Tu Es Ma Lumière

89 - Lonliness

~/~

Prompt -  s1 Bash seeing Frary's relationship before he properly returns to thr castle please!

~/~

The first bloom has just been found, the promise of spring after months of frost and snow. The servents chatter happily with the news, but the news that the orchids and the grounds will once again be fruitful barely turns a hair. For, the day the bloom is found is the day I finally see her again.

Often, I come here, hoping, wanting just one glance of her. It's been months since she left me in those chambers that seemed so cold after her physical body slipped away from me. The wedding was lavish and extravagant, as a royal wedding should be. The two of them taking months away from court and royal life in their wedding tour robbed me of any mere glance of her. Oddly, I had yet to see her, she's been returned for months. She always adored the outdoors as a child, never caring if it was the heat of summer or the dead of winter. I wondered why she had yet to take even a mere walk in the snow  which had always reminded her of her rogue, brisk homeland when we were children in the nursery. Yet, finally, I am rewarded for my ardent efforts of hours long excurgences in the snow.

She walks slowly, lone. Her dainty feet crush the white coldness as she walks slowly towards the stone seats. She's bundled up, I observe. Her body is covered by a thick, black fur cape, dwarfing her. I can see the glint in her golden crown that is worn over the thick sea of straight raven hair as she turns to sit on the stone, her gloved hands coming out of her cape to swipe at the snow before she sits. I can see the sea of crimson skirts that glint with gold and black embellishments, catching a mere glance, before she sits down. Her back is to me, her hood coming up to cover her hair. It protects her from the cold, and I cannot help but think that's right, even though I did adore the sight of her hair decorated with small snowflakes, as it slowly falls from the sky and kisses the recipient of the fine white flakes.

Even if I hadn't seen her walk out of the doors and into he courtyard, I would know it was her. I would know her, recognise her, anywhere. The regal gait and aura she has always had, even when a child in this very court, is still prominent. The regality of her body as she arches her back to sit properly -there's really no need to, there is only her and I here-  and the hight of her chin as she observes the scene before her, from right to left.

Then, she simply sits. I wonder what she thinks about. Is it me? Does she wish she chose me instead? Does she miss me, as I undoubtedly miss her? Does she remember the time we spent together with the same fondness as I do?

I loose myself in my own thoughts, brought out of them by a figure joining us. Tall, dark clothing, blonde and a loose gait. It's undeniable. Francis. Like her, I would recognise him anywhere. A Crown Prince, a King, or an exiled Duke.

His feet crunch at the snow. She looks to him quickly, I can see his face. He smiles, more than likely returning her own beam, that was given to him and only him. She looks up, her hood falling off, as he nears close. Her glossy, raven hair is now exposed, I can see them again. Raven, grandeur gold and dainty white. I imagine her neck grows cold with this development.

He bows before her -as men like us should to a woman like her- but it turns into a kiss. One of his hands cups at her face, the other gloved palm and fingers coming up to pull her hood back up, protecting her from the cold. He hides my view from her, and I hate him for it.

They pull back and smile at each other, Mary's arms gripping at his leather forearms. He does not sit next to her as I thought he would. I stead, he drops to a knee before his -our- Queen. I am unsure why, until a better vantage point informs me what most of France, Scotland, England and the entirety of Europe probably knows by now.

His hand is on her abdomen, and her belly protrudes out massively. She carries his child, I see. I couldn't see it before, she had her back to me, her regality and royal blood probably making sure she didn't develop a pre-motherly waddle until it was unavoidable. But with this new vantage point, it's obvious, really. Her stomach is large and prominent. She's carrying his child. His child. Not my child. Never mine. I never was given that chance.

I never was given the chance to share the passion I felt for her. To have her bare and trembling underneath me, to have her truly, truly love me in the way that I love her. For her to have the opportunity to look at me how I still look at her. To look at me in the way she looks at him.

He stands first, slowly helping her up from the seat that is anything but comfortable. He brings her gloved hand towards his mouth, kissing the gold and emerald that stand to prominently against the fur-backed black leather. He rounds her, steadying her. She smiles at him again, before he tucks her arm in the crook of his forearm and begins to lead her into the warmth, for both her and the child's sake.

As they walk, I can see how far along she is in her childbearing months. She's well along now, the crimson skirts peaking out of her cape. Too far along for this to have happened since their wedding, unless the woman we love carries more than one child within her precious womb. There's a chance, but the acidic realisation that this could have happened before their wedding is both shocking as it is now obvious.

My breath is taken from my lungs, the air puffing out in a small cloud a few inches away from my nose. It feels like a stiff knee has been sharply placed in my gut. All that time, when she was supposed to be with me and only me, she carried a part of him inside of her, always. All the intimacies, the pleasures of the flesh, that she denied me over and over, she had already shared them with him.

I manage to catch a mere glimpse of her radiant smile before the two of them fade from my sight again. That smile, so radiant and bright, directed towards him and only him, the man who I used to call my brother, I come to the stark realisation that she was never really mine. They are together again, as they were for over a decade and a half, perhaps stronger now. A trifecta of love and political brightness, they are as whole and strong as ever, as if I and anybody else had never once come between them. I, like many others, merely wished upon borrowed time.

~

~~

Hope you liked! Sorry for the kinda late update, I've been plagued with writers block and haven't been inspired to write. And if there's any errors, blame it on the fact that I has to write this on my phone. I've been working on a 1x13 rewrite where Francis tells Mary what he did with Lola for a few days, but writers block is a cruel mistress, including the fact that I've been kinda sick today. But, i hope to get my mojo back soon so I can finish up and get stuff done. The billionaires daughter should be up soon after that, and here's a spoiler for the next oneshot. Mary gives birth and Henry's still around. I've been really intrigued with Henry lately, so if I could get a few requests for stuff about him, I'd appreciate it!

Stay safe,

love,

me

:).