In My End is My Beginning
Written in honor of the anniversary of the execution of Mary, Queen of Scots.
Mary had always been well aware that either she or her cousin would have to die.
She and Elizabeth had never had any real chance of being able to coexist, for Mary's very existence was akin to a sword hanging over Elizabeth's head, a threat to her throne, and Elizabeth had always been so fearful of that, so afraid that Mary would reach for her throne.
Mary didn't want her cousin's throne. The people around her wanted her to take it - the queen herself was only a pawn in their schemes, someone with a bloodline that proved useful to them and gave her a claim. Yes, she had a birthright to the English throne, but it wasn't something that she herself wanted. All she wanted was peace. But Elizabeth would never believe such a thing.
She had now been imprisoned here for years, and she had long since lost any hope of being released. It was too dangerous a chance for her cousin to take - Mary was the nexus between each and every plot to take over England, to take back Scotland, the sole connection between them all, and so Mary Stuart was not surprised when the lords came to read aloud her death warrant.
She remained quite calm at the news, her voice gentle but impassive when she spoke. "I thank you for such welcome news," she said, folding her hands before her. "You will do me a great good in withdrawing me from this world, out of which I am very glad to go."
One of the lords rolled his eyes and turned away, while the others appeared disconcerted by her words. Mary had to smother a smile, and they left before long, leaving her to her thoughts and preparations.
When the day of her execution dawned, she rose from her bed early to distribute gifts amongst her household and to give Greer one last hug. Her lady had been with her until the very end - the only one out of four that had never left. Aylee and Lola were long dead, and Kenna...well, in truth, Mary did not even know what had become of Kenna, but she hoped that her friend was alive, safe, and warm.
Brought into the great hall where the scaffold had been erected, Mary found it filled with people, and she only offered them a serene smile. Someone asked her if she would like a Protestant preacher to come pray with her in her final moments and she scoffed at the offer, waving a hand to dismiss the asker. A Protestant preacher, indeed! They had not admitted her chaplain to pray with her the night before, but she had expected no different.
Once she was dressed only in her crimson petticoat and bodice, the executioners knelt at her feet and wept, asking for her forgiveness. Mary smiled again. "I forgive you, for now I hope that you shall make an end to all my troubles."
She was ready.
She was so tired of this world and its cruelty. Tired of the rivalry between herself and her royal cousin. Tired of being without him. Tired of being a pawn in other people's schemes.
She could go now. She could be happy, and in her end was her beginning, after all.