Disclaimer: If I owned it you'd know it because there would be way more brotherly mushy moments like this. I also don't own the song used for the title by Heather Dale.

The bell was tolling.

The king was dead.

The king of France was dead.

And he had killed him.

Francis quickened his pace as he exited his father's room. His father. Whom he had killed.

He walked as though in a dream, his throat tight with the tears he wouldn't allow himself to shed. He kept his eyes down as he passed the guards who entered King Henry's rooms.

He barely even heard the cry, "The king is dead! Long live the king!"

The doors at the other end of the hall opened, emitting Bash. His brother.

The words his father had said still reeled in his head.

"Betraying someone you love. It blackens your soul. It's a weight you carry all of your days." The stone of dread that had settled in his stomach at those words stirred now.

The words "Long live the king!" swirled around the halls. As Bash drew nearer he faltered. As did Francis. Bash's face was a mixture of sorrow and resignation. Francis did his best to remain stoic and not feel the dozens of emotions churning within him, but he knew the same sorrow was reflected in his eyes.

Bash let out a sighing breath and knelt before the new king, same as the guards around him. But Francis barely hesitated a moment before running to his brother and pulling him to his feet, gathering him into a tight embrace. Bash threw his arms around his younger brother as tears blurred his vision.

Francis' breath was heavy with unshed tears as he buried his face into his brother's shoulder. Hearing this, Bash hugged him all the more tighter. He couldn't remember the last time they'd hugged. Their relationship had grown strained in the past months, and they were not as close as they once were.

As sobs choked Francis Bash did his best to soothe his brother. He rubbed his hands over his back and shushed him but it did nothing to soothe his tears. Bash held back his own tears. His brother needed him to be strong right now, so that was exactly what he would do.

"It will be alright, Francis. All will be well."

Francis shook his head against Bash's shoulder. "No." He choked out. "No it won't. You don't understand. God forgive me."

Bash attempted to pull his brother back enough to look him in the eye, but Francis clung to him all the tighter. "Francis. What's wrong?"

His brother didn't answer and instead kept shaking his head muttering things similar to, "God forgive me." And "What have I done?"

Bash knew something more had to be wrong than the fact that their father was dead. He gently managed to pry Francis off of him. Francis covered his face with his hands. He had always seemed so innocent with his curly blonde hair, and right now he seemed like a lost five-year old.

Bash took Francis' arm and led him down the hall, glad that no one was nearby other than a few guards who had no doubt seen stranger in their service. Coming upon an empty guest room that was commonly used to accommodate the many 'guests' of the king he opened the door, pulling his brother with him.

Bash sat Francis in a chair before lighting one of the candles on the table beside him. Once they had a source of light Bash knelt in front of his brother again, this time taking one of Francis' hands and pulling it from his face.

"Francis. Tell me what you have done." Bash commanded, his tone firm but gentle.

Francis swallowed and licked his lips. "I killed him." His voice was barely above a whisper.

"What?" Bash breathed.

Francis met his eyes. "I killed him. I killed the king of France."

Bash froze. He stared at his younger brother's bent head. He kept expecting the anger to rise and accusations to spill from his tongue, but they didn't come. Disappointment? No. Nothing.

Francis was speaking again. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I understand if you never forgive me. I don't deserve forgiveness. I was a fool."

Bash had nothing to say. He couldn't think of anything to say. Of course, his brother had never been perfect. But he had always seemed so innocent, at least on the outside. Minus his regular string of lovers when he was younger.

Bash grabbed his brother again in a tight embrace. He closed his eyes. Francis was still trembling. He couldn't be angry with his brother. Not now. Not seeing him like this.

"I-it's alright, Francis. Ju-just calm down. All will be well."

Francis kept shaking his head. "I'm sorry. Please don't h-hate m-me."

Bash drew his brother back and ordered firmly, "Francis look at me. This instant."

Francis did so. Bash swallowed the lump in his throat once more before speaking, keeping his gaze reassuring. "Father was out of control. He was mad. He would have had half of France's army dead in England's lands." Bash brushed a hand over his brother's cheek. "I'm not saying what you did was right, but, well, in some sense it was. You will make a far better king than Father ever was."

Francis was listening, though his eyes had strayed downwards as in thought. Bash assumed that perhaps his brother had released some of his guilt, but then Francis spoke quietly, "Before he died, Father told me that I was named after his elder brother, whom he also killed." Francis looked up into Bash's eyes. He told me he was glad we had made up."

Bash smiled faintly. "So am I."

But Francis continued. "But he also told me that betraying someone you loved haunted you for the rest of your days."

Bash's lips were tight. "That monster of a man that you killed was not the man you loved. That we loved growing up."

Another sob was torn from Francis' lips. "But the man I watched die almost was."

"There was nothing for it. If you had not done it France might have fallen."

Francis didn't answer immediately but eventually he nodded slightly and let out a soft, "True."

Bash took a deep breath. "If it means anything, little brother, I forgive you for what you did. And I know Mary will as well."

"How can you possibly know that?"

Bash smiled. "Because I'm older than you, you arrogant ass."

Francis couldn't help laughing slightly. The tension fled the room, and the grim shadow of grief seemed to disappear as well. Bash brushed the tears off of Francis' face. "Come on, you silly pansy. The king's advisors are going to be hunting for you."

"I don't think that's anyway to address your new king." The hint of teasing glee in Francis' tone was promising. Mayhap knowing that Bash had forgiven him had helped him to begin forgiving himself.

Bash rolled his eyes. "Going to pull that card now, are you? Let's get your face washed first. It won't do for you to go out and greet your new subjects looking like you've just had a sobbing fest."

"My father just died. Shouldn't I look like I care?"

"Not in front of your subjects. They think a strong king who holds his emotions in is better than a sniveling one."

Francis smiled a little as they blew out the candle and slipped out of the room, making their way down the hall to a bathing chamber. Bash poured a bit of water in the washbasin and tossed Francis a clean cloth. "Here. Wipe your face."

Francis did so, the cool water soothing his stinging eyes. Then he rinsed the cloth and tossed it to Bash, splattering water on them both. Bash barely managed to catch it. "What are you giving it to me for?"

Francis grinned. "You might want to take a look at your face, brother."

Bash gave Francis a curious glance before looking in the mirror. He really was a mess. His face was covered with dust and grime from his hurried journey to the castle. The messenger bearing news of his father's accident had arrived shortly after he had killed the Darkness, and Bash had left in a hurry. There were also very distinctive tear tracks running down his cheeks, shown more prominently by the dirt covering the rest of his face. Bash quickly scrubbed and dried his face.

As they were leaving the room Francis stopped his brother, and pulled him into one last quick embrace. "Thank you. For everything." He whispered.

Bash smiled faintly. "You are very welcome, little brother."