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Within the shaded oak grove, Frederick paces fretfully.
He has run through his check-list a dozen times already. The location he selected for the tea is removed enough from camp to allow for privacy while still ensuring he will be accessible in case of an emergency. Lord Chrom and Lady Lissa were, of course, made aware of his whereabouts, though they were the first to assure him they’d manage just fine on their own for an hour and that he should take the time to enjoy himself.
Frederick scoffs softly at the memory. Such fanciful notions his lieges have! There is hardly time for leisure when he has so many preparations to make.
Still, he dares to believe he has completed it all with a few minutes to spare. There is no doubt that the table before him is laid out with the appropriate utensils and place settings. The food and drink are in order as well. The air swims with the pleasant aroma of rose oil and the smoky scent of steeping tea leaves; and beside the table, the picnic basket he packed is stuffed to bursting with an appropriate array of sustenance. He’s even arranged a small vase containing a sprightly arrangement of sunflowers and daisies at the table’s center.
And then, of course, there were the special measures that had to be taken to prepare. Because Frederick’s tea guest today is far from ordinary. To soothe his whirling mind, he runs through that list once more as well.
The path is clear, his adjustments to the tea set already made. Summer’s last gasps are only just behind them now, rendering the spot’s shade preferable both for its refreshing coolness and the necessity of protecting his guest’s fair complexion. He has noted in the past that she burns easily, and should he be so lucky as to be graced with her company for a lengthy chat, he should not wish to expose her overlong to the sun’s harsh rays.
Usually, he would not allow himself the indulgence of such a long break. There is so much that still needs doing back at the Shepherds’ camp. But Frederick is trying to take her words to heart about allowing himself more luxuries; and a conversation of this delicate nature cannot be rushed.
Frederick takes a quaking breath. Yes, upon looking it all over, it is inconceivable that he has failed to account for anything. And yet he cannot chase the sense that—
“Hello there, Frederick!”
Further thoughts on the matter are incinerated by Sumia’s bright voice calling his name. Frederick swivels to find her approaching with a platter in hand. Her feet follow the carefully cleared path that he laid for her through the woods; each twist designed to dodge any nefarious tree roots and the low hanging branches that might attempt to snag her lovely hair. It spills over her shoulders now in soft curls, lustrous and gleaming in the dappled patches of autumn sunlight. He can scarcely imagine how heavenly the silky ringlets would feel against his fingertips.
Frederick fights down a blush and clears his throat. It is unseemly that he should be thinking of her in such a way. He has not even asked her if she will allow him to court her yet.
Sumia has drawn nearer, now, the subtle scent of the jasmine and vanilla perfume that she uses enfolding him. There’s something earthier underlying it too—the scent of hay, fond and familiar to him from his own time working in stables. She blinks up at him, those chocolate-colored doe eyes of hers round and bright.
“Gosh, I didn’t keep you waiting, did I?” she asks.
“Not at all, milady,” Frederick assures her quickly. “In fact, I completed my preparations only moments before you arrived. You are perfectly punctual.”
Sumia eases at that, the pinch between her brows smoothing away. “Oh, phew! What a relief. It would be just like me to make a mess of things before I even got here.”
Frederick shakes his head as he pulls her chair out for her. “Forgive me for my bluntness, but you are too critical of yourself, milady. I cannot help but notice how quick you are to focus on your failures and to discount the great many things you are competent at.”
“D-do you really think so?” she stammers, blushing the same shade as her armor.
“I am not one for mincing words,” he says.
Sumia shoots a warm smile up at him. “Thank you, Frederick. You’re always so kind to me. I’m not so sure I’m as competent as you say, but I can at least try to not be quite so hard on myself.”
“That is all I ask.”
Satisfied, Frederick rounds the table to return to his seat. Only then does he manage to tear his eyes away from Sumia’s face for long enough to more closely observe the platter she brought with her. Sumia tracks his gaze and brightens.
“Oh, I hope you don’t mind! I made us a few fiddlehead pastries to go along with the tea.”
Steam still rises from the plate, each flaky exterior baked to golden perfection.
“I do not mind in the slightest,” Frederick replies. “But you needn’t have gone to such trouble, milady. I assured you I would see to all the preparations myself.”
“That’s exactly why I wanted to,” Sumia says. “You do so much for everyone already. I thought at least in this small way, maybe I could help you out for a change.”
Frederick’s chest grows warm and tight, a fluttering rush of heat spreading all the way to his toes. “I see. Then know that you have my sincere gratitude.”
“It was the least I could do! Oh, do be careful, though!” she adds when he reaches for one. “They’re still hot.”
“In that case, I shall serve our tea first.”
Despite his declaration, Sumia reaches for the pot at the same moment as him. Even through two layers of gloves, sparks zing up the length of his arm when their fingertips brush. Their eyes meet across the table and that spark shoots straight into his pounding heart.
“Oopsie! Silly me, getting ahead of myself again,” Sumia jerks her arm back, her elbow knocking into the vase sidelong. Under normal circumstances it would likely be enough to tip it; fortunately, Frederick anticipated as much and weighed its base down until it was bottom-heavy enough to hold fast. Sumia’s eyes fasten briefly on the flowers as she withdraws. Her lips turn up at the corners.
“Oh, sunflowers and daisies! How lovely.”
“Y-yes,” he manages, fast discovering that it’s remarkably difficult to untie his tongue when her eyes sparkle that way. All the more so when she turns them back onto him.
“So!” Sumia says. “Why was it that you asked me to meet you here, Frederick?”
“Ah—of course.” Frederick clears his throat as he lifts the tea pot. “You see, there is something I wished to discuss with you. It is…a personal matter.”
To his horror, his hands tremble as he says it—not quite enough to spill, but it does cause the stream of tea to waver as it cascades into the cup. Sumia's eyebrows raise. Frederick is well aware that she is more perceptive than most credit her for; a valuable boon in most cases, even if in this particular moment it does not feel that way.
“Why, Frederick…” Sumia says with a clear note of amusement, “are you nervous?”
“P-perhaps a little,” he admits. It would not do to lie to a lady.
Sumia bites down on her lip, flushing it rosy red. With the tea poured, Frederick turns his attention to laying out the food and placing one of Sumia’s pastries on each of their plates, grateful that it provides him with somewhere to direct his gaze aside from her inordinately enticing mouth.
“Well…would it make you feel better to know I’m a little nervous too?” she asks.
He stiffens, looking around. “Whatever for milady?” Is there some fright in the area he failed to account for? A horrible bear encroaching on them from deeper in the woods, perhaps? He swept the forest within a three mile radius before choosing the location for the tea, of course, but—
“Oh, I’ve been nervous all day, really,” she sighs, promptly laying his bear fears to rest. “It’s just…do you remember how I said that the pastries are still hot?”
Frederick nods in the affirmative, cutting tidily into his now.
“Well, I was working on them right up until I arrived. I only just managed to get a batch to come out right. Or at least, I hope they came out right.” She pauses for a beat, watching him with rapt attention as the fork passes his lips.
Frederick closes his eyes and lets out a blissful hum. The fiddlehead is cooked to perfection—tender and moist at the center with the faintest crispiness on the exterior. And the light, buttery flavor of the pastry contrasts beautifully with its subtle bitterness.
“You like it, then?” Sumia asks, her whole face alight.
“It is nothing short of divine,” Frederick assures her. “Why, a pasty such as this would even be worthy of Lord Chrom.”
“Oh, wow! That’s the highest praise I could hope for from you!” Sumia beams, resting her elbows on the table and leaning forward slightly. “Actually, I’ve been practicing making these for quite a while. I really, really wanted to get them just right for when I could finally share them with…with my special someone.”
Frederick’s breath catches. “Your…your special someone?”
Sumia giggles and flutters her eyelashes. “Oh, yes! He’s just so considerate. And such a wonderful cook too! I knew I could bring him only the very best. Not to mention how brave and gallant he is…”
She sighs dreamily and Frederick’s heart drops to his feet, trampled as if beneath a thousand hooves.
There’s someone else. Sumia’s heart belongs to another. Frederick’s skin flashes between icy cold and scalding hot. By the gods…how could he be so careless as to not recognize that she’s courting someone already?
Who, though? And how could he have missed it?
Brave and gallant certainly suggests it could be someone among the Shepherds. And yet while they have a handful of competent cooks, there are very few among their militia who even begin to approach the status of ‘wonderful’.
Stahl, perhaps? Or—
No. He is better off not knowing. With the sting of rejection still so fresh, he does not trust himself not to direct unfair ire towards the man. He can only pray that whoever holds Sumia’s heart will treat it with the tender care she is deserving of.
“Um…Frederick? Are you okay?”
Frederick blinks back to himself. With some effort, he manages to smooth his face into something more impassive. “I am perfectly alright, thank you milady. And I am sure that your special someone, whoever he is, will thoroughly appreciate your efforts.”
“Oh!” she says, cheering considerably. “Well, you would know best, after all.”
Frederick fights back a frown. He has no idea what to make of that. What’s more, Sumia is fluttering her eyelashes again, those lovely eyes of hers exuding a fond warmth that he knows now is not truly for him. His grip on his teacup tightens. Had he not had the cups charmed to have increased durability in preparation for the day, he might fear cracking it.
“Frederick…are you sure you’re okay? I know I asked that already, but it’s just that you went really pale earlier and—oh, pegasus dung!” Sumia exclaims as the tea cup tumbles out of her fingers. It thuds harmlessly on the table, leaving nary a stain on the dark tablecloth.
“Ugh, I just knew I’d make a mess of things,” she bemoans.
Frederick procures one of the dozen extra napkins he packed, blotting at the puddle mechanically. “Fret not, milady. It shall wash out easily enough. Now, please, let us turn our attention to other matters.”
“Oh, that’s right! I’m so sorry, Frederick,” Sumia says as she rights her teacup. “I’ve gone and gotten things all off track. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”
Frederick parts his lips only to freeze. He was so eager to move the conversation away from discussion of her suitor that he failed to realize that he no longer has an alternative topic to offer. To burden her with his feelings now would be unconscionable. So, perhaps, then…
“I…wished to thank you for your loyal service to Milord Chrom,” he says at last. “You have been a tremendous asset to his cause these last few months. It is only right that it should be commemorated in some way. This is but a small expression of my gratitude.”
“That’s what this is about?” Disappointment seems to flicker across Sumia’s face, but it vanishes so quickly that it could just as well have been a figment. It would not be the first time he has imagined her feeling something that she does not. “Thank you, Frederick. But you didn’t have to do all this just to thank me.”
“Nonsense,” he says. “You deserve this and more, milady.”
That hint of disappointment doesn’t rear its head again. Sumia seems perfectly happy as she goes on to thank Frederick and assure him that her many efforts are ‘nothing, really’. For his part, Frederick does a commendable job of tucking his hurt away. The two of them enjoy pleasant conversation over the next hour, slowly making their way through the many available confections until at last they have sampled everything.
“This really has been lovely, Frederick.” Sumia dabs at a bit of cream at the corner of her mouth. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, it would make me really happy if we could do something like this again? I can help do more of the baking next time too,” she rushes to add.
Frederick’s heart twinges. “Of course, milady. I enjoyed your company very much myself.”
“Oh, good,” Sumia sighs. She wrings her hands for another moment before hopping suddenly to her feet. “Well, erm…I guess I’ll be going then!”
It is only as she turns, plate in hand, that Frederick notices the end of the table cloth snagged in the buckle on her boots.
“Wait!” he shouts.
It’s too late. Pinned as it is beneath the weighted vase, the table cloth stays firmly rooted in place. Sumia yelps, the sharp tug from her movement tearing the end free at the cost of her balance. Her arms pinwheel for a moment—then the momentum sends her sprawling sideways towards the cold, unforgiving ground.
Lightning fast, Frederick lunges forward with his arms extended. He acted on instinct, and he’s just as stunned as she is when the result is Sumia cradled in his arms, wide-eyed and with a brilliant blush painting her cheeks. He is agonizingly aware of his hands gripping the bare strip of skin left exposed along her thighs. He should move his hands at once; it is a thoroughly improper place to touch a person, let alone someone who is already pledged to another. He should, and yet—
“I—I apologize, milady,” Frederick stammers, shame-faced. “In spite of my best efforts, I have failed you.”
“Failed me?” Sumia’s tea saucer wide eyes stretch to the size of dinner plates. “B-but you saved me, Frederick! If not for you, I’d be laid out on the forest floor like a dropped pancake!”
Frederick shakes his head gravely. “It was only necessary that I save you because I failed to account for the danger this meddlesome tablecloth posed in the first place! Had I been more diligent—”
“You stop that right this minute!” Sumia exclaims. Her voice carries a surprising level of heat and Frederick finds himself automatically clapping his mouth shut. “I won’t hear you speak another word against yourself, Frederick! Not when you go above and beyond what anyone else would think to do! Why, you found extra sturdy tea cups so I wouldn’t feel like such a huge klutz when I dropped one! You did something amazing to that flower vase so I wouldn’t be able to knock it over! You even leveled the terrain of the forest path so that I wouldn’t trip on my way here!”
Frederick’s throat tightens. “I…didn’t realize you had noticed.”
“Of course I did!” she says, still incensed. “You’re the most thoughtful and considerate person I’ve ever met! No one’s ever gone to so much trouble just for my sake! That’s why I’m…I’m crazy about you, Frederick!”
He’s about to launch into a scathing indictment of all the good-for-nothings who must make up the rest of the world and who have so unforgivably neglected her needs…and then he registers what she said after.
“Crazy? About…me?” Frederick echoes. “But…I don’t understand, milady. What about your special someone?”
“My what?” Sumia blinks at him in confusion. “Oh! You mean from before. Um, well the truth is…I was talking about you when I said that, Frederick.”
His heart gallops, thumping through the whole of his body. His jaw hangs open in a most unbecoming manner as Sumia rushes ahead.
“You see, I noticed the flowers you had picked out for the bouquet: sunflowers for adoration and loyalty, and daisies for new beginnings. I thought that meant it was safe to try a little, um, flirting, but—oh, horse plop!” Sumia groans suddenly, hiding her face in her hands. “I got it all wrong, didn’t I? This is so embarrassing…”
“Not at all, milady,” he croaks. “I chose them for exactly those reasons. I am just—I am not accustomed to others turning such a mindful eye to my efforts and…I fear I hardly know what to say.”
“Oh.” Sumia peeks out at him from between her fingers. “W-well, in that case…maybe you could tell me if you feel the same way?”
“Right…yes.” Frederick snaps back to himself and nods resolutely. “Very well, then. I must confess that, sincere as it was, expressing my gratitude was not my true reason for calling upon you today. In fact, what I really wished to ask you is—”
Frederick breaks off, his face heating when he realizes that he still hasn’t released her from his arms. “Erm…but perhaps we should right ourselves first.”
Sumia giggles. “You think so? I’m pretty comfortable here, actually…”
She shifts slightly, laying a hand against his sternum and batting her eyelashes again. Frederick swallows hard.
“A-ah, well, I should never wish to cause you any undue discomfort,” he manages. The grin she splits into is positively impish. Frederick takes a deep breath before launching into the speech that he rehearsed no fewer than a hundred and fifty three times.
“Milady Sumia, I have grown to be extraordinarily fond of you through our time fighting and working at each others’ sides. You are a reliable partner in battle, a glowing embodiment of a knight’s duty and dedication, and you carry with you a kindness that few can hope to match. I am bewitched by your beauty, and can no longer deny that you have stumbled your way into the very depths of my heart. In light of that, I wish to ask for the privilege of courting you in the coming months. As a pledged knight, I fear I cannot give you the whole of my devotion. But while my oath to the royal family shall always be my one true purpose, you, my lady, are my meaning.”
Tears gather at the corners of her eyes, but Sumia’s smile is positively dazzling.
Frederick gulps down one last quaking breath. “A-am I to take it, then, that you accept?”
“Oh, Frederick,” she breathes, pressing her lips to his scalding cheek, “I thought you would never ask.”