It was gravity in it's simplest form. A pull so strong that nature itself could not stop it. Defying sanity, defying logic, gravity that dragged the oceans toward the moon, released them to the shores from which they came, then were solicited back again. Mary was the moon and Francis was the oceans, pulled without will, without thinking, time and time again towards each other, drifted in waves apart and imminently drawn back together. Gravity that drew them towards one another, that drew Francis from the warmth and safety of his castle, of his home, and out into the world to find her. The oceans being called back to the moon.

A hush, heavy and pressing, hung against the leaves, strewn carelessly across the ground by the tress which bore them. Left to the wind without mercy. Trampled and wayward, left to float among the dying Autumn air which whipped them so far from home. The forest was cool, the King's Road shaded by a canopy of leaves not yet abandoned by their fathers. The horse's hooves were muted as they tapped among the first signs of abandoning fall, crisp leaves so brown they faded back into the earth beneath them.

He had no destination, no plan. Just the pull in his heart that drew him towards her. It had been nearly a whole day of riding and his thighs ached from gripping the horse beneath him, back screamed for reprieve. Determination drove him forward mercilessly until his body cried for relief and at last he sought shelter in a small farming village, tucked at the feet of a powerful mountain towering proud above them.

Morning dawned with a curtain of rain, thick and sodden, pouring from the heavens. Sanity begged Francis to stay behind in the comfort of the inn until the weather cleared. Gravity pulled him from the home and onto the back to his horse, out into the rain to find her.

Time became inconsequential. No meaning, no value. He measured it's passing not by the rise and fall of the sun, but by the hours he was separated from her.

The castles all looked the same. Lonely, abandoned, lifeless. Francis sought refuge in the ones he knew of, slowly making his way to the south of France, no true destination in mind. It became a blur of riding, of rain, of endless agonizing hours spent away from her, hours that she spend with his brother instead. The thought drove him forward.

He wasn't sure how long he had been gone when he finally arrived in Bordeaux, seeking refuge in a summer castle the King had not returned to in many years. The staff accepted him graciously, remembering his time with them as a child, and quickly made him comfortable.

But Francis was never comfortable, not without Mary by his side.

"Have you heard anything?" he asked the servant who brought him a tray of food, just as he had asked all the servants before her. "Mary, Queen of Scotland. Have you heard any rumours of her being in the area?" His waited for the 'no' every other servant had given him.

"Aye," replied the servant, bending low and pouring tea into the china cup. "I have heard a whisper or two. No knowing if they're true or not."

Hope swelled inside him like kindling to a fire. "Where? What have you heard?"

"I know a lad who takes care of Chateau de Montaigne while the King is away. 'E came by couple 'o months ago to pick some stuff up for some unexpected guests."

"Guests?" The word pulled the hope from his body and out his mouth. "Who were the guests?"

"There's a rumour that it was your Queen, but 'e wouldn't say for certain. Protecting privacy an' whatnot."

"Chateau de Montaigne? Where is it?"

"'Bout a days ride south 'o here."

Francis stood from his seat, hope pulsing through his veins like fire.

"Prepare my horse, would you?"

Confusion knit itself like a knot across the servants face. "But it's nightfall 'ma lord. Wouldn't you rather wait for the sun?"

Francis faltered. He had forgotten time and it's passage, it's direct effect on events. Had forgotten that she was not the centre of everyone's universe.

Conflict turned within him. Gravity wanted to pull him to his moon but fear held him in it's place. He wasn't sure if he was quite ready to see her yet, to see exactly why she had left. Without her Francis could live in sweet denial, with her reality could shatter it.

While his heart had been deciding, his head had already nodded ascent.

"I'll ready the bed for you."

Francis sat back down in the chair, staring absently at the food in front of him, hoping to quell the ache that she alone could satisfy.

The ache had only grown over time, stretching from a small pain in her heart until it consumed her, spreading outwards and across her body until every movement was accompanied by a stab of pain. Grief, thick and leaded, settled into her bones. The weak sun could not warm the pain of her broken heart, though it didn't stop her from trying.

She sat at the base of a thick tree, the only solidity in her life, head tilted back as the feeble rays of sun breaking through the mask of clouds gently caressed her face. It was almost warm, like a breath against flesh, like Francis' hands, soft and careful and reassuring. She tried to let it comfort her, the kiss of sun that played across the features that had hollowed out in their time apart. But the warmth only reminded her of what she was deprived of, of what Francis' had given her and now couldn't.

The swell of nausea rose so suddenly from within her that she only had time to lean to the side and retch into the grass next to her. Mary couldn't help the tears that accompanied it, sliding down the plains of her face and falling to the grass below. She wrapped thin arms around herself, searching for a moment of comfort that would never come.

"You're ill again." He didn't phrase it as a question because there was no doubt in his mind.

"I'm fine." Her customary response.

"You're not."

Her eyes flashed a heat of anger against his face but he didn't flinch.

"Have you changed your mind yet? You can always go back."

She dabbed the corners of her lips with the tips of her fingers and pushed herself standing. Bash moved to help her but she brushed him off, hating the weakness that drew him to her. "No. There is no going back."

She turned from him and walked away, desperate to hide the tears that coated her eyes. It was desperation that brought her here, away from Francis. Selfishness would not allow her to go back and risk his life, no matter how strong the pull of gravity within her was.