Tu Es Ma Lumière

19 - Ailment

"Mary?" the dauphin of France asked, looking into the darkness of their shared bedchamber. He didn't hear a response back and he quickly grew worried. Her body was vacant in their bed, nor could he hear her in the room at all. He frowned. It was the dead of night, where on earth could she be.

He listened closely, hearing a small whimper in the wind. He frowned, getting out of bed, blindly following his instinct as he walked from the main bedchambers and over to the bathing room. Francis squinted hard, slowly opening the door to the other room.

From the window that shone in the moonlight, he was clearly able to see Mary hunched over a bucket, violent waves of regurgitation forcing her small body shake. He sighed in sympathy, kneeling at her back to stroke the long fibres of her hair back. He ran his hand over the soft fabric of her satin nightgown, trying to soothe her as much as he could.

She shook for several minutes, her body tensing and contracting with every wave. Francis silently comforted her as much as he was able, before she limply slumped over the wooden bucket. He caught her with ease, bringing her body back into his arms. She lay there limply.

"Francis," she weakly moaned. He sushed her.

"Shh, it's alright, love." he stated, kissing her hair. With his arm that wasn't supporting her weight, Francis leaned over and brought a piece of rag out from another bucket of water, gently running it over her face and mouth. Mary sighed, closing her eyes.

"You're burning up, my love." he frowned, holding his hand to her neck and the other to her forearm. It was true. Her skin burned.

"Francis," she moaned again. "I-I don't feel well." she stated. He tutted in sympathy.

"I know, my love. I'll make you feel better soon." he promised, picking up his wife and bringing her out of the bathing room. She lay in the bed limply, watching him with half lidded eyes as he worked around the room. With swift flicks of his wrist, the candles lit up. One by one, he became clearer to her.

"Come here, Mary." he stated, coming over to her again. Mary lay limply in her husbands' arms as he slowly pulled the nightgown from her body, leaving it bare for the moment. He drug another wet cloth all over the bare skin, trying to soothe as much as collect the perspiration from her pale, clammy skin.

He ran a towel over her, before dressing her into another nightgown and seating her up upon the pillows. Mary watched quietly as he instructed the guards to wake some servants and the physician to make some broth and see to it that the Dauphine of France would receive some herbs to relieve her of any pain.

As they waited, Francis had her sip some water and list her symptoms. Nausea, vomiting, fever, pain in her throat, nose and head. General feeling of weakness in her limbs and bones and fatigue. He listed them off in his head and before long, the Dauphin of France was feeding his wife soup and herbs and tonics from the bewildered and exhausted physician.

"Look at this, the future King of France being servent to somebody other than the King," Mary joked, her voice nasally and congested. Francis snickered as he attempted to fill the gold spoon with soup again.

"The Dauphin is looking after his sickened wife," he clarified, chuckling as he rose the spoon to her lips once more. Mary took the liquid in obediently.

"You better stop that, or Catherine will have something to say about it. Can't have the golden child sick now." Mary reminded him.

"Oh, let her stew." Francis shrugged. "All that matters is that you get better and I take care of you. So, be a good wife and let your husband fret over you, will you?"

"Yes, your highness," Mary joked, coughing into her arm.