[fic] "who cares baby i think i wanna marry you"
to the stars | chapter 4: francis | 3200 words | france: hungary: austria: switzerland: prussia | france/hungary; austria/hungary
in which francis hosts his engagement party
to the stars
Chapter 4: Francis
"Why, yes, Vash, of course you and dear Gilbert are going! Am I giving you much of a choice here?"
A pause.
"Oh, now you're going to make Elizaveta unhappy! You can't go around making my fiancée unhappy, now, can you? And she's your friend as well-"
Another pause, only this time the person on the other line was speaking more rapidly and more furiously.
"Vash, dear - oh, don't yell like that, fine, I'll stop calling you dear - okay, yes, you'll come? And you'll bring Gilbert? Yes. Fabulous. See you at seven!"
Francis hung up. Sometimes his friends seemed so confused on whether or not they were actually his friends or not. In any case, Vash and Gilbert were coming over for his and Elizaveta's engagement party - they'd have better, just look at the all-star casting he'd bothered to put together - he'd even gotten his dear old friend the Royal Mage to come on over! The Queen had even winked at him and hinted that she was going to drop by.
The Queen!
Elizaveta would love him so now, wouldn't she? A chance to raise the Queen's opinion of her father! He knew Éliás Héderváry wasn't doing a very good job of keeping up relations with the neighboring kingdoms - and that was bad. Very bad. If that kept up, it was not just the soldiers and the peasants that would suffer, but also the aristocracy.
Himself included.
Enough about this. Francis disliked talking about trouble. Especially trouble that could possibly put him in danger.
And it wasn't that Elizaveta wasn't lovely herself: she was beautiful, even by Francis's standards, with those darling emerald eyes and those silky chocolate tresses. Her attitude was one to behold, too: not the dainty, pathetic faces of the high-class ladies her age, the ones who would so wholeheartedly throw themselves at him, but someone who wasn't hesitant to beat somebody to a bloody pulp if they every crossed her the wrong way.
In any case, the fact that it was three-thirty, Elizaveta was to be around in half an hour, and a knock on the door jolted him back to reality. "Come in."
Angelique entered the room, her hair in its usual ribboned pigtails and the white of the maid uniform a stark contrast to her dark hair and lightly tanned skin. Her caramel eyes were apprehensive, as if waiting for something to pounce on her.
"Ah, Angelique. What is it?"
Angelique flushed. "Er, well, the Head Chef told me to tell you that we have run out of ingredients for the bouillabaisse."
Francis raised an eyebrow at her. "Darling, that is not a problem. Just have someone run to the market and buy the necessary ingredients."
Angelique bowed hurriedly. "Y-yes sir. I-I'll tell the chef that…"
He was off the couch in half a second, one hand pushing the door shut and the other cupped around her chin. "Oh, now, Angelique, why are you in such a hurry?"
Angelique's face turned an even deeper shade of red and she averted her gaze. "Well, s-sir - Lady Elizaveta will be here within the hour, and…"
"But an hour is such a long time, now, is it not?" Francis laughed and inched his face closer to hers.
"But Sir-" Angelique was breathing heavily now - "There is still so much yet to be done-"
"Trifles," Francis interrupted. "Now, if it were up to me-"
A door slammed somewhere in the mansion and there was the sound of footsteps stomping up the stairs.
"Frog! Where the bloody hell are you? The one day I decide to come early-"
The door to the room swung open, missing Francis' face by inches.
Arthur stood in the doorway; his emerald green eyes alight with fury, embarrassment, and exhaustion. He blinked and assessed the situation in the room: Francis and Angelique against a wall -
Francis blinked. "Arthur," he breathed. "You didn't tell me you were coming early."
"FRANCIS!"
Vash hung up.
"Lemme guess," Gilbert said, "He won you over and we're going to the party."
Vash glared at him.
"Thought so." His companion put his pal against his chin. "Fran has a way with words, really."
"Why do you think I worry for Elizaveta?" Vash snapped. "You don't think I've heard of Bonnefoy's 'reputation?' That's why we're going, remember? We are going there to keep an eye on those two and make sure nothing bad happens. I told Francis I was going because I was her friend and not because I cared for him and his silly atrocities in the least." He heaved a sigh and Gilbert knew he was thinking of his sister.
"Oh, Zwingli, don't you want my friends to be happy together?"
"Francis may be happy. Elizaveta is most definitely not."
"Touché." Gilbert grinned. "But don't forget, there'll be hot girls at the party."
He quickly averted his gaze as not to see Vash's glare again.
Elizaveta arrived at the Bonnefoy manor in a flourish, with her green dress long and flowing and her hair in its beautiful curls. She smiled at the young maid who opened the door: whose pigtails were disheveled and whose face was flushed and panting. She figured working in such a huge house such as this was pretty tiring.
"Mr. Bonnefoy will see you now," the girl told her, showing her into a room. She gave Elizaveta a quick nod and scampered down the hallway.
Elizaveta lingered outside the room, listening to the voices that floated through the door.
"Francis, what the bloody hell were you thinking?"
Another voice, definitely Francis's. "But Arthur, Angelique is so pretty! She'd grown so much since we found her on the street that I couldn't help myself!"
The first voice, lower. "Francis, you are an engaged man and Angelique is your servant! You've got to control yourself! Whatever will Elizaveta think?"
Elizaveta's heart skipped a beat and she was about to listen further when a door in the hallway opened and the family butler, Jean, looked at her in alarm. His face calmed down, though, when he recognized her. "Lady Elizaveta! Did Angelique not announce you?" Jean tsked. "Silly girl."
He went over to the door and knocked primly. Immediately the voices stopped and Jean called out, "Lady Elizaveta Héderváry."
There was a scuffle inside and when Jean opened the door Francis and the first man - shorter than him by a few inches, with striking green eyes and bushy eyebrows - were standing up.
Francis smiled at the butler. "Thank you very much, Jean. Bring in some tea, please?"
Jean bowed neatly and faded into the background.
Francis looked her over. A lovely face: green eyes not unlike Arthur's, soft brown hair that tumbled down her back, that single flower in her hair, the finely upturned Héderváry nose, and a wide smile - beautiful, undeniably. Gilbert and that Zwingli boy were lucky indeed.
She gave him a curtsy. "Mr. Bonnefoy," she murmured, holding out her hand.
Francis took it and placed tantalizing lips on it: she didn't seem to react save for a flash in those green eyes. It didn't matter: he straightened himself up. "It is my pleasure," he said. "Call me Francis, if you wish."
She nodded curtly. "Francis, then." A pause. "You may call me Elizaveta."
"Of course." Francis smiled and dusted himself off. Formalities, formalities. It wasn't that they hadn't met before: oh, they had, plenty of times (thirty-six, if he recalled correctly, and twenty-eight of them involved him running away from a frying pan). In any case, he gestured to the man beside him. "Dearest, this is Sir Arthur Kirkland."
Arthur bowed. Elizaveta smiled at him and held out her hand again. "Kirkland…Are you not the Royal Mage?"
He flushed. "So you have heard," he said. "I haven't been the Mage for too long…eight, nine months, maybe? So I'm surprised."
Francis cracked a grin. "Oh, now, Arthur, you're being modest," he said. "This little man here's a real prodigy, Elizaveta. He's only twenty-two, and the Royal Mage already!"
Elizaveta ignored him. Imagine, meeting the Royal Mage himself in person! "It is a pleasure to meet you, sir," she said.
"The pleasure is mine," Arthur interjected hurriedly.
Jean brought in tea and quickly excused himself.
Francis frowned. "Would the two of you like a stroll through the gardens after tea?" he asked. "I have just had some lovely geraniums imported from the neighboring kingdom."
Arthur shrugged and said it was up to the lady to decide. "Good tea you have here," he noted, taking a sip.
Elizaveta's eyes gleamed and she took a biscuit. "I-I happen to adore geraniums," she said, fingering the one in her hair. She didn't add exactly why she adored them: she did not mention the moonlit nights where she'd meet Roderich at the pagoda, the times he'd play his violin to make the geraniums open and how he'd compliment its simple beauty and tuck one into her hair.
"Fantastic," Francis said. He called for the butler to put the tea set away and motioned for Elizaveta to take his arm. "Come along, Arthur."
One huge, beautiful garden and several hundred flowering plants later, Elizaveta told her fiancé she must be home for she had to change clothes for the engagement party later on.
"Of course," Francis murmured. He held out one of his trademark roses to her: with its lovely smell and silky red petals, she could not deny that it was a beautiful flower. "Promise me, Elizaveta, you will wear this with your gown." He smiled at her, his eyes like the sky.
She eyed him, and took it without a word.
The engagement party was going well. They'd found enough ingredients for bouillabaisse for three hundred people after all, and it was delicious as per the Head Chef. Francis had hired him for a reason, after all. The orchestra he'd hired was playing soft music across the room, which blended nicely with the lively chatter that filled his ears.
He saw his fiancée, this time in a gown simpler yet more beautiful than the one she was wearing earlier, with Gilbert and Vash in tow. As per his request, the blooming red rose was tucked behind her ear, but if he'd looked hard enough he could see that a geranium was tucked into her lapel.
She'd seen him too, apparently, and was telling the two of them how she'd just be over with him (presumably, that was). She floated over to him, her gown barely touching the floor, as Gilbert and Vash disappeared into the crowd. "Good evening, Francis," she told him, and after visibly hesitating, gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. "It's a wonderful party."
"Of course," he replied right away, "You deserve no better."
She blushed, although her face remained neutral. "Thank you."
A slow, romantic song floated over the party, and he eyed her. "In romance novels, this is usually the point where the handsome, dashing male lead asks his beautiful partner to dance."
The ends of her lips curled upwards into what can barely be called a smile. "And you fancy yourself so handsome and dashing?"
"Of course." He bowed, a long, sweeping gesture, and held his hand out to her. "And do you, my beautiful partner, fancy yourself a good dancer?"
Elizaveta looked at him with that blank stare again, as if her thoughts were far away with another memory, but he made nothing out of it as she took his hand.
"They're dancing," Vash said absentmindedly, but his companion had left his side and was busy chatting up a group of young ladies. "Gilbert!" he barked, sauntering over to them.
Gilbert turned, and the ladies eyed him. "Vash!"
"He is your friend?" one of them asked.
Gilbert laughed. "Oh, him and me go way back." He trapped Vash in a half-headlock, half-hug. "Ladies, this is Vash Zwingli. The old doofus may seem like a mean old bulldog at first, but really is a fluffy little puppy on the inside."
The girls swooned and Vash gave his friend another signature glare.
He saw her before she noticed him, her in her regal elegance and extraordinary beauty, in the center of the dance floor dancing a slow, floaty waltz. She'd always been a great dancer, and she seemed at the top of her game tonight, dancing with that nobleman. Francis' eyes twinkled, and she appeared to be laughing. But of course as a member of the orchestra, he couldn't do anything about it and played on.
Francis turned her around and that was when she caught sight of him: he knew she did because of the way her eyes widened, the way her lips pursed. Francis apparently followed her gaze and asked what she was looking at.
"Nothing," she said, and although his lip-reading skills were less than astounding it was fairly obvious that was what she was saying. "I just thought I recognized one of the orchestra members."
Francis nodded and the song ended with a flourish.
Later after she'd freed herself from Francis he met her on one of the balconies.
"Roderich!" she gasped.
"Elizaveta," he murmured. "Having a good time, I hope?"
Her lower lip trembled. "What are you doing here?"
He shrugged. "A friend of mine is a member of the orchestra," he explained. "When one of the first violinists came down with a fever and couldn't make it, he suggested that they call me. And here I am, love."
She bit her lip and hugged him. "I missed you."
"How's the party going?"
"Dull," she replied. "Francis is a bore. I have, however, already met his friend the Royal Mage."
"Mr. Kirkland?" Roderich's tone was surprised. "I didn't know he and Francis were acquainted."
"I didn't, either. But it turns out they are, apparently." She laughed loudly, and then remembered to be quiet.
He leaned down and gave her a chaste kiss on the brow. "Oh, Elizaveta."
She hugged him again, and he wrapped his arms around her.
"Elizaveta?" Vash's voice floated towards them - apparently he'd heard her laugh. "Elizaveta, Gilbert said-" A second later he walked onto the balcony. "-Oh." His eyes went from Elizaveta's own to Roderich's and then they widened. "Y-you!"
Roderich's indigo eyes flashed and his eyebrows crashed down, then flew upwards. He opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but evidently decided to keep it shut.
"Excuse me," he told Elizaveta, his tone having an uncomfortably cold edge, "I've forgotten I had a previous engagement. I will tell the orchestra members about this." He gave Vash a cool nod and said to the both of them, "I hope you both have a good time. Good night."
With that, he walked out, leaving Elizaveta and Vash alone on the balcony.
"Vash?" Elizaveta piped up after a short pause.
He grunted in response.
"Vash?" she repeated. "What was that about?"
He turned to face her; green eyes alight with everything from fear to anger to helplessness. "Better yet, dear Elizaveta, what was that about? What were you doing?" he near-exploded.
She uncharacteristically managed to keep her cool. "How do you know Roderich?"
"Answer my question first." Vash took a deep breath. "Why didn't you tell me?"
She stared at him and thought of Roderich's talent for magic and remembered the anti-mage policy the Zwingli family had upheld for the past century. "That's none of your business," she said.
"Tell me."
"Why is it such a big deal to you?" she shot back. "You know perfectly well that I don't love Francis!"
"Elizaveta, I-" In that moment, something seemed to break. "I know that. Just, please - anyone but Roderich Edelstein."
"Why?" Elizaveta near-shrieked. "Vash, I'm sorry I didn't tell you about this earlier, but I love him, okay? If that is too much for you to take I don't know why I'm even bothering with you!" She frowned, turned on her heel and left, and bumped into Francis on the way out.
"Elizaveta!" Francis exclaimed. "I was just looking for you!" He turned his gaze to Vash, who was still seething. "Oh, Mr. Zwingli. You don't mind if I borrowed Miss Elizaveta for a moment, would you?"
"Not. At. All," he grumbled. "By all means, go ahead."
Francis gave him a brilliant smile. "Thank you," he replied. To Elizaveta, he said, "Come along, dear, there's somebody I want you to meet." He saluted Vash and led her out of the balcony.
Vash considered throwing himself off the side of the balcony in the next minute, but decided against it and vanished once again into the crowd.
Arthur was saying something as he shook her hand amiably. "A pleasure to see you again, Miss Elizaveta," he said. "As the Royal Mage, I'd like you to meet the Queen of Fantasia."
Elizaveta had barely notice anything until then, but as Francis looked at her imploringly she stopped seeing red and curtsied. "Your Highness," she said slowly.
"Your Highness, this is Lady Elizaveta Héderváry, daughter of Éliás Héderváry," Arthur told the Queen.
"So this is your fiancée," the Queen told Francis. "Éliás'daughter. She's certainly very beautiful."
Elizaveta blushed. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
The Queen smiled. "I'm so sorry that I'm terribly late, there was an emergency at the Palace, you see-"
"It is no problem," Francis assured her smoothly. "Although I'm sorry to say almost everybody is in their cups by now."
He was right. Elizaveta, however, hadn't drunken a drop all evening.
"The Prince can't come?" Francis was asking, tapping Elizaveta on the hand to bring her back to reality.
"No, Toris has an affair," the Queen said absentmindedly. "In any case, I'm very sorry I can't stay long. I have a meeting in the South, you see."
"That is indeed a shame," Arthur said. "Perhaps you'd like to stay for a sampling of the food, perhaps?"
"That would be lovely," the Queen replied. "However, I have a meeting in forty minutes, and I cannot possibly miss it."
"Elizaveta and I understand," Francis said. "Thank you very much for stopping by."
"You are very welcome," the Queen replied. She turned to Elizaveta. "Send my best regards to your father."
Elizaveta stood there and gave the queen a barely-there curtsy. "Of course. Thank you very much, your Majesty."
"Congratulations to the both of you," the Queen called out as she made her way back to her carriage.
Elizaveta couldn't remember much of the night until she was safely at home with only the firelight to accompany her, for her father was away again and the servants were all asleep. She examined the new engagement ring on her finger: beautifully crafted rubies in the shape of a rose; offset by two glistening diamonds, and she examined the bracelet on her arm: simple but lovingly made, with a charm in the shape of a geranium.
A sudden rustle made her jump: the window was opening. She grabbed the nearest blunt object she could find - in this case, her frying pan -and made her way over to it.
There was a figure crouching on the windowsill.
Elizaveta gave a little shriek and slammed the frying pan down as hard as she could.
"AGH!"
She shined a light on it. "Gilbert!"
Her silver-haired friend grinned back. "Really, Liz, not so loud. And you should be thankful you've been hitting me with that since we were in diapers 'cause I now have a really hard skull."
"What are you doing here?" she hissed.
"Well-" Gilbert stood up and dusted himself off - "I didn't get much chance to talk to you or Francis during the party, so I tried talking to our favorite neutral dude."
"And this couldn't wait until tomorrow - why, again?"
"Because I couldn't sleep wondering why he was too pissed to say anything and he occasionally mumbled your name and Rod's during the second half of the party so I wondered what the hell was up with that. So I went to see you."
Elizaveta faltered. "And?"
"And I asked him."
She felt faint and slumped on the nearest sofa. "Oh, God."
"He told me he found out about you guys." Gilbert's red eyes seemed sympathetic.
"He did. Roderich was part of the orchestra. He was there, Gilbert."
"Right. And he told me how mad he was that of all people you had to pick Roderich Edelstein."
"He did tell me that, too." She looked at her friend. "Why?"
"He wouldn't tell me that," Gilbert said. "I thought you'd know."
Elizaveta felt like hitting him with the frying pan again.
"But-" Gilbert held up his hands, as if he knew what she was thinking. "Listen, Liz. I think Vash has his reasons, but I do think that one of them's this: He's really protective of the things he cares about, okay, because slowly they've been disappearing. It's just been Liesel and the two of us whom he knows he can trust. And he's sure I can take care of myself-"
"I can take care of myself, too," Elizaveta interrupted.
"Sure you can." Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Anyway, since he's sure I can take care of myself, he really worries about you and Liesel. And ever since Liesel went missing-"
Elizaveta was silent.
"I think he's scared your thing with Rod will get you in trouble, Liz."
"But why Roderich especially?"
"That, my friend, I do not know. In any case, I'm going back home, Ludwig will miss me." Gilbert grinned. "See ya, pal." He pat Elizaveta on the head and leaped out the window.
She shut the window, stared at his retreating figure, then slowly made her way back to her room.
"There is a problem."
He saw her, of course, silhouetted against the moonlight. He barely heard what she was saying. "Could you repeat that?"
"There is a problem," she repeated, coming closer to him. "The dragons…Something's wrong with them."
This jolted him out of his half-asleep state. What was she doing here? Great Mages were supposed to stay in their own province. This meant something really was wrong.
"Are you sure?"
She nodded.
And she told him about what was wrong with her dragon.
"This is bad," he said. "The same is happening to mine. We must contact the others, then alert the City at once."
Yaah, this chapter is 3,700+ words long and ten pages on my Microsoft Word. That's a record for me, honestly. I'm better at oneshots.
Woohoo, we now have England and Seychelles (Angelique)! And Lithuania is the Prince! (Don't ask why that happened, it's just…weird, okay?) Jean is Francis' butler and isn't any Hetalia character. And I'll see how many chapters I can get away with keeping the Queen nameless.
Anyway, so Vash has a hidden agenda regarding Roderich and we know the gender of two of the Great Mages: one is male and one is female. Despite the overload of male characters in Hetalia, I wanted that to not be all-male, at least. So there's (at least) one girl out of the four Great Mages. In the next chapter, we leave our rich little friends behind to visit the military barracks!
I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia. Don't forget to review, darlings.