Flash of Lightning-Roar of Thunder-Given Hand
A Reign Ficlet of Mary and Francis, solely Mary's thoughts
It refers to what may have happened before Mary left the convent, and is also an extension of the pilot's ending.
Rated K+, suitable for all, spoilers only if you haven't seen the pilot
TTT
The soggy grasses breathed under her feet, spots of mud tracing through the fertile soil. Often it was she'd kick the ball down the hillside, feet as bare as the day she was born. She loved the wet wild feel. Now she wasn't sure when she'd experience it again.
It had come upon them like a spark of lightning within the hazy skies, and sure enough the accompanying rumble of thunder was not too far off.
"Come, Mary." The head sister ushered the auburn-raven haired beauty along, pointing to the stone inner dwelling where they hid her past and future.
"Give me a minute." Mary whispered, wanting to feel the feral tickles of those wild grasses one last time.
"Mary, you must hurry."
"Just a moment. That's all I ask." Her deep brown eyes, like that of a doe in wonder, took everything in, ignorant to the voice behind her that was insistent now.
"Mary, the poison was meant for you, an assassination attempt. We cannot be idle. You must-
No peace.
Mary whipped her head around, a flash of anger upon her youthful, deeply angled face. "Am I not Queen? Queen of Scotland." She pressed upon the waistband of her simple dress, perfect for a convent and for pretending to be someone of unknown status. "Betrothed already to someone I haven't seen since I was a young girl and he a boy. When it arrives, the carriage that will take me back to French Court, everything is going to change. It has to. I'll never return here. Never see the sisters again. You."
She gazed upon it fondly, the convent, the hillside. "This land. I'm right, yes?"
Heavily the sister nodded her head. "Yes Mary. You cannot return here. It will not be safe."
"Alright then." Mary stated with finality. "Give me my moment. Surely as queen I'm entitled to such a small request."
The elder woman grimaced tightly. It was hard to keep up a strong stance though. There was something within Mary that went beyond her precious fifteen years of life, always had been, stubborn and yet full of regality, playful and impatient, but also sobering of thought.
"One moment only Mary. It's for your safety we must make haste. You have to understand."
With a grateful smile, as if she hadn't shown any anger in the first, Mary turned back to the land that had been her home now for quite some years. Here she had learned to collect peat to start a fire, and was instructed how to milk a goat, among other things that was usually left to servants and farmers.
Not a queen of a country.
Here she had been free of danger and expectations, or so she pretended. It was just a temporary fantasy though.
Mary fingered at her neck and collarbone, recalling last images of her father. He was handsome and bold of spirit, with a hefty beard she loved to tickle. Not unkind at all, he was not weak either. Her fondest memory was of him lifting her up into his arms when she was tiny, and feeling like she was flying above Scotland as he tossed her a few inches up, before catching her so effortlessly.
Later it was just her and her mother, but as the dangers commenced to surround, her mother sent her away quickly.
To France.
"Mary. The moment is up. Come."
Mary squatted down to her feet above the grass, and traced her fingers over it with care, whispering, "Goodbye."
Then standing up straight, head facing forward, she followed the sister to her destiny. Queen was not just a part to play. It was her inheritance and her given right. And it was time to dress so appropriately.
TTT
Perhaps the dark of night and sometimes blustering winds coming from the distant sea should make her shriek or rush away to a more hospitable place inside. Mary had always loved the outside though, even before her long stay at the convent. Back in Scotland, she would tie on her cloak and run laughing through the woods and up the heather moors. She could take ill weather, and actually the lake that flowed so close to the palace walls was quite beautiful, even when in a bit of frenzy.
What was not so easy to deal with, were the dangers here within French Court. Her innocence would have been taken if it wasn't for the mysterious person who warned her not to drink the wine. Lack of fortune, Scotland too held many threats. Thus, neither France nor home was a haven.
Mary was suspended with no true place of peace. Like a wreath of poisonous snakes, menace encompassed, within Scotland as much as here in France. There was no sanctuary, Mary thought somberly. She was like the distempered skies above, living a life of shocking lightning sparks and roars of thunder.
Even with friends at her side, arrived from Scotland, the loneliness trickled through, for not even they could entirely tear asunder the hard line of separation between Queen and subject.
And without true alliance-
"You shouldn't be out here alone. It's late."
The voice was soft, but firm. Francis. Letting out a sigh, Mary turned back to him, her lips pursing with barely restrained anger. "I wouldn't think my welfare is of much concern to you." The wind whipped at his golden waves of hair, messily thrusting it forward and back, she noticed as she stood her ground. Underneath it were eyes that shined in oceanic shades of blue, making for a very handsome young man, but that was not enough.
"Mary."
Stepping forward, she was a fluster of emotion. "You said that I wanted Colin to come to me. You are wrong.
I was attacked, Francis."
His jaw locked hard. "Then why did you seek to protect him?"
"Because he may have been pushed to it. I don't think he really wanted to hurt me."
"Then why would he do it?"
"Maybe for his family." Mary whispered. "Maybe it was the only way to protect them." She went on, trying to pretend there was no bit of shake in her voice. "There is danger all around me here, Francis. From within as much as the outside." She wanted to say more, but bit her tongue. It hadn't been established yet how much of an ally Francis was. After all, he made it plain he was having other…relations…and that he didn't care to marry her anytime soon, if at all.
The past, a time when they snuck up the stairs together as children and tore apart a pair of pillows so well with every smack that it sent feathers all over Queen Catherine's, and at the time, King Henry's room, no longer mattered . They had created such a stir and mess of white that when the attending servant entered to do her routine checks she had to stifle her scream.
And then of course they were rounded up for all their naughtiness.
During Princess Elizabeth's wedding the memory was so clear, but now it felt ages ago, tainted by Francis's indifference.
And so Mary didn't elaborate on why she felt there were pitfalls within. She couldn't tell him about the mysterious phantom person who had kept her from peril.
"Mary." Francis cut through Mary's troublesome thoughts. His hand inched toward the black shining cloth of her cloak, resting upon her wrist. "What do you mean by that? Surely you don't think there is danger to you within French Court. You are staying here to be kept safe. The threats are outside. Not within."
Mary lowered her eyes to the hand that lingered upon her wrist. When they were children it clung excitedly and boyishly. Now it just sat there like it was the perfect place to reside. At least its warmth felt that way.
When her eyes lifted up again, Francis's were directed at hers. The lake first, and ocean the latter, far beyond the stone walls, rippled and roared, as the blue in his eyes echoed the fantastic waters. She had to look away from them for a second before she could give hard counter. "I think your father keeps me for reason more than just my welfare Francis. You and I both know the political chess of countries. Never is a refuge given without a cost. It's just that when I came here from the convent I didn't think there would be such great pause before the alliance was fulfilled. Now Scotland hangs as so do I."
To that Francis sighed, his hand departing and his steps separating them as he backed away. His offense and irritation was obvious. "Mary."
"It's true. You have no wish to marry me and actually it's no wonder, for you believe I wanted Colin to come to me when I desired no such thing." She stated firmly, with pangs of hurt inside. That he thought she would do something so reckless, leaving her country and friendship with Lola in ruins, was unthinkable.
On a tangent now, she continued, spotting his chest heaving with unhappiness as he bit his bottom lip to keep from giving counter argument. "You are so puzzling sometimes." She railed at him. "Treating me as if I'm inconsequential at first, and now, all of the sudden, so upset that I could be with another, when it was nothing of the kind. Little you care, but I was frightened. I woke and he was there…climbing atop me and…"
Her words stopped there, in shakes and stutters that made Francis's eyes widen, tenderness coming over his features to soften the departing irritation. She was too quick though to catch it, turning around with a fluster of emotion, tightening her cloak around her shoulders as a shard of lightning hit the sky and the thunder echoed with a voluminous roar.
Exhaling a sigh, Francis asked with perplexity, "Then I ask it again. Why did you defend him? Mary, if you were scared, why wouldn't you want him executed?"
"I told you why." Mary whispered, looking out at the waters. "Lola loves him. And he's not a bad man. When he realized I had woken, there was so much terror in his eyes, and he kept yelling that he was sorry. It was almost, as if it could be true, he was more frightened than I."
The lightning cracked again, another heavy boom, and Francis's hands were reaching around her cloak, his fingers curling within to turn her around. Those blue eyes that mimicked the ocean, gazed questioningly into her brown ones, remorse on display. "Not everyone would care about some commoner. They'd consider it unimportant. But you do Mary. Of course you do." He turned out to the lake and wilderness for a moment, before meeting her eyes again, letting out a long sigh. "I was wrong. I shouldn't have jumped to such ugly conclusions."
She nodded her head firmly. "I care for my country. My friends. This engagement even…that you don't want."
Francis didn't look away, giving one small objection at the end. "I know you do. And I didn't say I don't want this engagement…not entirely anyway."
"You don't want to be married to me now." She stated, searching his eyes for any tricks or misleading, but there were none as he whispered,
"That doesn't mean forever. Things can change…Mary. Maybe the politics will line up rightly."
"And what if they don't?" She asked him, hating that she felt so vulnerable now, but her innocence could have been stolen away, and what then? What was France…Francis himself…doing to make sure her person was protected?
If it wasn't for her phantom angel who would be watching out for her? All these unsettling predicaments just made her loneliness intensify.
She wouldn't admit that though, not outwardly. She couldn't let Francis see her insecurity, not when he didn't care enough. She would keep it to herself and be like her father, kind, but strong. She would not falter-
"Mary."
It was there, Francis's voice, so soft now. However, his eyes were filled with such intensity, his hand, still within her cloak, grasping her waist, before letting go, and then repetition of the motion, a little dance of intention by his fingers. But he didn't want her…right?
Mary didn't know the answer. And was perplexed by why she cared so much in the first. He would say things, biting words, but then his eyes and hands would counter all that, just like they were doing so now,
Underneath the tempestuous French skies, Mary could feel the heat of his eyes as they focused so hard on hers.
It was like an ocean absorbing her, all those blue waves not leaving her face. It was a lure so filled with pull that she couldn't resist.
Mary took steps forward, parting her lips with mindless eagerness. There was no objection from Francis as his eyes drifted to her mouth, and he too stepped closer. She observed with mute fascination his tongue slip out of the line of his lips. Anticipation rose in her breast. First time. First-
Nature, not to be ignored, abruptly cut through.
The flash ignited the sky with soon the tagging thunder roaring so fiercely, that Mary swore she could feel the earth shudder against her feet.
Shock enough, it made Francis jump away from her, mind taking over heart, as he told her with a husky voice, "We should go inside. The skies are festering too much tonight. Do not worry. I'll lead you in."
She laughed dryly at that, getting his eyes to widen as she told him, "I'm not so scared that I need your hand. I think I'm less scared of nature's approaching storm than all the threats from people put upon me and Scotland. Before I first came to France, I used to watch the lightning shows with my father. And at the convent, I would help get anything inside before a heavy rain. Thunder and lightning don't frighten me in any primary sense."
He shook his head with a touch of bewilderment, before asking, "Did you like it there, the convent?"
Mary thought with melancholy and fondness of her last goodbye, and nodded her head. "It was different. But I felt so cared for. And kicking the ball around was always fun with the sisters."
He laughed at that, a good hearty laugh from Francis that made her smile, as he whispered with a teasing smirk, "I probably shouldn't be so surprised that you like all this…" He gestured to the stormy atmosphere. "And played ball at the convent. You were just as impulsive when we were children."
Mary's smile increased for a few seconds, but then she felt Francis's hand grasping her arm caringly. It made her heart beat fast, how he looked at her now. Barely a blink could get through those blue eyes.
"But the hour is late, Mary. You need your rest. As do I."
For a moment Mary had a vision of that intending they lay together. A tingle ran through her spine and chest as she thought of how his arms would feel wrapped around. Perhaps she wanted that more than she could yet admit.
The hand was extended again, his fingers lifting to hers, without words, just a quiet invitation. It and his eyes said more than phrases probably could. They made her finally feel like this sometimes lonely place could be a temporary home. Her time at the convent was gone. Even with all its uncertainties, French Court was now her residence…
She lifted her hand, letting him take it for a few moments, his fingers securely curing around hers, before he let go with a mischievous smile.
"You said you weren't afraid of the weather, and didn't need a hand to hold."
"I don't." She stated with a touch of indignation.
Francis nodded his head and she started to walk in front, but then his hand grasped her waist. She turned around slowly, asking,
"What is it?"
His gaze was heavy for some moments, clouded, like the moody skies above. He seemed to want to say so much.
"What?" She asked again, this time pulling at his hand, holding it within her curled fingers.
Francis gazed down at them, silently saying nothing, and then focused upon her eyes again. In them she could still see the hues of the ocean.
"If you need one within…"
What was he saying?
"Yes?"
It was another of those long drawn out sighs, the shaking of his head, and…
His hand dropped. Gently he pulled at her arm. "Let's just get inside."
Mary let out her own sigh, following his lead, so frustrated and yet…
It had been there in his eyes, in his hand. It was tiny and yet significant…
The walk was not long and after moments passed by, the door was within reach. He pulled it open and politely ushered her in.
Mary paused though, turning back to the lake and the uneven skies. The palace was not a haven.
"Mary."
She redirected her attention to Francis, seeing the glimmer of a reassuring smile there.
"Come."
No haven maybe, but her home for now.
She stepped inside.
With Francis.
Thank you for reading. :)