Disclaimer: I do not own Reign. Well guys, this is it. This is the final installment of The Firstborn. Thank you for all of the follows, favourites, and reviews. I hope you all enjoy!
Before the day broke Catherine emerged, dressed and ready to take on the day. Most of the castle's inhabitants were still slumbering, but as she approached the nursery Catherine heard that her little boy was not one of them.
"Good morning, sweet boy! You are up early today." Catherine smiled as she cradled Francis.
"He slept most of the night, your grace."
"I'm glad one of us did," she thought aloud. Then glancing at nurse still clothed in her nightdress, she said, "You may go and prepare yourself for the day. Be back within the hour."
Motherhood agreed with her and Catherine quite enjoyed the little tasks involved in caring for her son. She rocked and cuddled him and was rewarded when his tiny fist latched on to her finger. She decided to choose his attire for the morning. She set him in his crib and went about searching through his armoire. It was laden with rich fabrics that seemed too stiff and itchy for an infant. Sorting through the masses of clothing, she discovered a small wooden case near the back of the wardrobe. This familiar box stirred her memory. Sitting on the floor she opened it, revealing a carefully folded silk garment. With shaking hands she unfolded the tiny frock that her daughter never wore. It had been a gift from her husband for her firstborn. The grief and shame of the past engulfed her. Clutching the garment to her chest she let out a sob. More followed.
Unbeknownst to Catherine, Henry appeared in the doorway. Finding her rooms empty he expected that she would be with their son. He had not expected this. Moving quietly into the nursery, he nimbly sat on the floor next to her.
At the sight of her husband, Catherine ceased crying and dried her eyes.
Henry broke the silence, "I had wondered where that ended up."
"What are you doing here, Henry?" Her voice held no malice.
"I think that we should discuss last night's… conversation."
"What is there to say?" She looked at him.
"Well, I… It's just that…"
She knew that look; it was his version of an apology. She knew that he was waiting for her to interrupt and let him off the hook. Catherine merely lifted her eyebrows curiously.
He was forced to continue, "In my anger, I said some things that I didn't mean."
"There have been many times that I doubted your sincerity," She looked away, "Last night was not one of them."
"Catherine, do not doubt my sincerity now."
"I believe that you are sorry that your rage revealed what you truly feel."
He remained silent. At that moment the wet nurse reappeared to the astonishing sight of the royals nestled together on the flagstone. At the prompting of the dauphin she gathered little Francis in her arms and departed without a word.
Alone again, Henry took the little gown from his wife's hands. "You know, I think that part of the problem is that we never dealt with the passing of Clarissa."
She sighed, "Henry, please. I don't want to discuss it."
"I know, but seeing how much that loss still resonates… I have an idea."
She shook her head. All she wanted was to forget. Why had she opened that box, Pandora's Box?
Henry rose to his feet, "I will find you this evening. Please understand that I do love you."
Catherine was grateful for the thought-consuming nature of the day's tasks, but when Henry entered the great hall with that wooden case in his hands she could no longer neglect the nervousness that lurked in the recesses of her mind. He silently took her hand and led her out of the room. They journeyed through the stately halls, out the front door, down the stone steps, and into the gardens. Most of the gardens were ornate and lush, but Henry had found a modest plot of land down by the lake where he had commissioned a bench placed. As they drew near, Catherine saw a small hole had been dug.
Henry noticed that her eyes were drawn to the small grave. "Since we never got to have a proper burial I think we should memorialize her as best we can."
They stood hand-in-hand while the sun dipped below the horizon. The stillness of the moment was peaceful and, as the old day died, Catherine felt lighter somehow. Henry released her hand and stepped forward placing the box into the earth.
"Wait!" She spoke louder than she had intended, "Could we just entomb the gown? I think… I would like to have a keepsake."
In the years to come, Catherine would collect a lock of hair from each of her children. A golden ringlet was acquired from Francis and Margot, soft brown tresses from Elisabeth, Claude, Charles, and Hercule, and platinum strands from Louis, Henry, Victoria, and Joanna. Each of these treasures was enshrined in the little wooden case that served as a relic of the child who was both curse and blessing in her life.
She would never forget her firstborn.