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“THRUST, and back! THRUST, and back!” Frederick chanted with a cadence, as he ran basic lance drills opposite of Sumia, Sully, Cordelia, and Stahl—the front line of a block of lance units from the Ylissean army. He broke from formation. “Alright, keep going! I will come around and evaluate your forms.”
A stickler for proper training, Frederick’s regimen alternated weapon basics with sparring (separate, of course, from Frederick’s Fanatical Fitness Hour). Much like scales and arpeggios for musicians, these basic exercises enforced muscle memory and technique when in battle.
He observed the Shepherds first. “Excellent as always, Sully! You as well, Cordelia! Stahl, remember to not allow a vulnerability with your lance positioning. Sumia—“
She was doing so well until he called her name.
As if her legs had become jelly, she completely lost her balance on her forward thrust and fell to the ground. Frederick rushed over to kneel beside her.
“Milady, are you alright?” he asked, gently placing a hand on her back.
“Ohh, pegasus dung!” she grumbled as she sat up, pouting with pink staining her cheeks. “I was doing so well, too! How am I supposed to serve Chrom and Ylisse when I stumble at my own name?”
“You are showing improvement daily, milady. Your forms are excellent. You merely need to eliminate being so easily distracted,” he reassured her firmly. “Come now,” he reached out his hand, “let’s get you up and training like the knight I know you are.”
“R-right!” She hesitated, her cheeks now a furious shade of red. When she finally took his hand, Frederick felt something like the surge of a Thoron bolt shoot through his arm. They locked eyes, Frederick’s brow furrowed in utter confusion and worry as he felt his breathing become labored and his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He pulled her up, and they lingered briefly before Sumia pulled her hand back. She appeared nervous.
“Ah, milady, you are covered in dirt. Allow me—“ He pulled out a handkerchief, but she took it from him, cleaning herself off.
“I—er—thank you Frederick! I-I’ve got this!” She shot him an awkward toothy smile.
Frederick swallowed hard, unsure of when her smile became so captivating. He simply nodded, and moved on to critique the other troops, his hand still tingling.
***
Following dinner, Frederick made his usual evening rounds tending to the campfire, clearing any rubble in the walkways, and straightening up the armory. When he passed by the training grounds, he was surprised to see, instead of Lord Chrom or Sully, the maiden of flowers herself dueling with a training dummy.
Frederick stayed in the shadows, at first quietly scrutinizing her form. But, he kept finding himself distracted by how her hair bounced with her movements, and the beautiful determined look in her eyes, and the little beads of sweat glistening on her face, and the way her skirt swayed just over her exposed thighs. Her technique, he reminded himself, gritting his teeth, that’s what you should be watching.
”Here goes!” she cried, thrusting her training lance forward with all her might, the dummy taking a critical blow to the chest. “Ha! Take that!”
Sumia performed an excited victory dance, twirling around excitedly and posing—something Frederick had never seen her do in any of their training sessions. Such a display was rather unbecoming of a knight, but somehow, he found it oddly charming. He caught himself smiling gently at her, cursing at his continued unprofessionalism.
“O-oh!” Sumia nearly tripped over herself in surprise when she noticed Frederick watching her. “F-Frederick, erm, how long have you been standing there?” Her face was flushed. From training, of course, he thought.
“Long enough to admire milady and fellow knight’s dedication to her craft,” he admitted, entering the grounds. “But, I must ask, why are you training all on your own this evening?”
“B-because I—well, you train alone sometimes, don’t you? I don’t know where you find the time to do it, but you definitely put in the work to be so disciplined and skilled! And after I fell on my face like a complete disaster during training today, I thought, hey, what would Frederick do? He’s the greatest knight I know!” she explained, her tone excited but her words hurried and nervous. “A-and I mean, not that you’d make a mistake like falling on your face, but if there’s an opportunity for improvement, you take it! And I admire that about you!”
“Ahh, I see,” he replied with uncharacteristic hesitancy, “I… I don’t know what to say.”
He could tell her that his whole body felt frozen in place, or that his chest was radiating like the sun, or that his heartbeat was thumping in his ears. But, none of those things would be befitting of a knight, whose duty is first and foremost to Lord Chrom and the Shepherds, not to his growing (and, more than likely, unrequited) affections. Despite how much Robin pushed camaraderie and pairing up in battle, his affections would only prove distracting on the battlefield. He absolutely could not allow himself to pursue these developing feelings.
Fortunately, she didn’t take his lack of thanks personally. Her tone remained cheery. “I mean it, Frederick! I admire you a lot!” She grinned, and Frederick felt a herd of wild pegasi fluttering in his gut. “Let me show you how you’ve inspired me! I may still be no match for you, but please, spar with me!”
“Er—yes, of course!” he answered, as if snapped out of a trance. Sparring would be the perfect opportunity to clear his head.
Like most of the Shepherds, Frederick usually patrolled camp in his armor; with bandits, Risen, and Plegians about, it was best to be prepared at all times. He picked out his favorite training lance from the weapons rack (he recognized the unique woodgrain), then assumed a ready stance. Sumia followed suit.
“On your mark, milady!”
“Ready!”
They began their skirmish, Frederick allowing her to strike first. He parried with ease, but was impressed by the resistance.
“Very good, milady! You’ve gotten stronger, indeed!”
“Yeah!” She thrust again, Frederick dodging this time. She quickly pulled her arms back in so as not to leave herself exposed. “And quicker, too! I might finally be able to keep up!”
He thrust his lance this time, and while Sumia wasn’t quite as quick to the parry as her adversary, she did manage it, keeping her stance firm so he didn’t overpower her.
They took turns attacking, blocking, parrying, the back and forth well matched almost as if they were dancing. Frederick was impressed; he was so used to going easier on most of the Shepherds when sparring, saving his true strength for their enemies. Her strikes were poignant, focused, powerful, like a cobra in the Plegian desert, her footwork feather-light on the move and sturdy when it needed to be. Her bright brown eyes followed his movements, glittering with excitement on each of her well-executed strikes. Her lips were curled into a confident smile, and gods, they looked so soft and entici—
With powerful forward momentum, Sumia delivered another blow, adjusting her stance preemptively as if expecting one of Frederick’s signature parries. When no parry came, she lost her balance, her lance still pointed at Frederick. As she came barreling towards him, he attempted to block her lance with his own, losing his own balance in the process.
In their tumble, their lips brushed.
Frederick’s entire body seemed to malfunction as he slammed to the ground, Sumia falling on top of him. His hearing went fuzzy, his breath escaped him, and all sense of time evaporated with the thought of her lips touching his own. She remained still, eyes wide and panicked looking into his, a deep red painting her cheeks.
Many moments passed before Sumia broke the silence. “I-I-I’m so sorry Frederick! I didn’t mean to—I thought you were parrying and I—and then I fell into you and w-we—you…” Her words turned to putty as she brought a hand to touch her lips. “I—I’ve never felt anything like that before.”
Though he parted his lips to speak, Frederick remained quiet.
“Frederick?” she asked, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I promise I-I didn’t mean to fall into you o-or kiss you, not that I wouldn’t want to kiss you, but the flowers said that you didn’t like me back and, er…”
Instinctively, Frederick leaned up to cradle her head in one hand and use the other to guide her lips back towards his. She uttered a little squeak as he crushed their lips together in a needy, desperate kiss. His lips were starved, but careful and delicate against hers, which were soft and clumsy but equally fervent. He could feel her smiling as she kissed him, her captivating grin painted into his closed eyelids, cheering him on. He gave a final firm push into hers, eliciting a bell-toned giggle from her as he broke the kiss, still holding her in his arms.
“Your fortune misled you, milady,” he whispered. “I am, in fact, quite smitten.”
A twinge of guilt struck him. He had broken his self-imposed rule not to act on his affections, but so long as his dedication to Lord Chrom never wavered, perhaps he could permit himself such an indulgence. After all, he could not allow Sumia, his fellow Shepherd, to believe her affections were unrequited!
She gazed at him inquisitively, her eyes shimmering like gorgeous river stones under a swift current. “O-oh…! I knew I should have redone it…”
Frederick smiled gently. “There is still moonlight. You could try again now.”
She grinned at that. “You’re right!” she exclaimed, clumsily rolling off him. They both stood up, Frederick catching Sumia as she wobbled a bit, and returned their lances.
“Milady, I do not believe I have sufficiently cleared the path for you. If I may, I’d like to offer to carry you,” Frederick said as he gave a polite bow.
Her brows raised in surprise. “Frederick! I appreciate the offer, but I am perfectly capable of walking on my own. Well, as good as I usually am. Probably,” she replied sheepishly, giggling. “But maybe you can help me if I stumble!”
He nodded. “Very well, milady, it would be my honor.”