Work Text:
She hated it when other people did her hair for her. It was a consistent source of aggravation for her, perhaps because it usually accompanied events that already made her feel so scrutinized. Though this time they had pinned her flowing curls tightly up into some kind of updo that seemed impossible. Pinning up locks that flowed as wildly as hers must have been like trying to dam up an ancient waterfall. Though those maids certainly tried their hardest.
It might also have been the fact that a marriage was essentially forced on her that had her jaw clenching. That could have explained it. That part still hadn’t sat well with her.
But, of course, she and her intended had been... distracted by other things, since they were both made aware of the new arrangement.
Mainly, each other...
Erzsébet and Roderich couldn’t deny it any longer, once they had come to terms with their impending unions - they harbored intensely passionate feelings toward one another. So inadvertently Erzsébet confessed to her own first, having been fed up with not knowing if he returned any affections for so long. It was to her surprise that he showed up at her bedroom door hours later, defending his propriety before they delved into improprieties.
Were they just people, it would have been fine. They could freely be two people in love. They could run away together, free themselves of their responsibilities past their honeymoon. It was the only thing she looked forward to in this formal affair. But for the time being she had to have her hair braided tightly back, so as to not appear unseemly, and practically have her bridal bouquet pinned up with her dear Lake Batalon. She feared the significance of it was lost on the man responsible for this arrangement, but she kept her mouth shut about it to her ladies in waiting - it wasn’t their fault she had to be dolled up like this and paraded around like chattel for the day. With all of the tulle and ruffles, it was hard not to feel like ornamentation in some ridiculous display of power and unity. One comfort she had, at least, in the whole affair, is that she knew for certain that Roderich was just as uncomfortable about being chattel as well.
The lights coming off of the stained glass applied splotches of color to the ornate, limestone architecture. Along with the radiant beams; surrounding flowers; and the swelling strings, winds, and voices from the lofts, Erzsébet felt strung up like a puppet with her strings pulling tighter and higher in the spacious rafters.
Despite how grand everything was supposed to feel, the building and swooning of her beloved Franz’s music had her feeling so small, so helpless in this massive cathedral. It was the only thing that felt grounded and real. The way her tears threatened to breach and fall as she hazily made her way to the alter.
There he was, her fellow ornament, seeming stony and silent and also prepared to be paraded like a prop. A rather handsome prop, unfortunately. And one who smelled so elegant yet still so earthy through the smokey incense that wafted around them. She thought for a moment about inhaling him deeply, to get past the spiritual scents. Thankfully the veil hid an unsightly blush - it did them no good to both get scolded. They had already known impropriety wasn’t allowed for this ceremony. They could hardly hold hands with the exception of placing rings on each other’s fingers - a quick moment to observe his callouses, but regrettably through gloved hands. The two really had no choice but to awkwardly kneel beside each other, braving through the strangest battle they had faced together yet.
It was nearly unbearable, to be such objects on display for someone else’s desperate attempts to appear strong amongst a continent of potential enemies. But, of course, it seemed the only person who could really speak for them was Franz Liszt, evidenced in part by the longing glances from over Roderich’s glasses at his bride. Obviously, he tore his gaze away from her once she returned the nervous shifting eyes, though she could hardly tell what sentiments those stormy eyes hid. Was he sorry? Remorseful? Reverent? Did he hate the way she looked? Did she seem upset? Could he tell?
Before she could make full note of it, the priest had suddenly shifted to the vows. No room for personalization - just a shift into fashionably passionless “I do’s”, ring bearing, and a kiss so chaste one might consider it a greeting, we’re there no hunger in either of their eyes.
The rest followed through as bland and rehearsed as one might expect. The walk arm in arm to a carriage, to be taken to Schönbrunn Palace for the reception. As Roderich escorted Erzsébet to her seat before walking to the other side of the carriage for his own, the two quietly acknowledged the day wasn’t really theirs. It was apparent in how Roderich adjusted himself and cleared his throat with a little cough - a noise that in the closed space seemed to bring Erzsébet back to reality.
“You seemed uncomfortable.”
Snapping out of her trance, Erzsébet might have proven Roderich’s point, in that they both had seemed uptight. “I did?”
“Are you alright?”
The answer seemed to escape her before any words could with that nervous laugh that made her seem like she could tear all the pins out of her braids. It was only made more abrupt by the restraint of her corset.
All he could offer in return was a sheepish smile. Maybe that was the apology he had yet to share.
“Are you?” she finally spoke, looking at him with some shared sense of camaraderie in this admitted mess.
“Working on it,” he nodded, doing his best to keep up the act of a fairytale couple while onlookers could see them through the windows. The light from outside hit his silhouette in such a way Erzsébet could have swooned. She didn’t feel right about admitting how handsome he looked in that uniform. It was the outfit matching that of the jerk who thought it was a good idea to put her under martial law for so many years. Perhaps it was the same outfit but tailored to her husband’s dimensions, but no matter how he might have tried, the part of some militant commander would have fit her husband less than a conductor in white tie.
Oh, God, he was her husband now.
Oh, God, had he noticed her staring at him?
“What?” he broke her trance again, adjusting his arms and moving his sash. “Do I have a stain?”
Well, that answered that.
“It’s just that..” she nearly trailed off, but her pause and nervous chuckle caused Roderich to fold his hands and wait expectantly. It seemed such a strange thing for him to do, considering all the stress. She was partially surprised he hadn’t snapped yet, under all of this pressure. It was unsettling, to see him so attentive in this way.
“Yes?”
“Did we ruin it?”
Roderich was quiet for a moment, unsure if he knew enough to really answer her. “The service or...”
A couple of tears escaped her forced smile. She tried not to let her lip wiggle from these silly girlish feelings. She wasn’t even sure where these nerves were coming from about him. Why did she still feel there was so much to doubt?
“Let’s just worry about the service for now,” she shook her head, hoping it might erase the streaks down her face before he saw them.
“Well, the service is over,” he answered her sensibly. “No sense in worrying about the service now. The reception is of larger concern.”
Sure. The reception was of a larger concerns of things that had yet to really begin.
The reception had passed. The champagne was poured. The food was adequate. The cake was ornate enough, but still rather bland. The music was of top notch selection. The guests had travelled back to their lodgings. And Roderich had carried Erzsébet to their coach and to their own lodging, as was tradition (though Erzsébet had subtly noticed that stone face of his start to erode, likely from the strain).
And Erzsébet and Roderich didn’t have to sneak little touches and coy games of footsie under the table anymore. Really, they wanted desperately to tear it all away - the grandeur, the need to appease guests, the upkeep of their tempers, and their dressy wedding garb. With the exception of the slow and intimate act of removing the pins lodged in Erzsébet’s head to free her hair, the pair moved very quickly once the world was shut out - a pleasant surprise for the two of them as Roderich had scooped Erzsébet onto their bed, quite overtaken with the one thing they looked forward to in all of this. And there was no shame in having voiced their feelings once they became entangled. Their frustrations, their fears, their fantasies.
They’d spoken of how they would have wanted it. How they would have eloped, were they only human. How they would run away on a thrilling adventure and honeymooned in sunny Italy, away from all the conflict. How they would have reveled in a candlelit waltz, if so many of their guests hadn’t wanted to light either one of them on fire. How they would have bonded over making gingerbread hearts.
Forgetting the wars. Forgetting their stressors. Forgetting their responsibilities to simply lie down with the other and immerse themselves in each other.
As they lay curled up under blankets in the aftermath of their frenzy, Erzsébet sighed her regrets yet again. “You know, I would have loved to have some say in the ceremony. I’m sure you would have, too.”
Like a quaint opposite of the man who took her to bed not that long ago, Roderich became shy and hesitant around her once again. “I regret to say I had a little,” he confessed.
“Over the music, I assume?” Erzsébet felt it was the best guess, if FJ1 gave him control over anything.
“Well,” he shrugged, “that would have gone without saying.” She couldn’t see Roderich arguing directly with the man on his military strategy, but she could maybe see him physically fight the man were the musical selections not to his liking. It was an incredibly irritating and regrettably endearing thing about him.
“I’m glad it was Franz. You deserved a composer to your liking,” he glanced down at her, making it a point to try looking her in the eyes. Though his next admission took a little more courage, and his words were hesitant yet again. “I was given a say on the location this time.”
With a scrunch of her nose, Erzsébet leaned herself up for a moment to meet his eyes, daring to dispel her of disbelief. “So you chose Stephansdom?”
“We both knew it was going to be a public affair,” Roderich explained. “It was either that or St. Augustine. Besides, Stephansdom has... higher importance to me.”
It was the way he had stated its importance that had her wanting to press the matter further. Never one to be a very direct man, Erzsébet knew his beating around the bush would be the winding path to answers. And she learned a long time ago she might as well acquaint herself with the journey.
“From memories and associations, you mean?” She figured it probably had to do with the ceremonies that took place in there. The aesthetic of following a composer he’d long admired even after his funeral in said church? Erzsébet would believe he’d go that far over something so seemingly small.
“More than that,” Roderich shook his head. “It... it manifests.”
This time he had to have been referring to its physical meaning. Not necessarily a place of simple memories but its physical manifestation on his body. Like her Lake Batalon, which she’d prided herself on so clearly. Where might she find the cathedral? Had it been obvious this whole time?
“If I were to look for it on you, then...?”
“You won’t see it... Not physically anyway.”
Erzsébet shook her head quietly swore to herself if the genital architecture wasn’t simply some kind of sculptor’s joke...
“Then where-“
And before she could finish the sentence, he had guided her hand over his chest, gently pressing it down to feel a steady, resonating thump. She could close her eyes and hear that one large, pounding bell clearly among a smaller symphony of ringing and chimes. Upon the realization, she gazed up at him to see a shy twinkle in those violet eyes. With a gentle quirk of his brow, he easily expressed such a vulnerability in those moments - the same she saw behind his glasses in those stolen glances.
“Do you understand?” the question left him in an almost breathless way. She might have cried. She was crying. There was no might have about it when he did things like this - things this subtle and yet this incredibly meaningful.
“Roderich,” she mewed, pulling him closely as she raked her fingers in his hair and caught his lips tenderly. With a gentle sweetness she’d come to know from him, her now-husband held her tenderly as if letting her go would have hardly been a thought. In those moments, she was content to take in the beautiful symphony of bells that he’d slowly grown in pride in sharing with her. Even if he still struggled to express his feelings in plain words, Erzsébet was still assured of them, especially through music.