My Life As The Dauphin (Remastered)

Quelle Était Ma Vie Avant

I DO NOT OWN REIGN. ALL RIGHTS BELONG TO THE CW. I HAVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS STORY A LOT AND I FEEL LIKE I DID A DISSERVICE TO ALL THE READERS WHO LOVED IT. I COMPROMISED MY VISION FOR THIS STORY SEVERAL TIMES BECAUSE OF A VOCAL READER WHO WANTED THINGS TO GO THEIR WAY. ALSO, I ENDED THE STORY SOONER THAN I INTENDED TO; JUST LIKE THE SHOW IRONICALLY. THIS STORY IS TO BE THE BASIS OF A CINEMATIC UNIVERSE AND IF I AM GOING TO SEE THAT UNIVERSE FLOW AND END NATURALLY, IT MUST HAVE A STRONG BEGINNING. THEREFORE, I HAVE DECIDED TO REWRITE MY LIFE AS THE DAUPHIN AND THIS TIME, IT WILL STICK TO MY ORIGINAL VISION; COME WHAT MAY.

American University of Paris. Paris, France. March 14, 2023.

My true name is Nolan Ayers and this is my story: The story of how I became the Francis Valois, Dauphin of France. I cannot write this story myself, for this sickness from which I suffer has crippled me. Therefore, I am dictating this story to a good friend of mine: Leith Bayard; who has offered to write down the words. I am writing this story, not for the public to read; as they would write my ass off as a madman, or a warlock, or a demon or something like that. No, I am writing this story for Mary Stuart, the Queen of Scotland and France; My queen, my wife, the first woman I ever loved; but not the last

This story is being written because Mary, my Mary, deserves the truth about her husband and king. She believes that I am Francis Valois, but I am not Francis; I never was and I never will be. I've always felt such guilt for having deceived Mary, even though I tried to be the best husband I could have been and have come to love her. But since I'm practically on Death's doorstep, I don't want to go to my grave having spent our entire marriage lying to her like a coward. Therefore, Mary will know the entire story of how I came to be Francis.

I was born and raised in a town called Kalispell, in the treasure state of Montana. I had a pretty shitty childhood, if I'm being completely honest. My mom first gave birth to my older sister, Crystal and then me. My old man was a raging alcoholic and a mean drunk to boot. If you did any thing that he didn't like, no matter how minor, he'd give you the belt. I don't know my parents got married, they never seemed to love each other. Crystal told me that if there was a time when they were in love, she wasn't around for it. About a year after I was born, Mom finally got fed up with his drinking and took off. I dont blame her for leaving, but I blame her for not taking us with. I learned from a young age that you can only really count on yourself in this world.

For years, Crystal and I only had each other, having been deprived of love and affection by our "parents", if they can honestly bear those titles. For those few years she was a good sister and we loved each other deeply. However, even that safe haven was to be taken away from me. I was 13 while she was 17 when one of her reprobate ex-boyfriends invited her to a party and she, like hundreds of thousands of other teenagers in Montana, tried meth for the first time.

Soon enough, all Crystal ever did was meth; She became unrecognizable; even to herself. Our dad didn't give a shit since he was too busy drinking and gambling on sports games. Crystal stole money, sold herself, robbed houses, and in doing these things, burned down any bridges that had ever been built. I eventually got sick of her shit and kicked her out after she refused to quit. That was the last time I ever saw my sister.

I was able to figure out pretty fucking quickly that there was just absolutely no future for me in Montana; like whatsoever. Luckily, I had options. At my high school, they offered French as a foreign language course. I decided to take French 4 years in a row and became fluent in the language. I decided that I wanted to get as far away from what remained of my fucked up family as I could and from what I can only describe as divine providence, I was granted a scholarship to the American University of Paris in France.

It turned out to be a Godsend for me. The city and the people were far more healthy for me than the messed up hometown that I came from. I made quite a few friends like Tommy Schulze (a great guy to have on your side), and I felt like I was able to put the horrors of my life in Montana behind me. What really gave me some solace was watching Reign.

I had discovered the show back when it was still on Netflix in 2020 and I found it to be quite entertaining indeed. To be fair, I knew next to nothing about Mary Queen of Scots when I started watching it, and I'm certain that they took liberties with the true story. However, I loved the show all the same. I was a huge shipper of Francis and Mary; or Frary as their fans affectionately branded them. But I could still see that their relationship wasn't perfect.

In season 1, their relationship had seemed so doomed, but so beautiful at the same time. However, season 2 showed Francis and Mary at their absolute worst. It honestly made me question why they even got together in the first place. Francis burnt the bridge by demanding she go back to Scotland while Mary burned the bridge again by sleeping with Louis Condé. When I finally got a chance to save Francis's relationship with Mary, it was a far more daunting task than I thought.

It all began one night in my dorm room. My roommate had gone over to his boyfriend's dorm to hook up and I was left on my own. I'd invited Tommy to come over and hang out, but his girlfriend was making him watch Bridgerton again. I liked the show well enough, but Tommy loathed it.

I decided to binge watch Reign for the 50th time as I got high on a new brand of marijuana that a friend had bought from a local campus dealer. It was a variant called Mexican Joker and the rumor was that it gave you a high like no other brand of pot could. As I lit up and shut up, I had gotten to the point where Mary was in her bathtub with the mythic bitch Catherine de Medici holding a blade to her throat. As the action played out on the screen, I began to fall into a weed induced haze. I had experienced such a feeling before, but this was a different sort altogether.

As I faded in and out of consciousness, it was as if the colors of the chamber and the characters within slowly faded out of the TV and their essence seemed to envelope me like a warm blanket that you knew you needed to remove at some point, but wanted to push off the point of removal as far as possible. I was unaware at that moment, but my life, as I knew it, had come to an end.

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