You Are My Light Part II

295 - The Sad Boy

"Papa." The boy begins, reaching out for another daisy to add to his growing, raggedy chain. "Your épouse, she is different." The Baron de Velay says, his voice thick with the mucus  that all two year olds are plagued with, royal blood or not. He doesn't pronounce the words well, but it's hardly an issue with the boy being so young. But his words do get across, and they concern the King of France as the father and son sit together to luncheon on the private grounds.

"How so, Jean?" Francis is careful to keep his words calm and gentle, for the boy was sensitive, already hurt by the scorn that all courts show bastardy blood born babies. It's why the boy gets on so well with Sebastian, and why Francis must work so hard to make sure the child knows that he has a place in his father's heart and his court.

"La reine-" he begins, moreso pronouncing it like the English word for raindrops falling from the sky. Its endearing. "-after the baby, she is different."

"You've said, my little one. Why do you think that?" Francis asks, looking into the boys' blue eyes. They're not the same as his, Jean-Philippe has Lola's eyes, they're a brighter shade of blue and more piercing than his own. It's a horrible sense of comfort that he gets from it, for he knows that with all the love he has in his heart for the boy, he knows his son's existence is not right. The boy should not exist, his only night with his mother should not have happened. And if he should, he should have deep brown eyes and a Scottish twirl to his vocabulary and the blood of James V of Scotland and Henry VII Tudor in his veins. He should be the son of his Queen, and the fact that he is not will always put a pang of guilt in his heart, even though all the circumstances gave changed now.

"Papa, " was always sad, always upset. And when her belly got big, she was different. Big, but happy. Like Oncle Bash when he got the big black horse. But reiene has a baby, and now she's happy. Smiling, pretty. I like her smile, Papa. Do you think I could make her smile like that?" The little  Baron de Velay asks, abandoning his messy chain of daisies to crawl over towards the young King. His eyes are big, the blonde hair that's just starting to curl at the nape of his neck, askew in the gentle breeze.

"Little one, my wife was very sad because your mama had you, a baby, but she couldn't have a baby of her own. Your Papa tried his best to give her her own baby, but God wouldn't bless us with our own until your brother was born. That's got nothing to you, nor is it your fault." Francis tries his best to be gentle with his words, for the last thing he wanted was to plague this sweet, innocent boy with more grief that he does not deserve. The boy is sweet and gentle, and everything Mary had wanted until the baby had been born. But although all Mary had wanted was Jean-Philippe, he had been her greatest form of pain. And it had been the best solution to keep he and his mother as far away from the grief stricken Queen of France and Scots as they could. But it seemed, according to the boy, not far enough.

"But can I make her happy, Papa? What would make her happy?" Jean's eyes are big and blur, staring up at him with such wonder that Francis needs to think of any excuse to lead the boy away from his words and questions.

"I think that it would make Mary happy if you were the best big brother you could be, mon chere. If you could grow up looking out for your brother and keep him safe and be his best friend. Can you do that, Jean?" Francis wonders if Diane de Portiers or his own father ever had this talk with Sebastian when the King himself was born. He knows damn well Catherine never did, for up until his father's death, Catherine had been disgusted by the only living child of Henry of France and his beloved mistress.

"Yes, Papa!" The boy presses his small hands on his father's shoulders to haul himself up. "Can I go to him now, Papa?!"

"Not yet, Mary and James are still being confined, little one. Maybe you can meet your brother in a few weeks after God has pronounced them healthy and clean." Francis gets up and picks up the chunky two year old boy.

"But you can go?"

"Yes."

"Then take me!" Jean gives a happy wiggle. "Take me to see the baby, so I can be his friend and look after him!"

Oh, he imagines how furious Mary would be if he brought his courtly-scorned bastard to meet the pureblood heir to France and Scotland. He knows Catherine threw an almighty fit when Sebastian had tried to sneak a glance at his new brother when the baby had just been born, as sickly and premature as he was. It was so bad and she screamed so much that Henry himself -extatic at the prospect of his long awaited heir- had removed the boy. Although he thinks Mary wouldn't be so loud and vulgar about her feelings, he knows she wouldn't be pleased at seeing the boy. Although James is now here and healthy and breathing, even opening his little blue eyes and hair dampening into the pale blonde color Mary had hoped so long for, Lola's son would put a dampner on her joy.

"Not yet, little one. The baby is too little for little visitors. But after the baby is churches, you can meet your brother." Francis straightens his hair, licking his lips. In all honestly, he needs to have a talk with Mary and mellow her to the idea of both his sons to meet, and if she did not, then try to find a compromise that makes all of them happy. But that day is not four days after birthing her long awaited baby boy.

"If I can't see him-" Jean paused. Francis raises a brow. "Then can I have a strawberry tart? That would make it better!"

Francis laughs. "I bet it would, my boy. Let's see if we can get you a plateful."

The eldest son of Francis II Of France squeals with delight, wiggling as he's carried over towards the kitchens. Francis tries to find as much boy as he can in this moment, praying that his wife will open her heart to the boy in the way his own mother never did to Sebastian.