Tu Es Ma Lumière

123 - Phantasm

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Prompt - Francis dreaming about Jean-Philippe's 'death' in 2x22?

Side Note - I'm playing around with the storylines and backstory with this one. It's in the same AU as my 2x11 rewrite, and possibly the same as my 2x10 Mercy rewrites. Enjoy!

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"No! No!"

The Queen of France bolts up from her slumber, not even needing to blink the sleep out from her eyes and body. She inhales sharply in surprise, turning to face her husband. The blonde man sits up in bed, the fine sheets and furs pooling at his waist. His face is in his hands, and he cries frantically into them. His face is red, from what she can see. His posture sagging as if he is plagued with some old injury.

The ravenette leans over towards her husband, taking his form into her arms. She ensnares him, kissing his curls. He sags into her body and embrace. She cooes soft, loving words of reassurance into his ear, lightly rocking them both back and forth, side to side, running her hands down his back in soothing circles and shapes. He leans his head into her chest, like a child looking for comfort from his mother.

"It's alright." she whispers, swallowing thickly to lessen the dryness of her throat. "I have you now, everything's alright." she whispers, kissing his hair again. It hurts her to see him in such a state, so broken, plagued by relentless phantasm. This had happened every night for the past nine, her husband waking her in the middle of the hours of slumber with frantic cries and lashes. 

"Was it the same one?" Mary asks him quietly, running her hands through his hair when he pulls his face from her chest. He sniffles, not saying anything. His wife does not pressure him to speak. She waits patiently, wiping his tears with her thumbs, lightly running a wet cloth over his face to lessen the blotchy-stickiness of it all.

"Y-yes." he whispers. Mary cooes at him again, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. She kisses his hair again, encouraging him lean into her arms. She curled her head into the crook of his neck, he leaned his weight upon her. "God, Mary, I'm sorry. Are you sure you want to keep sleeping in here with me? I hate to wake you with my silly dreams."

"Your dreams are anything but silly, there's no need to apologise." she affirms. "And where would I be except beside you, my love? I couldn't bare a night without you, especially as you need me." she says, kissing his neck. It's not a lusty kiss, nor one that would lead to more intense kisses. It's a kiss of comfort and assurance. It brings her comfort as her husband relaxes into her arms.

"I don't deserve you." he says, before closing his eyes. "I don't know why this keeps happening. But-but I'm plagued, haunted, by those few hours in which I thought you were both lost to me." he admits. "Holding that blanket, that was soaked with blood. And your signet ring that was the same, I'd never been so scared before. I-I thought you had left me forever, both of you. The mere thought is unbearable."

"I'm sure it was a hideous experience, one I pray you will never have to live through again. I'm sure the trauma and the fear can stick with a man, even after it's reached its conclusion. It did with me, you know as well as I." she pauses. "But there is no need to worry for us, my love." she pauses again, leaning her chin onto his shoulder, looking to the small crib that lay three feet away from them. "Sebastian found us, we are safe. Your son is alive." she whispers.

"Our son." he declares. "He's our son, Mary, not just mine." the King says.

"In our opinion. In reality, he does not hold my blood. He is yours, although I do love and care for him as you do." she says. It looks like Francis fights the need, before he looses and slips out of their bed. The King walks over to the crib that held his sleeping infant, blissfully unaware of the trauma he had suffered, the cruel world around him, and the lack of the mother in which who shared his blood. Francis places his hand upon the child's stomach, feeling his chest rise and fall.

"Are you sure it doesn't hurt you, having him so close?" the King of France and Scots asks, turning to his wife, keeping his hand on his son.

"At times, it does." she admits. Francis falters. "But not nearly as much as it would if his blood mother was alive to see it." she says.

"I had no choice, Mary-" he is cut off by her.

"I know, I don't say it to hurt you. The moment Narciesse declared Lola as a conspirator before his death, she had to be executed. I know that, Francis. I don't harbour resentment." she says. "The child will not remember her, will look to me as his mother. In time, we will forget her as we have children of our own. It doesn't hurt nearly as much as it would if she was around." Mary says, getting up from the bed. She wraps her arms around Francis' waist. "We're still here, my love."

Together, the two parents stare down quietly, contently, at the babe who sleeps with his hand lodged within his little mouth. And within that moment, the King of France finally feels completed, safe. Dreams be damned.

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Hope you liked it! I would have loved Mary take over as Jean's mother after Lola's death, and for more interaction after Francis' death, seeing as he was a piece of his father. But, hey, a girl can dream and rewrite. If you didn't get it, instead of Lola being kidnapped with Jean, it was Mary in her place. Francis thought both of them were dead, not just his son. Bash saved them, instead of Narciesse. And Lola and Narciesse were executed because of what Stephane did to Francis and Mary :) Hope you liked it! Please leave some feedback down below!

Stay safe, be kind.

Love,

me

:)