Title: unravel me with your love
A/N: For the An Eternity with You zine! I wanted to write a very soft romance, because these two deserve the softest, fluffiest thing.
Summary: Marianne is a mess. She always feels like one, all gangly limbs and awkward feet and a body that still hunches over instinctively when someone calls her name. Yet when Ignatz calls her name, when he looks at her and holds her hands, she feels like a treasure beyond compare.
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Marianne is a mess. She always feels like one, all gangly arms and awkward feet and body that still hunches over instinctively when someone calls her name. Despite the years that have passed since her academy days, despite the lessons and confidence instilled in her by the bold Hilda, patient Byleth, and confident Leonie, some habits are easier to unlearn than others. It will still take some time before she forgets a lifetime of hiding.
Still, she is almost proud of the way she forces herself to roll her shoulders back and straighten at the sound of her name. Almost, that is, until she turns around and sees Ignatz.
Marianne is a mess, and today she knows she looks like one. Her hair is falling out of her neat bun, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and she looks almost like a farmgirl instead of the lady of the house. Ignatz doesn't care about that, she knows. She feels embarrassed, nonetheless. If she had realized he would be here so soon, she would have let one of the stable hands saddle Dorte instead.
"Y-you're here," she squeaks, her voice echoing through the barn.
"Y-yes." Ignatz nervously adjusts his glasses. There's a familiar pack on his shoulders and he grips its strap tightly. "Sorry I came so early, but I thought of you and…I couldn't help it."
Marianne flushes lightly, her neck and ears as bright red as his cheeks. She nearly runs into his arms at those words, at those feelings—she knows that eagerness, that desire to see him for just one hour, one minute, one second more. But the stable hands are looking and she can barely manage speaking to him in front of them, let alone something as scandalous as affection.
Still, it is a close thing. Marianne clears her throat and shakes her head. "I'm glad."
Ignatz brightens at those words. "I left my paints in the foyer, if you want to go there."
"So you brought them." Marianne smiles fondly. He brings them out of habit more than anything else. They've grown past their need for excuses to meet, for paintings and commissions to connect them. She absentmindedly toys with the ring on her finger, a simple band but more precious than all the jewels in the world.
Noticing her movements, Ignatz touches his own ring lightly. "I know we don't need them anymore, but it feels funny coming here empty-handed."
There's something reassuring in knowing that she isn't the only one caught up in old habits. "It's fine. I enjoy watching you paint."
"Shall we go to the foyer?" Ignatz glances outside, taking in the bright blue sky, the mid-afternoon sun high in the air. "Or we can go for a walk—there's still plenty of time before dinner."
It is still early in the day. Marianne closes her eyes as a cool breeze blows, a memory of chill in an otherwise warm spring day. Clasping her hands, she asks, "Could we go for a ride instead? There's something I want to show you."
Ignatz turns to her, curious. "What is it?"
"A surprise." She smiles as she turns back to Dorte's stall, unlocking it so her old friend could trot out.
There is a reason Marianne is a mess, and it is because she had just finished preparing Dorte for a ride. The saddle's on, the stirrups tightened, hooves cleaned. Dorte's coat gleams in the sunlight and Marianne takes a moment to push back her own stray locks before mounting.
As usual, Ignatz clambers on behind her. Despite years of school lessons and war, his horseback riding skills are decent at best and more suited for the well-trodden country roads than the forest trails that surround Marianne's estate. This isn't their first trip to unknown corners of her property, to the hidden waterfalls and soft fields she discovers just for him.
"I like surprises," Ignatz replies as he slips his arms lightly around her, caging her in his warmth. "It's a little late, but should I get my paints?"
"You could bring it next time." Ignoring the fire on her waist from his touch, she squeezes Dortes's sides and guides him to a familiar path to their right. It isn't long before they are in the woods, the sunlight dappling over them as they head deeper and deeper into the forest.
They don't speak much during the ride. They never do. Marianne had spent years thinking she was a boring conversationalist, until Ignatz quietly held her hand. Sometimes there is no need for words. In the absence of their voices, she can hear trilling birds, gurgling streams, and the ever-steady beat of her lover's heart.
Every now and then, he leans forward and softly murmurs of the journeys he's been on. Marianne's life is quite ordinary, compared to his, the regular duties of a lady and her lands. She doesn't mind; it is the normalcy of peace, when one doesn't have to leave one's borders to fight or defend, and trips are reserved for vacations or invitations.
Ignatz is a painter though, a traveller by heart, and he whispers in her ears of old friends and faraway lands. Of Lysithea's latest discoveries in crests and magic, of Raphael's journey for the tastiest foods, of Lorenz and his roses. Even further away are Claude and Byleth, bridging together two different countries, and Marianne smiles to think that even outside of her sleepy home, the world still turns. Peace is a fragile thing, but every day carves it deeper and deeper into the fabric of their country.
The entire time, Ingatz's hands rest on her hips, anchoring her to him, and she is all too aware of the way his fingers brush against her. His touch is never hesitant, despite how he acts, and something in her is saved by the fact he doesn't care about her family's legacy or the curse that runs through her blood.
It isn't long before Dorte trots up a ridge and Marianne pulls his reins. "Close your eyes," she softly commands.
Ignatz slips off Dorte. He is far better at dismounting than any other part of horse riding. Holding out a hand, he smiles. "I will."
She can't help but smile back. He always draws them out of her. As she slides off Dorte, she stumbles forward slightly and into his chest. "S-Sorry!" she mumbles into his shirt, flustered.
"It's fine." His free hand wraps around her waist lightly, steadying her, and she can feel a chaste kiss on the top of her head.
Maybe he had wanted to hug her earlier too.
It is all too soon when he lets go and she steps back, her skin hot. He doesn't let go of her hand, though, clasping it tenderly as he obediently closes his eyes. "Where next?"
"Just to the top." It only takes minutes for them to walk to the crest of the hill and she squeezes his hand. "You can look now."
Marianne had ridden here dozens of times in his absence, and she had imagined his expression hundreds of times. None of those match to the awe filling his face, the way his eyes widen and lips part. They are standing on a hill where the other side drops into a steep cliff, giving them an eagle-eye view of her lands. A silver river snakes through the emerald forest, fields shine like burnished gold, and bronze fields are ready for planting. She already knows how his painter's eyes take it all in, the sketches forming in his mind.
"It's beautiful," Ignatz breathes, voice full of wonder as he briefly turns to her. "Thank you."
And it is stunning, but it can't quite match the love that shines in his eyes like a beacon whenever he looks at her. Marianne's breath hitches and she ducks her head, looking at her shoes like she's a schoolgirl just entering the academy for the first time.
Ignatz had told her once to lift her head and look ahead, that she'd be amazed by what she'd find. And she had, and she has—to think there are so many people who hold their hands out to her, to think there are so many people who love and cherish her. As a child, she could never have imagined such a thing.
She could never have imagined the way Ignatz held her, like a treasure.
Today though, Marianne is glad to look at her shoes, and will be glad that for the entire ride back she doesn't have to look at him at all.
Today, Marianne is a mess, and she doesn't know how to act when he undoes her entirely with his simple acts of love.