August 1548
Today, not for the first time in my life, I have wished to freeze time. Earlier today marked the first meeting of four-year-old Francis with little Mary Stuart. Catherine was, of course, delighted in their immediate friendship and with the impeccable presentation with which Mary, Queen of Scots arrived. She all but clucked over them as the two sat together in my carriage for the return to the castle from the beach. The moment in question I which wish to freeze came long before all that seemingly delights Catherine. It is the moment of their very meeting with which I am overcome with the most powerful sensation that one day they will do great things together.
The two children were studying one another as the light sea breeze blew their hair across their faces. Mary's long tresses seemed to waltz slowly to a tune known only to the rich mahogany strands. She cut an imposing figure despite her tender age. She was adorned with the finest of jewels and her clothing was of the utmost skill in the craftsmanship artisanship.
Francis' unruly mop of blond curls – so beloved of my wife and all the women in the castle – seemed to dance in a whirl of frenzied haste before the young queen. He currently stands slightly shorter than her, an attribute I hope he quickly grows out of – literally. I admit the subject of the first meeting between my son and his future bride has brought me much anxiety over the past few months – much to my dismay, for it has distracted me from my duties as king. Nevertheless, back to the moment.
It seemed as though the two children would spend all of eternity simply staring. Not once was there an indication from either child as to an opinion regarding the opposite. My greatest fear in that moment was that Francis would not take to Mary, or worse, far worse, that Mary would not have the slightest interest in Francis. As time dragged agonizingly on, so impassive were the two children, I would have taken anything, even blatant hostility over this, this unending staring contest. I swear, my heart was going to beat out of my chest from the strain and suspense of the moment – a most un-kingly action indeed!
Just as I thought all hope was lost, and that the two children would be content to stand and gaze, there was movement. Little Mary raised her head, nary more than a hair's breadth. At her tiny movement, a smile crept up at the edge of Francis' s mouth. It was as if those two actions were the catalyst. Immediately, the two children laughed and began to close the gap between them. Mary met Francis with a hug – causing a great murmur among those assembled. To my delight, and Catherine's, Francis returned her embrace warmly. They continued to giggle as they parted, smiles in full bloom. I felt the invisible tightness that had been gripping my chest, unbeknownst to me, lift. They liked each other!
Mary leaned in to Francis, whispering conspiratorially into his ear. Her words were just barely loud enough for the wind to carry them to me – though I doubt anyone but my son and myself heard her. "Francis is a girls name." She giggled, stepping back. Francis scowled playfully, but he was not able to stifle to giggle that broke forth from behind his taught lips. Mischief danced in the eyes of the young Scottish queen, and I am unashamed to admit the joy I felt at seeing the same spark burning in the eyes of Francis.
And that moment, or rather string of moments, will forever be burned into my mind. I will cherish the unadulterated glee of Mary and Francis. It is my most sincere wish that they shall grow to love each other with a fervor most would not believe humans capable of. Nothing would bring me great pleasure than to see my son, Francis, Dauphin of France, one day become King of France with Mary, Queen of Scotland at his side. For I am almost certain know, that a ever seen. Mary and Francis will have the secret weapon neither I, nor my father, have ever had. The two will be partners in mind, body, and soul; and as rulers, their might will be glorious in its power and magnificence. Long live my son and his future bride! Long live Francis and Mary! Long live Scotland! Long live France!