Author's Note: Alternate title is "What is Writing How Do I Dialogue."
4. Reparations
For a long while after Frederick had gone, Cordelia sat there in the dark, cold and clutching their blanket even though the night was warm.
She hadn't meant for this to happen.
Earlier, she had been on her way back to the tent she shared with Frederick for the night, and had to pass by Chrom's tent to make it there. In the weeks since she'd been married, her feelings had changed, but not in any way she wanted them to. Instead of the searing flood in her heart that had always occurred at the sight of him, she now felt more of an ache, a sharp bruising that left her a little breathless. Because he was married now, and so was she, and she had been forced to get a sterner grip on how strong those promises of until death had to be.
She wanted to love Frederick. He aggravated her with his meticulousness, with his checking and double-checking, but he was good. Simply good. And he did so much for her. If anyone deserved her complete and undying affection, it was someone who was sitting there when she first opened her eyes, looking at her with such loyalty it would have put an entire pack of dogs to shame, saying, "Good morning! I've polished your boots again. I know you can do it yourself but you have enough to do."
It was so funny to hear that, sometimes, from a man who got anxious when he didn't have a thousand different tasks. The thought of him all flustered and busy made her smile a little, and she didn't realize Chrom had poked his head out of his tent until he hailed,
"Cordelia!"
"My lord!" she half-gasped, afraid to believe the voice was his.
"I have a quick question. Will you come in for a second?"
He ducked back into his tent and she had no choice but to follow. When she'd entered, she flushed immediately to see that the light was low and his shirt was off. He didn't seem to notice, and sat down on his cot as he waved her in further.
"Tell me, how is Frederick? He's seemed very tired lately; I wanted to make sure he wasn't falling ill or anything."
She was relieved when he pulled his shirt on. Surely, with him so in love with his wife and her so devoted to Frederick, he hadn't seen any harm in allowing her in before he was completely decent. But harm had been done. She wished to throw herself into his lap and kiss him senseless.
"He's just fine, milord," she answered instead. "If he seems tired, it may be because he has been getting up early each day to take care of our armour. I shall tell him to stop."
"Oh, don't; he's always been an early riser. He'll just find something else to do. Has he been sleeping long enough each night?" Before she could answer, he laughed a little. "Never mind, that was a foolish question, with you both newly married. I remember what that's like."
She felt her blush darken; she could only imagine. How fortunate his queen was, to have him in his own bed in the castle, on sheets that smelled like him, to see that bare skin whenever she desired it, to know the sound of his moaning as intimately as she knew the sound of her own name. It was too hot in the tent. How much would she regret it later if she got to her knees and confessed what she was thinking?
"I'm sorry," he said, seeming to realize she was flustered. "I suppose that was too forward. I feel like I know you better than I really do, since Frederick speaks of you so often."
"Don't trouble yourself, milord," she assured him, mostly to stop him from talking. She now had thoughts enough to keep her awake for many nights to come.
"Well," he said, "I just wanted to make sure he wasn't being careless with his health."
"I will make doubly sure that he isn't," she said, and he smiled at her. All of his smiles always seemed so tender, so satisfied with every exchange.
"Thank you. Rest well."
"Good night, my lord."
The temptation to lean over and kiss him came again, stronger than ever. She'd hurried back to her tent with her heart hammering, hoping to envelop herself in Frederick. She could forget Chrom's body with his.
The opposite had happened, despite her intentions.
The better Frederick had made her feel, the more disjointed her thoughts became, and it was only natural that her most recent memory—of her lord in his tent—would be among them just by happenstance. But by the time it flitted across her mind, despite knowing it was her husband there with her, despite imagining no more of Chrom than the brief sight of his bare chest, when she opened her mouth the wrong name emerged anyway.
It was a slip. One that sounded worse than it was, and was terrible to begin with. She hadn't even had the words to explain herself before Frederick left her.
Her first thought was to dress and follow him, to clear her name and put his mind at ease, but she found that she couldn't. She didn't think he would believe her.
After a while she lay down again to wait for him, but he never returned, and her rest was fitful. Just before sunrise she rose and readied for the day, unable to stand the thought of him upset any longer.
As she walked over the fog-dusted grass—completely free of twigs and rocks, since Frederick had surely needed a way to pass the night—she realized that she had never had to give anyone an apology, before. Not a real one, for she was sure that the words she'd always given after she knocked a sparring partner over the head or teased Sumia for her clumsiness were unnecessary, since the partner would always thank her for the lesson and Sumia would always laugh and push her.
This would be necessary. She'd upset someone who truly loved her, and who deserved her respect. It had been an accident, yes, but it was her fault for always thinking so eagerly of Chrom that she couldn't get him out of her head even when she wanted to. She hadn't even tried to break the habit, and she had promised Frederick when she accepted his ring that she would try.
She owed him an apology for that, not just for the name she'd cried. It was a matter of promises, and she was a woman of honour. It was why she'd agreed to marry him in the first place, without love: he was the only man she knew who could understand the concept as deeply as she did.
He was sitting by the fire with his back to her, cooking enough food to feed two armies, brown hair askew since his comb was in their tent. For a moment she just allowed herself to look at him. How undesirable had she made him feel? He was a plain man but not unattractive, and had the physique a knight needed to bear his armour: tall, broad-shouldered, hard-muscled. And for all his questions while he was acting as a lover, she couldn't deny that he listened to every answer, even the unspoken, purely physical ones—the talent had surprised her, but certainly wasn't unwelcome.
"Frederick?" she asked quietly.
She saw his back stiffen and it occurred to her that she should rub the knots out of him, as he so often did to her. Resolving to do so that night, if she could smooth things over by then, she sat beside him gingerly and ignored the dew that seeped into her skirt.
"Making breakfast, I see," she ventured after a moment, feeling awkward. He didn't look at her as he took the wooden spoon in the large metal pot over the fire and gave the oatmeal inside a stir.
"I am concerned that Lord Chrom and Lady Lissa don't eat enough starch."
"Well, there's certainly enough in there," she said. Silence fell between them, thicker than the fog. He hadn't grabbed his tie before he left and his shirt fell open in the front. She knew he was anxious about looking so dishevelled in front of the army, so she decided to get things out of the way fast enough for him to return to their tent and clean up:
"Frederick…I'm so sorry. And not because of what I said, exactly."
"I should hope you would be sorry for that," he said. "I am."
"Well, I am, yes. But what I mean is that, when you proposed to me, I told you that I would try my hardest to leave Lord Chrom behind me. That I would be devoted only to you. And I've done a terrible job of it, because I haven't tried my hardest." She felt so awful admitting it. Cordelia the Prodigy, too frightened to even make a proper apology. "Because love is…pleasant."
"Sometimes."
"Sometimes," she repeated softly, feeling her heart sink. "But I've been selfish, and immature. Something that hurts, even if it feels good sometimes too, just isn't healthy."
He looked very pensive at that, so she put a hand on his shoulder. "I don't want to hurt you, Frederick." He didn't say anything, didn't need to say that she already had. "It wasn't quite what you think. I saw Lord Chrom right before we went to bed."
"Did you," he said, a little coolly.
"He wanted to ask me about your health," she said, and his expression immediately became contrite. "I swear to you, I wasn't imagining him while I was with you. I've never done that. But the memory of seeing him came up, and…" She broke off and spread her hands, still incapable of explaining exactly what had happened. "I don't know. I just said what I said. Force of habit, perhaps. And I'm sorry that it's still a habit. I'm so sorry."
He finally met her eyes then. "Cordelia. It seems I've judged you wrongly."
"No, no," she said with a sigh. "You were right to be upset. It wouldn't have happened if I'd tried harder to get over him."
He was quiet for a long moment, but then said, "I had assumed our marriage was a smooth one, but perhaps there are still some problems to be sorted out. I did not know you were not doing your best. What else should I know?"
She bit her lip as she thought. "You should know that I will keep trying, with everything I am. Because you are good to me and I want to be good to you, too. You should know that I am ashamed. And you should know that you have nice shoulders."
"Oh," he said in surprise.
"And that I would never lie to you," she added. "I should have come to apologize far sooner, I know, but I was afraid that you wouldn't believe me."
"Then I have failed you, too." He took her right hand in his left and threaded their fingers together. "Is there anything else I should know about myself? Anything I must do better?"
She wanted to insist that there was no possible way he could better himself, for she appreciated him despite—
The despite made her pause.
"Well," she said, "sometimes there can be…too much of a good thing." She saw from the way his brow creased that he didn't understand, so she continued,
"You don't have to polish everything for me every single morning. You don't have to brush my pegasus. You don't have to constantly straighten my bangs or triple-check the tent stakes or ask so many questions at night. You just…fret. And I know this is how you show your love, but sometimes it makes me feel like you don't think I'm capable, or I can't take care of myself, or if you don't do it I'll be angry. But Frederick, if I was unhappy with you, I would tell you so. It isn't your job to read my mind."
He looked like he'd just swallowed a lemon and she had to bite back a smile. Perhaps he had never considered the last thing she'd said.
"So you are telling me now," he surmised. "That you have been unhappy."
"Not at all." She gave his hand a squeeze. "I am happy with you. But no marriage is perfect. It's like you always say—there's always room for improvement. I shall work toward it."
"Yes," he said, and smiled for the first time that morning. "And I as well. To keep from smothering you. But without the questions, I—"
"You'll do just fine," she said as she smiled back at him. "You're a good lover. Very attentive."
She felt foolish and forward saying it, but knew it had to be said, after how deeply she had hurt his feelings, and was rewarded when she saw him blush for the very first time since his proposal.
"Is all well, then?" she dared to ask.
"I have something else to say. Regarding improvement."
"Yes?" she asked nervously; she hadn't realized she'd been doing multiple things wrong.
"Last night…" He trailed off and ran a hand through his already-tousled hair. "Well, before, you'd always allowed me. But last time you seemed like you actually wanted me. I assumed it was because you were thinking of another, but…"
She felt herself pink a little, too. "Well, I…almost was. Remember where I had just come from. But I didn't want to. It felt disloyal to you. So I wanted to get as much of you as I could. To fill myself up, almost, and leave no space for anything else."
Gods, she sounded so stupid, but he simply nodded as if he understood.
"Is this only something that will happen after you have spoken to Lord Chrom, then? Or can I safely hope for it in the future? Because I must admit, sometimes I wonder if you only accept me out of some feeling of duty, and I feel guilty for it."
It was partly duty, she had to admit to herself, but also partly affection. Even if she didn't love him, she knew how strongly he loved her, and wanted to make him happy. So she stroked the back of his hand with her thumb and said,
"I think you can hope for it, and you mustn't ever feel guilty. I didn't marry you on a whim, you know. I know what marriage entails, and I am happy to share all of it—home, bed, children. You've always been a good friend, and I thought you'd be a good lover, and I'm quite sure you'd be quite a good father. When I said yes, Chrom or no Chrom, I meant it."
He just kissed her knuckles, and she understood that all was forgiven.
"Why don't you go back to the tent and get ready for the day?"
"All right." He stood at once; the sun had started to peek over the horizon. "Make sure to stir the pot 98 times; I've only done it 202 times."
"Yes, dear," she said, a little teasingly.
"Dear," he repeated thoughtfully, and took her hand to kiss it again before he left. Cordelia took the spoon and began to stir the oatmeal, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from her chest—everything from the night before, but perhaps a little extra. Perhaps some of the weight she'd been carrying for far too long, now.
Author's Note: I hope that didn't drag on too long. Brevity has always been a weakness of mine. Thanks to everyone for all your encouragement! Chapter Five will be up by Thursday.