a/n: Written for the daily challenge at the F/M thread over at fanforum with the prompt "you have me wrapped around your finger"

I walk from one side of the nursery to the other, swaying my arms in an attempt to calm the wailing baby in them and lull her into sleep. But my daughter is hard to please, whenever I set her down she starts fussing again. Mary and I both refused a wet nurse to care for her, instead deciding to do this ourselves, wanting every second parenthood can give us. Tonight she's speaking with her uncle and some representatives from Scotland, leaving the daunting task of putting our daughter to bed all to myself.

"Shhh." I try and soothe her, and her cries start receding. I remember the first time I heard her cry, and I thought the sound was like music to my ears. After nearly two months of it I don't believe that so much anymore, but the memory is still fond in my heart.

I'd been waiting outside the birthing room for hours, hearing Mary scream and not being allowed inside, which was pure torture. One would think a future king could push his way wherever he wanted but the midwifes were frightening women and they strictly forbade it. My father told me to let the women to their business, Bash invited me a drink. But how could I leave my post at the door when my wife was bringing our child into the world? I refused to be like my father, whom I remember went hunting with his friends as my mother gave birth to Henry.

So I stayed outside well into the hours before dawn, and thankfully Lola, Greer and Kenna gave me hourly reports on Mary. Until just before the clock struck 5 in the morning, I heard the beautiful sound of a baby's cry coming from inside the room. And I pushed my way into it, propriety be damned. And there they were.

I am not ashamed to say tears sprung to my eyes. I'll never forget that sight. Mary, beautiful and glowing despite the sheen of sweat that covered her skin, and her cheeks reddened by effort, holding the most beautiful creature I've laid my eyes on. Our baby, a wailing pink little thing. I rushed to them and dropped to my knees beside the bed, pulling Mary close to my side. I dropped a kissed on her forehead as I laid eyes on the babe in her arms, a little girl. Our daughter. In that moment, with both of those girls inside the circle of my arms I felt like the luckiest man alive.

I still do, although I'm a tired man as well. I start to set her down on her bassinet, but she starts complaining once my arms leave her. I can't bear to leave her like this so I pick her up again, walking to the chair and sitting down. I lay her down on my lap and she quiets immediately, her big brown orbs looking up at me. Mary's eyes.

"You are calm now, are you not?" I ask her, chuckling. I know if she can't understand my words at least the tone of my voice soothes her. She tries to reach her tiny hands towards my face and I grab her little fist in my own. Her tiny fingers immediately grasp one of my own. She's so small; I can hold her in front of me with one hand.

She lets go of my finger, interested now on the window behind me it seems. It is way past her bedtime, and I fear I should be in bed by now as well. But I can't let her alone here without knowing she's asleep. I hold her head with my hand, my thumb caressing the downy, velvety skin and the blonde curls starting to make their appearance. Her eyes settle back on me at this and I can't help but drop a kiss on her forehead. Her brow furrows a bit, my beard probably prickling her skin.

"Oh, I'm sorry." I tell her softly, "Are you going to fall asleep soon? I fear your mother will be upset with us both if you don't." I swear I can see her tiny mouth pull up in a smile. I stand up once now that she's quiet, and once more try to set her down on her crib but she starts fussing again the minute she thinks I'm leaving. With a sigh, I pick her up again.

"You've got me wrapped around your finger and you know it, don't you?" My own mouth pulls up in a smile, as it does every time I see her. She's so perfect, equal parts Mary and myself. It's like our miracle, our own little ray of light after so much darkness. I bring her against me, holding her in the crook of my arm now, hoping she'll go to sleep soon. But not too soon, I so love holding her in my arms.

_.-._

I finished my meeting with my uncles and went to my rooms afterwards, hoping to find Francis. Now it's quite late an hour and he still hasn't shown up so we can check on the baby together before going to sleep ourselves, like we always do. So I decide to look for him, searching in the only place I know he'll be in. Sure enough, I find him in the nursery, holding our newborn daughter in his arms.

I don't wish to interrupt, so I stay quietly under the frame of the door, waiting until he notices me. The baby is asleep now, her tiny mouth in a silent "o" and Francis seems deep in thought looking down at her, his fingers tracing feather light patterns on her rosy cheek. The image fills my heart with love. I lean further into the room despite myself, and the little noise my shoes make give me away. Francis' head whips up as he realizes I'm here.

"I was just going to put her to sleep." He tells me, almost bashful. His smile warms me like the sun that has long ago set down. He stands up and walks to the crib, and I follow him. He lays the baby down so carefully, so softly, as if she was a porcelain doll that could break.

"I believe it's time for us to sleep as well." I say, grazing my hand down his arm. He nods, almost as if he finds it difficult to take his eyes off our daughter. I would make fun of him for it but it's the most precious thing I've seen, and I have to admit at first I was fairly jealous of anyone who came near her when she wasn't with me. The first week after she was born she didn't spend more than a few minutes out of my arms. I reach inside the crib and run my finger down her chubby pink arm, and my thumb strokes her tummy softly. I don't want her to wake. I just can't help but marvel at how perfect she is.

Francis sneaks his arm around my waist, pulling me close and I rest my head against his chest. We both look down at our daughter, and I think that this is what we fought for. This is our fate.