Lorenz stands in the middle of the field, bedecked in coveralls, and entirely out of his depth. In one hand he holds a pail, and in the other, a cow's udder tip. It's warm and twitches slightly, and Lorenz feels the urge to immediately pull away.
Marianne's hand, though, holds his wrist there gently, but firmly, her fingers cold against his warm skin. "Just like that," she says softly, showing him how to cradle the cow's teat without causing discomfort.
"Marianne, my dear, my darling, my flower." Lorenz doesn't mean to sound so distraught, but he's wearing a linen blend, his hair is plastered to his face with sweat, and he's ankle-deep in cow droppings. His ass hurts from the barrel that he's perched on, his nose wrinkles at the smell, and he is—overall—not a fan. "Tell me—why must I do this?"
"Dairy products are among our main exports. It will help you to understand where exactly they come from."
Lorenz is not stupid, he knows where they come from. "The cows, obviously, which is why I do not quite comprehend the need to debase myself to wearing…" His voice dies off as he catches a glimpse of his wife's face. And to Marianne's credit, she looks amused.
"You didn't have to wear the coveralls."
He most certainly did. Lorenz wouldn't be caught dead in a barn wearing his usual, opulent fare. And really, it's alright, the coveralls aren't the worst. He's in more of a masculine mood that day, even if the rough-spun fabric pulls at his skin annoyingly.
Marianne laughs softly, and reaches forward to press a kiss to his cheek. "It's the effort that counts," she says, "though, I would say that I rather like this look on you."
She would, of course; though Marianne tends to enjoy however he's presenting that day. Marianne is a farmer through and through, though, even with her pretty little smile and high-class education. She's always been more at home in the barn muck with animals, than anyone else around.
And so, Lorenz's due diligence to try and learn a little something. It's one part honest curiosity because she is right, this is their region's due. Lorenz would be a rather terrible lord and master if he knew nothing of what they exported. But, it's also one part for Marianne, his beloved wife. He loves the way that she looks as she smooths her hands across the noses of these cows, or presses her forehead against the horses'.
"Hold it gently," she says, bringing him back to the task at hand. She curls around his back, arms over his shoulders as she shows him. "Warm the tip with your palm—see? She likes that."
The cow seems to sigh in contentment.
"Next, the pail." Lorenz lets go of the pail and nudges it under the udder with his foot. "Don't squeeze too hard, you don't need much pressure. The teat is designed to release milk, so you're just guiding it along."
Lorenz does as she says, listening to her patient words. The stream of milk comes quickly and easily, slightly steaming, warm in the brisk air of early winter. Marianne laughs in his ear as she pulls back, fingers curling around Lorenz's shoulders as she squeezes at them tightly.
"It is… odd." Strange, but not unfulfilling.
Marianne hums. "Yes, but that is the fun part, isn't it? Cows enjoy being milked, so really, we're servicing them. Think of everything she provides in return—fresh dairy, butter, and cheese… We owe our livelihoods to such simple, amazing creatures."
For a moment, Lorenz feels sheepish and out of his depth. He'd approached this outing with the barest of interest, mostly to appease his wife. He does so love when she smiles, wide and fully, truly from the depths of her heart.
These last few years have been easier. Marianne is less gloomy and has embraced more of herself. Within the right company, she blooms like a flower, a metaphor that Lorenz is embarrassingly obsessed with.
But he feels the appreciation that he speaks off, as he milks the cow. He feels the hard work at the behest of this creature, and eventually, those who live within their region, making their exported goods. These farmers work hard and deserve the best, something that Marianne has spoken of time and time again.
She must see the realization on his face. "Oh? Have we learned something?"
"This adventure has been more enlightening than I would have thought. But, perhaps I should have never expected anything less. My lovely wife is as smart as they come."
Marianne laughs at that. "I am unsure about smart, but—how would you say it? Impassioned?"
Yes, that is how he would say it, and Lorenz smiles back at her. Eventually, the milking is over, the cow wholly satisfied as she teeters away to go and graze. Lorenz catches Marianne's chin between his fingers, uncaring that they're damp and smell like milk. He thumbs across her bottom lip and gives her a sweet kiss.
"My love," he says softly, and Marianne beams back at him, wrapping her arms around his neck as they sit there awkwardly in the barn. "Thank you."
Marianne smooths a hand through his hair, brushing it behind his ear. "Of course." Then, she kisses him again.
#
Later, back in their apartments at the Manor, Marianne sweeps a gentle hand down the front of Lorenz's chest appreciatively. "Handsome," she says, tugging at the clasp of the coveralls, "And beautiful, as always." She knows just how to compliment him, how he loves to hear both.
She's never questioned it, Lorenz's quiet regard in how he views himself. And because of it, he only loves her more and more with every year that passes. He reaches out, grasping at her hand with his own, fingers curling tight around her palm.
"Kind words from such a lovely woman."
Marianne snorts, used to his elaborate praise by now, but she's warmed nonetheless. "Did you enjoy yourself?"
"Surprisingly, yes. I know that I maintain that I am above such… grungy types of work, but it was rather fulfilling to give it a try." Lorenz chuckles, pulling her close, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Not to mention that I spent the day with you, which is a rarity nowadays with how busy we seem to be."
As it turns out, marriage is bliss, but ruling a territory takes hard work and dedication. Lorenz handles the paperwork whilst Marianne trudges about in the trenches. She dons her boots and aprons, and sets to work beside the farmers.
Lorenz loves it, how fervent she is in her need to help. And he loves her, and her gracious nature, and her rough-worn hands that are thick with callouses. Others called her a diamond in the rough, but to him, she's just a gemstone on her own, wholly unique.
They stand there, in the foyer, soaking each other up. Marianne tugs at a lock of his hair. "The Father of livestock."
It vexes him to be called that, though he doesn't hate it. There are worse things to be named, and at least this moniker is in good fun and genuine care.
"Dinner," he requests, "just us, here, in our quarters. It has been a long day and I wish to settle down for the night."
"Will you try to woo me with flowers?"
"No."
"What about your wily sense of humor?"
Lorenz's nose scrunches at that. "No."
"Poetry then." Marianne drags her hand across the length of his collarbone, fiddling with the linen. "First, though—go change. You smell like a horse."
Poetry, he can do. Poetry, he can read aloud for hours at a time, and perhaps even compose a verse of two. Marianne will sit beside him, feet tucked together as she leans against his shoulder. They'll waste the night away before the fire, flipping through pages, Lorenz's voice quiet and low in the warmth.
He loves it. But first—
"Yes, a change is certainly in order."
He loathes leaving her, but some things are a must.
#
They lay in their bed, tucked together close, Marianne's cheek squished against Lorenz's chest. "So tomorrow—" She shifts slightly, her arm settling across his waist. "How about visiting the pigs? I hear that their pens could certainly use mucking."
Lorenz cringes at the thought, his nose curling. But then, he remembers Marianne's softhearted love for these creatures. He sighs softly, pressing a kiss to her head.
And then, perhaps against his better judgment, he says, "Happily so."
