He still feels as though somehow he has become the traitor, that every time he wakes up and does not feel the vast empty ache of loss, he is become the very embodiment of perfidious Albion.
Every second that he spends not missing them, not longing for Anne's company, not yearning for Robert's familiar embrace, he thinks of as being somehow a sin greater than any the world might deem him to have committed.
Oh, God, RICHARD. I know just how Edward feels because I want to hug Richard and comfort him and make it all better and nothing ever can. And I want to smack Henry for betraying Richard and not quite understanding that it is betrayal until it's too late. And Edward, who tries so hard for so very long, is as heartbreaking as Richard sunk in despair.
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Every second that he spends not missing them, not longing for Anne's company, not yearning for Robert's familiar embrace, he thinks of as being somehow a sin greater than any the world might deem him to have committed.
Oh, God, RICHARD. I know just how Edward feels because I want to hug Richard and comfort him and make it all better and nothing ever can. And I want to smack Henry for betraying Richard and not quite understanding that it is betrayal until it's too late. And Edward, who tries so hard for so very long, is as heartbreaking as Richard sunk in despair.
I'm sitting here right now trying not to cry.