Full Summary: Set after 2x07. Disturbed by the rifts that are building in her marriage, Mary seeks a way to absolve she and Francis' emotional distance. In turn, she finds herself seeking solace in the arms of another.
THE ENEMY
Chapter One
"I'm guessing you're over me, I'm guessing it's just bravery."
Dawn used to be her favourite time of day. Often, as a girl, Mary Stuart had risen early just so she could capture the sight of the sun spilling across the world. She had romanticised about morning light, about awaking next to the person whom she loved with all her heart. She had envisioned it so clearly, she and the man she would spend the rest of her life with clasped in an embrace as the soft light of dawn bathed them.
Now, she is awake at the break of dawn for the wrong reasons. She is lying beside him, the man that she loves, but they are quite separate. Their flesh does not brush. They remain solitary, alone on opposite sides of the sprawling bed, both facing away from each other. Mary can hear him breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest as his lungs inflate before letting out the stale air that hangs between them.
This is not how she hoped to spend her mornings with him.
Marital bliss had quickly faded away as each new day did not bring the promise of hope, but rather impending doom. They had befallen hardship after hardship. True enough they had remained resilient and strong, faithful and true to one other through each terrible mishap that came their way, but Mary could feel it... even if Francis could not. There was something in the middle of them, an invisible veil that kept them at a careful arms length.
She swings herself out of the bed, no longer able to stand the expensive sheets and drapes that cover her. Goose flesh rising on her pale alabaster arms, she drifts to the window, still deep in thought. France, the country that she is partially responsible for stretches out endlessly before her very eyes. It's not quite as special to her as the rolling hills and craggy scenery of Scotland... in fact, it is no where near as important to her as her homeland.
No, she thinks quickly, shaking her head at herself. France is special to her... because it is special to him. France refined and pretty, Scotland raw and striking. With a small smile, she acknowledges that they are their countries. What was it her mother had always told her? Opposites attract. Perhaps that was true.
But her mother had always said it so... scathingly. So begrudgingly, with an eyeroll and a flip of her hand.
Mary's smile disappears. She understands.
Attraction is fleeting, meaningless even. You can look at a stranger and find yourself deeply drawn to their looks and beauty - it is what comes from that attraction that is of value. For she and Francis, it was love. Passionate and fiery. But it was sustaining the fire that was proving difficult.
Leaving the window, Mary begins dressing herself, struggling with an impressive gown before discarding it and picking out something she would never usually think to wear. Isolated, completely alone, she picks out her jewellry, weaving her crown into her mass of dark hair. Silently, so as not to wake Francis, she leaves their chamber, striding purposefully out into the morning.
•- - - - -•
The cold and crisp morning air refreshes him as it lashes across his cheeks. Putting an over-garment on had been an after thought when he was already halfway to the stables. Instead of turning back and trudging all the way he had just come, Sebastian decides to embrace the cool morning. Sweeping into the stables, he waves a greeting to the stable lad on duty. As always, with his youthful exuberance, the boy gives a small bow before scurrying along to the next stall, leaving Bash's black stallion alone.
Bash had always expressed a desire to tend to his own horse himself, something that the nobles had looked upon him scornfully for. He had not cared about what they thought of him; disdain washed over his head easily - he was the King's bastard, but he was free from the social regulations that condemned to his brother to a mundane life of political correctness. Now, things were different.
He was Francis' advisor and confidante, a position that entitled him to act with courtly respect and follow the strict regulations he had sought to distance himself from for his entire life. Certain obligations and responsibility had come from being his brother's advisor but, strangely, he did not resent them as he thought he would. He was however worried that Francis would have an aversion to him doing things considered 'lowly' and beneath him, such as feeding and grooming his own mount. Francis hadn't even seemed to notice or care, but had he done, Sebastian knew his title as 'Master of Horse and Hunt' would have protected him from any withering stares.
Bash sets to work grooming the enormous horse, lost in the rhythm of the brush strokes. Being with the animal had a curiously soothing effect on him. The company of the giant horse somehow made him think rationally when he had a difficult problem to mull through, or simply soothed him when he was feeling ill at ease. Even when he was without an issue, Bash enjoyed the company of the great black horse more than he enjoyed the company of most humans.
"I'd like to use a horse." The voice that interrupts the early morning peace of the stables is one that Bash is not accustomed to hearing, yet it is one that is so familiar to his ears. Surprised, he drops the brush on the floor before looking around the doorway of his horse's stall. Sure enough, she is there, larger than life. The stable boy is red faced, shocked about being addressed so politely when he is used to the gruelling harassment of the nobles. To be addressed kindly by a royal has seemed to render him dumb.
Mary is there, wide awake, her cheeks stained pink from the cold morning wind. The expensive gowns she usually wears have been swapped for a pair of creamy coloured breeches and tall leather riding boots that cling to her calves. She is still wearing a chain of exquisite design at her throat, a mark of the wealth that she possesses. When the boy fails to give Mary a response and continues to stare at her with confused, glazed eyes, Bash hurriedly steps in.
If Mary is surprised to see him at the stables so early in the morning, she does not show it. Instead, she nods her head, following him compliantly as he chooses a horse for her. When he returns with a saddle and bridle for the sweet-tempered bay mare, Mary intercepts his path.
"You'll do well to remember that I do know how to tack up a horse," swiftly, Mary takes the tack from his arms and breezes into the stall. He watches her as she moves deftly, all of her actions concise and firm, yet not harsh. He has not been around her recently, his duties as Francis' deputy keeps him from spending much time within the walls of the castle - he has forgotten what it is like to be in her company.
Mary is not a normal girl of royal blood. Whilst she is both refined and courteous, well-spoken with a good political brain, she is a lover of the outdoors, captivated by the beauty of exploring the world around her. She also has never had any sort of aversion to tasks associated with people beneath her. Watching her with the horse, he is reminded of a time that feels as if it occurred eons ago... a time where they had shared rides through the countryside together, when a future for them may have been possible.
Hastily, he brushes the thoughts aside. Things are different now.
He found mutual affection and love with Kenna - Mary had always belonged to Francis, and still does. Wordlessly, Bash leaves Mary to the horse. Again, he settles into the rhythm of grooming his own steed. The firm brush strokes erase any of the tension that the memories of his time with Mary so often stirs in his guts. He isn't sure how long he brushes the horse for, but again, it is Mary's voice that rouses him from his thoughts.
"Will you join me?" She asks softly. She is holding onto the mare, ready to leave the stables. There is a hesitant sincerity in her voice, a sense of startling vulnerability that Bash has not seen from her in a long time. As if she has read his mind, Mary straightens her shoulders, tilting her chin up. "I think it would be unwise for me to ride alone when the country is in such peril."
Bash cannot help but sigh. He knows to ignore her would be a stupid decision, particularly if something happened to her - he did not wish to be on the recieving end of one of Francis' tirades, nor did he wish to be responsible for any harm that my come to her. Grudgingly, he tacks up his horse. Together, they leave the castle on horseback, covered in a blanket of silence.
"It's been a while since we've spent time together like this, hasn't it?" Mary eventually breaks the silence as they turn down a scenic track through the quieter part of the forest. Bash looks sideways at her. The young queen looks preoccupied. Her focus is not on riding, or on the views that she had always admired. Instead, she seems to be staring forward, her expression vacant like she was not really present.
"In fact, it's been a while since I've left the castle grounds. I've just been holed up dealing with nobles and Fra-" Sharply, she breaks off, her cheeks flushing. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be talking about with this you."
A flash of pain lashes through his body. He winces before he can stop himself. When Mary reddens further, he knows that she caught sight of it too. He fights the desire to scornfully tell her that there was an obvious reason for the lack of time spent together that runs deeper than either of their duties, but he holds his tongue. After all, she is no longer just his friend. She is his Queen.
The atmosphere between them is strained. The conversation that patters between them futile; petty small talk had never been something that Bash was good at, and it only serves to hurt him even more. He cannot be the same around Mary, nor can she be the same around him. Their fates have ruined what it was they had, whether it be friendship or something more.
There is no space for fondness between them now.
A/N: This is my first Reign fic, and I would like to take a moment to point out that I am writing this solely because I'm currently in a state of loathing that the writers for this season have decided to cut out any possible interaction between Mary and Bash. I mean, what on earth is that about?! In my eyes, I don't see how they can be "done" so easily.
Although saying that, I'd also like to make it clear I am by no means a Frary basher or whatever, I do actually like Mary with Francis as well... but yes, this is dreamy idealistic little story. Let me know if you like it!
Also, feel free to catch up with me on Twitter ( leadclouds) sometimes I post sneak peaks of new chapters/stories, so if you're keen for updates, check in there!
-typedamon. :)