Was it an oak tree? It was really rather green, and the noise from the battle nearby buzzed in his brain. The Queen, who knew how to fight a battle, had told Henry to get him hither and please, try not to be captured. He knew that he, in marked contrast to his father, was unable to lead troops into battle.
The air was soft and warm under the tree, and ants crawled over Henry's round toed shoes. The sky shifted as he fixed his gaze on the clouds in the opposite direction from the battle. It is a pleasant market town, St. Albans, with a monastery. The nearness and finality of bloodshed stabbed at his heart, and he didn't know whether to laugh or weep. Then he lapsed into a helpless self pity .. if only he weren't king...
In times like these, he was really only happy to be swayed by Margaret. She had evolved from that 15 year old beauty from France to someone who emphatically took charge. She stepped in to fill the power vacuum in the marriage with an intensity that surprised him. He loved his queen, and took heart from her vibrancy. And now they had a fine son. Edward's birth energized Margaret in another way, she had someone to protect, to shape into a ruler. As Edward IV, someday he would repair the reeling Lancastrian inheritance.
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