(no subject)
The first fifty-two weeks pass by in such a hurry that Francis almost doesn’t notice. However, Francis, of course, strives to be the best husband to his darling queen, which means three months before the day of their first anniversary, he begins to search for an appropriate present to give his wife. He could remember when he was young, watching his father search out the perfect gift for months before settling on something that was properly extravagant enough to present to his wife. Of course, it was very obvious that Francis’s mother and his wife were two very different individuals, his mother having been much more exorbitant than his very quiet and prim wife. In a way, finding a present for Maria would be much more difficult than finding a gift for a woman like his mother; though Maria appreciated fine things, she was not particularly fond of the ostentatious in her personal life. She was practical enough to tolerate the heavy dresses and fittings of court, but in private, she could often be found in a simple, but elegant, cotton dress that befitted her personality much more than yards of taffeta could.
However, the search proved to be more difficult than Francis had originally anticipated. He had decided on a whim to follow the traditional method of giving anniversary gifts, but found himself in something of a rut. It wasn’t that he couldn’t think of paper gifts in general, but everything he thought of seemed to fall flat. A journal was too blasé-plus Maria didn’t write in a journal in general. Books were something that she would get on her own if she wanted, and though he had briefly considered the possibility of writing her a small collection of poems, Francis was not quite a poet, and he refused to ask that English bastard for any sort of assistance in the matter.
The answer came one day from a local fair, a week before their anniversary. A magistrate had brought a variety of goods for the king to sample and appreciate, and among the trinkets and toys, he spotted something that he had not seen before… He picked up it with his forefinger and thumb, examining it closely. “Is this a new craft?” He asked, not looking at the magistrate.
“Paper crafts like this have become popular with the local girls, Your Majesty,” the magistrate says, head bowed. Francis orders several-but much smaller, if you will, and in a pale blue. A few days later, a small package arrived, and Francis had it sent to the court jeweler to be made into earrings and a necklace. Everything is wrapped and ready the morning of their anniversary. He waits, though, until later in the evening to present his gift.
Maria, when handed the small package, doesn’t quite know what to expect. Though she has become familiar with her husband, she’s wise enough to know that a year’s worth of time together is hardly enough to become an expert on him. She opens the box carefully-not that she expects it to explode or anything, but whatever’s inside might be fragile. Francis waits with bated breath to see her expression, and he’s almost discouraged when she simply looks confused at the earrings, lifting them up to the light to look more closely at it.
“Is it a bird?” She asked, letting the crane slowly spin on its pin. Francis nods, moving to take the earring from her and put in on her ear. Maria dislikes being dressed, but she tolerated this as affection.
“I thought to give you something that might possibly be more delicate than you are,” Francis says, tucking her hair behind her ear. “It’s become a popular thing with the village girls to make these-supposedly it started in the Far East. Cranes are supposed to bring longevity.” He feels like he’s rambling.
“Is that so,” Maria says, turning to look at her reflection in the vanity mirror. It’s a pretty shade of blue on her, but her expression is unreadable. “They were folded from paper?” Francis nods again, moving to place the other earring on her, then the necklace. Perhaps something a bit more would have been better…
Maria is quite for a bit, then smiles. “It must have taken some skill to make these. If I wear them at court, then perhaps that village will benefit from the extra business.” It takes Francis a moment to register what she’s said-and then he feels the tension in his neck suddenly dissipate. “Thank you.”
It’s simple, almost too simple, but Francis feels remarkably accomplished for finding something that would make her smile. Being so far from home had taken its toll on her during the past year, and though she had slowly become more adjusted, that sort of smile was rare to see on her face, even in private. He reaches out to cup her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “Of course, mon biche.” Her eyes shut, and she turns to kiss the palm of his hand.
It has been a hard year for both of them, a mix of homesickness and the novelty of marriage, all combined with the troubles and business of ruling a kingdom. But, Francis thought, if they had made it this far, then how difficult could the next fifty-two weeks be?
However, the search proved to be more difficult than Francis had originally anticipated. He had decided on a whim to follow the traditional method of giving anniversary gifts, but found himself in something of a rut. It wasn’t that he couldn’t think of paper gifts in general, but everything he thought of seemed to fall flat. A journal was too blasé-plus Maria didn’t write in a journal in general. Books were something that she would get on her own if she wanted, and though he had briefly considered the possibility of writing her a small collection of poems, Francis was not quite a poet, and he refused to ask that English bastard for any sort of assistance in the matter.
The answer came one day from a local fair, a week before their anniversary. A magistrate had brought a variety of goods for the king to sample and appreciate, and among the trinkets and toys, he spotted something that he had not seen before… He picked up it with his forefinger and thumb, examining it closely. “Is this a new craft?” He asked, not looking at the magistrate.
“Paper crafts like this have become popular with the local girls, Your Majesty,” the magistrate says, head bowed. Francis orders several-but much smaller, if you will, and in a pale blue. A few days later, a small package arrived, and Francis had it sent to the court jeweler to be made into earrings and a necklace. Everything is wrapped and ready the morning of their anniversary. He waits, though, until later in the evening to present his gift.
Maria, when handed the small package, doesn’t quite know what to expect. Though she has become familiar with her husband, she’s wise enough to know that a year’s worth of time together is hardly enough to become an expert on him. She opens the box carefully-not that she expects it to explode or anything, but whatever’s inside might be fragile. Francis waits with bated breath to see her expression, and he’s almost discouraged when she simply looks confused at the earrings, lifting them up to the light to look more closely at it.
“Is it a bird?” She asked, letting the crane slowly spin on its pin. Francis nods, moving to take the earring from her and put in on her ear. Maria dislikes being dressed, but she tolerated this as affection.
“I thought to give you something that might possibly be more delicate than you are,” Francis says, tucking her hair behind her ear. “It’s become a popular thing with the village girls to make these-supposedly it started in the Far East. Cranes are supposed to bring longevity.” He feels like he’s rambling.
“Is that so,” Maria says, turning to look at her reflection in the vanity mirror. It’s a pretty shade of blue on her, but her expression is unreadable. “They were folded from paper?” Francis nods again, moving to place the other earring on her, then the necklace. Perhaps something a bit more would have been better…
Maria is quite for a bit, then smiles. “It must have taken some skill to make these. If I wear them at court, then perhaps that village will benefit from the extra business.” It takes Francis a moment to register what she’s said-and then he feels the tension in his neck suddenly dissipate. “Thank you.”
It’s simple, almost too simple, but Francis feels remarkably accomplished for finding something that would make her smile. Being so far from home had taken its toll on her during the past year, and though she had slowly become more adjusted, that sort of smile was rare to see on her face, even in private. He reaches out to cup her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “Of course, mon biche.” Her eyes shut, and she turns to kiss the palm of his hand.
It has been a hard year for both of them, a mix of homesickness and the novelty of marriage, all combined with the troubles and business of ruling a kingdom. But, Francis thought, if they had made it this far, then how difficult could the next fifty-two weeks be?