Fear stretched, heavy and languid, through the bones of his body, winding its way through the fragile veins of his heart, his head, numbing his fingers and tightening invisible hands around the tender air of his lungs. He paced, his feet wearing down the smooth stone of the castle floor, aimlessly back and forth across the threshold of the door, fingers pressed tight to his mouth to stifle the fear attempting to escape. A coldness had stilled within him, shaking the sense from his mind and his body, filling him with a terror he had never felt before. It filled him like a canon, all leaden and ready to fire, yet extinguished without subtly, half burned, half lit, prepared to fracture apart into dust at a mere touch.
He could hear nothing, see nothing, ripped from her side, her blood still staining his once white shirt, the only reminder that she had lay in his arms at all. The room before him was still. Francis wasn't sure if that showed promise or concern. All he could think about was Mary.
Fingers twisted in emotional agony around the hem of his blood stained shirt, guilt burning like hot oil through his veins. Mary, pregnant, and he had no idea. She had kept it from him and he didn't blame her in her slightest. And now, he choked back the thought, he may have already lost the child he never even knew about. Could possibly lose his wife. His light. The thought was unimaginable.
Relentlessly he continued to pace, the soles of his feet protesting. Time had no meaning, no relevance. It's passage was simply more moments of his life he was separated from her. Moments that she needed him. Moments that he needed her. He was slowly being driven mad by their absence from each other, when someone else was responsible for her safety and he was powerless to help her. As King, the thought was excruciating. That with all the power in the world sitting at the tips of his fingers, in this moment, he could do nothing for her.
"Your Majesty."
He turned so abruptly that the sound of his cracking bones echoed through the silent halls.
"Is she okay?"
The physicians face was pale, exhausted by tireless hours of trying to save the Queen of France's life. "Come with me."
Francis didn't understand what the statement meant. Whether Mary and their child were alive or not. He prayed with every ounce of energy he had left. On quick feet he followed through the large white room, head spinning.
Her body met his eyes as he rounded a corner, face so pale she melded into the sheets beneath her, eyes closed, breath shallow. But a breath nonetheless.
"She's alive?" The relief was apparent even to his own ears.
His question was met with a brief nod. "Only just. But alive. The Queen has lost a lot of blood, your Majesty."
"And the baby?" It sounded strange to his ears, the prospect of their child, a mere figment of thought.
"The baby lives. But I am afraid for its life, your Majesty. The situation is perilous. The Queen will need much rest over the next while if she wishes to keep your child."
Francis felt his lungs fill for the first time, oxygen surging through him like fire, igniting the coldness that had settled. He hadn't realized he had been drowning until the alleviation of water had been lifted, the wet pressure gone. Mary was alive. The baby was alive. He had never been more grateful for anything in his life.
"What can I do to help her?"
The physician smiled, impressed by his new young king's compassion and devotion to his wife. He had seen countless before him that only cared for heirs, for the prospect of children to carry on their lineage. The matter of the mother and their health had only seemed like a cumbersome burden in the quest for an inheritor.
"Let her rest. Do not worry her with anything. Keep her calm and relaxed. And for the next little while, keep her in bed."
Francis smiled ruefully at the prospect of keeping his stubborn, strong-willed wife in bed while there were matters of state to be dealt with. He only hoped that her desire to be a mother out-weighed her innate nature to control.
"I can do that," he stated without assurance. "Or I can try, at the very least."
The physician smiled. "I'll leave you." He turned, his slow and gabled walk echoing across the infirmary walls.
"Did you know?" Francis called after him.
His gaze turned back but made no move to walk forward. "I did, your Majesty. Forgive me. Your wife wanted to keep it secret until such a time when she felt ready."
"How far along is she?"
"Almost nine weeks, your Majesty."
Francis nodded and turned back to Mary's bed, breath hitching and shock settling back in. Nine weeks. For nine weeks his wife had known that they were to be parents, that their child grew within her. And yet she had said nothing. He didn't resent her for keeping the knowledge to herself, only wondered what thoughts had spun through her mind as she kept the secret to herself.
The acidic realization that Mary was already pregnant when he left her to be with Lola electrified through him. Anguish, heavy in his heart and his mind, propelled him towards the chair at her bedside, revelling in the betrayal she must have felt when he left her. Newly Queen, pregnant with his child, left to run his country alone while he abandoned her to run after her friend, the mother of his bastard child.
He had never felt lesser of a man. All his good intentions to be a good king, to be a good man, had benefited one woman and devastated another.
Francis reached out, his hand finding the supple curve of her palm, holding her cold hand within his guilt ridden one and brought it to his lips, gently breathing life back into the coldness that had stolen over her. Shallow breaths rose and fell from her chest, the only indication of life among her still and quiet body. With great hesitation he reached his free hand and placed it on her belly, lightly running the tips of his fingers over the spot where their child grew. He could not tell if it was imagination or actuality, but Francis could feel the gentle rise of a small bump under her bellybutton, unnoticeable unless looking for it, the first sign of the baby.
The power of his happiness took him by surprise and a resounding and boyish grin lit the plains of his face. As if she could feel the power of the moment, of its significance, Mary's eyes slowly opened, blinking off the brashness of the bright daylight streaming through the open windows. Her head turned to meet his, hand instinctively reached for the curve of her abdomen that she alone knew was there. Her fingers met Francis' and with a knowing look, both their hands wrapped protectively, Mary knew that Francis knew.
"What happened?" Her voice was a shell of the strong and confidant woman she was.
Francis smiled sadly, happy to see her awake but no less worried. "We're going to be parents."
Confusion knit itself between her eyebrows. "But I thought…" her sentence hung in the air between them. "The baby…"
"Lives," he finished. "The baby lives. The physician says you lost a lot of blood but you're going to be okay. You're both going to be okay."
She glanced down to his hand, draped protectively over the small bump under the blankets. A fury of emotions gripped her.
"If I had known," Francis began.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Mary interrupted. "Truly, I am. But with everything happening with your father and the coronation and Lola, I just didn't want to worry you any more."
Francis shook his head. "That's not what I'm saying. I'm not angry with you for keeping it from me, Mary. And not knowing is still no excuse for what I've done. All I was going to say is that if I had known, I would have done so many things differently."
"None of that matters now," she whispered, intertwining her fingers with his own.
"No it doesn't," he agreed. "We're going to be parents, that's all that matters now. And that you and the baby are both healthy and safe. The physician has some requests for you."
She nodded slowly, knowing she would need to sacrifice in order to have the family her and Francis wanted so desperately.
"And I will do whatever you need to make sure of it."
Mary smiled, filled with relief at Francis finally knowing her secret, the burden of it lifted. She reached her hand outward and cupped the curve of his cheek in her palm, enjoying the feel of his stubble in her hand. "I love you, Francis."
"And you know I love you."
Not to fear, I have no intention of making Mary lose the baby. Like most of you I'm sure, I was totally and completely devastated by her miscarriage in the show, even though I had a feeling it would happen and prepared myself for such. It still hurt. So, in order to get a sense of fulfillment that the producers have deprived us of, the Frary baby lives in my little world J Feel free to leave reviews, I love hearing from any and all of you!