search of a new juicy morsel to write about to Marvel. Today she wanders past Enobaria’s chambers, hoping to catch the queen doing something awful. Her steps are slow, quiet and she is attuned to every noise and sound. If there is a story to be heard, she will hear it.  

And hear it she does.

“A deal? What the hell can you offer me?”

It is Clove, her voice hissed but loud anyway, and Glimmer stops in her tracks, her ears instantly pricked. The sound is coming from a door a few feet from Enobaria’s and Glimmer creeps closer. She looks carefully down the hall and happily there is no one here, which allows Glimmer to press against the door for maximum eavesdropping.

“All I want is my position secured. I need the power to keep the people I love safe, I don’t care about anything else. I don’t care if Cato never loves me or if he keeps you as his mistress for the rest of our lives. If you convince Cato to come to my bed often enough for me to conceive an heir, I’ll make sure you get Cato. He can sleep in your bed every night; he can let you in on all his secrets and shower you in riches. I’ll even request that you be one of my ladies to make sure they can’t send you away. I won’t try to seduce him or try to win his love, I don’t want it. As long as you make sure Cato helps me protect my loved ones, you can have everything else,” comes Madge’s muffled voice from the other side of the door and Glimmer has to cover her mouth to stifle a gasp. Her eyes widen and this is the juiciest thing she’s heard in ages. Glimmer smiles widely and pushes herself even harder against the door, eager and desperate to hear what comes next. Marvel is going to love this.

“And consider this Clove; I won’t go down without a fight. King Coriolanus is the one who’ll ultimately decide whether or not to dissolve my marriage, not you or Cato. When we get to England, I’m going to do everything I can to convince Coriolanus to side with me and order Cato to come to my bed.  And if you think I have no chance at success, think about this. I won Katniss of York’s confidence, I befriended her sister, I managed to have Haymitch Abernathy recommend me for a position in the Queen’s household and I made Gale Hawthorne fall in love with me, even though there is no one who hates the Lancastrians more than him. I needed protection and I got it, even though the Yorkists were my enemies and hated me and everything I stood for. Coriolanus is my blood, if I could win the Yorkists, there is a very good chance I’ll be able to win him. And even if you do win, remember, you’ll lose Cato. So I’ll let you decide what’s most important. Beating me? Or being with Cato?”

Glimmer claps both hands to her mouth and actually bounces with joy, a squeal fighting its way up her throat. This is amazing! She scampers away down the hall before Madge or Clove comes out and sees her, her steps light and her heart soaring. This is not just a magnificent scrap of gossip, this is a mountain, and she cannot wait to let Marvel in on this delicious secret. Even better, they can use this.

Oh Madge, you’re going to be so, so sorry you crossed us)

*

Madge slips out into the hall once she's said her piece and heads back to her mother's chambers. Her heart is beating in her throat as she moves through the halls, weak January sun painting everything in shades of yellow. She is already anxious to hear Clove's answer but she knows she cannot stay and push. Clove needs to be left alone to decide what to do, if Madge lingers she is likely to refuse just on principal. Madge has done all she can, now, terrifyingly, her fate is in Clove's hands.

"Oh sister dearest, how good to see you," comes Glimmer's too-sweet voice from just behind her and Madge turns, hoping her nerves aren't visible on her face. She smiles and Glimmer returns it, though hers is wider by far.

"Indeed, it has been too long since we last spoke," Madge manages and though she knows her voice lacks sincerity, Glimmer merely beams and loops her arm through Madge's.

"So true. So much has happened, we have much to discuss." She tugs until Madge is walking beside her and there is a light in her eyes Madge cannot help but distrust. "I've been thinking of your marriage and I must say, I definitely think you've stepped up from Gale Hawthorne."

Madge doesn't let loose the exasperated sigh fluttering in her throat and instead tries to keep her tone polite and demure. "I am blessed to be married to Prince Cato."

Glimmer rolls her eyes. "Of course you are, you went from some upstart earl to the heir to the throne. But I know you; this was your idea wasn't it? You've always been clever."

Madge cannot help but narrow her eyes suspiciously. What game is Glimmer playing?

"Thank you for saying so, but I fear you overestimate me," she says and Glimmer lets out a knowing laugh.

"Oh yes, very clever. I can see why Haymitch would be willing to throw Marvel and I aside to support you. He is rather cunning himself; I suppose he admires your skills more than my dear Marvel's."

Madge feels sudden alarm but before she can defend herself, Glimmer is already speaking again with a friendly smile.

"Oh don't worry, I'm not angry. We all play the game, but we cannot all win. I suppose that's why you went after Gale, wasn't it? With the Yorkists in power, you couldn't have hoped to find a better husband. Unless you truly loved him? Did you?"

Glimmer offers the perfect appearance of genuine concern but Madge is not fooled. Glimmer is up to something, but what? What answer is she hoping for? Does she want Madge to admit to loving Gale so she can try and use it to discredit her with the Lancastrians, especially Cato? Is she hoping to challenge Madge's loyalty? Or maybe she wants Madge to admit to manipulating the whole scenario, but what good will that do? Cato already knows, Madge told him herself. Enobaria doesn't know, but it would probably only make her like Madge more if she did find out. No, it must be about Gale.

"I love Prince Cato with all my heart, I could not wish for a better husband," she says and Glimmer beams.

"Oh wonderful, that makes me so happy. It would be dreadful if you were still pining after Gale."

Madge smiles tightly. "I appreciate your concern, but I am a Lancastrian, I always have been. The Earl of Salisbury could never have won my loyalty or affection."

"Of course, how very silly of me. My loyalties have always been to power, it’s easy to forget that there are others with far more scruples," Glimmer says with a laugh. "Yes, I think you shall make a lovely queen of England, so moral and upright. Well, I'll leave you here, it's been wonderful catching up."

Glimmer kisses her firmly on both cheeks and then leaves, Madge staring after her with uncertainty. She is up to something, but what? What was she trying to gain from this conversation?

I have far too many cares already; I do not need to worry about Glimmer too

(and what she can't know about, is the smirk of triumph on Glimmer's face as she walks away)

*

(Clove is waiting for Cato is his room.

He is feeling buoyant after an exhilarating ride this afternoon, his hair still damp from the snow even as his blood pumps warmth through his body. The cold January air had breathed life into every part of him and when he steps into his room to find Clove sitting on his bed, his heightened emotions turn amorous in nature.

"Hello gorgeous," he says with a grin but feels it drop away immediately. Clove looks up at him with dark eyes and a bleak expression, sudden ice settling beneath his skin.

"What's wrong?" he demands and sits beside her. He takes her hand and it is cold to the touch.

"I spoke to Madge today," she says in the smallest, saddest voice he's ever heard Clove use. He feels suddenly hot with rage.

"I'll kill her," he growls and Clove grips his hand so tight it hurts. She looks at him and somehow, her face grows even bleaker.

"You can't.")

*

Sitting in bed that night, Madge cannot help feeling slightly terrified. She has done all she can to convince Clove and now she has to wait and see if her argument has borne fruit. If it hasn’t she will have to put all her hopes on Coriolanus and if it has, if it has Cato will come to her bed.

She’s not sure which possibility frightens her more.

There is a little girl urge in her to go to her mother’s room and burrow into her arms as she always used to when she needed comfort, but her mother cannot help her now. Madge needs to consummate this marriage with Cato, the sooner the better. She breathes steadily, tries to remember the excited flutters Gale’s kisses and touches and proximity had lit within her and ignores how cold she feels even under her many layers of blankets. Cato will come, he has to come.

Oh how I hate waiting

Wispy clouds wreathe the stars in the sky when her door opens and Madge feels her heart stop and her breath freeze in her lungs. Cato stands draped in shadows in the doorway, the faint flickering of candlelight just touching his thunderous expression. Madge tries to remember how to breathe and he slams the door, loud enough that the entire castle must hear. She jumps but knows this is a good thing; she needs everyone to know what’s happening here. Cato stalks towards her and Madge presses her hands to her chest, trapping Gale’s locket between her palm and her pounding heart.

“Good evening, my lord,” she says softly and Cato stops walking, his hate filled eyes burning her skin.

“Don’t speak to me,” he hisses, “don’t make a sound. I don’t want to be here and if I have to be, then I want to forget I’m here with you. Don’t talk, don’t move, don’t do anything to remind me you’re here. Understood?” He grinds out each word in a tight voice and Madge nods. Cato comes towards her again and she closes her eyes, nausea suddenly flooding through her.

“Lie down,” he orders and she does. Cato sits on the edge of the bed and yanks off her covers, her eyes opening at the sudden sting of cold air. She bites her lips to button them against a gasp and cannot help looking at Cato. He grabs the hem of her nightgown and pushes it up around her waist, leaving her lower half entirely exposed. Madge can feel herself flush with embarrassment while goosebumps bloom across her skin. Blood roars in her ears, fear tingles in her every nerve and Cato peers down at her with disdain, his mouth curled into a sneer.

“Disgusting,” he says and Madge knows that he is just being cruel, that there is probably nothing wrong with the way she looks but still, she cannot help the prickle of tears in her eyes. Cato turns away from her and reaches into his lap, but from her angle lying rigid on her back, Madge cannot see what he’s doing. She tries not to think as she watches him, tries to drive everything from her mind as his hand moves between his legs but she cannot relax. She knows vaguely what comes next but when he finally stops what he’s doing and climbs on top of her, she isn’t ready. He grabs her thighs and spreads her legs and Madge reminds herself that this what she wanted. She is the one who put every effort into getting him to come here tonight, she is the reason this is happening.

It doesn’t help.

All of a sudden he is inside her, the pain sharp and awful. Tears blur her vision of the ceiling above her and she bites her tongue to hold in her gasp, so hard she can taste the blood in her mouth. Cato does not pause, clearly wants this to happen as quickly as it can and she squeezes her eyes closed, her nails digging into the mattress. Tears slide down her cheeks but she can’t move to wipe them away and it feels like a lifetime of him thrusting into her and pulling back, over and over again. She closes her eyes, cannot look at his face and please God, let this be over quickly.

Finally, he grunts and stops, a warm something spilling between them. He is off of her in an instant and Madge does not watch him leave, her body aching along with her heart.

This is what I wanted.

I won

There is blood on her sheets, something sticky between her thighs but Madge knows she cannot clean it up. She needs the maids to see this proof of her union with Cato tomorrow, needs the whole court to know what’s happened. Just telling them isn’t enough, she needs evidence.

I won. Everything’s going to be okay now

Madge rolls over, presses her face into her pillow and cries herself to sleep.

*

(The room is dark when Cato comes to her.

Clove sits on the bed, her eyes closed and her hands knotted in her lap. There is no moonlight tonight and she’d blown out the candles as soon as he’d left, she hadn’t wanted any idea how much time was passing.

Cato doesn’t say a word as he steps inside and shuts the door and neither does Clove. She opens her arms to him and he folds into them, his face pressed against her neck. The only sound in the gloom is his ragged breathing and Clove wraps him up, her fingers digging deep into his back as she holds him. They do not speak, cannot perhaps, and that’s it then.

It’s done)

*

Perhaps it was the gossipy maids that changed her bloody sheets, perhaps it was Cato or even Clove, but news of the royal consummation soon reaches every corner of Enobaria’s court. The effect is immediate.

Madge is soaking in the bath and trying valiantly to scrub away the feel of Cato when the note comes, a short message in Enobaria’s cramped hand.

Come to my solar, I’ve missed you

Madge closes her eyes and struggles to hold in a bitter laugh. What a fickle ally you are Enobaria. Still, Madge cannot refuse her. She may be faithless but she is still Queen of England and still Madge’s mother-in-law. She is an ally Madge needs; no matter how much she wishes she didn’t.

The water is cold as Madge grabs the edge of the tub and pushes herself up, her hours of washing never quite managing to purge Cato from her pores. He lingers still and Madge tries not to remember him as her maids dress her, but she cannot forget. The feel of him inside her, the sound of his breathing, the smell of him as he’d moved above her, it is buried far too deep inside of her to remove.

I wonder if I’m haunting him as he is me

*

(yes, the answer is yes)

*

There are no scornful snickers as Madge passes through the halls, no snide remarks or rude looks, just curtsies, bows and respectful murmurs of her title. If ever she wanted proof of her success, here it is. Yesterday she was a laughingstock but today she stands tall among them. Maybe, one day, she’ll be able to take comfort in that.

“Her Royal Highness the Princess of Wales,” a herald announces and Madge sweeps into Enobaria’s chambers. The other ladies stand and curtsy, Enobaria welcoming her with a wide smile.

“It’s been too long,” she says and Madge forces a smile to go along with her curtsy.

“That it has, your Majesty,” she says with as much warmth as she can drag up. Enobaria’s eyes glow with pleasure and she pats the stool beside her.

“Here, sit with me,” she says and Madge goes, taking her new position of honour with a bittersweet tang on her tongue. She’s done it, won the war and claimed her prize. She is Princess of Wales, future Queen of England and she cannot think about what she’s lost. The price is worth it. Gale, Annie, her mother, the Hawthornes, Katniss, they’re worth it.

Enobaria curls a hand around Madge’s shoulder and leans in very close. “Congratulations on defeating Cato’s harlot, you’ve done well. I’m quite impressed.”

Madge closes her eyes.

Remember Gale, Annie, Mother, Katniss, Prim, the Hawthornes

This is for them

It’s worth it for them

*

(“Mother?”

Margaret looks up from the book she’s been reading and sees Madge standing in her doorway. Her daughter is pale and though she does not say a word, Margaret can read the desperate plea for comfort in her eyes. Her heart gives a terrible throb in her chest and she opens her arms.

“Come here, darling,” she says and Madge comes, collapsing into Margaret’s chest with a shuddering breath. Madge does not explain but Margaret does not need her to. She wraps her daughter up in her arms and runs a hand down her back as Madge trembles against her, her own heart shaking into pieces.

“I love you sweetheart. I will always love you, my brave, wonderful Madge.”)

*

“Might I join you?” Annie asks and Madge looks up from her untouched embroidery frame. Annie stands in the doorway to Madge’s bedchamber with her own needlework, a soft, sympathetic smile on her face. Madge nods.

“I can’t imagine being the center of attention over something like this,” Annie says quietly as she sits on the stool facing Madge’s. Madge shrugs.

“I suppose that’s the peril of being a princess,” she says with an awkward attempt to be jovial. Annie reaches over and places a hand on her knee.

“I know what this means dynastically and for your position, but how are you?”

Madge looks out the window at the faintly falling snow and tries to keep her voice steady. “I’m fine. I mean it hurt and it was uncomfortable, but that’s normal. I won’t say it was the height of romance, but I never thought it would be. I may never enjoy it, but I don’t need to.”

Annie does not say anything and Madge hates her hazy reflection in the window, the terrible sadness of her face in the glass. It is rare that a highborn lady marries for love; Madge is only doing what so many before her have. There is no need to be miserable; this is just what life is like for people like them.

(and maybe if she tells herself this enough, it will make it okay)

“I for one am glad you will be our next queen. I can’t think of anyone better.”

Madge turns to look at Annie and the gentle understanding in her eyes soothes some of the raggedness within her. She cannot dwell on last night, at least not on the chasm it opened inside her and she can see on Annie’s face that she understands why. Annie squeezes her knee and then settles back on her stool. She pulls up her embroidery frame and Madge knows that should she ever need to talk, Annie will listen.

For the first time today she smiles for real.

*

(Gale yawns as he makes his way to bed, the long hallway dark and empty. He drags his feet, exhausted from another frustrating day of planning and plotting. This exile has been one of endless repetition, each and every day spent planning for a hopeful return to England while Peeta works to gain them the aid they’ll need from Burgundy. It is always the same, nothing ever changes and no progress is ever made. Gale rubs at a knot just below his shoulder and tries not to sigh. He has faith, he has to, that they’ll regain England, that he’ll see his family again and be reunited with Madge, but that does not make this blasted banishment any easier.

He passes Rory’s room and pauses in front of the open door. He can see his brother sitting by the window, his head angled to stare out at the white flurries swirling beyond the glass. The hall’s torchlight stretches a thin yellow line into the otherwise unlighted room and Gale closes his eyes. Every day of this cursed exile Rory seems to grow more and more melancholy and Gale doesn’t know how to make things better. When he was younger it had seemed so easy being his siblings’ knight in shining armor, protecting them from scraped knees and monsters under their bed, but the older they all get, the more Gale realizes he might not be enough to keep them safe.

He has never felt so useless.

Still, he can’t leave after seeing Rory like this. Useless he may be, but he’ll never stop trying. He takes a step forward and knocks softly on the open door.

“Can I come in?” he asks and Rory nods. Gale walks into the chilly room and makes a note to order warming pans brought up. He sits down beside his brother and joins him in gazing out at the January night.  

“What are you doing sitting here in the dark?” he asks and Rory sighs quietly.

“Thinking,” he says and Gale frowns.

“Thinking about what?”

Rory blows out a breath and shrugs. “Just…winter. Winter back home before…before Dad…”

Before Dad died Gale finishes silently and feels the familiar mix of pain and anger start to flood his veins. He nods stiffly and puts an arm around Rory’s shoulders. There is a pause where they both watch the snow dance through the sky and then Rory starts to speak, his voice soft and sad.

“We’d sit by the fire and eat warm pie while Mum told all those stories about snow pixies and winter fairies,” he says and Gale remembers so sharply he feels it like a knife to the gut.  “Dad would build us sliding hills outside and we’d have snow forts and wars, always me and Vick versus you and Posy.”

Rory tries to smile, to laugh but can’t and Gale feels almost sick with helplessness. He needs to say something, can’t bear the tragic look of his fourteen year old brother’s misery and forces cheer into his voice.

“And we always won,” he says, bumping Rory with his shoulder and Rory manages a phantom smile with a roll of his eyes.

“Only because you cheated. You and Posy were the worst.”

Gale laughs a little more genuinely and gives his brother a shove. “I never cheat!” he says in mock outrage.

“Hah! You always cheat,” Rory says with a snort and Gale feels his chest warm at his brother’s smile.

It doesn’t last.

“We’ll never do that again, will we? Even if we do go home, we’ll never have those winters again. I know it’s been years since Dad, but still, being here, it really hit me.” Rory’s voice is resigned and Gale feels a sharp pain in stomach. He puts his arm back around his brother and pulls Rory close.

“We will,” he says firmly and Rory looks up at him in confusion.

“What?”

“Next winter, we’ll be home again and we’ll sit by the fire and eat pie and listen to all of Mum’s stories. I’ll build the sliding hills and we’ll still have our wars, though we’ll have to let Philippa and Petronella join in, they are Hawthornes now after all.”

Gale wants to sound confident but is fairly certain he sounds slightly pleading. Rory looks down for a moment and Gale feels as if he is standing on a very thin ledge over an impossibly deep gorge. But then Rory grins.

“Alright, but we get Philippa.”

Gale’s eyebrows shoot up and he cannot contain his smirk. “You want her on your team? Well, well-”

“Shut up,” Rory says with a grimace. “It’s only because Nella’s too nice to be much use in a fight. If I’m going to war, Philippa’s definitely the better choice.”

Gale considers this and nods in agreement. “Yeah, alright, point.”

“Since I’m such a good sport, I’ll take Henry,” Rory says and Gale frowns.

“But then the teams won’t be even,” he says and Rory bites his lip. He looks up at Gale with the shyest hint of a smile.

“No, I mean, Madge’ll be part of the family by then, right?” he says and Gale blinks in surprise before smiling softly. He gives Rory a squeeze.

“Right.”

(sometimes faith is hard to keep alive)

(but it is easier when he has someone to believe with)

“And she’ll be way more useful then Henry, he’s way too easily distracted. Even though you’re a notorious cheater, I am committed to fair play. Since I get Philippa, you can have Madge,” Rory continues primly, his eyes bright with teasing. Gale gasps in offense but cannot keep down his grin.

“Oh, I see. That’s how it is, is it?” he says and drags Rory over so he can mess up his hair. Rory laughs and tries to swat him away.

“That is how it is! If Vick were here he’d say the same thing, you and Posy always cheat!” he says and wiggles out of Gale’s grip. He bounces over to the bed and Gale knows exactly what's coming. Rory snatches up a pillow and Gale leaps to his feet. 

“Scoundrel!” he declares and Rory grins wickedly as he hurls his pillow at Gale’s head. Gale catches it and Rory grabs his other pillow, the two of them circling like duelists.

“I’m not afraid of you, cheater!” Rory shouts as he puffs out his chest and Gale launches in, pillow swinging wildly. He gets Rory in the face at the same time Rory whacks him in the stomach, the air whooshing out of him. Rory cackles and dances away, even as his hair sticks out wildly in every direction. Gale charges after him with a loud laugh and maybe it’s alright that he can’t save his siblings from everything.

After all, they’re getting pretty good at saving him)

*

Once a week, Cato comes to Madge’s room.

She does not move, does not make a sound and Cato still cannot look at her with anything other than loathing, but they do what they have to. Revulsion thickens in her veins and though the pain is not nearly as awful as at the start, it never goes away, her body never ready and willing no matter how much she wishes it would be. She does not know how to force herself to be interested or excited and so she bites her lip and grits her teeth and forces down every flinch.

I am so close, all I need is a son and heir for England and I’ll never have to be afraid again

Cato hates climbing on top of Madge and thrusting inside her bone dry body, but he knows he has no choice. He must do this if he wants a future with Clove, no matter how much it makes his skin crawl. The illness in his stomach does not go away no matter how many times he beds her and he keeps his eyes closed, tries to forget who is lying beneath him but the experience is never anything but a duty he must force himself through.

I am so close, all I need is a son and heir for England and I’ll never have to suffer through this again

*

(Months have gone by, seasons have changed and still, England remains in Lancastrian hands. Philippa stays hidden in the countryside with her mother and fumes, angry to be locked away, angry that her father pretends to support Lancaster, angry that they must be ruled by people she has been raised to fear. She wishes she could go to court and tell wicked, old Coriolanus how despicable he is to his face, but her mother is so appalled by that idea she actually collapses.

Philippa appeals to her brother next, but John, usually her most steadfast champion, looks at her like she’s lost her mind.

“Are you mad? You cannot speak to a king that way and certainly not this one,” he says and she glares at him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“I’m not afraid of him,” she snaps back and John shakes his head.

“That’s because you’re still a little girl.”

“I am not! I’m fifteen, I’m married, I’m a marchioness! I’m not a child.”

John shakes his head again and puts his hands on her shoulders. He bends down to look her in the eyes and she hates the expression on his face.

“You are if you think courage alone will topple Coriolanus. You might be brave enough to give him a lashing with your tongue; God knows you’ve never shied away from giving one to anyone else, but that would be foolhardy and pointless. Standing up in the face of injustice is a noble thing, but not if it will do more harm than good. You think you are grown up? Then prove it by being wise and realizing that there is a place, time and way to send evil men to their graves. Recklessly giving them a tell off will achieve nothing but bringing misery down upon all of us.”

Philippa does not answer but she feels his chastisement bring embarrassed colour to her cheeks.

“I hate doing nothing but hiding out here with Mother. Katniss and Gale will be leading armies; even Rory will probably fight when York comes back. I will do nothing but sit here,” she complains and hates the edge of petulance in her voice. John pulls back with an affectionate laugh.

“Oh Philippa, what a warrior you’d make,” he says and ruffles her hair. She scowls and swats away his hand.

“I could be. Katniss is a woman and she has no equal on the field of battle. Why can’t I learn to fight as well?”

John’s eyes widen and for a moment he seems at a loss for words.

“Because,” he begins and Philippa feels her eyes narrow. “It is simply not done.”

“Katniss is doing it,” she retorts and he frowns.

“Katniss…Katniss is the exception to the rule.”

“Why? Why must she be an exception? Why can we not make a new rule?” she demands and John huffs in frustration. He takes her by the shoulders again and squeezes tight.

“Because it isn’t how things work and it won’t be, not ever. This is why Mother and Father think it best to keep you here, far away from court. You are ridiculous. You cannot tell a king his faults and you cannot fight in wars. Women cannot and will never be knights. Those are childish fantasies and you know it.”

Philippa has always loved John the best of all her many siblings but in this moment it feels as if he’s slapped her clear across the face. She backs away from him and tries very hard to keep the tears from her voice.

“Then I shan’t trouble you with them any longer,” she says and turns on her heel before he can see her cry.

“Philippa,” he says in exasperation but she cannot turn back. She hurries down the hall and feels so stupid it aches. She remembers how desperate Rory was to prove himself a man and feels hatred bubble in her gut. All he needs to do to be treated as an equal is to grow up, but I’ll never be their equal no matter how old I get.

I am a girl and they will always hold that against me.)

*

March arrives with slushy rain and muddy streets, spring so tantalizingly close Madge can almost taste it. Her eighteenth birthday looms and beyond that their departure for England and Madge feels her blood boil at the thought. Home is so close, the end of this nightmare almost at hand and now that the time is so near, she can barely stand the waiting. She can feel the yearning humming in her bones and she is jittery with anticipation, her nervous energy infuriating Cato so much he refuses to come to her bed until she learns to stop fidgeting. She should care about that, but she can’t, not now. Not when safety and home are so very, very close.

Of course, the promise of England is not all joy and sunshine. Coriolanus is waiting for them in England and this time, Madge will not be able to hide from him in the country like she did when she was young. She is his daughter-in-law now. Still, if she’s lucky Cato will be sent off to Wales to govern his own court for experience, as the heir to the throne so often is. She’ll go with him of course, which means she’ll only have to spend time with her in-laws on special occasions. Being alone with Cato and Clove won’t be a dream certainly, but she’ll have Annie and Finnick too and no Coriolanus. That will be good enough. Life is far too dark already, she is determined now to only look on the bright side.

(because of this new vow, she does not think of the Hawthornes and the betrayal she is sure to see in their eyes when they meet again)

(she cannot think of them, or Prim, or Katniss and especially not Gale)

(except, of course, that she cannot stop thinking about them either)

*

“Do you know what today is?” Annie asks softly on one of those impossibly long March days and Madge looks out the window at the iron gray Channel in the distance. For a moment the excitement inside her quiets and she remembers, even though she wishes she couldn’t.

“Yes,” she whispers and they do not need to say anything else. They both stand from their stools and move into each other’s arms, the almost-spring chill sinking beneath their skin.

Today marks the one year anniversary of their exile from England.

*

Madge cannot sleep that night, the shadows in her room so much deeper than they should be.

Has it really been a year since we left? A year since I last saw Gale?

She thinks of him as she’d last seen him in Rochester’s courtyard, his armor gleaming and his smile confident. Her eyes burn and she remembers that kiss goodbye, the last she’ll ever have. Her fingers curl around his locket and a promise of things to come he’d whispered to her ear, a promise neither of them can keep. Her grip is so tight it aches but she cannot let go, her heart splintering in her chest.

Almost three years since the Yorkists won and I lost you Father and a year since I lost Gale and home

What a wicked month March is

*

(There is dream Finnick often has, one where he is safe in Wales with Annie and a family of their own. He has always thought of this as the future, believed that one day, once the upheaval was finally settled, he would have that.

But with each new day that comes and goes, he is starting to wonder if maybe, maybe it is just a dream.

An impossible dream)

*

“I have an urgent message your Majesty,” a breathless messenger say as he tumbles into Enobaria’s solar and Madge looks up quickly from the book she’d been reading. The man is dripping wet from the awful weather outside, his clothes dark and heavy, his hair stuck to his face and a puddle widening around his feet. He is panting and his fingers fidget around the hat in his hands and Madge knows whatever news he brings cannot be good.

Enobaria carefully sets down the account book she’d been perusing and looks at the messenger with a neutral expression, her whole being calm and unperturbed. “And what message is that?” she asks coolly and whatever else she feels about Enobaria, Madge must admire her composure.

“Katniss of York has returned to England,” he says and a gasp ripples through the room. Enobaria’s ladies exchange whimpers and terrified looks while Madge presses her hand to her mouth, her eyes widening. Oh Gale

“And?” Enobaria asks, her tone sharpening, and the messenger swallows.

“The Burgundians have lent her money, arms and soldiers. She had a difficult crossing, her fleet was scattered by bad weather but the Yorkists finally managed to put in at Ravenspurn. She has managed to evade all our forces and last I heard, she had reached the town of Warwick and gained a substantial enough force to re-declare herself Queen of England. She heads now for London, with the Duke of Clarence hot on her heels. He urgently requests that you and your remaining forces sail for England immediately, lest Katniss get too much of a foothold within the country. He is sure that if your forces join his the Yorkists will be crushed.”

Enobaria’s eyes darken, her jaw clenches and Madge feels so sick she is terrified she may puke. This is every one of her fears come to life, another war, another chance at defeat and of losing everything she has managed to gain. Safety is once again torn from her grasp and if the Yorkists win, she knows she will be ruined. She is Princess of Wales now, Cato of Lancaster’s wedded wife; she can’t expect forgiveness like last time. This isn’t fair, what are we going to do?

Enobaria stands suddenly. “Fetch my ministers, we have much to discuss,” she orders and the messenger bows hastily before fleeing. Enobaria storms after him and Madge stays where she is, her heart pounding in her ears.

This means war, a war like last time

Lancaster versus York in a battle that will split England in two

All my prayers that this was over were for naught

Oh Gale, what are we going to do?

*

(Once, Darius had fed important information to the Lancastrians to ensure their victory. This time, it is Prim that changes the tide of battle.

London is meant to be defended by Brutus, Duke of Somerset and indeed, no one but those trapped behind London’s walls knows he is absent. Prim doesn’t know where he is, but he isn’t here and that makes all the difference. Without him, London will not withstand a siege, and as Prim soon discovers, it does not want to.

As the wife of the Duke of Buckingham, a trusted member of the Lancastrian nobility, no one notices or cares that Prim wanders through London’s streets, quietly questioning its people to know which side they’re on. She talks to noblemen, governesses, butchers, ladies, merchants and more, cautiously sounding them out on the issue of England’s great civil war. She is charming and friendly, always casual in her questions and it does not take her long to realize that trapped here with Coriolanus and his vileness, the people of London are ready to see the Yorkists triumph.

She hurries home and scrawls a quick message to her sister, one telling her to make for the undefended London as fast as she can. Seizing the capital will not win them the war, but it will give the Yorkists a decided advantage, one they cannot afford to pass up. Prim watches her messenger ride out from her window and no one stops or questions him, the Stafford knot he wears guaranteeing safe passage.

And then she waits.

Prim does not speak of what she’s done, does not even hint of it to Darius, but he learns soon enough. Everyone learns soon enough.

She is sitting in her solar embroidering a cushion for her soon to be born baby when Darius comes rushing in, his hands running wildly through his hair. For a moment he merely paces back and forth, the dying sunlight through the windows setting his orange hair aflame. Prim watches him with anxious hope writhing in her chest, her nails digging painfully into her thighs. Finally, she can take it no longer.

“What’s wrong?” she asks and Darius stops his pacing and turns to her with panicked eyes.

“The Yorkists are almost here,” he says and Prim smiles widely, joy and triumph flooding through her. Oh Katniss, I cannot wait to see you again.

“Why are you smiling?” Darius demands and Prim levels him with a hard stare.

“Why wouldn’t I be smiling? My sister’s coming home and we’ll soon be rid of Coriolanus and his evil.”

“If the Yorkists win, I’ll be ruined,” he says and Prim feels her heart harden.

“And whose fault is that? You chose Lancaster, so now you’ll have to pay the price,” she says and his eyes widen, pain so stark in his eyes she can feel it all the way to her toes.

“They might execute me Prim,” he says, his voice rising fearfully, and underneath the pain and rage and betrayal, there is a broken heart in Prim’s chest.

“Then you shouldn’t have chosen Lancaster,” she says through the tears blurring her eyes and he staggers back and buries his head in his hands.

“I did it for you,” he sobs and she shakes her head, her eyes closing to block out the devastating sight of him.

“No, you didn’t. I never wanted this and if you knew me at all, you’d have known that. You betrayed York as you betrayed Lancaster before, you did it for you. If I wasn’t here you’d have done the same thing.”

“Is that it then, you want me dead?” he chokes out and she clutches her hands so tight her nails draw blood.

“No. No, no, I don’t. This is your fault, you did this,” she says miserably. “You’re making me choose, between you and Katniss, between you and what I believe is best for England. I can’t choose you Darius, I can’t.” She breaks off and weeps, her sorrow so thick she can barely breathe.  Darius crumples to the floor, hopelessness settling over their home like a heavy mantle and Prim hugs herself, the agony in her chest so terrible she can barely keep upright)

(love was never meant to hurt like this)

*

Enobaria and her councilors stay locked in conference for days, joined often by King Louis, and Madge sits with her mother and Annie, terror their constant companion. They rarely speak, for there are no words, but she holds Annie’s cold hand and her mother’s bony one, and prays for peace, for life, for a world where English blood will not be spilled by other Englishmen.  

Cato comes to her every night in these tense times and she knows why. They do not speak, just as always, but when she looks at his face, she can read so many things there he might as well say the words. He is terrified of losing his birthright, he is hungry to prove himself a man in battle and he is angry that she has not yet fallen with child. He is young, they both are, but the fate of a kingdom sits heavily on them both. A pregnancy would go a long way to bolstering the Lancastrian position, especially as Katniss remains childless. They need a baby, an heir to prove to England that the Lancastrians are the safer bet for a stable future and so Cato comes to her each and every night, desperate to plant his seed within her.

So desperate is this need that he consults the physician who gives them both a long list of medicine’s best and newest methods for conceiving a child.  There are specific things to eat and not to eat, specific times that are apparently better to perform the act, even things they should be thinking and doing during the act. If Madge clenches her hand, it will apparently up her chances of having a boy and if they both think violent, manly thoughts, that too will heighten their chances of conceiving a son. They do it all, do everything he recommends but Madge wonders deep down if it will be enough.

Cato has been bedding Clove for years and she has never had any children, what if that’s because of Cato? Clove could be barren certainly, but what if it isn’t her? What if Cato is the incapable one? Madge never breathes a word of this fear, for there is no point. Cato is the heir; if he cannot have children they are ruined. Instead she does everything the physician tells her to, does everything Cato tells her to and prays that Clove is the barren one and that soon a child will take root within her.

Give me a son; please please give us a son

*

(When Katniss and her army arrive before London, the city gates are thrown open, Coriolanus is thrown in the Tower and Prim stands on Westminster’s steps to welcome her sister home.

Darius does not stand with her)

*

They set sail on March 24th.

London has fallen and Enobaria finally decides they must go to England before all is lost. King Louis provides them with ships, men and money and Madge packs up her things with shaking hands. She cannot forget her last channel crossing and worse, this time they are sailing into a war.

The day of is gray with ugly clouds and Madge feels the salty sting of sea air on her face as she reaches the pier, a rush of awful memories flooding back. She shakes her head but cannot dislodge them and pulls out her rosary with fumbling fingers, prayers tumbling from her lips. She cannot even begin to imagine how Glimmer must feel.

“Come along, you’ll be on my ship,” Enobaria says and Madge looks up at her mother-in-law with a queasy feeling in her stomach.

“And my mother?” she asks in a small, scared voice that causes Enobaria to sneer.

“We will be joined only by my ladies. Any other woman of the court will have to board a different ship.”

Madge closes her eyes as the wind roars, because she knows what that means. She will be trapped with Enobaria, Cato and Clove, but she will not have her mother or Annie. She wants to cry but knows she can’t and instead she opens her eyes to look at the ship swaying before her. Enobaria is waiting for her and Madge knows she must be strong, knows too that England is waiting for her on the other side. She must be brave here, so she will.

“I am ready when you are, your Majesty,” she says and Enobaria smiles.

“Good, come along.”

Be brave my Madge

I will Father

*

(Glimmer has not stepped foot on a ship since the worst day of her life and she can feel ice prickling in her blood as she stares at the line of boats meant to carry them to England. There is a nightmare growing in her chest, memories with jagged teeth tearing at her fragile strength and for a moment, she feels as if she may collapse. She can smell blood on the wind, taste bile on her tongue and there is pain in her, a pain she could never hope to describe. Fear thrums in her bones and she cannot do this, she cannot ascend onto that ship, cannot plunge into darkness yet again. Bony fingers dig into her stomach and Glimmer closes her eyes but that only makes it worse, her gray, dead baby looking back at her from her lowered lids.

“Courage, my dear,” comes a faint voice and Glimmer peels open her eyes. Margaret watches her with concern on her pale face and reaches out one frail hand to squeeze Glimmer’s shoulder. “We shall weather this storm together.”

Glimmer feels hate like a hot knife in her gut, feels it like a lightning bolt through her very soul. Margaret had promised her in hushed tones that everything would be alright, but it hadn’t been. Margaret had lied and killed Glimmer’s baby and she and her foul husband and wretched daughter will pay dearly for it. Glimmer feels that thirst for vengeance swell within her and suddenly there is no room for fear or pain or sorrow. She is fury and revenge and wicked determination.

She will make it to England, for she will not miss the downfall of all those who’ve wronged her. She and Marvel are going to make them pay.

Glimmer smiles with poisoned lips at her mother-in-law and steels herself for the journey ahead. I am coming my love, soon we shall watch them burn together.

I cannot wait)

*

Madge kneels over the sick bucket, her fingers aching as they grip the wooden rim. She coughs and retches as she empties the last remaining contents of her stomach, her gut clenching with a terrible agony.

“If you don’t stop that soon I’ll have you thrown overboard,” Clove snaps but Madge barely listens as she slumps over onto the floor, her latest bout of illness sapping away the last of her strength. Her throat burns and she closes her eyes even as the ship shudders all over.

“You will do no such thing,” Enobaria says sternly and Madge clutches her stomach as it rolls with the ship. If the crossing to France had been a disaster, this one is turning out to be a catastrophe. The storms are so violent they’ve been pushed back to France over and over again, but Enobaria will not concede defeat. Each time they’re shoved back to France, she demands they try again and here they are, trying for the fourth time to make the trip across the Channel. Madge is honestly surprised she has anything left to vomit.

“And who knows,” Enobaria says, “maybe this sickness is not entirely due to the weather.”

Madge opens her eyes and looks at her mother-in-law, the only one among them who seems unaffected by the tossing, turning and the thunder that booms so loudly it sounds as if the very world is shattering to pieces. She sits straight backed and proud, not a hint of emotion on her face. There is the very faintest light in her eyes, a question Madge cannot answer, though she wishes in this moment that she could. Is she with child? That would be a blessing to Lancaster, but Madge remembers their trip to France and how ill she’d been then too.

Another wave slams into the hull and the whole room tilts, Madge’s bucket scraping along the floor until it collides with her chest. She winces and feels acid burn up her throat, her hand clamping over her mouth to try and hold it back. Clove curses as she nearly topples from her seat and a thin wail erupts from one of Enobaria’s cowering ladies, though Madge can barely hear it over the sounds of the storm above them. It feels as if they have been trapped in this tiny, foul smelling room for years and Madge tries to sit up, even as her head spins and her stomach heaves. She pushes herself up with shaking arms and has to grab her bucket to keep upright as the ship lurches again. Water sneaks under the door to their chamber and soaks into Madge’s skirt and the ladies whimper as the thunder crackles.

“We’ll never make it to England at this rate,” Clove snarls and Enobaria glances at her with disdain.

“We’ll make it,” she says firmly and the ship pitches again. Madge cannot stop herself this time and leans over her bucket, even though there is barely any room within to accept the last dregs of her stomach.

“I cannot listen to this anymore or smell it!” Clove snaps and Madge cannot remember ever feeling so awful. The nausea, the aches, the splitting pain in her skull, the burning in her throat, the exhaustion and misery in every inch of her, this must be what it feels like to die.

“Feel free to leave, you can always join the men up top,” Enobaria offers and Clove stands abruptly and kicks away her stool. Madge looks at her through bleary eyes and the ship rolls again, sending Clove careening back into the wall. Enobaria smirks and Madge’s bucket goes to, tipping over and spilling out across the floor. The ladies shriek, Clove swears and Madge cannot stop from weeping miserably.

If we survive this, I will never board a ship again

I would rather die

*

(Ever since he was sixteen years old, Darius has been willing to do whatever it takes to survive.

Today is no different.

He’d fled London upon Katniss’ approach and joined the closest Lancastrian force he could find. He hadn’t been thinking much about the future, only on the immediate need to get away from vengeful Yorkists that would surely want his head as payment for his betrayal. Now, as both sides rush towards battle, he knows it is time to make a decision. Who should he fight for? Lancaster or York?

“Darius, do you mind if I join you?”

Darius looks up from the fire he’d been brooding into and sees Marvel approaching him. He nods and scoots over on the log he’d been using as a bench. Marvel wrinkles his nose at the log but sits down, perching as lightly as he can. Darius can sympathize. Tramping around with the army has never been luxurious.

“You look troubled,” Marvel says with a curious smile and Darius swallows. Does he know what I’m thinking? Is he on to me?

“I was just…just thinking of Prim,” he says and feels his heart thud painfully. Marvel nods.

“Ah yes, I suppose she’s thrilled to have Katniss back?”

Darius cannot answer that, a lump blocking his throat but Marvel merely smiles a little wider.

“Terrible how this war has divided our family, isn’t it?” he asks and Darius nods miserably. Will I ever see Prim again? Will she ever even speak to me if I choose to fight with Lancaster? And what of our boy? Will I ever get to meet him?

“I miss my wife as well; I’ve been too long without her.” Marvel suddenly grins and elbows him. “Of course, you know all about Glimmer’s charms don’t you?”

Darius feels his face heat up at this reminder of his ill-fated infatuation with Glimmer. He’d made such an ass of himself trailing after her and composing hideous poetry. He remembers how appalled Finnick had been with sudden, painful clarity and feels his heart give another agonizing thud. If I go back to York I’ll alienate Finnick forever. Maybe, if I stay with Lancaster I can one day make things right between us. But then I’ll lose Prim.

Either way, I cannot win.

“Civil wars are so bothersome. No matter what side you choose, someone you know’s chosen the opposite. It’s all so tiresome,” Marvel says with a sigh and Darius breathes deeply. Marvel is right; the only victory he can hope for is survival.

He must choose which side is more likely to win, just as he always has. Of course, he must also factor in Prim. She is the only one who knows that he gave the Lancastrians the information they needed to drive Katniss from the country, if she tells it won’t matter if he fights for York. They will see him die a traitor’s death anyway. Will she keep his secret? Does she even need to?

Who do I choose? Who’s going to win?

Lancaster? Or York?)

(and who am I going to lose this time?)

*

(As the two armies hurry to meet each other, Marvel feels power surge through his veins.

This is the moment he’s been waiting for.

Vengeance will finally be his)

*

Twenty one days after they first left France, the Lancastrian forces finally land in England.

It is April 14th and the sky is a pearly gray as the ships scuttle into Weymouth, their passengers wretched and weary. Madge is huddled in the corner of their room when the ship finally pulls into port, her forehead pressed to her knees. She feels empty, painfully so, and she smells of seawater and vomit.

“Get up,” Clove barks and prods her with her booted foot. “We’re here.”

Madge looks up at her and feels instantly lightheaded, the whole room spinning. She closes her eyes and Clove makes a rough noise of disgust in her throat.

“You smell foul,” she reports, “and you look it too.”

Madge does not answer but she cannot help but think that however awful she looks, Clove cannot be much better. She blinks her eyes open slowly and the Clove standing before her is disheveled and unkempt, her hair tangled, her skin painfully white with heavy bags hanging below her eyes. There are dark water splotches on her gown and maybe something else, but Madge does not want to look too close. Clove tuts and prods her harder.

“Get up,” she repeats and Madge places her palms on the floor. She can feel the gentle bobbing of the ship as it sits in the harbor and her stomach starts to roil. How can there be anything left? I haven’t stopped being sick since we left and I can’t even remember the last thing I ate. She takes a deep breath and pushes herself up, her arms trembling. Her legs sway as she tries to stand and Clove recoils when Madge leans in her direction.

“Ew, stay away. I don’t need you being sick all over me.” She scampers off and Madge reaches out to the wall to steady herself. Her legs feel like jelly and nausea continues to roll through her, only the thought of solid land giving her any strength at all. She drags herself towards the door and tries not to inhale too deeply, the putrid stench of their sick room only making her feel worse. She shuffles more than walks but she is better off than some of Enobaria’s ladies who lie heaped in the corner and can’t seem to stand at all. One tries to crawl but the rest stay moaning with gray faces. Madge knows how they feel.

Clove has left the door open and Madge chases the scent of fresh air, sucking it deep into her lungs. She stumbles through the doorway and clutches the frame to keep herself standing, the salty wind washing over her like a blessing. The dampness of the day settles heavily over her but still, it is not the smell of puke and fear. The stairs are a struggle and Madge climbs them painfully, her body still weak and aching. Two squires scurry down past her, probably to drag out Enobaria’s ladies, and she almost wants to ask them if they’d mind carrying her the rest of the way.  She makes it out on deck and the harbor is a mess of activity, their boats lined up with men hurriedly offloading horses, arms, supplies and people. Gulls circle above them and Madge casts her eyes over their collection of ships, her stomach dropping when she realizes not all their ships are accounted for. She tries desperately not to let fear flood in but weak and unsteady as she is, she cannot keep it at bay. What of Mother and Annie? Are they alright?

She spots Enobaria on the docks, still looking poised and unaffected, and Madge hurries to join her. Panic gives strength to her legs and she pulls herself along the ship’s rail, past sailors and soldiers and squires. She trips down the gangplank and rushes over the dock, her boots slipping over the wet wood. Enobaria is surveying the ships and Cato stands with her, Clove clinging to his arm. He too looks worse for the wear, his hair blown in every direction, his face pinched and pale, and his clothes wet all over. He scowls at Madge as she approaches.

“You look terrible,” he says and Madge doesn’t bother to acknowledge that.

“Not all our ships are here,” she says in a slightly too high voice and Enobaria merely shrugs.

“We’re only missing a few and they might well have made landfall somewhere else. There’s no need to panic.” It is not a suggestion but a command and Madge bites her lip, swallowing the rest of her questions. She will find no sympathy or answers here.

“Come,” Enobaria continues, “we’ll be staying in Cerne Abbey.”

Madge nods even as her heart quakes and makes to follow Enobaria as she goes. Before she can, Cato reaches out and tugs her hair.

“Aren’t you supposed to be wearing a hennin? You are my wife after all,” he says and Madge doesn’t know what game he’s playing, but she doesn’t care either.

“It must have fallen off,” she says tiredly and he snorts.

“Or maybe you’re hoping Gale Hawthorne will come swoop you away and you don’t want him to know you’re someone else’s wife.”

Madge closes her eyes and tries to ignore the throb in her temple. She turns to Cato and clutches her stomach.

“Oh no, I think I’m going to be sick again.”

Cato drops her tangle of hair as if burned and backs away quickly. Madge smiles tightly and leaves before he can do something else, the thought of Gale intruding as it hadn’t the entire voyage here. She’d been too sick and terrified to think of him but now he fills her up, her heart trembling for him as well as Annie and her mother. Has there been a battle? Will there be one soon? How are you my love?

Madge closes her eyes and maybe she hadn’t been lying to Cato.

She really might be sick after all.

*

It is Brutus, Duke of Somerset that brings them news.

It is the morning after their arrival and Madge has not bathed yet, though she has managed to sleep, if fitfully. Her dreams are a mess of drowning and battles, blood and sea water, and Madge jolts awake in a tangle of sweaty sheets. She breathes heavily and feels far from rested, her eyes throbbing in her head. She digs fingers into her temples and cringes as a heavy knock sounds from her door.

“The Queen requests your company,” a grave voice calls from the other side of the wood and Madge barely swallows a sigh. She’d much rather stay abed and maybe scrub herself clean, but she knows Enobaria will accept no excuses. If she has ordered Madge to appear, she has no choice but to comply. She is miserable and tired, but she pushes of her blankets and climbs slowly from bed, her legs still not quite steady. The door opens and a sickly faced lady of Enobaria’s shuffles in to help her dress. Madge offers her a sympathetic grimace and digs through her things for a refreshingly unsoiled dress. The lady laces her into it and brushes out her hair, tucking it all beneath a short hennin. Madge glances at herself in the mirror and winces at the wan face looking back, but she knows there is nothing to be done. Their journey has taken far too great a toll for any cosmetics to fix.

“Thank you,” Madge tells her helper, but the lady barely seems to hear her. Glassy eyed and colourless, she curtsies stiffly and stumbles from the room. Madge can understand her suffering. Madge follows her out and a stern face monk waits to lead her to Enobaria. They walk the thankfully short distance to the room Enobaria has appropriated as a dining hall and the scent of warm food assaults Madge as soon as she steps through the door. Her stomach gurgles unhappily and she tries hard not to breathe through her nose. Enobaria sits at the head of the little table, looking far more vibrant than she has any right to after their horrid crossing and Cato stabs angrily at his food without actually putting any in his mouth and glares at his mother over his wine glass. Madge can only guess he is in such a huff because Enobaria has not allowed Clove to join them.

“Ah, Madge, sit,” Enobaria says and Madge offers a wobbly curtsy and tepid smile. She drops heavily into a chair across from Cato and frowns at the spread of food before her. She is too queasy for wine and accepts only water instead, her empty stomach not quite keen to be filled just yet with food. She picks at a piece of bread and Cato sighs broodingly, the scratching sound of his knife dragging over his plate grating to hear. Enobaria ignores them both and eats heartily, merrily munching on cheese and beef. Madge envies her heartiness.

And that’s when the Duke arrives.

He bursts in unannounced and Madge drops her knife with a clatter while Cato chokes over a too big mouthful of wine. He coughs and sputters and Enobaria’s eyes widen, her first sign of emotion all day. The Duke bows curtly.

“Your Majesty, my Prince, I bring grave news.”

“Why weren’t you defending London?” Cato interrupts and Enobaria shoots him a frustrated look.

“We can talk about that later. What news do you have?”

Cato crosses his arms and settles back into his chair to sulk while the Duke presses his mouth into a grim line.

“A battle was fought yesterday at Barnet. It was a rout,” he pronounces with a growl and Madge feels her stomach plummet.

“How?” Enobaria demands and Cato’s nostrils flare even while he continues to pout.

“We heavily outnumbered them and indeed, we were winning at first. The Earl of Oxford was in charge of the right wing and quickly overwhelmed and routed the Yorkist left. Unfortunately his men took this to mean they were finished and fled to the nearby town to ransack it. This allowed for the Yorkist right under that whelp the Earl of Salisbury to inflict similar damage on our left. To make matters worse there was an unnatural fog on the battlefield and because of this, when Oxford finally rallied his men and returned to the battle, they stumbled upon our center and both groups thought the other the enemy. Our men turned on each other and it allowed the Yorkists to focus solely on crushing us. Our forces scattered and collapsed.”

Madge covers her mouth with her hand and Enobaria pinches the bridge of her nose.

“This is a disaster,” she says through gritted teeth.

“It gets worse,” the Duke promises and Enobaria stares at him in incredulity.

“How could it be worse?”

“We should have had the element of surprise, but we were betrayed. That mangy cur the Earl of Northumberland turned traitor and joined up with the Yorkists, bringing his considerable force of men with him. I’m sure he told them every one of our plans.”

Madge feels her mouth pop open and Cato swears loudly. Marvel’s gone back to the Yorkists? Why would they-Of course. They need him, need the huge amount of men that fight under his banner and all the information he must have as well. I wonder how long he’s been planning this. I knew he was planning something, I knew it! That faithless, arrogant, piece of-of-urgh!

“And what of his father? Has the Duke of Clarence gone crawling back to his Yorkist masters as well?” Enobaria spits and Duke Brutus shakes his head.

“No, Haymitch Abernathy fought with us until death.”

Madge feels the floor tilt beneath her feet. Haymitch…dead? Oh no. It is strange, for she and Haymitch were never close and yet still; the thought of him dead leaves her cold with tears stinging her eyes. She remembers watching him sail away so long ago and oh Haymitch, I’m so sorry it came to this. I wish…I wish things had turned out differently. Madge clenches her hands in her lap and Enobaria shrugs.

“Oh well, how tragic. Speaking of, have you heard anything of his wife? My dear niece was on one of the boats that we seem to have misplaced.”

“Yes, I hear she’s taken sanctuary at Beaulieu Abbey. I suppose she’s heard of her husband’s fate.”

Madge nearly collapses under the force of her relief. Her mother is alive and Annie must be too. They’re safe; oh thank God they’re safe.

“Were you at the battle?” Cato demands and the Duke only just seems to resist snarling.

“No, I was on my way here when I got word of what happened. I wanted to welcome you back.”

“We should return to France,” Enobaria says before Cato can continue his belligerence and Madge feels her heart seize at the thought of another Channel crossing. Cato leaps to his feet and slams his hands down on the table, his wine glass toppling over.

“We can’t, Mother! We cannot abandon the fight after coming all this way, we must keep trying!”

“He is right, your Majesty. The Earl of Devon and I are already gathering a force here in the West Country, Thomas of Fauconberg has a fleet ready to descend on Kent and the Earls of Pembroke and Richmond are mustering men in Wales. We have not yet lost,” Duke Brutus rumbles and Madge remembers suddenly that awful Christmas and the savage glint in Brutus’ eyes as he’d taken that poor serving boy off for punishment.

He is just as wicked as Coriolanus. I pray you do not face him Gale.

“It will be a risk,” Enobaria starts and Cato leans forward.

“Yes, but we must take it. We have come too far to give up now. If we wish to rule England again, we must gamble for victory.”

Cato’s words hang in the air for a moment and Madge is not sure any of them breathe. Finally, Enobaria nods.

“Alright, we will make for Wales and Boggs. Let us end this once and for all.”

*

(“I can’t believe it,” Rory says quietly, his eyes fastened on Haymitch’s dead body. Gale squeezes his brother’s shoulder.

“He made his choice,” Marvel says, his voice far too steady for a man who’d just lost his father. Gale glares at him.

“I know,” Rory says, “and I’m not sorry he’s dead. He deserved it. I just…I can’t believe it.”

Gale turns back to his brother with concern. As much as Haymitch has done to them, Gale cannot help the sorrow in his heart as he looks down at the man he’d loved like a second father. It never should have come to this. Rory on the other hand shows no sign of misery or grief, only stunned disbelief.

“We will have to display his body,” Katniss says in a voice that shakes. “To ensure no one tries to claim he survived.”

Gale nods and Marvel lets out a sigh.

“I appealed to him to surrender you know, but he wouldn’t even answer me. Pity.”

“No, it’s not,” Rory says in a hard voice. “He betrayed us, his family. He deserved to die.”)

(Rory is only fifteen, but it is clear to Gale in this moment that his brother is no longer a child)

(Gale wishes more than anything that he still could be)

*

The Lancastrian plan is simple. They must cross the River Severn into Wales and join up with Boggs and Finnick. It is a simple plan, but not an easy one.

The nearest crossing is at Gloucester, which is nearly one hundred miles away. The Yorkists will not be left in the dark for long as to their arrival or their movements, which means they will be desperate to intercept them and force a battle before the Lancastrians can meet up with their allies. It is a race, one Madge is terrified they will not win. Enobaria orders several feints to make it look like they are heading in various different directions and Madge prays it will keep the Yorkists distracted for long enough, but she doubts it. Katniss has proven herself a brilliant military leader, she will surely see through their ploys sooner rather than later. Haste is their best defense. But will it be enough?

Madge has never ridden with an army before, never been so involved in the wars that have plagued England for so long. It is a different, sharper sort of terror to see the faces of the men who will soon go to battle, to know that any moment might reveal a Yorkist ambush. How often had she complained about waiting in a distant castle? She wishes she were there now, rather than here in the midst of the bloodshed to come.

“Ride beside me,” Enobaria says, “and ride proud. You are a symbol of our dynasty; let the men see your courage.”

Never has her role as Princess of Wales felt quite so real and important and Madge knows she cannot afford to show any hint of her fear, worry or exhaustion. No matter how long the marches, and they are always punishing, she must sit straight and tall. She wears her costliest traveling gown and cloak, the best pair of gloves she owns and a hennin with lovely veils that blow in the damp spring breeze. She must be a princess in every way and she will be. Cato too rises to the occasion, looking splendid in silver armor atop his steed. He rides up and down their lines talking encouragement to the men, his tone confident and jovial. Madge can see the men bloom in his presence, drawing strength and determination from his abundant supply. For the first time in her life, she actually admires him.

April is a wet, drizzly mess, the ground muddy and uneven. The air is perpetually chilly and Madge’s fingers grow stiff on the reins, her back aches and she cannot imagine how the soldiers do it, marching so endlessly when she is so tired from riding alone. Still, she cannot let it show. She must be as poised and dignified as Enobaria. The Ice Queen they might call her, the She-Wolf, but no one doubts her strength or her bravery. Madge must be just as reassuring.

Courage, courage for England

Now is the time to be brave

*

(They hear word of Enobaria’s landing two days after she arrives and suddenly Katniss and Gale are in a mad scramble to gather troops and set out in pursuit. They are in London when word comes and unfortunately, not realizing Enobaria was on her way, Katniss had given the men leave after their victory at Barnet. Calls to arms go out in every direction and thankfully, they are answered. Within a few days they have managed to muster a substantial force at Windsor and Gale looks out at the troops with grim satisfaction. It will be a bloody fight, but they have a chance. That’s all they need.

Of course, whatever else they are, the Lancastrians are clever. They send out several feints, each one making it more difficult to determine just what Enobaria’s plan really is. They do not have time to debate the issue, they must make a decision quickly or the Lancastrians may gain far too big an advantage.

To that end, Katniss gathers her most trusted men in Windsor’s council chamber to make a decision and they stretch out a map on the wooden table, every scout’s report they have piled up beside it. Gale and Katniss have both poured through every single one, but Enobaria has not made this easy. If Gale didn’t hate her so much, he might even admire her.

“Most of our scouts say they’re coming for London and that would be a brilliant coup,” he says to their small circle of commanders. Katniss bites her lip, a small furrow appearing between her eyebrows. Gale frowns as he notices it, but carries on. “It would certainly inflame their morale if they could free Coriolanus and eject us from the capital.”

“It would, but I doubt that’s their plan,” Marvel drawls from his spot draped over a chair at the end of the table. “Boggs and Finnick Odair are in Wales gathering troops. They were sent there when Haymitch heard you’d arrived. My guess is Enobaria will try and join up with them. I don’t want to be crude, but we’ll be pretty fucked if she makes it there. Wales has never liked York and it doesn’t help that the Odairs are of Welsh blood.”

Gale tries not to scowl, for he knows they owe Marvel much, but he cannot help the hot rage in him every time he looks in Marvel’s direction. They must be a united front, Gale knows that, but he cannot so easily forget or forgive Marvel’s betrayal. No matter how often he claims he was only being a dutiful son, Gale would bet his life Marvel had been a wiling participant in Haymitch’s treachery. He knows Marvel, has known him all his life, and Marvel has always been selfish and dangerously ambitious. If Marvel has returned to them, it must be about thwarted ambition and not familial bonds, for he has proven he is only loyal to himself. Gale feels fire licking his skin every time he is forced to even think of Marvel, but he knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth, no matter how galling.

(that does not mean he has to be happy about it though)

“Are you sure?” Katniss asks and Marvel rolls his eyes.

“As sure as I can be. We should try and intercept them on their way to Wales. Making for London is a trick, and if not, well, my apologies.”

His attitude is infuriating, his arrogant smirk more so but Katniss only nods.

“Okay. It makes more sense for them to head to Wales, because even if they take London they’ll still have to face us. Getting reinforcements and then trying to eliminate us is their best course of action. Get everyone ready, we leave as soon as possible.”

And so they do.

The weather starts to grow hotter as April winds down but even so they cannot afford to slow down. The nearest crossing is Gloucester and they must reach it first, they must.

This war ends now)

*

From rain and wind comes horrid heat, the oppressiveness of it weighing on Madge like pounds of lead. Still, they must keep their pace and she tries hard not to let herself wilt. She loses the gloves and her cloak and prays to God for swiftness. They must reach Gloucester before the Yorkists, they must.

They move swiftly, arriving at Bath on April 30th and soon they are on to Bristol to gather more arms, men and money.

And that’s when the Yorkists find them.

*

(“Bristol! The Lancastrians have made a stop at Bristol!” a scout bellows as he charges into their midst and Gale feels his blood roar. He immediately catches Katniss’ eye and they both know what they have to do. They’ve just reached Cirencester, but there is no time to rest. They must ride south and meet the Lancastrians. It is time to finish this.

“Where are they headed?” Gale demands and the scout forces the words out between his panting breaths.

“Little Sodbury, by the looks of it,” he gasps and Katniss nods.

“There is a hill there that would be of excellent strategic value,” she says and she does not need to give him the command.

They make for Sodbury Hill and battle)

*

“The Yorkists are coming, the Yorkists are coming!” a shrill voice screams into the early, early hours of May 1st and Madge feels herself awaken with a start. Her heart hammers in her chest and for a moment she is sure she must have misheard. Maybe that voice was only in my dreams? It is before dawn, the sky hazy with fading darkness and the voice comes again, so very real and terrifying.

“The Yorkists are coming from Cirencester, they know where we are!”

Madge feels a fear so profound she cannot breathe, cannot think and Cato leaps out of the bed next to hers with a howl of rage.

“How can they have gotten here so fast?” he roars to no one and Brutus comes barreling into the room, half dressed and swearing. Enobaria comes running after him and hurls everything off the table in the corner, Madge flinching with every crash and thud as each object hits the floor. Avoiding battle is our best course of action, but how? Can we possibly escape them in time? Enobaria smoothes out a map on the now empty table and she and Brutus lean over it, their voices harsh with worry and frustration.

“How did they get here so fast?” Cato bellows again and Clove clambers out of their bed to attach herself to his side. Madge feels her stomach start to curl around itself and presses both her hands to it, a clammy feeling starting to spread over her skin. What are we going to do?

“I want everybody up, NOW!” Enobaria barks suddenly at them. “We make for Little Sodbury.”

Madge is up without really thinking about it and she dresses mechanically, her thoughts racing far beyond their room. Little Sodbury? What’s there? Is that where this war will be decided? Clove and Cato cling to each other as they run to their horses and Madge hurries after them, her heart pounding so loud she can barely hear a thing in the hectic chaos of their departure.

Are you chasing us Gale? What will you do when you find us?

*

(Night begins to fall, the sky darkening into deep blue with a faint sliver of moon and Gale weaves his horse through the various clumps of men until he reaches Katniss. They are only a handful of miles from Sodbury Hill and Gale feels his blood prickle as it always does when battle is near.

“Ah Cousin, you have the scouts’ report?” Marvel calls as Gale grows close to Katniss and her small knot of trusted men. Gale cannot help the bubbling anger in his stomach that Marvel is among them.

“I do,” he says tightly and Marvel smiles smugly, his eyes bright.  Ever since he had returned to their side, he has been giving Gale the same infuriatingly knowing look, as if there is some juicy bit of information he cannot wait to share. Gale hopes he never does.

“What news?” Katniss asks and Gale is glad to look away from Marvel.

“We’re very close to the hill. Our scouts actually reached it and they were forced to fight. They suffered many casualties, but we can confirm that the Lancastrians are there, all of them,” he reports and Katniss nods thoughtfully.

“We’ll camp here then. The Lancastrians are obviously about to offer us battle, we should let the men rest as much as they can. It has been a hard march from Windsor,” she says and Gale breathes deeply. Soon, this will all be over soon.

Are you over there Madge? Don’t be afraid, I’m coming to save you)

*

Madge had thought she’d known terror, but she was wrong. On the night of May 1st she learns the true meaning of fear.

“The Yorkists have stopped,” a scout tells Enobaria as they camp on Sodbury Hill and Madge has to bite her tongue to keep from sobbing. This is it. Oh God, please keep us safe, please give us victory.

“Excellent. Now we leave,” Enobaria says and Madge looks up at her in shock. It is late evening, the sky dark and the stars peeking out, and the Yorkists are so close, how can they possibly leave?

“Where are we going? Aren’t we fighting?” Cato demands and Enobaria shoots him a sharp look.

“We go north to Berkeley Castle. We will be safe to regroup there and we’ll have a head start of fifteen miles over the Yorkists,” she explains with strained patience and Cato slumps with a grumble. Madge wants to hit him. Why is he so desperate to fight? Does he not understand the importance of meeting up with Finnick and Boggs?

“North?” Clove asks with narrowed eyes. “The Yorkists are north.”

“It is dark,” Enobaria says with a deadly smile, “we will pass right by them.”

“How close?” Cato asks and Madge holds her breath. Enobaria doesn’t answer and Madge closes her eyes in horror.

God have mercy on us

In the end, they pass within three miles of the Yorkists. Madge is so terrified she can’t even think the words to pray. She is surprised she can even manage to ride, her heart barely beating and her breaths slow and shallow. Tears dribble down her cheeks and she shakes all over, her very bones quaking as they move swiftly through the dark night. They make as little noise as possible, go as quickly as they can and still, the only thought Madge can conjure is that of the Yorkists descending upon them. Carnage fills her vision and she bites down to hold in a whimper, the coppery taste of her own blood pooling in her mouth. She cannot hope to keep track of time or distance, but when the sun starts to rise she feels it’s heat like a hammer.

Does this mean…are we safe?

“Look there, do you see it?” Enobaria says smugly and Madge follows her gaze. “Berkeley Castle. And soon, Gloucester.”

*

(“I’m an idiot,” Katniss snarls as they race to follow the Lancastrians, “I let them slip right by us. They never meant to fight. Dammit!”

“At least we know where they’re going, we might still catch them,” Gale offers even as his heart sinks. As much as he wants to be hopeful, he cannot help but think this mistake will cost them everything.

“I doubt it,” Katniss says but she does not sound as defeated as Gale feels. “But they can’t cross if they can’t get through Gloucester’s city walls.”

“You’re going to order the governor to bar the gates? Do you think he’ll listen?” Gale asks and Katniss nods, the steel in her eyes crushing his despair before it can take root.

“He will. I’ll offer him more rewards then he could ever dream of and it’s not as if he’ll have to withstand a siege. We are far too close for Enobaria to take the time to try and break in. She will have to keep going and we will catch her then. This isn’t over. Enobaria has much to answer for and I will not let her slip away again,” Katniss vows.

Gale remembers the sight of their fathers’ heads on the gate of York, remembers the terrified mayor naming Enobaria as the culprit and feels his rage burn black within him.

She will pay for that, for everything)

*

They reach Gloucester the morning of May 3rd and Madge wants to sob with relief. They’ve made it and all that’s left to do is pass through the town to the bridge and cross into Wales. Thank God.

“Open the gates in the name of Queen Enobaria and Cato, Prince of Wales!” someone commands and the army waits eagerly, each one suddenly invigorated at the nearness of their destination. They’ve done it.

Except Gloucester does not open its gates.

“What’s going on? Why won’t they open?” Cato demands and Enobaria’s calm veneer finally cracks.

“That Yorkist bitch!” she shrieks and Madge flinches in her saddle.

“If they won’t let us in we must storm the city!” Cato bellows and Enobaria turns to him with a look of frenzied fury on her face. Her nostrils flare, her teeth are bared and her eyes are wild and wide, the sight stopping Cato’s tirade in its tracks.

“We have no time! They are too close; we must make for the next bridge. Where is it?” she shouts and Brutus swears loudly.

“Upton-upon-Severn, nearly twenty miles away,” he growls and Enobaria lets loose a long string of filthy curses. Madge feels herself blush even as despair settles like a rock in her stomach. We’ll never make it in time, oh God.

“Get going!” Enobaria screeches and suddenly they are riding again.

(except this time will be the last time)

*

The end comes at Tewkesbury

They reach the town that evening, still seven miles from the bridge at Upton-upon-Severn. The men are exhausted and Madge on her horse feels lightheaded with weariness. Her back and neck ache, her legs throb and there is an awful pain in her buttocks from sitting for so long and riding so hard. Her hennin feels impossibly uncomfortable and Madge is so scared she can barely feel it, her mind so wrung out she is almost numb. Looking at the sweaty, wilted Lancastrians arrayed around her, she knows she isn’t the only one. The Duke of Somerset rides up to Enobaria’s side and leans in close, whispering urgently into her ear. Enobaria’s mouth tightens but she nods and Madge knows that must mean they’re going to stop for the night.  The Duke rides off, probably to relay the order and Madge knows she should be terrified, but she can barely feel anything at all.

“Come along, we’ll stay at Gobes Hall,” Enobaria says with a jerk of her head and the royal party follows her. Madge allows herself to imagine a splendid country manor house, a luxurious bed and a steaming hot bath through the fog in her brain, but Gobes Hall turns out to be a farmhouse. Clove wrinkles her nose.

“We can’t possibly be staying here,” she says in disgust and Madge feels her fantasies wither away.

“If you do not like these accommodations, I am sure the men would love to take you in,” Enobaria offers poisonously and Clove turns red. Cato glares at his mother but the queen doesn’t favour any of them with a glance.  She waits for a squire to help her down from her horse and then marches into the farmhouse with enough verve and poise to suggest they hadn’t been riding for their lives at a nightmarish pace for days. The rest of them can’t quite match her. Cato dismounts with stiff legs and a surly face, his stance somewhat bow legged. There are purple half-moons under his eyes and he shakes his legs, but they do not become any less rigid. He stomps over to Clove and helps her down, her face transforming into a scowl as she steps gingerly onto steady ground. She wiggles as if trying to loosen herself up, but as with Cato, it does little good. She winces as Cato leads her into the hall, their bodies leaning together as if to hold each other up against their exhaustion. Madge is so sore and tired she doesn’t care that her husband has abandoned her and she wilts with pain and sleepiness when the squire helps her down. Her legs feel like pudding as she walks over the uneven terrain, the squire’s hand on her elbow the only thing keeping her upright.

“You’d think we were some peasant rabble, staying here,” Clove’s harsh voice says as Madge enters the farmhouse. It is certainly no palace, but Madge doesn’t care, so long as it has a bed. Servants haul in their belongings and Madge wonders if there’s any sort of tub here, she could use a long, hot soak.

“Again, feel free to pitch a tent with the men,” Enobaria says coldly as she surveys their current abode. She does not look particularly impressed, but then, she rarely does. Clove scrunches up her face in anger but remarkably doesn’t say anything in retort. I suppose being queen does have its advantages…

“You must be exhausted,” Enobaria says as she glances at Madge and then snaps her fingers at one of the squires passing by. “Find the Princess some proper accommodations,” she barks and the poor boy nearly drops the heavy coffer he’d been carrying in. He nods and hurries off and Enobaria turns her gaze to Cato.

“We’ll be having a council meeting in the dining room. Divest yourself of any encumbrances,” she says with a sharp look at Clove, “and join me there.” She leaves without needing a response and Cato’s neck turns red. Clove grips his arm tightly and hisses something rude under her breath. Madge watches Enobaria’s back and even though all she wants to do is sleep in a proper bed, she cannot fight the urge inside her to listen in on the council meeting.

“Your Highness? Your room is ready,” the squire from before says nervously and Madge forces a smile.

“Thank you,” she says and he bows before gesturing at her to follow him. She does and he leads her to a small, square room with little in it except a bed, a coffer and a small table. It is shabbier than any room she’s been in before, but Madge doesn’t care. She sinks onto the bed and though it is a straw mattress covered over in a scratchy wool blanket, it feels heavenly. I should just stay here and rest, she tells herself, I shouldn’t do anything but stay here and sleep. She knows this but once enough time has passed to allow the various Lancastrian leaders to gather, Madge finds herself creeping down the stairs to find a good hiding spot to eavesdrop outside the dining room. Knowledge is power and Madge is determined to have as much as possible.

Apparently she isn’t the only one.

The door to the dining room has been left ajar and huddled up beside it and peering inside is Clove. She has her back to Madge and there is a moment when Madge thinks about leaving and avoiding the inevitable confrontation. She is still exhausted, she still aches and if it’s important, she’ll find out tomorrow.  She doesn’t need to do this. She does it anyway. Madge walks over to Clove with her head held high and squeezes in beside her, making sure to bump her hip with hers. Clove snaps her head around in outrage and opens her mouth to say something furious but Madge presses a finger to her lips. She jerks her head at the open door and Clove’s right eye twitches, her gaze hot enough to set Madge on fire. With a violent shake Clove finally submits, her desire to hear what’s being said outweighing her need to yell at Madge. She clamps her mouth shut and turns back to look through the doorway, Madge barely suppressing her triumphant, if weary, smile. She looks inside as well and the most important of the Lancastrians leaders are seated at the table while the rest stand around the room. Madge finds Enobaria immediately at the center of the table with Brutus of Somerset and Cato flanking her.

“I’ve had multiple scouts confirm it; the Yorkists are making camp only three miles behind us. We will have to fight them tomorrow,” Brutus says and Enobaria narrows her eyes.

“This isn’t what we wanted,” she says and Brutus nods.

“I know, but they are too close. If we try and run, they will fall upon our rear. We must fight.”

“I understand that,” Enobaria snaps before forcing herself to calm. “Send a messenger into Wales to find Boggs. Tell him to make as much haste as possible.”

“He’ll never make it in time,” Brutus says at the same time Cato shouts “We won’t need him!”

Enobaria closes her eyes for a moment and inhales. When she opens them again her face is flat but her eyes are bright with aggravation.

“It will do no harm,” she says in a tightly controlled voice and Brutus bobs his head in bow.

“Of course not Your Majesty, I’ll arrange it.”

“See that you do. As for the battle, I should like you to command the right, Lord Wenlock the center and the Earl of Devon the left. I’ll leave the rest of the planning to the three of you.”

“I want to fight too,” Cato butts in, his face awash with eagerness. Enobaria levels him with a cold look.

“I do not think it very wise to risk the only heir to the throne,” she says and Cato bristles at her dismissal.

“I am eighteen now Mother, you cannot treat me like a child!” he bursts out and the room seems to quiet oppressively, every eye fastening uncomfortably on mother and son. Enobaria’s nostrils flare and Madge is surprised fire does not come shooting out. The Queen opens her mouth but Brutus swoops in before she can speak.

“You are right, Majesty, it is a great risk. But he is a man now and our future king. He needs the experience and it will do the men good to see what they are fighting for,” he says smoothly and Enobaria purses her lips.

“Fine,” she says, “you may go Cato and serve under Lord Wenlock in the center.”

The smile that had started to form on Cato’s mouth falls abruptly.

“I should command it! I am the Prince of Wales and the future King of England! I do not serve!” he shouts and though many in the room flinch, Enobaria looks entirely unimpressed.

“Funny, your motto says otherwise,” she says dryly and Cato turns red. “You are a boy with no experience on the field of battle; you will serve under Lord Wenlock or stay with me.”

Her voice is hard and brokers no argument. Cato shakes but does not protest. “You’ll see Mother; I’ll prove to you what I can do,” he says and Clove nods along in solidarity.

“See that you do,” Enobaria says and then turns back to Brutus. Madge feels her heart beat race. The fear that had faded with her exhaustion comes back with violence, her knees nearly buckling. Tomorrow, the battle will be fought tomorrow.

Oh Gale

*

(“I wish I was going with you,” Clove says as she lies in Cato’s arms that night and he nods.

“So do I, there’s no one I trust more to watch my back.”

Clove beams at that and remembers when they were young and all the boys laughed and teased when she’d said she wanted to play swords with them. All the boys except Cato, who’d handed her his wooden sword and never once seemed ashamed if he lost to her, he’d only grin and demand a rematch. Clove was never meant to be a perfect lady, she was meant to slay dragons. Only Cato had ever understood that.

She kisses him and lets her body sink into his, his hands warm as they slide over her back and buttocks. He grins against her mouth and there is no fear in Clove that this will be their last night together, she knows Cato will come back to her victorious. If the Lancastrians have lost up to now, it is only because they’ve trusted incompetents and idiots like Haymitch Abernathy and Finnick Odair. Cato will destroy Katniss of York and her traitor’s army; Clove does not doubt that for a moment. She is only envious she will not see it happen.

“I want full details on everything that happens tomorrow,” Clove insists and Cato laughs.

“Of course. In fact, pick a traitor, any traitor, and I shall bring you their head.”

Clove thinks for only a moment and smiles widely. “Bring me Gale Hawthorne’s head; I’ll share it with Madge.”)

*

(Annie stares out the abbey’s window at night and prays for Lancaster, for her father, for Finnick and Madge above all. There are stars glittering in the chilly night sky and the nightmare of Barnet lingers in the air, the bitterness of its taste one she is far too used to. She doesn’t know where the next battle will be or when, but she wishes on each and every twinkling star that Lancaster will win. She is so tired of defeat and exile and running and fear. For once, Annie just wants to feel safe.

In the distance she can hear the Compline hymns and closes her eyes, lets the monks’ steady voices fill her up. She must have faith that God will see them through this. Annie offers up one last prayer to God, the Virgin Mary, Saint Sebastian the protector of soldiers, and her namesake Saint Anne, and does not fight the tears that slide down her cheeks. They drip down her chin and she thinks of Finnick, pictures him clearly and sends him every last drop of courage she has.

I am with you Finnick, be brave my love

Annie stands and wipes at her face as she walks slowly back to the room the monks have given her, her feet dragging on the stone floor. The candles burn low in their braziers and the shadows cast along the walls make Beaulieu forbidding and dark, far from the great gothic majesty of its daylight hours. She knows they are safe here, but in the cold of nighttime breezes she does not feel very safe. She feels terrified like she has for so many years, ever since that first rebellion almost a decade ago. Even after the king’s readeption, she had not felt entirely secure; there had still been fear of a Yorkists reprisal. She cannot remember what it must have been like before, when England was at peace.

She steps into the chilly passage leading to the infirmary complex and hugs herself, not entirely sure if she is doing it for warmth or comfort. Even with Lady Margaret, the monks and lay brothers, Annie feels so alone here. Women rarely come here and the monks have little use for her, while poor Lady Margaret is so ill she spends most of the day sleeping, or at least trying to. Annie misses Madge and Finnick terribly, almost wishes she could take a horse and ride to their side. She is so far from everything happening and who knows when news might come, who knows when she’ll learn not only if they’ve won but if Finnick has survived? But she can’t leave. She would be of no help to Finnick and someone must look after Lady Margaret. The monks do their best, but she needs more than herbs and prayers. She needs company and comfort. And so Annie stays.

She reaches the infirmary and Lady Margaret is the only patient, her labored breathing the only sound in room. Annie picks up a taper and walks quietly to her bedside, her heart squeezing at how ghastly Lady Margaret looks. Death will come for her soon, there is no doubt of that, but oh, please let Madge see her again first. Annie sets down her taper on the small table by Lady Margaret’s bed and picks up a cloth, dips it into a bowl of water and wipes gently at the blood on Lady Margaret’s chin. She wheezes but does not wake and Annie sends up yet another prayer, this time for Lady Margaret’s failing health. Please give her strength; please do not call her away yet.

Annie wishes there was more she could do to help, not just Lady Margaret, but her father, Finnick and Madge as well, but she knows there isn’t. She is no doctor, no soldier, and so she prays.

Prays and prays and prays)

*

They are up earlier than the sun the next morning, the men hastening to take up position for the battle soon to start and the women preparing to ride away to the safety of a religious house some distance away.  It is a flurry of activity and preparations in Gobes Hall as Cato comes to say his goodbyes and Madge stops her packing to watch him kneel before his mother. Queen Enobaria places a hand on the top of his golden head, pride and fear flickering in her dark eyes. Her voice betrays neither emotion.

“Return to me a victor,” she commands and Cato bares his teeth in a grin.

“I will Mother, I promise you that,” he says in a voice thick with confidence and Enobaria nods. He rises and turns to Madge, his eyes flashing and his smile growing sharp.

“What do you say wife, shall I bring you Gale Hawthorne’s head?” he asks with savage delight and Clove turns to Madge with hungry eyes. They wait, hoping for a scene, but Madge will not give it to them. She dips her head, keeps her face neutral and says with polite docility, “If it pleases you to, my lord.”

For a moment Cato scowls at her refusal to play his favourite horrible game, but then he smiles again, the sight as vicious as it is frightening. He knows as well as Madge does that she might be able to keep her calm in the face of his threats, but if he does bring her Gale’s head, he will get the scene he wants. A sharp spike of hatred drives into her but she cannot let it show, even though all she wants is to slap the smug look off his face and call him every filthy word she can think of. You do not have a hope of besting Gale, you mangy rat. You are not even half the man he is.

Breathing steadily to stem the flow of curses she wishes she could hurl at him, she reaches into the pouch of her girdle and pulls out a handkerchief she’d made him. She curtsies and holds it out to him, not because she thinks he’ll want it, but because it is her duty as his wife.

“A token, my prince, to carry with you through the battle,” she offers and Clove titters nastily. Cato snorts.

“I want nothing from you,” he says with a rude guffaw and Enobaria frowns deeply. There is a reprimand on the tip of her tongue but Madge beats her to the punch.

“Truly? Then might I ask why you are wearing the purse I made you?” she asks with a pointed look at it hanging from his belt. Cato’s face loses its colour for a moment before burning crimson and Clove widens her eyes in outrage, purple fury rising to her cheeks. Enobaria beams with naked pleasure and Madge does not let it show, but there is a wicked part of her that would love to gloat.  Cato chews angrily on his words, clearly struggling with a suitable comeback or explanation, while Clove begins to shake, her eyes bouncing between Cato, Enobaria and Madge as if she cannot decide which of them to direct her rage at. For a moment Cato glares at Madge with so much fury she half expects him to leap over and strangle her, but Enobaria shoots him a quelling look.

“Take your leave of your wife and join your men,” she commands and Cato swallows, leveling her with a mutinous look. He stalks over and Madge offers him her hand with as sweet a smile as she can muster. He pinches her wrist and bites her skin instead of kissing it, her face rigid to avoid showing any pain.

“Rot in Hell, bitch,” he whispers to her hand and then he is gone, stomping out of the room with his hands curled into tight balls at his side. Madge watches him go with what she hopes is a suitably melancholy expression and Clove runs after him, the unabashed fury on her face making it clear she intends to tear him apart over the purse. Enobaria turns to Madge with a smile.

“Excellently done,” she purrs.

Madge turns back to her packing.

*

(Clove rushes after Cato with black anger in her chest.

How dare he! How dare he, that ass! Ass, ass, ass! How dare he!

She plans to scream, shout, but she never gets the chance. As soon as they are out of sight of Enobaria and Madge, Cato stops walking and turns abruptly, so abruptly Clove bumps right into him. She glowers up at him and opens her mouth to say something, but the words die on her tongue. His eyes are dark and serious, his face so grave she cannot remember just what it was she wanted to say.

“Cato…” she manages and he grabs her arms and pulls her as close as she can get, his mouth descending on hers in a kiss so passionate it makes her toes curl in her boots. He crushes her to his chest and without thought she melts into him, her mouth eagerly devouring his. There is an intensity in this kiss she has never felt before and she finds herself so hungry for more she chases his mouth as he pulls away.

“I love you and no other Clove, always,” he vows against her lips and then he is gone, long strides carrying him quickly away from her. She stands alone in the hall, out of breath from the ferocity of his kiss and for the first time since they’d sailed from France, she feels the very beginnings of fear.

Come back to me Cato, come back to me or I will never forgive you)

*

Madge rides beside Enobaria to their refuge and tries not to the think of the battlefield she is leaving behind.

Gale is there, closer now that he has been to her in over a year, but there might as well be an ocean between them. She cannot go to him, cannot see him and she clenches her hands around the reins, her heart pounding out his name.

Be safe Gale, please my love, survive this battle. You have to live, even if I never see you again, you have to live.

*

(Cato takes his position just behind Lord Wenlock and looks out at the armies arrayed before and around him. He cannot make her out from so far away, but he can see Katniss of York’s standard bearers, her white roses and cats fluttering in the early morning breeze. She is in command of the centre of her army and Cato feels a thrill race through his bones. They will face each other and he cannot wait to cut this usurper down to ribbons. And of course, he will have to find Gale Hawthorne as well, he did promise Clove his head. He wouldn’t mind a chance at turncoat Marvel either, for betrayal cannot be forgiven. He’ll take them all down and prove to all the world what they should have always known. He is the rightful king of England and no one else.

He will make them sorry for ever doubting it)

*

It is the Yorkists who make the first move.

Banners unfurled and waving, trumpets blowing and committing her cause and quarrel to Almighty God, the Virgin Mary, to glorious Saint George and all the saints, Katniss of York advances upon the enemy.

The Battle of Tewkesbury has begun.

*

Madge tries to embroider but her hands shake, each and every stitch crooked and done wrong. She unpicks them and tries again, but she cannot still her trembling. Enobaria paces down the hall, the clop clop of her boots reminding Madge of horses and thus, inevitably, of cavalry charges. The thought is a cold one and she shivers with fear, so so much riding on this one battle. She should pray but her mind is in disarray and she is not even sure she knows who or what she should pray for. Everything has become so muddled.

“I hate waiting,” Clove says sourly from the corner by the window she’s wedged herself into and Madge nods in agreement. Clove offers her a sneer.

“I should be out there, not cooped in here with you,” she spits and Madge doesn’t know how to answer that, so she merely nods again. Clove huffs dramatically. Madge closes her eyes and listens to the clop clop clop of Enobaria’s frantic boots and Clove’s angry sighs and suddenly a prayer comes to her.

Please let this be over soon, let this waiting be done

*

(The air is rent by screams and blood is heavy on the wind, Gale’s nose burning with it as he slashes his way through the mess of men and horses. There is gore stained across his armor as he catches someone’s axe with his shield and he can barely see through the sweat dripping down into his eyes. It is chaos, but then, battle always is. Rory follows tight at Gale’s heels and Gale allows his brother to guard him for a moment as he accesses the situation. As commander of Katniss’ vanguard he cannot afford any mistakes and he scans the field of unfolding carnage all around him. He finds Katniss in an instant, her standard bearers ranged around her and her sword catching the sunlight as it swings through the air. He grins, inspired as he is always is by her unstoppable advance, and returns to the fight with a vicious whack of his sword against the legs of an enemy knight, those legs crumpling and exposing the man’s neck for a finishing blow.

Rory pushes against Gale’s shoulder and there is a certain tinge of desperation in the air here. York had won at Barnet but that victory will mean nothing if they do not triumph here. Today must be the day Lancaster falls and the war ends. Gale tightens his grip on his sword, breathes in the scent of death and devastation and charges into the thickest of the fighting, his men surging after him.

They must win here. They will win here)

(I’m coming Madge, hold on just a little bit longer)

*

“A messenger!” Clove screeches and Madge leaps nearly out of her skin, her heart thumping in her throat. Clove throws herself almost out of the window and Enobaria comes running down the hall, her hennin barely hanging onto her head.

“Are you certain?” she asks, voice higher than normal and Clove nods, half her body dangling outside as if she hopes to reach down and tug the messenger up to them. Madge presses her hands to her stomach, fear and anticipation writhing within.  She is sick with terror and Enobaria begins to pace again, around and around in ever tighter circles.

Oh God, this is really it

Oh God oh God

Ages later the messenger finally reaches them, his hair matted and flattened with still wet blood that drips down onto his grimy face. His hands shake as he kneels before Enobaria, his surcoat stained and foul.

“Your M-majesty,” he greets in a small voice and Enobaria finally stops her pacing. She looks down at him with boiling eyes, her mouth pressed together so tight it does not seem as if she could ever open it. It is Clove who demands answers.

“So? What’s happened?” she asks, face feverish and the messenger looks up and Madge suddenly knows what he is going to say even before the words leave his lips.

“It’s over.”

end of part two

[torentialtribute]

Wes Morgan scores dramatic late winner as Leicester play for 87 minutes with 10 men

High winds and high drama.

Leicester, down to 10 men after Harry Maguire was dismissed after just four minutes were hanging on grimly for a point as the final whistle neared against a fired-up Burnley at a blustery, drenched Turf Moor.

Then – on a rare foray forward – Brendan Rodgers men snatched victory when old stager Wes Morgan, brought on following Maguire's red, nodded the brilliant Youri Tielemans cross in for the winner.

     Substitute Wes Morgan celebrates with Ben Chilwell after scoring a 90th minute winning goal as Leicester beat Burnley

     James Tarkowski in the air Morgan rose highest to bean; heading into the bottom corner and giving Tom Heaton no chance

     Dwight McNeil's 19-year-old winger low finish leveled the score on 38 minutes in the Premier League fixture

     James Maddison's curling free-kick put Leicester into a surprise lead on 33 minutes at a windswept Turf Moor

     Keeper Tom Heaton was unable to repair Maddison's effort as Burnley were unable to take advantage of Maguire's dismissal

MATCH FACTS, LIVE LEAGUE TABLE AND MATCH ZONE

BURNLEY (4-4-2) : Heaton 6; Bardsley 6, Tarkowski 6, Mee 6.5, Taylor 7; Berg Gudmundsson 7 (Brady 81), Westwood 6.5, Cork 6.5, McNeil 7 (Vydra 90); Wood 6 (Crouch 70, 6), Barnes 6

SUBS NOT USED: Lowton, Gibson, Hart, Vydra, Hendrick,

SCORERS: McNeil (38)

BOOKED: Bardsley

MANAGER: Sean Dyche 6

LEICESTER (4-1-4-1): Schmeichel 6; Ricardo 6.5, Evans 6.5, Maguire 3 (OFF 4), Chilwell 6.5; Ndidi 6; Gray 4 (Morgan 6, 7), Tielemans 7.5, Maddison 7 (Fuchs 63, 6), Barnes 6 (Mendy 76, 5); Vardy 6

SUBS NOT USED : Iheanacho, Ward, Okazaki, Ghezzal

SCORERS: Maddison (33)

BOOKED: Maddison

SENT OFF : Harry Maguire (4)

MANAGER: Brendan Rodgers 7

REFEREE : Michael Oliver 7

ATT ENDANCE : 20,719

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                   James Maddison's stunning free-kick cool 10-man Leicester the lead against Burnley. CLICK HERE to see more from Sportsmail's MATCH ZONE feature.

It may well have been their only effort of the half, but it was enough for a second win in three under the former Celtic manager.

The visitors had duties the lead when, despite the red, the impressive James Maddison curled in a free-kick but were pegged back by Dwight McNeil's leveler and looked to be well-satisfied with a point. They got three.

Conditions were dreadful. Earlier in the afternoon the nearby M66 was closed after a river burst its bank, flooding both career ways while Rochdale's town center was placed on flood alert.

Both teams acquired themselves well.

     Maddison was booked for removing his shirt in celebration; revealing a top which reads: "RIP Sophie, I love you"

     Leicester's Harry Maguire was dismissed after just three minutes and 11 seconds for a foul on Johann Berg Gudmundsson

     Maguire looked despondent as referee Michael Oliver raised the red card on the edge of the penalty area

     New Leicester was forced into an early change after Maguire's dismissal; replacing Demarai Gray with Wes Morgan

Leicester actually started well and should have gone in front when a sliding Jamie Vardy narrowly avoided connecting with a Demarai Gray low cross at the far post.

Then came Maguire's red which, after just three minutes and 11 seconds, represented the quickest Premier League dismissal for four years. It came after Jack Cork released Johann Berg Gudmundsson behind the England man and while he may argue there was no intent, there was contact. Referee Michael Oliver had little option other than to send him off.

It certainly seemed needless and out of character from Maguire. Perhaps he still had his mind at former club Sheffield United's win at Leeds, which had finished moments before this one kicked off, or perhaps he was still adjusting to the blustery conditions.

Regardless, Burnley were quick in their efforts to make their advantage pay. From the resulting free-kick Gudmundsson saw his deflected effort tipped against the bar by Leicester captain Kasper Schmeichel before Rodgers brought off Gray, who had touched the ball five times, and replaced him with defender Wes Morgan. At least he could go and get dry.

The Claret surge, however, did not emerge, despite the cajoling of an animated Sean Dyche. Leicester adapted well and looked the more dangerous. Their supporters, who traveled in numbers, took to teasing the home fans. "Have you ever seen Burnley win the league?" They asked. You would imagine that some of the freezing Lancastrian present may well have been here in 1960.

On 33 minutes the deadlock was broken thanks in part to another questionable act from an England defender. Burnley’s James Tarkowski hassled but was then turned by a lively Maddison on the edge of the area and reacted by bringing him down.

     Chris Wood headed narrowly wide on 11 minutes as Burnley looked to make their numerical advantage count

     Jack Cork goes for goal from the edge of the area in a game of few chances as Burnley struggled to break down Leicester

The playmaker, not selected by Gareth Southgate for the forthcoming Euro 2020 qualifiers then curled a delicious effort into Tom Heaton's top corner. Maddison lifted his shirt to reveal a touching tribute to Sophie Taylor, a five-year-old supporter or his former club Norwich City who tragically passed away after suffering from cancer in January.

With chants of 'we've only got 10 men 'barely belted out or a delighted away end, Burnley were level. Charlie Taylor found Dwight McNeil on the left of the Foxes area.

The winger, in the midst of a breakthrough season, drilled a fine, first-time drive into Schmeichel's far corner to create another highlight. McNeil signed a new contract earlier this year and was last week selected for England Under 20s. The future for the 19-year-old Dwight would appear to be bright.

At Half-time the Burnley DJ, seemingly with their tongue-in-cheek, went for Rihanna's Umbrella and Travis' Why Does it Always Rain on Me ?, with the heavens continuing to empty.

Following the break, the home side almost went in front when Jack Cork fired over from inside the area after being teed up by Ashley Barnes before Ashley Westwood hit a low effort into the side netting.

     Chris Wood missed a glaring opportunity to give Burnley the lead; poking Dwight McNeil's cross over the bar from close range

     Charlie Taylor goes down in the penalty area under the challenge of Wilfred Ndidi as Burnley push for a winner

Again, Leicester regrouped, forcing Dyche to turn to Peter Crouch. Almost immediately, the hosts screamed for a penalty when Taylor went down in the area under a challenge from Wilfred Ndidi. Replays suggested there was little, if any contact. Another shout was turned down when Crouch's header appeared to hit the arm of Ndidi, before McNeill volleyed a Cork cross over.

By this stage it was attack versus defense. McNeil stopped the ball from going out of play then made his way to the edge of the box before clipping a fine shot narrowly wide. Then came Morgan's moment, rising above Tarkowski to grab victory, and another airing for the "10 men" chant.

For Burnley this is four defeats in a row. Deserved or not, it is a trend which needs to change.

     Heaton runs out of his goal to attack a corner with defender Ben Mee as Burnley try to salvage a draw in stoppage time

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