You Are My Light Part II

289 - A New Beginning *Modern*

"Don't you look handsome?" The Queen of England says, as she leans on the doorway of their apartments to look at the new King of France. He's beautiful, she thinks, all colour and light after a long time of darkness and misery. It's been months since Henry's diagnosis, since France was plagued with darkness and mist and a chill that nobody could quite describe. The house of Valois was shaken from its untenable strength, it's humanity shown in a way it hadn't since Prince Francis' death before the old King's ascension to the throne.

But King Francis, this Francis, he is the light that his entire country needs. Blonde and blue and bright, wearing blooming whites and shimmering silvers, ready to make his own ascension to the throne, with his entire family watching, both made and unmade.

He turns to her, his handmadens following his movements, the cravat  nearly folded into his collar, instantly smiling as he takes sight of the Queen standing near and the little Prince at her hand.

"Papa!" The Duke of Edinburgh and Rothsay, and now of Anjou, exclaims, his own white and blue suit ruffling in his modest wind to rush to his father. His mother laughs from behind them, her gown making noise as she gains her posture and walking towards him.

"My boy!" Francis grins as he steps away from his dressers to pick up the little one barrelling towards him in all the speed his little three year old legs can carry. They're meaty and chunky, full of life and merriment that only a child can capture, and he swings his legs in joy as he's lifted up into the air and settled onto his fathers' hip.

"Papa! Papa, you're going to be King?" James asks, his own blue eyes matching his father's in every way. The little Prince is truly the blend of his mother and father, Mary's large eyes, but Francis' colour. Blonde and ringlets, yet stocky and brave and fast, every inch his mother's son, while being the apple of his fathers' eye.

"I am, mon chou." Francis replies, brushing the boys' hair from his face as he wiggles around. "You're going to sit with your maman and be nice and quiet, yes? Then you can run all you like when the celebrations happen." The King of France says to his son, and he nods eagerly.

"I get to sit with Mama and Pèpe, Papa?" He asks, his big blue eyes shining in the light, fiddling with Francis' not yet done up waistcoat buttons.

"You do, it's a big day for him, giving me his crown so he can spend more time with all your aunts and uncles, and you, too." He says, placing the boy on the floor so Mary can take his hand. "You've got a big, important job, little King. You know that? You've got to be the best behaved little boy, and keep your Pèpe smiling. And you can't let your uncle Herc play any pranks on anybody, especially your uncle Claude. She'll scream louder than when Emone put slugs on her pillow." Francis says with a grin plastered on his face. James laughs at the memory, attaching his little hands to the delicate embellishments of his mother's gown.

"I will, Papa. Can count on me." James says, nodding really rather seriously for his big task on such little shoulders. Mary smiles at him, as do the handmaidens. She picks up her little one and walks closer to Francis.

"Look at us." Mary says, her voice soft as she takes sight of the three, in all their silver and white and blue glory, a unified family, strong and brave and ready to face the world. "Our family."

"You look well, your Majesties." Emmanuelle says, stepping foreward with a belt in his hand, a comb in the other. "Now, we must finish dressing the King for his coronation." He says. Mary nods, stepping back, heir at hand.

"Of course," she says. "Come, little one. Let's get you some breakfast with Mème Catherine. I'm sure she'll let you have some chocolate on your croissant if you ask nicely."

"Yes!" James cheers. "Bye, Papa."

"See you later, little King."

~|~

I've missed you Frary :)