A/N: Felt like we could all use (a little bit of) humor after the last couple of chapters. Also, I wanted to point out that these fics are not going to be in chronological order at all from here on, and honestly it was just a fluke that the last three seemed to fit together. This chapter is meant to take place a while before Mary returned to French Court, but, obviously, after Francis met Olivia. Please review! They really do motivate me to keep updating, and I'd love to hear you guys' opinions on this chapter.
"There's nothing for it," Francis said solemnly, leaning against the stone pillar in Bash's chambers and letting out a rather- in Bash's mind -dramatic sigh. "We're simply going to have to run away together."
Bash choked on his water, sputtering until he could think up something halfway intelligent to say in response to that. In the end, all he could think up was, "What?"
Francis glanced at him, eyes full of sadness and longing. "Olivia and I," he repeated, as if Bash were quite dull. "Until Father realizes that I cannot be with anyone else, and we can marry and throw out this foolish engagement with the Scottish Queen. We can keep an alliance with Scotland...some other way."
Bash was sure that he looked like a fool, standing there with his mouth gaping open at Francis' words, and, at any other time, he supposed he would have found the situation laughable. Finally, "Francis, you can't do that."
Francis' nostrils flared in irritation. "Why not?" he demanded. "I love her, and why shouldn't I be able to marry her? She's rich, like my mother was when Father married her, and she'll be a far sight better for France than a misplaced Queen from war-torn Scotland. Besides, engagements are broken all the time."
Bash pinched the bridge of his nose. "Because...because you're the Dauphin of France. You can't just run off with a girl because you like her."
"I love her," Francis corrected, and Bash was hard pressed not to sigh. He thought perhaps he was coming on with a strong headache, and suddenly he knew what it was to have to take care of children, and why Catherine de Medici and his mother seemed to have grown wrinkled upon wrinkles over the years, which had nothing to do with age.
He tried to think of what his mother might say to this, because he thought perhaps Catherine's words would be too harsh, as would their father's, but Bash's mind was carefully blank.
"You can't afford to love someone in your position, Francis," Bash tried to explain, and then, at the look on Francis' face, decided he had better change tactic. Quickly. "What will people think of their future queen if they learn that she ran off with the Dauphin of France before you were married? She'd be the scandal of Europe, and..."
"You're right," Francis said, with slightly more enthusiasm than Bash would have expected, given the topic of conversation. For a moment, Bash wondered if his brother were having spells of madness, that his mood changed so quickly. And then he spoke again, and Bash realized this was most definitely the case. "We'll just have to be wed in secret, and then Father won't be able to separate us. I can't believe I didn't think of that! Olivia won't be pleased that we can't have a real marriage in the castle, but I suppose they'll have to do another one later, for ceremony..."
Bash's mouth was suddenly very dry. Had he really suggested that? He certainly hadn't meant to. "Father could still annul any marriage-" he tried again, a little more weakly, this time.
Francis waved this concern away. "Not if the marriage is consummated, with witnesses," he said cheerily.
"Someone will notice you've both gone off together," Bash tried weakly, his last argument. "Your mother has spies everywhere."
Francis' brows knit together in consternation. Then, "The Duke from Hapsburg will be a good distraction. No one will notice. Do us a favor and don't tell anyone we've gone, all right?"
And Bash didn't think that he had nodded, but, by the time he looked up, Francis was already sweeping happily from the room.
Bash let out a low groan, and wondered when the hell this had become his problem, and what the hell he was supposed to do to fix it.
It was not until midday that the absence of the Dauphin was noted at Court, and, during that whole time, Bash had been sweating so hard he thought Catherine, who was searching the crowd long before that, would have known something was wrong.
Thankfully, however, and Bash thanked all of the old gods that he'd told himself he didn't pray to as his mother once had, she barely looked at him.
There was a dance to commemorate the alliance between Germany and France, the Ambassador, who had apparently never done a French dance in his life, attempting to lead Lady Maria of Anjou through the steps while half the Court watched on.
Bash could only hope this was an amusing enough distraction, even as he damned Francis to the seventh circle of Hell for leaving him behind to salvage this mess.
Sitting on her throne beside the King, who was no longer trying to hide his amusement, Catherine clapped her hands and smiled, and whispered something to Nostradamus, who stood behind her as solemn and sullen as ever.
She hadn't noticed her son's absence yet, for reasons Bash couldn't possibly understand, given her overprotection of her eldest.
When she found out, though, she was going to kill him for this. Bash harbored no reservations on that front. Perhaps he should have asked Francis if he could go with them.
It wasn't his fault, Bash tried to reassure himself, to absolutely no avail. He had no idea that Francis was going to twist his words into a plan to elope with Olivia.
Catherine was certainly going to blame Bash when she found out, but then, she blamed him for mostly everything, so that wasn't new.
He could only hope she wouldn't poison him for this one.
When the dance had ended, Bash decided that it was far too hot in the throne room, and perhaps he might be able to go spar and pretend he had no knowledge whatsoever of the Dauphin's absence.
He nearly made it to the door by the time the Ambassador, behind him, was bowing before the King and saying, "Your Majesty, you have regaled me with tales of the Dauphin's skill at archery, and I wondered if I might challenge him to a competition tomorrow, before I return to my country."
Bash froze, and slowly turned around.
The King clapped his hands together. "A brilliant idea, my friend. Perhaps, though, if you are not too tired from the dancing, my son might challenge you today, and thus make it more exciting." His lips twitched into a smirk. "If he wins, you may count it as a win against Germany, and we may add in that clause about the trade agreement. If you win, we will add in the clause about our youngest son marrying Germany's princess, when they come of age, that Germany so desires."
If Bash let out a strong curse that he'd learned from his father, only the woman beside him, an elderly Countess, seemed to notice, shooting him a dirty look and muttering something about discipline under her breath.
The German Duke's lips spread into a grin. "On the contrary, this French dancing has...invigorated me. I hope your Dauphin is as good as you say, Your Majesty."
"Francis!" the King called out, and Bash decided then and there that he was never covering for Francis for anything again.
Catherine's shrewd gaze lit upon Bash then, and her eyes narrowed subtly.
If the King and Queen killed Francis, they would still need some of the King's children around as an heir, wouldn't they? Charles was far too young to be considered a suitable heir.
No, Catherine would never allow that.
He would be standing on the chopping block right next to Francis, and possibly Olivia, Bash was certain.
His palms began to sweat even as Bash stepped forward and cited the first excuse that he could think of. "Francis has...taken ill," he said, and hoped his voice didn't waver as much as he thought it did.
He began to think that perhaps he shouldn't have said anything, and left Francis to his fate.
Catherine's eyes were slits now, and Bash had no doubt that, if eyes were knives, he would have been sliced into pieces by now.
He swallowed hard. He had to be clever about this, because the King was not so sympathetic when his children were ill, so long as they could still walk, and so he had to convey some seriousness to whatever Francis' illness was, so as also not to offend the Duke, but he couldn't make it sound too horrible, lest Catherine decide to go and check on the Dauphin herself and learn that Francis was in fact not in the castle at all.
He hoped Francis and Olivia were long gone by now.
"He...had an attack of the stomach early this morning," Bash informed the Court, much to the sympathetic murmurs of the women and the embarrassed looks of the men. He no longer felt bad over whether or not this would embarrass Francis, though. To Bash, his brother had more than earned it. "The danger is passed now, but the Dauphin is very weak."
There, that had been convincing, he thought, even if Catherine was still glaring down at him with that look, the one she awarded to her greatest enemies and very often to Diane. The Duke seemed to have bought into it, as had the King, if the rare look of concern for Francis on his face was anything to go by.
The Duke frowned, turning back to the King. "Then let me convey my sympathies to the Dauphin. Perhaps we can settle this in another challenge; I hear you are not so bad at the hunt yourself, You Majesty."
The King frowned as well, though his was directed at Bash, before turning his full attention back to the Duke. "Yes, very well."
Bash was still congratulating himself on the fact that he had survived lying to Catherine de Medici as well as the rest of French Court when he returned to his chambers, intent on finding his sword to go spar with the King's knights.
If he was out sparring, after all, there was no reason anyone might
He did not expect Olivia to be standing in the middle of his chambers, throwing aside the concerned servant and sobbing into both hands.
"Olivia," he said, in some bewilderment, for he had seen the two of them ride off late last night, and would have thought them married (he shuddered) by now. And besides, she spent little enough time with him otherwise, and doubted she would have come to him for any sort of comfort, should she require it. "What are you doing here?"
Olivia glanced up in surprise at the sound of his voice, and then fell into a puddle of tears at his feet, and Bash, ever the gentleman, bent down to pick her up.
She sniffed, and then, through a red nose and blotchy face, managed to gasp out, "Francis!"
Bash stiffened, suddenly worried that this was more than just Olivia having cold feet in the face of a wedding. "What happened?" he demanded, a bit harsher than he'd meant to be, but there was no time for that now.
Olivia gulped back another sob. "Francis...he...we were going to be married," she gasped.
Bash gave her a little shake. "I know that. What has happened? Where is he? Is he all right?"
"He..." she let out another stream of tears. "He..."
Bash shook her hard then, jarring her back into the present. "Olivia, where is Francis?"
"There was a...beast," Olivia whispered hoarsely. "A great beast, and it..."
Bash swallowed hard, and once again cursed Francis (and himself, if he was being honest) for this foolish idea. "Tell me what happened."
Olivia, instead of answering, dissolved into sobs once again.
Bash hesitated for a moment, unsure how to deal with the hysterical girl. He knew that, were she a man, he might have slapped her, for the shock would have pulled her from her tears, but he knew that, as unconcerned as she was for her reputation, slapping a lady was still a crime.
So he shook her again, harder than before, and finally she looked up at him.
"We were...on the way to the abbey. The one where the Court took Mass, last Winter Solstice. It attacked my horse, and Francis just barely fought it off. But he was injured, and he fell. He told me to...take his horse back to the castle and get help but...Bash, I don't know what to do."
Bash felt his insides go cold at these words. "Why didn't you go immediately for help, instead of waiting for me?" he demanded.
Olivia sniffled again. "He's going to die. He's going to die, and then Catherine is going to kill me for this, too."
"Olivia," Bash said, somewhat exasperatedly, "Go and get Nostradamus. Don't tell anyone else what happened, but make sure he's ready for Francis in the infirmary." He grabbed up his sword and riding boots from beside his bed, not wasting a moment.
Olivia stared at him in confusion. "Where are you going?"
He gave her an impatient look, already halfway out the door. "To find my brother."
Finding Francis was the simple part. He and Olivia had not made it very far from the castle, it seemed, before being attacked, and Bash wondered that the palace guards hadn't found the Dauphin before he did, even if they hadn't been looking for him.
For that matter, he wondered how Francis and Olivia had made it past the guards in the first place, their paranoia heightened as it was every time the castle entertained foreign visitors.
Francis was not far from the Woods, those dreaded Woods that Bash both feared and revered, for what was rumored to lie within them. For their significance to the pagans.
He shivered at the thought that Francis and Olivia had been attacked here, at what it might mean, and rode his horse faster, until he found his brother.
Francis was not so badly hurt as Olivia seemed to think, though he was fast losing consciousness by the time Bash found him, and would have been in a worse state had Bash found him any later.
His leg had been slashed by whatever beast had attacked him, as Olivia had not been clear on what it was, and was bleeding profusely, but the wound was not too deep, and the only true risk was infection, or blood loss, as Olivia had not thought to bind it.
In truth, Bash was more concerned that Olivia had abandoned his brother, the Dauphin, here by the edge of the Woods, not even seeming to think of the fact that he might be at risk for further harm, even if she had been returning for help.
He was half-hidden beneath a pair of shrubs, and Bash supposed he should at least be grateful that the girl had the presence of mind to hide him somewhat before taking off.
Bash was careful binding the wound, not wanting to listen to Francis cry out in pain anymore than he had to, and then he pulled Francis up, and, careful not to put any weight on that leg, managed to half-carry him back over to the horse.
Getting back into the castle would be slightly more difficult with the Dauphin with him as it had been leaving alone, but Bash managed to placate the guard at the entrance to the South Wing with a small bag of silver coins, which the man took without much protest.
Sneaking Francis through the castle to the infirmary was slightly more difficult, and Bash had to make the excuse that Francis was entirely inebriated to several young ladies before he finally managed it, and thought to himself that Francis could thank him for all of this later.
With a duchy, or something, when he was the King. Bash certainly more than deserved it.
Nostradamus was, thankfully, waiting in the infirmary for them when Bash returned with Francis and, even more thankfully, was doing so without the added presence of the Queen.
Olivia was nowhere to be seen.
"Put him on the bed," Nostradamus instructed, and Bash hesitated only a moment before letting go of his brother long enough for Francis to be made comfortable underneath the many warm furs atop the infirmary's bed.
To his credit, the Seer did not ask questions, and Bash wondered if this was because he had already seen Francis being injured in one of his visions, or, and this Bash couldn't help but think the more likely scenario, had already heard more than enough from a sobbing Olivia.
The Seer looked over Francis' wound for a few minutes, before ordering Bash about the infirmary like a serving girl, demanding certain tonics and remedies and muttering under his breath when Bash brought the wrong ones to him, asking for bandages and washing the wound out completely to ensure that there would be no infection.
Bash was not entirely sure that the methods the Court Seer applied were not some sort of magic, but, at the moment, he couldn't care less, so long as Francis was healed from them.
A paste was applied to Francis' wound, and several vulgar looking drinks were forced down his throat, even as he moaned and thrashed in his sleep, surprisingly strong in his current state.
And now Bash could thank him for the right-handed hook Francis had applied to his chin, as well as the trouble he would be in alongside of Francis when all of this was discovered by Catherine, as Bash had no doubt that it would be.
Once all of this was done, Nostradamus pronounced that Francis was quite all right enough to be left on his own to sleep for a few hours, and needed only be given for the pain every several hours. The wound, by whatever magic Nostradamus had used, should be healed within two days', he claimed.
In the end, they secreted Francis away to Bash's chambers, because these would be easiest to hide him away in, just in case anyone came looking, wondering why Francis had a wounded leg rather than the cold Bash had claimed for him. If Catherine, or anyone else, for that matter, came looking, they could always explain that Francis was feeling better and had gone off for a rendezvous with Olivia.
Much as she hated the girl, Catherine would surely be even more loathe to find them in the midst of their lovemaking.
He looked strange, lying in Bash's bed, when Bash was far more accustomed to seeing his brother ensconced, in the few times he had seen Francis in his own bed, in the midst of finery and silk, rather than the simple bedchambers of the King's bastard son, favorite or not.
There was something about this picture that was very wrong, and Nostradamus, shrewd as he was, seemed to pick up on a bit of Bash's unease, for he straightened and started toward the door almost immediately.
"Make sure the Dauphin does not attempt to get up, if he wakes. He should rest for the rest of the day, and stay off of that sore leg," the Seer informed him, standing awkwardly in the doorway.
Bash blinked. "You're leaving him?" Despite his confidence that he could stay by his brother's bedside and administer the tonic Nostradamus had prescribed every two hours for the pain, he could not help but feel a little overwhelmed at the Seer's abandonment.
"I must be present at Court, or there will be questions. I will see to it that the Queen does not become worried over the Dauphin's absence," he told Bash, and Bash nodded curtly in thanks, glad that he wouldn't have to deal with a furious Catherine while keeping vigil beside Francis' bed.
Then Nostradamus spoke again, and Bash realized that he had not made the offer for Bash's own peace of mind, while he watched his brother. "I have already spoken to Lady Olivia. If it should become common knowledge that they were planning to elope...She will likely be sent away, and the King's wrath will be great, once he realizes the extent of your involvement. He prizes the alliance with Scotland these days higher than ever."
Bash found himself nodding. "I'll send a servant if there are any complications."
Nostradamus' gaze turned to Francis then, and, for a moment, Bash thought he saw the man's eyes soften. "There shouldn't be," he said finally. "Just ensure that he rests until tomorrow. He will wake up before then, but the aftereffects will not be good if he does not rest."
And then he was gone, leaving Bash alone with his unconscious brother.
Bash sighed, and turned to sharpening his sword.
"Olivia..." Francis murmured, and Bash let out a sigh, rather annoyed that after causing his brother and Nostradamus this much grief, the first name from Francis' lips was of that girl.
It was not that he had anything against Olivia. She was a sweet enough girl, he supposed, if a bit naïve to imagine that she would be able to marry Francis after all of this, but then, Bash kept such opinions to himself. He'd had his fair share of pretty noblewomen, after all, and couldn't begrudge his brother his chances at it.
He stumbled to his feet; his legs had fallen asleep in the tense waiting for either Francis to wake up or for Nostradamus to return from the rowdy party taking place on the other side of the castle.
He didn't think about what other effects the potion Nostradamus had given him for the pain Francis would endure when he started to wake might have, only trusted that none would kill his brother, and uncorked the bottle it resided in, tipping it back against Francis' parted lips and forcing the vile looking stuff down his throat even as he moaned awake.
His brother let out a grunt as he swallowed the slimy liquid, and Bash forced him to swallow it all, as Nostradamus had not specified how much he should take.
And waited for Francis to wake up fully.
As it turned out, he did not have long to wait.
The moment Bash pulled the bottle away from Francis' lips, the younger man sat up straight in the little bed, eyes wide and both hands reaching for a sword that wasn't there.
"Francis!" he snapped, and Francis finally turned and glanced at him before wilting in relief that he was not in danger, waking in a slightly foreign place.
"Oh. Bash. I..." he glanced around, eyelids drooping a bit. "What happened?"
Bash snorted, almost glad that Francis didn't seem to remember the events of the last few hours. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to answer that question. Without at first downing a few drinks. "How are you feeling?"
Francis shrugged. "Fine. What's going on? Why are we in..." he glanced around, squinting. "Your room?"
Bash narrowed his eyes, not believing Francis for an instant. "You wounded your leg fending off a wild beast from Olivia. I hardly think you're fine. Don't you remember?"
Francis blinked, glancing down at his wounded leg as though noticing that he had been injured for the first time. "I feel...completely fine. What did Nostradamus give me, then?"
Bash shrugged. "I...he didn't actually say."
Bash hadn't really asked.
Francis looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh at the look of consternation on Bash's face. "You don't know? He could have been trying to poison me then, for all you know?"
Bash felt his indignation for the other man rise. Though it was well-known that the King distrusted Nostradamus, on account of his rumored occult abilities and his closeness with the Queen, Bash had always found the Seer to be helpful, and compassionate, so long as his loyalty to Catherine was not put to the test.
And poisoning Francis would be far from Catherine's list of priorities, after all.
Besides, he knew...about Bash's mother, from what Bash understood, likely believing a bit in the dark arts, himself. And he had yet to breathe a word of it to Catherine, or surely they would have heard about Diane's pagan sympathies by now.
"I hardly think that, if he wanted you dead, he would have poisoned you. He would have simply left you to come up with some other stupid idea," Bash said, a bit snappishly, and Francis almost looked chagrined then, as his memory of the afternoon seemed to return to him abruptly.
"Where's Olivia?" he demanded, sitting up straight then, and Bash winced, though he didn't bother to tell Francis to lay back down. He knew it would be of no use.
"She's fine, Francis," he murmured, and glanced at Francis' injured leg, thinking that now was a good time to change the bandages. "She came back for help when you were...injured."
"Oh," Francis said, almost hollowly. He made no protests as Bash unwrapped the bandages around his wound, checking them, and then decided to wrap the wound in cleaner linens.
"I suppose it was rather foolish of us, to run off so suddenly like that," Francis said absently, and Bash was struck between the wish to knock him over the head and the worry that this would only cause him further injury.
Instead, as he finished tying off the linens, Bash murmured, "Father would have been furious."
Francis chuckled, though there was no real humor behind it. "You were right. He probably would have forced us to get an annulment, long before we could think of enjoying the honeymoon. I don't know what I was thinking. We'll have to be even more careful, now."
Bash tried not to gag at the mental image those words presented. "I don't think you were thinking."
To his surprise, Francis only laughed at his words. "No, I suppose I wasn't really."
"You weren't really what?" asked an all-too-familiar voice from the corridor, and Bash froze, hastily pulling the blankets up over Francis' wound before Catherine could see them.
Francis glanced up sharply as his mother entered the room, turning up her nose at the state of Bash's chambers, before her eyes lit upon her son, no doubt taking in his pale complexion and sweat-soaked brow.
"Bash," she said the name with every amount of distaste that she felt for the nickname, "informed me of your...illness. I suppose you are feeling better now?"
And Bash wondered if she were a bit more shrewd than he thought, and somehow knew that Francis, injured or not, had been with Olivia. Still, he winced, wishing he'd been able to tell Francis of his cover before she entered the room.
Francis glanced questioningly at Bash, and Bash hoped that his silent knowledge somehow passed to his brother. Something of the secrecy they were in seemed to break through to Francis, and he turned back to his mother with a plot in his eyes.
No doubt more born of the desire to leave his bed than to save his own hide.
"Of course," Francis answered, giving his mother a reassuring smile. "I was just about to get up now."
Bash sent him a startled look, having not prepared for the possibility that anyone else would be there when Francis stubbornly decided to get up, and unable to think of a way to tell him that he should keep resting without arousing Catherine's suspicions that something really was wrong.
Catherine's eyes softened. "Are you certain? I can make your excuses for the ball tonight, if you prefer to rest."
Francis smirked. "I'm fine, Mother. Really. Besides, I don't want to miss the Duke completely and be accused of snubbing him."
Catherine glanced between the two of them, though her eyes were, as ever, only for Francis. "And you're sure you are feeling better now?"
Francis smiled. "Much, Mother."
She sent another suspicious look towards Bash, and then gestured toward the door. "Very well. You may not have to face the challenge the Duke set, but you must at least make an appearance in the throne room while the ball goes on."
"Challenge?" Francis asked, eyes lighting up a bit, and Catherine frowned at him. He made an admirable attempt to stand on his own, and almost did so without any help before taking a few shuddering breaths and leaning against the wall for support.
"Perhaps you can take it up tomorrow," she suggested, for the fist time looking genuinely concerned that perhaps there was something wrong, and the look on Francis' face could only be described as near to a pout.
Nostradamus' eyes widened at the sight of Francis as they entered the throne room, and he shot Bash an almost frantic look, at which Bash only shrugged helplessly and nodded his head toward Catherine, who was now mingling amongst the nobles rather than returning to her throne beside the King.
The King, for his part, did not seem to care, enthralled as he was with Bash's mother's company.
Nostradamus followed Bash's gaze to Catherine, and frowned, a thoughtful expression on his face, before turning and leaving the throne room altogether.
Bash blinked at him, confused by the reaction, wondering if Nostradamus meant for him to follow, when suddenly Francis was at his side, taking his arm and pulling him toward the nearest food platter, a food platter at which stood Olivia, along with a few other beautiful young ladies, and Bash promptly forgot all about it.
Olivia's eyes lit up with relief at the sight of Francis, clearly alive and whole, though she frowned a bit at his almost imperceptible limp. He was doing a good job suppressing it, and Bash supposed that the pain reliever Nostradamus was to thank for that.
"Dauphin," Olivia greeted, curtseying with the rest of the ladies, eyelids fluttering toward Francis. The other ladies turned their attentions toward Bash then, simpering and smiling, though Olivia seemed not to notice him altogether, taking Francis' arm and asking if he might have a glass of wine with her.
That was the last that Bash saw of Francis for a while, even if he had intended to keep a wary eye out for his brother, but the ladies of Court, especially those visiting with the Duke's entourage, provided a far too suitable distraction, and Bash did not see Francis again until he was finished dancing, and caught Francis and Olivia looking as though they were about to make their escape.
Francis looked fine now, though his limp was a little more noticeable, and Catherine's careful gaze seemed to have picked up on it, for, though she was glaring at Olivia now, she had made no move to intercept them.
He was not the only one though, and, a moment after Bash joined their little group and snatched Francis' wine, not entirely sure why his brother needed it when he had not been dancing this whole time, another woman joined them, this one considerably older than Olivia.
Bash didn't recognize her at first, not until Olivia was scraping and curtseying in front of her, and Francis was elbowing him in the ribs.
"Duchess Joanna," Olivia greeted, smiling brightly. Then she turned to Francis. "I had the pleasure of making her ladyship's acquaintance earlier this evening. My lady, let me introduce the Dauphin Francis."
The Duchess turned her eyes to Francis, and the expression that overtook her features then could only be described as lustful, something Bash would have found arousing if she were, perhaps, twenty years younger and twenty pounds thinner.
Francis, for his part, managed to keep a cool face as he dipped his head toward the Duchess - but that was as long as he was able to keep it.
And, the moment The Incident happened, an Incident which would forever be held in infamy as the reason for the cool relations between the German Ambassadors and the French from that day forward, Bash wished that he could sink into the floor and disappear forever.
Or, perhaps, that he had asked Nostradamus about the side affects of those two potions.
The moment Francis managed to empty the contents of his stomach onto the Duchess' fine slippers, she let out a shriek of indignation, and the music abruptly stopped, all eyes tuning over to where the noise had emanated from, before the throne room went abruptly silent. Olivia's face went red with embarrassment, though Bash was not certain if this was embarrassment for herself or Francis.
Bash sent a careful look toward Francis, only to become alarmed when he noticed that the Dauphin's eyes had glazed over and he looked close to fainting. Bash rushed forward, grabbing him just before his injured leg gave out, and attempting to ignore the fan that the Duchess was now swatting at them both.
Catherine was by their side in the next moment, hissing that Bash, "Get him out of here before the Duke insists that his wife has been insulted beyond reparations," and then Bash found himself dragging Francis out of the ball room, with everyone's eyes still on them, and Francis once again unconscious.
Had no one been watching him, Bash would have sworn most obscenely over today's course of events.
"Bash?" Francis' sleepy voice emanated from the bed. Bash's bed, where he had been obliged to hide his brother, again, after...the incident. Heaven knew what would happen if King Henry, or worse, Catherine de Medici, found him before they'd had the chance to calm an international incident, or calm themselves over potentially losing the goodwill of Germany.
No, he knew what would happen well enough. Heads would roll.
Bash sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and wondering if Nostradamus had already seen how this event turned out, even as he set aside the parchment Nostradamus had sent him at his request, detailing the symptoms of his potions.
Bash was never going to make that mistake again. And it would certainly be helpful, to know, if he and Francis made it out of this alive.
"Go back to sleep, Francis," he muttered, perhaps a little more shortly than he'd intended, and, by the hurt silence that followed, he knew his brother had not understood.
He stood, turning around to apologize, only to find that Francis was already sound asleep, one arm draped over the side of the bed while he drooled into Bash's pillow, blond hair flopping down in front of his face. Bash had removed his boots before setting him on the bed earlier, and they lay in a heap on the floor.
Bash gave a small smile at the sight, before remembering that Catherine de Medici was far more adept at potions than he and frowning once more.
There was no point to it, he thought, turning back to the parchment. Catherine was going to kill him for this.
It wasn't Bash's fault, he reflected, in an attempt to convince himself. No, not at all. He certainly hadn't meant for any of this to happen; especially not for Francis to end up causing an international incident by offending the Duke and Duchess so terribly that he left Court, vowing never to return, before Catherine could come up with a good apology.
No, it wasn't Bash's fault at all, and when Francis woke up sober, surely he would realize that, too.
But, in all honesty, if he hadn't made Francis take that damned potion, he'd have been in considerable pain for much longer than his stomach would have been able to tolerate. Nostradamus hadn't been able to force it down his throat; no, that had all been Bash.
Of course he didn't know what the symptoms of the potion would be. Nostradamus hadn't exactly been forthcoming, had only said that they would help heal Francis after his little...outing.
Yes, if one went back far enough, this was all Francis' fault. If he hadn't gone off riding with Olivia, hadn't asked Bash to cover it while the Duke arrived at Court and provided most of the distraction the two lovers needed, they wouldn't be in this mess at all.
Well, that wasn't really fair. Francis and Olivia hadn't known they would encounter a bear, especially as they hadn't gone near the woods, instead riding toward the nearest abbey...well, Bash hadn't wanted to know the entirety of their plan for the afternoon.
Bash was almost amused that, by concealing what Francis and Olivia had really been planning on doing, they had only gotten themselves into even more trouble with the King and Queen.
Well, he supposed, glancing back at Francis, that was to be expected, really, with their odds.
A/N 2: I did not mean to portray Catherine in a bad light in this fic, as I realized that I might have seemed to, to a degree, as Catherine is one of my favorite characters on the show. However, this fic was supposed to be from Bash's POV, and, honestly, if anything happened to Francis that could have been deemed Bash's fault for any reason, I'm reasonably sure Catherine would have unleashed hell on him, and Bash seems to know this, too.