Author's Note: I'm back! I haven't disappeared – I have many plans for this story! I don't own Reign, but the story is generally mine. Inspired somewhat by the fantastic 'Queen of Camelot' by Nancy McKenzie. History has been altered, so consider yourself warned. This is definitely AU. Enjoy!
The gold caressed her fingertips like the warm summer sun as Mary held the roaring lion close against her chest. It radiated warmth and love throughout her whole being, and calmed her raging soul.
It was overwhelming, the volumes of fabric draped around her chambers. All her ladies were in awe of the vibrant colors, and Mary could not help but smile at their enthusiasm. Even Lola, who had smartly kept her distance, was smiling with Aylee as they touched the silks and laces.
Mary was planning a wedding. A wedding. Her wedding. To Francis, the King. And it needed to be splendid.
She had spent the last week reaching out to the nobles who had fled France during the war. Responses were slowly beginning to arrive to the Chateau, and the answers were filled with excitement. The wedding would be in two short weeks, and many nobles were planning their journey back to the Chateau for the glorious occasion.
"Oh Mary," exclaimed Kenna, her hand trailing along a shimmering red silk, "this would be exquisite on you."
"Red, Kenna?" laughed Mary, not enchanted by the iridescent crimson, "That is not quite wedding appropriate."
"Well it could be appropriate for after the celebration," Kenna grinned suggestively, wriggling her eyebrows to emphasize her suggestion. Of all Mary's ladies, Kenna was always the most lustful and sensual of the group, much to the outward vexation of the others.
Greer joined in the taunting, "Mary's bound to not make it through the entire feast, if Francis has his way. He is besotted with you, Mary."
Mary did not know whether to smile or laugh, because inside, the turmoil of her heart was trying to break free. She gripped the roaring lion closer in her fingers, and drawing the strength it provided, smiled easily at Greer. She needed to play along. She had to play along.
"I think Francis will have to pry me away from the planned feast first, as a full stomach will give me more energy," she winked, and the girls broke out in raucous laughter. She smiled with them, enjoying these free moments when they were all just girls, excited for new love and romance.
Her mind took a traitorous turn, as her words washed over her again. She was planning a wedding, that was to be sure, but she was also planning the first of her life. She would wed, and bed, the King of France, and God willing, give France, and Scotland, an heir. It was not so long ago she had imagined what a child of hers might look like, with untidy brown locks and sea-green eyes. She frowned, realizing that child was nothing but a fantasy.
"Have you selected your music choices Mary, for your main dances?" inquired Lola, speaking for the first time that afternoon. Mary hesitated, her previous thoughts still invading her mind. She searched Lola's face for any subterfuge, but the question was simple enough.
"I am only choosing the one for my first dance with Francis, and I think I have decided on …"
"But what about your dance with the Duke? I am sure you should pick something special," interrupted Lola, her eyes never leaving Mary's. Kenna and Aylee appeared oblivious to the subtle context of Lola's question, and kept rummaging through the fabrics, holding them up to each other and giggling. Greer, on the other hand, keenly observed the silent tug of war between Mary and Lola.
Mary blanched.
"I am afraid you are mistaken, Lola," Mary stated firmly, but not with complete confidence.
"No, I heard it from Francis himself, actually." Lola spoke swiftly, as if explaining the situation to a dear friend, "you see, it is custom Mary that you should dance with Francis' father, but as he is no longer with us," she paused, making the sign of the cross in an attempt at feeble piety, "the duty should fall with his next living relative, which happens to be his brother."
Mary's mind worked feverishly. Was this a bluff? Was Lola trying to hurt Mary in the most emotional way now?
"Thank you, Lola, I was not accustom to this tradition. I will make sure to discuss it with Francis this evening."
Lola grinned smugly, bowing as if she was being an obedient lady to her Queen. Greer continued watching with interest.
Inwardly, Mary fumed. Lola had such audacity to bring up Bash in front of not just her, but Greer, Aylee and Kenna as well. Deciding not to let Lola's attitude get the better of her, Mary brought her sights back to the piles of fabric.
"I think this is the one," announced Mary, holding up a white silk.
"This is not a funeral, Mary," replied Kenna sarcastically.
"No, of course not, but I think the white draws a nice parallel between myself and our new France. White represents purity," Mary paused as Lola snorted, glaring openly at her lady, "as I said, white represents purity, and not so much purity of soul, but purity of a clean slate. Color's may be added as we grow, but we are both fresh and clean to begin anew."
"That is beautiful Mary," whispered Greer.
"Thank you, Greer. I think you deserve something special as well. Pick whatever fabric you would like and I will commission a special dress for each of you."
The ladies squealed, and Mary laughed as Kenna immediately snatched the red silk she had suggested to Mary earlier.
"Luke says thank you," Kenna giggled, and danced away happily.
Smiling, Mary glanced at the rest of her ladies. Aylee was humming softly as she fingered a light pink lace, draping it across her arm and smiling to herself. Lola was no where to be seen. Greer walked slowly towards Mary, her face guarded.
"Is everything all right between you and Lola, Mary?" she asked softly. Mary grasped her ladies hand, pulling her towards the chairs near the window.
"Lola is apparently jealous of my good fortune," Mary replied, a half-truth woven into her words.
"That seems silly, for your good fortune is our good fortune," acknowledged Greer, ever seeing the bright side of things.
"Yes, well, I think she will come around in time."
"I am sure she will," Greer atoned, reaching for Mary's handing and holding it tightly. "What is this, Mary?"
Mary realized she had still been grasping Bash's ring, and Greer now had it in her hands.
"Tis nothing," Mary stumbled, reaching quickly for the lion.
"It is beautiful," Greer spoke in awe, her finger tracing the roaring feline, "why were you holding it and not wearing it?"
"It is too big," lied Mary, though it was the truth. The real truth could not fall from her lips. It is a gift from my beloved, as I can never he his, nor he be mine, would not be the appropriate response.
"Oh I can remedy that! Claude is an excellent blacksmith, come," Greer walked hurriedly toward the door, Mary following helplessly in her wake.
The two walked feverishly through the Chateau halls, dodging scaffolding and weaving through laborers. Exiting the Great Hall, May cautiously followed Greer through the winding street. The marketplace was winding down after their morning business, so few people were out and about. Instinctively, Mary knew Greer was leading her towards the soldiers quarters.
"Through here," Greer motioned, passing under the stone archway. The corridor was open to the marketplace on one side, pillars placed along the street edge to support the balustrade above. Ahead, Mary caught a glimpse of a flame, and realized there was a small alcove big enough for blacksmithing.
"Greer!" Claude greeted cheerfully, wiping soot off his face and grinning broadly, "I would hug you if I was not covered in soot," he chuckled. Greer blushed. "Your Grace," he acknowledged Mary, bowing his head slightly.
"Claude, I was hoping you could help us," he nodded, watching Greer. She held out her hand, the gold ring sparkling in her palm. He reached the ring, inspecting it closely before his eyes widened. Mary felt her heart hammering in her chest. He recognized the ring, she thought. He knows it belongs to Bash. He will wonder why I have it.
"Why do you have this? I can return it to…" began Claude.
"Return it? Silly, it belongs to Mary, and I was hoping you could resize it for her," Greer continued.
Claude lifted his gaze to Mary's. Her lip trembled, and she hastily bit it to calm her nerves. It felt like an eternity that he held her gaze, questions, or maybe realizations, passing through his mind.
After the short silence, Claude resumed the conversation, "Of course I can adjust it for you, Your Grace. Which finger would you like the ring to fit?"
There was an awkward tension between the two of them, though Greer was blissfully unaware.
"I am not sure," Mary hesitated, her thoughts jumbled, "Greer, would you mind fetching my shawl?"
"Really Mary? It is rather warm today," Greer responded, tilting her head in question.
"Yes, please, but my lighter one," smiled Mary, hoping to speak to Claude alone. Greer nodded, smiling at Claude before heading back the way they came.
He watched her retreating form, before turning back to Mary.
"This is the General's ring," he stated bluntly, eyes narrowing perceptively at Mary. She dropped her gaze, suddenly very interested in her shoes. But she knew she had to acknowledge the statement now.
She nodded.
"Did you find it?"
She shook her head no.
"He gave it to you," his voice was softer now, and quiet.
"Yes," Mary spoke before thinking, "yes, he did."
Claude reached for Mary's right hand, and she let him, his large hands engulfing her own. He placed the ring on her thumb, where it still overwhelmed her finger. His fingers moved gently, taking the ring off her finger again and moving towards the fire. She watched him work, hammering softly on the gold. It was obvious in his gaze that he understood the ring for what it was, or at least that it was a token of great affection. She knew he was loyal to his General, of that she was certain.
She glanced over her shoulder, expecting Greer to be returning shortly.
The silence between them was a bit unnerving, though Mary supposed it was better he was not saying anything than if he did. He worked quickly, smoothing the metal as he reshaped the band. She glanced over her shoulder again, but Greer was not in sight. A hiss of hot metal being placed in water brought Mary back to her senses.
"Will this do?" Claude asked quietly, the ring placed in the palm of his outstretched hand. The metal looked so small in this man's large hand, as if a good squeeze would easily crush the seasoned gold. She plucked it quickly from his outstretched hand, gazing at his work.
It was remarkable, how he had worked the band. Originally, the band was slim, widening in them middle with the roaring lion etched within. Now, the back of the ring matched the front, narrow at the sides and wide in the middle. She slid it gently on her thumb, noting it fit perfectly.
"May I, Your Grace?" Claude asked, holding out his hand towards hers. Mary nodded, raising her hand so he could see the gold band. His fingers touched the ring, moving it gently around her slender finger. He left the roaring lion facing her, and when she lifted her gaze towards him, he shifted the ring. It was a subtle difference, but Mary noticed it. The ring was a mirror image now on each side, and no one would have to see the lion. It could be against her palm, protecting her.
"Thank you," Mary whispered, her fingers now tracing the band.
"You're welcome, Your Grace," he acknowledged, smiling broadly at his future Queen, "and please, Your Grace, be careful. I know the story behind that ring. The General would not part with it easily."
There was no harshness to his words, but the implication was there. The ring had been important to Bash. She, therefore, was important to Bash.
Mary nodded, feeling no other words were needed. She turned, seeing Greer walking up with her shawl.
"Here you are, Mary," Greer cheered, placing the light lace shawl across Mary's shoulders. She waved back and Claude, and turned to walk back towards the Chateau with her mistress.
"Was Claude able to adjust the ring?" Greer asked innocently. Mary nodded, and the two chatted amicably as they sauntered back into the Chateau.
Mary enjoyed the rest of the afternoon with her ladies, making the final arrangements with the local seamstresses on Mary's wedding gown, and her ladies' formal dresses. They would all be splendid, and fit for a new era at the French court.
They took tea in her sitting room, the curtains open to let in the afternoon sun and a light breeze. Mary could see the continued work being completed on the Chateau through the window, and she admired Bash's handiwork.
"Ladies, I do hope I am not interrupting," a genteel voice spoke from the chamber doorway. Mary beamed up at the man who had entered her chambers, his golden hair sparkling in the sunlight.
"Francis, what a pleasant surprise," exclaimed Mary, genuinely happy to see him. Though Bash held her heart and was occupying her thoughts, she could not help but be charmed by the young King.
"I am glad to hear you say so," acknowledged Francis, grinning at his soon-to-be wife, "I was hoping you might like to walk around the grounds with me. I would like to show you some ideas I have for the great hall, for our wedding."
"I would love to," Mary agreed, standing from her chair near the window. Greer handed Mary her light shawl from earlier, Francis intercepted it, moving to wrap the lacy material around her shoulders.
"Thank you," Mary whispered, weaving her arm through his outstretched one, and they began their outing.
Later that evening, much to Mary's chagrin, she admitted to herself that Francis was a nice man and a great King, with an astounding love of his country. She felt the acknowledgement betrayed Sebastian and her feelings for him, that she admired Francis. She tried to convince herself that was not the case, that finding the man who would be her husband charming was not a crime. If anything, it was a good sign that she did not fear him, nor loathe him. He had shown her nothing but kindness and generosity.
She pictured both men in her mind, side by side. Both were handsome, hopeful men, gracious and kind. One held her love, the other held her growing affection. She briefly wondered that had she met Francis first, would her situation now be different. He was an easy man to love, and watching those around her give him their loyalty without question was breathtaking. But the pull towards Sebastian was undeniable. It was primal, and deep rooted, and Mary knew no matter the circumstances, she would have loved him deeply. She did love him deeply. The situation held no sway.
As slumber overtook her, the image of Francis slowly faded, while a grinning, disheveled Bash smiled handsomely back at her.