Flashback from one chilly night in November after Mary had arrived at the Castle.

"Bash,"

"Yes, Your Grace?"

"Mary, please." She grew so tired of having to repeat her name to everyone. She was a Queen, yes, but she did not feel one, nor did she like the formality, the distance, it put between her and her friends. "Would you care to accompany me on a ride?"

Bash looked up at the sky which looked as if any minute it would threaten to rain down buckets. Then he looked down at her. "Are you not worried for the weather?"

Mary smiled, though the smile did not reach her eyes. "I am Scottish, Bash. I do not fear rain or cold."

Bash clapped his hands, "Well then, a ride we shall have." They set off for the stables, waiting for the servants to bring their horses around. They didn't speak until they were well outside the Castle walls, neither wanting to break the comfortable silence they found themselves in.

"Now, Mary, what's wrong?"

"Why does something have to be wrong? Why can't we just have a pleasant ride?" Her tone was biting, sharper than she meant it to be.

"Shall we start about how angry you were that I asked what's wrong? Or that it looks like it's threatening to pour and you're in one of your nicest gowns, yet you decided you wanted a ride with me?"

She sighed, tired. The weight of the French court had been a lot for her. It had taxed her in ways she didn't know were possible. She had lived with the daily threat of being killed by the English before, but by the French – that was new. It was definitely not a something new she appreciated. But in the few months she had been there, she had managed to survive (obviously), but also find a part of her she hadn't known existed before: her scheming part.

Of course, very little of her scheming went as planned. And it certainly failed with regularity with regards to Bash. Somehow he knew how to foil her plans. He always had. It should have annoyed her more than it did – probably because he could talk her out of things that weren't good for her or for Scotland. He thought of her first – not something new to Mary, but something unfamiliar enough for those who had not sworn some sort of oath to protect her.

"Did you know your grandmother?"

Bash almost pulled his horse to a stop, surprised. By now a light mist had begun to fall, obscuring their path in a grey swirling mass. "My grandmother?"

"Yes, your grandmother."

"I know my mother's mother. She's still alive and living in Provence, actually. My father's mother had been dead by the time I had memory. Why do you ask?"

"I received word that my mother's mother, Antoinette de Bourbon, has taken ill. They don't know if she'll survive."

"I've heard of that name before – did she visit you when you were here when we were children?" Seeing Mary's nod he continued, "If she is anything like she was then, I have no doubt that she will pull through." Bash said with a smile. He stopped his horse, and dismounted, easily catching the slack reins of Mary's own horse. "Come, she seemed to love the mud as you do."

The mist had turned into a rain, though from what Mary could see, the worst of it was yet to come. "She was always telling me that I didn't have to be a lady. I was a Queen at six days old, she reminded me. I didn't act Queen-like then, and so she reminded me that I needed to be myself more than anything. She said if that meant running around in the mud, then so be it. Scotland was wild and free, she said. Although she visited so infrequently that I always wondered how she knew that. She said I needed to be that wild and free for the crown would kill that soon enough."

Bash extended an arm to her with his usual cheeky grin. "Come, let's be wild and free. Let's play in the mud. And then we can solve this problem."

"Bash, I'm being serious."

"And you don't think I am?" He put a hand to his heart, throwing his head back. "You wound me, Mary, Queen of Scots."

"My grandmother – the only relative I have that has truly let me be just Mary and not Mary, Queen of Scotland – is dying. And you want to play in the mud?" The last word spat like it was poison.

Bash nodded. "Your grandmother wanted you to be the embodiment of your nation without being your country. If she is to die, and there is nothing we can do, would you, standing here, right now, have fulfilled her wishes for you?"

Mary's eyes widened, the reality sinking in. "No. But…"

"But nothing. We are going to play in the rain and the mud and then we're going to sit and come up with a solution to get you to your grandmother or her here. I recommend the second one because then once she's well, she can annoy the life out of Catherine!" Bash smirked.

Mary still hesitated. Her mind was not evenly split, nor was it screaming for one or the other. But she knew that if she took off her shoes and stockings, something would change. She couldn't put her finger on it. And maybe that is why she couldn't fathom being a child again. It was not only childish, but it was reckless and what if she and Bash fell? Someone would say something and… a little voice in her head nudged her, saying "So what?" And so she took off her shoes and threw her stockings away, not really caring where they went. She ignored Bash's grin as she took out the pins in her hair, tucking them into a saddlebag.

And she took Bash's hand and together they flew down the hill, feeling the squish of the wet earth beneath their feet, the wind at their cheeks and the feeling of freedom. As they reached the bottom of the hill, Mary slowed, letting her feet sink into the deeper mud, not caring that her dress was now six inches deep in mud. This felt good.

She heard laughter beside her and saw Bash, red-faced and heaving with laughter. It was then she realized what would change if she went into the mud. She had chosen herself – a decision not for Scotland, not for France, not for her mother or her alliances – and now that she had, the feeling was so magnificent that she had no intention of ignoring that desire for that long again.

"You've decided something, Mary." Not a question – a statement. Bash knew her far too well.

"My grandmother was right. I may be the Queen of Scotland, but I am first and foremost a person. And while I can't make every decision for my benefit, I can't ignore the little moments when I get that choice. What I want to wear, what I want to eat…"

"When you want to run in the rain and the mud."

"Exactly." They had ended their run by the edge of a lake, some logs waiting to be sat upon. But Mary had no desire to sit on a log. Instead, she sat right down in the mud.

"That might not come out," Bash stood over her, an eyebrow raised.

"Then good. I actually hate this dress but Aylee keeps insisting that it makes me look older."

"Why would you need to look older?"

"People forget the Queen is 16 until they have to do business with her. My mother knew that image was everything which is why she always wanted me to look older."

Bash sat down next to her. "She isn't here."

"No, she isn't. But she manages to exert considerable influence nonetheless," Mary said with a huff, fists curling into the mud.

"So your grandmother, where does she live?"

"Joinville, in a beautiful Chateau, I'm told."

"Joinville? That's only a four day ride from the Castle."

"Exactly," Mary said with a groan. "So it is much too far for me to travel away from the Castle and if she is on her deathbed, then she wouldn't make a four day journey."

"What can I do?"

Mary knew exactly what she wanted – she wanted to be with her grandmother. But knowing that option was not feasible, she had a second idea. But it really was not a good idea – just one that had come as she looked out over the lake. She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the idea. "No, I'm afraid there's nothing you can do."

"I can go."

"I couldn't ask that of you. And what, pray, would you be able to do once you were there?"

"I am at your service. As for what I can do, I'm told that a friendly face is sometimes all it takes to get well."

Mary snorted, "And you think she likes you?"

"Well, she certainly liked me better than Francis…" Bash began.

"If we go back to the Castle and I write a letter, how fast can you be there? Will it take you four days?"

"If I'm allowed the fastest horse we have, I can make it in two."

"You have it."

"Then let's get you back to the castle and get that letter." He stood up, offering her a hand.

"Bash," Mary said quietly. "Thank you. She is the only family member I trust."

"I hope, for both of your sake's, that she lives then."

Bash returned a week later. "She's alive." He said quietly to her, pulling her away from the eavesdropping ears of court. "She asked me to give you this and know that as soon as she is well, which I predict to be soon based on her stubbornness alone, she will travel here to visit you."

"Thank you, Bash." She said, giving him a short hug, aware of the audience that may be there at any moment. "Thank you so much."

"Anything for my Queen. Even if your grandmother, or Toni as I was instructed to call her, has quiet the sharp tongue."

"Did your own get sharpened?"

"Oh, yes." Bash blushed. There was something he wasn't telling her.

"What did she say?"

"That I cannot say," he held a finger to his lips. "I am sworn to secrecy."

"Bash!"

"No, my Grace. I will not share everything with you." There was an implied just as you don't share everything with me but she ignored it.

"Will the letter illuminate anything?"

"I don't know. You'll have to read it." Bash said with a smirk, turning to leave.

My Dearest Mary,

I like this one you have sent in your place. He has a mind of his own and though he has trouble keeping up with my wit, he does much much better than most. He reminded me that I had met him before – was he the one you played with when you were children and Francis had ignored you as he so often did? He has certainly grown up. And is so handsome! Don't blush my darling granddaughter. I'm sure you have noticed it as well.

I am about to give you advice and a truth that you might not be ready for. But I feel the need to tell you regardless. Keep this letter hidden – you don't want someone to find what I am about to say. That man loves you. He loves you and would do anything for you. You had to realize that when he agreed to ride his hardest (the poor horse!) to come and see to your sick grandmother. You had to, Mary. You are far from stupid.

He did not speak much of Francis, although he did mention that you seemed to be angry at him. He was rather tight-lipped about your relationship so I must weasel that out of you when I arrive shortly. But my advice is to think of your heart. There will be countless decisions you have to live with because it was best for Scotland. Don't let your heart be one of those decisions.

You are always welcome at my Chateau and I hope to see you soon.

All my love,

Grandmamma

Mary laughed. She had an inkling of what her grandmother had told Bash and she imagined it had something to do with marriage. If only that was a possibility for her to marry for love and not alliance. That was not to say that she loved Bash, no, she was pretty sure she couldn't love him. But she wanted, someday in the future, be it with Francis or someone else, that it was not just a necessary marriage, but one of love. She knew that if she loved her husband, they would rule Scotland with strength and love – something benefitting the great nation she ruled over.

If only she was allowed to be herself.

Author's Note: Don't think about where this fits in with the main story – it doesn't reference anything in particular from the original story. Instead, it's a piece I thought of in honor of my Nana who I lost two years ago. Mary's grandmother actually did live a long, healthy life and was Mary's closest advice when she lived in France. Hope you all enjoy!