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for it is in giving that we receive; Tag: HRex
Topic Started: Dec 4 2010, 08:10 PM (168 Views)
Isabel Leigh
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Virtue alone is invincible.
December 27, 1511

Isabel's hands could not stop shaking. For the first time in her entire life, she was going to speak directing to His Majesty the King of England. Despite being a lady of Her Majesty and being at court for several months, Isabel had not yet had the opportunity or privilege to have an audience or any other communication with the King, but it was Christmas. Isabel had gifts for the King and His Queen, and now was the time to give them.

The redhead approached the seat of the King, dressed in a blue gown simple in design. Her ballooned at her shoulders, tapering down to her wrists, and the only ornamentation she wore besides the garland of orange blossoms in her hair was her wooden rosary, of course. Her pulse raced and she thought she might pas out. Isabel Leigh, a low little nothing who only served the Queen through a stroke of luck, was about to speak to the King of England and offer meager and poor little gifts to him! What was she thinking?

Isabel's blue eyes were focused upon the floor on her approach, and she dare not look up as she lowered into a curtsy, the gifts for Their Royal Majesties tucked beneath her arm. "Your Majesty..." She felt dizzy. "My name is Isabel Leigh, and I serve Her Majesty. I have brought Your Majesty gifts for Christmas."
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King Henry VIII
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How long was it he was going to sit here? Henry enjoyed the receiving of gifts and the obeisance he received from damn near everybody in England. He would smile, incline his head, hope he was looking sufficiently impressed by the twenty-fifth blackwork shirt he received from a beautiful lady or yet another goblet wrought of gold when truly he was wondering if anyone would be creative about what to get their most royal monarch for Christmas. It seemed he had been here for ages, smiling and nodding, trying desperately not to seem bored by the constant parade of gifts before him and his sprightly Italian bride with her beautiful dark hair. For a man who commanded the country of England by grace of God, he was finding that God disappointed him in those who served him; every time, every person on bended knee, he watched, feigning interest and keenness in the gift presented even though sometimes his intense blue gaze would wander to the finely carved profile of his wife or to the window where the dark grey clouds gathered.

Waving away a man who had presented him with a set of bow and arrows that were not in a fashion he quite liked, and a beautiful jeweled bracelet for Her Majesty that Henry thought quite unappealing for he could come up with something much better to gift her with from the Jewel House, His Majesty turned to see who was stepping in now. The people coming to him were closer to the bottom of the barrel, according to etiquette, those who served Her Majesty or were just at court for Christmas tidings, those who were untitled and therefore those who could not give him gifts that he would much appreciate or use. He knew it was selfish of him, and that selfishness was a sin: but was he not the King of England? Did he and his wife not deserve the best their subjects had to offer? That was why, after all, poor Wolsey slaved day in and day out to reckon accounts, to feed the ever-consuming masses that came to visit and those who lived at court, all paid for by the King's treasury, especially during the season where it seemed everyone who was anyone came to court with their own entourages expecting His Majesty to take care of everything. Their presumptuousness! Henry believed because of this, as well as because of his mere station in life as anointed by God to lead his country, he deserved whatever it is he wanted.

As the young woman with red hair approached him, Henry nodded, smiling at her, feeling like some stupid indulgent father who noted her anxiety. Well! He was the king, wasn't he? But he was not some brute to be afraid of! Why on earth was she doing this? He wondered but he did not ask. Instead, the smile remained plastered on his face as his eyes scanned her appearance from the wreath in her hair to the blue of her gown. "Lady Isabel," he said in his powerful voice, the one he used when he was speaking to crowds or to the council, as if his voice alone were the single most important thing anyone could ever listen to, "we thank you for your service to Her Majesty." She was a lady to Francesca, was she not? It didn't matter. It was idle politeness. She said so herself, anyhow, that she was. "We thank you for your gifts and service to us." He spoke in the royal we, referring not only to himself but his station above all people in England, nodding to her so she could reveal whatever it was she brought for them to ooh and aah over as Henry had done for ages this day as he sat in his throne dressed in his best with the Italian queen at his right hand.
[align=center]His Majesty is in 3 threads.

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Isabel Leigh
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Virtue alone is invincible.
The woman thought she might from anxiety before His Majesty ever spoke his first word. Was she put together well enough? Was she making a fool of herself, her family, and the Queen she served? Isabel thought of all this, and then when the King spoke his first words directly to her, her stomach flopped and a breath escaped her. Blue eyes furtively raised to look at His Majesty and she swallowed her anxiety with a gulp she hoped that wasn't audible. She was here to serve his wife and give him a gift; she needed to calm down before she embarrassed herself and all those dear to her, including Her Majesty.

"It is my greatest pleasure in life, Your Majesty." Isabel said with a sincere heart. It was her greatest fortune in life to now serve the Queen of England, and Isabel was not one to lavish affection or sugared words without her heart behind them. Despite her age, she had naive honesty, as she was sure Elizabeth Stafford detected on her arrival in England. She did not detect the placating manner that the King was relying on, nor the manner he had defaulted to.

Gently, Isabel pulled out the folded fabrics from beneath her arm, offering them to the King to see. "I know they are meager, but my love for Your Majesties is sincere." For the Queen Isabel offered a white coif, embroidered with many minuscule Tudor roses. The vivid red and green stood out sharply on the white coif. For the King was a blackwork shirt, likewise embroidered with the Tudor rose around the cuffs and collars. Isabel had put as much effort into the gifts as she had anything else. Her fingers still ached from the effort of sewing the tiny flowers onto the pieces of clothing, and her left finger was slightly red from the pricks of the needle once a thimble began to be less aid than trouble.

"I hope Your Majesties find some measure of joy in these mere garments." Isabel bowed her head humbly and breathed. She had done it, and she hadn't vomited or passed out.
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King Henry VIII
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Another bloody blackwork shirt. Was this all women could do with their time, sew intricate Spanish sewing? Henry on the inside wanted to put a palm to his forehead with a heavy sigh, but Henry on the outside had to appear politely overjoyed by these gifts. At least the work done by Isabel's hand was truly fine, especially the intricate details on the coif for Francesca that would look utterly ravishing on her dark head.

Nodding his head to her, keeping that kind smile on his face that could trick anyone into believing the young tyrant was a good-hearted man (he could be when he wished), Henry said, "We are most glad to hear it, Lady Isabel, and we are sure Her Majesty appreciates the beautiful gift made specially for her by thine own hands for such a queen deserves such gifts." While she was honest, Henry was exercising his own honesty as well: he was sure Francesca would enjoy such a gift, and it was indeed impressive that Lady Isabel had gone through all this trouble for a simple shirt and coif when other gifts would have sufficed just as well.

Glancing sidelong to Francesca, the smile turning slightly rueful, he cleared his throat as the page beside him took both gifts away from Isabel's hands to store them with everything else that had been given to the royal couple this day. "You may think them meager, Lady Isabel, and yet such fine work slaved over for us is appreciated for it takes more work to sew than it does to buy a jewel, I would suppose!" The King's smile had a great amount of humor in it as he chuckled, expecting to hear sycophantic laughter right along with him. Giggles echoed through the chamber, not at Isabel, but at the King's most hysterical comment that truly wasn't; but he was the King. Their purpose was to entertain him and convince him he was the smartest, most attractive, most amusing prince in Christendom. "We thank you for these gifts of the merry Christmas season and we wish you a happy Christmastide, Lady Isabel. Now, go enjoy yourself at our expense, dear lady!"

As tempestuous as he could be, a tyrant from the age of eighteen, Henry did enjoy making others happy with compliments and gifts as much as he desired receiving them, smiling upon Isabel almost kindly to end the audience. More courtiers needed to come to the audience chamber to give the King and Queen their gifts
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Isabel Leigh
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Virtue alone is invincible.
The kind words from the King could not help but cause Isabel's lips to stretch into a smile, though she bowed her head in humility. Her bosom became warm with the knowledge that she has pleased her monarch and that she hadn't shamed herself or anyone else with her needlework. Now she could rest assured that she hadn't made a complete fool of herself, and that she had please the two to whom she owed so much.

The redhead's cheeks flushed at the praise of the effort it took to sew compared to buying a jewel, and she was pleased. The smile stayed upon her lips as she listened to the last of the King's words and his invitation to enjoy herself. "I will, thank you Your Majesty." She lowered into a curtsy once more, bowing her head as she did. "Happy Christmas, Your Majesties."

Isabel lowered into one more curtsy, for it was better to be safe than sorry in paying proper respect to the monarch, and she backed up a few steps before rising and turning to go and find a chalice of cider or perhaps a bit of food. His Majesty seemed pleased by the gifts, and spoke with such kind words! For her first encounter with the King of England, everything had ended much better than expected, and Isabel was relived to find her fears unfounded. She snuck a glance over her shoulder before departing wholly from the King's presence, and she smiled to herself. Was there no better monarch in all the world than the King of England?

(Closed, unless you want to post Henry's last thoughts or... something. :D )
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