Author Notes: Alice/Exeter is, to me, one of the greatest ship ever to sail from a Shakespeare play. It all started my friend and I were cast as Alice and Exeter respectively, and was just one of those silly things bored actors come up with. But then we realized how actually plausible and adorable it was. And so was sparked the romance of the century: the nurse and the soldier.
Nobles don't pay much head to those around them. Especially not when they've just won a war and they're in love.
So Alice didn't mind when Katharine and her king-to-be swept off to the gardens. The king had followed, so there was no need for a chaperone and Katharine had made no motion, signed no sign, spoke no words that signalled she wished Alice to join them.
But Alice didn't mind.
She sat down on one of the large window seats and pulled out the needlework that was her current project. She was embroidering a bouquet of roses.
Pinks and creams coloured the glossy fresh petals that her needle had already skillfully stitched.
But she had saved the best for last. She began to work on the red roses. Deep, rich crimsons. Such a perfect colour.
The servants and minor lords and attendants slowly trickled out of the room, either following the royals, or going about business that needed going about. Then she was all alone. But she didn't mind. The reds in her needle kept her company and the art she stitched was absorbing and calming.
When she did glance up, it was to look out a window, where she could see the real red roses growing at the edge of a pathway.
She smiled as a man dressed all in black leaned down to cup one of the brilliant blossoms. He looked up, suddenly, and seemed to stare right at her. One hand still wrapped around the rose. She smiled at him, and then went back to her stitches.
Only looking up when someone entered the room. It was him. She smiled at him again. She thought he smiled back, but his face was in shadow and it may have been a trick of the light. For a moment they just stared at each other.
Alice was just about to return to her needlework when he moved. He stepped forward, but in a way she'd never seen him move. Had this man, this war hero, this battle captain, this Duke of Exeter just shuffled awkwardly? She thought he might have. But this too may have been a trick of the shadows. Because after those first few steps he was once again the war-hardened soldier.
Then he was right in front of her.
He looked down at the work in her lap.
"That's very nice." He said gruffly.
She hadn't noticed that his arms where behind his back. He stood like that a hands clasped behind him but this time they had been concealing something.
The rose was perfect. Silky, bright, and so alive. So fresh.
He held it out stiffly.
"I thought you might like a real one. You know. To help with the shape or something."
Her smile widened as she reached up and delicately grasped the flower.
This time he definitely smiled back.
"Thank you." She breathed as she gingerly caressed one of the petals. "It's beautiful."
"Very."
Alice glanced up, and decided that she didn't think he'd been looking at the flower when he'd said it.
He nodded once: a curt salute and left without another word.
But as she brought the delicate red, red rose up to her nose and inhaled its sweet perfume, Alice didn't mind.