In the Year of our Lord, 1464

An early morning had dawned and the birds twittered in near distances as they had risen with the sun. Servants were already bustling with duties and various tasks they had to worry about before the rest of the household of Grafton Manor was to awaken.

But a mistress of the house had already been awake.

Little Mary Woodville had been looking for rocks to present to her brothers and later play with after breakfast. Wading in and out of the streaming river that ran shallowly over a muddy bed, she stepped boldly upon the mud and dirtied the hem of her skirts. But that was alright, she didn't mind it. As she inspected the river bed for any more rocks, her eye had been caught by a white one speckled with black and grey, which had previously been covered by sediments and mud. She bent down and swirled her hand in the water as she blindly searched for it.

But as she looked for it, Mary saw ripples forming on the river whose source had not been her hand, which she thought was odd. The river was moving, why would it be forming ripples? Then, she heard it. The source of the ripples.

Distant gallops began to sound in her ears and she knew it could not be her brothers, there were too many gallops that she could hear. It might as well be a whole army than the band of her brothers!

Army… the word latched onto her mind. What if it was the Yorkist army? She would be killed immediately for merely having Lancastrian relatives.

Mary's eyes widened in realisation and hastily tried to wade towards the shore. Why did she decide to go deeper into the river? She struggled against the strengthening current, as it pushed her along with it, dragging her farther from the shore than she liked. Her hands were becoming cold and her breaths were becoming shallow as the sound of the distant gallops drew closer and louder.

Who is coming?

It took more of her efforts to reach the shore, slipping over a patch of slime in her endeavour to do so. She climbed on to the shore and hastily dried her hands as she heard the gallops approaching, her heart beating so fast and so loud she could no longer distinguish what was the beats of the horses and what was the beats of her heart.

Are they friend or foe?

She hastily stripped off her wet stockings (smiling as she knew her mother would be greatly displeased at this notion) and pushed her chilling feet into her stiff boots. Hoisting up her skirts and pulling her hood over her head, she ran back to the Manor, hoping she could get there first. Her kirtle, drenched heavily in river water, pulled her down and caused her to trip several times. But it seemed her efforts were in vain, because the beats stopped. Their sounds lingered in the air, giving her an uneasy feeling about what could happening. Why hadn't she brought any of her brothers with her? Mary groaned to herself as she realised that she now has an inevitable lecturing by John. He would be greatly displeased at her venturing out alone. What would Anthony's reaction be? The questions began to swirl around her head, accumulating in her head like rain clouds gathering water.

Who is it that is coming? Are my family safe? Is anyone hurt?

Mary swayed collapsed under her own weight (light as she was) and the raincloud let forth a colourful vision that burst behind her eyelids, a vision she couldn't understand, let alone comprehend.

Her sister, Elizabeth, was bedecked in the most sumptuous materials that could be offered: a cloak trimmed with the finest ermine fur that lay on a golden dress that must have costed more than Mary and her sisters' dowry combined. Her hair of honey spilt over her shoulders, free and unbound. And on top of those unbound waves, a - no, it couldn't be. That is not possible.

Mary stumbled out of the image, her head throbbing and confused at what she had just seen. That couldn't have been real, that was not possible. Why would her sister, of all people, be a queen? She couldn't have married Edward of Lancaster; she is far too old for him and of a lower status than him! What did it all mean?

She continued her run back to the Manor (as fast as her short legs could carry her and as far as sopping wet clothes would allow her to go), re-invigorated by the goal of discovering what had happened to her and what what she saw meant. It couldn't have been a dream; dreams aren't that violent! She tried to rationalise with herself as she endured her sprint back. As the Manor came into view, she began to slow down as she saw figures on horses. Two, to be exact. The sounds of the gallops she heard earlier had become much fainter, leading away from the estate.

She began just walking back, trying to size up the level of danger she had put herself in. As she approached, she let out a sigh of relief; both her mother and Elizabeth were there at the entrance, looking to be unharmed. Mother seemed to be at odds with an older looking man, who had salted ebony curls that was slick with sweat; while the golden haired one looked on in amusement at the exchange. Mary tried not to disturb their exchange and attempted to escape, but it seemed Fate was working against her today with her mother barring her escape with a simple raise of an arm, effectively stopping Mary's entrance. Mary bit her lip in annoyance and her body tensed in response. Despite that, her mother would not release her hold on her and instead gripped her arm tighter.

"Your highness, My lord," Mary' eyes widened (could one of these men be the king of England?) and could hear her mother saying, with a courtier's smile embossed upon her face, "I have not had the pleasure of introducing one of my daughters, Mary."

Dear Lord, if one of these men were the King, he must think that I am snobbing him and do not support him. Oh, how do I stay faithful to my Lancastrian heritage but survive in this York-run world?

Mary turned stiffly and curtsied as gracefully as she could, knowing that her appearance was roughened by her morning tumble and swim, with her hair in disarray and her dress patched and drenched with mud at the hem. Not the best of first impressions to make. Mary might not have looked presentable enough, but she the best she could to fix her appearance when she came back up from her curtsy. She kept her eyes downwards as a sign of modesty (Remember Mary, children are to be seen, not heard), but it did not stop her anger flaring at the words of the older of the men.

"Another daughter, Lady Rivers? How many more are yet to come out from under your skirts?" A sneer could be heard following, no doubt from the elder man that Mary had earlier spied was at odds with her mother.

"More than the sons that you can sow, I am sure of it." Mary snapped in defense of her mother, whose hand immediately gripped her daughter's arm tighter in warning. At that sudden squeeze, Mary's head snapped up to her mother's and her brows creased in both anger and annoyance.

At that retaliation, the fair haired man laughed aloud and came down from his horse with a loud stomp and the cracking of the cobbled stones. "Now Warwick, you are losing your touch." Mary could hear the younger man's pointed tone and the raise of a quizzical brow. "How are you expecting to win over anyone at this point?"

As soon as Mary realised that she was talking to the Kingmaker, she dropped to a lower curtsy. "I am apologise profusely for my impudence, I meant no disrespect." Mary simpered, but she knew that the Earl could see clearly through her 'apology'.

A moment of silence passed before the flaxen-haired man (Mary later realised that this man had been the King) decided that he would like the drink that he had been offered earlier and was lead inside by Elizabeth, followed by Mary's mother. Mary sighed in relief at the release of her mother's grip on her and rubbed soothing circles at the sore place before turning to join her mother and sister entertain their most high profile guest to date.

With the intent of turning, Mary was about to follow, when she was halted by a sudden pull on her arm, at the sore spot that had just been assaulted by her own mother. "You watch your tongue and your back from now on, girl." the Earl of Warwick whispered threateningly to her, his diction emphasising on the last word. He began to point an intimidating finger in her face whilst his sharp gaze made sure to look into her own defiant gaze. Despite her age, Mary would not submit to him; her brothers taught her as much. "I'll let you go this time, simply because you amuse me but the next time, I will not be so lenient."

"If there will be a next time." Mary challenged and wrenched her arm away from Warwick with all her might, entering the Manor and feeling Warwick's eyes on her back.

Edited: 28/06/2018