*So sorry for the lack of updating! I will have another chapter up for you by later tonight :)
Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead, and he could feel the moisture dripping down his back. It wasn't that is was stifling hot in the small cottage. Francis had never been so nervous in his life. He had been on the battlefield before - he had seen men bleed out in front of him, suffering from agonizing pain as others tried, often in vain, to tend to their wounds. But none of that seemed quite so terrible as what he was witnessing now.
"The head is coming through now! Almost there, dear," Beatrice yelled from the other end of the small bed. Francis found it hard to believe that Lola was almost there - she had been pushing for hours now, to no avail. In her modest way, she had insisted that Francis stay stationed at her head, that he was not looking at what was going on below. He had been doing what he could for her - wiping her brow, holding her hand, and muttering encouraging words - though he himself was doubting how everything would turn out.
Lola squeezed his hand tightly, and he could tell she was pushing with every bit of strength she had left. Amazingly, she bit her lip instead of screaming. He hoped it wasn't for his benefit. He squeezed her hand back, bringing his face close to hers. "You can do this, Lola. Bring our child into this world."
And with that, it was done. He heard Beatrice announce loudly that she had done it, and he looked over to see her handling a bloody bundle. Lola let her head fall back on to the pillow, finally allowing herself to relax.
The baby let out a tiny wail, which Francis felt right to his very core. Their baby was alive - alive and yelping. For a moment, he almost forgot to wonder what the sex was.
After cutting the umbilical cord, Beatrice spent several moments washing the child in water, still not uttering a word. Francis had turned to Lola, who, while laying back, was breathing steadily and seemed slightly recovered from her ordeal.
"Is the child all right?" Francis asked, after noticing that it was silence that followed the initial small noise that he had heard moments earlier. Was it still breathing?
Beatrice turned around then, with the baby clearly cleaned and wrapped in cloths. Francis had to hold back his own tears as he saw his baby's face for the first time.
She walked over, smiling and handed the baby to Francis. "It is a boy, your grace."
A boy. He had not hoped one way or the other when he found out that he had a child on the way, but he couldn't deny his joy over the news that he had a son.
Gingerly, he took the baby from Beatrice's arms, cradling him in his own. He was sleeping now, but breathing deeply. He certainly wasn't a frail thing, and Francis marveled at the fact that Lola had just pushed this baby out of her moments ago.
Slowly, he turned and looked down at Lola, who was smiling up at him, tears rolling down her face. She reached up to begin wiping them away, seemingly embarrassed. Francis knelt down next to her, holding their son up so she could see.
"No need to cry, Lola. You have borne us a healthy baby boy."
Lola nodded, smiling at the baby. "I want to sit up a bit… I'm yearning to hold him."
Francis and Beatrice helped prop Lola up on the pillows and she took her baby in her arms and kissed him on the forehead. "Hello there…" she said quietly, "hello, my little darling."
"What shall we call him?" Francis asked, kneeling down beside her once again. As the initial shock and elation was wearing off, he realized that he wanted to stop referring to his son by pronoun as soon as possible.
"I was thinking, perhaps… Henry. After your father."
Francis started to smile, admiring how thoughtful Lola was, to want to honor his family in such a way. But his smile quickly faded to a frown, as he remembered how he last knew his father. How could he name his son after a father he had killed himself? The whole thought disgusted him, made him want to rip his brains out to erase the entire memory.
"I… would rather not, Lola. My father was a great man, but a rather unstable man late in life, and I fear it would bring back bad memories," he said, hoping this explanation would make some sort of sense.
But Lola nodded, indicating that she understood completely. "Of course, how silly of me! Please, I want you to choose his name. I want to tell him one day that the King of France named him."
Her words shook him, bringing him back down to reality and reminding him that yes, he was King of France now. And just like his father… having a bastard child before a legitimate heir.
It stung him, the fact that, while he was happy, he could not be as happy as he wished to be, because Lola was not his wife. She wasn't Mary. He couldn't even imagine how ecstatic he would be at the birth of Mary's first child, at the start of their family. This boy would never have a family, in the true sense of the word. He would always come second.
But he forced himself to push those thoughts aside for now, thoughts he knew Lola had probably already mulled over many times for the past nine months. He did not want to spoil this day, particularly not for Lola, who was, arguably, in a worse position than he was.
"How about Nicolas?" Francis asked, the name suddenly popping into his head. Though it was not anything meaningful, he had always liked the name, and as he looked down at the baby, he thought it suited him.
Lola smiled. "Yes… Nicolas. I'll call him Nico, for short."
She looked lovely then, holding their child, with such incredible love in her eyes that Francis was deeply touched. He didn't think anything about reaching out to cradle her neck and force her to look up at him, so that he could kiss her. And he did kiss her - gently, but firmly. She did not deny him.
He looked her straight in the eyes when he pulled away. "No matter what happens in the future, you will always be the mother of my son. Do not forget that. You have a permanent place in my life and at my court."
She smiled warily at him, and he wondered if she believed him or not. "We can talk of this later, Francis. You should go back to the castle - Mary needs you."
He was not surprised that she had brought up Mary, as if she wanted to remind him of her. "My place is with you right now," he said. "We will ride back together when you are fit for the journey." He did not know what they would do about accommodations, given that they had taken over Beatrice's small lodgings, but he would worry about that later.
Lola nodded, and after a short time, began to fall into a slumber. Francis took Nico from her, who had also now fallen asleep. For that moment, he forgot about Mary, about the plague, and about his kingship, and simply focused on the love he bore for the child in his arms.