"Brother." Private Sebastian de Portiers grunts, slugging his brother in the arm. Private Francois de Valois-Angouleme jerks awake with a small noise leaving his throat, picking his head up off Sebastian's shoulder. He mumbles something, using his dirty fingers to rub away the dirt from his muddy face. It doesn't do much in terms of cleaning himself, they're all limply laying in a filthy trench, after all, but it rouses him enough to understand what was happening. A runner boy held a greying piece of very folded paper near his face. His blue eyes narrow, and he takes it, looking at it.
Near them are members of their battalion. Private Bayard sleeps near them, his arms covering a bloody, bruised face. Private Julien Varga smokes a cigarette, crouching down, his back leaning against the muddy, impromptu wall that had been built not that long ago. He casts a weary eye upon his twin brother, Private Remy, who still suffered the consequences of waiting a little too long to fasten his gas mask. Remy had been too busy helping Julien put on his own gas mask. It'd been nine days ago. Even now, the man's breath wheezed, each one more painful than the last, his face burned from chemicals. He had finally fallen to sleep, as a result of exhaustion and pain. The fucking cowards, those Germans were. Gassing a man was the weapon of cowards.
Francis swallows thickly, recognising the pretty scrawl of his young wife. His beautiful Mary, who'm he had left in Scotland to go protect his country from the German menace. He'd married her not long after signing up to fight -having done so with Sebastian and Leith and Remy and Julien- and just as he had prepared to leave, the two of them had found out that they would be parents within the year. For Mary, for the child, he would survive this hell. For them, he would return.
Sebastian's cough brings him back from his fantasising over his wife and the child that now waited for him back home. He looks at his elder half brother, the poor young man suffering the effects of trench fever. Kenna waited for him. Although they were not man and wife, he had a love waiting for his return. He couldn't succumb to this horrid disease. He just couldn't. He couldn't leave his brother.
"You alright?" Francis rasps. Bash grunts, spitting on the floor, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He heaves in a breath, spat again, before nodding.
"I'm fine." he croaks, reaching into his bags, pulling out his water ration. He drinks, sighing with pleasure as the burn in his throat finally lessens. Even if it's only for a little, and only a little bit. "What's the wife sayin'?" he drawls.
He jumps, remembering Mary's letter that still remains in his hand. He opens it with haste, accidentally getting mud on it wherever he touched it. His body began to tremble with what his wife could have told him.
'My dearest Francis,' she writes. The blonde can picture his wife hunched over her grandfathers' writing table, her brow creasing as she thinks of the words to say before she writes them. He remembers the pout she gives when she doesn't quite express what she wishes to say. He prays he will see that beautiful pout again.
'It has been seven months, two weeks and three days since the last time I held you within my arms. Since the last time I held the privilege of finding slumber within the ensnarement of your embrace. My heart aches with the notion, yet I hold onto the promise you gave me on the day you left us to defend King and Country. You have reason to survive this war. And you will. I cling to those words, they give me the strength to carry on when I have no other.
My love, my dearest treasure within this earthly world, it gives me tremendous joy to inform you that five days ago, I gave birth to twins. Your children, the living embodiment of our love, our life together that will not be cut short because of this horrid war. The labor was awful, I neared a second day of childbirth until the children slipped from my womb. A boy and a girl. A beautiful boy who is the image of his father. An enchanting daughter who takes after me, with Medici green eyes. I have christened them the moniker of which you gave permission. James Henry Francis Valois. Anne Marie Vivienne Valois. I pray they will live and die in a world that is safer than the world they were born into.
The children are healthy, my darling. My life is safe from the danger of childbirth complications. Their appetites are healthy and strong, they are clothed and they are safe from danger. I pray the same is for you, my darling husband. Words cannot express the worry and fear I have felt within my childbearing months, the worry that you will not see our children grow and explore the world. However, neither you, nor I, can think of such a thing. It is fruitless and without point. I have faith that you will return to my arms soon, my darling. I pray this war ends more and more every day.
Entombed within this letter, I have placed the first photograph I ever held of the children and I. Freshly born and new. I pray you keep it near your heart, for if this is true, you and I will not be so far apart, my darling. A second picture has been placed, to give a true indentation of how our children appear to the naked eye, now that they resemble who they are to become, not the odd looking creatures some freshly born children may appear to be. Feast your eyes upon the faces of our children, I pray it will not be a long time until you may see them face to face as I do as I write this letter.
Be safe, my darling. You have a promise to keep.
All my love for always,
Your adoring wife,
Mary'
"I am a father," Private Valois whispers with joy. "I am a father." And I have all the more reason to survive this hell and return to my earthly heaven.
~~
I hope you liked this one! I know I always put them in WW2 if I want a war based one, but that's fed by my fascination with the second world war and my interest in what happened in those tumultuous times. However, I have a smaller fascination with the first world war, too, and realised I hadn't written a piece about it yet. So, here ya go!
Spoiler for next one - Modern French Monarchy with a touch of drama
Stay safe, be kind.
Love,
me
:)
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Tu Es Ma Lumière
Historical Fiction~Reign AU/Collection of Oneshots~ The world can be dark, Mary, and uncertain and cruel. The only thing that matters is that we face it together. No matter what happens, you are my light ~Frary Oneshots/Taking Requests~ Book reached it's chapter limi...
