Tampered Beauty

Rebirth, Part 4

What she was apposed to was waking up some hours after she fell asleep, coughing and holding her head. She made loud noises of displeasure in the dimly lit house, cringing at the burning in her throat and the flames in her nose. She coughed loudly, but nobody made a sound. Beside her, Francis stirred.

Instantly, she gripped his hand and snuggled in closer, seaking the comfort he always brought her. He nestled into her, wrapping an arm that seemed suspiciously hot around her. Swallowing back a cough, she felt that his own skin was as wet and clammy as hers was. In one part of her mind, she could already hear the devoted Catherine's yells as she found out her son -her favourite child at that- was with fever. She'd no doubt find a way to blame Mary. She usually did. How was it Mary's fault that Francis fell out of a tree when he was racing with Bash about who could climb the highest when Mary sat at the bottom of it, reading a book from her homeland? She never would understand Catherine de Medici.

But the other realised that she and Francis were with fever. That meant it was because of the cold they endured the night before. She somewhat relaxed in that aspect. The last time she had awoken in such pain had been the aftermath of an assassination attempt back home. But this was different. It had to be.

She inhaled deeply, swallowing thickly in an attempt to loosen the pain in her throat, but it came away fruitless. She wined quietly into Francis' neck, as if asking him to make it better. He stirred again, falling back to his back upon the bed, his arm sliding out from it's place upon her, much to the little Queen's displeasure, only opening his eyes in a light hiss as his other arm slung across his eyes. His brow creased in pain.

He mumbled something in French, ever so quietly. Her Dauphin looked down as she started coughing quietly into the pillow, a light hand placed itself upon her back, brow furrowed in a mix of his own pain and hers, the gesture a clear attempt to comfort her. She made a small noise once her coughing had subsided, turning from her stomach to her back, threading his fingers in between hers. They didn't talk. They didn't really have to.

The next time they awoke, it was to the outraged yells of Catherine de Medici.

"You utter fool!" she berated her husband. "Look at your son! Look at him!" the pregnant Queen shrieked. "He is pale and sickened with fever, was it that important to go see your whore?!" Catherine yelled. From the bed -where she had grabbed Henry's chin to stare- the children wined and moaned in pain at the horrid squawk. Their heads ached already, without the yelling to make it worse. "You dragged him into the snow, the cold! He is sickened!" she yelled once more "What if he is lost to me forever? No, no, I cannot bare the thought." she was rambling now, and rushing towards the future King and Queen of France, taking the future King into her arms -much to the future rulers' displeasure, Mary clinging to her Dauphin until Catherine forced her grip on his hand loosen, Francis reached out to her -Mary-, wining in dissatisfaction- shushing him as one shushes a newborn babe.

That day had been horrid. They were still confined to these small lodgings, the snowstorm not letting up. Catherine hadn't left Francis alone for a single second. He had squirmed and wined in pain and displeasure of being separated from Mary, who in response, was pushing away the servants and rolling about the bed, hitting the pillows and panting, her fever not broke, her skin hot to the touch, covered in perspiration, so much so her nightgown stuck to her.

"Will you put the boy down?" Henry hissed in irritation, tiring of that terrible, shrill wine leaving his sons lips. For all his shortcomings, even he was worried of his child's well being. Even if he tried to convince himself that it was because Francis was his heir and not just his son.

"No!" Catherine snapped, rocking him from side to side. "He is my son, he is sickened! He needs me!" she said, despite her sons' attempts to get away from her too tight embrace.