AN: Time for another Yorkist one, I think. Richard III/Anne Neville from both POVs set to James Blunt's Goodbye My Lover. March 1485. Anything you recognise, I don't own. Inspired by Sharon Penman's "The Sunne In Splendour".

Did I disappoint you or let you down?
Should I be feeling guilty or let the judges frown?
'Cause I saw the end before we'd begun,
Yes I saw you were blinded and I knew I had won.
So I took what's mine by eternal right.
Took your soul out into the night.
It may be over but it won't stop there,
I am here for you if you'd only care.

Anne Neville lay in the sumptuous four-poster bed, struggling not to cough. She couldn't cough. A single cough would lead to a fit of hawking coughs that racked her body, stained her sheets and nightgown with blood and, worst of all, disturbed Richard's sleep. He needed his sleep so desperately. He was so exhausted. He had so many troubles.

There was the Lancastrian Rebel, Henry Tudor, to be dealt with. There was the Succession. Now that Edward, their little Ned, Prince of Wales, was dead, Richard had no son. That was Anne's fault, she knew. She ought to have given him a nursery full of sons and daughters. God knows she would have loved to. But the difficult labour in 1473 had put paid to that. It meant that God had only given them Edward. Their cherished Edward.

And now even he was dead. He died from a rupture, alone and in terrible pain. The memory of her little boy's agonising last hours still brought tears to Anne's eyes. She should have been with him. She should have been with him!

But she hadn't been. She had been at Richard's side, as befitted his wife and Queen.

But now Richard had no son and she was barren. People were whispering, beginning to talk. Some said Richard should never have become King at all, that he had usurped his young nephew's rightful throne. Others said that he should put Anne aside and marry again, to his niece, the Lady Elizabeth, or to a foreign Princess. Anyone who could give him the son that she, Anne, couldn't.

But he wouldn't. Anne knew he wouldn't. He loved her too much for that. He was too loyal to her. Family meant too much to him for him even to reproach her for having failed to give him a son other than Ned. A son who could have taken Ned's place in the Succession. He never reproached her. He still came to her bed at night, still held her in his arms and soothed her to sleep, the way he had always done. Anne was grateful for that.

But he couldn't ease her guilt. No one could. She wasn't a useful Queen, a true partner who could help him with the matters of State and Policy that were troubling him so. She had always done that in the North, back when they were just the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester. Back before she had sickened. Now, however, her grief for Ned and her own poor health were only adding to his troubles. He was too kind to say so, or even to hint at it, but she knew they were.

Anne rolled over and feebly laid her hand on Richard's. His eyelids fluttered at her touch, but he didn't wake. Good. Let him sleep. Let him steal a few hours of that rest that he needed so desperately.

For her part, Anne closed her eyes and let the memory of the first time they had met wash over her.

You touched my heart you touched my soul.
You changed my life and all my goals.
And love is blind and that I knew when,
My heart was blinded by you.
I've kissed your lips and held your hand.
Shared your dreams and shared your bed.
I know you well, I know your smell.
I've been addicted to you.

Anne was crying in the stables, her face buried in the hay. The sweet smell of it had always soothed her at home in Warwick. However, this wasn't Warwick. This was Fotheringhay, the Duke of York's house. She could have sworn that even the hay smelt different here.

"Lady Anne? Are you all right?"

The soft question startled her. Hastily rubbing her face with her sleeve, she rolled over. She found a boy of about eight kneeling beside her. On closer inspection, she realised that he was Lord Richard, the Duke's youngest son. Abruptly, she sat up. Earl's daughters didn't cry in front of gentlemen, no matter how young they were.

"I'm fine, thank you, Lord Richard."

"No, you're not. You wouldn't be crying if you were."

"Well, why ask, if you're not going to believe me when I give you an answer?" she retorted.

"I wanted to give you a chance to tell me for yourself. Now," he put his arm around her quivering shoulders, "What's wrong?"

"What isn't?" Anne sobbed, suddenly unable to stop herself. She was only four, after all. "We're not at home, Mama's not here, I'm worried about Papa and Izzie's being horrid!"

"Ah," Richard murmured. He hesitated for a moment, then pulled her gently into his arms. Too shocked to speak, Anne let him. After a few seconds, she relaxed into his hold. She had to admit that she liked being held like this. Mama and Papa never did. Nor did Izzie, or at least, not often. She was too busy playing at being a young lady to think about mothering her little sister.

"Do you know what makes me feel better when I'm feeling sad?" Richard asked after a while.

Anne shook her head, "No."

"I like to ride my pony across the fields. Shall we do that? Together?"

"I can't ride," Anne confessed. She blushed. She so wanted to do what Richard suggested, but she hadn't learnt to ride yet. Yet again, she cursed how little she was. Richard looked stunned for a moment and then remembered that she was four years younger than he was.

"Well…I think the stable dog's had some puppies recently," he said brightly, "Shall we go and see?"

Anne could feel her eyes lighting up. She nodded eagerly, "Yes please! Lord Richard," she added, suddenly remembering her manners.

"Oh, please, call me Dickon! Everyone else does!" he exclaimed, scrambling up from his knees and holding out his hand to her. She took it, managing a watery smile.

"Well, everyone calls me Annie. You'd better do the same!"

"Come on then, Annie," Richard – Dickon – laughed. Laughing too, Anne skipped along beside him as they went in search of the new-born puppies.

Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.

Anne sighed. Richard never been any less caring than he had that day. That was why she loved him so. And now she was going to leave him. Anne was no fool. She knew she was dying and dying quickly. That's why she'd let him come to her tonight, even though it posed a risk to his health. She'd wanted the chance to say goodbye.

Forcing herself upright – just upright enough to lean over him - she pressed a feathery kiss to his temple, "Goodbye, Dickon," she whispered, using the childhood nickname she had long since abandoned. She had abandoned it when no one else as a way of making him hers. Now, in what would be one of the last times she ever formed his name with her lips, she used it again.

"Goodbye, Dickon. Goodbye, my love."

Then she sank back down on to the bed and closed her eyes, giving in to her exhaustion.

Her eyes were never to open again.

I am a dreamer and when I wake,
You can't break my spirit - it's my dreams you take.
And as you move on, remember me,
Remember us and all we used to be
I've seen you cry, I've seen you smile.
I've watched you sleeping for a while.
I'd be the father of your child.
I'd spend a lifetime with you.
I know your fears and you know mine.
We've had our doubts but now we're fine,
And I love you, I swear that's true.
I cannot live without you.

Unbeknown to Anne, Richard wasn't asleep. He was lying with his eyes lightly shut, watching her through closed eyelids. He saw the torment on her face and knew she had to be thinking of Ned. He heard the pain in her voice as she leaned over him and kissed him goodbye. He felt her lips brush his temple and was hard-pressed to keep from crying. But he couldn't cry. Kings never cried. Besides, he owed it to her. She'd feel guilty if she knew he was still awake. She was so desperate for him to get some rest.

But how could he rest? How could he, when he knew, when they both knew, that her days were numbered? How could he close his eyes knowing, as he did, that he might miss his chance to say goodbye to her whilst he slept?

"Please, Lord," he prayed, "Spare her. Spare her this torment and restore her to health. I need her at my side. She's stood by me through thick and thin, as we promised before you all those years ago. Now let me have her for just a little longer. I beg you, Lord. I cannot do my duty as your anointed King if I don't have my Queen, my Queen Anne Neville, at my side. I beg you, Lord. I beg you."

To no avail. Even as he listened, Anne's breathing slowed, then ceased altogether. He lay as though frozen. He wanted to take her in his arms and shake the life back into her. He wanted to keep her with him.

But he couldn't. Richard was nothing if not a pragmatist. He knew it was impossible.

So, instead, he merely leaned over her and locked her rapidly cooling lips with his in a final passionate kiss, letting the tears fall from his eyes and flow freely down his cheeks. They splashed off his face and down on to hers.

"Anne! Anne! Anne!"

He repeated her name in a litany of heartbroken cries.

Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.

And I still hold your hand in my mine.
In my mine when I'm asleep.
And I will bear my soul in time,
When I'm kneeling at your feet.

Three months later, Richard was fighting for his country, his crown and his life. His sword was swinging fiercely, even its burnished iron blade seemingly glowing with his desperation. His great white horse reared, flailing out with its legs. A spear embedded itself in the soft flesh of the beast's belly.

Good horseman though he was, Richard was thrown off when the animal bucked in pain before collapsing to the ground.

He struggled to rise, but then, all of a sudden, he saw her. Anne.

The fight went out of him. He mouthed her name. She smiled and held out her hand to him.

"I know, Richard, I know. But it's too late. There's nothing you can do. Come with me. Come with me."

Without another word, Richard stepped out of his aching body and grabbed hold of the extended hand. The two of them flew up to God's Kingdom hand in hand.

Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.

I'm so hollow, baby, I'm so hollow.
I'm so, I'm so, I'm so hollow.