And I, will hold you tight
Like the moon in the arms of the sky

.

The walk to our chambers feels as endless as this day, I feel as if this morning was years ago, when I awoke to see blood being spilled by a man now on his death bed. When a guard finally opens the door for me, I collapse in the nearest chair.

I take my gloves off, rubbing my hands together to create some heat. To pretend I'm doing something. Worry, regret, guilt…they all gnaw at me and pull in a hundred different directions. This is what we wanted. Francis will rule. But I remember how cold Catherine's hands were between mine and how Francis looked when he went in to see his father one last time and I can't avoid the shivers that run through my back. I keep seeing the wood sticking out from Henry's eye and convince myself that it was God's will to end this madness like this, with an accident; but the gruesome images won't leave me.

An uproar outside the door takes my attention away from my thoughts then. Cries of "The King is dead! Long live the King!" Echo down through the hallways, and I can hear them even through the door.

So it's done then. And Francis…

I can't even stand up to search for him, when he's coming in through the door, and there's a second where neither one of us knows what to say. He just stand there, looking so different than how I left him half an hour ago, so wildly lost that a knot forms in my throat.

"Francis, your father…" I try to ask, if he could say goodbye maybe- perhaps that I'm sorry it all ended like this; but the look in his eyes and his tear stained cheeks tell me all I need to know, and words are not necessary then.

"Oh darling." I exclaim, my heart tearing with those words. And then he's in my arms, kneeling on the floor in front of me, and I clutch him close as he shakes. I don't know what to say, what words could make any of this better, so I just hold him and hold him and hold him.

I don't know how much time passes with us like this. His arms around my waist, his head on my stomach. He clutching my red gown like his life depended on it, like I was the only solid thing in a sea of uncertainty. And me just running my fingers through his hair and holding him tight, pressing kisses to his hair. I love you, I love you, I love you,I think. My chest aches.

A few moments or an eternity later his fists let go of my dress and he looks up to me. His eyes are wet and rimmed with red, and it breaks my heart to see him crying. He never does; never did, even when we were children. He would just bite his lip until the pain had passed and then he would stand up and dust himself off.

I carefully wipe the tears from his cheeks with my thumbs, and then lean down and kiss each of them. I realize I'm crying as well when he does the same to me, and I feel the cool air on my wet cheeks. I know I'm not crying for Henry. My image of the King is too muddled for me to grieve for him properly, but I can't help but feel pain for Francis. I can't help but hurt for him.

His pain is my pain, it always has been.

"Francis." I say, not sure what to do-how to act. It makes me feel useless to see him like this and not being able to do anything. He seems to understand that I can't say anything and stands up to his full height, his feet unsteady. He offers me a hand to help me up.

"You should go to bed." He says, and I nod; more to comply with him that anything else.

I stand in front of my vanity and remove my crown; the weight of it a constant reminder of what I did today. Of how this day has been far too long already, far too filled with pain for either of us to be standing up straight and not crumbling under its weight. When the gold ornament finally rest on the wooden surface of my desk, it feels like the weight of the world has been lifted off my shoulders.

I can see Francis come behind me on the mirror, and I feel his nimble fingers undoing the dress, until it falls from my shoulders and lands on the floor in a heap of blood-red fabric. He does the same with my corset, until I'm standing in front of him in nothing but my shift.

He pushes me towards the bed and I follow his lead blindly. I'd give him anything he asked off me right now. But he simply pulls the covers down and nudges me to lie between them. He sits on the corner of the bed to briefly pull off his boots, and not bothering to get out of his clothes, briefly climbs in after me, clutching me close to his chest.

Before I laid down I did not know just how much I craved the sanctuary of our bed, the quiet and calm -and particularly how exhausted I am. I can't imagine how he must feel. I caress his hand over and over again. The reality of our new roles has just begun to touch my mind. But it doesn't matter now. Not when we are here, and we're together, against anything or anyone. We'll get through this. He gives me that certainty when he presses a kiss to my neck, warming me even in this moment. Even through his grief.

"I love you." I tell him earnestly, my voice trembling slightly.

"I love you." He answers me, his voice hoarse. I can't see his face, but he holds me even tighter.

I'm close to drifting asleep when a page comes through the door, requesting Francis' immediate presence in the maps room. He thanks the boy, who kneels before leaving, and I instantly miss the warmth of him against my back when he begins to move.

"I thought you were sleeping." He tells me, as I turn towards him.

"I nearly was." I answer, his hand between mine. I can't seem to let him go. "What-"

"I assume it's my father's advisors," he tells me. "…I have to go."

"You need to rest," I tell him, stubbornly. He's been through enough for tonight.

"It'll only take a moment, and then I'll come back to you," he promises, leaning down to kiss my forehead. I reluctantly nod, knowing he's right; that he needs to tend to these matters. But I just want him safe by my side. I pull him down, my hand on the nape of his neck, to press a lingering kiss on his lips. It tastes of salt, of sadness.

With a certain heaviness of heart I watch him pull on his boots and, after one last squeeze of my hand, leave our chambers, closing the door after himself.

I'm resolute to wait for him awake, to not succumb to rest until I have him in my arms again.

The door is still closed when sleep finally takes me.

a/n: Congratulations to all #kinkyFraries for 250 threads of fangirling, creative hashtags and lots of Frary loving.

If you haven't joined us,please do. We're a fun bunch. :)

Tittle and lyrics at the beginning from Sons&Daugthers by Allman Brown. All the frary feels. 3