Disclaimer: I don't own Reign
AN: This story sticks closer to history than to the "twins" storyline invented by Reign for season 2. Just a warning, it's an emotional read.
Henry stepped silently down the chapel aisle. There she was, kneeling before the altar, exactly the same place he'd found her yesterday. Had she left at all?
Feeling her tense as his hand grazed her shoulder, he stilled at her side. Catherine inhaled sharply as her head whipped around in his direction. Her eyes fell upon the King and her mingled expression of alarm and rage receded back into a blank stare.
Henry's hand remained on her shoulder as he crouched next to her. "When is the last time you slept?"
He felt rather than saw her shrug as his attention was drawn to the two crosses that she knelt before. Everything else in the room was of ornate design. The chapel had been gilded beyond recognition, precious metals, gems, marble sculptures, no expense spared. All except those crosses. Heavy-handed craftsmanship did not suit them. They alone were honored with a hallowed simplicity, ornamented only with Medici tears. Henry mused, there is no rarer adornment. At each base lay a neat stack of material. Henry recognised these. They were blankets, blankets that Catherine had been embroidering during every free moment of her pregnancy.
His gaze drifted back to his wife. Through his mind surged images of the twins' horrific delivery. Blood, so much blood. Victoire arrived, but instead of that sweet, familiar bleating cry, she choked and gasped for every breath. An exhausted Catherine laboured for hours, but little Jeanne's life was snuffed out before it truly began. His heart still stung when he remembered the helpless agony he felt as he watched his wife and their one remaining baby girl cling to life. Catherine insisted that the child remain with her despite her own failing health. Each day she asserted that her little girl grew stronger, praising her imagined gains. Six weeks later Victoire lost her struggle and breathed her last. Cringing, he recalled having to pluck the tiny body from his wife's weak grasp. Seeing her now he observed her palour, the hollowness of her cheeks, how her gown hung on her once-full figure. Her shoulders slumped dejectedly and wet tracks were evidence that she had recently wept. Even now, in her current state, she withheld her tears in his company.
With a cleansing sigh, Henry performed the sign of the cross before giving her shoulder a slight squeeze. He tried a gentle, but direct, approach. "You need to eat."
A slow shake of her head was the only response he received.
"You are going to eat something. Either tell me what you prefer or you will eat what I choose." By his conscious effort, Henry's voice was calm, but stern, as one would use when reasoning with a disobedient child. Henry prayed that she would snap out of her haze and take the bait. His words were carefully selected in the hopes of eliciting one of her disdainful remarks reminding him that she was a grown woman and did not require any coddling from her neglectful husband. He would have given his right arm to see her eyes flash as she argued with him.
She stared on, indifferent to his tone, to his words, to everything that existed outside of her grief.
Where was the woman who reveled in giving him hell? The only sparring partner who could best him? Perhaps she died as well.
"Catherine…" Taking her face in his hand, Henry turned her towards him. "Catherine, listen to me. You have yet to regain your strength."
With her chin still resting against his palm, Catherine's eyes flitted back to the crosses.
His hand fell away from her face when he realised that he wasn't reaching her. This most recent loss had carried her a greater distance than his comfort could span. In his desperation, Henry gave one last ditch effort. "The nannies tell me that Claude is up all hours of the night. She cries for you. This morning I found Francis sitting outside of your chamber door. He says that he misses you and is waiting for you to return."
Her brow furrowed, but Catherine met his gaze for the first time in weeks. Tears welled in her eyes as they darted back towards the crosses.
A moment passed in silence before his voice called softly to her. "They're gone, Catherine. They're gone, but our other children need you."
She bent in prayer, her hair falling forward to veil the tears that flowed. Catherine's soft whispering reached his ears, "Give them every comfort. Let them know that they are loved. Hold them close until I can. Amen." Henry swallowed past the hard lump in his throat and blinked away the moisture in his eyes. When her simple prayer ended she accepted the hand he offered and rose on shaky legs.
In her chambers she dined and rested while her living children piled into her large bed. Henry watched from the doorway as little Henry kissed her cheek, Claude snuggled tenderly against her side, Lizzie hummed as Catherine ran her fingers through her glossy locks, Charles lispingly recounted his many tales, and Francis doted on his mother with an affectionate smile. Her little ones surrounded her, lavishing their love upon the mother they had lost for a time. Henry returned to the chapel where he knelt before the twin crosses to pray.
AN: I hope that you all enjoyed this tragic little story. As I said, I decided to draw inspiration from the events of history concerning the loss of the twins rather than stick to Reign's version.