Tu Es Ma Lumière

77 - Grief

No idea what this is. I found it on my notes a while ago and decided to finish it up. I think it's a kinda prequel to part 46. Enjoy. Be sure to leave feedback.

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"Damn you!" King James I and XI yelled at the painting that towered over him. The young Scottish King stormed over towards it, seething in anger and hatred, his cheeks wet from tears. Long, muscular arms reached up to the painting of the one who had claimed to love he and his mother, but who had ended them. Muscular thickened fingers clamped around the frame and he yanked it down, throwing it to the floor with a loud bang. His deputy -his eldest paternal half-cousin Alexander- winced at the racket, choosing not to say anything for now

"M-my mother loved him." he proclaimed, looking up at his childhood companion and deputy. The young man stood silently with his hands knotted behind his back, brow furrowed and low as he stared at the despairing young King. "And he turned his back on her!" King James panted his pain. "He put her in danger and nearly got her killed!" he sobbed. His deputy drew in a shaky breath for the woman who had been his closest aunt, one he had grown up in complete admiration of. "Did you know that, Alex?" James sniffles, running a hand through his long black curls, over his well sculpted face roughly. "Bef-before I was born, when father claimed that bastard child-" he growled loudly. "he set in motion a plot to take her life! I can't-" King James breathed out, his anger subsiding with the need for air. "I cant!" He wailed. Lord Alexander de Portiers, his cousin and childhood companion exhaled in sympathy for the young man who both had and had lost too much, letting the letter written by the man's own father take rest on the table. The eldest child of Baron Sebastian and Baroness Kenna de Portiers walked slowly towards his King and cousin, kneeling down to take the young man who seemed so much now like a boy, into his arms. James cried aloud, wetting the fine doublet he wore, but the younger of the two didn't care much. Ever since he had reached his fourteenth year and had been given the position of the future Emperor's deputy-ship, nothing in Alexander Robert James de Portiers life meant more than his future and current rulers.

"He says she died three days ago." James cried aloud. "Three days with no word!" he yelled out, getting up from his position on the floor and beginning to pace like a madman. "He-he knew that they weren't supposed to have any more kids, not since the triplets were born two winters ago. But-but he puts her in danger again and again for nothing!" James sobbed out, gripping his long black curls in anger and heartache.

"My mother kept me sheltered from the kind of man he was -truly- when I was a child. But even then, I could see glimpses of it. How insistent he was to keep that bastard at court with us." he hissed out the title of his elder half brother who'm he had never, not for one single hour, let alone day, gotten along with. Neither in infanthood, childhood, adolescence or adulthood. James leaned his elbows and forearms on a nearby table, full of finery and important documents. "Don't you remember how he acted? Paraded around as if he was superior to us? They both did." he hissed, turning around to Alexander once again. Whilst the two men may have been the eldest legitimate children of their parents, they were not the eldest children that either set of man and wife had. Francis had his bastard son in court, and Kenna had hers. Damien Beaton had nearly cost his mother her head, when Sebastian refused to claim the boy as his. Damien and John had formed a pact in childhood, one that still reigned strong to that day, but not for the right reasons, some may say. Ruined sons with even more ruined mothers had never known happy lives, it was a miracle that Kenna had found forgiveness from Sebastian. It was a cold comfort to know that Lola had died when James was fourteen. He didn't know how or why, he didn't care. So long as the harlot was out of he and his mothers' lives, that was fine with him.

"Why didn't I see it, Alex?" James shook his head. "Why did I fall for the facade of a good and loving King and father for so, so long? Each and every day or their marriage, my father put my mother in danger in one way or another. How could any of us been so blind to the truth until it was too late?" he hissed out loudly.

"I don't think he meant to, cousin." Alexander whispered. "Your father's love for your mother is what people write about for the rest of eternity. Nobody changed that. Not John or Lola, nobody and nothing." he whispered, coming closer to grasp the young King by his shoulders, forcing him to look at him.

"I didn't even get to say goodbye to her, Alex." he let out, his broken whisper so quiet yet so loud, sniffling. "Think of it, my mother. The one who grew me and bore me, loved and protected me and all of my brothers and sisters. The one who trusted me to act as regent until she had the babe. Gone, gone just like that. And I couldn't even say goodbye." he sniffled.

"Your mother, Queen Mary, is still with you, my cousin. You must believe that." Alexanders' words tried to be comforting, but they did little to help his friend, his King, his cousin.

"I have to go to France, say goodbye to her before they place her and the dead Princess in the ground." he sniffled, deciding strongly.

"Then I will go with you," Alexander whispered, wiping his own tears of grief. "you are not alone, my cousin."