Archive of Our Own

He didn't know how he managed to keep his place at court. Not after so many attempts by his father to betray the royal family. Not after kidnapping the king. Not after conspiring with Margaret and marrying his sister to her son. Having the family name Neville was punishable. Having the family name Neville meant losing your head. Having the family name Neville meant bearing the stigma of a traitor for the rest of your life.

Ralph was the second of three children in Richard Neville's family. His father was quite a difficult man, whose ambitions and desire to hold as much power as possible took precedence over his family. Of course, when everyone calls you the “ the Kingmaker ”, you don't care about anything except wanting to gain more and more control. Did Ralph understand his father? Yes. Did he hate him? Oh, yes, he did. For his childhood, youth, and coming of age.

Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, was a gentle man with the king. Almost everyone in the kingdom had the strong impression that Edward was his real son, not Ralph, who wasn’t even always seen at the palace. Frankly speaking, his father had high hopes for him as a child. Sword skills, eloquence, knowing how to behave with people, getting under their skin — he had it all. Richard was making his son into his exact copy, or even something more ethereal, something that would be more deadly than “all your peers and all who will live after you”.

Yes… Yes. At the end of his life, his father wanted to cause a schism throughout the country in order to destroy the House of York and put Ralph on the throne. How did he envision this? Betray Edward, betray Margaret, crown his son. And who would follow him? Who would support Neville, who was once the “ the Kingmaker ” but had now fallen out of favor with the entire country? His father lost his mind a long time ago. Probably then that their mother had stillborn boys after Anne. Probably then that Ralph became more interested in reading than wielding a sword. Probably then that Richard saw his own son in the arms of another man.

He was hated. By his father, by society, by God. Every prayer, every step under the roof of God's house seemed to Ralph something false, hypocritical. He slept with men, which was punishable by a higher power, which wasn’t only forbidden, but could actually bring death. Every time the holy word was read, Ralph couldn't say a word — his throat tightened so much that he didn't feel like Neville. A little boy from the street who stumbled and fell into the mud in front of the king above all kings.

After everything that had happened, Ralph really didn't understand how fate had smiled on him. Why? One thing was his sisters, who posed no threat to the kingdom. Another was him. A man. The one who carried the entire Neville family in him, carried danger, betrayal, and constant rebellion in his blood. That's what many people at court thought, but not Edward's brother. Richard was completely different.

Richard was indeed different from his brothers. Even his view of the world didn’t reveal a direct desire to rule. No, he didn’t aspire to rule like Edward, because he was satisfied with what he already had. However, fate had other plans. Not fate, but God. The only one who had the right to crown and take lives. As a child, Ralph was friends with Richard. Hunting, reading, talking. They knew almost everything there was to know about each other. They finished each other's sentences even before the words left their lips. And then their paths diverged.

Perhaps it happened then when his father sailed away from England. Ralph stayed behind, telling Earl of Warwick directly about his decision. He was disowned by his close family, as George often reminded him in order to keep him under his control. Money, of course. Money and the desire for power — the Duke of Clarence never abandoned his plans. Never. Until his execution. Unless his mind had left him, which didn’t really change George. Perhaps he had been so envious and greedy for power since birth, but now it made no sense.

What essence was blossoming now in everything? And was anything blossoming at all? After so many years, Ralph even doubted whether he wanted to continue bearing the burden of his family name. Richard had Anne, who, together with his mother, helped him ascend to the throne, and allowed him to remain in the palace. As if he had no estate of his own. As if he were a foster child. As if his sister had become their father.

Anne began to rule even before her head was crowned with a golden crown. In the back rooms, they even mocked King Richard III, believing that he hid behind his wife's skirt and only said what she wanted him to say. Ralph tried to spread rumors that this was just a game played by the king, that it was in his interest for the country to believe that he was incapable of making independent decisions. “For the enemies. It's a great tactic to deceive and stab them in the back when they think they know him inside out,” Ralph whispered to almost everyone who wanted to talk to him. Surprisingly, there were many such people. Too many.

Anne wasn’t particularly pleased that her brother was meddling in “matters that did not concern him”. Unfortunately, she knew his secret — she had overheard her father reprimanding Ralph for his sin, for his filth, for his disgrace to the family name. He was supposed to marry Thomas Stanley's daughter, but her brother's bed turned out to be warmer. One meeting, one night that never came to an end. And now his whole life is ruined.

Yes, Anne knew. And it destroyed Ralph. No, not in the distant past, which already seemed like something fictional, almost a fairy tale, but in the present. If Anne had once supported her brother and continued to love him sincerely, despite such a sin, now she was using it to her advantage. Like the late George. His father had only “disinherited” Ralph in words, while the right of succession remained unchanged. Money, land, people — everything was still in the iron fist of the new seventeenth Earl of Warwick, seventh Earl of Salisbury, ninth Baron Montague. War was war, treason was treason, but much remained faithful to the Neville mantle on Ralph's shoulders. Why? Why… Just a few days ago, he learned from his sister that he should be grateful to Richard for constantly defending him in the eyes of the nobility.

Richard wasn't so bad. He was fair, he was kind, he… he let his wife and mother control him, as if he had no mind of his own. His vassals now believed that he was the one who had killed Elizabeth's sons. How easy it is to make canaille believe what is beneficial to someone else. Ralph didn’t consider lords and kings to be superior. They are all human beings, they are all mortal, and when their bodies rot in the ground, the worms won't give a damn what clothes you are wearing.

Lightning suddenly split the sky, shining the room better than candles, and Ralph winced at how loud the thunder was. A bell. It was so loud that it bounced off the walls in an unpleasant wave and settled like heavy iron on his tongue. Summer. It had been a long time since summer had been so hot during the day, and at night the sky was torn apart by thunderstorms. Many believed that this was a sure sign of the sunset of Richard, King of England. “The end of the Yorks, isn't it?” Somewhere in Ralph's head, his father's poisonous voice had been echoing for more than a day.

But he didn't want to. Ralph didn't want Richard's star to fade. In his youth, he had felt certain emotions toward him, which over time had become a raging river that wore away any stone that fell into its waters. In the last days of their carefree life in the past, Ralph felt that Richard felt something similar. Stupid. Stupid child. And now it was no better, because hope still smoldered in his heart.

It was also hot on the last day of their meeting. It was a day when the sun scorched everything its blinding rays could reach. It was a night when a storm arose, bringing with it the light of noon and the rumbling of rocks collapsing under their own weight. Then they ran off to hunt, where they were caught in the rain. Soaked to the skin, they ran into a forest hut and struggled to light the fireplace. It was pointless — the air had heated up so much during the day that their clothes had already begun to dry on them.

Ralph remembered how they sat by the fireplace, where damp wood was barely smoldering, talking about some nonsense, and Richard was so close to him. Neville felt the warmth of another body, not the fire. Then it seemed that what was burning in his own chest flashed in the other's eyes. Then it seemed that they were reaching out to him, because their hands touched each other with just the tips of their fingers. Then it seemed that summer would blossom not only with beautiful snow-white roses, but also with black buds steeped in sin. Nothing happened. And then fate had completely different plans for all of them.

One more soiree — Anne decided that the court should relax and “love their kings more”. Silly. How silly her sister was. She was and remained the same. But Ralph tried not to catch her eye. With each passing day, her anger grew stronger and stronger. Neville was about to leave, lost among the other lords, when Richard's gentleman's gentleman passed by him and, as if accidentally brushing his shoulder, whispered that the king would like to see him. Today. In the evening. In his private office.

At the royal court… Everyone in the country knew what it meant when the king's personal servant came up and said something like that. Even now, standing in the empty office, lit only by a few candles, Ralph felt the ground beneath his feet giving way beneath him. Sighing heavily, Neville pulled back the collar of his cotardie and shuddered at another wave of thunder that echoed off the walls.

“Ralph.”

A shout from behind made him turn abruptly. Richard. In dark blue pourpoint, with a white shirt, the collar peeking out at his neck, tired. For the last six months, he had always looked overly tired. His whole body screamed it.

“Your Majesty,” Neville bowed and dared to look up at Richard again.

“Ralph, without all this,” Richard said quietly, pushing himself away from the door and walking over to the table to rest his fist on it.

“Yes, I…” clearing his throat, Neville pursed his lips and unbuttoned his cotardie. “Your gentleman's gentleman said that you wanted to see me. But I'm surprised it's this room.”

“What?” Richard frowned, straightened up, and a quick flash of understanding crossed his face in the light of the lightning. “No. I don't… No. You misunderstood. I need to talk to you.”

“Oh my God.”

Ralph felt that his secret had been revealed to yet another person. Someone he had been friends with for so many years. Or so he thought. Being a fool was their family curse. He turned toward the window and closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. Calm down. Keep a straight face. Nothing had happened yet. The footsteps were quiet, but they pierced his temples with the sharpness of truth until they stopped at his right shoulder.

“We were friends, Ralph,” Richard said quietly.

“I hoped that even now,” he dared to turn his head toward the king and looked at him with a firm gaze.

“I hope so, too,” Richard nodded. “Tell me, as a friend, am I a fool?”

Ralph pressed his lips together. His gaze remained fixed, as direct and confident as ever. However, be that as it may, the king was standing in front of him. One wrong word and he could lose his life. It was one thing to think about ending your unbearable existence exclusively in your head, but it was quite another when the ruler spoke about it directly, signing an order for execution.

“Your silence speaks louder than words, you don't have to answer,” Richard said with a sad smile, forced and sharp, and turned his head toward the window, behind which the sky began to tear apart with distant silent lightning. “If I weren’t king, my words would be treason.”

“But you're the king,” Ralph felt he could switch to informality and get away with it.

“But I’m the king,” he folded his arms across his chest, which made his shoulders look even more tense. “And you’re Neville. The seventeenth Earl of Warwick. And I need you to finally remember that.”

“Why?” his voice rang with anger, which immediately awakened from memories of his “authenticity.”

“The queen and the king's mother are turning their ruler into a foolish child, whom they control as it suits them. They believe that power is in their hands, so they play their cunning games,” Richard glanced at Ralph. “Anne is trying to become like her father. But the truth is, I know you too well. Neville isn’t her.”

“And what do you want from me?” he felt each word tearing at his throat until it bled.

“It's time for England to finally wake up, my friend.”

His head was spinning. It was as if he had held his breath underwater for a long time, its weight already wanting to dissolve something foreign inside itself, and then, pushing off with his feet, he burst to the surface and gasped for air. Ralph was swimming. He was still swimming toward the surface to take a much-needed breath of sweet air, to feel the wind hit his face and the tiny droplets sting his skin, allowing the terrible beast to awaken.

White light outside the window. It was blinding. The sky itself unleashed its wrath, which entered the old oak tree in the royal yard like fire, flashing like a deceptive sun up to the clouds. Thunder, from which cracks filled with water ran from bottom to top on the glass. And a stranger's hand, which at that moment so timidly touched his own. It squeezed the very tips of his fingers. There was far more emotion, far more hope and supplication in this, than in all the words ever invented by mankind.

“So let us awaken England,” said Ralph Neville, the seventeenth Earl of Warwick, decisively.