The Death of King Edward, 1481

[Gandalfus]

The Christmas of 1480 came and went, with the celebrations at Greenwich continuing well into the early months of the year. Food was plentiful, the wine flowed in rivers, and the stomachs of those who had been subsisting on campaign rations swelled once again. In a few short months, the King had expanded to gigantic proportions, and, though troubled by pains of the stomach, continued to gorge himself upon meat and drink. Tapestries and songs commemorating the victory were commissioned, and one might have thought that the English had succeeded in conquering France in its entirety rather than a small slice of the Gascon coast. The royal household in its entirety was here; even the royal bastards were present, though often placed out of sight from the Queen's household. Edward of Grafton, the King's heir and namesake, had travelled down from Ludlow for the occasion. There was a keen sense of optimism surrounding the festivities, and no small amount of talk that a foreign bride would be secured in the upcoming summer for the Prince of Wales. Grafton, shy as he was, paid no heed to the gossip, and spent most of his waking hours in the company of either his mother or Cambridge's daughter Soleil - not something the Queen approved of, though his father actively encouraged what he termed as "roguish behaviour".

It was early February by the time the celebrations had dissipated. The Prince of Wales returned to Ludlow to resume his education, and with his departure the court fell back into an ordinary state as those who held the reins of governance resumed the business of running the Kingdom... And realised the treasury was empty. Years of prolonged warfare had sucked the Exchequer dry, and in fact the Crown was now in a serious amount of debt to Italian banks and London consortiums. The Royal Army was largely disbanded and the Navy neglected, the ransom paid by France only just covering the bloated cost of their maintenance. Though the Admiral Stanley protested at his marvellous ships of war being dismantled, there was nothing to be done. Debts were accumulating, compensation to those who had contributed greatly to the war effort paid in letters of credit rather than solid coinage.

All the while, the King's health grew worse. Whether it was borne from the battlefield or from gluttony was unknown; it ate away at the giant of York's vitality. In a matter of days, the King was confined to bed, pale and gaunt, brow glistening with sweat. All the court's attention was now captured by this sudden illness - apparently, it was fatal, for of his own volition the King had summoned a chaplain to administer his last rites, and the royal chamberlain to ensure that his final will and testament was all in order. The bed was located within a spacious hall within Greenwich, and, as was the custom, the death of the King was a very public event. Dozens crowded around the King's bedside, from high lords to lowly squires and servants, desperate to catch a glimpse of the monarch that was now so close to his end. Through glazed, bloodshot eyes Edward looked upon his close kin; all excepting the Prince of Wales were now gathered around his bedside.

"Elizabeth..." He murmured, his voice wearied and thin. Tightly, he brought her hand into his own clammy grip. He smiled weakly, trying to muster some optimism through the piercing pain he experienced in his stomach and bowel. It felt akin to having a crossbow bolt lodged in one' shot gut.

[Oznerol]

"Don't, Edward"

Said the queen, in low voice.

"Save your strenght. I know. I've always known what is in your mind"

She grabs his hand. Elizabeth had stood watch over the king during his illsness, she had barely left his side, diligently.

"Do you remember when we met, eh? Under that tree? In the crossroads?"

Elizabeth was barely restraining the tears. For bad or good, she had always loved Edward, and that might be the only thing they had done right, loving each other.

"Don't worry, dear, you'll be fine in no time. Don't you want to hunt?"

She removed the sweaty hair from his forehead and caressed his face. She knew he was into much pain and she wanted to ease it, she was desperate to do something, anything that could sweeten his days. The queen refused to acknowledge what was actually happening, lying to herself was easier, less painful. It seemed like she could break any moment, and she couldn't, she had to be his support, his rock, his anchor.

"Edward, I'm here. I'll always be here"

[Lucius Malfoy]

Of all those present, the Duke of Clarence and the King's brother, George Plantagenet, was absent from the scene unfolding around the King. Yet he did not know what had happened, for being away in Ireland, news traveled slow between bodies of water. It would, most likely, be too late for George to say goodbye by the time the news finally reached his ears in Dublin. And, if this were to happen, it would be a regret that would last with Clarence for the rest of his life.

Others who were absent included the Earl of Northumberland and Cumberland, Henry Percy, who was keeping a watch on the border between Scotland and England. It was true that peace was once more established, yet one could never be too safe with the Scots just over the northern borders of the Scottish Marches. When news of the King's situation came, he ordered increased patrols and garrisons along the border. If the King of the Scots knew of this, he might be tempted to raid the Marches. As such, he was absent from the King's deathbed. Perhaps, even for personal reasons, he did not come either.

The Marquess of Montagu and the Archbishop of York, the brothers, John and George Neville, stood in attendance with the King. They were first cousins of the King, through their great-aunt, Cecily Neville, aunt of their father, Richard Neville and children of Ralph Neville, 1st Earl of Westmorland. The Archbishop of York had just returned from giving a sermon and mass in the name of the King, alongside the Bishop of London and the Archbishop of Canterbury, giving prayers to God for the swift recovery of His Majesty. Although, deep down, George suspected these were the final hours of the Fourth Edward to rule. His eyes slowly turn to the Queen, listening to her words of comfort to her beloved husband and monarch, feeling deep sorrow for her. They had worked together, after all, when the King was off battling in France, keeping the realm going strong and ensuring the necessary support was sent to His Majesty throughout his campaigns. In a ways, York was more loyal to the Queen than his brother, Montagu, was.

John, Lord Montagu, on the other hand, just watched the King, giving no heed to the emotions of Lady Woodville.

[Gandalfus]

"I don't have the strength... I remember."

Replied the King, his scattered thoughts making the speech difficult to follow. She had been a good wife, perhaps the only woman he had truly loved in all his life despite his marital indiscretions. He motioned then to a servant, beckoning him forward, summoning the will to make himself heard. Finally, a whisper escaped, low and cracked.

"Where's Edward... Bring him to me."

The King vainly hoped that his son had returned from Ludlow, but alas, it was not so. It was quite doubtful the boy even knew of his father's imminent demise. A servant carefully explained that the Prince was not present. With an audible sigh, the King heavily gestured towards his chamberlain, who held the Monarch's final will. After a clear of the throat, the chamberlain, closely resembling a weasel in manner, began to relay the final will of the King to all those present, all straining to hear any vital information betwixt the monotonous drone.

... My Crown and Kingdom I leave to my son and heir Edward, Prince of Wales, Duke of Cornwall...

... To my wife and Queen Elizabeth Wydville I leave the sum of ten thousand pounds, as well as the residence of Eltham Palace ...

... To my noble brothers Gloucester and Clarence I leave the responsibility of the Kingdom and my son, it's king ...

... To mine sons born out of wedlock Arthur and Henry I bequeath a pension of three hundred pounds per annum from the royal treasury ...

... To each of mine siblings of the blood I bequeath a pension five hundred pounds per annum from the royal treasury ...

... To the Church I leave the sum of five thousand pounds ...

The droning stopped shortly after, and the chaplain stepped forward to perform the last rites with the will of Monarch now dictated. His earthly responsibilities gone, he now merely wished to pass to heaven in peace... Not that he had much choice, for it seemed the last of his strength was leaving him. His breathing was short and sharp, arms limp, and head lolling back onto the cushion.

[Oznerol]

"Oh no... please don't. I can't live without you"

Said Elizabeth in despair, to herself.

"Oh please, God, be merciful"

But she knew something, often men wouldn't die until allowed so. It was a irrational, but they would cling to life, desperately, trying to see someone or hear something. Her own mother had to beg her father to die after a prolonged agony. Gathering all the strenght she got, Elizabeth knelt by the bedside and whispered into his ear:

"I love you, wait me in Heaven, my lord. Leave now and join your father and brother. Leave, leave with my love. I'm yours. Wait for me"

Her voice had crackled, but she managed to say so without interruptions. She held his face, tenderly, and kissed his cheeks and lips, in what was a grave break of protocol, but she didn't care, she was a knight's daughter, not princess.

"I love you, Ed. Rest, my love"

[Mary The Quene]

Amongst those present around the King's bed are his son Henry and his daughter Eleanor, though the latter made sure they were both tactfully positioned somewhere in the background of the room. Here they witnessed their Father's last moments, Henry being but eleven years old cried, Eleanor did not. Eleanor who had herself dressed in black had to comfort her little brother to calm him. Eleanor perhaps already annoyed by the scene made by Woodville did not know what she even could possibly say to her father, she always felt neglected by him and thus had mixed feelings about her father, and perhaps for a different reason too.

''Papa'' Henry cried loudly, perhaps overcome by emotions, he grabbed the hand of his sister, whom otherwise was unknown to him. Together they looked to Edward from a distance.

[Xion]

The Earl of Devon was present, although he would take a position in the background of the room, leaning against the wall instead of one befitting of his position. His uncle, Sir John de Courtenay, Viscount Courtenay, and the primary architect behind Wallingford would come with him to see the king he had cast down the Red Rose for seventeen years ago and then loyally supported since one last time, the Viscount standing amongst the nobility and quietly saying several prayers for the king before stopping to try and move forward so he could hear the will better, although he would only get two rows ahead of where he was originally.

Edward de Courtenay and his wife Jacquetta would also be present, having separated from Devon's retinue upon their arrival to attempt to stand among the Woodvilles so Jacquetta could console her sister after his majesty's passing. Both would be dressed in ornate attire colored Burgundian black for the occasion, a stark contrast to the rather plain and unassuming attire Devon had chosen for the occasion, likely causing several present to view the earl as being beneath his actual station, and the black mourning attire with a cap bearing feathers in the coloration of the Western commandery for the Viscount. --
Also present among the lesser nobility's ranks would be the Viscount Wenlock, wearing appropriately colored attire and accompanied by his wife Joan de Vere. John would watch the proceedings with a degree of sadness, watching the king his grandfather, father, and himself had served loyally as Lord Captain of Calais(for his father and grandfather), and Captain-General of the Continental Commandery(himself), even being awarded an earldom for their loyalty that his grandfather sold to the Nevilles and then somehow ended up in the hands of Stanley. As the chamberlain began his monotone reading of the will, John quietly said a prayer for the king, incorrectly believing the king to have already passed.

[Barry Goldwater]

Richard, Duke of Gloucester was among those present, already dressed in Burgundian black - not even for the occasion, but by default. Still he was equal parts aggrieved and nonplussed: Edward had seemed perfectly fine at the massive, and massively lavish, celebration he'd thrown upon his return from the battlefields of France. Gloucester recalled that he had spent more of his time fretting over the expenses of such an event, which he felt they could ill-afford given the beating the war had inflicted on the kingdom's finances, than actually participating in the festivities. Would that I had known it'd be the last time I would see my brother outside of his deathbed, he had privately lamented. How could I have hated the idle pleasures of those days, when they were the joy of my soon-to-be-departed brother? He never regretted his own analytical, detached nature more than in this moment, when he recalled so many more occasions where he could have done more to interact with the eldest of Richard of York's sons. When the King fell ill, or could no longer hide his illness, Richard had desperately prayed for his most loved brother's health, but in the end it was to no avail. Lord, if it pleases You to take my brother to join Thine choir in Heaven, at least let him depart painlessly and in peace, he had silently prayed when it became clear that Edward would not survive.

"Brother..." Richard found himself saying hoarsely, after the Queen had tried to comfort her husband and the last rites had been said. For a second that felt like an eternity, the last son of York found himself at a loss for what to say to the first: would he try to whisper words of comfort to his ears and tell him that all would be well when it clearly wouldn't be, as Elizabeth Woodville had just done? No, that is not my way, and it will do him no good, he'd decided in an instant. Spout some pious remarks about God welcoming him into heaven? I am no cleric, Richard thought just as quickly. Inform him that there was still too much for him to do on Earth? I am blunt, but not that blunt, surely.

In the end Gloucester settled for, "All England will miss you, from the highest lord to the lowest of peasants. But at the least, Father and Edmund will no longer have to miss you, for they will surely be the first to welcome you in the afterlife. Send them my regards, and George's, and our sisters'." By the end, he wasn't even sure Edward could hear him. He had never cried since he was a child, not even while dealing with the extreme stresses of the Burgundian campaign, but for once in his adult life he had to work to keep his voice from cracking.

When the King's will was read out, Richard went down to one knee, back hunched over. He didn't care about the pain his scoliosis caused him as a result, he would show his brother some respect in his dying moments. "Your will be done, brother. This, I swear." He simply said. Edward had given him and George a final duty - to steward the kingdom and their nephew, now Edward V - and Gloucester had always taken his duties very seriously.

----------

The Earl of Monmouth was present and appropriately attired in mourning black, though his brother was still away with the new King Edward V in Wales. He looked on silently, an uncomfortable expression on his face, as the King he and Edmund had fought so hard to enthrone took his last breaths. This was an entirely unforeseen event, even to the normally calculating Monmouth - Edward IV had looked perfectly strong and lively, if also overweight, only a few months ago.

[Gandalfus]

"Oh no... please don't. I can't live without you"

Said Elizabeth in despair, to herself.

"Oh please, God, be merciful"

But she knew something, often men wouldn't die until allowed so. It was a irrational, but they would cling to life, desperately, trying to see someone or hear something. Her own mother had to beg her father to die after a prolonged agony. Gathering all the strenght she got, Elizabeth knelt by the bedside and whispered into his ear:

"I love you, wait me in Heaven, my lord. Leave now and join your father and brother. Leave, leave with my love. I'm yours. Wait for me"

Her voice had crackled, but she managed to say so without interruptions. She held his face, tenderly, and kissed his cheeks and lips, in what was a grave break of protocol, but she didn't care, she was a knight's daughter, not princess.

"I love you, Ed. Rest, my love"

"Oh, Liz.. Where is our son? Where is Edward?"

He whispered, words barely audible except to his wife. Edward still longed to see his son, and waited in the vain hope that the Prince of Wales would jostle his way to his father's bedside. His gaze became blurred, and he could feel his strength failing, barely feeling the kisses planted upon his face. But at last the King would be at peace, and his expression conveyed a sense of serenity as he prepared to join the Kingdom of Heaven.

Amongst those present around the King's bed are his son Henry and his daughter Eleanor, though the latter made sure they were both tactfully positioned somewhere in the background of the room. Here they witnessed their Father's last moments, Henry being but eleven years old cried, Eleanor did not. Eleanor who had herself dressed in black had to comfort her little brother to calm him. Eleanor perhaps already annoyed by the scene made by Woodville did not know what she even could possibly say to her father, she always felt neglected by him and thus had mixed feelings about her father, and perhaps for a different reason too.

''Papa'' Henry cried loudly, perhaps overcome by emotions, he grabbed the hand of his sister, whom otherwise was unknown to him. Together they looked to Edward from a distance.

Edward didn't exactly hear the cry of his son, but it caught his attention as for a brief moment he thought it was the voice of his eldest, Edward.

"Edward! Come here!" Strained the King. Some servants rushed forward to quieten him, for he was in danger of over exerting himself with excitement.

Richard, Duke of Gloucester was among those present, already dressed in Burgundian black - not even for the occasion, but by default. Still he was equal parts aggrieved and nonplussed: Edward had seemed perfectly fine at the massive, and massively lavish, celebration he'd thrown upon his return from the battlefields of France. Gloucester recalled that he had spent more of his time fretting over the expenses of such an event, which he felt they could ill-afford given the beating the war had inflicted on the kingdom's finances, than actually participating in the festivities. Would that I had known it'd be the last time I would see my brother outside of his deathbed, he had privately lamented. How could I have hated the idle pleasures of those days, when they were the joy of my soon-to-be-departed brother? He never regretted his own analytical, detached nature more than in this moment, when he recalled so many more occasions where he could have done more to interact with the eldest of Richard of York's sons. When the King fell ill, or could no longer hide his illness, Richard had desperately prayed for his most loved brother's health, but in the end it was to no avail. Lord, if it pleases You to take my brother to join Thine choir in Heaven, at least let him depart painlessly and in peace, he had silently prayed when it became clear that Edward would not survive.

"Brother..." Richard found himself saying hoarsely, after the Queen had tried to comfort her husband and the last rites had been said. For a second that felt like an eternity, the last son of York found himself at a loss for what to say to the first: would he try to whisper words of comfort to his ears and tell him that all would be well when it clearly wouldn't be, as Elizabeth Woodville had just done? No, that is not my way, and it will do him no good, he'd decided in an instant. Spout some pious remarks about God welcoming him into heaven? I am no cleric, Richard thought just as quickly. Inform him that there was still too much for him to do on Earth? I am blunt, but not that blunt, surely.

In the end Gloucester settled for, "All England will miss you, from the highest lord to the lowest of peasants. But at the least, Father and Edmund will no longer have to miss you, for they will surely be the first to welcome you in the afterlife. Send them my regards, and George's, and our sisters'." By the end, he wasn't even sure Edward could hear him. He had never cried since he was a child, not even while dealing with the extreme stresses of the Burgundian campaign, but for once in his adult life he had to work to keep his voice from cracking.

When the King's will was read out, Richard went down to one knee, back hunched over. He didn't care about the pain his scoliosis caused him as a result, he would show his brother some respect in his dying moments. "Your will be done, brother. This, I swear." He simply said. Edward had given him and George a final duty - to steward the kingdom and their nephew, now Edward V - and Gloucester had always taken his duties very seriously.

----------

The Earl of Monmouth was present and appropriately attired in mourning black, though his brother was still away with the new King Edward V in Wales. He looked on silently, an uncomfortable expression on his face, as the King he and Edmund had fought so hard to enthrone took his last breaths. This was an entirely unforeseen event, even to the normally calculating Monmouth - Edward IV had looked perfectly strong and lively, if also overweight, only a few months ago.

Edward strained visibly, gently resting a sweaty, trembling hand upon Gloucester's arm. The King looked subdued, almost lost for words, eyes now glassy. The spectre of death loomed large over Edward, but the words of his brother seemed to console him - the loss of both Father and Edmund had been harsh indeed upon the then young Earl of March, with that grief and rage certainly playing a part in his decision to claim the crown upon that fateful day in Westminster Palace. It relieved him to hear that he would see them both again.

"God keep you, Richard." He hoarsely replied, and their eyes met. In them Richard would see an unspoken gratitude to the brother that never deserted him, always faithfully standing by his side in times of need. In France, he was an iron shield upon his flank. In England, he was his right hand, diligent and certainly capable of ruling in his son's stead.

It was then that the chaplain administered the last rites, droning over the indisposed monarch who was fighting the last battle of his life. Though the King was barely forty, he resembled one twice that age: haggard, sweaty, gaunt in the face, dark rings around the eyes. Edward gulped down a mighty breath, which would prove to be the final of his life. His limbs went limp, the two leaden weights folded across his chest by the physician. The priests grew louder in their chanting as his eyes rolled back into the inside of his head, which was now forcibly being held upright to preserve regal dignity.

The King of England now lay dead.

--

The Hollands stood quite near to the King, among the other Dukes, as befitting their precedence and relation to the royal house. Henry was quite corpulent, swelling out of the black Burgundian finery that he'd chosen to wear, wiry beard covering multiple chins. Anne, the King's sister, was on his arm, still looking venerable and graceful as ever despite entering her fifth decade. The Duchess had shed a few tears for her brother, but kept a dignified silence in the face of such a tragedy. John and Thomas stood alongside. They'd not known their uncle too well, but John in particular had looked up to the warrior king as a sort of idol; one of the heroes that boys, when young, aspire to emulate. Exeter's heir resembled York in height, at least, being a head taller than his father as well as a good deal leaner. He gazed at the dying King pensively, consciously looking over to men such as Buckingham and Monmouth in order to adopt the appropriate level of solemnity.

[Mary The Quene]

Edward didn't exactly hear the cry of his son, but it caught his attention as for a brief moment he thought it was the voice of his eldest, Edward.

"Edward! Come here!" Strained the King. Some servants rushed forward to quieten him, for he was in danger of over exerting himself with excitement.

Eleanor stepped forward dragging her crying brother with her to Edward's bed. Eleanor had grown very tall for her age, just like Edward was a tall man though she also resembled her mother in some ways. She stood behind Henry watching over Edward's body laying in his bed.

''It is Henry, your son, and with your daughter behind him''. Eleanor said quietly, a bit disturbed by Edward confusing his children.

''Papa'' Henry cried, grabbing his sister to seek comfort. Henry too, appeared tall and strong psychically, just like his father had been in his younger years.

[Dirty Chai]

The Lord High Constable stood at the forefront of the gathering of peers huddling behind the king's close kin and familiars, standing silently yet for the floorboards creaking underneath their restless feet.

Henry Stafford removed a cap from his head as the canopied bed (the king himself he could barely see) gave out the intimate last words of man and wife. He didn't make it all the way into his respectful, solemn pose, however, when he heard a squeak, a cry from the back.

Buckingham turned over his shoulder. Ah, he wished he hadn't looked. He knew the FitzRoys were back there. Why did he look? He had only pity for them, but Stafford had to ignore them, like everyone else. Too much trouble.

His head then bowed, as he intended.

[Lucius Malfoy]

The Archbishop of York steps forward, performing the sign of the cross over the deceased King Edward IV. His hand reaches out, gently moving the eyelids of his liege down, so that they would be closed.

Long live the King... Long live His Majesty, Edward, the fourth of that name.

He turns to those gathered, performing yet another sign of the cross for all to follow, before clasping his hands together for a short prayer.

In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti... Amen.

He raises his hands, looking above them to the unseen presence of their Lord and Savior.

God Almighty, please accept the soul of your son, His Majesty, King Edward of England, the fourth of his name, into your heavenly realm. May you grant him eternal rest and be by your side for all eternity. Grant his children the wisdom they need to carry on, give comfort to those loved ones he has left behind and allow we, his loyal and worthy subjects, to meet him in Heaven above, at the end of days. May he rest in peace with you, O Lord, and may his legacy carry on into the Heavens Above.

Let us offer silent prayers for the repose of the soul of our beloved King.

With that said, the Archbishop of York closes his eyes and lowers his head, giving the sign of the cross. He removes the rosary around his neck and quietly prays with those gathered before the deceased King. A bell clang in the distance, signaling the time of death and the hour in which all of England would weep for the death of His Majesty. After uttering his prayer, George approached the Queen, offering his rosary to her and some words of comfort.

God Almighty has certainly brought forth all the angels, in great fanfare, to welcome His Majesty into heaven, my Queen. Be happy that he will know eternal life in Heaven, from now on.

[Jokern]

Among the many nobles gathered to see the final rites given to Edward IV, one could see the Mowbrays, with the Duke of Norfolk at their head, flanked by his two young sons. The Earl Marshal was solemn and quiet, his dark apparel matching his mood. John de Mowbray could barely believe the ghostly visage of his king - there were but two years between them in age, and Edward had been the very definition of strength.

Memories surged back, from Towton and Wallingford and the campaign in France. Those had been days of glory, when the sky had been the limit for the young men that they had been. Norfolk looked to his sons, William and Edmund - they had just come of age, as old as the Earl of Surrey and Earl of March back at Towton two decades past. Time certainly flew by fast, but far too quick to already claim the warrior king of York, even if he had grown corpulent and tired these last years.

As Edward, the fourth of his name, drew his last breath, the Duke of Norfolk made the sign of the cross and murmured a small prayer, asking the Lord to embrace his noble king and let him join the choir invisible.

"Amen."

-------

Strong emotions stirred within Arthur, Viscount Bourchier, as he saw the frail old man that was supposed to be his father. It was not King Edward, he told himself, could not be. He worshiped his royal father, strong and brave and noble - to see him reduced to such a miserable state tore the young man's heart apart. He wanted to rush to Edward's side and cry out, tell him that his son was there and everything would be alright. But he could not.

A king's bastard son was not allowed near the royal bed where the queen wept for her husband. Instead he stood next his FitzRoy siblings, Henry and Eleanor, far back from the rest of the nobility gathered. That was what hurt the most, when he heard his father cry out for his son to come to him. Arthur did not count - it was Edward, always Edward. Arthur wanted to scream at the world, tell them all that he was twice the man that little Edward was. But he held his tongue, however much it hurt.

When he saw Edward finally passing on as the priests chanted, it all became too much. Arthur quickly turned and burst out through the door past servants and minor nobles and knights. He did not care anymore. Running out into the courtyard, Arthur fell to his knees and wept and cried out his pain.

--------

John Howard stood a bit farther back among those gathered to say farewell to King Edward. Precedence was always of utmost importance, despite whatever familial connections one might have. It was disheartening to be there, after all that the realm had been through to put the crown upon Edward's broad shoulders. To die in bed from sickness instead of bravely losing his life on the battlefield, it was not fitting for this man of York.

When Henry Fitzroy cried out for his father, John went over to console the boy. Even if it was not proper courtly behavior, he was still John Howard's future son-in-law. He went on his knee and smiled at the boy. He had grown fond of the Fitzroy children, despite the anarchy that had led to them being illegitimized.

"It's alright, Henry, everything will be alright. Do you want to say a prayer with me, for his Majesty? Eleanor?"

John was unsure what to say, a grieving child about to lose his father he could not properly say good bye to.

[Gandalfus]

"My son... Henry?"

Croaked the King, confused and rather let down at this son of his. In his delirium, he had assumed that his eldest son had returned to him from Wales, but instead it was this unwanted reminder of Margaret...

"Ehm, God bless thee, son and daughter of mine." The King coughed, piously signing the cross. Then Richard stepped forward, and Edward turned away to speak to his brother. A servant, detecting the animosity of the Queen, ushered them a step backwards, so they were shielded by a line of peers.

[Mary The Quene]

"My son... Henry?"

Croaked the King, confused and rather let down at this son of his. In his delirium, he had assumed that his eldest son had returned to him from Wales, but instead it was this unwanted reminder of Margaret...

"Ehm, God bless thee, son and daughter of mine." The King coughed, piously signing the cross. Then Richard stepped forward, and Edward turned away to speak to his brother. A servant, detecting the animosity of the Queen, ushered them a step backwards, so they were shielded by a line of peers.

Buckingham was, despite his efforts, verily most aware of the emotions passing through those present of the king's children. Once the FitzRoys were on his mind, his mental observance of the three bastards present - including the Viscount, whose mother he could not recall - was stringent. His head turned slightly to eye the door from the corner of his eyes, passing over many shoulders and by many ears to see a sliver of a young man - likely seven or eight years younger than himself - fleeing the scene of death.

Looking back forward, he saw the FitzRoys being ushered back into the crowd, and he moved aside slightly for them to disappear behind him and the Duke of Exeter. He felt he was doing them a favor when he let his clothing and figure form a wall in front of their eyes.

Harry then crossed himself with his right hand, silently mouthing a prayer. The king was dead.

"God save the king," he said aloud, nearly a whisper. Others nearby seemed to mimic him, whispering and hushed with sad tones, the kind one used before a tragedy. In truth, Buckingham and his fellow peers all around were the ones looking on silently, watching grief from the outside. They were beyond it, but forced to watch it. Forced to remain solemn and observant. Should he feel grief? Should he feel sorrow for this king? For his sister in law? For the princes and princesses?

Another sign of the cross washed over him, attempt to force his irreverent mind into a solemn state by will alone.

Strong emotions stirred within Arthur, Viscount Bourchier, as he saw the frail old man that was supposed to be his father. It was not King Edward, he told himself, could not be. He worshiped his royal father, strong and brave and noble - to see him reduced to such a miserable state tore the young man's heart apart. He wanted to rush to Edward's side and cry out, tell him that his son was there and everything would be alright. But he could not.

A king's bastard son was not allowed near the royal bed where the queen wept for her husband. Instead he stood next his FitzRoy siblings, Henry and Eleanor, far back from the rest of the nobility gathered. That was what hurt the most, when he heard his father cry out for his son to come to him. Arthur did not count - it was Edward, always Edward. Arthur wanted to scream at the world, tell them all that he was twice the man that little Edward was. But he held his tongue, however much it hurt.

When he saw Edward finally passing on as the priests chanted, it all became too much. Arthur quickly turned and burst out through the door past servants and minor nobles and knights. He did not care anymore. Running out into the courtyard, Arthur fell to his knees and wept and cried out his pain.

--------

John Howard stood a bit farther back among those gathered to say farewell to King Edward. Precedence was always of utmost importance, despite whatever familial connections one might have. It was disheartening to be there, after all that the realm had been through to put the crown upon Edward's broad shoulders. To die in bed from sickness instead of bravely losing his life on the battlefield, it was not fitting for this man of York.

When Henry Fitzroy cried out for his father, John went over to console the boy. Even if it was not proper courtly behavior, he was still John Howard's future son-in-law. He went on his knee and smiled at the boy. He had grown fond of the Fitzroy children, despite the anarchy that had led to them being illegitimized.

"It's alright, Henry, everything will be alright. Do you want to say a prayer with me, for his Majesty? Eleanor?"

John was unsure what to say, a grieving child about to lose his father he could not properly say good bye to.

After Eleanor and Henry were ushered back in the background by a servant after a line of peers Eleanor took care of Henry. Perhaps it was better they were removed from the immediate presence of their father for Eleanor felt they were unwelcome here, Eleanor always felt as of late unwelcome when they were with their father but that'd was not something her brother could comprehend at this age yet perhaps.

''Come, Harry, let us make a prayer with Lord Howard, it will be all well in the end.'' Eleanor ruffled in that hair of his otherwise so little know brother of her. But what others did not know she would include a prayer for her mother, everyone would pray for Edward but nobody would do this for their mother, and that annoyed her.

And so Eleanor and Henry made their prayers for the now dead king with Lord Howard. But Eleanor would make sure to remind that reluctance within Edward's last moments, she was actually grateful for Lord Buckingham closing the line before them in some way.

[Dirty Chai]

Buckingham was, despite his efforts, verily most aware of the emotions passing through those present of the king's children. Once the FitzRoys were on his mind, his mental observance of the three bastards present - including the Viscount, whose mother he could not recall - was stringent. His head turned slightly to eye the door from the corner of his eyes, passing over many shoulders and by many ears to see a sliver of a young man - likely seven or eight years younger than himself - fleeing the scene of death.

Looking back forward, he saw the FitzRoys being ushered back into the crowd, and he moved aside slightly for them to disappear behind him and the Duke of Exeter. He felt he was doing them a favor when he let his clothing and figure form a wall in front of their eyes.

Harry then crossed himself with his right hand, silently mouthing a prayer. The king was dead.

"God save the king," he said aloud, nearly a whisper. Others nearby seemed to mimic him, whispering and hushed with sad tones, the kind one used before a tragedy. In truth, Buckingham and his fellow peers all around were the ones looking on silently, watching grief from the outside. They were beyond it, but forced to watch it. Forced to remain solemn and observant. Should he feel grief? Should he feel sorrow for this king? For his sister in law? For the princes and princesses?

Another sign of the cross washed over him, attempt to force his irreverent mind into a solemn state by will alone.

[Gandalfus]

Anne had broken into tears as her husband stood by, observing the descending of silence. What would happen now? Exeter shot a look over at Gloucester, who would doubtless tussle for the reins with the Queen and the horde of Wydevilles that now infested the realm since her ascension. Likely, each man would be forced to choose a side. Would they back the Duke of Gloucester, or the mother of the new King?

"God save King Edward." Chimed Exeter, purposefully loud, casting his gaze over all those of the higher peerage present. Would they wait for the King to be buried, at least? Or would the jostling begin before the corpse was cold?

[Xion]

"God save the king." Edward says in response to the Duke of Exeter loudly saying it, followed by him making the sign of the cross. His wife looked with concern at her sister.
--
"Dieu salve le roi." Devon quietly says, then does the sign of the cross. His uncle would emerge from the ranks of the crowd before Devon, his hat clenched in his left hand as he had removed it when it was confirmed the king had passed.
--
Wenlock would make the sign of the cross and mutter a prayer or two for the departed king, like some of the other lesser nobility in the crowd around him were doing.

[Barry Goldwater]

When Edward passed, Richard remained silent and unmoving for what felt to him like an eternity, but in truth was only merely ten or eleven seconds. He needed the time to compose himself after all, to will the tears not to spill and his voice to not break. When he spoke, it was not without drawing a breath to further steel himself, and he had to consciously unclench his hands so that he could perform the sign of the Cross. "God save the King." He said, neither loudly nor in a whisper, but in a voice steadied by mental preparation and his own cool nature. His gaze did not move from his brother's body to the Queen and her affinity - he knew they were already there, of course, and though he found the Queen's incessant hoarding of lands and titles for her kin concerning, the deathbed of his beloved older brother (whose body hadn't even turned cold) was not the place to fight them.

-----

Away from the front row, Monmouth too crosses himself and adds his soft voice to the swelling chorus of "God save the King." So ended the life of Edward the Fourth, England's mighty warrior king - and soon, he figured (though he did not want to), the struggle for his legacy would begin, circling around his untested heir first of all.

[Lord William]

Lord William of Worcester arrived upon the news his majesties sudden illness, concerned for the welfare and the stability of the realm it was William's duty to remain with the King.