This Idea simply wouldn't leave me alone. What if Marguerite of Anjou had been barren and Margaret Beaufort had been born in 1455 instead of 1443? What if Edward V had been the eldest York child rather than Elizabeth?With only nine years between them, would they have been pushed into marriage? Would the Red and White Roses have united a generation earlier than they did? Here, in a short chaptered story is my take on it. Enjoy! NB: Margaret's mother's name has become Joan, because I could swear that's what it is in the White Queen and I'm too lazy to change it back to Margaret now that I've written this...

The Red And White United

Part I: 1455-1464

The woman's dark brown curls were black with sweat as she groaned in pain, a groan which changed into a hollow scream of agony as the contractions worsened.

"You're doing wonderfully well, Lady Somerset, wonderfully. We'll have a boy for Lancaster before long."

The midwife's cheery tones grated on the expectant mother's nerves, but before she could protest, another wave of pain gripped her, forcing a guttural howl from the back of her throat.

As though a dam had been broken between Lady Somerset's legs, a mess of water and blood gushed out, soaking the sheets and bearing with it a small, whimpering babe.

"Now then, what did I tell you?" The midwife exclaimed, picking the child up and wrapping it tightly in wide strips of white swaddling linen, "That didn't take long at all, did it?"

Lady Somerset shook her head, "Is it a boy?" she asked croakily, hoarse with screaming.

The attendant's hesitation was answer enough for Lady Somerset. "It's not, is it?"

"No Madam. It's a bonny, healthy girl. A little small perhaps, but we'll soon feed her up, you may be sure of that."

Lady Somerset bit the inside of her cheek and nodded, "You'd better go and inform my husband."

"Yes, Madam." The midwife laid her charge in her mother's arms, curtsied and left the room. A few minutes later, a large, burly man appeared in the doorway.

"Joan. I hear we have a baby daughter."

"Yes, John. I am sorry. I had prayed for a boy."

"Of course you did. We all did. A boy for Lancaster. A boy to be Cousin Henry's heir, since the Queen seems incapable of giving him one. But never mind. Girls are good for alliances. As long as a boy's next, this little maid will be useful to her cousin one day, I don't doubt it."

"Nor do I," Joan replied, relieved to hear her husband taking the news so well. In the face of it, she dared to push her luck just that little bit further. "I'd like to name her Margaret, for the Queen."

John considered for a moment, then lifted his shoulders carelessly. "Why not? It's as good a name as any. After all, this little girl could be Queen one day. If Cousin Henry ever manages to sire a son on his wife, then our girl can be the lad's wife. His Queen. For if we of Lancaster stand together, there's no way the Yorks could ever supplant us, even with Cousin Henry's health as fragile as it is."

He bent, brushed Joan's lips with his own and tapped little Margaret's nose with the tip of his forefinger.

"You be a good girl for your mother now, understand, and a good example to your brother when he arrives. My little Margaret Regina."

Then he strode from the room without so much as a backwards glance.

Margaret's brother never did arrive, however. Despite her parents best efforts, she remained their only child.

In the autumn of 1461, her father was called upon by Queen Margaret to ride out with her in order to defend her husband's throne from the Pretender, Edward, Duke of York, styling himself Edward IV, and his general, Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick.

Margaret was only a child, barely into long gowns, but unknown to her parents, she was crouched behind a pillar in the castle doorway, listening to their hushed exchange just moments before her father rode away into the pearly dawn light.

"Joan...If God forbid, anything should happen...Should we lose, make peace with the Yorks. Our girl is destined to be Queen, I'm sure of it. Promise me you'll do whatever it takes to keep her safe and get her on the throne."

"But John, God rides with Lancaster. Surely. He has to. We're old King Edward's heirs, since Richard was without children. We come from his third son, John of Gaunt."

"These are uncertain times, Joan. Promise me."

Her father's voice was harder than Margaret had ever heard it. Her mother nodded.

"I promise. Godspeed, My Lord Husband. Godspeed and may He keep you."

"Thank you, Joan. May He be with you and Margaret."

John knelt briefly for his wife's blessing, then swung up on his horse and clattered out of the yard, on his way to meet with Queen Margaret and her forces.

As he went, little Margaret offered up a fervent prayer.

"Sweet Jesus, please. In Your Mercy, keep Father safe from harm. Bring him back to us unharmed. But above all, do Your Will, Lord, not mine. If it is Your Will, as Father thinks it is, that I become England's Queen, I pray that You might guide me and show me that it is so. Keep Father safe and make him Your instrument to prepare me for Queenship. I beg You."

It was a prayer she was to repeat every night for weeks. In vain. John Beaufort, Duke of Somerset, slain on the field at Towton, when Edward of York proved himself victorious, never came home.

Three years on, another woman was writhing in the throes of childbirth. But this time the circumstances were different. This wasn't the Duchess of Somerset giving birth to some distant, bastard line cousin of the sick King's, this was Queen Elizabeth of England. The child in her womb was the future of the York Dynasty.

When it slid out, accompanied by the usual chorus of anguished shrieks and groans from its mother, there was a stunned silence, followed by a delighted round of applause.

"Well done, Your Majesty. You've done it! You have a boy. A beautiful, healthy boy! A York boy for England!"

"A York boy for England," Queen Elizabeth crowed hoarsely, her grey-blue eyes alight with triumph. "God be Thanked! I've done my duty. I've done my duty and sick Henry and his barren Queen can never hurt us now."