(Kinda a rewrite, kinda not one. This is in the same universe as the 2x17 rewrite and the scene with Francis crying over John has remained the same. We're carrying on from after Francis collapses into Mary's arms in tears.)
The King of France gasped for breath. His fingers trembled violently -along with the rest of his body- as he pushed matted blonde curls from his face. The heir of Henri II de Valois looked terrible, his grief for his lost child already apparent upon the features that had once been breathtakingly handsome. His skin, once a serene, sun kissed porcelain, was now red and blotchy. His eyes no longer held the alluring azure shine, the blackness completley dominating the blue, simultaneously overpowered by the redness and tears that even still, continued to choke him. His fine clothing was askew, the beautiful spun of golden that framed his face now matted a murky brown. King Henri and Queen Catherine's eldest child and son may have always resembled his mother more, but right now, the Queen of France could see nothing of her husband, but rather the grief stricken son of his father.
"My love," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Even her own voice -she had never been exactly fond of her stepson, nor his mother- trembled with a grief of her own. It was demolished by her husbands' pain, she was aware. It broke Mary's heart to see her husband like this, so heartbroken. Even from childhood, she hadn't ever seen him like this before. Not when Henry died, not when they thought they lost Anne. Not when the girl came out so tiny and frail, hell, not even when she -herself- had nearly lost her own life in her second dance with childbirth. Not when she had alluded to what those monsters had done to her, never before had she need her husband so overcome by a level of grief and pain that even she, Queen Mary Stuart of Scotland, who had lost so much, had never felt. Mary was well aware that she couldn't take all that pain away, no matter how much she wanted to. The Queen of France and Scots held no qualms to it, instead resolving herself to try and dull his pain as much as she could.
Francis barely glanced at his wife when she came back to his side, placing herself less than delicately upon the settee that he had collapsed upon. He continued to stare at his legs from his hunched over position upon the settee, blinking in wonder when the small drops of water continued to appear upon his lap.
Mary bit her lip when he didn't even look over as James let out a small noise from the other side of the room. It was nothing malicious at his now only son. Hell, for all she knew, it may hurt him to see her son and not Lola's boy. But perhaps his grief was so deep that he couldn't see anything else.
Francis finally looked at his wife when she placed a cold goblet full of Scottish whiskey upon his shoulder. God, her heart ached to see him in such a state. So hurt, so lost. Mary may be sitting next to a fully grown man, a fully grown King, but all she could see was that lost little boy she had known for four years until she was ripped away from him. It sounded horrid, but the only way to lessen such a hard stage of grief was through drink. It may not last for long, but Mary knew that he would need this pain to be lessened, even just a little bit, even not for very long. But he needed it.
The King quickly took the goblet from his shoulder and brought it to his lips. He gulped it down frantically, his wife able to see his throat bobbing up and down with each swallow. She brought her hand to his back again, rubbing slowly up and down in another effort to soothe. It may not have helped much, but she had to try and ease him somehow.
He tilted the goblet at his wife only seconds before taking it from her. Mary glanced at it, not even blinking as the empty silver stared back at her. When she returned to French Court from her years in exile, the Scottish Queen had the ability to drink Francis under the table several times over, drinking wine as easily as one does water. With her, she brought Scottish whiskey to French court. It held a tenfold bigger punch than wine did. Even then, Mary still could gulp it down, something in which not many members of the French Court heralded the ability to do. Francis could never have it, it was always too strong for him, but apparently, that changed. The man had just drained an entire goblet within seconds. As, perhaps it should, given the circumstances.
