winter comes

winter crush all of the things that I once loved

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The day is washed out by the stark white of snow as it covers everything, the trees, the ground; the very air feels like blades cutting through my lungs when I breathe in. Cold and freezing over, the world outside looks as if an artist washed its palette of colors clean. My wedding is tonight, yet no one from Scotland but my mother is here. My uncle sent his regards through a letter, but the weather was too unforgiving for him to make the journey. The harsh winter has frozen over the roads and made crossing the ocean a daunting task. It's beautiful though, the wiry trees stripped of their leaves, leaving themselves to face the winter utterly bare and unprotected.

The lack of color outside has my attention as I sit on my windowsill, waiting for the maids to bring me my wedding dress to try it on. I lay a hand on the crystal window but the coldness immediately makes me retreat. I can sympathize with the weather it seems. Inside the castle, the servants rush from room to room, trying to keep the fire alive and all rooms warm enough. Yet I feel the coldness of the outside deep inside me, as if seeping from my own marrow. I wish I could be like those trees outside, withstanding the winter no matter how hard or unrelenting, that I was strong enough to come out of it triumphant. But I feel like nothing, my efforts wasted, all the pain and hurt for naught. I couldn't change fate.

I pleaded with my mother, begged her to accept Bash as an option or to find me another suitable match. Anyone I would accept, but not Francis. Yet she ignored me, dismissed my worries about the prophecy much like Francis did. I found myself fighting a losing battle as my mother placed a date on the wedding before night fell on her first day here. That was 7 days ago, and now I'm painfully aware the day's arrived.

I've spent the days of the past week wandering the lonely halls of my old rooms at the castle, Francis' half finished swords now gathering dust as he hasn't come back here in weeks. He's been too busy meeting with my mother as the soon to be King consort of Scotland. He wants to know more about the country, and my mother tells me I'm lucky that I'll have him to help me. He's concerning himself with his future responsibilities; while I haunt the castle like a ghost, wondering if I'll have time to give him the Crown Matrimonial before he's taken from me, before this wedding brings about his death. I feel my chest tighten with pain at the mere thought. The dreadful, cold atmosphere that hangs in the air only seems fitting.

The Scottish guard by my door blows on his hands, attempting to warm them. He has been a constant presence by my side since the wedding was decided, as if my mother thought I would try to escape again. Never mind she was right. Had it not been for him I would have tried again, I would have approached Catherine and begged for her help, and hopefully be long gone by now. But he has been ordered to accompany me everywhere and keep me from Catherine, and Bash as well. And he must be in the room while I speak with my ladies. Her distrust is almost amusing, and although it is annoying to be so heavily guarded the man has served a purpose though, keeping Francis out.

I've refused to see him privately since my mother set the date. And with my guard by my side at all times he knows he can't sneak into see me, as it would not be appropriate. The idea is ludicrous after everything we have shared but he knows he must obey until after the wedding. It hurts me to cause him more pain, but I just can't bring myself to speak with him. Not when I know, from the way he looks at me whenever we're near each other that he will never care about the prophecy. He held my hand as the King announced our impending nuptials to the castle, and whispered to me that he loved me. That I should put Nostradamus' words behind me and let him love me, for however long God allowed him to. A tear escaped me at his words yet I pretended not to hear him.

I can't let him in. He will talk me out of my concerns; he will be relentless and I'm not strong enough to resist him. I'm not. It feels as though we were tied together, when he is close my bones scream to be closer and when he is away my body misses his warmth. And I can't allow myself to give into that pull. How could I? I spend my nights restless because as soon as my eyes close I'm tormented with nightmares of his death. Of his bright blue eyes, the only color I've missed since winter began, freezing over unseeing.

"I see Francis, barely older than he is now." Nostradamus had said. And how much time would that be, a year, two? Would Francis get only 17 years of life because of me? Not enough, never enough. No matter what he said about spending his life with me, however long it was.

Last night I attended dinner with my mother and the royal family, my mother not accepting any more of my excuses to avoid company. And all the while I could feel Francis' eyes drilling into me, his stare pinning me down in my place even as he acted perfectly fine for everyone else. The one time I forced myself to meet his eyes he was looking at me like he would rip the world apart for me, like he would give me everything and it almost broke me then and there. The only reason why I didn't tell him to accompany me outside and begged for his forgiveness was the icy look in Catherine's eyes, the way she didn't say a word throughout supper and looked at me as if she could wish me dead.

I know she does. One time I did too. Although I know it's horrible of me to wish to fall asleep and never wake up, that my death would destroy my country and such thoughts are punished by God, I did wish it once. I'd just woken up from a nightmare in which Francis bled out in front of me like the sister at the convent, because of an attempt to poison me. Sweat covered my skin and tears ran down my face as I clutched the sheets and tried to calm my heaving breaths… I thought that if I was robbed of life Francis would live a long and happy one. I wished that Catherine would try again to poison me and this time no one would stop her.

I didn't go back to sleep that night. And when dawn broke I went to a priest to confess myself, to ask for forgiveness from such dark thoughts. Peace be with you child, he said at the end, not being able to see me through the confessor screen and knowing who I was. But I haven't known peace, not since my mother set my wedding date and with it signed Francis' death warrant, even if he doesn't believe it. In fact, I'm sure he ensured my mother's return from Scotland himself, or at least had a hand in it.

He believes I'm wrong, that his mother and I have gone mad. Whenever I meet his eyes by chance walking down the hallways, his gaze begs me to understand the error of my ways, but I'm not mistaken. Can't he see it? He is the one in the wrong here, not me, not Catherine. He told me once he would take the risk upon his life, but why won't he understand that I can't? I will be the one left alone when the prophecy comes to pass, not him. I will be the one to drag the weight of my pain behind me for the rest of my days if he dies, and I can't risk that. I can't marry him. Yet here I am. Staring at the snow falling outside my window, trapped like a bird in a cage, with no say in what's happening tonight.
The white days leading to this one have felt like a blur, one big shadow of time where the only things I could distinguish were waking, eating, and falling asleep in the strangest of places as exhaustion claimed me, taking its payment for all my sleepless nights spent on tears and nightmares. I'll marry Francis tonight, and there's no stopping it now. A tear rolls down my cheek at the thought that everything was in vane, I couldn't save him at all.

"Your majesty, are you all right?" A girl's voice shakes me out of my reverie, and I look away from the window to find 2 maids in my rooms, looking expectantly at me. I reach up to wipe the treacherous tear from my cheek.

"Yes, thank you." I offer the girl a smile with my answer. I shouldn't be crying, I can't afford the luxury. I don't want word of it to leave this room and get to Francis, it will only hurt him more. And God knows it's a miracle he still cares for me at all after everything I did trying to protect him.

"We are supposed to help you try on your wedding dress." She tells me, her demeanor easy and still almost childlike and I find myself wishing our situations were reversed. I would give anything to be innocent and careless right now.

"Yes, of course." I stand up from my place at the windowsill, my back straight as if nothing was bothering me. "Well, where is it?" The two of them are here but their hands are empty. The girl stumbles over herself to start speaking.

"Ruth, that's my aunt, she works here too. She had to go pick it up from the Queen's rooms. Queen Catherine had it made for you, your majesty. I've heard it's beautiful and-" the girls is quieted by an admonishing pinch from the older woman. It's clear she's been working here for a very short while and doesn't know how to speak to royals yet.

"It's quite all right, Margaret." I say to the older maid. "What's your name?" I ask the girl.

"Anna, your majesty." She says as she gives a silly curtsy.

"Anna." I walk closer to her, my mind spinning at her words. "Are you sure it's from Queen Catherine?" I ask her "That must be a mistake. My ladies traveled to Paris to buy my dress. Or…perhaps my mother changed her mind. Are you sure it wasn't Marie de Guise that had it made? She is Queen dowager of Scotland. Perhaps you misheard." I try to make sense of what I hear, the thought of Catherine gifting me with a dress is laughable, unless it's meant to harm me. And it's not above her but she must know that it would never work now.

"No, your grace. The whole castle has been talking about it. Queen Catherine hired 3 women to work on it all night and sent my aunt herself to buy the silk yesterday. Perhaps it's a surprise?" She blushes, and looks to the floor. "I didn't ruin the surprise did I?"

"Of course not." I tell her, but the only thought running through my head is that I hope Catherine wasn't stupid enough to poison the dress. I don't want anyone to get hurt. Even thought it makes no sense that she would try that, I don't have a reason for even trying it on. Greer, Lola and Kenna just came back from Paris where they were shopping for all of our dresses. I wasn't allowed away from the castle, of course, but Catherine must know I already have a dress. The whole court has been buzzing with every detail for my wedding. Even if she didn't, my mother would never have allowed anything to get to me without making sure it was safe first. She knows Catherine tried to poison me not two weeks ago. She knows what she's capable of. What is going on? I stop my inquiry as soon as Greer barges into my room, wearing an expression filled with compassion and almost pity.

"Mary-"

I don't hear her explanation because a maid comes in then, hands full with a work of art of silk and chiffon. A beautiful dress that another maid has to carry the train for, it's that long and exquisite. And white. My mind registers it a beat later, once the shock passes over me.

"What is that?" I ask, staring at it as if it's a snake instead of a gown. I fear for a moment that I've fallen asleep for years and woken up in the future. The dress like a window into it.

"Your wedding dress, your grace." The maid tells me as she walks in and lays it down on my bed, the white becoming brighter against my dark blue sheets. The sight of it is feels like a slap on my face and new tears fill my eyes. Greer's face is twisted in a grimace as she comes closer to me but I step back.

"Greer, it's white." I tell her, horrified. It's obvious to everyone's eyes but I know what it's supposed to mean, and Greer must too. She knows about the prophecy, surely she must understand what Catherine is doing, the cruel way in which she's playing with me now. Surely my mother must understand that as well.

"I know, Mary. I'm sorry, but the one your mother asked us to buy for you was stolen, and then Catherine arrived with that thing." She walks toward me, trying to explain. "We are sure she is behind it of course but the castle has been searched and no one's found it. Your mother says you'll have to wear it, that there's no time to search for another one." She tries to lay a comforting hand on my arm but I shake my head at her. "She said you could excuse it saying it's your favorite color. That no one will think anything of it."

"It's a beautiful gift, isn't it?" Anna asks me, too concentrated on the dress to notice the change of mood in the room, but I don't have it in me to answer the girl. It is not a gift, it's a reminder. White is the color of mourning for the French, and I'll be wearing it for my wedding. Catherine can be proud of herself for this last stunt against me, because it hits me hard, settling on my stomach like a stone. She's made sure I won't feel a moment's joy at my wedding, that I won't forget the price it will cost, because I'll have a constant reminder of what it's going to cause with me at all times.

I'll be a bride wearing mourning colors. I'll wear white when I marry Francis tonight, and the weather outside will be white as well, frigid and barren. And as I let them help me try the dress on, swallowing my tears, I can't help but think: it all seems fitting, doesn't it?

a/n: Title/lyrics at the beginning from Winter by Daugther, that song is amazing.

I was always intrigued that Mary chose to wear white for her wedding, since it was the mourning color in France at the time. It was rl Mary's favorite color, but it seemed like a sad coincidence considering how soon Francis died. I tried to fit that in with the TV show. Thanks for reading and let me know what you think :)