Date: Monday- August 22nd-1485 AD

Location: Bosworth Field- Leicestershire -England.

...

It was a crisp morning, the rain of the previous night had soaked into the boggy and uneven ground, there was a small breeze in the air...Yet it was ever so faint, almost akin to a small whisper...However, it could not be heard over the incredible din of bloodshed, anguish and the din of steel on steel.

Richard smirked under the closed visor of his steel helm, the Sovereign of England was oh so close to victory...It was in arms reach...He could see the armoured form of Henry Tudor, just a few yards out of his reach

However, he could see his target disappearing behind the forms of multiple well armoured and armed knights, their swords, axes, lances and war hammers gleaming in the morning sun...However the burly and mighty form of a particularly large and well armoured knight caught his attention, his finely smithed suit of gothic plate mail coated his form, gold accents decorating his visor and pauldrons. In one hand he proudly held aloft the flag of the Lancastrians, in the other a large and rather fine ...He presumed that this must be the famous, or infamous knight William Brandon.

However it mattered little to him as he raised his lance and he grunted...Feeling the lance pierce into the torso of the knight...Plate mail cracked and fell away and Brandon was skewered, the sheer velocity of the blow and the steel tip of the lance had completely cracked his spine in two, killing the distinguished standard bearer instantly. However it had come at a cost as a good portion of the lance's shaft had snapped off.

But it mattered not, the now blood soaked flag fell to the ground and disappeared under the tide of hooves and stomping feet, surely it would be a devastating blow to the morale of his foes, these...traitors to the crown. To see such a skilled and venerable opponent fall so easily.

But it didn't seem to phase the Lancastrians as they fought just as hard, he used the broken shaft of his lance and sent another heavily armoured knight tumbling from his horse before discarding it and pulling from his side a large, ornamental broadsword and began to hack away at the treacherous dogs who had turned their coats and sided with Tudor.

The adrenaline pumped through his blood as he wildly swung his blade, the beautifully sharp tip seeking out the necks and joints of his opponents as they fell before him...Growing closer and closer to Tudor.

Another knight fell back from his horse, his head severed from his neck and a fountain of blood spurting from his neck, staining the ground as Richard pulled his sword back to him, he knew that Tudor was here...He just knew it, he wouldn't allow him to escape and cause anymore mayhem.

He then saw...Him, he gripped his sword tightly, cold fury burning in his eyes and he could tell that Tudor was going through the same train of thought. They both wanted to sink their swords into each other's bodies...To hear their agonised cries and begs for mercy as they slowly sliced them apart...Limb from limb.

They both directed their horses towards each other, Henry gripping his sword tightly in his hands and Richard doing the same...Here it was, the duel that would decided the outcome of this god forsaken war...White Rose vs Red Rose, York vs Lancaster...King vs Earl...

However, he then heard...Charging and battlecries...However they were a lot more...Hostile...

He turned his head and through the slit of his visor he could see the great army of William Stanley charging from the rear of his forces...He would be trapped. He took one last scornful look towards his rival before he turned to face the horde of Stanley.

He could hear the panicked cries and bellows of his own soldiers as they were cut down mercilessly. Their blood staining the soil a deep red sheen, he and his men backed into the marshy ground... And he looked to see the approaching forces, each figure seeming more and more imposing by the very second...However there was one who caught his attention...A rider.

He was donned a lot differently from his fellow men, for instead of wearing the usual steel helm of a soldier...He wore only a white hood that shrouded his face...There were patches of plate in his armour, most noticeably his legs, forearms and shoulders, however it was blended in with leather armour and chainmail. In the warriors hand was a beautifully decorated falchion, decorated with gold engravings and even some jewels. It's blade shimmered and Richard felt a twinge of envy, wishing his blade was as well decorated, but it mattered not...What he was more concerned with was the other soldiers.

However his horse completely out of nowhere gave a frightening lurch, sending him tumbling from the saddle, landing headfirst into the boggy ground, pain flared through his body as he hit the ground. Covering his once shimmering clean armour in grime, dirt and silt, his crown falling from his helmet and into the marshy water.

The monarch staggered to his feet, his legs sinking into the marshy soil as he tried to regain his balance, water slowly but surely filling up his boots, holding his head in his hands getting his bearings. A Lancastrian soldier lunged for him with his bill, but Richard only barely twisted out of the way and wildly swung his sword, hacking deep into the soldiers neck.

He threw the body aside and into the marshy ground as he looked around frantically, seeing the carnage all around him, the marsh water was stained red with the blood of men...both Lancastrian and Yorkish. And the smell? It made him want to retch, but he knew he couldn't, not here! That'd be akin to suicide.

His eyes then fell on the hooded warrior again, who had seemingly fallen from his horse as well. He saw a handful of heavily armed knights, 4 of them to be exact advance towards him, their weapons held aloft, seeking to cleave the figure in two.

However when the first knight swung his hammer down, the hooded man elegantly twisted out of the way and swung his falchion with a swift flick of his wrist and slashed it's blade along the knight's chest, the blade piercing the plate mail with ease and sliced across the knights chest, blood spraying from the wound instantly sending the first of the attackers to the ground dead.

The second knight thrusted at the man with a halberd but the man parried the blow with his falchion, pushing the head of the pole-arm to the side before elbowing the knight in the face, sending him stumbling back before the man then kicked his legs under him, sending him falling face first into the mud and then skewering him as he writhed around on the ground.

The third and fourth knights both circled around the figure, one's hammer and the other's sword glinting in the sun as they circled, waiting for an opening to present itself.

The first attack came from the knight with the hammer who swung his hammer wildly at the warrior who effortlessly dodged the great swings before delivering an extremely swift punch to the Knight's stomach before grabbing him by his arm and twisting him around, using him as a shield from the other knight who's sword arm had thrusted the blade forward.

The sword only just pierced the cuirass, but once it had gone in, blood leaked from the gap in the armour, then the hooded figure shoved his meat-sheild forward, using his body as a diversion to throw the knight of guard before the blade of his falchion dug into the knight's neck.

The armoured head flew to the floor, another fountain of blood erupted from his severed neck, staining the white cloth of the man's hood as the body twitched and spasmed as it fell back into the marsh, leaving Richard as the mystery man's closest victim...

The stranger's head snapped up, looking toward's Richard, his expression impossible to see under the hood, however it was certainly a look of hostility as he began to approach him.

Richard could begin to feel a cold chill down his spine, feeling something he hadn't felt in a good while today...Fear. He fought the urge to shudder, fearing the man would kill him before he could even raise his sword and leave England in the hands of Tudor...The thought disgusted him. He couldn't let Lancaster win...He couldn't let this man win, he couldn't let Henry win.

He was a king of England, a ruler of the Plantagenet family and he would not be intimidated in the face of death, he could feel his heart beat harder than it had ever beat before as he grasped his sword...

He turned his head to see one of his still mounted knights ride towards him calling over the sound of battle,

"My liege! Take my horse! England needs you! Flee and fight another day!"

But Richard didn't listen, instead he called back to the knight valiantly,

"No! I will not run away and flee like a frightened pup! I will live or die as a king of England and should I die...So be it!"

He gripped his sword tightly and faced the approaching stranger, his falchion now red and sticky with Yorkish blood, Richard bellowed and charged, his sword arm swung at the figure who dodged and kicked Richard back, the monarch roared and attacked again but his blow was deflected again.

"Why won't you die?!" He cried as his third swing was blocked by the man's falchion but still the man kept what seemed to be an emotionless demeanour on his face as he blocked and parried Richard's blows, again and again and again.

"I will die a king of England! I will not budge a foot! Treason! Treas-" he was cut off when the man struck him across the face in a slapping motion, a shimmer of something metallic could be seen...then he felt something trickling from his throat...He raised his hands to see what had happened...He could feel the warm feeling of blood oozing from a wound...He gasped...Well tried to...It seemed more akin to a horrified gurgle... He fell back, but the man caught him...Richard wanted to ask who this warrior was, but he couldn't...All that came out were gargles and wheezes...

Then the man placed a single finger on his lips and whispered...

"Shhhhh...Hush now Richard of York...Requiescat In Pace..." before he turned away and slowly disappeared into the mist of battle...

...

Well this is the first time I've done something like this, so let me know what you think. Now I don't know everything about Bosworth so if I get any details wrong, feel free to tell me so I can improve next time, who knows I may even do more of these.

I'll see you later, peace.