Tu Es Ma Lumière

181 - Impending Seperation

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Side Note - Inspired by one of the last scenes in Doctor Who 5x10, Vincent and the Doctor.

Side Note - Prequal to Part 74, please go show it some love :)

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The crickets chirp in the grounds of French Court. The sky is dark, the stars are bright. The trees dance in a waltz all of their own, they can hear the echoes of the water gently waving back and forth on the shoreline. The air is sweet and gentle, fresh and marvellous. It's serene and it's content, what a wonderful world that they live in.

Francis sighs as they lay back onto their capes, the grass crunching beneath their light weight. They're so young, so old at the same time. Royal lungs take in the air readily, the sides of their heads touching as they lay back together.

Instinctually, their arms outstretch to the sides, small hands wrapping around each other without even a word needed. It's more than likely not a good idea to do such a thing after their attempted abduction that afternoon, but the news that Francis' mother and father sprung onto them that evening at dinner proved so powerful and devastating that neither could resist one last excurgence into the grounds to try and catch another glimpse of fireflies before they would be separated tomorrow morning.

"How do you see the world, Mary?" Francis whispers, after a few minutes of comfortable silence. She turns to him, looking so much more younger now that she was without a grandeur dress and diamonds and gold. She gives him a smile, he's so beautiful. A child of magic, sculpted by angels. "You and I are so different in as many ways as we are similar. Give me one last thing to remember before you're taken from me."

She begins to talk.

"Try and see what I see." she says. He is right, they are so different. He is black and white, so logical and correct. She sees the world in shades of grey, she dreams of a different world of equality and happiness, warmth and gentleness and beauty. "How lucky we are to still remain in this world to see such beauty. Look at the sky, it is not black. With no character, as dark as the hair that lays upon my back. Look closely enough, it is but the deepest blue. Lighter blue where the sun remains in the world. The wind, she swirls through the blueness, the blackness. The stars, they are God's fireflies, they are the lightest shade of gold, they shimmer in the wind. The light, it roars so marvellously. Nature, the thing we must obey without a second thought, the most complex wizardry, she dances before us now. It is the most amazing magic, it shows itself to our eyes in the most cleverest hiding spot. Right in front of us, Francis." 

The Dauphin smiles. She can hear it, she can feel it pressing against the side of her face. "You are right, my friend. You've shown me so many things, so much magic and beauty. But nothing quite as marvellous as wonderful as the things you see." he says. Mary smiles up at the stars. "I will miss you terribly." he says after a pause.

"Every night, promise me to look at the stars. I will do the same. If the same stars shine down upon us each night, the distance between us will not be so great." she says. Francis blinks, turning to her. They're so close, not even an inch separates them.

The Dauphin brings her hand to his lips, he kisses her skin. They smile again.

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When the sun shines down upon them the next morning, the crickets no longer chirp. The wind no longer dances in front of them. The sun is so warm, so horridly warm, but the atmosphere around them is heavy. The children cling to each other and weep, arms iron tight around each other as Mary's carriage is loaded with her things, her ladies' being pushed into a smaller carriage.

"Come now, Francis." Catherine whispers, holding her son by his shoulders as his future wife is ripped from his arms. They watch as Mary is pulled into her own carriage, weeping and pulling as much as her stiff limbs will allow.

The door closes, Mary's face popping out of the window. She stares back at him, their eyes connecting through the most powerful of grips. It doesn't lessen until she's so far away that they become nothing but coloured dots to each other.

The Dauphin jerks away, looking up at his mother furiously, his face streaked with tears. "I hate you!" he cries, sprinting into the castle, his half brother following close behind, neither bowing to their father.

The Queen of France stands, stunned, a hand placed upon her heart as her precious boy who's so hurt and bereft, leaves her sight. She feels the pang of regret and loss and grief, but readies herself into more years of blackness and whiteness and isolation, that little piece of magic and beauty leaving the French Court for years to come.