Rebirth

Chapter 30

"It's time, it's happening," Mary whispered, looking over at her eldest natural child, who had been by her side for days. The ailing queen had finally reached the end of her long road, safe and warm in her bed, her children surrounding her. She'd been slowly deteriorating with her health over the past six months, breathing getting harder and harder, slowing and gently bringing her to the grave. She wasn't in any pain, the physicians had ensured this, so all that was left was for her to say her goodbyes to those she adored.

"Mother," the twenty seven year old King of France whispered, kneeling by his ailing mothers' bedside, taking her hand. Mary looked at her heir, such love in her half lidded eyes.

"You look just like your father," she whispered with a smile, seeing beloved but long dead Francis in every inch of their only living son's face. Although his hair had slowly darkened over his tenure as the King of France, the long and unruly dirty blonde curls settling at the back, his eyes settling for a dark, sparkling sapphire, he looked every inch of the late King of France, the man he had never met, yet knew so much about, from those beloved stories his mother used to tell him every night, and those grand paintings that hung in his chateaux.

"I'll miss you so much, mother. I don't know if I can do this without you," he said quietly, hearing his many half siblings come into the room. James had been there for hours upon hours, never once leaving his mothers' side, a woman in which he had admired and adored for the entirety of his life.

"I'll be with you, always," she whispered, bringing their conjoined hands to his heart. James leaned down and kissed his mothers' pale fingers. "right here. Right where your father was, always with me."

"I love you, mama." James quietly said, brushing her dark hair from her forehead. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Mary closed her eyes, feeling her child's tears and her own.

"Mother!" they heard. James looked up from his mothers' deathbed, seeing his elder half brother and deputy running over to them from the doorway of the large chambers. His young half brother, Edward, looking every inch his mothers' image, lead their half sisters slowly, the young princes rushing towards them.

"Mother, please. No," John said, taking his mother's other side and holding her hand, kissing the cold fingers rapidly, just like she had done when her only beloved faced his own death, all those years ago.

"Shh," she whispered, head lolling to the side, looking at her godson who was her eldest in every respect. "It's okay, my love. It's alright. You'll be okay,"

"Mother, please. No. I've already lost them, I can't loose you, too." John said, the most sensitive of her children considered her his mother, no longer giving Lola that honour. It had started when John had reached his second year with his godmother, when Mary was 'mama' and Lola was 'maman', but just after Francis had reached his own stage of calling Mary by 'mama', Mary had became 'mama', 'maman' and 'mother'. Although he couldn't remember Lola and constantly had stories told of his biological mother and knew that he wasn't Mary's biological child, he had explained to her that genetics didn't matter. Mary had raised him along with his half brother and his siblings. Although he only a Baron, the Princes and Princesses of the United Kingdom were his brothers and sisters and the Empress his mother. He didn't think any differently, and neither did she. Mary had been mother and father for all of the children, they had known nobody else. No other constant.

"It's okay, my love. You will survive this, you're strong. Just like your parents." she said, brushing her hand through the straight dark locks. He shook his head.

"You're my parents, mother! Nobody else. Not any dead French King, nor foolish Scottish noblewoman, you! I don't even remember them! You raised me, gave me a family. You're my mother! Please, you can't leave me!" John pleaded. Mary's eyes struggled to stay open and she breathed a soft coo in his general direction, trying to soothe him. "Mama," his voice broke. Suddenly, he was that scared little boy who had known no constant, getting off that boat from France to be with his only sibling and godmother, who had stuck to her word and raised him as if he were her own. Which, he was.