You Are My Light Part II

281 - Vulnerability

"Oh, my god!" The Queen of Scotland cries out, her body twisting and convulsing upon the raggedy, borrowed bed as if it were possessed by some kind of demon. She inhales sharply, face scrunching as the pain of another contraction flows through her. It's a pain unlike any she's ever known, and it sickens her as it continued on and on and on. The pain is all around her torso and back, womb raging red hot as it ravages her, burns her from the inside out.

Mary whispers and sniffles as she's gratefully allowed a few moments of respite from her ordeal, not that it gets any better- or safer- when her mind focuses back onto the reality they experience. It started several hours ago, when the first cannon fire began, testing, to see their weaknesses in the castle grounds. An attack, presumably by the English or the Bourbons, had lead French Court into chaos. The King and Queen had instructed the guards to buy them as much time as possible, while the royal family and the families of the nobility scuttled around the passageways and undergrounds of the palace until they found the safety of horses and carriages that were strategically placed to get the women and children out of harms way, while the men and the guards and the servants fought.

Well, that was the plan until the Dauphin's wife's waters' spilled.

So now, the royal family find themselves in a filth ridden hole many levels underneath the fighting and the dying of the men above. Servant girls rush around like chickens trying to escape the pot, while the Queen of Scots is placed on an old, rickety bed and a dusty mattress, the King of France becoming members of the guardsmen protecting the small collection of people travelling in their marching band -and more importantly, not staring at the Queen in such a state of undress, distress and immodesty-  while the Queen lead the several servent girls in assisting the Queen of Scots' childbirth. The Dauphin makes himself useful -as useful as one can be as a man while his wife births his child- by clutching her hand and supporting her body when his mother insists she adjusts herself to make the pathway for the child easier.

"It-it's too early," Mary weeps, clutching her husband to her as they cringe with the rumbling of another round of cannon fire. "not enough weeks, I haven't properly rested, I-"

"If the child has decided to come out today, nothing you or anybody else could have done could have prevented it. Babies are stubborn, Mary." Catherine instructs sharply from her place at the foot of the bed, staring at the Scottish girls' modesty, wiping away the blood and water so she may see how far along the Queen is in her childbirth. "You must relax yourself, child. I know you are frightened, God knows, we all are-" she looks up as another rumble echoes through the small room. "but you have to remain strong. The quicker you birth this baby, the quicker we can all get to safety, to regroup."

"It hurts, it hurts too much." Mary weeps, before shrieking out as another wave goes through her. Francis bites his lip as he feels both his hand being crushed in hers, and the pain of watching a girl so beloved to him in so much pain, the uncertainty of her life as her childbirth echoes on and on and on. She weeps again, her body arching up without her say so, the pretty features of her porcelain face willowing into one of pure exhaustion and pain as it continues on and on and on.

"It's okay, we're here, Mary-" a voice says. Francis and his mother look over as the guardsmen part, and four little ladies scuttle in, their two guardsmen joining the blockade at the doorway. "we're here now."

"Did you get them?" the Queen of France asks, before taking the pales of water from the girls' hands -they appeared to be struggling, bless them-, and placing them on the floor.

"Yes, your Majesty-" Greer says. "as much hot water, and cold, as we could find. We managed to find some blankets and rags, also."

"Good, now, attend to your Queen."