208 - Ice Skating

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"Mary, I don't know about this." the Prince of France worries, nervously biting at his lip as his twelve year old future bride stands from tying up the newly gifted ice skates she had received from the Earl of Fife from her birthday, three days beforehand. When she had opened the box that held her gift inside, Francis had been so intrigued by the thought of walking on the frozen ponds that his father (yes, him, of all people) had commissioned a set of skating boots for his son, so he may join his bride after watching so jealously how well she had skated after returning to France post trip to Scotland after Marie de Guise's death from consumption several weeks earlier.

"Oh, don't be such a worrier. You're fine, I have you." she says, taking his hands, beginning to walk backwards towards the frozen pond. It's probably not such a good idea to go ice skating in the most horrid winter France had held over their heads in living memory, an even worse idea to take refuge in a small chateaux in one of the towns near the alps. However, when an idea is spurned only by Henry's desire to spend the night riding Mistress de Portiers, the future royal couple of France made the best of their situation, even if it was prompted by the spirit of the Queen of Scots.

"Oh, God." the son of France blasphemes as he's suddenly on the ice. It's thick, they are in between three and four feet of snow, he knows these things. It doesn't lessen his worries as his feet become fruitless to control his movements.

"Don't blaspheme, you're fine. I have you." she says, smiling as they begin to skate.

It really is a humorous sight, seeing the Queen of Scotland skate around the frozen pond, the Prince of France attached so tightly to her hand that it appears her fingers turn blue. He yells out and gasps in fear, but Mary just laughs and holds his hand tighter, going around and around and around the pond again.

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