The scar
It always mesmerized and scared him how such a small thing could turn someone's world upside down.
Now it was just a line, whiter than the surrounding area, like it could absorb all the light and shine alone. However, he still remembered how it looked red and raw, while the small girl tried to close it. How the bandages hided it for so many weeks. How the pinkish color made his stomach lurch every time he looked at it, until he trained his eyes to look directly to her face, instead of roaming with his eyes through her desirable body.
He could see that the line left her uncomfortable, she already enjoyed her high neck shirts inside their job, but after the wounding it appeared that her closet only had that kind of blouses. And whenever he saw her, he would sigh, because he missed seeing her ivory skin, the paleness of her neck when she would look over his shoulder to analyze a document.
He never said anything about that while they were simply Colonel and Lieutenant, he didn't want to make her more conscious of her image, like he knew she probably would, in the end she was still a woman. Besides the physical part, he was scared she would regret not being strong enough to fight against their enemies and protect his back, like she had promised. He never wanted to see any other emotion in her face similar to sadness or depression.
He observed her from afar, with her perfect uniform always hiding that moment of weakness from his part, the moment where he could do nothing to protect her... And, when he was feeling especially down, he would thank her, for hiding that from his view. If he couldn't see it, he could pretend it didn't exist and that his world's axis didn't shift in that fateful day.
So, when, one night, he found himself tracing the line of the scar, while she used his chest as a pillow, it brought those muses to the forefront of his mind.
"What are you doing?" she asked, nuzzling her nose against his skin, with a sleepy voice.
"Thinking how such thing, that is now so small, almost destroyed my world..." he replied, letting his index finger run over her scar until her cleavage.
She sighed, too tired to make sense of his words. He knew she would ask him the next day, that was the kind of woman she was, and he would say he was sleeptalking, instead of telling how he wasn't able of hating that line like he wanted to, because it brought him to his senses after all those years.
It showed him what really mattered was no longer a position as a Fuhrer as long as she was beside him. It showed him the real magnitude of her position as his Queen, when he almost lost her because of their kingdom. However, he never told her his real thoughts until much later, when all their desires were fulfilled and she could no longer blame herself for any of his fears. And like he knew she would, she slapped him in the back of his head for ever thinking those nonsenses.
It's been a while, but I always wondered what Roy would think about her scar and here it is...