this womans work

          a strange sort of homesickness had set in, one out of place amongst the festivities. one that called not for portugal, but for punjab. despite all her small, stolen european traits, despite the distance in time and years between nalini and the house of her birth, she still remembered much— so very much. some parts she craved to see again. she remembered being very small, watching a temple dancer in all her finery dance at a festival she had long forgotten the name and time of. if she asked sneha, she would most likely remember.

          but for now, that lively temple dancer still danced in her memory. she was graceful, to be sure, but there was no chance that nalini could emulate her grace… 

          but there was no one around on her way back from the gardens just after sunrise, her arms full of wildflowers, her bounty nearly overwhelming. she slowed, then paused. she tapped her foot against the courtyard’s floor, just as the dancer had, and moved her head, just so, just as in her memory. soft, slow movements of dance brought to life nalini’s memory of that childhood afternoon, and the world around faded away as nalini closed her eyes and moved without a care in the world.

   She had wished to pass by the scene without making her existence for known; the knowledge another had observed a moment of sweet isolation, would only deter Nalini from further free expression. Her lips parted at once to deliver wisdom, but all intelligence died upon her tongue, unable to breath life into the air. Elizabeth’s eyes, a formidable blue, were alighted in the benevolent rays of the sun - they sought to convey the apology, and the wonderment, that their owner failed to deliver. 

Ursula nodded along to what the lady said, “I think that every person, at least once in their life, feels more at home with the moon than the sun… and that time is now for me,” she replied softly. “For it seems to me that it casts a more gently light on our hearts”. She considered the offer for a moment before nodding, “I would be honoured to accept your offer… the moon can be forgotten for a little while at least”.

An interrogation would be no finer a solution to melancholy, then to rub salt into a wound freshly cut; Elizabeth allowed the lady to breathe whilst they journeyed to her quarters, though her tongue felt weighted under the summation of her curiosity. Per the quickness of her maids, a fire was lit and tea produced; Elizabeth thought their company to be friendly enough, that she should remove her hood. Golden locks were allowed to be alighted in the flame of candles, which littered in the room in yellow light - with a kind gaze she addressed her companion, seeking to introduce conversation in a comforting fashion. “If you wish to speak on that which afflicts your heart - I am glad to hear it. But if you wish for idle talk, I am glad to provide it; my son believes me aggressively affluent in speaking about that which is mundane.” 

Ursula turned when she heard the woman’s voice cut through the darkness, a small smile ghosting over her features when she heard her words. Sometimes she did feel like she was haunting the places she visited, especially since the passing of her husband, she felt… half empty- like part of her soul had went up to the heavens with him. “Maybe I am one… I hear they are very good at making themselves appear human,” she replied to her with only a little amusement in her eyes. “Sometimes I feel more at home in the moon’s rays than anywhere else… there’s a peacefulness about this hour. And you?”

 Her delicate, when she turned, answered the moon’s animated kiss with an animated smile - or in far more exacting terms, the attempt to alight her features. Had the gentle words spoken by the lady been of a different nature, Elizabeth would have allowed her countenance to be ruled by melancholy; but she felt obligation to counter act the dark tone. “There was a time when I found more grace in the night, then in daylights warmth.” A time that lingered like a morose phantom in her breast, counteracted only by advantageous feelings of joy. The lady before her inspired pains of sadness well beyond her youthful features; had they known each other better, Elizabeth would have made designs to envelope her into an embrace. “I lack the beauty and eternal grace of our dear moon; for she shall never have an equal. But I wish to offer you my company in her stead, if only because you are too young to be lost to her entirely.  A warm fire, some tea; these are my simple offerings, paired with my able ears and sound heart.” 

         distantly, phillipa could hear bells tolling, but ignored them, caring not if they were a death knell or a call to prayer. she was, instead, enjoying the company of a litter of puppies, only recently born to her favourite and only greyhound. phillipa was stuffed into skirts and full sleeves but still sitting on the ground all the same, having slid off the stool she had sat on earlier. she was gently, playfully flicking one pup’s ear while her other hand cradled two more to her chest. a fourth slept next to its dam. the mother looked on as her first litter nipped and yipped at phillipa, and phillipa had to giggle. the pup’s mother just looked so tired.

          the same might be said of her dear bessie blount, if phillipa was in the mood to wound with words today. still giggling, phillipa said, “you never need beg indulgence with me, dearest bessie, but i may have to toss you out if you ever call me lady grey again.”

          truth be told, phillipa felt rather sympathetic towards elizabeth blount. the two women shared a similar badge, one that told courtiers that they were not to be associated with. phillipa had chosen that badge, had decorated it with spite and polished it to a high shine. elizabeth, however, had been forced out. there was no part of phillipa that was soft or warm, no part of her that could nurture, but phillipa still flashed a toothy grin at elizabeth in welcome. she jerked her head towards a lavish chair, inviting elizabeth to sit. “i have to admit, i am rendered quite flattered. i know i am exemplary, but extraordinary is a new rank. i shall lord it above all my companions the next time i see them.”

    A delicate, graceful greyhound was married to Phillipa’s side; her love lorn, expressive eyes, attached onto her face; while the Mistress of the Hounds sustained a rarity of a smile. She could not count Phillipa as a lady of spiteful venom, who deterred from sunny expressions as a mode of attack; while Elizabeth flitted towards the sun, she coaxed much from the mystery of the dark. Her skirts draped across the floor, making each step into the private quarters a slow march - she felt prone to laughter, approaching her companion like a courtier counselling a queen. “It will take a great exercise of control to bend to your wish, but I shall always work to do what pleases you - Phillipa.” 

“Perhaps someone simply wished to take advantage of his….” Sarah hesitated, unsure of what word to use - to call the young King vulnerable would be a faux-pas, and eventually she just shrugged and let the topic slide away. “Well - anyway. I am not a student of history, in real sense. The late King is the only whose reign I have ever known anything of, except what stories my father has told me of his father.” Indeed, the King had been in the early years of his reign when she was born, and so she had never known any other way of life. She had grown up in the court, as one of many cogs in the royal machine, and her encounters with the King had been fleeting and superficial because of her youth through most of that time. Looking at Bessie, it made her wonder whether she really actually knew much of how this all worked at all, her confidence shaken.

“Soon enough.” Sarah mused - focusing on the statement regarding children, bypassing Bessie’s other words if only because she sensed the woman had no desire to dwell. “Perhaps. I clearly have other goals that must come to pass before I may join that happy group.” In reality, children appealed to her very little - the stress of pregnancy and then caring for an infant disinterested here, and yet she knew these were things she would undoubtedly be expected to do. Any husband worth marrying would likely be in need of a son, and that was what she was expected to provide. The mention of her father pulled Sarah out of her thoughts and she smiled gingerly. “Yes. He was here at court far more than ever he was in Shrewsbury. That, or else he was traveling for battle.” It was strange to imagine, that her father, who had seemed an old man since her youth, was once an accomplished young courtier and warrior. Looking at Bessie again, Sarah lifted her chin just a little, shivering as a cool wind blew - winter still clinging on even if spring was on their doorstep.”I don’t know what to hope for. With this new King. I think change is coming, but I don’t know if it’s for good or for naught.”

  "The infancy of ones reign is a delicate time for all - no matter the strength of his breeding, nor aptitude for the title." If Sarah felt abashed by the boldness of her assertion, Elizabeth felt no recourse to deem her words a poor assessment of the King. The Tudors were titans, but they were men; entirely within reach of foes. "We would all be bettered if the past were readily available to us; the same can be said for my recollections of the time before the late King's reign. But I have not a sliver of doubt your father's words have illuminated the court's former days greatly to you." Lady Talbot's words stirred a curious affect in Elizabeth - she felt alight with feelings of melancholy recollection, merged with philosophical ideals on the basis on history.

   She did not yield to the glee of impending motherhood like most; thoughtful and docile on the subject, Sarah bowed to its inevitability, while expressing no great excitement. "You carry ambitions - of what nature? It brings me excessive joy to hear you speak of plans, belonging entirely to your own person." Motherhood had become a pillar of her life through grand designs, though not through those entirely her own; futile and fruitless, would her life be if she resented the fact. Bessie did not mourn a youth without her children, but endeavored greatly to support those who spent the winters of their youth moved by whims of their own. "’Tis strange, to speak of a parents past - my sons cheeks must color in the same shade as yours, when he recalls my youthful ventures at court.” She could not claim the honorable years as Sarah’s father; who soldiered on, or offered words of clemency during gatherings of great men. Infamy, in years long past, were known to her by an entirely different avenue. “Uncertainty clouds my own desires; I pray for resolution, at the very least. I do not believe I would find much success abroad, should I flee if we descend into chaos. Have you spent much time abroad, Lady Talbot? You have the grace of a woman well-traveled.” 

The journey to Hampton Court from Scotland had been long and arduous, making the Lady’s patience descend ever so slowly. So much so that by the time they reached England, she had already put her two sons in a carriage with their Governess. She sat back in her seat, putting her fingers to her temples and rubbing them gentle. It had been her mother who suggested she moved from her husband’s home in Scotland to the English Court, despite her regency over her late husband’s estate until her Eldest son was old enough. Once she heard about the goings on from her mother, she knew why she had summoned her down; to make her presence known. Soon the carriage was pulling up the long track to the Palace itself.

****Hours Later: Nightfall****

Ursula couldn’t sleep; the bed was different and far from the one she had slept in when she was back in Scotland. It wasn’t that it was uncomfortable it was just… different. She tossed and turned for what felt like house before she eventually let out an exasperated sigh and pushed herself up and out of bed, pulling on her cloak over her nightgown and making her way out her rooms for a walk once her shoes were firmly on her feet. She snuck past one of the Night-watchmen who would have surely escorted her back to her rooms, before finding a peaceful window seat with a view that overlooked the shadow-cast gardens. “Pretty,” she murmured to herself as she sat there. 

   Had she guarded herself with the superstitious splendors which gripped the country into endless spirals of fear, the figure of a figure ensnared in a sea of white would have turned her blood cold. Elizabeth knew the palace as intimately as a lost lover; its secrets were known to her, but at no better hour then that which belongs to witches. Still dressed from evening mass, she had crept through the castle with the agility of a cat, stalking the roof of a barn under the velvet cloak of night. No particular aim seized her, beyond her desire to move without abandon, and fear of discovery. Her footsteps announced her person to the shadowy figure, whose face appeared white as marble under the guise of the moon. Elizabeth possessed the chance to move without conversation, but found herself arrested by desires to demystify the woman before her. “I knew the palace to be host to an entourage of ghostly figures, but none have made themselves known to me until now. Had your eyes not such a bright gleam, I would think you a phantom. What has drawn you to haunt this night, my lady?” 

    There was truly nothing like the presence of a mother. Even as people grew and went out into the world alone, to thrive and rise in a world that threatened to topple the without a moment’s notice, as humans it was programmed in their very souls to be warmed by the comfort of the mother and Bessie Blout was no exception to that rule; in fact, she was a prime example. In the absence of her own mother, Mary could not have asked for a greater female influence in her life and there were simply not enough hours in the day for her to express how thankful she was for her. Even under the weight of her worries for the King, once her hands were freed of the flowers, Mary reached to embrace Elizabeth’s hands in her own with a smile of contentment. 

“ I could never think ill of you… ” It was not so much the musings of Elizabeth which surprised Mary, but her expressing them aloud certainly did. Many would cry treason over lack of care for the King’s wellbeing whilst Mary was guilty of the same sentiments, a fact made clear by the gentle squeeze given to her mother-in-law’s hands and the brief faltering of her gaze. “ I cannot say that I do not share your sentiments for I do, a lot of pressure rests upon Henry’s shoulders but never more so than now - in the absence of the King. The courtiers already whisper amongst themselves but we will remain strong and as a united family. …I too must confess that my prayers for his majesty are entirely selfish; as I pray for his safe return I pray that our Henry need not suffer the weight of any crown or the loss a brother so soon after his father. Shall we both be seen as entirely wicked out of love for our beloved Henry? Surely God understands unconditional love… ”

    She admired greatly the spirit forged within Mary Howard; it was too sincere to sour in the face of misdeeds and venomous whispers. Elizabeth found comfort in each inkling of filiality Mary displayed towards her; for as selfish a choice it was to harbor her daughter-in law as her own, the sweetness of her person commanded Elizabeth to desire such. Barely a fraction of her life had progressed as she intended - and so the sweeping unknown which took prisoner the court in a wave of hysteria, failed to claim her as a victim. A different sentiment was born inside Elizabeth’s breast, desires which had not been voiced since the days where the name Bessie Blount was well paired with the title, of mother to the King’s heir. She had long relinquished her affections for the late Henry, but her wishes for her son - time could never take those from her. 

“I have no intrigue to offer, really.” Sarah demurred, even if she knew that wasn’t precisely true. “Merely general experience, from what I understand of our little world at court. And thinking of what has already happened, even in the King’s short reign - one never knows.”

Elizabeth words brought a sort of smile - a blend of understanding and amusement - to Sarah’s pink lips as she nodded at her. “I shall not tell anyone of such impieties, if you will not tell anyone of mine.” She knew already that she liked her, the two of them moving through the gardens together now, in slow, measured steps. “It is very difficult a thing, to leave events in the hands of others.” She wondered, really, if that was almost redundant to say to someone like Elizabeth Blount, who knew what that was all too well, she was sure. “I can scarcely imagine such a feeling as it must be for you. Closeness to the crown seems…. fraught with dangers.” She was careful of her words, always - not wishing to be misunderstood by any nearby ears. “Perhaps in different ways. I cannot say I understand, entirely. I have no children of my own to claim, so perhaps the conviction is not very much the same.” She hesitated, looking toward a cluster of white rosebuds, taking them in - so fragile and yet resilient, not unlike the positions of many women among them. “I confess I should be intrigued to hear more of your court experience. I think much of your brightest time at court came before my arrival here. I have been in court only ten years, or near such.”

“It is a pity I must echo your remark, having little worthwhile to share other then repetition of rumors started by others.” Lady Talbot inspired further mystery, but Elizabeth had no design to inflict inquires onto the courtier. “A great deal has transpired, indeed; and to think, we are merely privy to a fraction of the tale. I cannot recall a King’s life being threatened so quickly into his reigns infancy, in some time.”

  A smile and a wink seemed an aforementioned clause to the ladies conversation; although Sarah’s private doings could not be as well known as Elizabeth’s (as shameful as this notion once proved to be) they shared a kinship, born out of the commonality of being women at the court; a fact either bonding, or divisive. “Having no hand in shaping ones own destiny - there can hardly be little that rivals it in the dehumanization of oneself..” she did not wish to mar the conversation with gloomy observations, nor melancholic recollections of her past. “It is hard to describe the feeling in my breast - I am at once as removed from the affair as the rest of the court, yet I remain teetered to the crown for the rest of my life.” Elizabeth spared herself a moment to admire the features of the woman beside her; bestowed with a courtly grace and handsome features, it continued to be a surprise that she was not wed. “I would wish for you to have the blessing soon enough, but I have found it to be an unkind sentiment. Not all wish for the same ending - though I appreciate your words of kindness.” Sarah’s eloquence was so practiced, as to lend itself to describe Elizabeth’s time at court as experience, where she herself had begun to see it as a mark of her advancing years. “Indeed it was; my time to freely enjoy the grandeur, and intrigue, has been replaced with a reverence for my home outside the court. The late King’s court was a time of great beauty at its height - I have memories of your father taking part in festivities.” 

     “I have not had a mother nor her ladies to speak in such a matter for quite some time, countess. Mayhaps I am nostalgic.” He quipped, the edges of his lips pushing upward further into what could pass as a genuine smile. It didn’t trouble him to be spoken to as such, but he knew in other circumstances it most definitely would have. He didn’t as much care if the woman before him saw him as grown, he more so cared for his father’s opinion on the matter and that was a lost cause if he knew one. A laugh left him at her eagerness and he nodded in agreement before shouting for the armsman to join them. “Go and collect a suitable bow for the Countess.” He instructed, the word ‘quickly’ not leaving his lips but suggested by his tone as he gestured for Elizabeth to join him in front of the targets. 

    “Have you strung an arrow before?” He asked, not meaning to be condescending but it was highly plausible that he wouldn’t have had the opportunity before. If that were the case, he would take a few moments to demonstrate for her before loosing his own arrows. 

 “There is much to be said on the permeating heartbreak of losing ones mother; I hope my words, however trivial they may be, can serve as a point of comfort.” She felt obliged to bow her head, whether out of respect for his departed mother or the somber nature of their conversation, she knew not. Elizabeth did not wish to be limited to the title of mother; yet she could not deny the central part in played in forming her person. Blushing at her own readiness to partake in a sport which would certainly inspire mockery to all those who observed, Elizabeth followed the Prince’s lead, pulling at her fingers lightly as if the action would endow them with the necessary skills. 

  “Once, while attending a hunt in my youth - you will be obliged to note that must have been just yesterday, but I’m afraid many a year separates I from my girlhood. I would be most humbled to have your assistance.” Elizabeth was happy to be instructed, and was glad her lack of ability would protect her from true humiliation - as was the assumed weakness of her sex. ‘Twas not in her nature to seek to undermine such assumptions; often they worked in her favor. “My son would be nearly rendered mute if he saw me now; I do not know if your paths have crossed, but you remind me much of him. Though my Henry lacks your youthful spirit; I believe him to always be a grown man at heart.” 

    -    One arm carried a basket, filled with the first blooms of spring from the gardens, whilst the gentle features of Mary’s face held a smile which held an underlying look of worry. The whispers around court had only reached her once she returned inside from taking breakfast in the gardens but then, for fear of fanning the flames which already consumed the palace in the absence of the King, she continued on with the intention of visiting her mother-in-law as though she found nothing to be a concern. She was, of course, no wiser on the matter than anyone else, however, her close proximity to the missing King meant that some eyes would at least glance her way to assume and try to read the situation for themselves.

After following a servant to where she would find Bessie, Mary greeted the older woman with a smile and a small curtsey. “ Good morrow, I hope I am not intruding? I saw these flowers in the gardens and thought of you, wondering how you are, but it seems foolish given the way court is speaking of the King this morning. ”

liked for by @elizabethsblount

 Elizabeth paced up and down, thinking almost the same thoughts she had pondered years past; that her son would be privileged to advance towards the highest position known to man on earth; and although such sentiments had not been lately pursued, had never been truly abandoned. Henry’s sudden absence threatened to overwhelm Elizabeth with these thoughts, paired with a genuine concern for a man she longed to despise, yet felt love for in the most infuriating ways. The announcement of a visitor did well to break her endless anxiety, but more so, it was all but quieted when Mary’s lovely features entered the vicinity. Her warm affections for Mary never failed to recall courage and serenity to her own heart; with a brightened smile to caress her countenance, Elizabeth reached towards her daughter in law with open arms. “It pleases me endlessly to have my person thought of so kindly by you; the flowers are beautiful, and such presents of a newborn spring will never cease to bring me delight. You are not an intrusion, but a blessing.”

Sarah could not claim entirely to mirror the nature that rested in Elizabeth Blount’s person - she had never had the fortune, good or bad, to be noticed by a King, that was certain. Yet recent events had left her understanding, at least a bit more, the reputation that proceeded the golden-haired woman. Though Sarah feared oncoming age (scarcely a thing she probably needed to worry about at her own youth), Elizabeth was the proof that one could bear age with  some grace. They had never spoken before, and that was why Sarah had scarcely recognized her until she took the time to more properly study the woman’s face.

Head held high, she nodded, taking in Lady Clinton’s flushed features. “And there are many here who might conduct plots of their own. I could not begin to guess. One such thing has already unfolded.” Her thoughts wandered again to Edward, who always seemed to be hiding something - a mistress had been the least of it, that she was sure of. Taking a few more steps, Sarah stopped where she stood and breathed in the cool air deeply - relieved that the sharp sting of winter was not in the air as of now. “Perhaps we must simply pray for the King.” She offered, something which seemed in the spirit of things. “Though I find that when I pray, I lose track of what is appropriate to say. I am more fond of more direct action.” She paused and looked up from one of the nearby buds, which she had reached out to touch, to take in the lady beside her again. “You have far more experience in court than I. It does bring some peace to see you unworried, Lady Clinton. If you may pardon the impertinence in the question - do you find it a personal matter? When your own blood sits so closely to the crown?”

  By nature she was a feeler; over indulging in emotions, within her humor spread gentle mellowing of melancholy. She inclined her ear to Lady Talbot, a creature foreign to her beyond the regard kept in the court for the lady’s fairness and wit; Elizabeth coveted female company, and sought to anew a friendship with the woman. “You speak with confidence on such matters; I will not press you to reveal yourself in plots, but you offer much intrigue with your words.” 

  She did not wish to speculate, to the lady, or to herself, the nature of what exploits intrigued Lady Talbot; her ears were to accustomed to the sensation of burning, as the result of idle gossip. “I second your thoughts on pray; forgive me for not arguing vehemently in favor of them, as a good natured woman is dictated to do so. I am too well acquainted with having no control over events, and I detest such a plight.” The sky relieved of dour winter hues, lay naked and pale; the barren trees made a great show of displaying small buds, to cover their shame while spring delayed its arrival. “I welcome my age, if only to benefit from the grace of experience. Little can trouble me, on the matters of the court; whether this is foolish or an act of bravado, we shall not know.” Talk of her son brought Elizabeth a melancholy bliss; talk of him brought her a satisfaction, twinged with a secret desire to see all devious plots against the King enacted; so that her Henry would sit astride the throne. “There is no need to offer your pardon, for it is as fair a question I can imagine. I find it to be incredibly personal, to a troubling degree; my connection often renders matters....complicated. Our hearts as women possess startling degrees of conviction - I know not if you have harbored such sentiments in your own breast.” 

The portrait was yet another gift from the King. Since her arrival at court Claude has recieved plenty of them, but this one was special. The French monarch promised her - and she believed his promises so far - that the painting will remain in the main hall of the court, for ever.  The promise of this little immortality was the only thing that stopped her from moving too much. With heavy pearl nacklace on her neck, one sleeve of her dress slightly stripped, and armful of white peonies in her pale hands she was staring at the young artist who couldn’t help but gazed back at her from behind the easel more often than he ought to.  Even once Claude heard the steps of someone entering the chamber, she didn’t look at them. “ Forgive me, is the matter urgent? I was clearly told not to move… Or maybe you simply wish me to deliver some messages to the King? I don’t do that anymore…”

 Years of residence in the court had yet to yield Elizabeth access to every avenue the palace possessed; she still sought secret tea rooms, private boudoirs, and libraries which housed delights. Having finished her daily prayers, she sought adventure as the substitute for any activity she had postponed for lent; quietly she turned the knobs of doors, a heeled foot making entrance before any other part of her person. 

open

The slow but steady arrival of spring was definitely doing its work to revive Sarah’s spirits. Her pride and confidence had been wounded, but it turned out that couldn’t last forever, and she found herself bound and determined to impress. She may not have been a prominent figure at court - the young, unmarried daughter of an earl - but she could at least pretend she was. Pretense seemed it was the first steps to making something come true, and her eyes were open, as always, to bigger and better things.

She was dressed as elaborately as she dared given the season, a deep dark gown, with jewels at her throat that awakened the blue of her eyes as she took her turn of the garden, surveying it quietly. The first buds of green were rising at last and catching her attention, bringing her to a pause just along the edge of the path. “Tell me.” She questioned the closest companion who walked nearby, gloved hands toying with a handkerchief almost absently. “Do you ever grow suspicious when court grows so quiet? The wheels are always turning. I fear someone here is up to something and we shall find out before the roses are fully in bloom. I think men are always scheming to get under the King’s skin. If they succeed, it might provide some activity.” She was unsure of even her own intent in the comment - perhaps a polite attempt at controversy. As long as it remained mild, it never seemed to hurt anyone.

 The season of lent, lent itself to instill a renewed sense of faith in Elizabeth’s person. Easily she slipped into religious sentiments during the winter months, but the joys of Christmas celebrations overtook any notions of the Lord, which were brought forth by lent. In a time of piety and meekness, Elizabeth favored her usual dress and manners; all acts of devotion she made in the spirit of the holiday, were exhibited in frequenting of chapels, along with the forgoing  of all activities which could dare to be linked to sin. For a woman whose person had remained synonymous with ungodly actions, this time of year renewed thoughts of shame that that the present, were usually suppressed under the weight of her recent accomplishments. 

   Henri regarded Elizabeth coolly for a moment, in quiet contemplation as the woman spoke and offered her advice, but his features soon smoothed, softening for familiarity’s sake if not the subsequent permission to loose his arrow. He didn’t need permission, of course, but he’d asked for opinion and was grateful for it, and moreover pleased by the desired response. “You speak not out of turn, I shan’t fault you your maternal sentiments.” He dismissed, adjusting his grasp on the bow. It was soothing, but he didn’t wish to be rude. 

     “Do you desire to observe, countess?” He asked, wondering if she enjoyed witnessing the sport of if perhaps she indulged herself. His fingers spread across the smooth wood, “I might send for a bow for you, should you desire further.” He offered. 

  “I am pleased my words caused you no distress; men of your age are often displeased by such sentiments.” She spoke with her son’s familiar features pictured clearly; the quirk of his lips in the suppression of a smile, as he begged for her to consider him as a man, rather then a small boy. Henri possessed features which rendered him youthful, yet marked by the fact he had crossed into manhood. “Indeed, I have always been tempted by the bow, but have been denied the opportunity.” Elizabeth’s azure gaze was brightened by such a prospect, and despite herself, her figure straightened, as if her physical confirmation should accompany a verbal one. “If I am not troubling your grace, I greatly desire to serve as pleasant company with a bow of my own. At the very least, I shall mar trees with a misplaced arrow.” 

     Henri could feel the tension radiating from his person. His shoulders were rigid as he reached for the cup of wine. It was not the first time he’d left his father’s presence feeling the same, yet there had been something present underlying that tension. He found himself remembering times when he was yet a boy, wide eyed and awed by the bravado of his father, his king. Age had seen to wither that away, but it lingered deep in his chest out of spite. 

      “I can hear her voice,” Henri began, thinking somewhat fondly of one of his late mother’s ladies. “She would tell me I ought to refrain from such sport in observance of the commands of merciful Christ.” He commented, setting the cup aside to feel the weight of the bow in his hand. It was steady beneath his palm, familiar, comforting almost. He did not wish to deny himself this, but he couldn’t help but think of her advice. A pious, devout woman. He’d admired her in his youth, even if she’d driven him mad with her unsolicited advice. “What think you of partaking in archery–shall I deny mine self or continue practicing that I might best mine enemies?” 

 It was natural for ones eyes to settle onto the face of known royalty; solemnly she regarded the French prince, her tongue plastered to the roof of her mouth as to render herself silent. Elizabeth knew not how he felt of this examination; if it caused him trepidation or unease, he did not reflect these sentiments across his countenance. She knew he spoke of the late Queen; if only for the fact that few are spoke of in such grave reflection, then a departed mother. The passage of time did little to quell Bessie’s own heart ache over the loss of her own, though she learned to find appeasement in the quelling of others sufferings. 

    “I cannot claim any moral authority that may rival the Queen’s, your grace; little is more divine then the instruction of the mother. But in the wake of such turmoil and unrest in our kingdoms, it may be prudent to reach for the bow.” His desire to observe the commandment’s of his departed mother was curious, in the best manner - few obeyed their mothers in life, yet alone once they left the Earth. Elizabeth’s own affairs stunted her knowledge of the inner-workings of courts abroad, leaving her relatively unfamiliar with Henri’s matters. “Forgive me, if I dare to speak too far out of turn - my maternal sentiments never fail to derail my sensibilities.”