How would they even meet each other to elope? Louise doubtlessly has dower properties in Scotland to support her and besides she *hates* the English for causing her father’s death
A Queen Twice Over: Mary Tudor the Elder Marries Francis I of France
- Thread starter FalconHonour
- Start date
That and this timeline has only few chapters left. Falcon wouldn't have the time to make a new plotline and complete it in a short time.
No, exactly. I have marriages planned for Louise's girls, but Charlie of York and Boulogne is not among them.
Section CLXI - July 1541
Lochleven, July 1541
“Long Live the King! Long Live King James VI!”
Louise stretches languidly, smiling to herself as she nestles beneath the bedcovers. Today is the culmination of everything she’s ever worked for, everything she’s been raised to.
There is a tap on her bedchamber door and Louise sits up, calling out for whoever is outside to come in. Lady Fleming pushes the door open, resplendent in gleaming white satin trimmed with royal blue velvet.
She carries a wriggling bundle, the most precious bundle in all of Scotland.
Wrapped in gold-trimmed purple velvet, the five-month-old King gurgles happily, reaching for Louise as she makes herself comfortable against her mound of pillows.
“His Grace was most insistent that we should come and see you before his big day, Madam,” Lady Fleming curtsies carefully, beaming at Louise, who returns her grin, joy swelling within her.
“And I’m glad of it, Lady Fleming. I’m always eager to see my beloved son, especially on such an important day.”
Louise reaches out for little James, running a gentle fingertip down his chubby cheek.
He gurgles, mouthing happily…and then fades away under her touch.
“NO! NO! Jamie! JAMIE!”
Louise sits bolt upright, breathing hard. Her son’s name dies on her lips. Her cheeks are wet and clammy, and her hair, when she forces herself to raise a hand and push it back, sticks to her forehead with sweat.
A moment later, Louise realises that, despite having jolted awake, she can still hear the bells. They are pealing joyfully, echoing through all the hills and valleys of Scotland.
To the suddenly wakeful Louise, however, they are far from joyful. Instead, they are a clangingly funereal knell, for they are not calling Scotland to her son’s coronation, but rather to that of the new King, Alexander IV, and his wife, Queen Eleanor.
Grief wells up in Louise like a wave, crashing over her before she can brace herself against it. Rolling over, she stuffs her face into her pillows and pulls her heavy eiderdown over her head, muffling the peals as best she can.
Her shoulders begin to shake, and, for the first time in months, she yields to her grief, weeping herself raw and sick. Weeping for the husband she has lost and the son she has never had.
Chateau d’ Chambord, July 1541
The chamber is dark and shuttered, as though by keeping out the light, the doctors hope to keep the bitter swing of the Grim Reaper’s scythe at bay as well.
Marie shifts on the bed, her once bright eyes clouded as she seeks her beloved eldest son.
“François. François!”
“I’m here, Maman. I’m here", François takes his mother’s hand, stroking the papery skin, willing the warmth of his hold to seep into his mother’s bones and give her strength.
“You will let Lisabelle marry Lord St Pol, won’t you? She wants it so much..”
Marie’s strength fails her, her voice dying away to nothing, and François hurries to soothe her, bending to kiss her cheek.
“Of course I will., Maman. Nothing would please me more. She’s the brightest star in the firmament of my Court. Neither Renee nor I would know what to do without her. Don’t you worry. Lisabelle isn’t going anywhere. I promise. You just rest.”
Marie’s lips twist into a smile and her fingers flutter above the bedclothes for a moment, vainly brushing the air near François’s left cheek.
“You’re a good boy. Your father would be so proud. I’ll tell him…”
Marie’s voice trails off again, and, somewhere deep inside himself, François knows she’ll never speak again.
He bows his coppery head, Adam’s apple bobbing as he squeezes his eyes shut against a wave of tears.
He feels a hand on his shoulder and starts, looking up to see Renee looking down at him, eyes warm with sympathy.
“You don’t have to stay, you know,” she whispers, “She wouldn’t want you to struggle. You know that.”
“I know,” François admits, fixing his gaze on his mother’s still form, “But… I don’t want her to… I don’t want her to be alone.”
Renee doesn’t need to see her husband’s face to know how his desire to do his mother honour will be warring with dawning horror and grief in his eyes. Not after a decade of marriage.
“Do you want me to stay with her?” she offers gently, and François wrenches his eyes from his mother’s pale face to look up at her, dark eyes alight with relief.
“Would you?”
“Bien sur,” Renee squeezes his shoulder encouragingly. Even so, however, François holds out for another few moments before he finally gives in to himself.
He rises and presses one last lingering kiss to his mother’s forehead.
“Je t’aime, Maman,” he breathes, “Say hello to Papa, Henri, Edouard and Marie for me.”
Then he turns away from the bed.
Renee is there in a heartbeat, seating herself behind Marie and raising her by the shoulders so that the faded red head rests against her collarbone before the older woman can fret.
“Let’s prop you up a bit, shall we, Maman?” she coaxes, “You’ll find it easier to breathe that way.”
Even as his wife speaks, however, François hears the unmistakeable rattle of death starting to form in his mother’s throat.
His own breath catches audibly and Renee glances up, steel in her eyes.
“Go,” she mouths, “I’ve got her. I promise. Go.”
And, as he has done a thousand times before, François follows his older wife’s orders. He slips from the room, more relieved than he cares to admit to be leaving his mother in Renee’s capable hands.
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Rest in peace, Queen Marie, Lionne d'Angleterre. Perhaps you and François can be happy again where you are now. I am, however, starting to feel sorry for Louise. Especially now that her mother is dead too. She and her never made up, which might make it even harder for her
Don't worry. I promise Louise gets a little happiness next chapter - and then we're into the Epilogue (which is from Margot's POV, if anyone's interested.)
No, but you do get Lisabelle's wedding and I promise you lots of pretty jewels and dresses in my Kitty Howard TL to make up for it, if that helps?
Alexander doesn't deserve a substantive relationship with his brother's daughters.
I know, I know. But this story has run its course, and you know there's more to come from me, TL-wise, so I promise I'm not going anywhere in a hurry!
Will we see Henry VIII's reaction to Marie's death? It cannot be easy for him to lose last two surviving siblings in short time, even if Henry VIII and Margaret were not close as Henry VIII and Marie were.
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But on the other hand, who else is going to be around for little Frances? Louise is hardly mother of the year where she's concerned...
No. I thought about it, but I couldn't write it naturally. There's one more chapter giving Louise a flash of something that is not unremitting grief, and then a nice lengthy epilogue!
He's part of the reason Louise isn't going to be mother of the year, having her humiliated in front of the court is not good for Lousie.
In fact it looks like Alexander & Nora are pushing her motherhood abilities into a metaphorical pool of lava and swooping in to usurp her role in her daughters life!
Not Isobel's. I promise you that. But yes, Louise would do a lot better if we could just take her forward 500 years in time and whack her on some antidepressants...
And neither Nora nor Sawney will deliberately go out of their way to antagonise Louise after this. Not anymore. But they had to make it *very* clear that Scotland was theirs now before they could relax.