Archive of Our Own ^beta

A shiver up Lon’qu’s spine told him he was no longer alone. He paused, blade halfway through a swing towards a practice-dummy, and lowered the blade to his side before half-turning his head towards the door. From the shadows, Fredrick emerged. Lon’qu inclined his head in acknowledgement, and returned to his morning ritual as the other knight settled down a few feet away, silent and with hands clasped behind his back.
Outside, the sun was only just starting to rise. Fredrick and he, Lon’qu figured, were the only ones awake at this hour. Sometime later, the training room would be a blur of activity. There would be risen to be fought, and strategies to be made. But for the moment, the only thing that broke the still was the soft sound of Fredrick shifting subtle from one foot to the other, and the woosh of Lon’qu’s blade through the air. “Did you have something to say to me?” Lon’qu asked without pause, striking once, twice, with well-practiced motions.

Fredrick hummed in response. He watched Lon’qu’s motions with a steady, unwavering gaze and finally said after several more sword-strikes, “…I apologize if I’m disturbing you. I was merely curious about the techniques cultivated by a master swordsman of Regna Ferox. Your style is very different from those practiced in Ylisse.”

“…I see.” Lon’qu frowned. “…I’m not fond of being scrutinized so intently.”

“Truly?” Frederick’s hand went to his hilt. “Then may a compromise? Would it be presumptuous to ask to interrupt your practice for a spar?”

The swordmaster paused, his frown smoothing into a thin line before curing upwards into a smirk. “I am not opposed to such a suggestion. But I warn you, I won’t go easy on you.”
Fredrick smiled in return. And where Lon’qu’s was sharp, his grin was soft. “I would not want you to.” He replied, drawing his sword. “Come, show me what a Ferox sword is capable of!”

xxx

At mealtimes, Lon’qu does not take part in conversation. He does not engage others, and others generally do not engage him. The camp groans almost collectively when bear is announced as the main dish yet again. Across the room, Lon’qu catches Fredrick’s grin, honest and excited as he digs in. He turns and looks at his own plate full of the unfamiliar meat, and spears a piece with his fork. It doesn’t taste great, but it isn’t awful either. More than anything else, it is just different.

xxx

Lon’qu froze at the entrance of his tent. Hung over his bed was a poster that hadn’t been there before: a picture of Chrom holding a scale and a sword. It also depicted the young prince wearing nothing whatsoever. He let the tent’s opening fall, and stood staring at the canvas material before peering inside again. Chrom’s likeness was still there, in all its nude glory. A shriek came from somewhere nearby, and Lon’qu’s hand flew reflexively to the hilt of his sword. A few moments later, Chrom came careening into view with an armful of rolled posters, and headed straight for him at an all-out run. “Don’t go in there!” he screamed before blowing past the swordsman into the tent. The tent-flap fell closed behind him. Lon’qu stared at the canvas wall and heard the sound of curses followed by rustling paper before Chrom immerged once more. “Sorry!” he shouted on the way out, before vanishing in another direction towards another tent. Inside, upon investigation, Lon’qu found the poster was gone.

“….Chrom? Milord…?” Fredrick was the picture of distressed when he emerged from the darkness into the low-light cast by a lantern outside of Lon’qu’s tent.

“…I do not believe he would want to see you right now.” The swordsman found himself saying, putting two and two together.

“But I….” The knight deflated, “No. I suppose he would not. I believe I managed to make him quite upset. It was not my intention but…I have done it nonetheless.”

“Apologize in the morning.” Lon’qu suggested. “….” He paused, and then opened his mouth again. “…in the meantime. You are…welcome to join me here for a time. I was just about to set about cleaning my sword. Some company would be…enjoyable, I think.” The other man looked startled, understandably. Lon’qu was not normally the type to put forth such an offer but…Frederick’s devotion to his Lord…it was something Lon’qu could respect, and relate to.

Frederick bowed his head. “…I am happy to accept.”

“You have been Basilio’s champion for some time now, yes?” Fredrick murmured, once the two were settled within.

“Indeed.” Lon’qu pressed the edge of his blade to his sharpening wheel. “What of it?”

“Do you…ever question the usefulness of your service to him?” The other man’s fists clenched in his lap, “Sometimes I—”

“Such questions are meaningless. We are men of duty.” The sharpening wheel spit sparks as it cut into Lon’qu’s blade, “We serve for so long as our lords will have us. The moment we are no longer useful, we will be told to leave. Until then, we must give our all. That is all.”

Fredrick’s fists alternatively clenched and loosened, but something eased in his face. “Lon’qu…you are right.” A pause. “But still, in the morning I will apologize to milord. I regret causing him any discomfort…”

xxx

Fredrick’s sword meet Lon’qu’s with a harsh ‘clank’. More often than not they do not talk when they spar. Not with words anyway. Instead, their swords, their movement, and their passion speak for them. When Lon’qu strikes, he strikes with all his power. He puts all of himself into the blow, and Fredrick receives it with unwavering focus. All of his attention belongs to the other.

xxx

“May I sit here?” Fredrick looks up. Lon’qu stands before him, two trays of food in hand.

“Please.” He gestures to the seat beside him. They spent the meal in silence. It is enough.

xxx

The risen solider comes out of nowhere, but without even pausing to consider a course of action, Lon’qu is moving in the path of the blow. Fredrick is startled and his horse rears back wild-eyed. With the first strike blocked, Lon’qu makes the mistake of turning back. The two men’s eyes met, and from the corner of his eye, Lon’qu saw the risen withdraw and ready his sword again. “Lon’qu!” A note of worry entered Fredrick’s voice. As the blade struck, Lon’qu couldn’t help but chide himself. It was an amateur mistake: to take your eyes off the enemy before they were defeated was to invite doom.

In the next breath, Fredrick’s lance whooshed past him from behind, spearing through the risen’s midsection, and coming out on the other side. “Pick a God and pray!” The other’s face came into view, and Lon’qu was half taken-aback by the fury there. His hand pressed into side, over the weeping wound there. He took a strange, gasping breath. Though the move had been performed with a lance, there had been no mistaking that the style of the last strike had been distinctly that of Regna Ferox.

“Lon’qu, let me get you to Lissa or Mirabelle, that wound needs attending—” Something inside Lon’qu fluttered, and his hand pressed tighter into the gash at his side. The other man held out his hand. “Come, I’ll ride you to them.” Lon’qu took it and found himself hauled upwards. Sitting behind the injured swordsman, Fredrick’s arms came around him, to the reins. His heartbeat was loud in his ears.

“Let me see it.” Lon’qu barely quivered when Lissa drew near to him, staff raised, “Oooh! How nasty. I’ll fix it right up…” His attention was not on Lissa; his eyes were still on Fredrick, whose face was the picture of concern. “There! All better. How do you feel?”
“…..fine. I’m fine.” The answer was automatic, but enough to assuage the princess’ concern. Fredrick’s face did not change.

xxx

“I am sorry for your injury. I should have been more vigilant. Had I been paying better attention, you wouldn’t have—”

“Stop.” Lon’qu lowered his sword. The first rays of sunlight were just starting to filter into the Shepard’s training room. Fredrick’s face was shadowed, and his sword hung limply at his side. “There is nothing to forgive. We are soldiers. Injuries happen.”

“But still—! You were injured because of—”

“Protecting.” Lon’qu corrected, feeling his own face heat up, “I was injured protecting…someone I care about.”

Fredrick’s sword hit the floor, the metal clanging implied by the silent nearly empty space around them. The solider immediately went after it, scrambling to his knees, and fumbling to sheath the blade. His face colored slightly as he looked up at Lon’qu with half-lidded eyes. “I….well…in any case, I still…want to get stronger so that…such incidents occur with less frequency.”

“I would not respect you were your resolve any different.” Lon’qu drew his sword again. “But talk is cheap. You shall have to show me the merit through action!”

Their swords met in the middle.

xxx

At dinner, Lon’qu’s dinner was already prepared, and at Fredrick’s side. Fredrick looked up at the other before averting his gaze and flushing.

“…Bear meat again?” Lon’qu asked.

“…Yes. Is it not to your liking?” Fredrick didn’t look up in favor of gazing intently at his own plate.

For a long moment Lon’qu studied the other man, but finally, took his seat before the plate of bear meat. “I was not particularly fond of it at first.” He admitted. Then, fingers quivering ever so slightly, he reached over, and covered Fredrick’s hand with his own. “…but it has grown on me.”

Their hands touched for only a moment before both pulled away to return to their meals. But any words that might have been said had passed between them with that touch. And they both smiled and it was enough.