Sillage, a reign fanfic

Title: Sillage [One-Shot]

Summary: And between them, and towards her, he couldn't help himself. He didn't want to help himself. Between them, and towards her, the pull was just too strong.

Characters: Mary S., Francis V.

Category: Romance, Drama

Status: Complete

Date published: 1-10-14

Disclaimer/Letter from the Author: Hey, guys. I am listening to Keane, and I was listening to their song, "You are Young" and it inspired me.

This is my first ever Frary story. I know, if you guys have read The Petals that Fall, this may seem a surprise to you, but I just felt as if it needed to be written.

This fic is a songfic. Lyrics from the song are in this work of fiction. I really suggest listening to the song while reading. I'm adamant, even. If you do so, everything will fit, and you'll be blown away.

Reign and its plots and characters belong to Laurie McCarthy and the CW. The lyrics quoted in this work of fiction is from the song "You are Young", from the Keane album Strangeland. I own neither of these things. However, this original plot belongs to me, please ask permission before any reuse of any part of this fanfiction.

Remember to review!

Sillage

| "Sillage - (n.) the scent that lingers in air, the trail left in water, the impression made in space after something or someone has been and hone; the trace of someone's perfume." |

Fearful child have faith in brighter days,

stay home 'til this darkness fades away.

Lie still beside me - I'll hold you now.

I'll hold you forever.

When he really closed his eyes, and willed his mind to think about it, he remembered her somewhat. Her knobby knees and black straw hair. Her sickly pale skin, and her gap between her teeth.

Winter's hand will freeze your heart again.

Doors will close, no time to start again.

Nothing is given...

She had always been so impatient, often dragging him to the places he'd wished to show her, instead of walking alongside him. She had always been so eager, so willing, to cause mischief in his home, and thinking back on it, Francis could not recall why he'd ever let her drag him around so.

Except the ties that hold us together.

Perhaps it was the gleam in her eye when she saw a prospect of adventure, the same gleam that shown in his elder brother's eyes when he'd tell Francis his Neanderthal tales. Yes, she had seemed to be the spitting image of his older brother, Sebastian, in that aspect - always daring, braving the unknown in such a way that he could not, in such a way that he'd must not.

Lay down your load,

'cause every day it's gonna grow,

and bask in the sunshine.

Try to pay no mind -

try to pay no mind at all.

And when something would appear to boring or too slow, she'd throw a tantrum; when stories of wonder were being told in her ear, she'd cry, "Skip to the end, skip to the end!" She was always eager to know of the future outcome, and never of the choices that should lead up to it.

Then if, by chance, she'd found the ending to be unsatisfactory, she'd said indignantly, "That never happened!" and retell the tale, and make it one of pirates and sea monsters, of hidden treasures and jungles.

And although he'd often roll his eyes and chastise her for her impatience, he'd always fall under her spell, bewitched by that sparkle in her brown eyes; and by her imagination, as well as the rising and falling pitches of the voice which spoke for it.

To all the things that you don't know,

you've got time to realize you're shielded

by the hands of love,

And when she had called after him, her knobby knees more noticeable than the striped dress that she wore, with wide eyes and a gap-toothed smile, her raven hair flying in the breeze as she ran to him, he'd thought to himself - as if finally realizing what it really meant to be the next in line to be King - that one day, he would wed the wild girl that stood, panting before him.

'cause you are young.

Of course, he didn't fully understand what all lied ahead of him, still too young for the adult matters of the heart to be comprehensible, Francis hadn't minded the thought; of marriage. Of Mary.

They already spent all their time with one another, with the Scottish girl always dragging him with her wherever she went; if their marriage were to be like that, it wouldn't be something he wasn't used to. It wouldn't be something he'd mind.

"Yes, Mary, what is it?" He had asked her, these thoughts simplistically going through his mind as he stared at her.

"Come with me to my room!" she'd panted. "I've had a wonderful idea come to me!"

This time when she grabbed his hand to usher him with her, he didn't protest against it; instead of groaning and resisting as she pulled him along, he went willingly, relaxing his form so her dragging him behind her could be done much more easily; and when they had made it to the winding stairway that led to their rooms, he took the lead, gripping her hand as he moved in front of her, pulling her for once, looking back at her only once, to see her blink but grin so widely he inhaled a staggering breath.

He was too young to understand the definition of 'beautiful'; but it was still the only word that came to mind.

Fading light may make a fool of me,

courage fails; strengths slip away from me.

Lie still beside me,

and hold me now - and hold me forever.

They tiptoed silently, giggling. Although their rooms were right next to one another's, his mother thought that girls and boys should not be alone in rooms together, for whatever reason.

Still though, Mary would always sneak into his room some nights, and crawl into his bed to lie beside him. She'd tell him it was because she wasn't tired, but she'd always yawn, and thus Francis had started to wonder if perhaps there was another reason, a sadder reason his mind was still too young to understand, but one he knew he'd understood at the same time.

They'd lie together in his bed, talking, until Mary would begin to snuggle underneath his sheets and he knew it was time for bed. He'd nudge her, and grab her hand, gently escorting her back to her room, and tucking her in the way his mother used to do for him when he was younger.

Those moments meant something, what, he had not known; but it was a secret they both knew was important they kept and shared.

Now, they snuck into her room, opening the door to her chambers softly and closing it with a light resounding click behind them. Francis surveyed her bed room, frowning at the bed when he saw six pillows laid upon it.

"Mary...are those mine as well?"

"Mmm!" she'd hummed in answer, tugging her hand free of his as she ran to the bed and flopped onto it. She'd stood up on it then, and held her arms out wide.

"Francis, come join me!"

"What are we doing?" he'd asked her, as he complied, though glancing back down at the pillows that brushed against his pants' leg, he'd thought he knew. When she had bent down and grabbed a pillow up, and laughed, he did know, bracing himself as she hit him with it.

"Come on, hit me, too!"

Francis was not accustomed to doing such things; play fighting with pillows. Wooden swords, definitely. But nothing such as that. And although he'd wished to tell her so, he'd known how futile such an act would be.

Hesitantly, he picked up one of his pillows, feeling its softness in his hands. He looked up, and met her steady, eager gaze, and it was that eagerness, that happiness, that made square his shoulders, as he raised his arms high and swung the pillow in her direction.

He heard her squeal as the air left her lungs. Her hair was haphazardly about her head due to his swing. She stood, staggering slightly, beaming.

And as they began their pillow war, he felt himself beam as well.

Lay down your load; 'cause every day it's gonna grow.

It was exhilarating. He was breathless. He felt free. He felt as if he were flying. And when he and Mary's pillows collided, it was as if he had flown into the clouds.

These days are sacred.

They fell about them, the feathers. Falling slowly. Falling softly, reminding Francis of snow. He were in the clouds, on a dazzling adventure with the girl who would one day be his Queen. Boundless laughter escaped him then, as he began jumping on the bed, kingdoms, duties, and the future forgotten as he was now living in the sky, where he'd need not worry about being King if France, for he was a king of the Heavens.

Hey now, don't be scared -

Baby, don't be scared at all.

He watched as Mary cupped her hands together, catching the feathers in her hands before throwing them up again for them to fall. They fell into her hair, and instead of his Queen, she looked like his Angel.

"Mary, I will be King one day. Royals - rulers - do not have the luxury to love."

Of all the things that you don't know,

"But if you were not to be King? If you were not a ruler, and nor was I?"

you've got time to realize you're shielded by the hands of love.

Now, the older Mary stood before him, more beautiful than when she was a child, more wild, and with a gleam in her deep brown eyes that shone twice as brightly.

She stood before him as they stood before the sea, voice entrancing him in the same way it had so many years before. Bewitching him. Entrapping him. Urging him closer to her, beckoning him to follow after her.

'Cause you are young.

You've got time; you've got to try,

to bring some good into this world.

In both mind and body, Francis realized, as he felt himself move closer to her, gaze steady on her lips, on her eyes. On her. And then the wind blew; her hair went with it, strands reaching out towards him and brushing against his cheek. With the movements of the wind and the wind dance of her hair, her scent, wafting out to meet him; the light smell of honey feeling his lungs as he inhaled deeply to drink it in.

'Cause you are young; 'cause you are young.

"Francis," her voice whispered to him. "If you were just a boy, and I just a girl - would you want this?"

Her words were a poison to him. A spell cast that left him staggering, forgetting that he must fight to pull away, his heart not wanting to.

It was a sillage - her scent lingering in the air as it journeyed towards the water, the way her presence electrified the space around them, making his heart race as her presence turned their atmosphere into something more.

And the honey, the honey he was drinking in, trying hard not to gasp for as he bit his tongue to keep word 'Yes' from slipping past his lips.

Oh, oh, oh, oh. Oh, oh, oh, oh.

Yes, yes, yes! His heart and mind urged of him, even as he was shaking his head, even as he was turning away from her as if she had burned him.

Oh, oh, oh, oh - 'cause you are young.

And though his hurried footsteps as he left seemed steady, Francis was shaking; Francis was shaking everywhere.

AEN: So what did you guys think? For a TB, was Francis captured the right way? (: If you liked this, I hope you TF will give some of my other Reign stories a shot! Remember to review!