The End of the Story, chapter 2
Nov. 7th, 2018 05:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scripsiTitle: The End of the Story
Fandom: Versailles
Rating: Teens
Chapter: 2/?
Word Count: 1334
Characters Sophie de Clermont, Fabien Marchal
Pairings: Fabien Marchal/Sophie de Clermont
Warnings: None yet, will probably not change
Summary: Sophie de Clermont returns to Paris with a warning to Fabien Marchal, only to find she might be too late.
AN: This fic will spoil all three seasons of Versailles.
The whole fic on AO3
“You want what?” Sophie stared at incomprehension at Princess Eleanor. “You want to stay here?”
Their flight had ended a few months back in a convent where a cousin of the Princess was an abbess. It was safe, restful and- boring. Sophie felt she was slowly driven mad boredom, and now Eleanor had just declared she wanted to take the veil and stay for good.
“But”, Sophie protested. “You are young. You can’t mean this. You like pretty clothes! And dancing! And-”
Eleanor thrust out her chin in a mulish gesture which told Sophie better than words the Princess had decided. “That was before. I like it here. And I don’t want to be married off to someone I don’t know, or move to a country no one knows me. I will stay here. And I will write to my uncle about it too!”
She clutched Sophie’s arm imploringly. “Oh Sophie, can’t you do as I? It would mean so much to have you here.”
But Sophie only smiled and shook her head before she excused herself with improper haste. Her heart was beating very hard, and she desperately needed to be alone. The surprise over Eleanor’s decision had abated, and now Sophie felt it was not such a bad thing. It would finally lift the responsibility she felt over the Princess well-being, and if she thought she would be happy as a nun, then so be it. More alarming was the letter to the Emperor. If it came out Eleanor was still alive, then it would not be long before King Louis would now. And then he would know how Fabien Marchal had deceived him. It could not be. She must warn him, and a letter would not do. The risk of it being intercepted was too great; there was no other choice for Sophie to go herself. She had to, and the thought of seeing Fabien again made her feel happier than she had for a long time. Nevermind Fabien had promised to kill her if he ever saw her again, he must be told of the danger he was in.
Three days later Sophie was prepared to leave the convent. With little shame she extracted as much monetary help she could; after all Princess Eleanor wouldn’t be alive if Sophie had not helped her. She had also made Eleanor promise to not write any letters for at least a month. What little of clothes and jewelry Sophie had brought with her had been sold, apart from one gown. Somehow Sophie couldn’t resist bringing her most beautiful gown with her though she had no idea when she would ever need such sumptuous clothes again.
The journey to Paris was easy enough. Sophie dressed in the demure clothing of a servant girl, every luxuriant curl of black hair hidden under an unbecoming cap. She had lamented how the chores she had been assigned at the convent had rendered her hands less fine and white, but now it served her well. She used a little white paint to make her rosy cheeks pale, and a little soot smudged under her eyes removed some of their brilliance. And in case any man who she shared the traveling couch with would still try to talk with her, Sophie’s body racked with a persistent cough, prone to attack her when someone tried to involve her in conversation.
Though feeling impatient to reach her destination, Sophie felt no real hurry until news reached her, two days travel from Paris, which changed it all. She had searched out news at every stop, and in a small town, a coachman told the story of an attack to the King; an attack which had ended in a bloodbath, and the imprisonment of King’s head of security.
Sophie went cold. “Imprisoned? Fabien Marchal?”
“None other,” the coachman said with glee. “And not for long, I’m sure. That one couldn’t be hanged soon enough if you ask me.”
But Sophie didn’t ask. She returned to the inn she was staying at, feeling ill with worry. The rest of the journey Sophie silently willed the horses to run faster, cursing every delay, however minor, all the while questions without answers rushed through her mind. What, exactly, had Fabien done? Was it because of her words to him, the last time she saw him. What had she done? What would she do if she came too late? What could she do even if she didn’t?
Only now did Sophie realised how much she had expected them to meet again, regardless of the consequences. Fabien couldn’t die, not now. They had only had a few hours; was that all it would ever be? It wasn’t fair, their relationship had always been volatile; moving closer only to be parted. When they had finally kissed it had felt like she had waited all her life for it to happen, and now she might never even see him again.
It was easy to find out where Fabien was imprisoned; the difficulties came when Sophie approached the guards with a woeful tale of being Fabien’s sister, wishing to convey the last farewell from an ailing father. It was a bold lie, but she didn‘t think anyone would recognise her. And she knew how secretive Fabien was about his past, so she doubted anyone would know if it was a lie, or not. She had been prepared to bribe the guards to be allowed to see Fabien, but they were not interested.
“No one is to see him.”
“But if he is to die? Surely you must allow him to see his sister one last time?”
The head guard looked at her, not without sympathy. “Death would be better for him, I’m sure. But the King has sentenced him to prison for life instead. And to never speak to another living being as long as it last. You better remember him as he was.”
“I will return tomorrow and ask again. I come every day until you let me in. Please!”
“You can do that, but it won’t change anything. And he’ll be gone soon; he’ll be moved from Paris any day now.”
Daunted Sophie had to retreat and go through her options. She had very few, but what she had might be enough. For many years Fabien’s Head Musketeer had been a man called Michel. Sophie had never had much to do with him, but he was one of the few who knew about her relation to Fabien. He was a hard-working and loyal man, and Fabien trusted him as much as it was possible for him to trust anyone. There was a danger Michel would arrest her if she approached him, but she could not think of anyone else who might be willing to help her.
It was more difficult to find a way to speak to Michel, and Sophie fretted but the next evening she found an opportunity to sidle up to him on a little-frequented street.
He gave her a dismissive glance. “Go away, woman. I’m not interested.”
Sophie stepped closer. “But I think you may be.”
He came to an abrupt halt. “Duchess!”
But then he quickly grabbed her and pulled Sophie into a narrow alleyway.
“Fabien told me you were dead. Why are you here? Wouldn’t it be better for you to stay dead.”
“I‘m here for Fabien.”
“He’s in jail.”
“I know. I want to do something about it, and I need your help.”
Michel looked away. “I should take you into custody, that’s what I ought to do. And it would be impossible to get inside that prison.”
“But if I tell you he will be moved soon?”
He sighed. “Fabien went against the King.”
“Do you really feel pleased he will rot in jail for the rest of his life? You worked with him for so long, you know what kind of man he is.”
“I know. And he has saved my life, more than once.”
Michel fell silent, and even if Sophie wanted to scream at him to decide, she understood it was not easy for him. Eventually, he spoke again.
“Even if I could help you, what good would it do? If Fabien flees, the King will not rest until he is captured again.”
Sophie smiled. “But we are not coming to the rescue; we are going to kill him.”
Fandom: Versailles
Rating: Teens
Chapter: 2/?
Word Count: 1334
Characters Sophie de Clermont, Fabien Marchal
Pairings: Fabien Marchal/Sophie de Clermont
Warnings: None yet, will probably not change
Summary: Sophie de Clermont returns to Paris with a warning to Fabien Marchal, only to find she might be too late.
AN: This fic will spoil all three seasons of Versailles.
The whole fic on AO3
“You want what?” Sophie stared at incomprehension at Princess Eleanor. “You want to stay here?”
Their flight had ended a few months back in a convent where a cousin of the Princess was an abbess. It was safe, restful and- boring. Sophie felt she was slowly driven mad boredom, and now Eleanor had just declared she wanted to take the veil and stay for good.
“But”, Sophie protested. “You are young. You can’t mean this. You like pretty clothes! And dancing! And-”
Eleanor thrust out her chin in a mulish gesture which told Sophie better than words the Princess had decided. “That was before. I like it here. And I don’t want to be married off to someone I don’t know, or move to a country no one knows me. I will stay here. And I will write to my uncle about it too!”
She clutched Sophie’s arm imploringly. “Oh Sophie, can’t you do as I? It would mean so much to have you here.”
But Sophie only smiled and shook her head before she excused herself with improper haste. Her heart was beating very hard, and she desperately needed to be alone. The surprise over Eleanor’s decision had abated, and now Sophie felt it was not such a bad thing. It would finally lift the responsibility she felt over the Princess well-being, and if she thought she would be happy as a nun, then so be it. More alarming was the letter to the Emperor. If it came out Eleanor was still alive, then it would not be long before King Louis would now. And then he would know how Fabien Marchal had deceived him. It could not be. She must warn him, and a letter would not do. The risk of it being intercepted was too great; there was no other choice for Sophie to go herself. She had to, and the thought of seeing Fabien again made her feel happier than she had for a long time. Nevermind Fabien had promised to kill her if he ever saw her again, he must be told of the danger he was in.
Three days later Sophie was prepared to leave the convent. With little shame she extracted as much monetary help she could; after all Princess Eleanor wouldn’t be alive if Sophie had not helped her. She had also made Eleanor promise to not write any letters for at least a month. What little of clothes and jewelry Sophie had brought with her had been sold, apart from one gown. Somehow Sophie couldn’t resist bringing her most beautiful gown with her though she had no idea when she would ever need such sumptuous clothes again.
The journey to Paris was easy enough. Sophie dressed in the demure clothing of a servant girl, every luxuriant curl of black hair hidden under an unbecoming cap. She had lamented how the chores she had been assigned at the convent had rendered her hands less fine and white, but now it served her well. She used a little white paint to make her rosy cheeks pale, and a little soot smudged under her eyes removed some of their brilliance. And in case any man who she shared the traveling couch with would still try to talk with her, Sophie’s body racked with a persistent cough, prone to attack her when someone tried to involve her in conversation.
Though feeling impatient to reach her destination, Sophie felt no real hurry until news reached her, two days travel from Paris, which changed it all. She had searched out news at every stop, and in a small town, a coachman told the story of an attack to the King; an attack which had ended in a bloodbath, and the imprisonment of King’s head of security.
Sophie went cold. “Imprisoned? Fabien Marchal?”
“None other,” the coachman said with glee. “And not for long, I’m sure. That one couldn’t be hanged soon enough if you ask me.”
But Sophie didn’t ask. She returned to the inn she was staying at, feeling ill with worry. The rest of the journey Sophie silently willed the horses to run faster, cursing every delay, however minor, all the while questions without answers rushed through her mind. What, exactly, had Fabien done? Was it because of her words to him, the last time she saw him. What had she done? What would she do if she came too late? What could she do even if she didn’t?
Only now did Sophie realised how much she had expected them to meet again, regardless of the consequences. Fabien couldn’t die, not now. They had only had a few hours; was that all it would ever be? It wasn’t fair, their relationship had always been volatile; moving closer only to be parted. When they had finally kissed it had felt like she had waited all her life for it to happen, and now she might never even see him again.
It was easy to find out where Fabien was imprisoned; the difficulties came when Sophie approached the guards with a woeful tale of being Fabien’s sister, wishing to convey the last farewell from an ailing father. It was a bold lie, but she didn‘t think anyone would recognise her. And she knew how secretive Fabien was about his past, so she doubted anyone would know if it was a lie, or not. She had been prepared to bribe the guards to be allowed to see Fabien, but they were not interested.
“No one is to see him.”
“But if he is to die? Surely you must allow him to see his sister one last time?”
The head guard looked at her, not without sympathy. “Death would be better for him, I’m sure. But the King has sentenced him to prison for life instead. And to never speak to another living being as long as it last. You better remember him as he was.”
“I will return tomorrow and ask again. I come every day until you let me in. Please!”
“You can do that, but it won’t change anything. And he’ll be gone soon; he’ll be moved from Paris any day now.”
Daunted Sophie had to retreat and go through her options. She had very few, but what she had might be enough. For many years Fabien’s Head Musketeer had been a man called Michel. Sophie had never had much to do with him, but he was one of the few who knew about her relation to Fabien. He was a hard-working and loyal man, and Fabien trusted him as much as it was possible for him to trust anyone. There was a danger Michel would arrest her if she approached him, but she could not think of anyone else who might be willing to help her.
It was more difficult to find a way to speak to Michel, and Sophie fretted but the next evening she found an opportunity to sidle up to him on a little-frequented street.
He gave her a dismissive glance. “Go away, woman. I’m not interested.”
Sophie stepped closer. “But I think you may be.”
He came to an abrupt halt. “Duchess!”
But then he quickly grabbed her and pulled Sophie into a narrow alleyway.
“Fabien told me you were dead. Why are you here? Wouldn’t it be better for you to stay dead.”
“I‘m here for Fabien.”
“He’s in jail.”
“I know. I want to do something about it, and I need your help.”
Michel looked away. “I should take you into custody, that’s what I ought to do. And it would be impossible to get inside that prison.”
“But if I tell you he will be moved soon?”
He sighed. “Fabien went against the King.”
“Do you really feel pleased he will rot in jail for the rest of his life? You worked with him for so long, you know what kind of man he is.”
“I know. And he has saved my life, more than once.”
Michel fell silent, and even if Sophie wanted to scream at him to decide, she understood it was not easy for him. Eventually, he spoke again.
“Even if I could help you, what good would it do? If Fabien flees, the King will not rest until he is captured again.”
Sophie smiled. “But we are not coming to the rescue; we are going to kill him.”
