@Tudorfan has very helpfully written half of another chapter for me (completely unprompted, I might add... <3) so you all get the benefit! Enjoy!
Chinon, July 1536
“As God is my witness, I never want another year like this one,” François mutters to himself morosely, “It’s not even half over, and it’s already the worst I’ve ever lived through.”
He stalks the battlements of Chinon, too restless to stay indoors, but too lost in thought to appreciate the wide, calming vista spread out beneath him. How did
Maman do this? How did she wait out the Italian Wars here, calm and serene, without letting on to him or Margot that she was scared out of her wits with Papa away and in such danger?
No sooner has François asked himself the question, however, than the answer comes to him, “
She had you to focus on. You’re on your own.”
Yes, François is alone, for what is possibly the first time in his life. He’s always had
someone from his family around him. Even when Papa died, and he had to take up the mantle of King, he had Renee at his side. Renee at first, and then, when they’d made it to Paris,
Maman, Louise, Charly and Lisabelle as well. They’d been able to help each other, support one another through the haze of grief.
But this year, the family is scattered. For their own safety, the family is scattered, and he, the paterfamilias, is left alone, trying to absorb blow after blow so that it doesn’t affect the others. Hell, for the sake of keeping the Succession safe, he hasn’t even been able to ride for Brittany, to protect his children from Cardinal Lorraine’s attempts to seize them. Instead, trapped behind the thick walls of Chinon, when the rumours of Lorraine's plots reached him, he had to order Guy de Laval to abandon his pursuit of Jean and turn back to Brittany, to help Antoine de Vendome keep Anne and Marie safe.
And as if that wasn’t bad enough, Milan has fallen. Despite Claude de Guise’s best efforts, Milan has fallen, Jean is in open rebellion, and François doesn’t know what to do.
Half of him wants to strangle his little brother. After all, it was at least partly because Jean abandoned his Duchy that Señor de Pescara was able to swoop into the city so easily, that 2500 Frenchmen went to their deaths throwing themselves against the walls trying to get it back. Their blood stains Jean’s hands.
On the other hand, however, it was surely only a matter of time before the Emperor pushed his way back south into Italy, even had Jean stayed loyal. Everyone knows that. The loss of the Duchy is galling, but is it really worth committing fratricide for? After all,
Maman has drilled the horrors of the Cousins’ War into him – the treacheries of George of Clarence and the Usurper of Gloucester among them. She’s drilled them into all of them. François doesn’t want to sink to that level. Not if he doesn’t have to. He doesn’t want to set that kind of example for his son.
“Sire! Sire!” A breathless messenger breaks into his reverie and François spins on his heel, somehow instinctively knowing that this is urgent.
“Yes?”
“It’s Lord Milan, Sire! He’s ordered his Italian guard into the crowds in Orleans!”
“What?!” François can’t believe what he is hearing, but there is no mistaking the words tumbling from the young boy’s mouth. The page rushes onwards, his words tripping over themselves, so eager is he to be the one to tell his King this momentous news.
“Lord Milan was riding into Orleans with his wife, Lord Nemours and Madame de Valentinois when one of the crowd threw a stone. Madame de Valentinois was struck on the side of the head and killed instantly. Lord Milan was furious with grief and ordered his troops to find the perpetrator. They charged into the crowd, and within the hour, twenty-five people lay dead. They say nearly a thousand were injured.”
Very, very rarely does François feel his family’s temper take hold of him, but at the page’s words, he feels the white-hot rage rising like a wave inside his chest. He lets it fill him, letting loose a curse that would make a sailor blush.
Jean would ride into an innocent crowd, heedless of whom he hurt in his quest for vengeance? He connives to spill French blood, not only in Italy, but in the heart of France itself? This is beyond the pale! He’s no Prince now, but a traitor!
“Get word to Lord de Laval. Tell him to forget Brittany and get his men back to Orleans. Now! I’ll ride for Nantes and defend the Dauphin myself!”
François thunders down the steps to the courtyard, shouting orders as he goes. When one of his men tries to remonstrate with him, to remind him of exactly
why he is being kept safe at Chinon, he whirls on him.
“I am a father as much as a King! The Dauphin needs me, and what kind of a man would I be if I kept hiding behind walls while I ordered others to die for me? If I am truly France’s King, then I must be prepared to fight for her. For her, and for my son! Now do your job, and let me do mine. Bring me Jean. Bring the traitor to me, and let him answer for his crimes, if he can!”