Confessions

Summary: It is not his secret to tell. But the one whose right it was is dead. Drabble- Von Fersen, Antoinette. Before the end.

Warning: -

Set: One year after the Storm on the Bastille.

Disclaimer: Standards apply.

Marie Antoinette was a beautiful woman.

Yet Hans Axel von Fersen was not prepared to see her like this. Somehow he had expected – knowing, full well, that she was the queen and not likely to bend – her to look worn and lost. She looked brilliant instead, a tall figure, slender and majestic. The Queen of France from head to toe, now more than ever.

Von Fersen watched her confer with her last few loyal servants. The Tuileriens were cold and dusty, the shadows omnipresent. Only when she had been left and sat, alone, in the lonely chair in front of the fire, he approached her. Now she looked tired – and still, her grace had not deserted her. Countenance, here, where he did not expect it because any other woman might have lost her will to live, being put into her position, long ago. Only two women he knew who were able to withstand the pressure, two women he knew who would always be the only women, besides his sisters, he let into his heart. In different ways, true. And yet they would always shine there brightly.

"Monsieur Von Fersen," the Queen addressed him and he kneeled. "My Lady Queen."

Marie Antoinette took her time to continue.

"The Bastille fell, one year ago."

He knew, of course he did. The news had been all over France, had reached Sweden a few days later. Perhaps they should have seen it coming but then, what did actually mark the end of an era? In the end, the people had stormed a prison, a few dozen cannons were their reward and the tangible proof of their strength. The queen knew he knew – it was not the remainder of the rebels' victory but the message hidden underneath her words that made him feel cold and dead. Today the people had celebrated, thousands of them, the Champs de Mars had been full. The year had been better than the previous one, crops had been better, specifically. Sixty thousand national guards from all over France had pledged their loyalty to the nation, the law and the king. Von Fersen had no illusions about reality. The king had been the last thing to concern these people.

"Did not one see reason?"

"No, My Lady." Von Fersen did not look up. "The people do not love the royal family anymore."

A bitter expression crossed her face. "I've given them my life and my happiness. I've bowed before them. But I will never accept them. Louis XVI. is the rightful ruler of France, and I his queen."

"Mylady, do not speak like that."

"Why should I not? I do not fear them."

"You should." Von Fersen balled his fists. "You should be aware of the might of the people. Oscar always was."

"She is dead. What good did it bring her?" Silence, long and heavy. When Von Fersen looked up there were tears in her eyes, but she did not cry. "Von Fersen," the queen asked, her voice tear-laced. "She was my friend, the only one I knew I could trust. Whatever mistakes I made, whatever wrong decision I was about to make – she was not afraid to state her mind. Lady Oscar always was there to advise me and give me hope. What shall I do now, when all hope is lost and she is dead, too?"

He wanted to tell her that he still was there, that hope was not lost as long as she breathed. But he knew it was no solace. And while the three of them had been born the same year, fated to meet, it had been Oscar who had accompanied the princess who later was to become queen, it had been Oscar who had watched her grow, had helped her, listened to her and steered her back gently whenever she had strayed from her path. He, Von Fersen, had stepped into their lives when Marie Antoinette had been nothing but a very young queen. But already then most of what she was she had been due to Oscar's assistance.

Who are you? State your name, title and your intentions, Sir.

There were no words that could take away even the tiniest part of her grief.

"Why, Oscar, why?" The queen stood, moved to the windows. Outside, the gardens of the Tuilerien were dim and cold, soldiers marching up and down. It was no comparison to the gardens of Versailles whose splendor he would carry in his heart forever. And here, now – the queen, the fire light on her hair, the shadows in her face as she stared into the distance blindly, her hands holding on to the moldy silken curtains far too tight. "You should never have joined the French Guard, why did you not stay and serve me at Versailles? What was it you longed for? I would have made you General, whatever you wanted! Why did you have to leave me? What did I do wrong?"

The sorrow of the ones left behind, inconsolable. It cut even through his sadness, through his personal grief for Oscar. It hurt in the depths of his heart, in the place he had sealed off and hoped forgotten forever.

"It is not your fault, your majesty," he said and bowed his head. "If anyone was at fault, it was me."

"Von Fersen, I beg you. Are we not friends? I consider you one."

"We are, My Lady," he answered, his voice hoarse. She turned to him, her face now tear-streaked.

"Then do not lie to me. It was my fault Oscar left. You cannot console me by trying to shift the blame to yourself."

"It is no lie, My Lady," he heard himself say. It was not his secret to tell and yet he had the feeling Oscar would not mind anymore. "I was the reason Lady Oscar left your service and entered the French Guard."

Marie Antoinette took two steps away from the window, facing him fully, her expression now the one of the queen.

"Explain yourself."

"She could not stand to be in the same place as I was, I fear." It felt like eating glass. "She… She entertained feelings for me, your majesty."

Marie Antoinette was silent.

"She never told me," she said, finally. Her voice was no more than a whisper. "All those years – she never said anything. I did not notice anything. I remember you always were close…"

She was my best friend.

Von Fersen swallowed. The memories were clear as crystal and sharp as broken glass: Oscar and Andre, fencing in the gardens of Maison De Jarjayes, Oscar, telling him something, her blue eyes vivid in her pale face. Oscar, commander of the Royal Guard, in her red and golden splendor, again, Oscar, her hair in disarray, racing him on her white horse, her face flushed from the wind and the sunshine. Oscar, the only time he had seen her in a dress, and the way her hand had felt delicate and small in his. The way she had trembled in his arms. Oscar's shoulders, shaking, and her terrified face as she called for Andre, again and again. Oscar, alive, what would he have given to see her like that one last time. Instead she had died, surrounded by enemies and fights. He just hoped Andre had been by her side.

"Yes," he simply answered. In the queen's eyes he could see she remembered, too. Marie Antoinette walked back to her chair, sank down heavily and covered her eyes with her hands.

"Oh Oscar," she whispered. "What will I do without your protection?"

"My Lady," Von Fersen said. "I am still here, My Queen. That is – if you want me, of course." Because he was at fault that Oscar was dead. The guilt weighted him down so hard he felt like he could never walk straight again.

"Oh, Von Fersen," the queen said and looked at him. Her eyes still were full of tears but she smiled. How strong she was, he marveled. A woman, unrivaled in strength and beauty. Only one woman alive had been her equal and Oscar was dead.

"I will not drag you down with me," Marie Antoinette said. "Oscar would not have wanted it."

"You are wrong, My Lady," Von Fersen disagreed softly. "She wanted me to stay by your side no matter what. She loved you more than anything."

"And she loved you."

He did not correct her.

"Oh Oscar." A sigh. "But you would never have told me. I am so sorry I did not notice anything."

"What would you have done, My Lady."

"Yes." Her glance went out of the windows, again. "What could I have done? I am the Queen, but I do not command hearts." Not even my own. A song, as old as time itself. It was easy to swear loyalty to one of two women he loved when one of them was not among them anymore. He tried to console himself by remembering he was doing what Oscar would have wanted him to do. He had wished her happiness, again and again. He had returned to the queen and had found his own happiness. It was not the fire of love and devotion he often had imagined as a young man. But steady loyalty and calm love had formed his days, had given him a place to calm his heart and soften his longing. He was happy, somehow, he really was. He desperately hoped Oscar had found some kind of contentment for herself, too.

"Perhaps, My Lady, she did not die alone and unhappy."

Oscar, Oscar.

"I hope so," the queen answered. Her eyes closed and she folded her hands. To Von Fersen, it seemed she was praying. "Is it not strange?"

"What is strange, My Lady?"

"People. How can it be that a life can be so important to us but in the long run, it does not make a difference whether a person was alive or not?"

"People matter," he disagreed. "You will be remembered for a long time."

"Yes, as the Queen who was despised by her people," Marie Antoinette answered bitterly. "The Queen who was rejected in the end."

"Self-pity does not suit you, your majesty."

"That's what Oscar always said." She smiled, a brittle, small smile. "No, Von Fersen. All of this could have happened without us and it would have had entirely the same outcome. What are we else than puppets in the play of destiny?"

He wanted to disagree, to argue that he was not a puppet but there on his own volition. But that was not what the queen was referring to. He could see her point clearly, even if he did not like what it meant. Oscar had made a difference, to those who had known her. Still, the Revolution would have taken place – with or without her. The only thing that counted, he guessed, were the people you met, and the memories you left behind. He told her that.

"Von Fersen, I admire your faith," Marie-Antoinette said and smiled softly. "Perhaps, one day, you will teach me to believe like you do. No, better. Teach me believe like Oscar did, for she was the person with the strongest faith I ever knew."

He left her in her chair at the poor fire, a proud person among the ruins of what had once been her kingdom.

Oscar.

It felt like a valediction, her name alone.