The morning after Francis' illness, Bash did not look to see him immersed in Court affairs once again, sitting on his throne when Bash came in that morning to make his report to Mary, when the members of Court came forward to make their complaints known to the King.

But there Francis was, sitting calmly on his throne with one leg crossed over the other, looking to all the world a perfectly healthy king, returned from that hunting trip, as Bash believed had been the official story.

Mary sat beside him on her own throne, looking rather stiff, as she always did after a confrontation. Conde was nowhere in sight.

Catherine, lurking amongst the other nobles, was sending furtive glances in her son's direction every few minutes, as if she were afraid he would collapse at any moment, and it was that alone that made Bash realize that Francis should still be abed, resting.

Catherine de Medici may be overprotective of her children to lengths that could be called extreme, but she seemed to believe in a tough sort of love when it came to their health. And if she was still worried, even if this had been quite a scare, then clearly Francis should still be resting.

Frankly, Bash was surprised she hadn't managed to drag him off to bed already, but he supposed this was because, while that had been perfectly acceptable behavior a year ago, when Francis was a prince, it would be rather frowned upon now that he was King.

One of the nobles stepped forward then, before Bash could give his report, demanding that Francis deal with a matter of utmost urgency - a dispute between two rivalling houses - and Bash watched his brother as Francis listened to the man.

Or rather, didn't.

He could see within minutes that Francis was not himself. Distracted might not have been the right word to describe him in that moment, as he watched Francis tap his fingers idly on the arms of the throne, or simply bored. But then he noticed the dark circles under his brother's eyes, the way his body seemed too tense, and his mouth set in too firm a line, as though it was taking all of his concentration merely to listen to the man's complaints.

And this was just the first order of the day.

When the nobleman's ramblings of injustice finally came to a halt, the Court waited in silence for the King to make his decision.

But it seemed that Francis found the hem of his royal robes far more interesting, fingering a bit of frayed cloth between his forefinger and thumb and paying their silence no mind.

After what seemed an insurmountable amount of time during which feet were shuffled awkwardly and Bash almost stepped forward to claim the King's attention himself, Mary cleared her throat. The nobleman had come to the King, after all, and not to her, and she could not simply give justice where it was her husband's place to do so. Not now that he was again sitting on the King's throne, and she upon the Queen's.

The sound in the empty chamber seemed to make Francis jump, and he glanced around with something like surprise on his features, as if he had not expected the members of Court to still be there when he looked up.

Bash sighed, taking a step forward, and the sudden movement seemed to holt Francis out of whatever had distracted him so fully until this moment.

"Ah," he said, giving the nobleman an apologetic smile. "Very well. The Crown will reimburse you for your dealings with Lord Alwood, and from this day forth, you shall have the protection of the Crown against any further attacks you might provoke from him."

So he had been listening better than Bash had thought, it seemed.

He was impressed.

Bash stepped forward then, before anyone else could, and gave his report. His voice caught as he spoke, and, for a moment, he didn't know if he could continue without breaking down. "The skirmish in the village was merely a cover for Protestants, attempting to seed discord among the people. They managed to escape before our men could catch them, but I've sent my best men after them."

Francis stared at him a beat too long, eyes glazed over, before nodding. "Very well. See to the arrangements, Deputy." He fell silent then, still looking dazed and exhausted.

Mary took pity then, lifting her head and giving Bash a dazzling, but a smile that made Bash uncomfortable after everything, nonetheless. "Thank you, Deputy. The King is most gracious for your report, as are we all."

He dipped his head. "Of course, Your Majesty."

Mary glanced at her husband once more, and then clapped her hands together. "The Court is dismissed at this time. The King is needed for consultation on important matters concerning the crown, and will see to all of your grievances at a later time."

The nobles muttered amongst themselves, but dispersed as they had been told to, and Mary, after sending one last worried glance at her husband, disappeared with them.

The next time Bash saw his brother was hours later, and he would have hoped Francis had taken the opportunity Mary had presented him and rested, as he clearly needed to.

Of course, he'd known Francis all of his life, and should have realized by now that this would hardly be the case.

Francis was pouring over a pile of maps and letters in the King's council chamber, with several of his most trusted generals, all of whom looked a bit uncomfortable at the fact that their King was obviously not entirely with them, and most likely making decisions he would not remember, when he finally rested.

Evidently, he really had been needed on important matters. Bash didn't bother to hide his disappointment, though to his own surprise, it was directed more at Mary than at Francis. Mary, for thinking he was simply distracted, and not even realizing...

The generals looked up upon seeing Bash enter the room, and, a moment later, Francis did as well.

"Bash," he said by way of greeting, and Bash frowned at the glazed look in his eyes, even as he dipped his head to acknowledge his king.

"Your Majesty." Then, to the generals, "I need to speak with the King alone. It's a matter of..." he glanced back at Francis, "utmost urgency."

The generals almost looked relieved as they took their leave, even as Francis frowned in confusion at him. It was not until the doors had shut behind them, however, that he said anything.

"What is it?" Francis demanded, spinning to Bash on, the deputy couldn't help but notice, rather unsteady feet. Francis leaned hard against the table, breathing rather hard, and Bash fought the urge to sigh.

"You should rest now, brother," Bash said softly. "Let the work til tomorrow."

Francis ignored him, turning back and scribbling away furiously at the parchments. "I thought you said this was a matter of urgency? These edicts won't wait until I've had a nap, Bash."

"Are they really so important?"

Francis finally glanced up, giving Bash a look that he recognized all too well, before looking down again. "Yes," he said simply, and this time, Bash did sigh.

"You're going to kill yourself if you don't slow down," Bash snapped then, and Francis flinched at the choice of words, and now Bash had his full attention, where none had had it all day.

He decided to take full advantage of it, while he still had the chance to do so, before his brother's eyes glazed over again, like they had been for the majority of the day.

Bash sighed. "You need to rest, Francis. You just recovered from a serious illness, and you don't have to prove to anyone that you're strong enough-"

"But I did recover," Francis interrupted, sounding more pained than petulant, as Bash was reminded all too well of a childhood of refusals to nap when he needed to, or to take medicine when a physician prescribed it. His eyes held a distant look, and Bash had no doubt, in that moment, that his mind was miles away from their conversation, for they seemed oddly pained. "The physicians say I am fine."

"Yes, and I suppose they suggested that you hurry back to your duties as quickly as possible? That you don't take it slowly, for the next few days?" Bash demanded, and, to his relief, Francis seemed to sag guiltily underneath the words.

"That's what I thought," Bash muttered triumphantly.

Francis shook his head. "I...France will not...cannot wait for her King to be wholly well; there are far too many important things that were thrown aside during my...illness. And I must...it is easier to be exhausted than alert and remember..."

He fell then, and if Bash had not been expecting it to happen for some time now, he would have fallen against the corner of the wooden desk and bashed in his head, he was certain. As it was, Bash was able to grab him before he could do so, pulling him up none-too-gently, but with enough of a jarring impact as Francis was placed on his own two feet again that the pain seemed to ground him to his surroundings.

"You idiot," Bash muttered, almost fondly, and didn't protest when Francis practically collapsed against him, tired to the bone. He was able to lead Francis over to the nearest chair, which Francis had been stubbornly ignoring for some reason that Bash couldn't understand, and thrust him down in it without much of a fight.

"You're no use to France half-dead on your feet," Bash tried to reason with him then, crouching beside the chair and waiting for Francis to let go of him, flinching even as he said the word and realizing that now was far too soon to be using such analogies.

He didn't think he ever wanted to use that word in connection to Francis again.

Thankfully, Francis didn't seem to notice his sudden change in demeanor, too busy scrubbing at his face with the hand that was not currently clutching to Bash's as though he were his lifeline.

Bash had the uneasy feeling that perhaps he was.

They sat like that for some time, and Bash was almost beginning to think that Francis had finally fallen asleep when his brother spoke again, voice hoarse as though he had been crying, even if there was no evidence of tears in his eyes as he turned to Bash.

"I just...can't think about her." He truly didn't need to elaborate on who she was, but he did, anyway. "Mary. And..." his lips curled, "Conde. I know he's gone back to his brother for now, but he'll return. And I know that if I rest today, it'll be the only thing my thoughts will turn to."

"She hasn't broken things off with him?" Bash asked, surprised and a little more disappointed in Mary than he had been this morning.

Francis shook his head. "I need to be King, for France, and I need my queen by my side, but all I can think about is the fact that, while I lay dying, Mary and Conde were..."

That was decidedly more information than Bash had wanted to know about the nature of Mary and Conde's relationship, and he was secretly glad when Francis stopped talking, too overcome to continue, but he gave his brother's wrist a reassuring squeeze all the same.

"You've been through a horrible illness, Francis, one that nearly claimed your life. You need to rest and recover before you grace the Court with your presence again, or you won't be able to be the King we need right now. And...if Mary can't help you get through this, I will do what I can."

Francis looked up in surprise, and then, finally smiled, a smile that Bash hadn't seen in far too long. "All right, Brother. You've been convincing. I'll rest."

It was not until Bash had nearly carried him back to his chambers and saw that Francis was indeed going to rest that he finally left him alone, and Francis, loathe though he was to do so, attempted to sleep.

It would not come.

He tossed and turned for some time, until the pain that had plagued him ever since waking from his illness grew too great and he summoned the servant he knew stood just outside the door.

"I need you to relay a message for me," Francis told the servant, and the man straightened immediately, eager to be of service for his king. "You must take your fastest horse and search for Nostradamus, my mother's former...advisor. I understand him to be seeking shelter from the Crown," from my mother, he didn't say, "in the abbey where my father, may he rest in peace, was laid to rest." His eyes narrowed. "You will be compensated for your troubles."

The servant hesitated only for an instant. "And what shall this message say, Your Majesty?"

Francis' lips twitched, even as he reached within the front pocket of his robes and pulled out a letter-sealed with the mark of the King.

The servant swallowed at the sight of it, reaching out to take it when Francis' other hand came up to close around his. The man looked up in bewilderment.

"Can you read?" the King demanded, his voice oddly cooler than it had been moments before. The man shook his head instantly, and the King seemed to relax again. "You will not show this letter to anyone but Nostradamus; not my mother, not even the Queen, and certainly not anyone you meet on the road. You will destroy it first, do you understand?" At the servant's hesitant nod, Francis' hand shook his, a bit more insistently. "It is a matter of the state. Of France's very stability. If anyone were to find it...You will find some way to destroy it before they can read its contents."

The servant bit his lip, before gently taking the letter from his king. "As you wish, Your Majesty. I will see that the letter is delivered safely."