Work Header

Through the Light

Work Text:


After Marie-Anne is let out of the cell, he simply sits there and stares at the ceiling. How did this happen… how did all of this happen. How did he get here? He paces around the cell, tries to understand how he went from just wanting to do good to here. What insanity led him on this path? What is wrong with him? He knows they will come to get him soon, and cannot find it in himself to regret it. At least then it will be over. He will no longer be able to hurt anyone else, no-one will have to go through what she went through, at least not at his hands.

When they come for him, he is silent. He walks the steps to the guillotine with his head raised high, ready to face his fate. The guard next to him has the strangest smile on his face, like he knows some kind of secret no-one else is privy to. Maxime tries to ignore him, and simply keep his eyes staring straight ahead, fighting the urge to look around for Marie-Anne in the crowd. They have him lie down, and he remembers all of the people he sent up to this terrible contraption, remembers their faces one by one. How could he ever have thought this was the right path…

He closes his eyes, not wanting to see the blade, when he feels a jolt and feels himself fall. He opens his eyes and everything around him is dark. As he reaches out, he realises that he is in some sort of box. Above him, he hears the blade unlatch and swish down, thudding down into the wood. It doesn’t touch him. He tries to push at the walls of his small prison, to no avail… there is nothing he can do but wait. Wait while he feels his box being moved, hears the muffled sound of people talking, and a slightly insane laugh he is almost certain he has heard before.

He isn’t sure how much time has passed, but at some point the box is opened, and light floods in. It takes him a moment to adjust, but when he does he sees the guard with the strange smile from before, the one (he now recalls) was also there for Marie-Antoinette’s execution. The man grins, bows, and helps him out of the crate. Before he can think to ask a question, something thuds against him. As arms enclose him and hold him tight he recognises her cloak, her scent, her lovely hair. A shuddering breath escapes him as he gently and carefully wraps his arms around her and rests his head on hers. Questions can wait. Right now all he wants to do is hold her…