- 𝐹𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑎𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑖𝑔𝑛 -
It's the year 1464 and Eleanor Woodville lives at Grafton Manor as one of the younger daughters of Jacquetta and Sir Richard Woodville. At 11 years old, her worries are little and her joys great but her o...
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~Tewksbury~
Riding as fast as she could, Eleanor prayed that the battle would not yet spill out onto the surrounding roads for if it did then her plan was doomed to failure. She could almost see the house in which Anne was hiding in, it's tall chimneys rising above the trees, almost beckoning to her as she urged her horse to go faster.
Galloping into a patch of woodland, she pulled her destrier to a sharp holt and dismounted, tying the reins to a nearby branch much like she had done at Barnet. Taking a deep breath, she began to creep forward, little by little edging towards the timber framed house that was hiding the Lancastrians and the Neville she was supposed to rescue.
Stepping behind a tree brach, she peered around from behind, her eyes widening when she saw no guards posted at the doors or anywhere nearby. 'Of course' she thought as she realised they must all be at the battle, the noise of which was getting alarmingly closer, moving from a distant din to a clear cry.
Rough, metal clad fingers suddenly curled around her arm and she exclaimed with a cry as she was swung around to face a young man in his mid twenties, blood, as red as the rose painted on his armour, spattering his face and his lips curled into snarl as he saw the white one that adorned hers.
"A York whore" he spat as she demanded he let her go, trying in earnest to pull away but failing as he struck her and she fell to the ground, a hand immediately cradling the side of her injured face.
She hardly had a chance to glance up, her free hand fumbling for the hilt of her dagger as a rush of adrenaline surged though her veins and she tried to struggle to her feet only for the man to grab her braid, yanking it with all the strength she had so that she screamed, sure the hair would tear from her scalp as she fell to the floor again, the air being knocked from her lungs.
She continue to struggle and scream as he pinned her to the ground, clamping a hand over her mouth while he used the other to hike up her skirt, trying to crush her into submission. Her thoughts were whirling, refusing to focus as she kicked and thrashed from side to side, finally managing to bite down onto the man's hand, her teeth tearing into his flesh, a pained yell escaping him as he sat up, clutching his wound.
With a quickness she had never known, Eleanor scrambled to rise, turning to run, dagger now in hand only to find herself yanked back again, shoved roughly against the tree trunk which she had been hiding behind just moments before.
Throwing her head forward, she groaned in pain as her forehead connected with the Lancastrian's, causing him to stumble back before she thrust her blade deep into his throat, his warm blood spurting out of the wound and onto her as she withdrew the dagger and collapsed as he fell against her, life draining from his eyes.
