The Life Of A Queen

Chapter 5

  The little Queen was now a ruling Queen, and had no choice to rule her country. This meant moving all Gaelic affairs into an abandoned-yet quickly renovated-chateaux to start her work, due to the fact she couldn't actually go back to her homeland quite yet. Those Scottish, Welsh and Irish affairs also meant moving the Gaelic Queen to the abandoned chateaux.
The Queen had to rise with the servants at dawn, bathe and dress within minutes and go to the Scottish carriage with Bothwell and Rizzio, her two trusted advisers. This happened every morning. The chateaux was two hours ride from the castle, so they spent their time going over the basics of what was wanted that day, before going to the throne room, where she spent hours appeasing her nobles and playing mediator for justice between her countrymen. Then, she spent hours organizing how to deal with the Protestant threat, and how to deal with it like the tolerant Queen she decided she wanted to be. Then, more hours dealing with trade deals and alliances, then more for the steadily growing Gaelic army and navy. And, at the end of the day, they spent two hours going back to the castle and spent those with her governess to catch up on her schooling, both intellectual work and how to eventually rule France with Francis. And, when they got home, she bathed once more and joined the French Royal family for dinner. And then, she went to bed. It didn't matter that she regularly fell into a light slumber whenever she sat down, and had to be nudged awake at many points throughout the night and afternoon.
It took a while, but the little Queen finally got the hang of it. At not even nine years old, she somehow balanced her work being a Queen and growing her countries riches and armies, religious tolerance, being a learning Queen, learning how to rule France with Francis, and how to be a child. Even Henry and Catherine seemed to be impressed by the balancing act she had to play. She found the time to run around the castle whenever her presence wasn't necessary at the Château de la politique écossaise, irlandaise et galloise and time to play in the trees with Francis and Bash, and their multiplying siblings.
Francis, Elizabeth and Claude had been joined by little Charles and Henry, little Louis sadly passing away less than a year after his birth. Mary's ladies had joined them in their childish adventures, and friendship was struck up with the children whenever their Queen had been called away for work regarding Scotland.
Francis struggled with the sudden lack of his future wife at first, but managed the transition by taking advantage of as much time as they had whenever they had it.
Unfortunately, however, the royals wern't allowed more than a few weeks of normality and happiness, which is why Francis walked next to his father quietly, seeing the suffering and beaten men laying in one of the makeshift infirmaries of the Scottish won battle of Walsend. The English had attacked the Western border of Walsend, in an attempt to gain more English territory. They had withdrew after the ten year old Queen had joined her countrymen in the nine week war, and as war and violence were her elements, the war was comfortably won and the Scots victorious, the English surrendered and retreated. Francis and his father had sailed to Scotland with a few companies of Frenchmen to retrieve the future Dauphiness, only to learn she had been injured in battle and lay with her countrymen in one of the infirmaries.
He walked close to his father, the eleven year old Dauphin peering curiously at the victorious but beaten men and women who were being tended to, groaning and making noises of pain.
"Her Majesty is being treated behind the curtain, your graces," a nurse said, stopping in front of the only bed that was covered by sheets hanging down from the ceiling. "Once the physician is finished, he has been given instructions to allow you to see her and take her back to France," she bowed and walked away.
He and his father didn't have the closest relationship, so settled for standing close but silent, Henry's hand on Francis' shoulder. The French King had been furious when Mary's French half brother Francios III d' Orleans, the Duke of Longueville, had sent word that his younger half sister had been wounded in battle, and had insisted that he himself retrieve the Queen, so he could see for himself what Mary's inner circle had kept from him and his country.
"Your Highnesses," the curtain had been moved and a tall man with dark red hair and blue eyes stood before them. He bowed a little. "Her Majesty should wake in a few minutes, then you shall be allowed to take her back to safety,"
Henry nodded once and he and his son stepped into the secluded part of the room and looked down at the young Duchess of Loraine. Francis' eyes widened a little.
She looked so small and fragile. Her pale skin was now porcelain, a sheen of sweat on her clammy, almost translucent, skin. Her hair was matted and slicked, clinging to the pillow. The blanket that covered her had red splotches on the area covering her abdomen, her eyes closed, chest barley moving. She was thinner than before, a little taller, but far more fragile.
The physician slowly moved the blanket to show the King the wound. It was a deep and long red line on the right side of her abdomen. It was long and poorly held together by stitches, still bleeding a little. She had far more scars and wounds, but that was the more obvious one. It held for four inches on her pale skin, and they were lead to her other side and watched as the man turned his sleeping and wounded Queen on her side, shushing the whimper she let out, letting them see a three and a half long inch stab exit wound, held together by the same stitches, the surrounding areas red and inflamed.
"It's a miracle she's alive, it went straight through. It was blind luck, or the spirit of His Majesty that kept her royal highness alive." the physician said, starting to talk to Henry about having to move their carriage slowly when she was inside, but Francis stopped listening, instead walking to her side and running his fingers over the exposed skin of her right forearm, seeing the scars and marks clearer on the colorless skin. He intertwined their hands, stroking the still soft skin, his eyes locked onto her face. She'd obviously been washed after the wounds, for there was no dirt or ash clinging to her like there were on most of the Scotsmen that had also been wounded, and her station was made obvious by the sheets giving her privacy, but she didn't look like a queen now, like those things suggested she was. All she looked like now was a little girl who needed help.
The physician suddenly left and Henry walked over to him, placing a hand on the young Dauphin's shoulder.
"How did this happen?" Francis asked. "She should have been protected. She's their Queen."
"It's battle, my son. Mary's been declared of age to fight as I would. On the field, she's a soldier, like all these men and women. Battle doesn't discriminate."
"Why wasn't she protected?"
"Because she's a warrior on the battlefield, she fights with her people. Remember what the guard said once they came over from Ireland?"
"Yes, father."
"She protects her people on the field, it's not like when she was sent to us. She was sent to France to protect her from the English, but she's in her element when she's fighting. Unfortunately, things like this can happen. She'll be okay, the physician said she'll recover and we'll protect her when we're back in our homeland."