Tu Es Ma Lumière

2 - Comfort

"What is the matter with you?" the little Dauphin of France asked, his voice exasperated and uncomfortable, as he always had been in the presence of the little Queen of Scotland's tears. He was uncomfortable and at a loss for what to say to stop his fiance's tears.

The little Queen of Scotland started to cry even harder when she heard the slightly harsh tone in her fiance's voice. This sent the young Prince into even more of a panic, for her tears had came out of nowhere.

"I don't know." Mary lied, hissing the words underneath the thick veil of tears. She wiped at her cheeks in the most unladylike of fashion, but she didn't care. Seven tear old, crying Queen's couldn't possibly act like grown ups, could they?

Little Francis frowned, cocking his head to one side. The little blonde curls he held fell to that same side, and if she wasn't in a fit of tears, it probably would have brought a small smile to the small Queen's face, yet as she was in a fit of hysteria, the smile stayed down.

"Are you sad because we got the letter from your maman, saying she couldn't come for the Yuletide festival, like she promised on your birthday?" he questioned. That had been disappointing, but Marie de Guise, the Queen Mother, Dowager and Regent of Scotland had always been a cold woman, never showing her daughter who should have been a son any amount of affection. It didn't really bother Mary, so she shook her head.

The little Dauphin's golden eyebrows furrowed, trying to think of a solution to the young Queen's tears. His head brought no adequate answers, so he chose to wait out the tears for an adequate explanation.

He wasn't sure where this behaviour was coming from. It was true, Mary had been a little bit clingy since her seventh birthday a few weeks previous, he had simply imagined it to be because his father seemed keen to separate herself from her Scottish ladies and place her with him and his two sisters, and the disappointment of the lack of her own mother and the coldness of his own. And the little Prince was tired of his shadow being cast over his fiance, so he barred her from spectating his fencing lesson. And then, the Queen of Scots had promptly burst into tears, and had been crying for several minutes.

The waterworks finally stopped some minutes later. Francis looked her deep in the eye, his cerulean orbs demanding an answer, but not just that. The truth.

Seemingly embarrassed, Mary sniffled and looked down at her shoes, as if the deep purple silk of her skirt and the black lace embellishments held all the answers in the frightening world they lived inside. But Francis' poke at her shoulder made her look at him.

"Why are you sad?" he asked.

Mary shrugged.

"You know why, tell me."

"I don't want to me alone." she mumbled. "Your father forbids my ladies to come close, your mother hates me, my mother hates me. You're the only person I have. And I don't want to turn around and for you to be gone forever." she mumbled, looking down, flushed from tears and embarrassment. 

Francis half smiled at her, stepping forward and taking her hand, speaking to her "I'm here." and it seemed like an answer.