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It was not Viola’s plan that Cesario would follow her into her marriage. Cesario had served his purpose, and more than that, had brought her happiness she had never expected. And as happy as she was with Orsino, she believed she should have no need for any disguise. After their wedding, Cesario’s things–his loose fitting tunics, his breeches, his boots–were packed neatly away in one of Orsino’s many closets, and forgotten. Or so Viola had hoped. It is only a few weeks into her happy marriage that her self control wavers. Her dresses, though made of the finest fabrics in Illyria, begin to feel ill-fitting and uncomfortable. Her thoughts begin to stray to the freedom she had felt in her weeks pretending to be someone else. At last, unable to delay the inevitable any further, Viola unpacks Cesario’s trunks, waits until Orsino leaves the house, and steals into the woods in her once-familiar disguise.
As soon as they are alone, Viola feels a sense of calm settle over them. There’s a pressure to being Count Orsino’s wife that they hadn’t anticipated when they’d fallen in love with him. There’s the house to maintain, the staff to manage, dinners and banquets and balls to plan. But more than that, there are the new and unexpected expectations of Viola’s behavior. The longer they’ve been married, they’ve begun to have the odd sense that many of the people they speak to daily see them not as Viola, but simply as a wife. And Viola loves their husband. They love being married to him. But they’re starting to flinch away from what being a wife seems to mean. Perhaps that’s why they’ve found themselves nostalgic for Cesario–the freedom a pair of breeches can give them is as surprising now as it was the first time. Alone and unfettered for the first time in months, Viola allows themself to relax. In the woods they wander, singing half-remembered love songs underneath the cypress trees. When they come across a clear spring they leave their boots on the shore and wade in, laughing to themself as curious minnows cluster around their ankles. Not only does it feel like Viola’s breath comes easier, here, but they can finally think clearly, as well. Finding a shaded patch of moss, Viola lies back to watch the clouds and let their mind wander.
Viola remembers when he first called himself Cesario. There was no initial comfort–instead, he felt drowned by grief for their brother and the fear of being caught in his lie. It was only in quiet moments, alone (or, eventually, with Orsino) that Cesario’s costume began to feel like more than a costume. When Viola was alone, Cesario began to feel like a long-dormant part of himself, a missing piece he had trained himself to ignore. The first time he had been seen as a man, Viola had wanted to panic. But underneath that fear, he soon realized, there was a thrill of excitement. Though he had never felt truly comfortable, knowing his safety depended on a lie, Cesario felt more like the truth with each passing day. And now, Viola wondered if marriage meant he would have to give him up forever. He had not expected to feel a sense of loss when he considered never again wearing a simple tunic and boots. But yet, the sadness was there.
Viola doesn’t mean to fall asleep. But the combination of the dappled afternoon sun, birdsong, and cool moss beneath their head lulls them into resting. As they drift off, they are reminded of falling asleep in the woods behind their father’s house as a child, Sebastian at their side to keep watch. The same childlike sense of security and ease falls over them now as they rest, half-asleep and half-awake. There is the sun, warm on their face; the breeze, gentle on their skin; the comfort and safety of solitude. They do not expect to be woken, some time later, by a familiar and tender hand brushing leaves from their hair.
“Hello, my love,” says their husband.
Viola wakes slowly, and then with a sudden violence. They bolt upright with such haste they nearly knock their forehead into the underside of their husband’s jaw. Orsino dodges, quickly, as Viola scrambles back against the nearby willow tree.
Orsino’s face twists in concern. “Viola? Or…” he pauses, unsure. “Cesar–”
Viola screws their eyes shut, a whole-body shudder running through them. “Don’t,” they plead. Orsino moves slowly towards their spouse, but maintains a careful hands-breadth of space between them.
“Why not?” Orsino asks. He sounds as self-assured as he always does–not pompously so, but speaking, as he so often will, as though he can’t imagine doubting himself. “Why not Cesario? This is his tunic, is it not? His boots, his visage?”
Viola can’t find it in himself to look at his husband. “You married Viola,” he points out. A slight tremble makes his hands twitch against the grass. “Cesario was a deception.”
With Viola refusing to look him in the eye, Orsino tilts his head down until he can catch their averted gaze. “My sweet boy,” he says–the use of the old affectionate name makes Viola flush. “Did I not know Cesario first?”
“Known first, yes,” Viola agrees. “But not loved.”
“You must think me shallow,” Orsino says, “that I would marry you so quickly without loving you.”
When Viola dares to meet her husband’s gaze, his eyes are shining with some unknown emotion.
“Of course I loved Cesario as well as you. I love him as a part of you, now. In all your forms, I would love you, Viola. Will you believe that?”
Finally, Viola lets the tears fall. Finally, they let their husband embrace them, leaning into his arms with a hitched sob. Orsino catches them, as he always has–as he always will.
“Oh, my love,” he murmurs. His hand comes up to cradle the back of their head, stroking gently through their hair. His arms are strong and solid around them, providing a comforting pressure. “We should have spoken of this sooner. I should never have left you room to doubt.”
It takes a moment for Viola to find her voice. “It was never you,” she says. “I didn’t know the truth of myself–I didn’t let myself know. And I feared what it would mean, if I allowed myself to uncover it.”
With utmost care, Orsino presses a kiss to the side of Viola’s head. “Then let us uncover it together,” he says. He makes the words sound like a promise. And at last, for what may be the first time in their life, Viola feels wholly themself, and wholly at home.