The Death Of A Queen

It had been an accident, this time. After the long and horrid birth of her precious little Edward, they had been warned by midwives and physicans to stop conceving children, for should the Queen of Scots ever fall pregnant again, she would more than likely wouldn't survive the birth.

Mary had had a long conversation with Francis after the baby had reached his third week and when she was finally starting to gain her strength back. She had told him of the physicians' diagnosis' and how they could never conceive again, for she would loose her life. Francis had been shocked, but he'd agreed to never attempt to conceive again quickly. After the tumultuous birth of Catherine and Francis just over a year and a half ago, and the way she had screamed for days on end in the birth of Edward, the blood lost looking like a murder scene rather than that of birth, he had mentally told himself to tell her that they should stop. The births had been getting too risky.

However, when the boy had just past his first birthday, big blue eyes shining bright at fourteen months old, the Queen had been struck by fever and illness. She had been bed ridden immediatley with the best physicans at her side at all times, as well as the frightened King who held her hand at all times, barely letting the physicans and her ladies near her.

But then, the physicans gave the diagnosis three days after the children had been shipped off to Paris to make sure they didn't know of their mothers' ailing health.

The Queen was pregnant.

The pregnancy had been hard. The hardest of them all. She had been bed ridden since the the middle of the fourth month, walking around and exerting herself becoming too hard. When they had found out about the baby, Francis had been mad with worry for what the next months would bring, but couldn't remain by her side due to a surge of forces from the German border. Mary had understood and had ushered him to fight with his people and had ruled their countries from the royal bedchambers when Francis was away with Bash and most of the guards as they fought the Germans in a brief war ending in a truce.

In the seventh month, Mary looked over at Greer, who sat near her reading a book, her little Rose crawling around her feet.

"Greer," she whispered, reaching out her right hand to her lady.

"Mary?" she asked, immediatley putting the book down and going to her. "Is something wrong?"

"I believe," she swallowed a little. "I believe the child is coming,"

"What?! Why?! Are you in pain?" Greer said, alarmed, looking towards Kenna and Lola. They stopped their sweing, hearing the conversation.

"A little," Mary admitted, grimacing a little. "It could be nothing, but no chances should be taken." she said.

"How long?" Kenna rushed over.

"Slight discomfort for a few hours, but this is worse."

"How much worse?"

"Not so bad, but it's noticable. Send for the midwife." she ordered. Kenna nodded and rushed off out the door, sending a glance in Lola's direction.

This had always been a sore subject for Lola, children and childbirth. She, herself, had fallen pregnant with the then dauphin's child, a few months after Mary had convieved Francis' child, the very first time. Her queen's, then the dauphiness', pregnancy ended in it's fifth month, when somebody had poisoned the Queen of Scots and killed the unborn baby boy. Mary had been devistated, even more so when Lola had borne Francis his first living son. Mary had been pregnant again, only around three months, when Francis had rode away from her to rush to Lola's side during the plague, and she had lost her baby through miscarriage when the boy had been claimed and had his cristening. Catherine had never forgiven Francis and Lola for that, as it was obvious that the stress and uncertainty that the bastard son had brought Mary had caused her to loose her second child. In some ways, Mary had never forgiven them, but had forced herself to get past that pain for she had almost immediatley fallen pregnant and borne her first living child, the Crown Prince and Dauphin, James. Almost two years later, after Anne had been born and Mary was carrying Genevieve, that's when Lola's world had fallen apart.