Hi everyone! This is a story I wrote back in 2016 but deleted. I'm revising it and plan on uploading a chapter a week for now. I want to start out by saying, I'm a huge Frary fan. They are my number one couple in the series and always would be. However, I also like imagining "what-if" stories. In a version of the story where Francis dies, I would rather have Mary end up with Bash and have a happy life, rather than the tragic end we saw in season four of the show. I am also a history buff, so it intrigues me to research the historical events of what happened with Mary after she returns to Scotland and change things up a bit. In this story, Frary lovers can enjoy some sweet memories and moments. Mash lovers can enjoy some romance and adventure. Hope you enjoy! ~ Sweet R.

Chapter 1: The Blade Smith

Francis studied the long metal blade on his worktable for the tenth time that day. The sword was beautiful—one of the most intricate pieces he'd ever made. He lifted it by the handle and held it in the sunlight filtering through the castle window. It was well-balanced and lightweight—perfect for a delicate feminine hand to grasp. Not just any hand. Mary's hand.

He placed the sword back on the table and furrowed his brow. It was still missing something. But what?

Francis relaxed into his chair and glanced around his workroom. Swords and knives of various shapes and sizes were displayed on every wall, showing how his blade smith skills had grown over the years. The projects he'd made as a child were rugged and primitive looking, while his more recent projects looked polished and professional. Side by side they looked different as night and day. Still, they had one thing in common. He'd known exactly when each of them seemed complete and ready for use or display.

Why was this one so different?

He sighed and rested his aching head in his hands. Mary would be returning to their chambers after an outdoor luncheon with her ladies any minute now. He was supposed to be resting in bed where she'd left him. Francis didn't want to worry her but he needed just a few more minutes alone.

His thoughts had been troubled ever since Mary called off her betrothal to his brother Charles a few days ago. It seemed as though all his careful planning had come unraveled in a very short amount of time. The thought of his wife marrying anyone else after his death—even his younger brother tormented him. However, at least with Charles he knew she'd be safe and sound in France. Now Mary's best hope of a new alliance rested with Don Carlos of Spain. Francis kept mostly silent about the matter except to tell Mary that he would approve of any future match that would keep her safe from England's reach. However, deep down he feared the arrangement would fall through.

He'd heard rumors of the Prince of Spain's short temper and unyielding stubborn nature. Would his free-willed and passionate wife put up with that? No. He didn't believe she would. And if an alliance with Spain fell through, Mary would go back to Scotland alone and reclaim her Scottish throne. That thought sent a shiver of fear down his spine.

He would no longer be able to protect her and many would oppose her return. But Mary was strong—the strongest woman he'd ever known. In his mind he envisioned her dressed in white and on horseback, grasping the sword confidently in her hand, ready to take back her country. That was his Mary—a true queen and a fighter. He hoped she recognized these qualities in herself.

Francis glanced up at the doorway and smiled, thinking of a younger and more naïve version of the girl he'd fallen in love with not so long ago. On the day Mary returned to French Court, she'd surprised him by showing up in this very room unannounced.

Francis chuckled, remembering her look of shock as he looked up from polishing one of his swords. "Mary."

"Francis," she squeaked.

What are you doing here?

"Oh, I was exploring. These used to be my old rooms. Don't you remember?"

He shook his head, slightly embarrassed and defensive because she'd caught him at his secret hobby. "Well not anymore. No one comes up here."

Her eyebrow shot up playfully. "Except you." Mary peaked around him and walked further into the room. "What is that? Is all of this yours?"

"I make knives and swords. At least I'm trying to learn."

"To be a blade smith. Is that a requirement for future kings now?"

Mary's boldness surprised him. Being the Dauphin of France, he wasn't used to young ladies aiming witty remarks his way. He didn't know whether to be annoyed or intrigued. "When you say it like that it sounds ridiculous, yes."

"Oh no. I think it's fantastic," Mary said as a ray of sun beamed through the windowpane, encasing her in light. Suddenly he no longer cared that she'd disrupted his privacy. She looked like an angel, shining majestically in her white and green gown.

Over the next few minutes, she'd amazed him with her genuine interest in his hobbies and ideals. While most people dismissed them as foolish dreams for a prince to worry about, she actually listened. From that moment on he saw Mary differently. She became his light.

Francis snapped out of the daydream, knowing exactly what her sword lacked. With a bright smile on his face, he unrolled his leather engraving tool pouch and returned to his work.