"Mama!" an enthusiastic little chirp erupted through the serene mountain tops. A seventh arrow landed close to her others, and she beamed excitedly at it, lowering the bow she held in her hand, turning to the small boy who held every inch of her heart. The young Empress turned from her target practice to look behind her, seeing Kenna, Greer, her elder half brother and beloved little son coming towards her. She smiled wide at all of them. Greer held her newborn baby girl, Rose, in her arms, whilst James walked with the little fifteen month old product of Kenna and Bash's love, tiny Meredith. The sweet little girl held Bash's eyes and Kenna's hair, the perfect mix of the two of them.
Almost six months had passed since their return to Scotland. France had made them all so unhappy towards the end of their tenure there. With the whole Lola-Francis-Jean fiasco, the Empress craved to leave it behind. So, she did. The day Francis announced he was claiming his bastard, Mary had packed up her household and set sail to Scotland, all without the King figuring it out. It wasn't so hard, really. He was too distracted by the little bastard boy anyway. But, it had proved into a blessing in disguise. He could focus on his little, sinful family and his country, whilst Mary could focus on her heir and her empire. Besides, the little boy who held her heart wouldn't be missing out on much. He had father figures, and had never accepted his father anyway, plus, the child never contented as deep as he did when he and his mother were in the land of their Scottish blood. Mary had never felt more at peace than she did when in the land of her blood, so deeply connected to her father and the Kings before her. It made her feel like a better ruler, which in some ways, she was. France was behind her. She would assist her whenever France needed it, with the might of her combined army and the power and money of her empire, but France directly linked her to Francis, and she would happily spend the rest of her life not living with the reminder of his betrayal and her pain.
Mary now had complete focus on her empire, with France being steadily governed by it's very alive King. With intelligent governing, tolerant ruling and some risky treaties equalling religion that seemed to have became fruitful. The Pope hadn't been too happy with her, but some specific bribes had made most of her troubles go away for the time being. Those who were uneasy about her French upbringing had been silenced, as well, resourceful actions, bribes of gold and jewels, land and titles had silenced those who resented her for the whole ordeal with Darnley -who lived comfortably in southern Wales in a small manor house with a generous income and a comfortable title, the option of wedding whomever he wanted making him do whatever he could to assist her in making the mess go away. The man had powerful connections, after all. And, as long as she kept Lady Lennox away from her impressionable, sometimes naive, son, he would continue to do so.
However, ruling an empire alone had proved to be a large challenge. Her time with James was vastly limited, especially with her boy starting casual lessons with the best governess in the country. However, knowing full well the consequences of a lack of mothering and a mother figure in life -Mary's own mother's coldness throughout their lives and the fact Catherine had always disliked her- the Empress always made sure to see him at their daily meals and before he went to sleep, no matter how busy the day became. To this day, their connection remained as strong as ever.
Mary beamed at him, kneeling to accept his little running body as he released his half-cousin's hand to rush into the arms of his mother. He rushed into the silver ball gown she wore, the tight bodice with white lace embroidery becoming crushed by the little boys' tight embrace. Mary heard Greer laugh as James pressed a kiss to her cheek, enjoying every moment he had with his mother. She picked him up off the ground, resting him on her hip and the slight puff of her skirts, placing the bow and arrows on a near bye table and walking over to the contingent of those she loved.
"Mary," the Earl of Moray said, leading the triplet of bows, before standing tall and smiling at his young namesake as the boy started to play with the lace that fell down Mary's skirts and the silver satin belt she wore, tied in a bow at the front.
"I am glad to see you. How was your trip to London?" she asked her elder half brother.
"Fruitful, sister. The slight animosity to your throne that couldn't be helped by Lord Mason was quickly dissolved." James smiled softly.
"I am glad." Mary replied.
"Shall we have some tea? I have much to discuss with you." Kenna said, gesturing to the small table being set up by servants, more carrying chairs, others carrying trays of cups, pots and small cakes.
"Of course," Mary nodded, as Lady Eva, her handmaiden, tied a white fur lined silver and white cape around her throat. Little James squealed and waved at the heavily freckled, red headed, green eyed young woman. The young Lady chuckled and waved back at the Crown Prince.
Mary dismissed everybody except the guards and sat down on the chairs as they were set up and pulled out for them. Kenna and Greer followed, before her half brother finished the small squared-circle of seats. Mary sat her beloved son on her lap as he eagerly reached for the little cakes held on silver trays.
"So, what has happened?" Mary asked Kenna, who had massively tamed herself over the last little while. Ever since she became a mother, in fact.
"Well, you know that I spent a few weeks in France with Bash?" Kenna asked.
"Of course," Mary nodded, crumbling a piece of cake on a small tray for James.
"He sends word from Francis," she revealed.
"Oh?" Mary replied, hating how her body tensed at the mention of her estranged husband.
"Yes, he wishes to come and see you and James." Kenna revealed. Mary laughed.
"I highly doubt that. He's had six months to send word, and nothing." Mary rolled her eyes.
"He's a King, he is a busy man. Plus, he's dealing with his mother and the mother of his child." Kenna added. Mary frowned.
"You don't refer to her as Lola anymore?" Mary asked, curiosity peaking.
"No. She betrayed you, committed treason. Everybody in Europe knows about it, she's labelled his whore, nobody will marry her. You know what the Flemming's did when they found out just after we returned. I may have done something similar in the past, but I was young and stupid, what she did is different and worse. Plus, Henry and I never had a bastard together. A lifetime ago, I congratulated her, told her a mistress was a great title to have, but not anymore. She's brought shame and disgrace." Kenna shrugged. Mary smiled at her.
"How you've matured," Mary smiled.
"One must, being a mother. Plus, the crown changes everything," Kenna smiled back. Mary chuckled.
"Besides the point, why now? Why does he want to see his son now? James doesn't know him." Mary replied, smiling down at her little son as he looked up and around at the mention of his name, face and dirty with cake and sugar. Mary smiled down at him, kissing his raven curls, before helping her half brother clean up the little Prince.
"I think he realised his mistake, the fact that he shouldn't have claimed him. You proved to him he was wrong, proved to him that if he claimed John, you'd leave him. And, you did. I think he wants to make it right. If not for you, than for your son." Kenna finished.
"I won't keep him from James, he's welcome to see him. Growing up without a father is hard, but as far as I am concerned, he's lost me. His choices have ruined us. And we can never go back." Mary finished. She knew she believed and felt what she said, but there was still a tiny ember of uncertainty alight in her heart. The part that still believed in fairy tale love and true romance. She knew she'd have to quell that part of her, and quickly.
For, happily ever afters do not belong in the history books.
Baron Sebastian de Portiers really had no idea why he still stood where he did. He knew he should never have turned the dozen corners and corridors, knew he should turn around, but couldn't bring himself to turn and leave now that he had reached these familiar chambers.
They were his, when he was a child. Diane's old chambers just down the hall. They had lived in much simpler when the long dead Henry hadn't been King, but the heir. Before Francis was born, he had lived in the nicer chambers. But, of course, the Crown Prince came before the Bastard.
Didn't Francis understand that?
The King of France had left the chambers around an hour previously. That, for some reason, was his que to start walking, when word had reached that the King had finally retired for the night. Lola, his rumoured mistress, had left hours ago, unable to stay with her child with the judging looks from nannies and nursemaids. She claimed she needed rest, but Bash knew better. He could recognise the look of resentment anywhere, from a foolish courtier to the man who had sired her bastard child and forced her to stay, where everybody knew she'd have a better life elsewhere.
She, and the child.
Bash could understand that reason better than Lola did. Often, he imagined what his life would have been like if his mother hadn't been who she was, was able to run away and give him a better life, not one drowning in jealousy and betrayal of royal life.
Bash frowned, seeing the fact that there were no nursemaids with the young boy, nobody observing him as he slept. He was the King's eldest son, after all. Bastard or not.
The nursery was quite dim, no candles, just a small spark in the hearth, bright enough for warmth and light, but dim enough to be put out should it get out of hand. The windows were clamped shut, the royal family undoubtedly not wanting the child to freeze to death.
There, in the middle of the room, was the cot. Jean Valois, the young, bastard son of France, baron of Velay, lay in the cot. He was the subject of so much controversy, the reason why the Empress and Queen had packed up and took her household and son with her. And yet, he slept so soundlessly, warm in a knitted white blanket Lola had made, face the picture of peace and serenity, as if he cared of nothing in the world.
Francis' son. Francis and Lola's son.
In complete honesty, he had no idea why Francis had claimed him. It was obvious why King Henry had kept him. Diane was his mistress and -still to have a child with Catherine- he wanted a child of his own. Something that was his and only his, an inarguable feat. A child who belonged to the mistress he loved, not to the wife he hated.
Bash was aware that Henry loved him. Loved him a million times more than he had ever claimed to love Francis or any of his other legitimate children. They had much in common, and although he was starting to turn out like Henry just before Mary came to court -both times- Francis would forever be more like his mother than his father.
No matter what people thought, including his own wife or Francis', Lola was not Francis' mistress. And Francis did not love her. Francis still and forever would love Mary. He just didn't know how to prove it to her, after hurting her so many times. No matter his reasons for claiming and keeping Jean, Bash didn't think one of them was to hurt his wife.
Mary, the now far away Empress and Queen, would wake up every day until she met her maker, with the stone cold knowledge that -although she had birthed Francis' legitimate son- she had not birthed his first son. Catherine had lived the same way, with the knowledge that although she gave birth to five of Henry's sons, she had not given him his first son, nor child. And, if Mary didn't grow to resent Jean, like Catherine had resented him all of his life, then Mary would quite confidently be the strongest woman Bash had ever met.
Bash jumped as the three year old suddenly let out a cry. He muffled a breathy curse, looking down at the little boy, before glancing over at the still ajar door to his left, wondering if he should leave and wait for one of the nurses to come and take care of the toddler.
But, he knew that there had been multiple nights, when he was in Jean's place, where he gained no sleep, nobody there to soothe his cries that boomed through the night.
Slowly, Sebastian walked forwards until his thighs and calves touched the cot. Slow, a man walking to his own execution would have walked quicker. He stared aimlessly down at the red faced child who punched the air furiously.
The child. The child would cause Mary so much pain as they both aged. The child who was already strongly disliked by his far away half brother, who already strongly disliked him in return. The child who would live out every day in the painful, resentment filled life of the bastard son of a King, as Bash himself had done.
Jean was not the monster Catherine imagined Bash to be, the Queen who had openly treated him with scorn, hatred and neglect all of his life, who still did it to this day. Although he still was, he was not -physically- the hideous creature that would make Francis look bad in his court and country, in his wife's Empire, weak, sentimental for claiming a bastard.
Jean was simply a child. One like any other. Oddly, straight golden hair. The colour belonged to his father, the straightness completely out of the blue, for both Francis and Lola held curls. His loud cry belonged to Lola, too loud to be the soft spoken one of the once Crown Prince. He was short, short like Lola, pale skin almost sickly. Even still, not a mark was on him, apart from his pink cheeks.
Jean screamed and screamed, eyes clamped shut. Bash still stared.
Arms moving by themselves, he picked up the bastard child of his King and held him to his chest. Although short, he was heavy, far heavier than what Bash remembered James to be. He simply held the boy that would one day be him, but would not be in the position he was in. James would simply never hold him in high regard as Francis did him. The two already didn't like or trust each other, unable to even be in the same room as each other. They would grow up -together or apart- and they would fight. And, Jean would never win. Already, he did and forever would stand in James' shadow, as Bash had done Francis'.
The moment he was held, Jean opened his eyes and stared up at Bash, their eyes connecting. He calmed, clearly recognising Bash, but just stared.
Thankfully, the child held Lola's eyes.
Wide, as if Bash held answers to everything in the world. And, for a moment, Sebastian believed he did, too.
He remembered a time when Francis had looked upon him with the same expression. Innocent, wide eyes, burrowing into his soul.
Bash remembered the few days Catherine had been in labour for, surprisingly. Diane constantly told him that he simply imagined it, but it had always felt so real.
Diane had been worried, clearly because Francis was going to be the boy the relm needed, worried that she'd loose Henry's love. Henry himself had been worried, for reasons still unclear to him. And, replicating his parents, Bash himself had been anxious. Confined to his chambers, because mama didn't want him to hear the Dauphine's screams.
Days and days of being locked in Diane's chambers, before he could hear joyous celebrating. A boy had been borne to the Dauphine of France. The Duke of Anjou, future Crown Prince and King of France. An heir.
Not understanding why Francis' birthday was so much widely celebrated than his own would ever be. With every passing year, the sickly little boy became healthier and healthier. Bash didn't understand why this strange, enigmatic, pretty, dark haired creature from across the water had come for Francis, not him, when the little future Dauphin and King was just about to turn five or six.
But, even so, in that moment, he'd instantly wanted to see his new little brother, even if they shared different mothers. Having to wait impatiently for weeks until his father had finally shown him his little, fair haired newborn brother who had almost the same eyes he did.
Sebastian jumped once more, hearing a familiar, unexpected voice.
"I didn't think you'd be in here." the voice said. He swallowed a curse, looking behind him, seeing the King of France in all his late night Majesty in the doorway, not a guard or nursemaid in sight.
"Francis!" he said, the surprise and uncertainty clearer than the sun after a storm. He figured that Francis would be asleep by now, having left the room more than an hour ago.
He'd seen Francis and his bastard together before, but seeing them now, with Mary and James gone, made everything so, so real. Realer than they'd been when Francis had returned nine months ago, realer than when Francis was passed his bastard son at the child' christening, Queen nowhere in sight, realer than ever before.
Jean was Francis' bastard son. Just like Bash had been Henry's bastard.
Living life as a bastard was dangerous, a point never more driven home than when Henry tried to have Bash killed on multiple occasions. It didn't matter that Henry had been mad at the time -even attempting to kill Francis at one point- the point was hammered home. Living as a bastard was far more dangerous than living without a father.
How could Francis not understand this?
The King walked over to his bastard brother and bastard son, watching as Jean started to blurt laughter when his father came into his field of vision.
"Are you angry with me, too?" Francis suddenly asked. Bash blinked, momentarily speechless. He knew that many had given their negative opinion on Francis and his bastard over the last nine months, did he think his brother, a fellow bastard, held the same?
"No, your highness."
Francis sighed. "It's been months now, you can tell me the truth," he sighed again.
"I-I-" Bash stuttered. "I don't think you should have claimed him. He'll live in danger for the rest of his life. James doesn't get on with him, no matter how far they are apart. What do you think will happen when James becomes King? You know how perceptive he is."
Francis sighed. "I know. I shouldn't have brought him here. It was the better thing to do, to let him go with Lola, or to let them live quietly on the grounds, my little secret. It would have been better for him, Lola-" his eyes closed. Bash frowned deeply. "For Mary and James." he exhaled, not bothering to hide the longing he felt for his estranged wife and stranger of a son. "When we were growing up, I know your life was never easy, I know what father tried to do. But," he sighed again, before the little boy reached out and grabbed Francis' coat. He smiled widely at him.
"You needn't feel the need to explain your feelings on this to be, Francis." Bash said, although Kenna's words in his head told him he needed to know. He and Kenna had felt some sort of duty to make the explosion of Francis and his bastard and the mother of his bastard have the lease effect on Mary and James. This simply seemed like the best possible time to do so.
"I just-" he sighed. "I couldn't let him go." he looked at his bastard with such love and adoration that he wondered if, long ago, Henry felt the same when he looked at him when he stood in Jean's shoes.
Francis' lack of further speech told him he wanted to hear something, but Bash had no idea what. Reassurances? Being told that he could get Mary and James back? Bash honestly didn't know if he could.
"He might have had a better life elsewhere. Safer, being a secret. You would have had a better life if you had sent him away." Francis' looked at him, piercing gaze penetrating his soul it felt like. He refused to shiver, carrying on with his words. "You and Mary," he used the one topic that made Francis break. "You and Mary and James." he continued.
"I know." Francis sighed, looking away. "Keeping him, keeping him here with Lola was selfish. I know what it would do to my marriage and to my heirs future-" he trailed a bit. Bash blinked. He didn't miss how Francis used heir and not son to describe his younger child. He couldn't help but notice the fact that Henry referred to him, Francis, as his heir, his usurper. Only a handful of times did he say son. Was Francis turning into Henry? Were he and Mary destined to become his parents? From where they were now, it sure seemed like it. "but Jean is my son. The moment I held him in my arms almost three years ago, I knew I could never let him go. I didn't want to. He-" Francis stopped, swallowing. "he's my son. And I loved him. I love him."
"Francis, Mary made it clear what she'd do if you claimed him. She's take your son and leave for her own countries. And you let her. You picked your bastard over your heir. Did you learn nothing from Father? I may have been the favourite, but you always came first out of the two of us. Do you have any idea what he's going to do when he grows up?" Bash asked. Francis looked at him again. "He is perceptive. He reacted to you how he did, not because he didn't know you, but because he knows you hurt the one who he loves the most, his mother. He doesn't know how you did, but he knows you did. It won't take long for him to figure out what you did. And, when he does, he will grow up hating you and this boy more than any of the people of France or the empire. Mary has never lied to him, if he asks what you did to her, she will tell him, leave him to draw his own conclusions, but she will tell him. And, when he's emperor, he will destroy this child and his mother. I say this not to hurt you, but I am stating facts. He will, you know that." Francis looked away again. "The boy will move heaven and earth to make his mother happy, and when she isn't there to control him, to settle him, he will raise hell to avenge those who have hurt her. That's who James is. He is much like you and Catherine in that way. Little Crown Prince James has Catherine's vindictive heart to those who hurts his family and always want to protect those they love. You have that, too, And to him, James, nobody means as much to him as Mary does." Bash paused. Francis said nothing, just started pacing aimlessly, running his hands through his hair, before they found the pockets of his green satin and velvet jacket.
Bash continued. "Mary hasn't poisoned his mind against you, James reacted how he did because he didn't know you. You're a stranger to your heir, like our father was a stranger to you. We hated him at the end. Do you want that for James? You must think of him, not yourself or Jean. James." Bash accentuated.
"Of course not," Francis looked away.
"You didn't do anything to stop it, however. You were busy doting on him," Bash looked down at the child, placing him in the crib, the little boy now asleep. "to notice that your wife and son had left. And you did nothing to stop them."
"Stop," Francis said softly, looking away. "Stop it." he finished.
"No. You told me not to refer to you as my king. Now, you are my brother and I am telling you what you've done." Francis looked back at him. "You knew Mary would leave you and take James if you claimed Jean, and you did. They did. You could have stopped them, but you did not."
"I know," he whispered.
"She hasn't poisoned his mind against you, although she could, she hasn't. When you were gone, thought to be dead, she'd spend hours in the nursery with him, crying softly. She'd tell him stories of you, your wedding and how good of a man you were. Now, you must prove it."
"I don't know how."
"Figure it out. There's still time to change all of this. If they don't come back, go to them. Your wife has raised your son well, you don't want him to grow up how you did? You don't want to become father, have Mary become Catherine?"
"Of course not, but-"
"No. No buts. You did this. Now, you have to fix it. Before it destroys your marriage and your son's future."