A/N: Coming down to it, but here's the next chapter. It's basically an extension of the last chapter just from Sumia's perspective. Getting inside a woman's head is never easy for me. But I hope I did a good job. As always, thank you all for the support and to Erudite for his expert insight. Couldn't do it without you.

Need

One kiss roused Sumia from her uneasy sleep; one light, feathery kiss on her brow, the same kiss he gave night after night. A shiver ran down her back as Chrom's warmth left her, and with each heavy step of booted feet that carried him away, a fresh chill shook her again. She reached for his departing silhouette, but her fingers found only the air. And with the rustle of fabric, he was gone leaving her with only the darkness overhead. Lying back down, Sumia squeezed her eyes shut, an aching, wistful sigh escaping her mouth.

"Oh, Chrom," she whispered, one hand drifting over her heart. Memories of a love that seemed so long ago floated into her mind, and warmth blossomed beneath her palm, flowing all across her body. A shuddering gasp accompanied the sparks she could still taste on his tongue. An impish grin curled at the thought of his rough, calloused, wonderful hands skimming across her skin, heat and thrilling ice in their wake. In her ears, a restless drumming pounded in time with the melodic cry of her name. Above all else, she remembered his eyes, blazing with love and, dare she even say it, lust for her.

Words, so many words, littered the tip of her tongue; words she could not even say even in the presence of her own husband. Her fingers clutched at her tunic, and she bit her lip.

How she could she tell him she longed to trace every curve of his firm, taut muscles that had filled her dreams even before their marriage and more so now? How could she tell him she desired, no needed him, to shower her with affections so overcoming they left her head swimming in a blissful fever. How could she admit that she wished to shower him with the same love, ten, fifty, a hundredfold more as she had once vowed?

How she could she tell him one simple kiss did not satisfy; that what he gave since before Lucina's birth was not enough?

Sumia threw the blanket aside, all ideas of sleep forgotten. With every pace, her mind darted back and forth. Should she speak? If she could confess her loneliness for his presence, surely she could confess any need. Perhaps, after all this time, he desired her as well. Or should she remain silent? What if he misunderstood? What if her words roused his anger? She cringed, recalling their argument when she carried Lucina in her womb? If only she had a flower, she might find her thoughts undivided, or perhaps, even petals could offer no guidance this time.

"Fortune or not," she muttered, "I have to tell him." She strode to the entrance of their tent and pulled the flap away. There Chrom sat before the campfire, shoulders tight, back hunched, and one hand covering his face. At once, the words, every unspoken thing she wished to say, vanished. Small barbs pricked her heart, just as the stiff grass poked the soles of her feet. Her blood, once blistering and boiling in her veins, ran cold. The knight-queen of Ylisse sighed and shook her head, ashamed of her own thoughts.

Who was she to burden him? Who was she to add to his troubles when he carried the worries of a nation and an army? If he could sacrifice so much to protect their homeland, she could put her meager needs aside.

"Sumia, what are you doing awake?" In an instant, she looked up. Sure enough, he was no longer staring at the campfire but at her with a concerned expression. Anxious nails scratched at her palms, and her toes dug at the ground. What could she say? What should she say?

"I…it's nothing, Chrom," she answered, her voice quiet. She turned back to their tent. "Tell me you love me," she added, hoping to find contentment in that familiar assurance. Except for the crackle and snap of burning twigs, she heard no answer. But then, strong arms encircled her, and a warm breath blew against her ear.

"Oh, Sumia," he whispered, his voice straining, as if he too held the same deep longing, "I love you so much. I…" he turned her around, and she let out a small gasp as his mouth covered hers. Her knees buckled at the kiss, a hungered, wonderful kiss. One hand tangled in her hair. Boldness bursting in her heart, she pressed her fingers to his chest, reveling in every contour beneath his shirt. She kissed him back, savoring his moan and answering in turn. And when she looked into his eyes, it was as if she saw own desire reflected.

"Can we?" she asked, though it pained her to say. She knew the answer, and the look of bitter regret on his face told her the rest. Chrom's hand settled on her cheek, her own hand slipping over it.

"When this war is over, Sumia," he said, his voice low and titillating, "I will do so much better."

And with one last kiss, they parted, he to his watch and she to their tent and the hope that the war would end quickly.