Tu Es Ma Lumière

68 - Sleep

The carriage rolls slowly over the thick layer of snow. The horses crunched through the icy particles of white coldness, grunting loudly. Movement of leather and chains echoed through the otherwise silent forest, the wheels occasionally catching on a boulder of ice or rock every few moments. The hush and wheeze of men's breath as they rode on horseback, defending the carriage provided a small counter beat to the horrid gales of winds blowing from every direction, the royal procession being a sort of epicentre to the snowstorm. Snow and wind pelted against the carriage of King Henry II of France, forcing it rock and wave in a way that had nothing to do with the four occupants of the carriage.

The current and future King and Queen of France sat inside the carriage, an uneasy silence echoing through the carriage, apart from the loud wooshs of air that blew the lace curtains forwards and backwards in quick succession. The King had a tight grip upon the carriage, glaring at the snowstorm from the fine curtains. His Queen, however, held a deadly glare at her husband, King and master. She had a hand upon her small bump of pregnancy, the other keeping her steady, pressed against the damp wall of the carriage. Her eyes were -if possible- colder than the ice and snow that pelted against them. The King paid her no mind, choosing to stare out of the windows as she continued to invision his own demise because of his inistance to ride back to court that night, instead of waiting til morning where the snow may have ceased.

The future King and Queen of France -and current Queen of Scotland- had very different views to the snowstorm, from the current King and Queen and to each other. The young Dauphin shivered violently in the cold, looking almost like he was having a small seizure, his small body moved in such quick speeds. It brought his mother's worried gaze over towards him, but she said nothing. His lovely young companion noticed how tight her hand was balled into a fist as she looked from her eldest to her husband. The Dauphin's cheeks and nose were a deep scarlet from the cold temperatures they had been subjected to for the last few hours, making the journey from one palace -where they had celebrated the Queen of Scotland's anniversary of her birth- to the main palace of French Court. He was tucked under thick blankets, his pretty eyes closed. Blonde curls leaned against the wall of the carriage as he found a light slumber.

Following the Queen of France's frantic instructions, the Queen of Scotland was leaned against her pretty Dauphin. Body heat, Catherine had stated, fearing her boy be sickened by a chill worse than anything in the world. Instead of finding sleep or plotting regicide, the Queen of Scotland calmly stared out towards the windows as the fine lace danced in a waltz all its own in the wind. In such rugged terrain, Mary felt no fear, only peace. Weather like this reminded her of her beautiful, rugged homeland. 

The weather was so different in France than it was in Scotland. It was warmer, definatley, rained a lot less. Her beautiful homeland was darker than France, absolutely. It was such a rarity that the six year old Queen found reminders of her home that she pined for so much. It was different than seeing her ambassador -who regularly sent her mother's probable fake remarks- or being with her little ladies, different than seeing her completley Scottish household. A rare time when she didn't feel like an alien in France -even having been there for almost a year now- but a time when she could close her eyes and pretend that she was back in her rugged, beautiful homeland, where she wasn't the alien who had to be rewired to be French, where she could pretend King Henry and Francis were the aliens, where she could pretend to be with her mother -although cold to her- and not have to be risen in a strange, foreign land. Where if she ever returned, she wouldn't be treated like a foreigner, although her blood was entirely Scottish.

Without meaning to, Mary fell to a slumber all of her own.

When she awoke, the carriage was now still. She could smell the scents of fresh bread and pastries leaving a home close by. Her pretty Dauphin was now longer no longer next to her, and warm, substantial hands were around her tiny waist, lifting her from the horridly uncomfortable carriage seating.

 In her head, Mary berated herself for falling into a slumber. If there was one thing Mary disliked more in the world than the English and sometimes Catherine, it was the fact she was so young. She was always on an uneven keel because of her gender, but her age was the tip of the iceberg. Queens shouldn't not have the ability to stay awake past the strike of midnight. Queens shouldn't have to sleep with dolls in her bed. Queens shouldn't have to look up to people, no matter how tall she was. Queens shouldn't have their opinion mean littler than they already did simply because they came out of a mouth of a child, not a woman. Queens shouldn't be belittled and a regnant shouldn't have to follow the word of a mere consort.

She's picked up then, gently, layen over the right shoulder of a substantial man. She inhales. Acorns, cinnamon and dandelions. Henry. She can feel the calming aura of her pretty Dauphin close to her, probably layen over the other shoulder of his father. 

They're moving now, probably into a taverne or the closest house to get out of the snowstorm. Mary doesn't know where they are, but the bed they're both lay into is warm and soft, and it's comfortable after her fur cape and court shoes are removed and her corset is taken from her.

Francis curls into her, and she is at peace in France.

~~

No idea what this is, hope you enjoyed it. The next couple I'm planning are not exactly happy Frary, but there's Frary nonetheless. Keep your eyes pealed!

stay safe,

love,

me

:)