Darkness and Light, chapter 4
Jun. 4th, 2016 02:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scripsiTitle: Darkness and Light
Fandom: Versailles
Rating: All ages
Genre: Drama
Word Count: 1485
Chapter: 4/5
Characters/pairing: Fabien Marchal/Claudine Masson, Monsieur Bontemps
Warnings: Mentions of blood.
Summary: Fabien Marchal kills for the King. Claudine Masson saves people’s life. They are very different, but both search for truth.
AN: I started to write this fic after watching episode 5 which made me think there was an interesting dynamic between Fabien and Claudine. Two very different persons but who both serve the King. I was very happy when the rest of the season provided a few more scenes between them.
This chapter takes place during the end of episode 10 and and beyond. It will all be proved wrong when season 2 finally arrive.
When Claudine finally was dismissed from Madame’s deathbed, she was exhausted. The past few days has passed with no real sleep and when she had remembered to eat, it had still only been a few hurried bites, only enough to stop her from passing out. As long as she fought for the Princess life she had not noticed the lack of rest and nourishment, but now it all caught up with her. As she slowly made her way through the back corridors of Versailles, her legs shook and black dots flickered before her eyes. But, she had not walked many steps before Monsieur Bontemps came hurrying after her.
“I understand you are very tired, but the King asks you to do another task before you leave.”
Claudine tried to blink away the black dots which quite obscured Bontemps face and tried to focus on what he said.
“Of course.”
“Monsieur Marchal has received a stab wound in his duties. He has been seen to, but the King want you to make sure he has got the proper care.”
The tiredness was suddenly gone. “I’ll go at once.”
A servant was dispatched to show Claudine to Marchal’s quarters, and she hurried after him, almost stumbling on his heels. She wondered how badly hurt Marchal was, and if he really had received the proper care. But when they reached Marshal's room the door was locked, and no one answered Claudine’s knock. Her guide left her to stare at the closed door, wondering what she would do now. For a moment she worried that he would lie alone and unable to answer her, but surely a wounded man would not lock himself inside. It was more likely he wasn’t there at all. She leaned back against the wall, her tiredness returning in full force. The corridor was unusually quiet, the passages in Versailles were usually bustling with people running to and fro. Perhaps it was Marchal's reputation which kept people away from this part of the palace, or he might have chosen this room because of the solitude. Regardless the reason she found the silence soothing. There wasn’t much she could do now than to go home and rest. Closing her eyes she let herself slide down to the floor instead. She was only going to sit here for a little while before she left.
But in the undisturbed silence she couldn’t help thinking of how she had failed everyone; the King, Monsieur, and most of all Madame herself. The King had expected her to save the Princess, but the poison had damaged too much. Claudine suspected it had been given to Henriette for a long period, gradually weakening her body until the last fatal dose had been administered. In her mind she could still hear Madame’s pitiful screams as the poison relentlessly destroyed her life. It had been a horrible death that no one, least of all the kind and beautiful Princess, should have to endure.
To ease her mind Claudine conjured up another memory, a memory she had returned to again and again the last days whenever she had felt a need to find strength and new energy. She saw Fabien’s face as she had removed the bandages, relieved to see his eyes were healing.
“What do you see”, she had asked, wondering if his sight had been damaged. And he had looked at her and told her he saw the truth. She smiled at the memory and relaxed a little. She had, at least once, saved someone from the terrifying death poison brought.
Claudine woke up when someone shook her shoulder and she found herself curled up on the cold stone floor. Disoriented she looked up and saw a blurred shape leaning down over her. She blinked, and the world came together in the shape of Fabien Marchal.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to see to your wound. But you weren’t here.”
Clumsily she stood up, she felt stiff and chilled. It was dark, so she must have slept there for hours, though she still felt exhausted. Stretching out a hand she touched his face which felt blazing hot under her touch.
“You are running a fever! You should be in bed.”
He caught her hand and rubbed if, “I do not have a fever, but you are cold as death. Come, you can’t stay here or it will be you who will need a doctor.”
He took her arm and led her into his room. Claudine couldn't make out much of it as it seemed to swirl around her and she would have fallen if Marchal hadn’t kept her upright. He led her to his bed and made her lay down on it.
“I can’t,” she mumbled, dim notions of propriety telling her she shouldn’t do this, but she was too tired to resist. The bed linen feel cold and she shivered and Marchal covered her with a blanket.
“Hush. You need to rest.”
Sleep beckoned, but she was still too cold to fully drift off. She could hear Marchal moving around the room, but then the light went out and she could feel how the bed dipped down as he lay down behind her. His arm encircled her and pulled her closer and finally warmth seeped into her body and she could sleep again.
When Claudine woke up it was morning, light trickling into the room from the closed shutters. Waking up was slow and reluctant, she felt warm and safe and most of all she wanted to go back to sleep again. But gradually she became aware of how stiff she felt and how her body demanded food and drink after its long neglect. And she was not in her own bed; what she could see of the room beyond the bed curtains was unfamiliar to her. Then she remembered she was in Marchal’s room and she realised he was sleeping against her back, his arm still flung over her waist. It ought to frighten her, but it made her feel protected instead, shielded against the world.
But she couldn’t stay here. She hadn’t fulfilled the King’s request and she needed to go home and change to clean clothes and to eat. Despite that she remained where she was, savouring the moment a little while longer. Marshal's breathing rhythm changed and she realised he must be awake, but she still didn’t move and he didn’t remove his arm either.
“What happened yesterday?”
“There was an attempt to abduct the Dauphine. We caught most of the attackers, but not yet the man who planned it.”
“But you know who?”
“I have my suspicions, but it will not be easy to prove. I did, however, found the woman who caused your father’s death.”
“And who poisoned you too.”
“Yes. She is dead now.”
“Did- did she suffer?”
“No, her death was quick and clean.” There was a pause. “Would you have wanted her to?”
“I’m glad she is dead, but I’m glad it was quick too.”
There was another, longer pause. Claudine thought about her father’s murderer and what she had meant for the man behind her.
“Did you love her?”
“Hmm.”
He rolled over on his back and removed his arm. Claudine slipped out of the bed and fumbled after her shoes, which she had no recollection of removing, but wasn't on her feet anymore. She bit her lips, furious at herself. It was a question she had no right to ask, and she wished she hadn’t as soon as it slipped out from her mouth. With her back to the bed she rummaged in her casket after fresh bandages before she turned back. Marchal was sitting at the edge of the bed, looking intently at her, but she avoided his gaze.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that.”
“No, you shouldn’t.” But even is his tone was curt, he didn’t sound angry.
“I will leave as soon as I have looked at your injury.”
“It’s a mere scratch, but very well, go ahead.”
Busying herself with the familiar tasks of her trade, Claudine's mortification receded somewhat. The wound was more than a scratch, but not much more. Knowing what horrific damage a stab wound could do, she guessed the knife must have hit a rib instead of piercing an internal organ.
“You have had an amazing luck.”
“I know. I don’t expect to die in my bed of old age, but I still would prefer it to happen later rather than sooner.”
Claudine packed away her things. “You won’t die from this unless it gets infected. Rest as much as can and try to not move so you open up the wound again. And I want you to come to me tomorrow so I can see how well it heals.”
With that she took her leave, grateful for not having to linger any longer, but still somewhat reluctant to go.
Fandom: Versailles
Rating: All ages
Genre: Drama
Word Count: 1485
Chapter: 4/5
Characters/pairing: Fabien Marchal/Claudine Masson, Monsieur Bontemps
Warnings: Mentions of blood.
Summary: Fabien Marchal kills for the King. Claudine Masson saves people’s life. They are very different, but both search for truth.
AN: I started to write this fic after watching episode 5 which made me think there was an interesting dynamic between Fabien and Claudine. Two very different persons but who both serve the King. I was very happy when the rest of the season provided a few more scenes between them.
This chapter takes place during the end of episode 10 and and beyond. It will all be proved wrong when season 2 finally arrive.
When Claudine finally was dismissed from Madame’s deathbed, she was exhausted. The past few days has passed with no real sleep and when she had remembered to eat, it had still only been a few hurried bites, only enough to stop her from passing out. As long as she fought for the Princess life she had not noticed the lack of rest and nourishment, but now it all caught up with her. As she slowly made her way through the back corridors of Versailles, her legs shook and black dots flickered before her eyes. But, she had not walked many steps before Monsieur Bontemps came hurrying after her.
“I understand you are very tired, but the King asks you to do another task before you leave.”
Claudine tried to blink away the black dots which quite obscured Bontemps face and tried to focus on what he said.
“Of course.”
“Monsieur Marchal has received a stab wound in his duties. He has been seen to, but the King want you to make sure he has got the proper care.”
The tiredness was suddenly gone. “I’ll go at once.”
A servant was dispatched to show Claudine to Marchal’s quarters, and she hurried after him, almost stumbling on his heels. She wondered how badly hurt Marchal was, and if he really had received the proper care. But when they reached Marshal's room the door was locked, and no one answered Claudine’s knock. Her guide left her to stare at the closed door, wondering what she would do now. For a moment she worried that he would lie alone and unable to answer her, but surely a wounded man would not lock himself inside. It was more likely he wasn’t there at all. She leaned back against the wall, her tiredness returning in full force. The corridor was unusually quiet, the passages in Versailles were usually bustling with people running to and fro. Perhaps it was Marchal's reputation which kept people away from this part of the palace, or he might have chosen this room because of the solitude. Regardless the reason she found the silence soothing. There wasn’t much she could do now than to go home and rest. Closing her eyes she let herself slide down to the floor instead. She was only going to sit here for a little while before she left.
But in the undisturbed silence she couldn’t help thinking of how she had failed everyone; the King, Monsieur, and most of all Madame herself. The King had expected her to save the Princess, but the poison had damaged too much. Claudine suspected it had been given to Henriette for a long period, gradually weakening her body until the last fatal dose had been administered. In her mind she could still hear Madame’s pitiful screams as the poison relentlessly destroyed her life. It had been a horrible death that no one, least of all the kind and beautiful Princess, should have to endure.
To ease her mind Claudine conjured up another memory, a memory she had returned to again and again the last days whenever she had felt a need to find strength and new energy. She saw Fabien’s face as she had removed the bandages, relieved to see his eyes were healing.
“What do you see”, she had asked, wondering if his sight had been damaged. And he had looked at her and told her he saw the truth. She smiled at the memory and relaxed a little. She had, at least once, saved someone from the terrifying death poison brought.
Claudine woke up when someone shook her shoulder and she found herself curled up on the cold stone floor. Disoriented she looked up and saw a blurred shape leaning down over her. She blinked, and the world came together in the shape of Fabien Marchal.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to see to your wound. But you weren’t here.”
Clumsily she stood up, she felt stiff and chilled. It was dark, so she must have slept there for hours, though she still felt exhausted. Stretching out a hand she touched his face which felt blazing hot under her touch.
“You are running a fever! You should be in bed.”
He caught her hand and rubbed if, “I do not have a fever, but you are cold as death. Come, you can’t stay here or it will be you who will need a doctor.”
He took her arm and led her into his room. Claudine couldn't make out much of it as it seemed to swirl around her and she would have fallen if Marchal hadn’t kept her upright. He led her to his bed and made her lay down on it.
“I can’t,” she mumbled, dim notions of propriety telling her she shouldn’t do this, but she was too tired to resist. The bed linen feel cold and she shivered and Marchal covered her with a blanket.
“Hush. You need to rest.”
Sleep beckoned, but she was still too cold to fully drift off. She could hear Marchal moving around the room, but then the light went out and she could feel how the bed dipped down as he lay down behind her. His arm encircled her and pulled her closer and finally warmth seeped into her body and she could sleep again.
When Claudine woke up it was morning, light trickling into the room from the closed shutters. Waking up was slow and reluctant, she felt warm and safe and most of all she wanted to go back to sleep again. But gradually she became aware of how stiff she felt and how her body demanded food and drink after its long neglect. And she was not in her own bed; what she could see of the room beyond the bed curtains was unfamiliar to her. Then she remembered she was in Marchal’s room and she realised he was sleeping against her back, his arm still flung over her waist. It ought to frighten her, but it made her feel protected instead, shielded against the world.
But she couldn’t stay here. She hadn’t fulfilled the King’s request and she needed to go home and change to clean clothes and to eat. Despite that she remained where she was, savouring the moment a little while longer. Marshal's breathing rhythm changed and she realised he must be awake, but she still didn’t move and he didn’t remove his arm either.
“What happened yesterday?”
“There was an attempt to abduct the Dauphine. We caught most of the attackers, but not yet the man who planned it.”
“But you know who?”
“I have my suspicions, but it will not be easy to prove. I did, however, found the woman who caused your father’s death.”
“And who poisoned you too.”
“Yes. She is dead now.”
“Did- did she suffer?”
“No, her death was quick and clean.” There was a pause. “Would you have wanted her to?”
“I’m glad she is dead, but I’m glad it was quick too.”
There was another, longer pause. Claudine thought about her father’s murderer and what she had meant for the man behind her.
“Did you love her?”
“Hmm.”
He rolled over on his back and removed his arm. Claudine slipped out of the bed and fumbled after her shoes, which she had no recollection of removing, but wasn't on her feet anymore. She bit her lips, furious at herself. It was a question she had no right to ask, and she wished she hadn’t as soon as it slipped out from her mouth. With her back to the bed she rummaged in her casket after fresh bandages before she turned back. Marchal was sitting at the edge of the bed, looking intently at her, but she avoided his gaze.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that.”
“No, you shouldn’t.” But even is his tone was curt, he didn’t sound angry.
“I will leave as soon as I have looked at your injury.”
“It’s a mere scratch, but very well, go ahead.”
Busying herself with the familiar tasks of her trade, Claudine's mortification receded somewhat. The wound was more than a scratch, but not much more. Knowing what horrific damage a stab wound could do, she guessed the knife must have hit a rib instead of piercing an internal organ.
“You have had an amazing luck.”
“I know. I don’t expect to die in my bed of old age, but I still would prefer it to happen later rather than sooner.”
Claudine packed away her things. “You won’t die from this unless it gets infected. Rest as much as can and try to not move so you open up the wound again. And I want you to come to me tomorrow so I can see how well it heals.”
With that she took her leave, grateful for not having to linger any longer, but still somewhat reluctant to go.
