Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ferox was not known to smile kindly upon its inhabitant. A nation built for strength, from strength, requires strength—and as such, the weather was consistently awful.

“The march back to Ylisse will take approximately 3 days,” Frederick announced quite solemnly. “In the winter season it will be quite dangerous.”

For now the skies were clear, albeit milk white with the prospect of snow. The inside of Lon’qu’s nostrils froze whenever he inhaled. Wind whistled ominously. A storm was coming.

It had already been quite some time since Lon’qu had joined the Shepherds of Ylisse. He’d adapted well enough to everybody; though, he hadn’t managed that with the women quite yet. The brutish Vaike thought it so very funny of him, sure, yet the thought of sidling up next to a female still made him sick. It wasn’t that they were disgusting or weak—far from it—it was his own failures as a man. Still, it didn’t stop him from stepping far to the side whenever one of them got too close. This one being Robin, who was trying to move closer to the centre to be easily heard. Her cloak brushed past him and he shuddered.

“We’ll need to ditch single tents. Warmth will have to be more important than privacy.”

“Agreed,” Frederick said with a curt nod. Nobody ever dared to say word against such a masterful tactician, anyways.

“We’ll draw lots to make it fair.”

Frederick’s nose wrinkled. “Chrom and Lissa will have one to themselves. I cannot subject Ylissean royalty to chance!”

“Who said I have to be treated unfairly?!” Lissa exclaimed, but Frederick was adamant, and the siblings shuffled off to build their tent.

At first Lon’qu thought nothing of it; he wasn’t one to complain about orders. But then he realized, after seeing names on torn parchment drop into a hat, that he might get paired up with somebody of the opposite sex.

Oh. Now, that wouldn’t do—but Robin, sticking her hand into the hat, was the one drawing names, and he didn’t think he’d muster the courage to reject an unfavourable tentmate to her face.

“Frederick… and Kellam.”

A man and a man. (At least he thought. Who was Kellam, again? He’d forgotten.) In any case, things were not looking well. The less men in the pool, the worse chance of Lon’qu being paired with a woman. He could feel his blood pooling in his feet, sluggishly cold from reasons besides the winter wind.

“Cordelia and Stahl.”

Lon’qu managed to steal a glance at the Pegasus knight’s face. Her face was as red as her hair. Not much different could be said about the Cavalier. He averted his gaze and exhaled a frosty, prayer-laden breath. He wasn’t one for gods but he’d give anything to spend the night in peace.

“Me.” Robin stopped to smile to herself and then crumpled her paper in her hand, ready to draw another. “And Lon’qu.”

So, turns out gods were worth nothing at all.

“Whoa. You work fast.”

Robin looked around the soft-sided tent wondrously as she crawled in. Lon’qu felt the flush of heat on his cheekbones and nearly snapped his neck in the effort to look away. As soon as his name had been called—and his fate, sealed—he’d bolted off to build the tent. Robin was still drawing pairs from the hat, so he really only had five or so minutes left to himself. Oh, woe.

“Thanks, Lon’qu,” she continued, oblivious to the growing chasm of awkward silence he was digging. “You could’ve waited for me to help in putting the tent up. I owe you.”

“It’s no problem,” he managed to gurgle out, the words sounding like they had been roughly ground through gravel. Though it was some soft miracle he spoke at all. He just didn’t like the idea of his commander thinking they owed him something. That wasn’t the way Ferox military worked.

“Anyways, get your sleep while you can. It looks like we have a tough battle ahead. It may be your stomping grounds here, but one can never be too careful.”

He still couldn’t muster the courage to turn and face her, huddled in the furthest corner cradling his sword like it was a sacred totem to ward off evils. His hearing was keen and he heard her pull off her boots clumsily, and—gods above—shake off her cloak. There was the rustling of settling into a quilt. Finally, silence.

Far too much silence.

Lon’qu turned warily, only just peeking down into the bedding. Robin’s body was a shapeless lump; she’d drawn the covers right up to her chin. She lay stick straight, and for a second Lon’qu was sure she had just spontaneously… died. Her breathing was absolutely silent and there was not one flutter of movement.

Now somewhat worried that a poison or malicious curse had taken hold of her, Lon’qu reached a shaky hand forwards and balanced it in front of her nose. He waited a few counts, each one growing exponentially more worrisome, before a soft flutter warmed his fingertips. She was just asleep, then.

Lon’qu had tried to separate the bedding as much as possible, but the tents were made for single persons, and there was only so much room he could spread out. Confident that Robin was out cold, he finally took his own boots off and settled for sleep. He moved carefully as not to disturb her, but in the flickering lamplight he could tell that not one eyelash had shifted. The fact that her presence had faded to become almost non-existent was somewhat comforting, after the unsettling nature of her death-like sleep was overcome. If he put it in the corner of his mind long enough to forget that he was a foot away from a woman, he might sleep after all.

He reached to extinguish the lamp. Shadows danced across Robin’s still face, soft against the contours of her countenance. He breathed a small sigh of relief. Maybe he’d overexaggerated his fears after all.

He found comfort as he lay, the harsh chill of cold kept at bay by their shared warmth. When he finally fell asleep he was lost to realize that he moved quite a lot in his sleep, far more than she—and so, it was none other than his fault that when he woke, their limbs were tangled together like snowdrop roots. And yet, he didn’t have the heart to scramble away and wake her…

He supposed there were worse hells than this.

Chapter Text

Lon’qu was not the heaviest sleeper. Warriors either come as the kind who sleep like logs, or the ones who stir at feathers. He was the latter, which was admittedly miserable. Robin hadn’t even fully entered the tent before he was awake and alert. She burst in, red-faced from the Feroxi wind. More worrisome was her expression, grim and ablaze.

“Risen!” she exclaimed, the word riding out an exhausted gasp for air. It was all she had to say. He grabbed his sword with one hand and hauled himself up with the other, already ready for battle.

Maybe a short time ago, having a woman storm into his tent while he slept—his most vulnerable state—would’ve had him self-destructing uselessly. Robin was perhaps the only one capable of this feat. After all, she was the only one who’d chucked figs at him like some sort of deranged squirrel. He supposed, begrudgingly, it had worked. As crazy as it sounds, she was a masterful tactician, and her stupid fruit had won his favours. Or, at least, he felt somewhat more comfortable around her than he had before.

He wasn’t the first one she’d recruited for this mission. Seeing other swordsmen and mages, he assumed the enemy was primarily axemen and archers. It made sense, but he wondered—would she still call on him even if it wasn’t just for a tactical advantage? Had he made himself one of her default choices? He wouldn’t say anything if she chose Chrom or any of the other men or women in camp, who were also strong. But he’d like it if she thought of him, first.

Only because he wanted to prove his skills, of course. It’s more rewarding to be a chosen champion than a second choice. Especially if the choice is coming from the most intelligent tactician in the land. That’s all. Of course.

“We have a couple Risen up North. Maybe three or so. And it seems like two stronger archers in the Northeast by the towers. Henry, I want you leading the front with Chrom as back-up Northwards.”

“’Kay,” he replied sleepily, fanning a yawn off his face. He was shivering miserably. Lon’qu felt a pang of sympathy. He’d feel the same kind of discomfort, reversed, if they were in Henry’s homeland.

“Lon’qu, you’re with me. Let’s go. Stay safe, everyone.”

They dispatched obediently. Lon’qu couldn’t help but lose himself in his thoughts as they trekked along in the deep snow. Had she always spoken to him like one of the other men? She had, hadn’t she? It had only been him who was different back then, and so very different now. Even though Robin hadn’t changed, why did it feel like everything about her was new?

“W-We’ll stop here,” she announced abruptly after they’d walked for about fifteen minutes. “And have them come to us. The t-trees… cover.”

Her teeth were chattering so badly she couldn’t even form proper sentences without biting her tongue. Lon’qu was accustomed to the winter, but clearly, he was a minority.

“Put your hood up and turn your back to the wind,” he advised, noticing her cloak billowing behind her head. She shook her head.

“I c-can’t see the enemy if I t-turn around.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got your back.”

Had he said something strange? Her eyes widened then, face slackening. Before he could begin to regret his word choice, her face split into a smile. It was soft, and he might’ve missed it if he hadn’t been looking at her so intently. Quietly, she raised her hood and turned around. Shuffling slightly, she literally put her back to his. He felt her warmth like the devil’s personal bonfire.

“I’ll put my trust you, Lon’qu.”

He felt her strength surging as his own. With her by his side, he felt like he could cut down anything in his path. It was invigorating, but also calming. And honestly, it was a huge relief that he’d managed to get out of Robin’s field of view, because she surely would’ve had something to say about the big goofy grin across his face.

Chapter Text

It’s not his turn on the night watch, but he trudges out into the cold anyways. The storms have quelled, if only for a short while. Regna Ferox’s air bites all the same, but without the howling wind, it’s actually quite peaceful. Almost warm if you forget the cold. Streaks of green that are so green they’re practically blue dance vividly across the sky, bejewelled by millions of stars as far as the eye can see. He ignores their beauty, searching for one thing only.

Even in the dark, he can tell Robin is shivering, her slight frame hunched in the darkness. He steps deliberately in the crunchy snow to alert her of his presence, but she doesn’t turn around or move to acknowledge him. He sits gingerly beside her on the stone-cold log and tries not to be obvious or awkward. He fails miserably.

He doesn’t know if he should ask if she’s all right. Clearly, she isn’t. Although mysterious or reserved at times, Robin’s not very secretive about her emotions. She wears them right on her sleeve. It’s why she laughs so easily at him. Cares so deeply, openly. He decides he’ll let her decide if she wants to talk, but if not, he hopes his presence at least brings some comfort. It pains him, even though he isn’t the one hurting, to see Robin with that look on her face.

“…I didn’t know his name.”

Her voice is fragilely quiet in the night. Faint frost lines her words in the air, just a touch above the volume of a thought. He’s surprised that she’s decided to confide in him, but he accepts the responsibility.

“Whose?”

“The village boy who died. I took him under my care, but he… I couldn’t get to him. They caught me off guard.”

Her eyes burn brightly under starlight and she clenches her teeth, clearly holding things back. The sound of her mind racing practically echoes in the silent field. Lon’qu shifts in his seat uncomfortably. This is not his… realm of specialty. Maybe Lissa, or one of the other emotional souls. Somebody with equal parts sympathy and empathy and… well, literal healing ability would be nice, too. But they’re not here right now. It’s on him.

“There was nothing you could have done to prevent it,” he says cautiously, his voice sounding so low as he weighs each word. It almost doesn’t sound like him, but he means it. “I know that if there was, you would have. This is just how fate falls.”

“Fate can be changed,” she snaps back hotly. He looks down and sees her fists balled up tight. “I should have done better! Because of me, somebody is dead. That’s on me.”

The self-deprecation is entirely unfamiliar. After all, Robin is always right. She’s never been proven wrong, even if she’s made outlandish gambles and considerable sacrifices along the way. Except for now. She’s the only one who’s dumb enough to insult Robin. It almost makes him angry.

“What do you want me to say? That yes, you were a careless tactician? That you neglected your responsibilities somehow by making the wrong calls?”

Even though it’s what she’s been getting at, she seems stunned to hear him say them out loud. He’d only said them at all to try and convince her that she was being foolish. After all, he sure felt like he was lying to her face. Robin was nothing but careful. Skilled. Competent. Somebody to be feared; the one you were glad to have on your side.

Imagine his surprise when she burst into tears.

With no word or indication, she began to cry fully, and then grabbed onto the collar of his jacket. Wrenching him forwards, she buried her face into his chest, body heaving with silent sobs. He realized what she was doing after getting over the initial shock. Muffling herself as not to wake the others. Always the considerate one.

Tentatively, he places a hand between her shoulder blades and presses her further into the embrace. Her body is so cold it saps the heat right from his touch. Carefully, he extends both of his arms until she’s fully cocooned in his warmth.

“Cry if you must,” he whispers, looking straight ahead to give her a semblance of privacy in this intimate vulnerability. “But move on. Tears only freeze.”

She inhales sharply and cautiously pulls her head back to look up at him. Her face is bright red from the frigid temperatures, and the hot tears cut silvery moonlit rivers down her cheeks. He brushes them away with his thumbs before they solidify on her lashes.

“Be well,” he continues, softly now. It feels more natural now that he doesn’t think of what he should or shouldn’t say—only what he wants to. “Think of all the lives you have saved, only through your actions. You’re a good woman, Robin. One tragic loss, or any other, won’t undo that. You’ll always have my trust and respect.”

She sniffles in response and pulls back fully, wiping her own tears with the backs of her hands. He can already tell she’s regaining her strength. A familiar aura is rebuilding around her, reassuring him. Quietly, with a shyness he doesn’t expect,

“You’re a good man too, Lon’qu.”

It’s high pitched and reedy since she’s just been crying, but the compliment warms his heart all the same. It makes him happy, unreasonably so. And even though she’s strong enough to not need it, he wraps her up in his arms again anyways. It makes him feel safe, too. She feels like a home.

Finally, he’s found his home.

Chapter Text

He’d forgotten what it meant to feel cold.

Consciously, he could still tell it was cold, of course. The wind, sharp like knives against his fast numbing skin. The snow, which fell wet, freezing his dark hair into slick firm spikes. The ground, hard and unforgiving; the silvery puffs of breath seeping from tender nares; the ice, with its mysterious and dangerous sheen. So, he supposed he still knew what it was to be cold—he just didn’t feel its discomfort.

It was the last night in Ferox. Soon enough they’d be crossing the border and be moving onto warmer lands. It felt bittersweet, in a way. He’d always been a vagabond, but Regna Ferox was a place he’d really considered his home. Something about the celebration of strength beyond all else resonated with him. Not a lot of thought was put into identity; you were who you were. That was that.

Despite the cushioning of snow, footsteps alerted him to her presence, and he already knew it was her by the way her feet hit the ground. He’d learnt the pattern by heart. Watching Robin sit beside him, he didn’t resist the wry smile tugging at his lips. She hugged her cloak to herself and whistled.

“Why do you insist on sitting out in the cold, Lon’qu? Our tent’s right there.”

He shrugged. “It’s comfortable. I like the quiet.”

Without word he pulled the heavy fur off of his own shoulders and tucked it around hers. She knew better than to reject it at this point and happily nestled herself into it, looking smaller as she comfortably sunk into it.

“So I was thinking,” she continued, her soft voice muffled as she pulled his cloak up to her nose. “This winter will probably be the best time.”

He raised an eyebrow inquisitively, legitimately surprised. She’d never been a particularly big fan of the season. “Why’s that?”

“Well, the royal wedding is this spring, and it’ll take all season to prepare for that. And I think I want to get it done as early as possible. The snow will be pretty, won’t it? Especially with a white dress.”

He reached under her layers of clothing and found her hand, pulling it out and kissing the fingers. They were cool, pink at the fingertips and knuckles, so he warmed them with his lips.

“There’s no rush if we have forever,” he mumbled into them.

The pink on her cheeks went rosy and he felt her fingers twitch, cradled so gently in his. “Yes, but… can’t I be impatient for once?”

He smiled. The action had been foreign and unfamiliar to him not too long ago, but something about Robin made it come natural. She taught him the fundamentals of being human, everything that he’d forgotten—what it felt like to love somebody so much that your body aches for them and your entire world shines brighter.

“Works for me. You know best.”

“Yes, I do. Also, can we have snowdrops at our wedding? I think they’re neat, and they’d fit the winter theme.”

“If that’s what you want, then I have no objections.”

“Oh, and…”

They kept talking like that long into the night, long after their faces had gone stiff with numbness. Their wedding. He didn’t care much for ceremony or tradition, but it made her happy. He could tell by the way she gushed about it, pleased to put together details… he was beyond content to listen, holding her hand between his to shield it from the wind. He’d have her forever and even past that, too, gods willing.

Despite the cold, he felt consciously warm. It radiated. It spread. It healed. It brightened. And it loved, so fully.