Tu Es Ma Lumière

157 - Uncertainty

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Side Note - Similar AU to James' introspective when Mary went into confinement.

Inspiration - "Days in the sun, when my life has barely begun. Not until my whole life is done, will I ever leave you"

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The room is warm, yet his small body is cold, even though it is covered thoroughly with blue velour and lace. The room is large and befitting the royal blood that ran through his mothers' veins, he can smell the sweet Scottish oak that burns in the hearth not that far from them both. . Grandeur gold covered every little inch, it seemed. Fine tapestry and expensive carpets echoed all around him. Any other day, the expensiveness of it all and the pure unnecessarity of it all would give him a headache. Yet, today, he cannot muster the strength to bicker with grandmere Catherine over it all. Today, this night, this calm, tumultuous night of mid autumn, he can only stare.

Her body contains an unearthly glow that he could only muster Goddesses held within their great stories of justness and fairness and greatness. Her skin is as pale as his own, but he saw none of the glowing porcelain that she had been famed for. Now, her skin was a chalky white. There were no beads of sweat upon her brow, and he knew for this, her skin still burned hot from childbed. In contrast, her hair appears darker than ever before. She has always held the colour of the darkest raven's wing. But in contrast to the whiteness of her skin and her nightgown, it is more onyx than ever. It's down and unwound, she looks like any other normal young woman. But he knows she is no ordinary mother or wife. She is a Queen, and she was dying.

He worries for her, he worries in a way that a seven year old boy never should. Everything had seemed so normal just a few days ago. His father conducted his nightly ritual of sneaking he, Anne, Francis, Henry and Edward, Genevieve, Vivienne and Matthias into the Queen of France, Scotland, Wales, Ireland and England's chambers as she prepared to bring in two more additions to their family and to the line of successions. Then, not that long after, as the children held an early tea before breakfast -their grandmother's usual daily ritual with her grandchildren that lived within the same roof as her-, their illegitimate uncle Robert rushed inside the dining room. He was Sebastian's right hand, apart from Leith, and had the news of telling them all that the Queen had spilled her waters.

A day and a half later, Prince Robert and Princess Odette were within this earthly world, small but healthy. Not four hours after the nine and tenth children's birth, his father had received word that his Queen had collapsed with fever and heavy bleeding while introducing the children to their new siblings. He had been sent into a panic, leaving it to his mother, Claude and Margot to comfort the children. Three days later, the Queen hovered within the line of life and death. The bleeding had stopped, but the fever continues to ravage her body. She hasn't woken up for over an entire day. The Dauphin of France, Duke of Rothsay and Prince of Wales had heard from his grandmother and illegitimate uncle Sebastian, that they had to be forced to slip something into his fathers' water to get him to sleep.

He fears for his mother, her life and her spirit. He had always known that his mother suffered from harsh childbirths, has since she conceived Henry and Edward. That's why it was such a miracle that the Queen birthed so many children to the King, but that's also why the King hesitated when his mother insisted they try for another babe so soon after birthing the last child -in one case, twins. Two, now. The first few months of pregnancy has always been brutal for Mary, and the last few days always so bloody and awful. He was no fool, even if he wasn't even eight years old. And even James knew it, he was no foolish child like his illegitimate half sister had been. He held his mothers' perceptiveness and his fathers' fierce intelligence. He knew full well how much his mother suffered in her childbearing months, but she was also a Queen. It was a Queen's duty to produce as many heirs as possible before her years slipped by her. That didn't mean he had to like it. Nor did he wish to plague his future wife, the Spanish Princess Isabella, with such a duty.

James takes a step closer, places his hand upon his mothers. They're layen softly upon her abdomen, it's still swollen from carrying the newborn Prince and Princess inside for so many months. They're warm, so warm that he fears for her, and blows two candles out. It may mean nothing, but it may mean something, so he does it anyway. He has learned from his father that if it brought comfort, even just a little bit, then he must do it.

His mothers' hands are small and soft, they always have been. Many-a-night, the future King of over half of Europe had been soothed by these hands, when he was smaller and sick, or when he was upset after a nightmare. In a few circumstances, when he was five and worried for his fathers' life as he was poisoned to near death. Court thought it was a sickness of the brain, but the regality knew better. Antoine's death and Narciesse's execution were just too coincidental. He remembers waking in the night to see his mother comforting one of his siblings, or holding and kissing Isabella when she missed her home and her family. He remembers none clearer than the night he had snuck into his parents' chambers one night, and saw his mother holding his father as the man had cried heartily. That had been the night his half sister Joanne died from the round of plague that ravaged Europe a few months before Vivienne was born. Her mother left court in black robes not long after, and he hadn't heard his mother or any of her ladies talk about her since.

The blonde heir to empire continues to look at his mothers' body. It is limp and provides no resistance. He bites his lip in worry, reaching over to brush a lock of hair from her face. It's so warm that he pulls his hand away quickly. His mother doesn't move, nor does she react as he pressed a wet cloth to her brow. Gently, the eldest child of the King and Queen squeezed the water onto her head. It ran down her face and through her hair in a thousand different directions. She doesn't move, but he notices her fingers flexing within his small hand. He smiles a little, softly, but sadly. He cannot produce more, the mere thought is unimaginable.

A hand hits his shoulder. It's warm and large and dwarfs his building shoulder. The dark eyed heir looks up, sees his blonde, blue eyed father looking down at him. They say no words, instead look at the body of the woman who had brought them together within this earthly world, and prayed to God that he may show mercy and allow her live.