Well this was simply history repeating. He was back in that place, in Bosworth and nothing had chanegd, Stanley was still a traitor. The red rose of Lancaster still mockingly overwhelming the white, but memories started to return to the king of another place. Another land. One where he had lived beyond this god forsaken field and had friends, oh he'd fought another war too of course but overall it had been better. He had been alive.
He moved to the side, remembering where Stanley's men had attacked first. Oh on sheer numbers alone he couldn't win. But he remembered stories of people returning to that place, remembering it all, remembering friends, remembering their past.
He died here, and so all he needed to do now was stay alive until the seal took him. And so the last Plantaganet king fought. Killed some, took a few scrapes but nothing like the wound that killed him. But he knew it was coming...he knew sooner or later.
He was pleased when the world finally began to shake and turn and Bosworth vanished.
A cemetary. He was in a cemetary. In gods name he hoped it was Lawrence. Wherever it was, he was not alone. People looked confused, or scared. One, a redhead muttered that it was done, it was over, and this was wrong before walking away. A man looked confused, looked down at his phone and seemed not to be as wary as he could have been about another world. Perhaps like some here, he was used to the idea. Another, a young girl walked up to him, she didn't seem to care about the blood that covered him. Lancaster blood.
"Hello. I do believe you might be in a place called Lawrence, in lands called the Americas. Do you know where they are? My name is Richard, and if we are where I believe us to be then I can help you?"