Hey guys :) I know that it took me forever to write this, but I wanted it to be perfect and then I realized that there was a lot that I still wanted to have happen and I didn´t want to split it up so...now you have three (nearly four) chapters´ worth of epilogue :D

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it :) Please tell me honestly what you think :)

Epilogue:

The sound of a small child´s wails broke through the silence in the castle. It had been a common occurrence for days. After all, even royal babies cry.

The young woman rose from her bed and carefully picked up the crying child. Only sixteen years old, the girl rocked her son back and forth, hoping that he would fall back asleep soon. As Queen of Scotland and Queen Regnant of France for her little son, she did have the option of calling for a handmaiden to do it for her, but she had refused each time that she had been asked.

"Please James, go back to sleep, I beg of you," she whispered in a tired voice as she rocked the baby back and forth. It was on late nights like this one, that she missed Francis the most. He would have kept her from growing irritated with the sleep deprivation. He would have kept her calm when her son refused to sleep. He would wrap his arms around her and hold her and their son until both would drift off peacefully.

The bells were ringing loudly, calling all invited guests into the chapel. Excited chatting filled every corner of the castle. This wedding had been anticipated for a long time. The groom smiled happily as he greeted the guests.

The bride was in her chambers, getting dressed with the help of her ladies. As the white dress was pulled over her head, she was relieved to find that the skirt effortlessly covered the slight swell of her abdomen. No one had to know of her pregnancy before they were wed.

She was shaking with terror as her mother, Marie de Guise, entered her rooms. The older woman smiled sweetly as she took in the sight of her beautiful daughter; a daughter that she hadn´t seen since she sent her off to France at the age of six. "It is time, Mary, they are waiting for you," she said, offering the younger woman a half-hearted hug. "Yes, Mother," the girl replied with a nod.

She could barely make her feet move in front of her. The reason for her terror wasn´t that she didn´t want to marry Francis. He was the love of her life. Marrying him was all she had wanted since she met him as a child. They had been best friends then. The reason she was terrified however, was because she was worried that this would be the day that Francis´ fate would be sealed. If the late visionary was right, her union would bring around his death.

The young queen easily hid her emotions behind a forced smile as she headed for the chapel to meet her fiancée. He smiled at her as soon as his eyes locked on her. She wished that could be happy for just that one day, but even the smile she gave him as their hands connected by the altar was faked.

The only time that day when she genuinely smiled was when she and Francis had danced. In his arms, he had made her forget about the world around them. There was no Prophesy. There were no kingdoms that needed protection. There were no responsibilities. It was just the two of them, grinning brightly at each other.

Of course she had been nervous when she was pulled away from the party. It was time for the consummation. It did not matter that she wasn´t a virgin; that she had already been in Francis´ arms. Having an audience to such an intimate moment was not something she looked forward to.

Francis had taken her hands and smiled warmly at her. He tried to calm her, but in the end it was actually Prince Philip´s words to Elisabeth on their wedding night that helped her. "We are the only ones that matter here". It was all it took to let herself give in to Francis as he pushed her backwards toward the bed. He was hers and she was his, truly.

Mary smiled when she realized that, sometime during her reverie, the baby had finally stopped crying. She expected him to be asleep, but as she looked down, she found his blue eyes staring back at her. She felt a pang in her chest, looking at those eyes; eyes that were so clearly like his father´s. If she did not know better, she would think that the boy actually understood what was going on.

She was lonely. She was alone. Her ladies, however much she had wanted them to stay, had left for marriage.

Kenna, lovely Kenna, had obtained the position as the king´s official mistress when King Henry had accepted that Diane de Poitier was never returning to the castle. When King Henry had died in a supposed hunting accident, two months after Mary and Francis´ marriage, she would have been forced to leave the castle had it not been for Mary´s pleas to let her stay. Kenna had been there for her, of course, after Francis had died, had stayed with her for the first few days, but had gone back to her own rooms after James was born.

Lola met Sir William Maitland of Lethington who had been invited to the royal wedding. They had been introduced that night and he had taken a liking to her immediately upon seeing her. They had begun courting each other even though he was many years her senior.

When Mary had asked, Lola had told her that she was happy with him. It was all that Mary could hope for. After everything that her dear friend had been through, she deserved to find a man that would treat her well and maybe even love her. Sir William had asked Mary for permission to ask for Lola´s hand in marriage a few months later. Of course she had agreed.

It had been a tearful goodbye between the two friends before Lola had stepped into the carriage that took her away from the castle to her new home. Mary continued to receive letters from her, but it would never be the same as having her friend there to comfort her.

Greer had been the one to surprise her the most. She had asked for an audience with Mary and Francis one day, a month after their coronation. Mary had been confused at first, asking why Greer couldn´t tell her while she was helping her dress, but the lady had refused. She had understood of course, once they were gathered at the audience.

Her lady and friend through ten years, nearly, stood in front of them, telling the tale of how she had fallen for a kitchen boy named Leith. Mary could hardly believe her ears and her eyes focused on Francis and his reaction. After all, granting a title or duchy to a peasant as Greer was asking, was not really her decision in the end, it was his as king. There was no doubt to Mary that Greer loved the boy, and she hoped, for the sake of her friend, that her husband could see it too.

To her, Francis seemed unconvinced at first. He might have wanted to do it, for the sake of love, but as a king, he had to make decisions based on the best of his kingdoms. He was more willing when he learned that Leith had taken a great role in the rescue of Mary and her ladies when Count Vincent had taken the castle.

Mary was horrified to hear what her friend had been through that night. They had all been through much, but Greer had never been able to talk about it with anyone. Knowing that the Italian guard could have gone to warn the Count about the servants' disappearance and thereby completely destroying the plan and endangering Mary, Catherine and the ladies, Francis realized that the man in question deserved acknowledgment for his noble actions.

He was wary of giving in, of course. As a king, he couldn´t be seen as weak, giving out titles here and there to servants, but he also knew that it would be of great advantage to the realm if he was seen as goodhearted and liked by his people. It could prove very important, should uprisings occur.

With much seriousness, he had accepted to meet the man in question. Mary wanted to be there, but Francis insisted that it would a boring meeting and that surely there was some other activity that she wanted to do. All Mary was told of the meeting afterwards was that Leith had been granted a duchy and was to start the grooming to prepare him for the responsibility. Mary didn´t have to ask to know that Francis was still unsure of his decision and knew that he would be keeping a close eye on the man.

Greer had been more than grateful. Mary knew that the lady would never have asked if it wasn´t for the deep worry she had for her younger sisters. She could have run off with Leith, leaving behind all responsibilities but she could never make herself do that, God knows that there were times that she wanted to.

Mary, sharing her husband´s worries, simply smiled kindly when the lady brought up her betrothed and their plans to marry. Having met the man that Greer had so clearly fallen for, there was no doubt to Mary that he would be good to her, but would that be enough?

Francis was prepared to take away the duchy the moment it would become a threat to the throne or France in general. Mary tried to tell Greer of this, but she could only hope that her friend fully understood the severity of the situation.

Mary continued to write to her, after she had left with her fiancée to their new home where Leith would continue the training. She would write often at first, but the duties of both women took over soon and the letters became less and less frequent. A friendship was hard to maintain when they were separated. This was the prize she had to pay as queen. Her duty to her countries would always come before her friends.

The only company Mary had really had for the last few weeks were that of servants and the ladies that would tend to her needs. Kenna would visit, but she was always uncomfortable with being there. She had no idea what to say to her obviously mourning queen.

All Mary really wanted, and she would most likely never tell anyone of this, was someone to assure her of their love. It was on nights like this one, nights were the lack of sleep caused her to remember every bad or good thing that had happened in the previous year, that she desperately needed the love.

She tried not to, but her mind started wandering and suddenly she was remembering the worst day of them all. She was remembering the day she had held Francis´ hand and told him that she loved him for the last time.

They had been on the throne as King and Queen of France for a little more than two months. King Henry had died previously, leaving Kenna to mourn him while Catherine was planning the coronation of her son and his wife.

It was bittersweet to Francis, as he stood there, in front of his people with a crown on his head, his father´s crown. He had known his entire life that his father would have to die before he became king, but it was still strange to him that his father was absent. Mary could tell that Francis was putting on a brave face that day. Yes, he might not have been his father´s favorite or agreed with the older man on all aspects, but it was still his father, the man who had taught him almost everything he knew.

The official story of Henry´s death was that he had been struck by a stray arrow during a hunt and had died instantly. Every guard confirmed the story, but Francis still doubted it. His father had many enemies, every ruler did, and any one of those enemies could have hired someone to assassinate the king. The men had been unable to find the assassin and Francis had no evidence.

It had been a surprise to Mary how quickly Catherine threw herself into the work of preparing the coronation. It was no secret that Catherine disliked her husband greatly, but was there really no part of her that would mourn the loss of the man that she had been married to for decades? Within a week of the death of King Henry, Francis and Mary, who was in her sixth month of pregnancy, had been crowned.

The day Mary received a letter from the spy that she had placed within the Royal English Court; she was both horrified and anxious. The English Tudor Queen had died, having been bedridden with illness for many months now. Though King Henry was no longer there to force her to claim the English throne and Francis wouldn´t force her into doing something that she was still doubting was a good idea for both of their countries, she had the pressure of her Scottish and French advisors to answer to. They wanted her to claim England. Her mother wanted her to claim England. She had no choice really.

As Catherine had predicted, there were uprisings in England. The Catholics supported Mary´s claim and wanted her on the throne of their country, but the Protestant refused to believe her legitimacy. They wanted the protestant Elizabeth on the throne. Neighbor turned on neighbor and fighting occurred nearly everywhere you looked. France sent men there, to fight the uprisings and try to regain peace, but it hadn´t been enough.

She remembered clearly the night where he came up with the idea that ended up costing his life. He had been frustrated. Mary, being in her eighth month had entered her confinement period, had been unable to attend all the meetings with advisors. Francis was stuck in the throne room in meetings all day. When he came back to their chambers every night, he was exhausted. He was frustrated that all plans seemed pointless. Mary had tried her best to motivate him to keep trying. He was a good king and he would find a way, she believed in him.

Oh how she wished that she could take back those words that night. He had been eager to tell her of his plan, one that he had come up with on his own. He would go to England. He would meet with the people there, give them a face to go with the name, instill trust in them that the French and Scottish crown only wanted the best for them.

Mary had been horrified. Did he not know of the risks of going to a country where many people hated him and his wife more than anything?

He had been mad when she had objected to it. She knew that it was simply frustrations, but in her hormonal state, she took great offend. She had thrown him out of the room. They had been screaming at each other and now, thinking back, Mary couldn´t even remember the words. She sincerely wished that she had tried harder to make him stay. He might have still been alive if she had just tried a little harder, if she hadn´t given up.

She had clung to him tightly as they had been lying in bed the night before he was to leave. Francis had fallen asleep, probably thinking that she was asleep before him as she usually was. She wanted to sleep. She wanted to escape reality and dream of her future with Francis and their child, but every time she closed her eyes, she quickly opened them again. It was as if she kept checking to see if he was still there.

Her body was exhausted but her mind was too worried to let go. She lied there for what seemed like hours, holding him, listening to his breathing, taking in the innocence of his face as he slept peacefully. She stroked his chin, trying to memorize the way it felt under her fingertips. She placed her head above his heart, trying to remember the way it would beat against her cheek.

She had a bad feeling in her gut as he got on his horse and rode off with his men. Somehow, Mary just knew that she would never see her husband again and it shattered her heart. All she really wanted was to curl up in the bed in the chamber that she shared with Francis, so she could soak up the remaining scent that he left behind. Of course she couldn´t do that. She was a queen and while her husband was away, only temporary to everyone else, she was in charge and there were many decisions to be made.

She was distant. Her ladies had noticed it, but they wouldn´t ask. They knew about the Prophesy. Of course they understood that Mary would be worried when Francis was completely out of her reach, out of her sight. She felt helpless. All she could do was to wait.

She still remembered the sound of everyone rushing about. She still remembered the words of the servants that came to her rooms that night as the sun was setting. He wore a grave expression as he bowed his head quickly. His voice was stuttering as he spoke the words that made her blood run cold. "Your Grace, the king…he has returned…he is in the infirmary…he is injured…"

She had walked as fast as her expanded abdomen had allowed her. To her, it was not fast enough. It seemed to take forever for her to reach the infirmary, and when she did, she was out of breath.

"Francis…" she choked out at the sight in front of her. The injured man in front of her was nothing like her beautiful Francis. This man was pale and dirty. He was bloody and shaking with fever. But she felt a shiver run down her spine as the deep blue eyes locked on her brown ones. This was her Francis and this was the moment she had feared the most. She was losing him.

He tried to smile; at least, that was what Mary made of the grimace that came over his features. With a little struggle, Mary sat on the floor beside him.

"I´m sorry, Mary," Francis whispered. Mary looked up at the sound of his voice and shook her head with tears streaming down her cheeks. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a strangled cry escaped her lips. She felt his hand lift to her cheek and ignored the wetness of the blood as it smeared across her face. She leaned into the touch, desperately trying to hold onto him a little longer.

"Mary…I love you…I have always loved you," he whispered with a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. She sobbed and nodded.

"I love you, Francis…" she cried and leant forward over his chest, as far as her belly allowed her to, hugging him closely.

It took a while for her to register when his heart stopped beating underneath her. When she did, she sat up slightly and looked as his face. His eyes were closed and the corners of his lips were still raised in the ghost of a smile as before. He was handsome, even with the blood and dirt. She leaned closer and pressed her lips to his and was surprised to find them cold.

It took all in her to whisper her next words before she broke down completely. "Wait for me, Francis. Promise me that you will wait for me."

Deep down, she had known that he was gone. Still, she had stayed there on the tiled floor beside her dead husband, holding his lifeless hand. She refused to let go. She refused to let him slip away from her, even though he already had. She was just sitting there, staring out ahead of her with a blank expression. Tears were quietly streaming down her cheeks as she ignored all the servants and the physician around her. She and Francis were the only ones there.

The first few days were a blur to her. She remembered nothing. She didn´t remember who came to see her. She didn´t remember eating anything. She did, she had to. Her midwife was forcing her to eat something, for her child´s sake. She had been so out of it that she hadn´t noticed when the pains started before they were unbearable and she was screaming.

Even the birth was a blur to her. She remembered pain and tears and screaming. She had completely blocked out the world around her. She was holding on to the last memories that she had of Francis, trying to get through the night.

It was as if her brain instantly focused on the happenings around her when she heard the cries of her newborn child. The midwife was beaming with sweat on her brow as she carefully wrapped the baby. Mary was surprised at how much her arms were shaking as she reached out for the bundle. He was so small, her son. He was beautiful. He was perfect. Her eyes clouded over with tears and she brought her lips to the baby´s forehead in a gentle kiss.

She shut out all the other women in the room and focused everything on the tiny creature in her arms. The tiny child that was half her and half Francis. The tiny child that was the only part of Francis that she had left in the world.

Looking down at the child, peacefully sleeping in his mother´s arms, she couldn´t help the smile that spread on her lips. With her free hand, she carefully caressed her son´s already unruly dark hair. If he had been awake, she would have been able to stare at his deep blue eyes for days at a time.

"Mama loves you, James. I love you so much," she whispered gently as she took his small, delicate hand and pressed it against her lips.

The End