Chapter Text
To-night God knows what thing shall tide,
The Earth is racked and faint—
Expectant, sleepless, open-eyed;
And we, who from the Earth were made,
Thrill with our Mother’s pain.
In Durance
The midwives had told MaryLou that the chances of her baby’s survival were more than slim. And when she brought not one, but three children into the world on that summer day, each born two minutes apart, almost everybody expected to be grieving by the hour. Everybody, save their mother.
August sunshine split through the curtains like strokes of honey-coloured paint, parting the crimson curtains and cascading rays of golden light across each of the young princes’ skin. As if Heaven was blessing her precious sons, bringing them the touch of an Angel, and welcoming them into nature’s gentle embrace.
Thousands of townsfolk, she knew, would be waiting outside the royal gates, peering through the iron bars towards the open window of their palace bedroom. They awaited good news this morning: an heir to the throne. How delightful it would be, she mused, to see their expressions when her husband delivered the unexpected miracle. There was no greater word for it than that.
Queen MaryLou had ruled through countless lives and deaths, weddings and funerals, blessings and curses, yet nothing had ever felt so close to her heart as this. This was hers, only truly hers: she and the King had brought three beautiful boys into the world, each more breathtaking than the last. This day, now and forevermore, was the beginning of a new cycle, a rebirth that she had crafted with her own God-given body. She would be the one to decide that they stayed here on Earth, that they would live out brilliant and prosperous lives; she, not fate. Her sons were warriors.
She would give the Kingdom of Aurora the celebration of a lifetime.
Leaning over the cradle - and just one had been enough to house all three of their tiny bodies - the Queen found two of her children still bathing in the sun. Their youthful faces were still turned into the warmth, soaking in the light like blooming sunflowers, as if using it to fuel their souls.
Nicolas was crying. Her eldest son, the baby she had known and loved for as long as she had been with him; in her mind, it had been only her and Nicolas for these past seven months. Only God had known that she would give birth to triplets, but it was a surprise most pleasant. His cheeks were turning red as he shrieked, and this felt like something of an inkling as to Nick’s future. He would be loud, colourful, and unapologetically himself. He would embrace the universe with all that he possibly could, with every morsel of his soul: he would harness the moon and the stars, move mountains, conquer the unconquerable. The sunlight coated his hand, like dipping the limb into a pot of honey, the hand which held tightly onto his brother’s.
If she looked closely, MaryLou noticed that for every broken cry that left Nicolas’ mouth, his brother flexed his fingers, squeezing his hand with silent reassurance. Matthew had been a shock, certainly, when the nurses had first seen him, but he most certainly was not any less adored. He was the smallest infant the Queen had ever laid her eyes on, and his entire body fit in the centre of her palm. Matthew rested mostly in the shade, his blond head shadowed by the overhang of the cradle; he reminded his mother of the moon, of cool evenings and shimmering skies. Of books, and tile, and willow trees. Of serenity.
And there was Christopher. He was like porcelain, grey and still against her own sandy skin. He didn’t cry, didn’t move. When MaryLou had first taken him into her arms, she had held her darling boy so close that they practically intertwined; and since then, she hadn’t put him down, rocking him so gently as if willing the life back into his cold, unmoving heart. She imagined Christopher to be so different in life than in death, so vibrant and joyful. He would be the balance, the eclipse of her sun and moon.
Instead, Christopher was silent, an empty bundle of skin and bones in her loving arms.
You will overcome this, she told him, You will be so full of life, my sweetheart. You will conquer this universe, and I will love you through every second of it all.
No part of her words were exaggerations, that she knew. She would love him now and she would love him later, even if his later never came. She would love her baby for as long as he existed - not as long as he lived, or as long as he did not. No, a mother’s devotion exceeded all limitations, all boundaries. She was his mother, and she would love him forever.
“My Christopher,” she whispered in a prayer, “You’ll be so bright, my child. You’ll be the stars. You’ll be the dawn. Rise.”
And, in a moment of miracles, her baby began to cry.