Disclaimer: belongs to Alexander Dumas and whoever adapted the novel.
Rating: PG?
Pairing: Mondego/Dantes
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The first night of their marriage was not as Mondego had expected. Mercedes had curled up at the furthest corner of the bed and had shrugged off all his attempts to comfort her. Finally, he gave up and rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. Women.
A few minutes later she started sobbing quietly, shaking the bed in her effort to contain her grief. It was at this point that Mondego decided he could bear no more of the womanly behaviour. He sat at the edge of the bed for a few minutes, and finally left Mercedes for the guestroom.
Mondego was enraged. It was not enough to have Dantes imprisoned in the Chateau d'If, but it seemed that he had to erase all memory of the man. Mercedes, the beautiful Mercedes, was not weeping because, like many other women, she was frightened of the marriage bed, but for Dantes, who seemed to haunt the very house they lived in. Mercedes did not love him, and she was as cursed as Dantes himself!
Mondego's body trembled in anger, but he would not allow himself to be blinded by emotions. No, he had done well for himself. He had gotten himself a respectable wife, who would bear him a son after she had overcome her initial prudish behaviour, and she would greet guests and be presented in social occasions. And if after she bore him a son she retained her standpoint, then Mondego knew that there were plenty of other women that would satisfy his pleasure with no reservations. Yes, Dantes had provided him this, if nothing else.
"Do you love me Fernand?" he remembered Dantes asking on Pharoan. He had been naked at the time, lying on his bed while Mondego stuffed his shirt back into his pants.
Mondego had turned with a relaxed smile on his face. "Love you? Edmond, you are my best friend. I'm surprised that you feel that the question even needs to be asked." He paused. "I'm hurt by your callousness, Edmond."
Dantes sat up, as eager to please as ever. "Oh no Fernand, I did not mean to insinuate that I doubted you in some way. Only... sometimes you have an expression on your face that I can't fathom at all," he said honestly. "You would tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you? As a... friend."
At that time he had felt irritated by Dantes' never-ending questions. What was wrong? He was wrong. That Mercedes would marry into such a penniless family unfathomable, and that she would choose Dantes before him was insulting. When Mercedes had refused his offer many years ago, it had become a matter of principle rather than actual desire for the damned woman. And Mondego was very skilled in waiting, for years as it would be. It filled him with such bitterness to see the two happy, and it ate up all his thoughts. He even had dreams about the day that he would have Mercedes. He dreamed of triumph, and it had been a triumph in every sense when Dantes had been taken away in a locked carriage. It was even better when he'd set his face in mourning and pleaded Dantes' case with his family.
But now, as he lay in the guestroom with the sound of Mercedes' incessant grieving in the next room, all he felt was a great frustration that he would have to keep this woman, this trophy for the rest of his life. He would much rather watch Dantes' suffering, to watch the man slowly fade away.
Mondego had sat down on bed again, and cupped Dantes face with one hand. Every line and every detail made him want to rip at it.
"Edmond, my friend," he'd said. "I would tell you anything."
They kissed and it tasted bitter.