Status: I dont know when I will finish this, I am just going back to university. But if you want something writing to it, please do not hesitate to tell me and I will get it done as soon as I can!
With Broken Promises Come Broken Hearts
Cont...
Chester Castle.
His hands rung wine from the torn up shirt which had once been his. He . Pressed against the seeping slash in his brother's shin, down the muscles which refused to relax. Johnny's leg shook painfully, the wound itself slowly blackening from the less than adequate conditions, the skin surrounding the ugly gash was yellowing. None had come to check on them, soon Thomas Neville had come to the reality that none did care enough to check on them. He was thankful then for the arrival of bread and wine each night to make the terrifying days more bearable.
His heart beat heavy with fear. The rags were sticky with crimson blood, he washed it once more pressing the cloth to his brother's leg, wincing as John kicked to life. His body reacting to instant pain. Thomas sighed, in the first three days he had been frightened each time fits of pain interrupted the fever and John was wracked as now he was, trying to scream without voice to release. Now he had learned, this was his brother's current wakefulness, this was his opportunity to keep Johnny alive. To keep himself alive, they needed each other. That was the reason responsibility now burned, Thomas had never been the one needed, not as he was needed now.
He broke bread, pressing the stale chunk to Johnny's mouth praying as he always did that he would take a bite. He did, coughing on crumbs till Tom poured wine into his forced open mouth, a gentle finger rubbed down the throat to make him swallow. Thomas had learned that from his cousin at just thirteen. But four years ago he and Edward, Earl of March and Edmund, Earl of Rutland and younger than Thomas and Edward by little more than a year, they had been alone out in the woods at Ludlow, before St Albans had separated them. Rutland's puppy, a pedigree spaniel had caught water in its throat, saved from drowning only by Edward's careful hands. The boys had spent curious hours discussing the matter, would it work on humans? They had at the time deemed it inconclusive. Edward, Edmund, the answer was yes.
He thought to his cousins now as he cushioned his favourite brothers head. How they were so lucky, to be so close in age. Edward had Edmund, George had Richard. Only ten years stood between the oldest and the youngest. Thirteen years between he and Warwick, twelve between he and Johnny and eleven between he and George. Was it a wonder they all did seem untouchable? An earl, a bishop and all peers of the realm. Thomas knew well his status, a knight, a warrior but forever a child to his brothers. His loyalty ignored by them as playful attachment, except by Johnny. In recent months John had earned his place as the favoured brother well, he had seen Thomas as more than a mere child but a man with opinions worthwhile hearing.
He couldn't help but wonder was this how Richard, his serious little cousin in the York rabble felt at just seven? He could hardly imagine it. York valued all his children, and the brothers loved each other right dear.
He looked to his own brother as he muttered, perhaps a prayer for Thomas was sure his brother was talking to Jesus. He had only to hope it was in life and not upon the brink of death he called to the Christ child. It was then, the first time in almost a week John's eyes opened. Thomas cursed their captors, why did it have to be this way, that John was to wake up to the smell of thickening damp and mould, subject to the sharp bite of icy air sheltered only by a blanket as comforting as a hair shirt. "Johnny?" Brown eyes looked to him, sparkling with tears but no confusion. "Oh Johnny." He could not help but risk his brothers displeasure and break protocol with a firm embrace.
Johnny cried out, whimpering as the wined rag dug in deeper. Footsteps from outside interrupted their peace, the first taste of outside company would arrive in seconds. The door opened allowing three people to enter. First came in the young boy, no older than Thomas. John Dawne he claimed to be his name in a voice filled with attitude as he pushed Thomas out of the way, clearing an obvious path. Thomas would have demanded respect, at least asked what it was he had supposedly done to deserve such treatment. Until it became obvious that was. "Doctor Morton, please come in." Margaret of Anjou held up a hand to silence Thomas before he spoke. "Sir John needs your medical assistance."
Morton looked at the leg and winced, pulling away the rags to more screams. He opened the bag his tutors had taught him to carry taking cloth from its heart, a knife, silk and needle followed by two jars. He opened one of the jars, podgy blood streaked fingers grabbing leeches for the wound. Thomas felt himself about to vomit as the creatures suckled on blood. The cloth was dipped in the second jar before rolled and forced in John's mouth to stop the screams. "Laudanum, it helps with the pain.." He looked to Thomas whose skin was white before taking up the knife cutting away the 'dead flesh' from John’s wound. Soon he was sewing up the flesh.
"Thomas, come here." Morton said, bringing the boy forward. "Hold his leg."
"Who are you?" Thomas asked as he gripped his brothers leg.
"Doctor John Morton, kings physician."
"He is here to help your brother. Then we shall move you both. Master Dawne seems to have offered wholly unsuitable accommodation for such valuable treasures." Margaret spoke looking to the boy with accusing eyes. He shuddered and apologized, smiling as John looked terrified from pain. "Dawne, grab Sir John's hand. He is not to die, he is worthless dead. He is worthless less than well."
"We will be ransomed?" Thomas did not know why he sounded surprised. What had he expected to happen? They had kept them alive for this long, they would not just kill them now, surely?
"Yes. Once your brother is well enough to be moved." Queen Margaret’s eyes moved to Morton, seeking his attention and his approval.
"This afternoon your grace, should all be well. He needs meat and fruit for recovery." The queen nodded.
"Perhaps Master Dawne would show Sir Thomas to their new lodgings. Now if Morton does not mind." The doctor nodded despite disagreeing, fearing disagreeing with his queen. Done turned to Thomas before walking to the door holding it open. "Go sir Thomas. I am sure you will be more comfortable."
They were half way to the new lodgings when Thomas dared to ask. "How can you hate me so much and treat me with such contempt when you are so much lower than me, when you are so young?"
"My father, Neville men killed my father in the battle."
"Men die in battle lad." Thomas cringed at the idea that already this experience had changed him so. He would not have thought to be the voice of wisdom, that had always been Johnny's job. How queer the world became when Johnny could not be there to be the one they all looked up to, the one upon whom they all depended.
"Conveniently, so few of yours."
"That's why you were on the losing side."
"And it has left me orphaned." He paused as he opened the door to the new lodgings. "At fifteen. Queen Margaret, the she wolf as you call her took me in. Would York do that? No? Consider are you really on the right side?" Thomas passed through the threshold and into the room. "Your brother will be with you soon."
He wasn't, it was two days before John entered, limping though in decent humour.Thomas asked no questions, he had no chance, Johnny's eyes closed the moment his head fell upon the pillow. Thomas said nothing as he pulled the coverlets over his brother, stroking the older man's hair away from an already course cheek.
His hands rung wine from the torn up shirt which had once been his. He . Pressed against the seeping slash in his brother's shin, down the muscles which refused to relax. Johnny's leg shook painfully, the wound itself slowly blackening from the less than adequate conditions, the skin surrounding the ugly gash was yellowing. None had come to check on them, soon Thomas Neville had come to the reality that none did care enough to check on them. He was thankful then for the arrival of bread and wine each night to make the terrifying days more bearable.
His heart beat heavy with fear. The rags were sticky with crimson blood, he washed it once more pressing the cloth to his brother's leg, wincing as John kicked to life. His body reacting to instant pain. Thomas sighed, in the first three days he had been frightened each time fits of pain interrupted the fever and John was wracked as now he was, trying to scream without voice to release. Now he had learned, this was his brother's current wakefulness, this was his opportunity to keep Johnny alive. To keep himself alive, they needed each other. That was the reason responsibility now burned, Thomas had never been the one needed, not as he was needed now.
He broke bread, pressing the stale chunk to Johnny's mouth praying as he always did that he would take a bite. He did, coughing on crumbs till Tom poured wine into his forced open mouth, a gentle finger rubbed down the throat to make him swallow. Thomas had learned that from his cousin at just thirteen. But four years ago he and Edward, Earl of March and Edmund, Earl of Rutland and younger than Thomas and Edward by little more than a year, they had been alone out in the woods at Ludlow, before St Albans had separated them. Rutland's puppy, a pedigree spaniel had caught water in its throat, saved from drowning only by Edward's careful hands. The boys had spent curious hours discussing the matter, would it work on humans? They had at the time deemed it inconclusive. Edward, Edmund, the answer was yes.
He thought to his cousins now as he cushioned his favourite brothers head. How they were so lucky, to be so close in age. Edward had Edmund, George had Richard. Only ten years stood between the oldest and the youngest. Thirteen years between he and Warwick, twelve between he and Johnny and eleven between he and George. Was it a wonder they all did seem untouchable? An earl, a bishop and all peers of the realm. Thomas knew well his status, a knight, a warrior but forever a child to his brothers. His loyalty ignored by them as playful attachment, except by Johnny. In recent months John had earned his place as the favoured brother well, he had seen Thomas as more than a mere child but a man with opinions worthwhile hearing.
He couldn't help but wonder was this how Richard, his serious little cousin in the York rabble felt at just seven? He could hardly imagine it. York valued all his children, and the brothers loved each other right dear.
He looked to his own brother as he muttered, perhaps a prayer for Thomas was sure his brother was talking to Jesus. He had only to hope it was in life and not upon the brink of death he called to the Christ child. It was then, the first time in almost a week John's eyes opened. Thomas cursed their captors, why did it have to be this way, that John was to wake up to the smell of thickening damp and mould, subject to the sharp bite of icy air sheltered only by a blanket as comforting as a hair shirt. "Johnny?" Brown eyes looked to him, sparkling with tears but no confusion. "Oh Johnny." He could not help but risk his brothers displeasure and break protocol with a firm embrace.
Johnny cried out, whimpering as the wined rag dug in deeper. Footsteps from outside interrupted their peace, the first taste of outside company would arrive in seconds. The door opened allowing three people to enter. First came in the young boy, no older than Thomas. John Dawne he claimed to be his name in a voice filled with attitude as he pushed Thomas out of the way, clearing an obvious path. Thomas would have demanded respect, at least asked what it was he had supposedly done to deserve such treatment. Until it became obvious that was. "Doctor Morton, please come in." Margaret of Anjou held up a hand to silence Thomas before he spoke. "Sir John needs your medical assistance."
Morton looked at the leg and winced, pulling away the rags to more screams. He opened the bag his tutors had taught him to carry taking cloth from its heart, a knife, silk and needle followed by two jars. He opened one of the jars, podgy blood streaked fingers grabbing leeches for the wound. Thomas felt himself about to vomit as the creatures suckled on blood. The cloth was dipped in the second jar before rolled and forced in John's mouth to stop the screams. "Laudanum, it helps with the pain.." He looked to Thomas whose skin was white before taking up the knife cutting away the 'dead flesh' from John’s wound. Soon he was sewing up the flesh.
"Thomas, come here." Morton said, bringing the boy forward. "Hold his leg."
"Who are you?" Thomas asked as he gripped his brothers leg.
"Doctor John Morton, kings physician."
"He is here to help your brother. Then we shall move you both. Master Dawne seems to have offered wholly unsuitable accommodation for such valuable treasures." Margaret spoke looking to the boy with accusing eyes. He shuddered and apologized, smiling as John looked terrified from pain. "Dawne, grab Sir John's hand. He is not to die, he is worthless dead. He is worthless less than well."
"We will be ransomed?" Thomas did not know why he sounded surprised. What had he expected to happen? They had kept them alive for this long, they would not just kill them now, surely?
"Yes. Once your brother is well enough to be moved." Queen Margaret’s eyes moved to Morton, seeking his attention and his approval.
"This afternoon your grace, should all be well. He needs meat and fruit for recovery." The queen nodded.
"Perhaps Master Dawne would show Sir Thomas to their new lodgings. Now if Morton does not mind." The doctor nodded despite disagreeing, fearing disagreeing with his queen. Done turned to Thomas before walking to the door holding it open. "Go sir Thomas. I am sure you will be more comfortable."
They were half way to the new lodgings when Thomas dared to ask. "How can you hate me so much and treat me with such contempt when you are so much lower than me, when you are so young?"
"My father, Neville men killed my father in the battle."
"Men die in battle lad." Thomas cringed at the idea that already this experience had changed him so. He would not have thought to be the voice of wisdom, that had always been Johnny's job. How queer the world became when Johnny could not be there to be the one they all looked up to, the one upon whom they all depended.
"Conveniently, so few of yours."
"That's why you were on the losing side."
"And it has left me orphaned." He paused as he opened the door to the new lodgings. "At fifteen. Queen Margaret, the she wolf as you call her took me in. Would York do that? No? Consider are you really on the right side?" Thomas passed through the threshold and into the room. "Your brother will be with you soon."
He wasn't, it was two days before John entered, limping though in decent humour.Thomas asked no questions, he had no chance, Johnny's eyes closed the moment his head fell upon the pillow. Thomas said nothing as he pulled the coverlets over his brother, stroking the older man's hair away from an already course cheek.