A/N: This is a response to the Girl with the Silver Arrow's prompt. It takes place a little before and during 3x03, and I took a few liberties with it, and it came out with a bit more Francis angst than I intended, which I hope they don't mind, but I just sort of got wrapped up in bringing some closure to some things that were skipped over in the show. Thanks so much for the idea! Also, Reign never actually names the young soon-to-be King whom Kenna meets, only hints that his country is somewhere near Russia, and is rather small. I did a little research, and found that the King of the Lavonian Order of Estonia became King at about that time, and, as this was the closest thing I could find, even if there wasn't much to find on said King, not even his age, I flew with it. Hope no one minds.
Mary was sick.
It hardly ever happened, and, when it did, she was usually stubborn enough to fight it with all of her might, pretend that she was fine even as she sniffled around the nobles in quite an un-queenly fashion, but today was different.
Francis finally managed to convince her to go and lie down, and she had actually done it, much to everyone's surprise.
It wasn't as if she was missing anything important in having a lie down today, after all. No one was coming to court, Antoine was steaming in his rooms, but staying quiet out of fear, there were no treaties to sign, England had been surprisingly quiet for the last week, and, while Catherine was most certainly causing trouble, her Flying Squad worked for Francis now, not her.
It would be a boring day, all things considered, and Francis had almost given into the desire to stay in bed with Mary rather than deal with pandering nobles and boring reports, that is, until Claude had dragged him off to nag him about getting money for some sort of extremely important thing that she had to have...At least Mary managed her own finances.
He didn't think it had fully sunken in for Claude yet, that he was dying. Or perhaps it had, and this was her strange way of managing to spend time with him, when she knew that, if she wasn't asking him for money, the two of them wouldn't be.
He loved Claude, of course, but the two of them had nothing in common, besides their parentage, and so, even if it was only to hang on his arm (or perhaps hold him up), as they walked through the royal gardens, and ask for money, he couldn't bring himself to mind.
"And I'm going to need five yards of the Burgundy silk, for this new dress," Claude was saying, and Francis struggled to keep up with the words.
"Burgundy?" he repeated then. "I have a feeling you don't mean the color."
She gave him a sympathetic smile then, as if she was pitying his woefully lacking interest in fashion. "No, from the old Burgundy House, of course. I know we don't exactly get along with them, Francis, but they are the best suppliers of silk around. And it will be the most wonderful dress I've ever worn."
Francis sighed. "If you like," he said then, because he couldn't quite refuse her, and he doubted Charles would be so willing to spoil her, once he was king.
She squealed, but the noise was cut off a moment later as two palace guards entered the garden, bowing before their king and then making the announcement.
"Your Majesty, Your Highness, two foreign visitors have arrived at the palace, and are asking to speak with you."
Francis waved a hand dismissively, treating the news with the same attitude he had for some time now. "Tell them I will speak with them at my leisure," he said briskly, starting to walk away with Claude once more.
The guards exchanged glances. "Your Majesty, they are quite...insistent, to speak with you now. They say the matter is urgent."
Francis sighed, wishing yet again that he had stayed in bed with Mary today. "Did they give their names, these foreign guests?"
"The Lord Franz and Lady Katrine of Old Bavaria," the guard recited.
Francis blinked, forehead wrinkling as he sucked in a breath, before he nodded. He knew a sudden relief that Bash had gone off to find his witch, and wasn't here to see this. "I'll see to them in the throne room."
The guards bowed stiffly and made their exit then, and Francis led Claude after them.
He should have known that Claude wasn't going to keep quiet, though.
"Francis," she asked, voice deceptively mild, reminding him, in that moment, a little of Catherine, "Do we know anyone from Bavaria? You act as though you do. Is it the new ambassador?"
Francis bit his lip, still pondering what in the hell they were doing here. Had something gone wrong? "No."
"Traders?" Claude went on, obviously prying. So, she was not quite so skilled as their mother. "No, they wouldn't dare demand a king's presence."
Francis bit his lip, for some reason unable to meet her eyes. "It's Kenna's child's new parents."
"Kenna's..." she trailed off, glancing at him with wide eyes. "No one ever tells me anything around here," she complained bitterly, and Francis gave a quiet laugh as they left the gardens.
They made it back to the throne room quickly enough, at least without trying to seem so, and then Francis realized that it probably wasn't the done thing, to bring Claude into the room.
"I'm afraid I should deal with this on my own, Claude," Francis told her gently, and she gave him another curious stare before muttering something about "men," under her breath and stalking off, Leith, her bodyguard and constant companion, appearing out of the shadows and following her.
Francis smirked after them for a moment, wondering if they thought they were by any means subtle, before striding into the throne room where the two nobles waited.
When Francis had set up the adoption for Kenna, with a family far away from French Court who were in want of a child and who promised to raise it as their own, no matter whom the parents were, he had suspected that they thought it was his own. That, after the scandal that was his relationship with Lola and the resulting illegitimate child, he wouldn't want another bastard when he couldn't even get his wife with child.
Francis had been happy enough not to disabuse them of this notion, just in case they ever grew resentful of the child. After all, a King's child garnered the most loving care, and he knew the child would be happy with them in any case.
Lord and Lady Wagner were old friends of the French Court, for all that they never visited it, and had wanted a child for nearly all of that time.
He had just never expected the family to come to French Court, and certainly not this early on after the adoption.
Bloody hell, Kenna must have had the child less than a month or two ago.
The first thing he noticed, upon entering the throne room, was the screaming wail of a babe.
Lord Franz and Lady Katrine stood in front of the throne, Lord Franz' hands wringing while Lady Katrine tried desperately to quiet the child, rocking her and humming something that sounded much like the lullaby his mother used to sing to him, as a child.
The nobles were all gathered a great distance away, some of them actually leaving the room, sneers on their faces, the rest staring at the couple and their child as though they were infected with leprosy.
Francis moved toward them quickly, nodding to Lord Franz when the man looked his way.
"I seem to have caught you at a bad time. Perhaps you would like to have the chance to quiet the child and rest-" Francis stared, but Franz cut him off in the next moment.
"Your Majesty," Franz bowed, though his movements were rather stilted, off. "I apologize for the lack of decorum, Your Majesty, but we have a rather urgent request on behalf of our daughter." He glanced at the screaming child in Lady Katrine's arms, and Francis nodded.
"Of course," Francis murmured, looking down at the baby. He knew well enough from John that babies cried, sometimes uncontrollably, but in the next moment his suspicions were answered, as he saw the tiny red dots marring her features. "Does something ail the child?"
Lady Katrine bit her lip, looking close to tears. She started speaking then, rattling off in German, which Francis had a passing knowledge of, as he'd been made to learn it as a child, but hardly enough to understand her fast words.
Franz glanced at her with something like worry shining in his eyes before turning back to Francis. "We were traveling to Spain to see her grandmother...She is not well. There was an...unknown epidemic, in the North, and she...We...the physicians we have seen so far do not know what to do, what ails her, and...We did not know what to do..." he trailed off then, but the look of helpless desperation in his eyes said enough.
Francis nodded. "I will have my personal physicians examine the child, and, while she is here, you are welcome to stay at the palace for as long as you need." He paused, and then added, "And there is someone else whom I would like to examine the child, who might be able to figure out how to help her if my physicians fail at it."
He was thinking, of course, of Nostradamus, though he didn't want to announce this either to the Court or to the couple, not unless he had to. There were many who disapproved of his...methods, but Francis had found him far more reliable in the past than many physicians.
Lord Franz bowed. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
Lady Katrine dipped her head, but said nothing, too fixated on her child.
Francis waved a hand, calling forth one of the physicians standing amongst the other nobles, annoyance and a vague sick feeling prickling at him as he realized that the man had been there before Francis had even entered the room, and done nothing.
"I'm afraid there is nothing we can do," the physicians told them blandly. "There are no known remedies for this malady. The child must either overcome it, or..."
Francis shot the man a glare, and he fell awkwardly silent.
Then, "There are...have the child take this, daily, by mouth," the physician said then, handing a little bottle over to Lord Franz. "It may help with the swelling, but I am afraid that is all that I can offer."
Lady Katrine swallowed hard as Lord Franz took the little bottle, and then laid her head on her husband's shoulder, loud, racking sobs filling the silence of the antechamber. The physician bowed and then hurriedly left the room, the door slamming shut behind him, lest he be made to face his king's wrath.
Francis had the strange feeling that his people were afraid of him, now, and wasn't sure how he felt about it.
"Don't worry," he told Lord Franz and Lady Katrine, and wondered if they could hear the desperation in his own voice. Though they were no doubt too lost in their own grief to notice it. "I will find someone else who can help your child."
Lord Franz gave him a nod of thanks, but Lady Katrine did not appear to even hear the words; at any rate, she did not look up at him as he left the room, and went to find Nostradamus.
He was almost grateful, for that.
Nostradamus had not been staying at the castle indefinitely. Francis knew that he was returned, for now, to help...ease his passing, in any way that he could, and to comfort Catherine, whom, even though Nostradamus may have hated and feared her for the most of their relationship, Francis knew he thought of as a friend.
He was leaving soon, to go back to whatever it was he had been before returning; Francis understood that he had built a life for himself there, had found a woman.
But Francis would be damned if he let him leave just yet.
He found Nostradamus in his old chambers, the ones beneath the castle that no one else dared touch, not even when he had fled.
Francis had rarely ever come down here, when he was still a prince; Bash had convinced him that the place was haunted when he was young, and so he had stayed away. It felt like he was spending rather too much time down here, now.
Bash. He was still gone, looking for that witch whom Francis was beginning to think might just have magical powers, and had flown herself all of the way to Sweden, by now.
Nostradamus was bent over a cauldron when Francis entered the room, shivering a bit from the cold temperatures the rooms were kept at.
Nostradamus ignored him for almost a full minute, before glancing up, and frowning. "Your Majesty. Is your...illness causing you pain, today?"
Francis flinched. "I...No. I'm here about something else."
Nostradamus dipped his head, and Francis felt suddenly, unaccountably nervous about what he was going to say, though he didn't know why.
"A couple came to French Court today, with their young child. She is...very sick, and my physicians can do nothing for her."
Nostradamus frowned. "Your Majesty-"
"I want you to examine this child," Francis told the Seer, interrupting before the man could say something he didn't want to hear. He wondered if Catherine had felt like this, when she kept Nostradamus around to do her dark bidding, to tell her of the future. "Do...do anything you can for her. Anything you...have to do."
Nostradamus dipped his head. "Of course, Your Majesty."
Francis swallowed. "Right, then."
He didn't get the chance to think about the child again, didn't even get the chance to go and see Mary, too caught up in the matters of court until late evening, as Mary wasn't there to help him navigate them more quickly. Bash wasn't there, either, and sometimes he was able to fend off any of the more unimportant things, and so Francis found himself busy for far too long, and exhausted, by the time he finally finished being a king for the day.
"So, what important things did I miss?" Mary asked, the moment he stepped into their chambers that evening.
"Not much, today," Francis informed her blandly, slipping beneath the covers and reveling in the way that Mary did not flinch back from his touch; rather, she seemed to almost crave it. "Narcisse is still trying to come out on top, Catherine's still plotting, and the Spanish are trying to get our treaty lifted so they have no reason to stop negotiating with England. And Bash is off investigating that witch."
Mary groaned. "Just another day at French Court, then," she muttered, and Francis snorted into her hair.
"Yeah, just another day," Francis murmured, nuzzling his nose into her hair and wishing that it could have just been that.
Mary was still unable to function properly the next day, though she claimed that she was fine, right up until she was sick all over their bedsheets, and coughing so badly Francis found himself worrying if she would cough up a lung, and Francis insisted that she stay in bed for the day.
And then he went to see Nostradamus.
"It is a rare sickness," Nostradamus said solemnly, folding his hands.
Francis felt his heart skipping a beat, at those words, as he remembered the last time they had been used, the last time they had fallen from Nostradamus' lips.
"Will the child live?" he asked, and knew he was asking something else, damn his own selfishness.
Nostradamus gave him a long, sharp look, until finally Francis looked away.
"She will, with careful application," he said, in that same soft voice he had used to tell Francis that he would not. "I have seen a future for her. There are...poultices that can be used, remedies that may heal her, if I am given the time to make them. They are not ones that a physician would be familiar with."
Francis nodded. "Do what you have to," he said, his voice cool then, and he hated to think that he was fleeing, as he left the man to his devices, but Francis had a rather bad feeling that this was exactly what he was doing.
He walked for he didn't know how long, unable to stomach the thought of going back to see how Mary was for reasons he couldn't explain, unable to go back to a court full of backstabbers and bootlickers who wouldn't suffer quite so hard if they knew that Francis was...
He shook his head. There was no point dwelling on such things, after all.
Nostradamus nodded. "Very well, Your Majesty." And then he handed Francis a little bottle full of clear liquid. "Give this to Her Majesty, for the illness she has now. It will help...alleviate the pressure in her chest."
Francis gave him a bland smile. "Thank you, Nostradamus."
The days after that passed quickly, and Francis was too caught up in more affairs to do more than smile at the news that Nostradamus' herbs and remedies were, indeed, helping the child somewhat, and that they were also helping Mary, before getting pulled into another territorial argument or negotiation with some foreign power.
Mary was getting better, was standing on her own two feet and throwing something that might resemble court in her own chambers, dealing with the ones that Francis couldn't at her own insistence.
It was sometime around evening, again, when he went to the Wagners' quarters, to see their child, unaccountably drawn to the little girl, desperate that she would get well.
Lady Katrine smiled at him when he entered the nursery where the baby was being kept, and motioned him over.
"She's much better today," she told him, and it seemed to him that her beaming smile would never leave her face, and he wondered if he had ever truly seen her sad. "Your healer was most helpful."
Francis smiled. "I'll be sure to pass that along to him."
She nodded, and then turned back to the baby.
Francis was just about to make his exit, feeling like he had overstayed his welcome, that he had done what he came to; to make sure that the child was getting better. And she was; her cheeks were a healthy rosy color now. She still looked too frail, too sick, her eyes too glassy, but Francis had a feeling she wouldn't, not for long.
"I...It's strange," Lady Katrine said softly, and Francis glanced at her.
"What is?"
Lady Katrine smiled down at the little girl in her crib. "I always wanted to have a child, always wanted to be a mother. And when we learned that I could not..." she looked away, biting her lip. "I thought that any child that did not come from my own womb would not truly be mine, but this little one..." she reached out a hand, brushing little hairs from the baby's forehead. "It's been so short a time together, and already I love her so dearly, and can think of her as nothing but my own."
Francis smiled sadly. "I trust the man who tends to your daughter. She will get better."
Lady Katrine was staring at the far wall now, in lieu of either him or the child. "I know," she whispered. "Somehow, I know she will."
A lengthy silence filled the room then, before Lady Katrine went on, "I just wish it would happen faster."
Francis nodded. "It's a horrible thing, watching your child be ill and unable to do anything about it."
Lady Katrine turned to give him a smile, and he grimaced, reminded that Lady Katrine and her husband seemed to be under the impression that Kenna's child belonged to him, that this was why he had gone to such lengths for the little girl.
"What's her name?" Francis asked, smiling down at the child and attempting to flee that subject completely.
Lady Katrine smiled, too. "Her...birth mother named her, before she left. We...thought it was best that she did, for she is her child, even if she can have no other sway on the child's life, especially now that she is to be wed. Considering who she is to be wed to, there can be no inkling that she is...impure."
"Wed?" Francis repeated dumbly, having not heard a word from Kenna since she'd left. He knew that Mary was worried, and that Bash was, even if he pretended not to be.
Lady Katrine smiled. "Soon to be Her Majesty, I hear."
Francis tried very valiantly not to gape at her. "Her Majesty?" he repeated, and suspected that, by now, Lady Katrine must find him rather slow.
"She is engaged to the King of Lavonia," Lady Katrine said primly. "King Johanne. She informed us of the engagement when she came to deliver the child in our home, in case there was ever a need for her, though she asked us to be discreet. Apparently they shared a long journey aboard a ship and grew...rather close."
"The King of..." Francis paused, not really wanting to mutter something like, "damn," before this woman, but finding that he had a difficult time holding back the word. Or the smile tempting to split apart his face.
He may not have known Kenna all that well beyond that she was rather frivolous and married to his brother after her...affair with the King, but he was rather inconveniently proud of her ability to get what she so clearly wanted in life.
The smile faded in the next moment, though, when he realized why this was; because he couldn't have what he wanted, at all.
He glanced back at the little girl. "So, what is her name?" he asked again, and Lady Katrine flushed.
"I thought I'd already said," she said, her lips quirking slightly as she bent down to extract her finger from the baby's grip. "Pascala."
Francis smiled. "It's beautiful," he said, looking down at the little girl again.
It was an undoubtedly French name, and so he knew that Kenna must have picked it, as Lady Katrine had claimed.
An image flashed in his mind, of a little peasant boy whom Kenna had taken a liking to, some time ago. A boy, he was ashamed to admit, he had forgotten all about until this moment.
"She'll be set to rights as soon as possible," he promised Lady Katrine. "I'll be sure of that."
She gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I do think this remedy is already helping her, and I hesitate to ask what it is."
Francis forced a smile. "So do I," he murmured. "But you have the confidence of the King of France that it will work."
Lady Katrine laughed. "If only King's orders could fix all things," she murmured happily, and then smiled as little Pascala wrapped her chubby fingers around the lady's thumb.
Francis swallowed, feeling suddenly out of place, here. "If only," he murmured, and didn't think she noticed as he slipped from the room.
"My lord, you asked for a report on the Wagner child," the guard said, giving a little salute even as he spoke. "She has awoken. The Wagners are pleased to believe that the worst has passed."
Francis nodded, barely withholding a smile, simultaneously glad of the news, and of the distraction from their current borders with England. "Thank you. Make it known to the Wagners that I am pleased for them, as well."
The guard gave another little salute before leaving Bash and Francis alone in what Francis had dubbed, ever since seeing his father plot to invade England in this room, the war room.
And then he flinched, remembering that Bash was still in the room.
Bash glanced at him. "What child was he speaking of?"
And Francis felt a strange, cold fear wrap around him, at the words.
Bash had returned just this morning, exhausted from his hunt for the witch but insisting on helping Francis with the matter of the border patrols.
And Francis had not told him of the fact that Kenna's child was at court. He was afraid; afraid for Bash, for how Bash would take the news.
He'd been rather caught up in his own struggling marriage at the time, but he had known that Bash and Kenna were going through...problems, long before she slept with the mercenary general. He knew that Bash had known that Kenna was pregnant, that it was he who had sent her away, rather than Kenna going herself.
Yet it seemed a far different thing, to know that, and to tell Bash that the child had returned, without Kenna, and was here.
Francis had thought, foolishly, he saw now, that he could protect Bash from the knowledge, that somehow, not knowing would alleviate the pain that Bash felt over his wife's betrayal. That if he said nothing, and the child left before Bash even knew she was here, he would be able to forget about Kenna more easily.
But he had been watching his brother, since Kenna's sudden departure from their lives; had seen the pain in his eyes, the longing for the woman he could not have, the obsessed way he chased after that witch, as though finding her could resolve everything he had suffered. And when he insisted that she was only trying to help, that she was innocent and had done no wrong, Francis couldn't bring himself to believe the words, only the guilt in his brother's voice.
And he knew that more secrets would not help, even if he'd kept them to try and protect the brother who always seemed to do a far better job of protecting him. It didn't matter now; Bash had only to hear that there was a child at court, with a new couple who were known for their inability to have children, and would easily be able to put it together.
"Kenna's," he said, his voice far off, and waited for the resulting storm.
It didn't come.
"Kenna's," Bash simply repeated, his eyes distant now, hooded, as he stepped backward, and Francis wondered if the other man had even noticed himself doing so.
Francis nodded.
"She...the child is here?" Bash asked, voice softer than Francis had ever heard it.
He nodded again, finding himself suddenly unable to speak.
"And she is ill?"
Francis swallowed. "She's on the mend, now. Nostradamus..."
And then Bash leveled a glare at him. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
He looked away then, found that he couldn't meet Bash's eyes. "I...You were off looking for your witch, when they arrived. And after..." he took a deep breath, and this time, he did meet the other's eyes. "I didn't want you to know."
"You didn't want me to-" Bash's face reflected his puzzlement at the words, and Francis found himself desperately trying to explain.
"I know how that...situation hurt you, Bash. I wanted to...protect you, I suppose. And she was very sick. I thought that, if you didn't know she was here..." he trailed off, seeing the expression on Bash's face. "I should have told you. I'm sorry."
Bash didn't respond to that; he just let out a long sigh. "May I...do you think they would let me see her?"
Francis blinked at him, frankly surprised by the request.
He could remember, not so long ago, bringing home his child with Lola, how Mary had not quite been able to bring herself to look at the baby for a while, until she grew used to the idea of having him in the castle. Now, she loved John as he did, but she hadn't, in the beginning.
Bash must have seen the look in his eyes, for he whispered, "I just...I need to see her."
And Francis wasn't sure if Bash meant he needed to see Kenna, or the child, but he nodded, all the same. "I'll tell Lord and Lady Wagner that we wish to see the child, this evening," he agreed, and, though Bash looked for a moment as though he might protest, he finally nodded.
When they finally went to see the child, Francis wasn't quite sure that Bash would make it all of the way down to the Wagner's chambers. He seemed skittish, nervous, and Francis was reminded strangely of his new colt, the one not quite broken in who wasn't used to the imprisoning walls of the stables.
They said nothing as they walked, as Francis had a feeling that Bash would not have been able to hold up his end of a conversation, anyway, and Francis felt oddly as though he had nothing to say.
And then they were standing outside the Wagner chambers, and Bash had frozen when Francis put his hand on the door.
He glanced back, saw how pale and haggard Bash looked, as he stared at that door, as if standing inside with the devil itself.
"You don't have to do this, you know," Francis said softly, and Bash shot him a look.
"Yes, I do," his voice was almost a whisper, and Francis almost didn't hear it at all.
But he nodded. "All right," he said, and knocked.
A moment later, a servant was letting them in, and Francis stepped in first, when it was clear that Bash wasn't going to. He didn't look back, didn't wait to see if Bash was following, simply followed the servant into the nursery.
Still, he could hear Bash's footfalls behind him, nervous but steady enough.
Lord and Lady Wagner were both in the nursery this time, Lady Katrine giving a little curtsey as Francis entered, and Lord Wagner a little bow, both a bit more proper now that their child was getting better, and they weren't so wracked with worry about her.
But Bash had eyes only for the child in Lady Katrine's arms, where the lady stood leaning against the window, the little girl staring out it curiously, wide eyes full of excitement.
"The King's Deputy," Lord Wagner said then, glancing at Bash. "Is our daughter in some sort of trouble?" his words were light, out of place in the moment.
Francis shook his head, when still Bash didn't speak. "He merely wanted to see the child. He and...the Lady Kenna...were very close."
He knew that the lie would not hold up forever; that possibly the Wagners had already heard of the scandal, from the other members of court, and yet he felt oddly compelled to continue it, while he could.
Bash didn't seem to notice; the little girl had turned to look at them now, with bright brown, wide eyes. It was the first time Francis had seen those eyes without a glassy film covering them, and yet he felt as though he had seen them many times before.
"She looks like Kenna, all like Kenna," Bash said softly, his eyes wide, as though he hadn't been expecting that, and he seemed heedless of there being anyone else in the room. Francis wondered idly if he'd been expecting the child to look completely like the general.
Lady Katrine smiled faintly. "Her name is-"
"Pascala," Bash finished softly, a sad smile marring his features.
The name must have brought to life memories of the little boy who had truly brought he and Kenna together, the peasant child who had died...
Francis swallowed hard, wondering how Bash had known so instinctively what the child's name would be. Wondering if Kenna and Bash had planned to have children, to give one of them that name.
Lady Katrine didn't seem to notice. "Would you...like to hold her?" she asked, and Bash's eyes widened at the invitation.
"I..."
"You'll do fine," she encouraged, holding the little bundle out towards him. "Babies are not so fragile as most men believe. You won't crush her, just holding her."
And Bash held out his arms, then, as if to take the child, before pulling them back at the last moment. Lady Katrine's face twisted in confusion.
"I...I'm sorry," Bash murmured. "I..."
And then he fled the room.
Francis could never remember his brother fleeing from a fight; the other boy had almost seemed to hunger for them, when they were younger, and had always seemed to enjoy the prospect of risk and danger. Perhaps it was the shock of this that didn't make him realize that if his brother had backed down from one thing, he would most certainly latch on to another.
He knew that some sort of altercation was bound to happen between Antoine and Bash before Antoine returned to Navarre with his brother's release, of course, and Francis supposed that he should have been paying more attention, really.
He just hadn't expected Bash to attack Antoine in front of half of the court, which, frankly, was a reasonable enough expectation, he'd have thought.
Of course, reasonable expectations usually fell by the wayside, in French Court, so he didn't know why this one should be any exception.
He woke up early that morning, memories of telling the Wagners their excuses and then going after Bash, only to never find him, playing through his mind almost before he'd opened his eyes, and there was Mary, sleeping soundly on the other side of the bed.
He didn't wake her; he knew she needed her rest, even if she'd been complaining recently about the amount of rest she'd been getting, and so he slipped into his clothes, and then as quietly from the room as possible.
The Court was surprisingly dull, when he reached it. There were only a few nobles milling about, one of them, of course, Antoine, only a few requests on his agenda for the day, from what his court scribe had told him.
Francis was surprised; usually, King Antoine's presence anywhere was met with chaos, and yet the man was not even plotting, that any of Francis' spies could see. He stood near the other nobles, clearly wishing for an audience with the King, but also clearly wanting to do so in private.
He ran through the requests quickly enough, the careful balance between appeasing Catholics and Protestants, though not as important now that France had truly proven itself to be a Catholic nation, with Catholic interests at heart, was still prominent enough that the several Catholic and Protestant lords vying for the same land was one of the first things on said list.
He sighed, rubbing at his temple and feeling an overwhelming sense of dizziness wash over him, before sinking down onto the throne in what he could only hope was a subtle manner. He glanced around, not thinking that anyone had seen, and then suddenly there were hands in front of him, gripping his own.
"How are you feeling?" Mary and Francis asked at the same time, and then smiled. She leaned forward, kissing his cheek.
"Damn, I was hoping you'd say you were still ill. Then I might have claimed a day off, too, and we could have left here," Francis murmured in disappointment, and Mary raised her eyebrows.
"Are you feeling badly?" she asked, instantly filled with concern, and he felt a flash of guilt, for that instant concern in her voice. He'd been going to suggest that they laze about in bed together, but now, it felt rather a foolish thing to suggest at all, when he had so little time left, and there were important matters of state to attend to.
He shook his head. "No, no. I just..." he shrugged self-depreciatively. He might have explained himself then, even if he didn't need to, but he didn't get the chance.
"Antoine!"
Every head in the throne room spun toward the doorway, where Bash stood, sword out, a look of fury on his features.
King Antoine stepped forward, raising an eyebrow. "Yes?" he drawled, exchanging a confused look with Francis.
The furious look on Bash's face only seemed to grow, then. "Draw your sword!" he snapped, and there were gasps throughout the room.
Mary glanced at Francis, as if wondering if he was going to deal with this, and then stood. "Bash-" she started, but the King of Navarre was already doing as Bash had demanded, sword screeching as it slid from its scabbard.
The two circled each other once, the courtiers backing up and continuing to whisper amongst themselves, the guards waiting for Francis to give the order, any order.
"May I ask why?" Antoine asked, a cruel twist in his lips.
And Bash lunged. Antoine looked so surprised by the fact that Bash had actually dared to attack him, rather than just continuing with vague threats, that he didn't bring his sword up in time to defend himself, and Bash's blade cut into his arm as he twisted out of the way.
And then Francis, even he felt some sort of cruel satisfaction at seeing Antoine's white shirt turn red at the sleeve, motioned tiredly for the guards, as he knew he had to, as Antoine turned to him with a look of shock on his face.
The guards looked uncomfortable with detaining Bash, who commanded them, but didn't dare refuse an order from their king, and Bash, to Francis' surprise, didn't fight back as they took his weapon and pulled his arms behind him.
"Is this how things are between our nations, Your Majesty? You refuse to speak with me privately, as I've asked, and one of your men attacks me in the open, in front of an entire court?"
Francis flinched, knowing he had no other choice but to issue this next command. To do otherwise would mean war, and, while Francis would dearly love a war with Navarre and its foolish leaders, he knew he couldn't afford one, couldn't afford to leave Mary and Charles in the middle of one.
"Throw him in the dungeons."
Bash shot him a look of resignation, and yet, Francis could see the betrayal there too, the hurt, as he was dragged away by the guards.
Mary placed a hand on his arm, gave him a sympathetic look. And then clapped her hands. "All right," she called loudly to the courtiers. "That is enough drama. Lord Narcisse, what is it you want today?"
The guards standing outside the dungeon cell where Bash had been kept for the better part of the day snapped to attention as Francis appeared, one of them giving a short report of Bash's activities since being kept in the dungeons, though there was not much to speak for.
Francis nodded. "I would speak with him alone. Stand at the end of the hall."
The guards exchanged looks, and then nodded. "Of course, Your Majesty," the taller of them said, handing him the key to enter the cell.
Francis took it with fingers that he hoped the guards did not notice were shaking.
Bash looked up when he entered the cell, and then let out a huff of air and stood to his feet, from where he had been sitting on the wooden bench in the corner. The cell was cold, and smelled musty, and Francis stepped around the straw on the floor, though he had a feeling that it would still cling to his trouser legs, when he left this room, as it always seemed to.
"Come to let me out, then?" Bash asked, his voice a shade cooler than Francis was comfortable with.
"I didn't have a choice, Bash."
Bash sighed, the defensive posture relaxing somewhat. "I know."
The silence between them felt awkward; Francis felt compelled to end it, and then the words were bubbling up angrily.
"Were you drunk?" Francis demanded.
Bash shot him an annoyed look. "Of course not," he muttered, but wouldn't quite meet Francis' eyes.
Hung over, then. Francis should have made more of an effort to attempt to find him last night.
"What could have possibly possessed you! He's the King of Navarre!" And yet, even as he shouted the words, Francis knew what had possessed Bash. A beautiful woman, with wide brown eyes and passion, a little girl sitting in the other rooms, one that might have been his.
"He's not untouchable, Francis," Bash ground out, seeing the way Francis had suddenly deflated. And Francis could see the hatred in his eyes, as he said the words. Hatred for Antoine...hatred for himself; a look that Francis had become all too familiar with, in the recent months of looking in the mirror.
And that got Francis' attention again. "Kings are always untouchable, Bash! Anything else leads to war!"
"Francis, I don't know why you're reacting like this, when you know-"
"Do you know what tends to happen to people who attempt to assassinate kings, Bash?" Francis demanded, eyes hard. "They get k...killed."
And God, he sounded pathetic just then.
Francis knew that he was going to die. He knew that Bash knew, and that the rest of his family knew, as well. He'd had far more time to come to terms with it than they had, he also knew, and so he'd been attempting to be strong, for their sake. To not let any of them know how much it was wearing on him, the knowledge of his impending doom, and that he could do nothing about it.
Besides, he didn't have the time. He knew he was dying, and that it would be soon, and there was much he needed to do to ensure that the people he loved lived for many, many more years, no matter how many days he wanted to spend on a boat with Mary, far from the rest of the world.
He felt like he had been doing a fairly good job of it, up until this moment.
This moment, when he realized that, try as he might, he didn't have control over the fates of the people he loved, the people he need to live long after he was dead.
Bash's expression crumpled. "Francis..." he started, and then he was pulling Francis into a bruising embrace, and Francis fell against him, not quite able to pull back and pretend to be strong, at the moment.
"I wish it could have gone differently," Bash said softly, when he finally pulled back, though he was still holding Francis' head between his hands, as though he could will the impending death away. "That there was another way to save you."
Francis shrugged. There was no point dwelling in what ifs and could have beens, after all, at least, not for him. His own rapidly deteriorating mortality had taught him that.
"Do you wish it could have gone another way with Kenna?" Francis asked softly, not sure if he was asking for Bash, or for himself.
"I wanted to bring her back," Bash confessed with a deep breath. "I wanted to tell her that it didn't matter, that yes, of course, the child could take my name, but I..." he sucked in a gasping breath. "I couldn't forgive her, either."
Francis nodded, knowing that feeling all too well.
"And then we went to see the child, and she looks so much like her mother. And I couldn't help thinking, as I was reaching out to take her...She could have been mine," Bash whispered again, sounding so broken.
Francis wondered why their lives had conspired to break them both, with every means possible.
For Bash, though, there were still might have beens.
"If it had been different...if the child had been yours, would you still have wanted Kenna, even after you knew she betrayed you?" Francis asked softly, and Bash glanced up in surprise at that.
"Sorry?"
Francis swallowed. "When Mary...went to Conde's camp, and tricked him..." he took a shuddering breath, not looking his brother in the eyes as he spoke, "She told him that she was pregnant. With his child. She told me later...that was how she managed to convince him that she was on his side."
Bash sucked in a breath. "And here I thought he was just so blinded by his love for her."
Francis grimaced. "She told me after the fact, and of course there was never really a child, but...I couldn't help wondering..." he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and then blurted out, "If there was a child, how would I have reacted?"
"Francis, if there was a child, Mary would have been ruined. Executed. You wouldn't have been able to save her, not when everyone knew..."
"I...I know," Francis breathed out. "Yes, I know that. Only...I kept my son, and I know it hurt Mary, at first. I know she didn't want him around, but he was still my son. I...And I don't know how I would have reacted, if Mary had a child. Had...Conde's child. I suppose I only just now realize how unfair that was to her, even if she was good about it. I don't think I..." he glanced at Bash again, and then took another shuddering breath. "I would have wanted to be in your position, where rejecting her wouldn't have meant her life."
Beside him, Bash took a shuddering breath. "I still hate myself for it," he said softly, not meeting Francis' eyes. "I...I wanted to keep Kenna here. I wanted to forgive her. She asked me to say that the child was mine, and let no one be the wiser. And...I would have, if she'd come to me first, instead of trying to trick me into believing that he was mine, I think. I hope."
"We can never really know what would have been, can we?" Francis asked softly, with a loud, defeated sigh as he sank down onto the nearest surface, his legs suddenly feeling like jelly, beneath him, as he sank onto the wooden bench. "I took Mary back, after what happened, because I knew I was dying," Francis said bluntly, and Bash glanced up in shock. "A part of me is still angry with her, still betrayed. But...I love her, I know that, and I don't want to spend the last hours of my life without the woman I love."
He noticed the way Bash swallowed hard, at those words, and wondered if he had said the wrong thing. Wondered if that would only add to Bash's guilt over Kenna, or if it would make him stronger for it.
A long silence passed between them, and Francis wondered if it would have been better if he hadn't spoken at all. And then Bask spoke.
"Delphine is...a good woman, a...passionate one, but she isn't...I mean..." and was Bash actually blushing? Francis shook his head, imagining the witch and Bash together. "I don't think I love her. It's not...I don't feel the same, around her. But I don't think I could have taken Kenna back, even though I wanted to. Even if it isn't the same, this is...what I can have, right now."
Francis thought about that for a moment. "I don't think I loved Natalia, either," he said finally, and noticed the puzzled look on Bash's face at that name. Francis hadn't spoken of Natalia in a long time, not since Catherine had found out about their dalliance and sent Natalia off to Spain with his sister, just days after Mary had returned to French Court. "But she was there, after Olivia."
He could tell that Bash understood what he meant then, and didn't bother to continue the conversation.
Bash nodded. "So," he said suddenly, clearing his throat. "Am I going to be put on the chopping block for attempting to murder the King of Navarre?"
Francis' lips twitched. "Actually, Mary took care of that for us," he said calmly, and Bash raised an eyebrow. "Apparently, Antoine is here to secure free passage for his brother to Navarre."
"Are we allowing that?" Bash demanded, sounding almost affronted by that news.
Francis shrugged. "There is more than one thing we could stand to gain from it, not the least of which is getting him to drop any claims of malice from you."
Bash flushed. "Then I'm sorry I attacked him."
Francis just shook his head. "It doesn't matter. He would have found a way to get his brother back to the safety of Navarre, anyway." And Francis knew that. Knew it for the same reason he was allowing Louis to go back to Navarre with his brother.
"So, Your Majesty, how long am I stuck in the dungeons for?" Bash said jokingly, and Francis was relieved at the lighter change of topic.
He gave a little laugh, standing. "Oh, I don't know. I have a feeling that, after a night in the dungeons, you'll have learned your lesson."
Bash glanced around his cell in disgust. "I think I already have?"
That night, Francis ensured in the only way he knew how that none of his family would have to worry about Antoine lusts, again. And he did not back away from the fight, not even with blood on his face and Mary's scream echoing in his ears. Because this one last thing, he could do; to protect the people he loved just a bit more.