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Edward supposes that he shouldn’t really be here. His doctors, if they were brave enough, would have his hide to see him out of bed and even he can admit standing feels too ambitious. But there are chairs and he can sit, at least, and feel the sun on his face for a change. He can look out at the green lawns, the blue sky – it’s so simple, it’s all he ever wants these days.Not all. His son, the sweet, round-faced boy who Edward always wants to reach out and pull into an embrace. His only child. Richard.Richard is practising his weapons at this moment, sparring with a boy only a couple of years older. Edward knows that this is what Richard needs to do, that he must learn to hold his own, to perfect his foot-joust. But still, Edward can hardly bear to watch. Richard seems so slight and the boy sparring with him is much stronger than him, knocking Richard down remorselessly. Richard, to his credit, is unyielding, always scrambling back onto his feet with a terrific scowl on his face.Edward cannot watch any longer. He calls out, hating how feeble his voice sounds, and gestures to the master at arms to call everything to a halt. Richard starts at the sound of Edward’s voice and immediately begins to devour his bottom lip, digging his teeth into it.‘Dickon,’ Edward calls. ‘Come here, please.’Richard trudges towards him, taking off his helm and tucking it under his arm. His lower lip, granted mercy by his teeth, sticks out in a pout, and Edward wonders how badly his son is bruised and how, if he was still fit, he would find it hard to resist the idea of brutalising his son’s sparring partner. He takes the helm from Richard and drops it on the ground. ‘What is that face for?’Richard shrugs. He plays with the buckles of his vambraces, the picture of sulky innocence. Edward sighs and gestures for an attendant, ordering the removal of Richard’s armour.‘Here,’ Edward says, tugging Richard onto his lap.He smothers his groan. Richard is all knees, elbows and very bony backside, and even though his weight is slight, Edward finds him heavy and uncomfortable. But he will hold his son while he still can.‘I am proud of you,’ he murmurs, wrapping his cloak around Richard’s shoulders and drawing him close. ‘Very proud.’‘I kept losing,’ Richard whispers.‘You kept getting up,’ Edward corrects. ‘Even though you are almost immediately trounced again.’Richard says nothing but hides his face in Edward’s chest. His shoulders shake.‘Regardless,’ Edward continues. ‘You are not sparring to win but to practice and learn. You, at least, have learnt to be stubborn in a fight.’‘Maybe.’ Richard sniffs. ‘But you’d beat him easily. You must be so ashamed of me—’‘Dickon. No.’ Edward keeps his voice firm, though his heart breaks. Someone has been telling his son stories, trying to humiliate him. ‘For one thing, I just told you that I was proud of you. For another, I would find it difficult to beat a babe in arms at the moment.’This, at least, wins him a weak giggle from his son, who is trying to wedge himself in Edward’s armpit.Edward’s stomach cramps. Not now, not now. He cups Richard’s face, draws it up from its hiding place and brushes back the golden curls.‘I am not, nor will I ever be, ashamed of you.’‘Even if I fall over during my first battle?’Edward smiles. ‘I fell over at mine,’ he says. ‘So you would match me, at least. But even if you ran away – and I doubt you would – I would not be ashamed.’It seems to get through to Richard, who sighs and slumps against him. Edward rubs his back.‘It might be your strengths are not in battle,’ Edward says. ‘And that is fine, though you must continue your training – it is likely you will be asked to fight and in such a case, I would want you capable of defending yourself.’Richard nods, a little less miserable than he was before. Edward rubs his back gently, thinking it isn’t fair, that it is a shame Richard is his only son and heir. If not, he might have had some choice in what to make of his life. He could find something he excels at and devote himself to it, not be required to go where he must, to fight and govern.‘How would you have beaten him, then?’ Richard asks.‘Well.’Edward’s first instinct is the one that wanted to storm out onto the field and pull the boy away by the scruff of his neck and make him sorry for touching Richard. His second instinct is a quick move to put the boy on his back with humiliating speed. Neither is appropriate to tell Richard and unfair to his opponent.‘You should always start by watching your opponent. It leaves you vulnerable, of course, so be quick about it or learn to do it as you fight. Judge his skill and his weaknesses. You should carry a dagger in your belt – if he knocks you down, draw the dagger and stab it through his foot.’‘I couldn’t do that!’ Richard squeaks. ‘I don’t like him very much, but that’d really hurt him!’‘True. You shouldn’t do it in sparring, but in a real battle – you do it, and you don’t worry about whether it hurts your opponent.’Richard nods. Edward’s belly cramps again, he closes his eyes briefly.‘Strike him on the back of his knees, instead. Or go for his groin, if you’re desperate. He is probably arrogant because he used to victory, so he will be sloppy and lazy. Look for how he exposes himself to harm and use it.’ Edward kisses Richard’s brow, gesturing for his attendants.‘Will you tell me how?’Edward hesitates. ‘Tomorrow, after you’ve sparred with him again. I will watch and tell you what I see. Now, I want you go wash up, get into some warm clothes.’Richard nods, beginning to pull himself up off Edward’s lap. ‘Of course, Father. Will – will I come back here when I’m done?’‘No.’ Edward’s stomach cramps hard, and he almost misses how Richard’s face falls. ‘You have lessons and I need – I need to go back to bed. But after – after dinner, come and see me in my room, yes?’Richard bobs his head in a quick nod, reaching back to hug Edward tight before racing off. Edward turns to his attendants, allowing them to take him away.*Later, Edward lies in bed and struggles to breathe. It is all he can do just to pull air into his body, to let it go after. He worries about Richard, how his son is so sensitive, so vulnerable. He worries that Richard’s rights and inheritance will be taken from him, that people will use him and that Edward will not be able to protect him – and he is barely capable of protecting Richard now, but he likes to think he still does some good.Richard’s sweet face, creased in sleep, lies against his chest, his curls a riotous halo. Edward wishes he could touch them, stroke them back, but his arms are heavy and his hands weak. He will not live to see his son grow into a man.