margetudor:
She had attended several weddings over the years, including three of her own. Preparing for the wedding of a King, not to mention her nephew, was no small feat. Margaret wanted everything to be perfect for his marriage and she would do everything within her power to see it through, including the smallest of decorations. So here she sat, observing the decorators as they prepared one of the rooms. “More banners over there,” she gestured to the far corner. “You were hired to prepare for the wedding of the King, not a stingy earl’s funeral.” Although her voice lacked its usual sharpness because of exhaustion from her travels, she made sure she was no less intimidating.
The decorators followed her instructions immediately and she rose to attend to other neglected sections of the room. “Is this the dessert table?” She frowned and straightened a crease in the tablecloth of a spacious side table. “Pitiful, it needs at least twice as many cakes.” As she debated on exactly how many, she caught a glimpse of someone by the door out of the corner of her eye. “Ah, have the bakers already arrived with more?” She asked well before she turned to see who was actually entering the room.
He delighted in the forthcoming festivities, with far more exuberance then he cared to admit to his fellows, saving his delight solely for Joanna; the air changed in preparation a wedding, as if the Earth were designed to cater towards matrimony. Phillip was painfully aware of his romanticized view of the holy union - for a match was predicated only on the riches it would award each house; only this was considered, when a marriage was arranged. It was he, and not the majority, that won peace of mind and natural feelings of love and tenderness, in his wedding.
His stature looked imposingly tall in the chamber; amidst the group of bustling servants, laden with more decorations, appearing comical beneath strands of ribbon and fabric. Phillip sought the company of Cromwell, who appealed to all in supporting his arrangement of the union - he knew the man to shrink at the opposition from Norfolk, who wielded his ardent disapproval behind closed doors, like a hammer bent on meeting a nail. But in lieu of Cromwell’s shadowy figure, it was the regal Margret Tudor who addressed him - how ardently Phillip sought her approval, and desired to avoid her presence in tandem. "If it would please you, my lady, I hope the bakers will move with fervent speed - they ought not to make a woman such as yourself attend for long." His profile was clear, fine and expressive; his eye glanced from face to face quickly, though quickly it returned to Margret’s imposing stare. “Forgive my intrusion - I merely sought council with Lord Cromwell. You seem to have a knack for decorating; do you work to suit your own fancy, or has our beloved King inquired after your skills?










