Work Text:
It had been the little things that drew his eye, one after another.
The curl of her hair, pulled behind her ear whenever it got into her eyes. The furrow of her brows whenever she pondered a prickly conundrum. The peek of teeth as it worried her lower lip whenever she focused on a particular flourish in her letters. Her long, slim fingers that would gently sweep a map open, or run down the spine of a tome. The way her mouth shaped the sounds of his name differently from what he was used to hearing. The way he seemed to be drawn to her, much like everyone else in the militia was. The way she made him feel; about himself, about his crusade, about his duties.
Frederick had tried, in the beginning, to remind himself of his suspicions. Oh, how he’d tried. And despite the misgivings of his liege lord, despite the stink eye the others had given him, he’d persisted in his wariness because he knew he was right to do so. He’d rather be scorned a thousand times over than to allow his prince and his comrades to be betrayed.
In some awful, selfish way, he seemed to be vindicated as he saw the Ylissian Prince fall to his knees clutching his side, gasping his last, being stared down by someone who was both friend and foe, eyes blank but for the reflection of a dead man.
But he was getting ahead of himself.
“I’ve been wondering about this little hobby of yours, Frederick, if you’ll indulge me.”
Frederick looked up at that, belatedly realising that his hands had stilled in their task. Robin stood off to the side, a faint smile playing on her lips like she knew a secret. He badly wished to wrench it away from her, but all he could do, instead, was brush off the seat of his trousers and stand to his full height to face her. Despite towering over her, she did not seem the least bit cowed.
“I beg your pardon?” He asked politely, pretending he didn’t see her amusement deepen.
Her eyes flickered to the neat array of tools that he’d set down on the ground, “I understand that you’re in the habit of setting up our campfires.”
“A small but important task,” he said agreeably.
“A task you refuse to relinquish.”
“Why delegate something one can do perfectly well oneself?”
“Hmm,” Robin shifted her weight, lips pursed slightly, the smile dancing in her eyes, “You would consider yourself the Shepherd most suited to this task?”
“I’ve the necessary experience, yes. More than most, perhaps. And given that I’m always at the vanguard and that I’m the first to rise each morning, well…” He realised he was speaking foolishly; a campfire, while certainly important and requiring of its starter some diligence in the matter of safety, wasn’t a particularly onerous or complicated responsibility. Certainly there was no reason for him to consistently perform such a menial task were it not for his preference. He didn’t know why he was playing this game with her.
“Would you agree that a skilled person would be able to execute their task with some manner of efficiency? Speed?”
“Of course.”
“Then surely there’s a reasonable explanation for the lack of a fire despite your fussing from, oh, say… two hours past?”
Frederick blinked, glancing at the noticeably unlit pile of logs at his feet. He refused to feel guilty about it.
“You mentioned a hobby, Robin,” he said, deflecting, not completely able to meet her eyes, “Lighting the campfire is a responsibility.”
She tilted her head at him, looking in a way that suggested she was assessing him in the way she often did when decided about the deployment of her battle roster. Finally, she said, “You’ve been staring.”
Frederick paused.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I had thought, at first, you were watching me because you still distrusted me. And I suppose that it is a suspicion that is warranted. But I’ve come to think that, well… If I’m not wrong…” She inhaled, eyes darting away, nervous, “I’d assumed after… Everything… We’d come to some sort of… Understanding.”
“Yes,” Frederick hedged, though it lacked his usual certainty.
“And that… Perhaps… We’d become… Friends?”
She gave him a look. Cool. Assessing. Sharp. Like she could see into him.
He held his breath.
Her beauty was profound under the moonlight. Her dark brown eyes, usually so sharp, were soft as they gazed back into his own. He held her hand in his his, bringing it slowly to his mouth and pressing kiss after gentle kiss against each of her fingers. She didn’t pull away and he, emboldened, dared to step closer, eyes half-lidded as the night deepened and muted the world around them.
What point was there to anger, to jealousy?
Frederick asked himself the question, over and over again, more upset that he was weak to such emotions than anything else as he stalked the perimeter of the castle walls, scaring away the odd patrolmen. He placed his hands down on the parapets that overlooked the old forest, hanging his head and heaving a heavy sigh that barely seemed to vent the weariness that had settled deep into his bones.
Frederick was no fool. He had never been a fool.
He’d known from the outset that Chrom had always seen something in Robin, something more than even Frederick himself had been able to. It was why Chrom had almost immediately welcomed her into the fold, whereas Frederick had acted like an agitated cat, arched back, hissing like he was being threatened. And in truth, had he not been? His place by Chrom’s side was under siege. His position as Chrom’s closest confidant, his counsel, his trust…
But that had been in the past. At least, that’s what Frederick wanted to believe.
Now though, as a pair of arms wound around his torso and a woman pressed a cheek against his back, he felt some of the ire seep away.
“That’s just Chrom’s way, you know that,” Robin murmured.
He knew all too well. To have a woman like Robin at your right hand was to hold the world in your arms. He knew she and Chrom shared some unspeakable bond, one that he himself had never had with his prince. That they had one mind, one soul, one passion. She was a companion that he’d longed for all his life in his gilded cage; a true friend, an equal. And yet, to see Chrom’s lingering looks, the thunderstruck expression bordering on amorous… He was certain that all it would take would be a single overture and then Robin too would see no one else.
“Frederick,” Robin pulled back, and when he did not respond, she took him by the arms and turned him round. He kept his eyes on the ground. Her expression softened, as did her voice, “Hey… Frederick, will you look at me? Please?”
It was only the touch to his cheek that drew him out. He raised his gaze, hesitant, frustrated, afraid. Robin’s thumb traced an arc under his eye, and finally he was able to see the love on her face.
A thought struck him, one more terrible than before. He quickly took her hand from his cheek, pulled it away, and stepped back.
“I will withdraw if your affections lay elsewhere. I didn’t… I mean, it wasn’t my intention to…”
“Frederick,” she interrupted, stepping even closer now, taking his head in both her hands and forcing him to meet her gaze directly, challenging in the way he’d always known her to be. When had he grown so timid?
“I love you,” she said, like it was the truth.
He could say nothing in reply, afraid that his voice would shake, and, instead, squeezed his eyes shut and kissed her in hopes that he would believe her words with all his heart.
“Imagine my surprise to find my two closest advisers had begun a romantic affair behind my back.”
Frederick looked up from where he had been carefully sharpening the blade of his lance, “Your Grace—”
“You could have said something,” Chrom leaned casually against the entrance of the training room but his expression was flat and unhappy, “You should have said something.”
He hesitated, “How did you know?”
Chrom rolled his eyes, “Gossip from the others at the mess. Confirmed by Robin.”
He didn’t hold back the look of surprise, “She confirmed?”
“I expected this subterfuge from her, not you,” he said irritably, “Aren’t you supposed to be my oldest friend?”
Frederick was at a loss for what to say, and at the admission of friendship, he decided to forget his status for that one shared moment and ventured, “I’d thought that maybe you were falling in love with her.”
Chrom looked at him like he was mad, “You thought that I’d get in the way of your happiness?”
“Happiness is something you deserve, far more than I ever would—”
“Spare me, Frederick!” Chrom erupted, “Don’t use me as an excuse to be miserable! You’d give anything up, just because you think it’s something I want?”
He tried to reply but he couldn’t seem to find the words.
Chrom looked angry but he seemed to fight himself for control before finally saying, “Your happiness is the most important thing to me, Frederick. More important than anything. And, yes, while Robin is special to me, if she ever breaks your heart, I would… I would… I’m afraid we’d come to blows. Don’t you dare achieve anything short of complete wedded bliss.”
“Chrom,” Frederick began helplessly.
But Chrom stormed out without listening and left Frederick to chase his afterimage.
“If we have a child together,” she had said, once, when she was enveloped in his arms, laying together as lovers did, “Would you let me name it?”
“Anything,” he said, always meaning it. And then, when some sense caught hold of him: “What names were you thinking of?”
Their eyes met and he saw that look again, tempered, this time, by something aching, “… something that means a promise of tomorrow.”
“Robin!” Frederick tried to reach her, tried, but couldn’t. She cast him a lingering look, cold and unfeeling, but not ignorant, no, anything but that. He had seen those eyes a thousand times before and now they froze him in place, bereft of its tenderness and longing, only steel in its wake.
Chrom’s body was cold in his hands.
“Why,” he gasped, the tears rolling down his cheek as he clutched onto Chrom, unable to let go.
“This was destiny,” she replied, and though her voice was steady, he could the discord in it, the inhuman growl pitched both high and low, like a beast was speaking through her, “And you have played your role admirably.”
“My role.”
“All of this was written, good husband,” her eyes narrowed in pleasure, serpentine and cool, “It was written a thousand years past, in the ink of fate. This has always been my destiny. I have come to claim it.”
“Then why!” He screamed, “Why gain our trust? Why marry me? Why wait at all?”
Robin gave him a long, lingering look. Cool. Assessing. Sharp.
“Your devotion shall be remembered,” she finally said, voice quiet. And before he could question her further, she disappeared from sight.
In her wake, a thousand Risen and the death of a dynasty.
If he had known that falling in love would spell their doom, he would have carved his still beating heart out of his chest with his own two hands.
Frederick had been taught the scriptures as a boy, had known that his duty to the crown was made sacrosanct only in his quest for the righteousness and glory of Naga. He remembered his prayers, always. He remembered his vows, always. He remembered his duty, always.
He recognised the child even at a distance.
Fast asleep on the threshold of the safehouse he and the surviving Ylissians had taken as their headquarters, he had a crop of chestnut brown hair, much like his own. But when he opened his eyes, and much later, his mouth, Frederick realised he was every inch his mother. His talent with the tome was uncanny. But it brought up too much bitterness, too much pain, and so Frederick taught him the sword and recast the boy in his image.
His name was Morgan.
“A promise of tomorrow,” Frederick murmured, looking down at the spear sticking out from his stomach as the world bled red and that too faded into the dark.