May 25th, 1774
 Le Château de Versailles
 Galerie des Glaces

France traveled through each drawing room of the King's State Apartments quickly, his suspicion aroused by the lack of people standing around, chatting and talking. Only a few low-ranking courtiers idled here or there, disinterested in whatever it was that had drawn all the others away. They paused in their conversations to watch him as he passed, but he didn't suspect malice, merely curiosity. France was known at Versailles by face, if not by name. People who had been there long enough knew he was someone special, and knew to defer to him. Still, France offered them charming and amiable smiles and nods if he made eye contact without stopping.

The number of people grew from room to room, and France knew he was drifting closer to some kind of to-do. The moment he turned the corner of the War Room into the Hall of Mirrors, he almost smacked into the backs of a crowd of people. They were lined up in an arc around the open doors immediately to the left that led to the King's Council Chamber, but none dared to enter the King's Private Apartments without an invitation. They stood shoulder to shoulder, all craning their necks to catch a glimpse of whatever excitement lay beyond. France gently made his way to the front, poking and prodding and jabbing soft elbows into the men, and offering playful winks and gentle excuses to the women. When he landed at the threshold, he saw footman after footman shuffling and jostling back and forth several rooms ahead, heading into Louis XVI's library and the adjacent rooms with boxes of varying sizes and heaviness, and walking out empty handed.

France reached into his vest pocket and pulled out the casted bronze symbol of the Bourbon Crest he carried that Louis XIV gave him, that allowed him authorized access to the whole palace. He held it aloft so the nobles behind him would know he had access, and paraded into the Council Chamber. The guards standing on either side of the door to Louis's unofficial bedchamber moved to stop him, but stepped aside at the sight of the Crest. France moved through the bedchamber, and into the Clock Room, where the servants were traveling back and forth through the doorway to his left. He held up his hand and stopped a footman at the entrance, sporting a small box no larger than a book.

"What are you doing?"

"His Majesty has requested that his belongings be moved from his former Dauphin's Apartments into his current Private Apartments, Monsieur," he answered.

"His belongings?" France asked. "I've seen about ten boxes already. How many boxes does he have?"

"Mmmm," the footman answered, eyes roving above France's head as he counted them. "Probably Ninety? A hundred? Something like that, Monsieur."

"What's in them all?"

"I don't know, Monsieur."

The urge to peek twitched in France's fingers, and he quickly looked around him, checking if the nobles watching could see. He grabbed the footman's arm and tugged him back into the corner, out of view. The footman blinked at him in surprise, but France let the playful glint shine in his eyes and placed a coy smile on his face. The footman smiled slightly in return, already drawn in to France's charisma. France brushed a finger across his lips for silence. He opened the lid of the box a fraction of an inch and leaned down so he could peek inside.

The only thing inside was one single pocket watch. A beautiful pocket watch, with a gold casing and a fleur-de-lis etched in relief. Circling the casing was a ring of laurels that came together at the top near the release.

"It's a pocket watch," France whispered to the footman, who nodded excitedly, like France had shared a dark secret. "Let's check another one."

France and the footman waited at the door and France picked another box out that didn't look too terribly heavy. He stopped the man carrying it and didn't bother with the secrecy, prying the lid open and peering inside. There were six pocket watches in the box, all wrapped in velvet to keep them protected. France closed the lid with a snap and waved the man along, and stopped one more servant, this one with a larger box. Inside were more watches, about twenty.

"Geez, how many watches does Louis have?" France asked. He remembered that Louis liked them, but he didn't realize they were important enough to him to have a collection. He tried one more box, this one the largest of those he stopped, and inside was full, nearly to the brim, with stacked keys and padlocks. It looked like possibly hundreds of locks were in the box.

France withdrew, allowing the man to pass him. He followed after him into Louis XVI's library and found his King standing at the center of the room and dressed in a plain frock coat and tan breeches, back straight with his arms behind his back, overseeing the move. Open boxes and wrappings lay strewn about him while the servants and footmen unpacked their contents and placed them in the direction that Louis pointed them to, either scurrying into the next rooms or placing them on display in the library.

France stopped off to the side of the doorway so he'd be out of the way and looked around at the decorations that were being installed. Most of the things in the library were model ships. Made of wood and of all different sizes, some were as small as a toy, and some had to be carried in by three or four men and propped up on special stands, the hulls almost as wide as France's head. Placed in cabinets and on shelves, everywhere France looked was a different kind of ship. Galleys, frigates, dinghys, and ships of the line in minute detail.

"Wooooow!" he said, forgetting all of the protocol he was supposed to maintain. France missed Louis's reaction to him, if Louis had a reaction at all. He immediately inspected the work of one of the larger ones. A ship of the line, the three main masts stretched upwards, taller than he was. All the main sails were unfurled, with the others still rolled up, displaying the intricate riggings attached to the sides of the ship. The details were so accurate that France could see the texture of the tiny ropes, and the little pulleys that looked as though they would actually work if he tried them. The guns on the decks poked out of the sides, ready to fire, and the wood panels on the decks had blemishes and stains, painted to look like real wood. The outside of the ship was painted an immaculate blue with gold accents and France marveled at the accuracy of the designs. The ship was an artistic masterpiece. He checked the back of the ship for the nameplate.

"This is . . . The Bourbon? The First Class Bourbon, that Louis XIV launched?" he asked, pointing to it. Louis watched him carefully, as though ready to yell in the event that France touched it.

"Yes."

"I remember the launch of this ship," he told him. "This looks exactly like it!"

"Thank you," Louis said simply. "I'm surprised you knew exactly which model of the Bourbon it was. Most don't."

France moved along to the next one, a smaller model. "And - hey - this one's the Superb! I was on this ship when it was captured by the British Royal Navy in 1710. England threw me overboard." Louis chuckled once, and France looked up, smiling back at him. "These are amazing!"

"Thank you. I'm very proud of that one in particular. It took me a long while to complete."

"Hold on. You made these?" France asked, his eyebrows lifting in surprise.

Louis's face lit up, excited to talk about them. But then he hesitated and turned red, a blush covering his entire face. His eyebrows furrowed and he looked down at his shoes, grabbing at the lace trailing from his sleeves.

"What?" France asked, and his heart twinged. It hurt him that Louis could be embarrassed about a real talent that he had, and it hurt him that Louis didn't trust him enough yet to feel like he could talk about it with him. "Votre Majesté, these are beautiful!"

Louis didn't answer for a moment, running the lace between his fingers. He took a breath and seemed to gather himself, then said, "You're not mad?"

"Mad? Why would I be mad about such beautiful work? My King is an artist!" he said, pride lifting his tone. He clasped his hands under his chin, already more excited than he could say that Louis was on track to continue the Bourbon line's patronage of the arts.

Louis smiled at the compliment and France's approval gave him visible relief. His shoulders relaxed and he looked up though his lashes at France. "Ever since I was a child, my father and grandfather both wanted me to abandon making them. They also wanted me to abandon the locks and locksmithing, too. And the watches. They said none of them were 'kingly' hobbies and they wouldn't serve me well." He grew timid again, looking back down at his shoes. "I wanted to make every single ship in Le Roi Soleil's navy. They said my interest in it was . . . too specific."

"I disagree entirely," France said, and Louis looked up at him in surprise. "Okay," he admitted, waving dismissively. "Maybe building model ships won't directly help you in State matters. But so what? Hobbies are just that - hobbies! It's important to have something you can do to relax. You can't be all work, and no play." This was an important opportunity to learn something about Louis. France jumped on the chance. "What else do you like to do? Besides building the ships, and making locks, and collecting watches?"

"Well I love the hunt. It's definitely my favorite pastime. And navigation. I love navigation, and mathematics. I'm fascinated by anything to do with maritime pursuits. Ever since I was a child, I studied the movements of the tides, and ship designs so I could create these models, and I love making maps and charting, and I even know military maneuvers and flag signals. Come see these," Louis said, turning and walking back out towards the Hall of Mirrors. France followed, and Louis called over his shoulder, "Continue to unpack my belongings. Place all the watches and locks in my private chamber, and keep as many ships in the library as you can!" He led France out and paused in what France called the 'Corner Room', overlooking both the Marble Courtyard on one face, and the Royal Courtyard on the other. The room was simply furnished with an elaborate wooden desk. Louis led France to it and gestured to a mess of maps that lay strewn around it. "I love navigation so much that I personally plotted the courses of several of my grandfather's flagships as they made their campaigns. This one is . . . " Louis said, sliding one out from under the pile. France quickly pressed the rest into the desk so they wouldn't fall. " . . . Bretagne, which he launched in 1766. And I also did Ville de Paris, 1764."

"Wow," France said again, staring at the maps and sorting through them. "These are perfect, Louis - Votre Majesté," France quickly amended. Even though he felt like he was making headway, he didn't want to seem too eager to befriend Louis. If he became defensive, it would be a simple matter to shut France out of any official business.

Louis chose not to address the slip of his tongue. "I even accounted for the . . . the tacking - which are changes in direction to continue sailing into the wind." Louis hesitated, and France knew he was using purposefully simple language as though talking to a layperson. He was already so used to not being able to share the depths of his passions with others. "And also, at each navigation point I calculated the speed of the currents." He pointed to a piece of paper he had fastened to the map. France stared at the numbers wishing he had cared enough to pay attention when he trained in nautical affairs so he could engage with Louis about it. Louis took his silence as displeasure. "Is it . . . strange? That I do this?" He gestured to the maps. "No one else is this interested in these kinds of things. My grandfather's disapproval hurt me deeply."

It seemed like an oddly personal thing to say, or maybe it was simply Louis's manner of speaking. Maybe candor was a quality of his. Either way, France decided not to let this opportunity pass. "No, I don't think it's weird at all! All of my kings had their thing. This one is yours!"

"Like what?" Louis asked. "What did your . . . other kings like to do?"

"Well . . . Louis XIV, Le Roi Soleil, loved ballet. He used to practice for hours a day when he had the free time. And he used to put on performances for the whole of Versailles to watch! You know he actually founded the Academie Française for dance, right? He tried to teach me, but I wasn't very good." France spread his arms and dropped into a terrible plié, then tried to twirl in a pirouette. He lost his balance and quickly caught himself on the desk. "Oops. I never quite got it right. He lost patience with me and stopped trying. Oh, and then Philip IV? He loved fighting with the Pope and killing Templars for sport." Louis smiled, letting out a hearty laugh, but France was only half-kidding. "Louis VI got me into gambling and playing dice for a while - that was fun!"

"You talk about them a lot. The Sun King, and Philip, " Louis said. "I can tell you liked them.

"I did. They were my greatest rulers." Louis's lips pressed together and his smile faltered for a split second, the mood in the room darkening. France noticed the gesture, going to Louis's defense. "I know you feel underprepared." Louis startled, shocked that France guessed exactly what he had been thinking. "I could tell from the moment I looked into your eyes three days ago," France continued. "Remember that connection we had?" he asked, and Louis nodded. France placed as much sincerity as he could muster into his eyes, hoping it would give Louis the boost he needed. "But you're smart - very smart! You're detailed, and attentive. You apply your analytical mind to the State and to finances and to foreign affairs and everything, and you can be great, too! I can be great! And I'll use my knowledge and history to help you."

"How do you help me, Monsieur Bonnefoy?"

France paused, choosing the correct words. The kind of language that properly described the timeless magic and beauty of who he was and what he did. He elegantly flicked his blond ponytail over his shoulder and lifted one eyebrow, drawing out Louis's suspense as he waited for an answer. France walked around the desk and sat, crossing his legs. He rested his elbow on the desk and pressed his fist into his cheek, looking for the most poetic language he could think of. "I am France, in every sense that I can be France. I am the land on the map. I am the villages in the country and I am the cities," he said drawing his hand through the air to paint the picture for Louis. "I am the people, the culture, the State and the government. If hardship befalls the country, I feel it. If good things happen, I feel those as well." He rested his hand over his heart, over Paris. "I grow with our culture and our traditions. I also grow with our conquest and expansion. And I use a-a-a-all of that to determine the best course of action. That is how I help."

" . . . What are you?" Louis asked instead, looking for a deeper answer. "Are you human?"

"Yes, and no. I'm a person, I suppose. I am entirely me, but I am also us. But I cannot . . . I feel pain, and I can be killed, but I cannot die, exactly. Not unless France dies."

"How old are you?"

"Chronologically? Mmmm," France hummed, "One thousand, two hundred and ninety-y-y-y-four if I start counting the year Clovis I was crowned. I can only remember as far back as Charlemagne, so my math could be a little off. I think I'm eighteen or so, physically." He shrugged. "And so," he said, draping himself dramatically over the desk. "I remain frozen in time, but not at the same time. I watch my people grow old, I watch others move on, and I remain the same." He intended for it to sound fantastical and dreamy, but still he sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. "Ah, listen to me, waxing poetic. The bottom line is that you and I are meant to work together. Like I said, Votre Majesté, you're very smart! I can tell! And I'm gorgeous, and also smart. We combine our strengths - your analytical thinking and attention to detail, and my knowledge and history - and I'll be fine! You'll be fine. The country will be fine."

"This is what you wanted to talk about the other day, isn't it?"

"Yes. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

"Yes, I do."

"Tell me," France challenged him, and Louis paused. "So I can be sure you understand. This is important."

"You're saying that you are a representation of who and what I am meant to rule. You are an invaluable asset to me, and an ally. I should use and trust your council in all matters."

"Yes!" France said, smiling and winking at Louis. "I told you you were smart!"

Louis obviously loved the flattery, rolling his shoulders back as though proud of France's recognition. "My cousin, Philippe, the future Duc d'Orléans, says that you are not to be trusted."

"Uuuuuugh!" France groaned, the poetic mood killed. He leaned down and pressed his forehead into the desk exasperatedly. "Why?! Why does he hate me?"

"He says that you're duplicitous. He says that you act one way when you're being France, and you act another way when you're being Monsieur Bonnefoy, in social settings."

"Hah!" France snorted. "Me, and everyone else at Versailles! He should know that when you hold a public office, you can't always act like a fool! And how would he know me when I've only ever interacted with his father while Louis XV was still alive?"

"Maybe his father doesn't like you, and so Philippe doesn't like you," Louis offered simply.

"Maybe, but I don't know why his father would have started to hate me. Ever since Philippe was presented to Louis XV and started living at Versailles . . . Maybe he's jealous. Ever since he saw how close I was to Louis XV . . . I don't know." France paused, finally realizing how honest Louis was, to the point of being blunt. "Well thanks for telling me, but it's a personal vendetta that he harbors, against Francis Bonnefoy. It does not affect my ability to do my job as France. Don't listen to him."

"Alright," Louis said, nodding with finality. "I will confront him the next time he tries to complain."

France was grateful that he would, but he recognized the indecisiveness that plagued Louis's reputation since he was a child. An inability to commit, or to maintain an opinion. Always ready to be swayed by the last person he talked to. France nodded his thanks.

"I appreciate it. Just remember: we're on the same side here. There's one other thing I wanted to mention. We need to start talking about your coronation, and we need to pick a date for it. With our financial situation being as . . . troubling as it is, an idea has been proposed that we have the coronation ceremony in Paris instead of Reims. It would be much, much cheaper, and extremely visible, which would endear you to the people right out of the gate. You will be asked for your opinion on it, whether we should keep it at Reims or move it to Paris instead."

"Hmm . . . " Louis considered. His eyes glazed and roved from left to right as he no doubt mapped it out in his head. "Reims or Paris . . . What do you think?"

"Me?" France asked, gesturing to himself. "I recommend Paris. For how much money we'd save I think it would be better. They're estimating the bill for Reims at seven million livres, and Paris would be a fraction of that. Despite enjoying the tradition of Reims . . . my kings have been coronated there for over thirteen hundred years - some forty-six monarchs. I still don't think it is worth it to foot the bill, even though it would make me sad because I'm a sentimental man who enjoys the aesthetic. That's strictly my recommendation, but the decision is entirely up to you. And I will support whatever you decide." Or at least, he would be forced to make peace with whatever Louis decided.

"I think I agree," Louis said, still distant. "Paris would be . . . refreshing. Much different than the normal glamour of Versailles."

"Yes," France agreed. "Great. I won't be traveling with you or staying at the Tuileries Palace. I have friends in Paris who I stay with every time I go, so if you have any questions for me leading up to the day, make sure you ask them ahead of time. And I just wanted to give you one more warning that immediately after your coronation, we will start having meetings with your other advisors. If you stick to Louis XV's schedule, and I recommend you do just for sake of organization, then Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays are reserved for your High Council. That's you, me, the Dauphin when you have one, Monsieur Turgot who is the new minister of finances you appointed, and Messieurs les Comtes de Vergennes and de Maurepas, who were Louis XV's secretaries of state and who will be yours as well. And then Tuesdays and Saturdays is the financial council, which is you, me, and Turgot, as well as your tax collectors from the major cities. And then Fridays are for your religious council, which is just for you, me, and specific clergymen that you select."

" . . . "

"I can tell I'm losing you," France said at Louis's silence. He lightly slapped his palms on the desk and stood up. "We can talk about it later-"

Louis blinked and shook his head. "No, no, I'm following you. I'm just very nervous."

"I know, but I've got you covered," France assured him lightly. "Don't worry about it! If there's any questions you have, just ask me. I'll be there to help you every step of the way. And I believe in you! You'll be fine, I promise!"

The 15th of May,
 in the Year of Our Lord 1774

France,

Today marks the four year anniversary of my Maria-Antonia's marriage to your Prince, Louis-Auguste. As you know, King Louis XV and Empress Maria-Theresa arranged their marriage to solidify an advantageous political alliance between us and end a bitter, decades-long rivalry. Now that Louis-Auguste and Antonia are King and Queen, the maintenance of this alliance we have forged entirely depends upon Louis and Antonia consummating their marriage and conceiving a child. Despite the importance of this task, I have received countless correspondences with Antonia that insist Louis refuses to lie with her. Attempts have been made on her part, according to the Count Mercy-Argentou and Antonia herself, but Louis will not engage.

I'm not sure what is wrong with him. Regardless of if Louis's problems are of a mental or physical nature, I recommend you have him treated for whatever it is that ails him and encourage him to sire an heir, both for France's sake and for my sake. I will be traveling to Reims for their coronation soon, and I expect a positive update on this situation when I arrive.

I wish for no other interactions between us apart from this issue and the necessary interactions of the ceremony. I'm still justifiably angry with you over the War of Succession. I find these ceremonies and duties of ours insufficient reason for conversation when we meet again.

Roderich Edelstein;

Kaiserthum Österreich - Monarchie Habsburger

A/N:

Some History Notes:

In most of the sources I read, Louis loved hunting, locksmithing, and wood-working (There's a special story about him making a spinning wheel for Marie Antoinette as a present!). And he also loved, loved, LOVED the sea and the navy. While I couldn't find anywhere that Louis made model ships, I just thought it'd be a cool fusion of his passions considering how much he loved wood-working as well as maritime and naval pursuits.

The 7 million livre figure for the cost of the coronation is adjusted for inflation! XD

This is an original chapter that wasn't in the first one. Hope you like it! As always, leave a comment if you have the time!
~Keyblader