A/N: Hi, GreenField here! This is Richard III/Anne Neville to King and Lionheart by Of Monsters and Men.
Taking over this town, they should worry,
But these problems aside I think I taught you well.
That we won't run, and we won't run, and we won't run.
That we won't run, and we won't run, and we won't run.
"They do not accept me, Anne"
Richard paces up and down their chamber; he removed his crown some time ago, but Anne fancies she can still see it atop his smooth black hair, weighing him down with all the pressures of the past and the murky future. The rebellions are growing more and more frequent; the only place they hold with any certainty is the North, the land they once called home. Anne longs for the simpler times, holed away at Middleham, cheered by the proud Northern people. On days like these, she suspects that Richard longs for such days too.
"The fire in their bellies will die out, Richard. You are the rightful King, no-one can question it, now that the Princes are gone –"
He rounds on her at once, "Why do you mention them? What do you know of it? Before God, Anne, if you know what happened to my nephews – our nephews – "
"Of course not" she's taken aback by his reaction – but, then again, she knows how the disappearance of the boys has tortured him. She has heard his murmurings in his sleep, seen him wake from nightmares with his body drenched in sweat and his eyes wild and fevered, "I know as little as you know, Richard, but I simply meant...the boys, they seem to be gone. How can the people question your legitimacy as King, or our son's status as Prince of Wales, if the boys have disappeared?"
"That is precisely why they question me! Everyone thinks that either those boys are still alive, ready for them to rally around; or they believe that I poisoned them. Either way, they reject me in favour of two children!"
His anger abates as suddenly as it came, just as always; his shoulders slump, and he sinks down onto the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. Anne moves to sit behind him, gently massaging his temples with the tips of her fingers. His frequent headaches worry her, even more so than the pains in his arm and back. She wonders if the headaches and his changes in temper are linked; of course, she dare not address this concern with him. He has enough to fear.
And in the winter night sky ships are sailing,
Looking down on these bright blue city lights.
And they won't wait, and they won't wait, and they won't wait.
We're here to stay, we're here to stay, we're here to stay.
"What if other countries get involved, Anne?" he moans softly, "France or Spain or Italy, even the low countries – any of them could rise up in rebellion against me and support the Princes. Or, as the Princes cannot be found, support the Tudor"
The Tudor – yet another threat they never talk about. Henry Tudor is in Brittany at this very moment, making allies, building up his armies. They do not know this for certain, of course, but Anne suspects it, namely because of the air of smug serenity surrounding Margaret Beaufort, the boy's mother, in the past weeks. She still has not addressed this with Richard. But she agrees with him – any moment now, France might decide to support the Tudor's cause, and then, what hope would they have? Richard had never fully tried to extend the diplomatic hand of friendship to Spain or the Low Countries, though their relationship with the Papal see in Italy seems strong. But Anne still has her doubts.
"The people will not accept the Tudor, my love. He is a foreigner to them, and he knows nothing of England – most of his life has been spent in Wales, or in Brittany. England means nothing to him, and all to you"
"The people cannot see that"
"The North see it"
"Yes, the North, always the North. My only allies in this war"
"And me, Richard. And our son"
"Yes" the thought does not make him smile, as it usually would, "Yes, and you, and our son"
There are a few moments of silence. Anne's fingertips still move slowly and tenderly over her husband's temples, considerate and loving to the last. Richard remains completely still.
"You know, Anne...if I knew that the Princes were alive, if I knew that their mother would let me act as Lord Protector until young Edward reaches his majority...if I knew that that could work, I would hand my crown and my throne to the lad without a moment's thought"
"Richard!" Anne is scandalised; she moves away from him, "Do not say such things! We are not weak, Richard, you and I. All that we have suffered – my sister, your brothers, all those bloody battles – they have made us strong. And you and I do not run away. We stay and perform our duty to our crowns and our country"
Howling ghosts they reappear
In mountains that are stacked with fear
But you're a king and I'm a lionheart.
A lionheart.
His crown lit up the way as we moved slowly
Pass the wondering eyes of the ones that were left behind.
Though far away, though far away, though far away
We're still the same, we're still the same, we're still the same.
Anne's speech, her fierce determination, makes Richard stronger. He ignores the laughing, excitable ghosts of his nephews, who dance around him in torment every time he closes his eyes. He ignores the pale, silently reproachful ghost of Henry VI, the disappointment of his brother Edward, the anger of his brother George. The ghosts come to him whenever he sleeps, so he does not sleep. Instead, he tries to be clever. Tries to outwit his enemies. Tries to be calm.
One of his first moves is to invite his nieces to court. Anne rails against it, she doesn't like Elizabeth Woodville's girls, but he insists. Extending the hand of friendship may help Elizabeth to believe that he did not kill her sons, that he had no intention of harming them. And it may get Elizabeth on his side, stop her plotting with that mad Beaufort woman to marry their two children.
What he doesn't realise is that Elizabeth Woodville has a plan of her own.
Anne sees it instantly, and it frightens her far more than any rebellion ever could. She sees Elizabeth's Woodville's plan in the eyes of her young and beautiful daughter. Elizabeth of York is the image of her youthful father; golden haired, with large brown eyes that seem to express innocent amazement at every turn. Her body is smooth and young and appealingly rounded, and she has an aura of gentility and kindness about her that Anne cannot hope to best.
And Richard falls for the bait. Not, perhaps, as hard as some of the court believe – Anne is certain that he has never lay with his beautiful niece; she has her spies, after all. But perhaps he may have given her tokens, walked arm in arm with her in the gardens, consulted her in matters of policy, bought her new gowns. Slowly, it appears to the court as though she is taking Anne's place. And, although she feared such a thing would happen, at first, Anne knows it is not true. He is taken with Elizabeth, yes, but only because she reminds him of his brother, because he never had a daughter of his own to spoil. He almost adopts Elizabeth, taking an interest in her life because she has no other father figure to do so.
Even if maybe she is blind to any other view of their close relationship, Anne believes her own view wholeheartedly. Because she is Richard's lionheart, and she must stand by him, or let him fail.
Failure is not an option for the daughter of Warwick the Kingmaker.
Howling ghosts they reappear
In mountains that are stacked with fear
But you're a king and I'm a lionheart.
And in the sea that's painted black,
Creatures lurk below the deck
But you're the king and I'm a lionheart.
And as the world comes to an end
I'll be here to hold your hand
'Cause you're my king and I'm your lionheart.
A lionheart.
Richard wants to give up everything. He wants to give up his crown, his throne, his good name. Nothing matters to him anymore. He had his doubts before, but now, now...
Now Anne is dead.
And he is just a King, with no heart to drive him onwards. No force to motivate him. No joy or wisdom or cunning left. Just a King without a wife.
Without an heir.
Without a friend in the world.
Experimentally, he removes the crown from his head. He fancies he can almost see his dead wife rise before him, her face a mask of fury as it was every time he talked about giving up the crown. But his heart feels so much lighter without the heavy burden of Kingship. Removing his regalia has given him freedom, and comfort. And as much as he knows Anne would insist that he keep fighting, all the fight has left him.
What man can fight without a heart?
Howling ghosts they reappear
In mountains that are stacked with fear
But you're a king and I'm a lionheart.
And in the sea that's painted black,
Creatures lurk below the deck
But you're a king and I'm a lionheart.
A lionheart.