Tu Es Ma Lumière

152 - Harpsichord

"That's it." the twenty four year old Queen of France and Scots murmurs gently, looking down at her beautiful little blonde boy as he sat next to her, his small fingers slowly pressing at the various harpsichord keys. She plays with ease, the gentle melody echoing from the instrument, long fingers pressing various keys at various timings. She keeps her eye upon her small little boy, as he sticks his small tongue out in concentration, working hard to keep in time with his mothers' melodies. Blonde curls are tied back from his face, big blue eyes wide, taking in each and every detail of the instrument in front of he and his mother.

It's all very domestic for the King and Queen of France and Scotland, but times like this, when they didn't have to be King Francis and Queen Mary were the moments that the two of them thrived upon. Times like this, upon a chilling autumnal evening, sipping mulled wine and doing things as simple as reading with the children, or playing the harpsichord with them, teaching Princes and Princesses a new skill, were so precious to both mother and father. It was very subdued and sleepy, contented and gentle. But times like this became more and more precious and essential as time went on.

Just like this, with the seven year old Dauphin James of France and Duke of Rothsay and the six year old Princess Anne of France and Scotland, sitting close together, hunched over a book near the fire, both King and Queen could admit complete contentment. The two of them, every inch of the Queen -even if the Prince did take after his father in his facial structure- switching between reading about Roman artillery and listening to the soft melodies of music. And the four year old Prince Francis, every inch his father with his mothers' spirit, sitting next to Queen Mary, watching observantly of every move and note she made and played. Carefully carrying on a slow melody with his little fingers and large, endearing eyes. And the twins, Henry and Edward, dirty blonde haired and rambunctious, one dark eyed and one light, perked up with interest, the three year olds sitting quiet upon their fathers' lap, watching the Queen and the second-born Prince. Two year old Princess Vivienne, dark haired and light eyed and utterly bewitching- and six month old Princess Genevieve, golden haired and green eyed, slept within their warm bassinets not too far away from the royal couple and the royal children. In their worlds of dreams, but so close to their bloodline that it hardly mattered.

The blonde King sat comfortably within his overstuffed chair, sipping mulled wine from one hand and supporting his twin sons within the other arm. He watched his wife interact with their second-born son, unable to hide the smile from his handsome face that was made unfairly prettier in the bright firelight and candlelight that provided warmth and light to all in the chambers. The sky was dark and the fire was bright, dancing a waltz commanded by the King and Queen, hissing and seething with the effort. 

King Francis admires the beauty and grace of his young Queen, from the cascade of curls and intricate braids of her black hair, to the white satin of her substantial gown and the light blue embellishments overlaying it. The patience and gentleness that only came out when she played the role of mother, not wife or Queen. Of course, she was gentle and patient with him, but it was a whole other world with the children, rightfully so. The utter naturalness of it all, teaching their son something that would stick with him for the rest of his life. It warmed his heart and made him love her even more than he already did, if that be possible, after all.