Title: Digging Up Old Bones
A/N: First off, the author would like to apologize for any feels the title of this chapter brings up, as this was written before 3x08 aired, and it was completely unintentional. Right. This one's a bit heavy on plot and angst. Screwed with history a little bit for this one, too, but ah well. In any case, the show screwed with history a lot, so, if something sounds familiar, it's probably because it's been twisted into something different from history in the show.
The German ambassador arrived the day of the news that Mary was pregnant with his child, and Francis, despite the rather turbulent relations with said country the last few years, despite the great chance that she might suffer another miscarriage, knew that nothing would ruin his good mood.
Or at least, knew such until the ambassador said why he had traveled to France.
"Your Majesties," the slippery man bowed before the King and Queen. "On behalf of His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Ferdinand, I thank Your Majesties for this most gracious welcome to discuss the peace treaty between our two nations, and hope that we shall manage to revise it without any conflict."
Francis dipped his head. "That is our hope as well, Ambassador. You shall be provided with all that you require during your visit, and we hope that you will pass on a gift to the Emperor, to show our goodwill."
The Ambassador smiled thinly. "Of course, Your Majesty."
"Bash," Francis called out, and Bash stepped forward then, out of the shadows behind Kenna and Greer, who were whispering like schoolgirls to one another. "If you would, escort the Ambassador to his chambers."
Bash dipped his head, before turning to the Ambassador and motioning that he should follow him.
The Ambassador did so, smirking to himself as they left the throne room and entered the hall. Bash knew that the man and his small entourage were to be placed in the South Wing, where most foreign dignitaries were kept during visits.
"You are Sebastian, son of the late King Henry?" the Ambassador asked then, and Bash blinked, frankly surprised to be singled out by the man. Most dignitaries, especially those who styled themselves as important ambassadors for their countries, usually ignored him.
He nodded, but didn't bother to elaborate.
The Ambassador smiled thinly. "Tell me, Bash," and he said the nickname with some small amount of mocking in his tone, "What am I to make of the new French King?"
Bash shrugged, thinking of what he could say that might reassure this man, though he didn't think it was reassurance the ambassador wanted, that would not also be betraying Francis' confidence. "He is...a strong leader, and he loves this country, and respects a strong leader like the Emperor, as well. So long as you respect France, I do not think any revisions you make to this alliance between your two nations will cause the Empire much suffering."
"I believe I requested, on behalf of the Emperor, that these negotiations be conducted...privately," the Ambassador said as he swept into the room, gaze flicking from Francis to Bash and then back again. "Your Majesty."
Francis' lip curled into a faint smirk, and he resisted the urge to glance back at Bash. He didn't like the Ambassador's insistence of secrecy; whatever it was his master the Emperor truly wanted out of this alliance, it boded ill. They had made a pact, he and Mary, to rule France together. To do everything together, and, though she had not complained about being excluded from his dealings with the Ambassador, he could see that it had irked her to be ignored altogether by the man.
As it had annoyed him, as well, but he didn't have the ability to deny a direct request from the Emperor before they even began negotiations.
They needed to keep this alliance with Germany; Francis knew that. Needed its timber, now that France's relationship with Portugal had strained with the death of Tomas. But more than that, needed a Catholic Germany on their side, not only against the threat of Spain, should King Philip set aside his sister, but, more importantly, to the threat a Protestant England posed to Mary, both on Scottish and French soil.
If Elizabeth were ever again to force Francis to send troops to Scotland, weakening France as it had last time, not so long ago, they would need this alliance with Germany to save them from any further attack.
"My brother Sebastian is here for my protection," Francis said calmly, and pretended not to see the way the Ambassador's left eye twitched at the words. "I am the King of France, after all, and, much as we trust the alliance with Germany, I cannot afford any half-measures."
The Ambassador looked about to continue arguing, but something in Francis' eyes seemed to stop him. He finally conceded with a nod, and then gestured toward the nearest high backed chair. "If Your Majesty does not mind?" At the shake of Francis' head, he gave a faint smile. "Thank you. I am not the young man I used to be."
The young man you are, went unsaid, but Francis heard it all the same, and his eyes narrowed.
Foreign ambassadors were constantly a reflection of their home country, in its feelings toward the country they visited. Their every word and action could be construed as the Emperor's personal feelings toward the alliance with France, at this time.
That the Ambassador was so outwardly displaying his true feelings, ones that Francis did not think reflected careful camaraderie, but rather disdain, showed just how little the Germans valued this alliance. Or how little they wanted France to think they valued an alliance, knowing how much France did.
Sometimes he hated politics.
Francis sat down on the opposite sofa, motioning for Bash to sit beside him just to see the flash of annoyance in the Ambassador's eyes when he did so.
Bash sat, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but here, and reached for his own wine goblet.
"Shall we begin?" Francis asked, feigning politeness, and the Ambassador dipped his head, reaching for one of the goblets of wine that had been laid out for them, as negotiations were known to take some time, and bringing the cup to his lips almost daintily.
Francis felt suddenly nervous, and yet he didn't know why. "The trade routes between France and Germany have been demanding heavy taxes of French citizens every time that they attempt to cross-"
"I am not here to discuss trade routes between my master's nation and your own," the Ambassador cut Francis off, looking almost smug as he did so. "There is no need for such debates, as our Emperor is wholly willing to abide by whatever France's new King desires in that."
"That is very generous of him," Francis said with some surprise, and a bit of wariness, for it was not like the Emperor to be generous. He exchanged a look with Bash, standing in the corner of the room at Francis' insistence, despite the Ambassador's wish that they be alone, and saw that his brother seemed just as wary as he.
The Ambassador swallowed, looking suddenly distressed. "My master has sent me to Your Majesty to resolve a matter most...close to his heart, as well as that of our Queen's. When your father reigned, this treaty was made between our two nations that we might both prosper, if the other came to harm. The Emperor would like to make good on the promise your father made, through you."
So then. Not so uninterested in what France might offer as he pretended to be, and Francis found himself leaning forward unconsciously, thinking of all he might gain out of these negotiations with that knowledge.
"And what was that promise?" Francis asked.
"There is a certain woman residing in France, under the protection of the Crown for the time being. She lives in your great cities and flaunts her protection against our Emperor every chance that she is able to," the Ambassador sounded disgusted, and Francis wondered what great crime she had committed, to earn his disgust, wondered if it was simply living in France rather than her own great country.
Bash lifted a brow. "And what is it that my...that King Henry granted her protection from?"
The Ambassador looked annoyed to be addressed by Sebastian, which Francis found rather curious, considering what Bash had told him earlier, about how the Ambassador had attempted to pump him for information.
Instead of answering, the Ambassador took another sip of his wine and turned his attention back to Francis, and the young king, though he was not looking, could only imagine the look of resigned amusement on Bash's face at the action.
"You must understand, Your Majesty, that the matter is an extremely delicate one," the Ambassador informed him, swallowing hard.
Francis dipped his head. "I will ensure that no other ears than needed hear of it."
The Ambassador bobbed his head, though the look he sent Bash seemed to indicate that he believed Francis had already failed in that promise.
"I trust in the discretion of Your Majesty. The woman in question is a...highborn lady, within the Empire. There was a scandal...many years ago, before the Emperor married his Bohemian bride, Queen Anne, in which it was claimed that this lady and the Emperor had an...elopement, legal under the eyes of the Pope, though not so under the eyes of Emperor Charles, who wished to have the marriage annulled that his brother might marry Queen Anne. As the Pope would not grant such an annulment, and there were already terrible rumors of the Great Matter between the English King and his wife, the late Emperor decided to have the lady in question killed, rather than risk the loss of Queen Anne."
Francis sucked in a breath, suddenly thinking of when he and Olivia had once thought to elope, thinking of what a terrible position that might have put Mary in, and sympathizing for Queen Anne. "And she escaped to France."
The Ambassador frowned. "Indeed. And the marriage has become the greatest secret of the Holy Roman Empire. But not before our Emperor managed to put a boy child in her. That child also resides here in France, and, as the lady has never set to move against our Emperor's children's claims, Emperor Charles did not see the need to do anything about it. Now that our Emperor has succeeded him as Holy Roman Emperor, however, the child poses a threat to any children that our Emperor has sired of Queen Anne. If the truth were to out, they would all be named bastards and would have no more of a claim than that bitch Elizabeth does to England."
Francis raised a brow. "And what is it that my father promised, regarding this woman?"
The Ambassador was silent for a moment, and then proceeded even more hesitantly than before. "King Henry, may he rest in peace, conducted an...inappropriate liaison with the lady in question, after granting her sanctuary in France, after which he shunned her, as she nearly cost him the alliance with Germany. The King...promised us that, should the child ever become a threat to our Emperor's children, he would...see to it that the boy was...eliminated, but he would not do so before then."
Beside him, Bash paled. "He offered to kill the child for you?"
Francis could no longer say he was surprised by any method of brutality his father might have been capable of, was more surprised that Bash still could, not after seeing him attempt to kill Bash in his madness, not after watching him blow up a ship of loyal soldiers. Still, the knowledge that his father would have done so instantly, before his madness, made Francis feel sick.
The Ambassador shrugged, once again addressing Francis as if Bash wasn't even present. "You are a young King, Your Majesty, but even you must see the sense in it. If the boy was allowed to remain in France, under King Henry's protection, it would seem as though he was planning to place a puppet of his own upon the throne of the Holy Roman Empire, but, as long as the child did no harm as Ferdinand was not yet Emperor, he was safe here." A pause. "Our Ferdinand if Emperor now, and there are those who cannot be trusted to keep secret about the marriage and the child born of it."
Francis shook his head, thinking. "The boy would be a man now."
"Indeed," the Ambassador said calmly, "and, as a male, his claim to the throne, should our Emperor ever die...worries him. You understand, then, why I am truly here, I'm sure, what with the bastard Elizabeth on the English throne."
"You want me to...eliminate him, as my father promised," Francis said slowly, and pretended the words did not make him feel sick to his stomach. "Because my father's protection does not allow you to."
He was a young king, but he was not entirely innocent to the ways of the world. Killing his own father had forced him to leave behind any preconceived notions of honor when he took the throne, and he was certainly aware that confusion in the line of succession for Germany would bode just as ill for France.
That even harboring someone with a right to the German throne could be seen as an act of war on France's part, and France was in no condition for a war. It might have been at the time of his father's promise, for he could think of no other reason why Henry would so boldly make such a promise, besides wishing to atone to a lady who had shared his bed, but it was not now.
The Ambassador dipped his head. "It would put His Imperial Majesty in your debt, were you to do this."
"I find it difficult to believe, after learning of my wife's conception, and after holding my own child in my arms, that any father would be so quick to see his own son killed," Francis said softly, though he supposed that the kind of father who asked others to do the deed for him might.
His father had tried to have Bash murdered by guards, after all.
Francis glanced sideways at Bash then, almost having forgotten he was even in the room, considering how silent he had been during this whole discussion.
To his surprise, Bash did not seem as disgusted with the Ambassador's proposal as Francis felt. Instead, he looked...thoughtful, and Francis didn't know what to think about seeing that expression, seeing that Bash did not at all look outraged at the idea, rather than taking it into consideration.
Francis gulped and turned back to the Ambassador, judging, by the look on the man's face, that he had missed some vital piece of information here.
The Ambassador smiled. "You need not think of it in such gruesome terms, Your Majesty. The Lady is dead, only her errant child remaining, and he is unmarried, so there is no need for multiple deaths. Only one, which will save Europe, and your country, from war."
Francis swallowed. Much as the idea sounded abhorrent to him, to kill an innocent man, royal or not, he could not deny that killing one man to save thousands was certainly the best option, especially if, as the Ambassador seemed to hint, the Emperor would take it as an act of war if he allowed the man to live as a threat, in France.
"Does...this man know that he is the son of the Emperor through a valid marriage?" Francis asked finally.
The Ambassador frowned, looking suddenly worried. "He does not..as yet, Your Majesty. However, given the current dislike of our Emperor at Court, that will soon change, should Your Majesty not act quickly."
Bash frowned at that. "He doesn't have any idea?"
The ambassador glanced at the French King impatiently. "Our sources tell us that his mother left him in the dark throughout her life, for his protection, no doubt. But it is of no matter. Will you see this done, as your father promised us?"
Francis hesitated for only a moment. "I will...have to speak to my advisors, those who will be able to keep the matter in discretion." When the ambassador opened his mouth to object, Francis held up a hand. "You will have your answer by morning, ambassador."
The man ground his teeth in obvious irritation. Then, "Of course, Your Majesty."
He walked out then, looking an odd mixture of affronted and bemused, and the door slammed shut softly behind him. The moment it did, Francis collapsed in his seat, wilting, and barely noticed as Bash jumped up and began pacing the room.
Francis glared down at his empty wine goblet and thought, though very little of those thoughts seemed to bring him any good conclusion.
He could have sent for Mary then, and asked what she thought of the situation, but he didn't.
He stayed in the room with Bash, because he knew what Mary's answer would be, knew that she would be just as repulsed by the idea of killing an innocent, unsuspecting man, whatever the reason for it, as much as he was. He stayed in the room with Bash, not because he wanted to hear what was the right thing to do, but because he wanted to hear what he should do, for the good of France.
Memories of the Protestant attacks earlier that year, fresh in his mind, which had taken place when the greater number of France's army was across the English Channel, too far away to help, filled his mind. He remembered how helpless he had felt, how helpless he had been, watching his country dissolve into chaos around him.
And then later, as Conde's army surrounded the palace, and Francis found himself helpless to defend it. Of how close Conde had come to winning, how he would have if Mary had not thought up a solution so quickly.
And Francis had been helpless to do anything about it, to even defend himself.
And it had not been so long ago.
He would not allow France to become weakened as it was then, relying on a fickle Spanish King who couldn't be bothered to resolve an issue in which Mary's lover was involved. Would not allow himself to become weakened again. They needed Germany.
Bash stopped his pacing then, turning to look at Francis with an expression of concern. "What are you going to do?" he asked finally, pulling Francis from his morbid thoughts.
Francis swallowed. "I don't know," he answered honestly, and reached once again for his goblet, lifting it to his lips again before remembering that it was empty. He knew what he should do, in any case, knew what he must do, but that told him nothing, because Francis wasn't sure if he was prepared to do it.
He could feel his father's flesh, beneath the weight of the jousting stick, when he flung it with all of the force of his strength and desperation, to make a killing blow. Could feel when it entered his eye, remembered his father's words to him before his death.
He had killed his own father because he thought it would be for the good of France. And France was barely recovering from the chaos that one action had wrought.
He wasn't prepared to take that risk again.
Bash paused, raised a brow at him. "Francis, you know we need Germany's support against Engl-"
"I know that," Francis spat, sounding far more angry than he'd intended. He sat back, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Sorry. I just..."
"Don't want to keep another secret from Mary?" Bash asked then, sounding sympathetic.
Francis froze. In truth, he had hardly thought of that. The last time he'd killed a man, it had been, he'd thought, to protect Mary, and it had done just the opposite. He had vowed to himself that there would be no more secrets between them.
This, he had not thought of as a secret at all, and that thought shamed him. Once again, he was too consumed with the sins of the past to worry about the present.
He clung to that as he answered hoarsely, "Yes. Yes, that."
By the look on his brother's face, Francis wasn't sure that he believed him.
"The troops in Scotland are unable to hold back the English hordes," the Scottish lord murmured. "They will not be able to hold her off for much longer without reinforcements. We beg of you, Your Majesties - you must send help."
Bash saw Francis and Mary exchange glances, but he already knew the answer that would be given. France simply did not have the troops to send to Scotland, and continue protecting their own borders.
But the Holy Roman Empire did.
"We will...consider your request, of course," Francis said finally. The lord opened his mouth to object, and Francis cut him off. "Unfortunately, that is all we can offer at the moment."
The lord glanced from Mary to Francis, and then huffed, turning on his heel.
Mary sighed, standing from her throne and moving to mingle with Greer and some of her ladies, likely to find out if there was any more information that could help with the Scottish situation.
Francis listened to another parishioner before getting up as well, nodding to Mary before leaving the room, and Bash followed him almost instinctively, noticing the way the Scottish ambassador was now murmuring with some of his men, their eyes following Mary hatefully.
"Francis," he called out, as the doors to the throne room shut behind them, waving off the guards about to follow Francis, who nodded and went back to their posts.
Francis turned, looking up at him, and Bash thought he looked drained, in that moment, unhealthy, as though he hadn't been sleeping.
"Have you given any more thought to the Emperor's request?" Bash asked softly, moving to stand beside him.
Francis swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling very tight.
"I'll track down the man, deal with him," Bash said then, as they walked through the same halls they had when discussing how Francis had killed his own father. It felt eerie, wrong, to be doing the same about another man.
Francis paused, lifting a hand. "No."
"No?" Bash echoed. "Francis, I know this is a difficult decision to make, but we have to think about the good of the many over the good of the one. This man is a scoundrel, in any case, a-"
"And for that, he deserves to die?" Francis demanded heatedly. "No. I cannot condone the death of an innocent man for something he could not help."
Not again. Not as he had Montgomery's.
And finally, finally, Bash understood. "Francis, this is for Mary's own good. To keep an alliance against England-"
"And didn't we think that would keep Mary safe, too? That it would be for Mary's own good?" he echoed Bash's words back to him. "No, I will not do this. I will not go against my conscience again, not for Germany. There are other countries...Spain..."
"Francis, if we don't do this...it could mean war," Bash pointed out, feeling stretched thin, by that point.
Francis shook his head. "There has to be another way."
Bash sighed. "Francis-"
"I won't talk about this anymore, Bash."
Lord Alwin of Normandy, despite his residence in that area, spent most summers in Paris, frequenting almost every brothel there, and loosing the small fortune his mother had been able to collect for him even more quickly.
He had the looks of a German, though not the strong temperament they were rumored to possess, not the temperament his mother had possessed.
He was the son of a very minor house, one that had shunned his mother in her youth, along with the rest of French Court, for her dalliances outside of the marriage bed, and one that he was grateful he did not even know, for this spared him the injustice, bastard that he was, of seeing his mother's small fortune handed off to some arrogant stranger. His status as bastard, however, earned him only the ire of other minor nobles, however poor, when he attempted to place himself amongst them. For it was all right and good for the King to sire bastards, and those to be treated as princes for the rest of their days, but God forbid any other might do so.
So, it was a shock to Alwin when he received the Court summons.
"How may the King wish me to present myself to him?" he asked the Court Secretary, hoping that the man would sympathize him his clear inexperience.
The secretary actually rolled his eyes. "You are not summoned to Court to present yourself to the King in any manner. Do you imagine His Majesty has the time for someone such as yourself?"
Evidently, he was not expecting an answer, for he lifted his quill and went back to writing in a clear sign of dismissal.
Lord Alwin waited a few moments, and then, when it was clear the man was not intending to speak to him further, no doubt not wishing to dirty his reputation by speaking any more than necessary to a bastard, noble though he may be, decided to take matters into his own hands. He would have answers, damn it.
"If it is not the King who has summoned me, may I ask who?" he asked the secretary, though it must be said that this was more of a demand.
The secretary lifted his nose, eyes appraising the man before him, from his threadbare clothes to his small pockets, before finally deigning to reply, once he'd returned his nose to his papers, "The King's Deputy."
Alwin froze, the forced smile on his face abruptly vanishing as his mind raced to ascertain the true reason behind this summons.
Almost unbidden, thoughts of that filthy brothel in the slums of Paris came to mind, and he shuddered, wondering if any of the whores taken in for questioning had been stupid enough to name him.
But...no. The King's Deputy, though rumored to be quite the People's Man, despite his position, would have no reason to investigate a brothel. The King's Deputy was none other than his bastard brother, and, even if he were treated like a prince, his ambition in reaching for the throne spoke of his own unhappiness in his position. Surely, Alwin would have his sympathy.
Unless...He gulped, and, despite himself, felt anticipation thrilling through him.
Perhaps the King's Deputy was more than aware of his situation, and sought to remedy it.
A servant stepped into the room, whispering something in the secretary's ear, too quiet for Alwin to hear, and then departed as quickly as he'd come.
The secretary let out a bored sigh. "The Deputy will see you now." He nodded toward the door behind him, message clear as he did not order the servant to stay behind and open it for the noble.
Lord Alwin nodded, straightening his collar as he passed the secretary and stepped into the next room.
The King's Deputy was sitting at a desk in the room, a bottle of brandy in front of him. It looked strange, to Lord Alwin, to see him sitting, in civilian clothes and not even wearing a sword at his belt.
"My lord Alwin," the King's Deputy said calmly, nodding his head toward him.
"King's Deputy," he dipped his head.
"I'd like to talk to you about something."
Lord Alwin froze. "I...Of course, sire."
"About your mother. What could you tell me about her?"
Lord Alwin breathed a breath of relief. "She was young and beautiful. She raised me, but she died while I was still young."
"And a father...?"
"No," Lord Alwin shook his head. "There was never a father in the picture."
"Did your mother ever speak of him?"
Lord Alwin shook his head. "I got the impression that she was frightened to. I figured he was some lord, as she sometimes acted as a lady above our station. Deputy...what is this about?"
Bash raised a brow. "Have a drink, Lord Alwin."
Lord Alwin swallowed, watching as the King's Deputy poured two cups and held one out to him. He felt suddenly thirsty, his mouth dry as he took a long sip, hand shaking with nervousness.
They were not asking about what he had done with the whores, though, merely about his mother. Perhaps money was involved, in which case, he should be glad.
He took another sip, and then another.
Bash could remember what it had felt like, when he killed Clarissa. It was so different from killing in battle, felt so wrong.
They were not truly brother and sister, of course, not in the way that Francis and he could at least claim to be through their father, as she was not even Henry's daughter, and yet, killing her had still felt like a deep betrayal. He had only been able to carry through with it because, at the time, he believed it was the only thing capable of saving Francis. And Francis truly was his brother, and it was not the first time he had reconciled with himself for something he had done for Francis' sake.
He had not thought of the similarities between her death and the death he'd prepared for the man before him, but suddenly, seeing the man gargle on his wine and lift a hand to his throat, dying with far less grace than Clarissa had, he was swarmed with memories of that night.
And yet, at the same time, he felt numb, merely numb to the world around him.
But he knew that he would do it again, if he had to, just as he knew that he would do it again with Clarissa.
"Francis," Mary called, "What's this?"
He glanced out from behind the dressing screen, shirt still lopsided, and trousers possibly inside out.
Mary looked amused at the sight, but his attention was soon caught by the overly large gift basket sitting on the table beside her. He stepped forward, looking it over, even as he wrapped his arms around Mary's shoulders.
It was large, rather large simply for a basket of gifts, with several exotic fruits inside, as well as a painting of the French castle, a box pull of chocolates, a wine bottle, and a new saddle that looked Spanish in origin.
It looked oddly like a present that a lord might bestow upon his favorite lady, though Francis could not take credit for its arrival.
"Never seen it before," he admitted. "Is it from your mother?"
Mary snorted. "If she was happy with us, we would never know about it," she said, and then gently shrugged off his touch, bending down to examine the basket. "Ah, there's a note," she called out, from where she was bent over, and Francis forced himself to focus on what she was saying.
She came back up in the next moment, holding it out and squinting at it. " 'For your recent kindness to the Holy Roman Empire, from His Highness. Whatever concessions you may ask of my ambassador before he returns to Germany will be granted, with his Emperor's generosity.' " She blinked at the note, and then the fruits, again. "Does that mean anything to you?"
But Francis had gone pale and cold, and barely heard the last words that she spoke.
"For heaven's sake, this is hardly the sort of present I might expect from another monarch, were they pleased with us." Mary laughed, and then glanced at him again. "Francis? What 'kindness' is he talking about?"
But Francis was already sprinting out the door, past the bemused guards outside, his shirt barely in its sleeve, and yet, he could not bring himself to give a damn about decorum, in that moment.
He could not find Bash anywhere in the castle, and, when he asked Delphine, the woman, in her typical ambiguous way, did not give him a straight answer, but rather said that she'd no idea where he was, that he'd barely slept the night before.
Francis sighed, leaving the room, about to go and ask one of his mother's girls, when he ran into Claude in the halls.
"Claude," he murmured, gripping her arm rather tightly, he admitted, pulling back with a wince when she grimaced. "Have you seen Bash?"
She glanced at him. "No. I assumed he was out with the palace guard, this early in the morning."
Francis sighed. "Thank you," he said, hurrying on.
"Francis, what's this about. Why aren't you...dressed?"
He glanced down at his clothes. "Right. I...excuse me."
It did not take him as long as he was expecting to find Bash.
As Claude had said, he was standing with the palace guards on the parapet outside the fortress, speaking with one of them when Francis found him, climbing up to the parapet and calling out for him.
"Bash!"
"Francis," he turned away from the guard he was speaking with, nodding to Francis. "What is it?" he glanced down at Francis' clothes. "Are you all right? Is Mary..."
Francis glanced down at his clothes, wrapping his arms around himself and realizing for the first time how cold it was out here, so early in the morning. "I...I'm fine," he murmured. "We're fine. I just..."
Bash rolled his eyes fondly, peeling off his outer coat and wrapping it around Francis' shoulders. Francis shivered, pulling the clasp around his neck and taking long breath.
"Did you kill Lord Alwin?" Francis demanded, without ceremony.
Bash glanced up, surprised, if anything, that the news had passed this quickly. And then he sighed, running a hand through his hair and half-turning away.
He didn't answer, and that was answer enough, horrible though it was.
"I told you the man was not to be harmed!" Francis snapped, and it was the first time Bash had seen him so genuinely angry in some time, so long that Bash had almost forgotten what he looked like in his ager. "I gave you an order!"
"I know," Bash said softly.
"Then...Then...Why?" He didn't seem able to force any other words past his throat but those, staring at Bash with a horrible mix of betrayal and anger in his eyes. He hadn't wanted this, he had told Bash. Not blood money, not again.
Bash remembered Francis giving him that same look when he had learned that his half-brother would be stealing his bride and his throne, and he shuddered instinctively.
"This wouldn't be the first time," Bash whispered hoarsely, and Francis blinked at him.
"What are you talking about? Montgomery-"
"No," Bash said, voice soft.
Francis glanced at him, swallowing hard. "What, then?"
Bash sighed. "Clarissa."
"Clarrisa?" Francis' brows furrowed. "Clarissa died when Mary-"
"No," Bash interrupted, his voice soft. "No, she didn't."
Francis glanced at him. "Mary told me-"
"She wasn't dead, Francis. She lived beyond that. I saw her."
Francis shook his head. "What...when?"
"When you were...ill, earlier this year," Bash said softly, closing his eyes. "When you were ill. I was...out investigating, and they were going to kill her, some townspeople. I saved her."
Francis stared at him. "Then...what? I don't understand. Why did you say...?"
Bash still wasn't looking at him, but he spoke, then, told him everything. Told him about his time with Clarissa, told him about coming back to find Francis on the point of death, of realizing that killing Clarissa would save Francis, would fulfill the prophecy. Francis would live, and so Clarissa had to die.
When he had finished, Francis turned to him with shining eyes. He didn't ask why Bash could be so foolish, why he had to be so damned superstitious, why he believed so much in these pagan ideas.
He had only one question.
"Was it worth it?" he asked softly, voice scratchy and hoarse. "Taking another life, for me?"
Bash frowned at him. Swallowed hard. "Yes. Always."
Francis took a deep breath. "I hope so," he whispered, raising a hand and curling a blond piece of hair behind his left ear.
When the Ambassador from Germany left the very next day, pleased to be returning to his master with news of success, it was to the warm farewell of only the Queen Mary, who was benevolent as ever, sending him away with her good wishes and the good wishes of France.
The King of France was not in attendance, as he had more important matters to be seen to.
Clarissa's grave had gone long enough without flowers, after all.