Lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones.

And I will try to fix you.

She collapses almost immediately from lack of air.

He's gone.

The people swarm her almost immediately.

He left me.

She squeezes her eyes shut, his icy and broken stare burning her memory.

"Queen Mary!"

Go away, she whispers in her mind as she is poked and prodded, you are not him.

He rides for what seems like hours, allowing his mind to wander away from him.

He curses under his breath when it wanders right back to her.

Her face between the grits of the gate she lowered, not only shutting him out of the castle but out of her heart as well.

He pulls his cloak tighter around his neck and tries to rid her from his mind. He had more important things to think about…like the fact that he was riding to see his child, or that he had to ride at all to see his child…

He let out a growl as the anger of the situation burned a hole in his heart. But just as quickly as it came, the anger was gone and replaced with the sinking feeling he had grown so accustomed to. He had to keep his head afloat, he knew that, but that didn't stop him from wanting to raise his hands to God and submit to the blackness creeping into his heart.

"Dear, you have to get up."

She feels the covers leave her body, but does not move despite Catherine's every effort.

"For goodness sake, child, you are a Queen! Queens do not do this!"

She was right. She knew the former Queen of France was speaking the truth, but she just did not want to hear it right now.

"He will never forgive me," the words tumble from her lips like water, "and I am afraid of what life waits for me once he stops loving me all together."

Catherine opens her mouth to speak but thinks better than to plead a case to such hopeless ears. She instead places her hand on the young Queen's shoulder, drops a kiss on her forehead, and takes her leave.

He makes it to the village just as the baby is being born.

He holds Lola's hand and shares in joyful tears when the woman announces it is a boy. He holds him close to his heart, lets the pounding seer into the boy's body, hoping to sync his own with the little one.

He ignores the twinge of pain in his heart that tries to tell him this isn't right because it isn't with her. She should be laying here, hand gripping his to impalement, a sweet baby with her eyes staring back at him…

"Lady Lola, how are you fe-" the young woman is cut off by the sight in front of her. His heart begins beating, demanding an exit from the cage it is held in. He moves his stare to the unfortunate mother of his child and he feels the same heart tear in two.

"Lady Lola! Your Grace, the bleeding it has not stopped!"

His head is spinning and he grips his child tighter, "Can you stop it?"

She tries, she really does, and Francis begs Lola to hold on for their son, and she tries.

"Francis, please…take him…raise him…with Mary."

He winces at the feeling her name brings to his already shattered heart.

"Do not speak like this, you will raise your son."

She smiles before placing his hand back on his lap.

His son cries, and so does he.

She receives news of Lola's death and it is the last crack her heart can take.

She watches her face pale in the mirror as she lets herself harden. She leaves her room for the first time since Francis left, and takes her place on the throne of France

without him.

He stays in the small village for exactly 5 days. He cares for his son and names him Henry Julian because he believes that is what Lola would of wanted. He grows fond of this little life, away from Court and his responsibilities as both husband and King.

But he knows he cannot stay here forever, not with the plague and his quarrels with…her. He prays for answers and forgiveness for his darkest sins, and on the fourth day he is granted that forgiveness…for a price.

He leaves the village on day five without his wife's best friend or his son…comforted only by the thought that they are now together in a much happier place than this.

She hears the announcement while she is planning her metaphorical attack on England.

"Your highness," a man she know to be important bows before her, "The King has returned."

The woman that first came to Court from Convent would have been overjoyed, would have ran to his side and jumped into his arms. She was young, and full of love. Love. Love brought her nothing but pain and vulnerability. The woman that now sits as Queen of France and nods in response to her husband's homecoming is one that is scarce afraid of being alone, and is much harder to kill.

He will learn to hate this woman he is returning to, and she will not blame him.

The truth is she has learned to hate her as well.

He does not go to see her when he returns, but opts to spend some time in the old workshop he used to escape to when he was younger and not the King of France.

There was a time when he would have found her no matter where she was, taken her to his room, and reminded her of their love. Not now though, for there is too much distance between their beating hearts.

How could she love a heart as black as his?

She goes to him when she hears the news of his baby. She finds him in his workshop sawing away at a piece of wood, tears slipping down his face. He throws his tool against the table before rubbing a hand across his forehead. He looks startled when his eyes land on her, reminding her of the first time she had ventured up here.

Deep down it hurts her, but she does not let it show.

"I heard about-" he cuts her off with a nod.

"Thank you for your concern," he responds, "and I am sorry for the loss of Lady Lola."

She nods, ignoring the way her heart aches at his frigid tone, and takes her leave

He accompanies her when she travels to Scotland to attend Lady Lola's funeral. The ship ride is long and silent in their quarters, and when they climb into the carriage the day of the funeral, he is slightly taken aback by how much space she puts between them. There was a time when the two were almost inseparable, always touching in some way or stealing glances when touching was impossible. Now it was a miracle if he even caught her eyes, let alone held her gaze. The distance between them grows terrifyingly fast.

So why does it feel like he's suffocating?

They arrive at the location Lola wished to be buried, a small Catholic cemetery in the countryside of Scotland. They stand side by side as the priest reads comforting words from a small book, silent tears streaming down both of their faces. He watches as she steps forward, her shoulders shaking, to drop a handful of dirt into the grave of her best friend.

"Today," she says quietly, turning to address the small crowd, "we say goodbye to a wonderful and beautiful human being. Lola was not only one of my ladies, but she was also one of my best and most trusted friends. I will miss her greatly, but I know now that she rests in the arms of the Lord our God. We all must comfort in that."

She turns back to the grave, "Rest now, Lola, for you have found peace."

She returns to his side and he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He is moved by her words and in a moment of pure emotion, he grabs her hand.

He watches her eyes widen, obviously taken by the sudden act of intimacy.

He silently curses himself for his weakness, and fully expects her to brush his hand away.

But she doesn't.

Instead she squeezes it and he feels something he hasn't felt in a while…

Hope.

She has a nightmare the night after the funeral, one where she's trying to save Lola but cannot get to her fast enough. She hears Lola's shrieks for help but when she tries to run or answer her she finds herself unable. Finally the shrieking stops, and she finds Lola standing in front of her.

"My Queen," Lola says with a curtsy, fresh tears streak her face.

"No, no, no," her mind races as she tries to find her voice.

"How could you?" she asks, falling to her knees in front of the debilitated Queen, "How could you do this to me?"

"Stop," a voice bubbles up from deep in her belly, "please stop."

Lola's eyes burn as they stare back at her, "You let me die," she spits, "You let me die in order to save your marriage!"

"No I desired to save your reputation as well as my marriage," she fights back tears.

"You are a liar!" Lola shrieks, blood spreading across her dress. She falls to the floor in front of her, clutching her abdomen. The Queen scrambles to do something but suddenly Lola is gone.

"Lola?" she whimpers, "Lola!"

She glances down to find her hands covered in blood, and a scream ripples from her lips.

"Mary!" a voice calls.

Francis.

"Wake up, Mary!"

She obeys, awaking with that same scream ripping through her, but this time she finds her hands clean and her worried husband clutching her shoulders. She collapses into his chest and.

"It's my fault," she cries, "It is my fault Lola is dead and now I must live with that for the rest of my life."

He gathers her into his arms, shushing her frantic cries. He runs his fingers through her hair as he desperately tries to soothe her, "It is no ones fault, only a horrible and unfortunate accident."

"She is dead, Francis!" she sobs, "How am I to forget that?"

He is silent, probably trying to decide the best way to proceed, and she finds herself longing for his voice.

"It's ok now," he coos finally, stroking her hair, "You're safe now."

He holds her against his chest until her sobs turn to small hiccups.

"What has become of us?" she whispers against his bare skin. He drops a kiss on the top of her head and holds her closer.

"We are rulers," he confesses to the darkness that surrounds them, "We no longer nor can we ever again have the luxury of obeying out hearts."

He feels her begin to shake against him again, an indication that her sobs were returning.

"We could try," she pleads, voice cracking at the end, "I will follow mine if you follow yours."

He winces as he feels the wall he has built around his heart crack. He trails a hand up and down her arm, his fingers tingling. He must stay strong. He must protect himself and his secrets. He was the King of France, for God sake.

She picks her head up off his chest, dark hair falling behind her shoulders and enveloping him in a scent that can only be categorized as hers. Her eyes sparkle with tears and burn holes into his soul, convincing him that she can see everything inside of him. Every secret, every thought, nothing is safe from those eyes and that is terrifying to him.

Her hand finds his face, tracing the outline of his lips. A tear streaks her face.

"Follow your heart, Francis," she whispers.

The sound of his name on her lips sends shivers down his spine.

"Follow it back to me."

All at once, every wall he built around his heart crumbled and manifested as tears. He collapses into her arms.

"Mary," he sobs, "I've done terrible things, things that will surely cause you to stop loving me."

He felt her own tears hit the top of his head as she pulled him close. She doesn't speak, but allows him to confess on his own terms, at the time of his choosing and for that he is grateful. He takes a few breaths in order to gather confidence, and with his next exhale he says it out loud for the first time.

"I killed my father. I killed the late King of France."

She doesn't say anything at first…simply stares and takes in his words. The broken Queen from moments before is gone in an instant, her nightmare and qualms forgotten. She replays his confession, both scared of his actions and in awe of the amount of trust he has in her…

Then she makes a decision.

"Look at me, Francis," she commands and he obeys, lifting his eyes to meet hers, "I will take this secret to my grave. Yes it is a horrible secret but I made a promise in front of God to stand by you no matter what, and that is exactly what I plan on doing."

He stares at her in disbelief, eyes wide as he searches her face for some sign that she is lying.

"I will never stop loving you, Francis, you must believe that!" She touches his face to ease his anxiety. He looks so much like that little boy she met so long ago as a child, unaware that he was to be of an importance to the world. He was just a boy. He was simply Francis.

And that's when she kisses him, long and hard, and doesn't stop until neither can tell where one ends and the other begins.

"My father told me killing someone you love blackens your soul," he whispers into her hair one morning when they are back at French court.

"Anything that is dirty can be cleaned, Francis," she states, tracing idle patterns on his chest, "Even the darkest of sins can be forgiven if the sinner is truly sorry. I have forgiven you, God will forgive you, and now it is time to forgive yourself."

He spends the rest of the day wondering how he got so lucky as to have Mary Queen of Scots as his wife.

It's a particularly sunny day at French court when the two leave their chambers to take their seats on the throne of France. Mary smiles, a real smile, for the first time in months when Francis grabs her hand and breaks into a sprint in the hall. Their laughs echo against the soaring ceilings and before she has a moment to catch her breath, Francis has her pushed up against one of the windows a few feet away from the Throne Room.

"I, Francis King of France," he begins lifting her left hand to his lips, "promise to be yours, Mary Queen of Scots, until the day God himself removes me from your side."

She laughs a breathless laugh, fights back tears and kisses his straight on the mouth.

"And I, Mary Queen of Scots, make the same oath to you, Francis King of France," she whispers against his lips, "until the angels fall from the Heavens and the demons rise from Hell, I will be yours and yours alone."

They spring apart when the doors to the throne room open, "Announcing His Majesty, King Francis and Her Majesty, Queen Mary."

Francis extends his hand to her, suddenly very aware of the space between them, and is grateful when she takes it. She smiles at him before turning and walking with him to take their places. Mary breathes, feelings of relief flooding through her as she settles into her chair.

She finally has her King beside her, and he has his Queen.

Francis reaches across and grabs her hand. She smiles back at him.

It has taken many days, hours, seconds of work and compromise and words of love but they found their way.

They found their way back to each other.

fin.