Noble Blood

Undone

It was a pitiful sight, clearly. Trapped away from the cheer of the outside world, hidden in darkness. The echoes of cheers and laughs waved around and around the hallways of the dreadfully cold castle. Dreadfully dark and cold, eerie and willowing in grief, whilst it's inhabitants celebrated in its warm air and bright summer sun. In it's royal chambers only one inhabited the grandeur walls and intricate flooring. Everybody bar this one inhabitant danced on the grass, the difference between she and the French never more obvious than this day. This fateful, pitiful, wonderfully bittersweet day.

It was the King of France and Scotland's bastard's birthday. The first of many, a sadfully happy thought. Court celebrated as if she didn't look down in scorn and disgust on the bastard boy every other day. The celebration was horribly grand, fit for a Prince, the sight burned the inhabitants gut. In another world, the bastard could have been the Dauphin. If she didn't play her cards right, the bastard could be the Dauphin. It was still possible, crown or not.

The country was set in a tense war with England, it had been for months, so the celebration was clearly financially supported by the Queen Mother of France. It seemed to have Catherine's imprint on it. After all, Catherine de Medici always enjoyed rubbing salt into the wound for her hated daughter in law. What better way than this, to indulge her son's bastard as if he was her son's heir? A natural heir he may never have?

Looking so different to those in her court, the Queen of Scotland and France could only stand there and watch the colourful celebrations unfold before her. Bright green grass, red and gold banners -Francis' signature colours, the colours of their coronation, she noticed- and blue, pink and purple gowns swishing in the slight breeze. Gifts wrapped in yellows and lilacs, men's doublets orange and silver. Bands played, donned in red and blue, servants served, in green and yellow. Everything was bright, everything was colourful, everything was happy.

Well, except her.

Pale and sickly, the Queen did nothing but watch. Breathe and watch. Her skin was a chalky white, clammy and slick from sweat. Her hair was the only coloured thing on her, although sickness and grief had turned it from a shiny, silky onyx to a dull, matt raven. It fell flat, unbrushed and untamed. Stuck together locks crumbled down her back. The only thing she wore was an illfitting nightgown, large on her thin, frail frame. Thinned and sickly from months of battling sickness and a fight that still went on.

Shaky legs brought her forwards, her hand touched the cold glass that separated the porcelain, sickened Queen and the utter happiness and contentment that court rejoiced in. Thin, long fingers pressed against the glass. She looked down, finding those she loved and who had once loved her. A brown haired girl in lavender lilac twirled around a green eyed Baron. Her smile was bright and clear, completely happy and undisturbed. A blonde walked on the arm of a wealthy lord, enjoying his company and his security. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she pretended with him.

In her case, multiple lifetimes ago.

The childless mother found the rumoured mistress and master. They were together, smiling brightly at one another, and at him. Their hands were close. One of them held a tiny hand as the little bastard greeted fellow illegitimate offspring and servent children. Try as the nobility might to butter up the king by doting over his bastard, they couldn't hide their distain as much as to allow the children of legitimate birth near the little bastard. It was as if they considered him grimy and contagious, although he was dressed in cloths fit for a Prince.

The rumoured mistress seemed to feel her actual mistress' eyes on her. From high above, locked away in her chambers as if she was some sort of fairytale princess, their eyes locked. Bright teal met dull black, the remnants of a sparkling golden-green seeming to be forever dead. Just like the aformentioned mistress'own offspring, as she watched the long since disowned Flemming Lady enjoy her living offsprings anniversary of birth.

Pain and unhappiness met joy and pride. The Lady's smile faltered a little. She gave her Queen a small, hesitant smile. One that didn't quite meet her eyes.

The Queen of Scotland stepped back a few steps, the sight now too much. To see her beloved husband's bastard, whom he shared with her best friend, doting upon him as she remained barren and any child she had borne, dead. Her knees buckled, a sob ripping from chapped lips. Her cold body met the colder floor. Mary didn't bother getting up.