Without You

"When I die, Mary and Charles will rule," Francis said, "and you will not rise against them." His face was flecked with blood, that of Antoine's bodyguard, and there was still some below his left ear where it had begun to bleed moments ago. He wore a mad grin on his face, one that might have scared someone else, but Mary knew he was doing. He was protecting her, just as he always had.

She moved to stand beside him, watching the king of Navarre as Antoine clearly floundered. "Have you gone mad?" Antoine finally sputtered, looking to the corpse of his guard.

"You misjudged me, Antoine," Francis said, and laughed. "I am my father's son. Sign away your claim, or I will gather my forces at your borders, ransack your cities, pillage your gold, I don't care. If I have to run France into the ground, I will take your country from you."

Antoine turned to her then. "Mary, convince your husband to see sense," he demanded of her.

Mary bit back the retort she wanted to give and merely stepped forward, just at Francis's shoulder. Instead, she adopted a pleading tone. "Remember why you came here," she said softly. "To save your brother, to protect your family. Sign. Please, before you lose everything."

More than anything, what she wanted in that moment was to cry and scream that it wasn't fair, to howl and stomp her feet like a child. None of it was fair. Francis was dying, was in so much pain, and yet here he was thinking of everyone but himself. It wasn't fair that he had to endure her struggles. It wasn't fair that he was going to leave her, that he was going to die so young. Francis, of all people, deserved better.

And she knew that nothing would be the same when he was gone. There would be no more happy days. There would be no more victorious moments like the one that they would share after this. There would be no one to come and fight for her against people like Antoine that would take advantage. There would be no Francis. There would be no forever. Everything that she knew was steadily falling to pieces before her, and she was trying so hard to gather up the shards in her arms and put them back together, but there were so many sharp edges and corners left. It wouldn't work. Not without him. Never without him.

She did her best to tell him as much later. Not to upset him, or to hurt him, but because she knew that she didn't thank him enough and she wanted - no, needed - him to know that she appreciated everything he had done for her. Everything that he was doing now, even in his final days. Why was he so strong? So giving? She should be the one fighting for him, for his family.

You haven't lost me yet, he told her, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead when Nicholas went away. I'm still here. Fighting, at your side.

"The alliance is not what has protected Scotland all these years," she told him later, holding the letter from Spain in her lap. "It's you. It's your love for me. When you threatened Antoine with war - I could see in your eyes that you meant it. There is nothing you wouldn't do for me."

That was the simple truth. All there was to it. Francis was one of the only beings standing between her and destruction - and when he was gone, she just didn't know what she would do without him.

She couldn't expect the same of Charles, of any man. They wouldn't care for her the way Francis did and they would put their own countries first, just as they should and as she would for Scotland. They wouldn't be Francis. They wouldn't have his heart, his love for her.

Because that was what this was. Love was Francis making countless sacrifices for her, experiencing the heat, bearing the struggle, and holding her together. It wasn't made up in political alliances or just anyone. His love was clear in the warmth of his adoring eyes even now as he looked down at her, cupping her cheek in his hand so tenderly. It was in the guidance of his steady hand and good heart in surviving her struggle with Elizabeth just a little while longer. It was in his voice when he spoke to her, with nothing but enough whispered strength for one more step on his lips.

"And when you die..."

She couldn't even begin to express her thoughts to him. Not with the way he was looking at her. She knew that it would hurt him to realize how heartbroken she already was. So, she let her sentence die on her lips and allowed him to finish.

"The alliance will die with me."

As if that was it.