Side Note - This is not to rewrite the Mary-Catherine scene, I think that was one of the few scenes about (the) rape that they got correct and was done really well before they messed it up an episode later. This is just a continuation of the scene.
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"These next moments of your life will either define you as a victim or as a powerful queen, untouched by a failed assassination attempt ... Do not let them win. Trust me. Trust me and let me help you. Trust that I can get you through this because I swear to you that I can."
Catherine exhales slowly, and it's a breath shh doesn't even really notice that she's holding until she lets it out. When Mary puts her hand in hers, the fingers are icy cold, even though there is a roaring fire in the room. The touch, it is so insignificant to some, but it is so significant now, it is gentle and it is timid and it is unsure, but it damn sure unlocks memories of Catherine's own past that she has long since buried in the decades of Queenhood and motherhood. The torrents are unlocked, and she damns them to the hell they belong. It isn't easy, far from it, because those moments are and will forever be seared into her brain, branded into her very soul, as she knows that the moments before these will be for her daughter in law, a child she had raised for a time, but she managed it somehow.
"Come," her voice is soft, soft like it was when little five year old Mary had been delivered to the French Court after weeks on a ship and hours on a coach. Far from the power of the phoenix that she had inserted into her vocabulary during the moments before these, but gentle and calm and kind. "we should get you into a hot bath, yes? Get you clean-" Catherine hadn't noticed it before, she had been so blinded by the few words Mary had spoken, but her daughter-in-law was in one hell of a bloody state. Her lip was bloody, blood licking at her chin, a handprint on her throat, and when her nightgown rose up, there were purpling on her wrists, a faint indentation on her cheek.
Mary stares at her for a moment, her pupils dilating in a way that has nothing to do with the dim light of the chamber. She shakes her head slowly, swallowing gently. "I can't. I-I can't go back out there again. Please, don't make me, I-I-"
Catherine leans closer, slowly, cupping Mary's little hand into her own. "You can bathe here, I wasn't long out of the water before the bell was rung." she says. "Come," she pulls Mary slowly into the adorning chamber, where a bathtub of copper sits in the middle of the room. The bathtub is full, there are oils inside the tub, turning it a light white colour, and scented steam of eucalyptus and elderflower raise from the water, dancing a secret waltz in the air, before they disappear into nothingness. Where do they go?
Mary shivers at the memory of the last time she and Catherine were in a room with a bathtub. Surely, Catherine wouldn't try anything like that now, but if she did, Mary wasn't exactly sure it would be a bad thing.
The Queen Mother steps behind Mary, and it sends a shockwave through her skin.
"What are you doing?" her voice is quick, frantic, almost hysterical that her mother in law can barely understand what she said. "Do-don't leave me."
"I'm not, child." the motherly, gentle tone is back. The one she used when Francis was sick as a child. Which, let's be honest, was a lot.
"I won't, I won't." she says. "You must do this yourself, remove the nightgown. It's soiled-" she trails off, her eyes trailing down Mary's impressive figure that is the envy of court. But now is not the time to admire Mary's curves or waist, it's to notice the blood and the sweat and the stains of other sickening substances and the light rips at the hemline. "We'll burn it, take away one part of this night, at least."
