The Yorkist Rose
Bloodshed.
Wakefield, Yorkshire, England.
1460.
Men had fallen, blood lined the ground pooling like water, a red river ran over the grass. Edmund, Earl of Rutland scanned quickly using his sword with speed and accuracy to help a futile cause. He searched for his father, The Duke of York he had heard had been injured his job was to find the man and bring him away so the cause was not one completely lost. If only Warwick's troops had reached them in time maybe the white roses would not now be washed in blood.
Damn him...
Edmund turned fast, slicing the head clean off, the red rose fell to the floor crushed under dead weight. He continued, walking fast looking up to see a horse, white and covered in blue coating by it stood a man around six foot in height. Edmund blinked as he slowly approached. “Edmund?”
“You know-”
“Where is father?”
“Edward?” Edmund blinked removing the armour from his head, he looked over his older brother as he followed the gesture, he had heard the rumour that his brother had died many years before, of course his father had assured him that Edward was safe and spending time with Warwick who was protecting the boy. “Can it be?”
“Keep your voice down.”
“Father never said you'd be fighting here-”
“For I was not, alas I was busy elsewhere, for this may not have been such a bloodbath with my presence. Is father-” He cut off as he saw a figure approach, the man behind Edmund paused.
“Edward, you have grown. You're a man.”
“With all the benefits of such father.” The men embraced briefly before Richard of York checked all necessary areas as best he could on a man almost a foot taller than he.
“Edward, go. They will send more people.” The Duke turned, in the distance men were visible, marching fast, “Go, we cant win like this. I need you alive. Get on your horse and go.” With reluctance Edward followed the order riding away to distant view where he watched as the commotion unfolded, the two men of his family separated from their army and held down. Edward watched as his father's head was removed by sword first. Edmund's pleas for life were loud enough to fill Edward's ears, and then his heart with fury as no good came of them as he watched his younger brother fall to the floor. The man responsible he was sure looked up, probably smiled, his attention was only drawn away by the sound of hooves on the stone, he pulled out his sword and turned the horse to see Warwick. “Edward.”
“My father-” He didn't need to say more before Warwick unmounted his horse and bowed deep.
“My Lord.” In response Edward simply manoeuvred the horse away.
“To York!” He shouted, Warwick followed such a lead a hundred shouting men mimicked.
1460.
Men had fallen, blood lined the ground pooling like water, a red river ran over the grass. Edmund, Earl of Rutland scanned quickly using his sword with speed and accuracy to help a futile cause. He searched for his father, The Duke of York he had heard had been injured his job was to find the man and bring him away so the cause was not one completely lost. If only Warwick's troops had reached them in time maybe the white roses would not now be washed in blood.
Damn him...
Edmund turned fast, slicing the head clean off, the red rose fell to the floor crushed under dead weight. He continued, walking fast looking up to see a horse, white and covered in blue coating by it stood a man around six foot in height. Edmund blinked as he slowly approached. “Edmund?”
“You know-”
“Where is father?”
“Edward?” Edmund blinked removing the armour from his head, he looked over his older brother as he followed the gesture, he had heard the rumour that his brother had died many years before, of course his father had assured him that Edward was safe and spending time with Warwick who was protecting the boy. “Can it be?”
“Keep your voice down.”
“Father never said you'd be fighting here-”
“For I was not, alas I was busy elsewhere, for this may not have been such a bloodbath with my presence. Is father-” He cut off as he saw a figure approach, the man behind Edmund paused.
“Edward, you have grown. You're a man.”
“With all the benefits of such father.” The men embraced briefly before Richard of York checked all necessary areas as best he could on a man almost a foot taller than he.
“Edward, go. They will send more people.” The Duke turned, in the distance men were visible, marching fast, “Go, we cant win like this. I need you alive. Get on your horse and go.” With reluctance Edward followed the order riding away to distant view where he watched as the commotion unfolded, the two men of his family separated from their army and held down. Edward watched as his father's head was removed by sword first. Edmund's pleas for life were loud enough to fill Edward's ears, and then his heart with fury as no good came of them as he watched his younger brother fall to the floor. The man responsible he was sure looked up, probably smiled, his attention was only drawn away by the sound of hooves on the stone, he pulled out his sword and turned the horse to see Warwick. “Edward.”
“My father-” He didn't need to say more before Warwick unmounted his horse and bowed deep.
“My Lord.” In response Edward simply manoeuvred the horse away.
“To York!” He shouted, Warwick followed such a lead a hundred shouting men mimicked.