Wriothesley was always seen as a tough man by his men and those around him. Even people who had never met him and only heard of him all assumed the same when they heard about his background. Those who lived in the nation of Fontaine were aware that, quite surprisingly, he had a wife. Even more surprising was the fact that on the very rare occasions Wriothesley caught a cold or flu, he liked to get all cozy and needy in bed, having his loving, caring wife take care of him and look after him. He especially loved it when she came and pampered him with affection, dragging out his sick play for as long as he could just to be smothered by his darling wife.

In the cold, imposing Fortress of Meropide, Wriothesley lay in bed, a rare sight for his subordinates. His normally stern features were softened by the flush of fever, and his usually strong voice was reduced to a hoarse whisper.

"My dear, could you bring me some tea?" he asks, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. "And perhaps stay with me for a while? It feels so lonely without you."

As you tend to him, Wriothesley's tough exterior melts away, revealing a side of him only she was privileged to see. He nuzzles into her touch as she nears with his favorite tea in hand, his eyes closing in contentment.

"Thank you," he murmurs, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. "You're the only one who can make me feel better."