Falling; chapter 1
May. 6th, 2017 12:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scripsiTitle: Falling
Fandom: Versailles
Rating: Teen
Genre: Drama
Word Count: 1996
Chapters: 1/2
Characters/pairing: Fabien Marchal/Sophie de Clermont.
Warnings: Pregnancy, if you feel that warrants a warning.
Summary: Sophie’s relation with Fabien has consequences. A sequel to A Bewildered Heart
AN: I wanted to say this fic is pure self-indulgence, but then isn’t that true about fanfic in general? Perhaps because this fic, as indeed all my Versailles-fic, are new territory for me- after more than a decade of fanfic writing I’ve never really written love stories before. And this story is a reaction to season 2. There are no spoilers here, indeed, this fic is firmly a canon-divergence story, but it’s still a reaction. I want Fabien and Sophie to be happy. They may still be in the show, of course, but I doubt they will be happy with each other. Luckily there is always fanfic. I never intended this to be a series, but that’s what it is. I’m still writing a piece of smut which will tie directly with A Bewildered Heart, and there will be another fic to round it all off, eventually.
Trip over love, you can get up. Fall in love and you fall forever. Anyone can catch your eye, but it takes someone special to catch your heart. Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs./William Shakespeare
Sophie de Clermont was scared. The fear had grown on her for days, every morning she had awoke in the hope she worried for nought, every night it had grown a bit more. She had tried to chase it away with hope and prayers, but now she knew she must accept what had happened. And it terrified her.
For the past few months, Sophie had been happy. The arrangement between her and Fabien had been as satisfying as she had dreamt of, even though there had been no spoken words of affection between them. That their relationship could have consequences was something she had always known, but had ignored. A foolish decision, perhaps, but it had somehow seemed so unlikely. Now Sophie had waited for weeks after the telltale sign of blood on her shift, but there had been nothing. There were other signs too, signs which she had seen before in other women; nausea and tiredness, and her breast feeling tender and fuller. She was going to have a child, and she had to tell Fabien. It was the thought of what he might do which terrified her as the old fear of being discarded reared its head. She would have to leave Versailles soon, before anyone else found out, and she could not return until after the child was born. It would mean many months when she would be useless to him while still needing his help, and Sophie did not feel certain he would be prepared to do that. Having a child while unmarried would shame her beyond redemption if it became known, but Fabien could deny any responsibility if he wanted to.
But when she told him, Fabien displayed no emotions at all. He merely nodded, making Sophie feel more defensive than afraid.
“It is yours,” she added, though he didn’t seem inclined to argue.
“I do not doubt that.”
“And you are not angry?”
“Anger seems a misplaced reaction here. It is not convenient, but these things happens.”
Sophie felt a sudden relief, for a moment she felt almost overwhelmed. Fabien frowned and made her sit down.
“What are we going to do now? I know I can’t stay.”
“You will need a safe place for you, and where the child can remain when you return here. Give me a few days for a suitable arrangement. You will need to come up with a reason for leaving Versailles.”
A week later, Sophie left Versailles in the early morning. Fabien had told her little of her destination, only saying it wasn’t far; she would arrive by the evening. Sophie felt small and scared alone in the carriage; not even Mariette was with her. All for the sake of secrecy, but Sophie thought it was lonesome to travel alone. She wished she had had the courage to ask Fabien to go with her. But he had already told her he would come to see her when she had settled down, and she didn’t want to hear him decline.
The journey was uneventful, and as Fabien had promised, it was not yet night when she arrived. Sophie stepped out of the carriage and looked around, feeling uncertain of what to do. She was standing on a cobbled yard in front of well-kept house. It was not large, but still looked prosperous. The door opened and a woman emerged. She was elderly, but spry and straight, dressed in a black gown, and with her grey hair was neatly tucked into a clean and starched linen cap. Her dark eyes studied Sophie in a way which felt oddly familiar.
“You must be Mademoiselle de Clermont. I am Madame Marchal.”
Sophie's surprise rendered her speechless for a moment, and she followed her hostess into the house in silence. This woman must be Fabien’s mother, and she felt he could have told her this simple fact, but perhaps he had thought she would have objected. And he would have been right, Sophie felt, but now she was here, and had nowhere else to go.
“You must be tired. I will show you your room, and perhaps you would prefer to eat there for tonight.”
Sophie nodded, and then found her voice. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”
“I didn’t have anything to say about it. This is my son’s house, and he is free to invite anyone he likes.” She crossed her arms in a gesture which eerily reminded Sophie of Fabien. “I don’t approve of your morals, young lady, but this is the last I will ever say about it. As long as you are here, I will look after you.”
She nodded curtly as if to give her words weight, and then led Sophie to her room. It was simple, but not poor. The furniture was well-made, and the bed was plump with mattresses and pillows filled plumed with eiderdown. She showed the coachman who had followed them with Sophie’s luggage, where to put it down, and then they both left Sophie alone.
There was a knock on the door and a girl of around fifteen entered with a tray filled with food and drink. She curtsied and smiled.
“I’m Jeanne. If you need anything, you only have to tell me.”
Sophie smiled back. “I would appreciate if you could help me change clothes.”
Jeanne obliged willingly, exclaiming over cut and quality of Sophie’s clothes, but Sophie’s intricate hairstyle made her pause.
“I can never do this for you tomorrow, Mademoiselle. I know nothing of how a great lady should look.”
Sophie couldn’t help laughing. “I am not a great lady, and I expect I will be happier with something simpler while I am here.”
The first few days passed quickly as Sophie got used to her new surroundings. There were few servants in the house, apart from Jeanne, there was only a cook. Madame Marchal was never idle, her days was filled with tasks and Sophie was left alone in the parlour room. Sometimes a neighbour turned up, with a pretext of some kind or the other, but all curious of Madame Marchal’s guest. Sophie was presented as a relative, a young widow, and no one seemed inclined to question the truth of it.
Sophie had never wondered about Fabien’s past, and the fact he had a family felt strange to her. Madame Marchal was not a gossip, but during the course of several days, Sophie learned Fabien had an older brother who was a book printer in Paris. Sophie was left with a distinct impression neither Madame Marchal nor Fabien got along with him and rarely saw him.
When Sophie settled down, she found she was bored. The days at court had been idle, but she had always had friends to talk with, and she had her assignments from Fabien to fulfill. Here no one demanded anything of her, and though she slept a good deal more than she usually did, there was still long hours to fill on her own. One day she ventured out into the kitchen, drawn by the sound of talking. Madame Marchal was discussing dinner with the cook, but both fell silent when Sophie entered.
“Can I help with something?” Sophie asked timidly.
“What can you do?” Madame Marchal asked, and Sophie blushed.
“I know nothing about cooking, But it felt a little lonely in the parlour, and perhaps if it wasn’t too difficult-”
Her voice trailed of. Madame Marchal didn’t want her in the house, and she was probably best pleased with Sophie out of the way. But instead of telling her to go and rest, Madame Marchal picked up a bowl of peas, and showed Sophie how to shell them.
“There is a bench you can sit on outside the kitchen door, nicely shaded. You look a little pale, the fresh air would do you good.”
Sophie’s finger were unused to the task, but it was not difficult, and it was restful to look out over the well-ordered kitchen garden. She could hear the women in the kitchen talking through the open door, and from time to time Jeanne rushed by, always with a friendly smile for Sophie.
In the following days, Sophie spent more time on the bench. Jeanne furnished it with a few cushions to make it more comfortable, and on Sophie’s insistence she was given a few more tasks to do. One day Madame Marchal came out and sat down beside her.
“Have you anything prepared for the child?”
Sophie who had nothing, shook her head. “I don’t know what I need.”
Madame Marchal raised an eyebrow, and Sophie tried to explain, feeling she sounded stupid.
“I have no sisters and brothers, and there are very few children at Versailles. I’m afraid I have never been around small children much.”
“Hmm. It seems a strange way of life.”
“Did you have many children, Madame?”
“Five. Only two who lived to grow up.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I was a long time ago. You can’t let t get to you, children die so easily.” She must have seen something is Sophie’s face, because after a pause she added. “You are young and seem healthy enough. So far everything is exactly as it should be for you, so try not to worry.”
Later in the afternoon she took Sophie to the parlour and showed her a chest where she kept linen fabric.
“I will show you how to cut out what you need. At first it will mostly be swaddling cloths and caps, but you need more than you think. Babies need more linens than any other age.”
“Thank you,” Sophie said, and her gratefulness was sincere.
While she watched Madame Marshal's aging hands smooth the fabric before cutting it, a memory rose in Sophie’s mind. She could see another pair of hands doing the same task, while Sophie stood beside and watched, but in her memory she was so short she must stand on a stool to see properly. And there was a voice, belonging to the hands, and Sophie knew it was her grandmother.
“Your stitches are getting very neat now, Sophie. I will let you hem this for a new cravat for you father. He will be very proud over you.”
That was all, a brief glimpse of her childhood she hadn’t known she remembered. Sophie blinked back tears, hoping Madame Marchal wouldn’t notice.
Gradually Sophie got used to the slower pace of life. She missed Versailles, and she missed her friends, but she found she didn’t feel homesick and bored anymore. It was a different life from court, and many of the things which were considered important there, were things the people around her now never concerned themselves with. As Madame Marchal had promised she didn’t dwell on Sophie’s obvious lack of chastity, and she was kind and caring if in a rather gruff way. As she never spoke of it, Sophie was unsure if Fabien’s mother knew it was her grandchild Sophie was carrying, and she didn’t dare to broach the subject herself.
There was still an odd ache inside her, a feeling Sophie failed to realise the source of for many weeks. Not until there was a note from Fabien which said he would come in a few days time. The joy she felt over a few words, forced her to admit she ached because she missed Fabien. Once his knowledge of her past had been a threat, but without her notice, it had turned into a comfort. Sophie spent every day in a pretense, never fully being able to stop guarding herself, and it was only with Fabien she could speak freely. And she missed his brief smile when he was pleased with her, and she missed his touch. It was an unwelcome understanding for Sophie, who knew this was something she could not tell him. Even so, she looked forward to see him again, impatiently waiting for the day of his arrival.
Fandom: Versailles
Rating: Teen
Genre: Drama
Word Count: 1996
Chapters: 1/2
Characters/pairing: Fabien Marchal/Sophie de Clermont.
Warnings: Pregnancy, if you feel that warrants a warning.
Summary: Sophie’s relation with Fabien has consequences. A sequel to A Bewildered Heart
AN: I wanted to say this fic is pure self-indulgence, but then isn’t that true about fanfic in general? Perhaps because this fic, as indeed all my Versailles-fic, are new territory for me- after more than a decade of fanfic writing I’ve never really written love stories before. And this story is a reaction to season 2. There are no spoilers here, indeed, this fic is firmly a canon-divergence story, but it’s still a reaction. I want Fabien and Sophie to be happy. They may still be in the show, of course, but I doubt they will be happy with each other. Luckily there is always fanfic. I never intended this to be a series, but that’s what it is. I’m still writing a piece of smut which will tie directly with A Bewildered Heart, and there will be another fic to round it all off, eventually.
Trip over love, you can get up. Fall in love and you fall forever. Anyone can catch your eye, but it takes someone special to catch your heart. Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs./William Shakespeare
Sophie de Clermont was scared. The fear had grown on her for days, every morning she had awoke in the hope she worried for nought, every night it had grown a bit more. She had tried to chase it away with hope and prayers, but now she knew she must accept what had happened. And it terrified her.
For the past few months, Sophie had been happy. The arrangement between her and Fabien had been as satisfying as she had dreamt of, even though there had been no spoken words of affection between them. That their relationship could have consequences was something she had always known, but had ignored. A foolish decision, perhaps, but it had somehow seemed so unlikely. Now Sophie had waited for weeks after the telltale sign of blood on her shift, but there had been nothing. There were other signs too, signs which she had seen before in other women; nausea and tiredness, and her breast feeling tender and fuller. She was going to have a child, and she had to tell Fabien. It was the thought of what he might do which terrified her as the old fear of being discarded reared its head. She would have to leave Versailles soon, before anyone else found out, and she could not return until after the child was born. It would mean many months when she would be useless to him while still needing his help, and Sophie did not feel certain he would be prepared to do that. Having a child while unmarried would shame her beyond redemption if it became known, but Fabien could deny any responsibility if he wanted to.
But when she told him, Fabien displayed no emotions at all. He merely nodded, making Sophie feel more defensive than afraid.
“It is yours,” she added, though he didn’t seem inclined to argue.
“I do not doubt that.”
“And you are not angry?”
“Anger seems a misplaced reaction here. It is not convenient, but these things happens.”
Sophie felt a sudden relief, for a moment she felt almost overwhelmed. Fabien frowned and made her sit down.
“What are we going to do now? I know I can’t stay.”
“You will need a safe place for you, and where the child can remain when you return here. Give me a few days for a suitable arrangement. You will need to come up with a reason for leaving Versailles.”
A week later, Sophie left Versailles in the early morning. Fabien had told her little of her destination, only saying it wasn’t far; she would arrive by the evening. Sophie felt small and scared alone in the carriage; not even Mariette was with her. All for the sake of secrecy, but Sophie thought it was lonesome to travel alone. She wished she had had the courage to ask Fabien to go with her. But he had already told her he would come to see her when she had settled down, and she didn’t want to hear him decline.
The journey was uneventful, and as Fabien had promised, it was not yet night when she arrived. Sophie stepped out of the carriage and looked around, feeling uncertain of what to do. She was standing on a cobbled yard in front of well-kept house. It was not large, but still looked prosperous. The door opened and a woman emerged. She was elderly, but spry and straight, dressed in a black gown, and with her grey hair was neatly tucked into a clean and starched linen cap. Her dark eyes studied Sophie in a way which felt oddly familiar.
“You must be Mademoiselle de Clermont. I am Madame Marchal.”
Sophie's surprise rendered her speechless for a moment, and she followed her hostess into the house in silence. This woman must be Fabien’s mother, and she felt he could have told her this simple fact, but perhaps he had thought she would have objected. And he would have been right, Sophie felt, but now she was here, and had nowhere else to go.
“You must be tired. I will show you your room, and perhaps you would prefer to eat there for tonight.”
Sophie nodded, and then found her voice. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”
“I didn’t have anything to say about it. This is my son’s house, and he is free to invite anyone he likes.” She crossed her arms in a gesture which eerily reminded Sophie of Fabien. “I don’t approve of your morals, young lady, but this is the last I will ever say about it. As long as you are here, I will look after you.”
She nodded curtly as if to give her words weight, and then led Sophie to her room. It was simple, but not poor. The furniture was well-made, and the bed was plump with mattresses and pillows filled plumed with eiderdown. She showed the coachman who had followed them with Sophie’s luggage, where to put it down, and then they both left Sophie alone.
There was a knock on the door and a girl of around fifteen entered with a tray filled with food and drink. She curtsied and smiled.
“I’m Jeanne. If you need anything, you only have to tell me.”
Sophie smiled back. “I would appreciate if you could help me change clothes.”
Jeanne obliged willingly, exclaiming over cut and quality of Sophie’s clothes, but Sophie’s intricate hairstyle made her pause.
“I can never do this for you tomorrow, Mademoiselle. I know nothing of how a great lady should look.”
Sophie couldn’t help laughing. “I am not a great lady, and I expect I will be happier with something simpler while I am here.”
The first few days passed quickly as Sophie got used to her new surroundings. There were few servants in the house, apart from Jeanne, there was only a cook. Madame Marchal was never idle, her days was filled with tasks and Sophie was left alone in the parlour room. Sometimes a neighbour turned up, with a pretext of some kind or the other, but all curious of Madame Marchal’s guest. Sophie was presented as a relative, a young widow, and no one seemed inclined to question the truth of it.
Sophie had never wondered about Fabien’s past, and the fact he had a family felt strange to her. Madame Marchal was not a gossip, but during the course of several days, Sophie learned Fabien had an older brother who was a book printer in Paris. Sophie was left with a distinct impression neither Madame Marchal nor Fabien got along with him and rarely saw him.
When Sophie settled down, she found she was bored. The days at court had been idle, but she had always had friends to talk with, and she had her assignments from Fabien to fulfill. Here no one demanded anything of her, and though she slept a good deal more than she usually did, there was still long hours to fill on her own. One day she ventured out into the kitchen, drawn by the sound of talking. Madame Marchal was discussing dinner with the cook, but both fell silent when Sophie entered.
“Can I help with something?” Sophie asked timidly.
“What can you do?” Madame Marchal asked, and Sophie blushed.
“I know nothing about cooking, But it felt a little lonely in the parlour, and perhaps if it wasn’t too difficult-”
Her voice trailed of. Madame Marchal didn’t want her in the house, and she was probably best pleased with Sophie out of the way. But instead of telling her to go and rest, Madame Marchal picked up a bowl of peas, and showed Sophie how to shell them.
“There is a bench you can sit on outside the kitchen door, nicely shaded. You look a little pale, the fresh air would do you good.”
Sophie’s finger were unused to the task, but it was not difficult, and it was restful to look out over the well-ordered kitchen garden. She could hear the women in the kitchen talking through the open door, and from time to time Jeanne rushed by, always with a friendly smile for Sophie.
In the following days, Sophie spent more time on the bench. Jeanne furnished it with a few cushions to make it more comfortable, and on Sophie’s insistence she was given a few more tasks to do. One day Madame Marchal came out and sat down beside her.
“Have you anything prepared for the child?”
Sophie who had nothing, shook her head. “I don’t know what I need.”
Madame Marchal raised an eyebrow, and Sophie tried to explain, feeling she sounded stupid.
“I have no sisters and brothers, and there are very few children at Versailles. I’m afraid I have never been around small children much.”
“Hmm. It seems a strange way of life.”
“Did you have many children, Madame?”
“Five. Only two who lived to grow up.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I was a long time ago. You can’t let t get to you, children die so easily.” She must have seen something is Sophie’s face, because after a pause she added. “You are young and seem healthy enough. So far everything is exactly as it should be for you, so try not to worry.”
Later in the afternoon she took Sophie to the parlour and showed her a chest where she kept linen fabric.
“I will show you how to cut out what you need. At first it will mostly be swaddling cloths and caps, but you need more than you think. Babies need more linens than any other age.”
“Thank you,” Sophie said, and her gratefulness was sincere.
While she watched Madame Marshal's aging hands smooth the fabric before cutting it, a memory rose in Sophie’s mind. She could see another pair of hands doing the same task, while Sophie stood beside and watched, but in her memory she was so short she must stand on a stool to see properly. And there was a voice, belonging to the hands, and Sophie knew it was her grandmother.
“Your stitches are getting very neat now, Sophie. I will let you hem this for a new cravat for you father. He will be very proud over you.”
That was all, a brief glimpse of her childhood she hadn’t known she remembered. Sophie blinked back tears, hoping Madame Marchal wouldn’t notice.
Gradually Sophie got used to the slower pace of life. She missed Versailles, and she missed her friends, but she found she didn’t feel homesick and bored anymore. It was a different life from court, and many of the things which were considered important there, were things the people around her now never concerned themselves with. As Madame Marchal had promised she didn’t dwell on Sophie’s obvious lack of chastity, and she was kind and caring if in a rather gruff way. As she never spoke of it, Sophie was unsure if Fabien’s mother knew it was her grandchild Sophie was carrying, and she didn’t dare to broach the subject herself.
There was still an odd ache inside her, a feeling Sophie failed to realise the source of for many weeks. Not until there was a note from Fabien which said he would come in a few days time. The joy she felt over a few words, forced her to admit she ached because she missed Fabien. Once his knowledge of her past had been a threat, but without her notice, it had turned into a comfort. Sophie spent every day in a pretense, never fully being able to stop guarding herself, and it was only with Fabien she could speak freely. And she missed his brief smile when he was pleased with her, and she missed his touch. It was an unwelcome understanding for Sophie, who knew this was something she could not tell him. Even so, she looked forward to see him again, impatiently waiting for the day of his arrival.
