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Frederick sweeps into the room as he usually does, and Ada pays him no mind; he hovers like a fly these days, always coming and going with this and that and fetching things and endlessly trying to fluff her pillows. Milady this, milady that. With Chrom's first child newly born and the next generation of Ylissean royal children afoot, Ada isn't sure how she expected any less but insanity from Frederick.
But today he places a stack of neatly folded clothes on the foot of her bed, right on her feet, prompting her to look up.
"What's this?" she says.
"Fresh clothes," he says. "Up with you! It's high time you caught up on your training, young lady."
She stares. He looks quite serious.
"Training? I gave birth four days ago!" Ada exclaims. "Frederick, please."
"And you had nine months before that to lay about," Frederick says.
"Oh my god," Ada sighs.
"You could do three hundred sit-ups without trouble before," Frederick says. "It won't take long."
She just stares.
"I'm supposed to be bedridden," she says, curling her fingers into the bedsheets as if it might anchor her there. She rebuffs him rhetorically: "Do you have a plan for what to do if my uterus falls out or something?"
"If your uterus falls out, you will push it back in and finish the set," Frederick says.
Ada throws her hands up.
"FREDERICK!" Lissa leans out of the adjoining nursery room and shouts at the top of her lungs. "Bad at jokes! You are BAD! At! jokes!"
She comes out of the nursery armed with a baby rattle, which she brandishes at him wildly. Frederick raises an arm in protest, but Lissa just wails on him over and over again, not resting until she's chased him out of the room.
"Get out get out get out!!"
"Milady!" Frederick exclaims as Lissa slams the door behind him.
"And stay out!" she shouts.
Ada sits there, somewhat alarmed, her hand over her heart.
"Was he serious?" she asks, incredulous.
"I don't know," Lissa admits, though she says it darkly. "But I wasn't about to take a risk."