"I thought I'd might find you down here." Catherine de Medici, the new Queen Mother of France, stated, sauntering into the vault that held her husbands' tomb. The new King, her son, stood there in sombre silence, staring down at what was left of his father. Of course, Henry's remains had been buried a good few days previous, the castle still in mourning for the old King. He wore the appropriate black clothing, just as his mother did. When he was away, Catherine had organised her husbands' funeral, whilst Mary had signed his body for embalming and for his heart to be removed and placed in the basilica of st. Denis, where all of the French King's hearts would be taken after their deaths. His wife had organised for the tomb to be made and placed in the appropriate place, all done whilst in hiding because of the plague. He wouldn't know, he'd been away with Lola and the baby that now rested in their chambers.
Francis jumps, obviously having been deep in thought, turning around quickly to see his little mother standing in the doorway. "Mother." he rasps out. Catherine faintly smiles at her eldest son.
"Mary told me." she reveals, sauntering into the tomb. Francis blinks owlishly at her. "About you and Lola, of how that child is yours." she breathes. Francis closes his eyes in shame, letting out a long sigh. He nods in response, turning from her to stare down at the statue of his father once more.
"Are you going to claim him?" she asks quietly, walking forwards to touch her son on his shoulder. It was warm, substantial, alive.
"I haven't decided." he breathes, averting his gaze from her once more. She tuts.
"I assume Mary told you not to?" she asks him. He nods quickly.
"She did." he pauses. "Told me to be a father to him, raise him with Lola, but under the illusion that he's Lola's dead husbands' child. He'd have status, respect, legitimacy. She told me that if I claimed him, she'd be humiliated in her own home, would bare the scar of judgement and castigation from not only court but from the leaders of the world. Mary begged me not to, mother. It's bad enough that we haven't had a child, yet, for her. I don't want to hurt her, but I don't want to repeat history." he sighs.
"Would it be better if that was what happened? You know how stubborn Mary is. If you claim him, she may refuse you an heir by refusing to lay with you. That child can call you father behind closed doors, but to the world, he would be respected as a lord. He won't be mocked or belittled like your brother was. Is." she corrected herself.
"I can give him a better life, mother." Francis sighs, turning to face her. "A better life than a lowly lord. Baron, Duke, Count. He'd have riches and respect, status as the King's son."
"You wish to claim him?" she asks.
"I do, I really do, mother. I just don't want to hurt Mary." he closes his eyes, leaned his head back, hearing cracks from his neck as he did so.
"I may not be a regnant ruler, or even a ruler anymore, but I am a parent. You must be worried he might be your only child, because Mary has not has a child yet. There is a chance that she never will. I'm speaking to you as a mother. As your mother. I can tell you that if you do not claim him, there will be a distance between you and that boy for the rest of your lives. He will never be king. But he might be your only chance at being a father. And I can promise you that raising him will be the singular joy of your life."
"Why are you talking like this?" he sighs, walking a few steps away from her. Catherine blinks in surprise. " I know you put all your hopes, your survival on the favor of the King—me. But, mother, shouldn't you feel for Mary? She's in your plight from before my birth. Married, and childless. Shouldn't you feel for her? Sympathise with her? She was your daughter for four years, you loved her more than Claude or Margot. Why are you telling me to hurt her, knowing that she could respond with vengeance and refuse me the chance of an heir? Do you still hate her for what she did?" he snapped, rubbing his eyes in frustration.
