Author's Note: Have a drabble-y thing. Warning for gore at the beginning. King's influence never wore off.
It had been hours since they'd carried Chrom into her tent, clothes soaked through with dark scarlet, keeping him carefully stretched as they lowered him to her cot so that his glistening innards wouldn't spill out of the ragged slash that was once his stomach.
Lissa had not vomited, although she wanted to. She did weep, though, even as she kept her bearings and her staff glowed again and again. It was her hand that delicately pulled black thread through a hot needle's eye and pierced his stained skin, sewing him back up like a doll with dripping stuffing. It was her washrag she used to clean him gently, even though he was too comatose with pain to notice any more. It was her knight that was the first to push his way inside the tent when she had changed out of her bloodied clothes and washed her shaking fingers, dropping to his knees at Chrom's side, mumbling, my faults, my lords, if only I hads.
She was too tired to stop Frederick from hating himself, in that moment. She collapsed onto her stool and stared at the ground for a long while. Chrom's breathing had evened and the bleeding had stopped; the wound would be painful but he would survive it. But what if he hadn't? She had healed countless scratches of his over the years, but nothing had ever been as bad as this. And the war was supposed to be over. They had killed Gangrel and were on the way back to the capital for Chrom's coronation and wedding. Even Frederick had not expected bandits to ambush them in the mountains.
When the ground made her throat hurt—Emmeryn, what would you do—she looked at Frederick, instead. At least an hour had passed in silence. He sat by the cot, now, his head on the edge of it, broad shoulders raised with tension, dark eyes trained on Chrom's face. Lissa was sure that he would not wake up for hours yet. He needed the sleep to heal.
Frederick stayed with her for the rest of the day, only shifting to allow her room when she used her staff on the skin under Chrom's stitches and changed his bandages and trickled a little water through his lips. He did not speak, which was unlike him and only made the tension between her brother's breaths thicker.
Why are you here? she wanted to snap. There is nothing you can do! And if he takes a turn for the worse, there is nothing I can do! But she held her tongue.
Occasionally she left: to find herself a snack, to splash her face with water. Once she took a quick nap outside, where it was bright and didn't smell like salve. When she returned, Frederick was always in the same place. After night had fallen, he'd taken Chrom's hand.
He looked like a child, she realized then. She was the one standing in the tent's entrance, working in the dark wee hours, and he was the one huddled by her bed and clinging to her strong, reckless brother. She was taller than him, in that instant, the first and only of her life. She was braver.
She had never seen Frederick afraid of anything. It made her want to reach out and hold him, to smooth the tightness from his posture, to stroke his hair and ask, why this? Why now? Can't you see he's pulling through?
"Frederick," she said softly, "you should get some rest."
"I am not leaving," he said, just as quietly.
"There's nothing to be afraid of. All we can do for him now is let him sleep."
"I won't."
"Frederick—"
"I won't!"
Lissa took a step back. He'd never snapped at her like that before.
She studied his hand, white-knuckled over her brother's.
"All right," she whispered, and leaned forward again to kiss his cheek. It was already rough with stubble, which was something else she'd never seen from him. "Don't you want to clean up a little, though, first? You're going to be the first person he sees when he wakes up."
He rubbed his cheek when she pulled away. "If you think it best."
"I think rest is best."
"No. That's too long to be away."
She was silent for a moment, simply watching him watching Chrom. Finally she asked, "How many years?"
When his gaze shot her way she had to finish: "Have you loved him, I mean."
"He's my lord," he said hoarsely. "To love him is natural."
"Frederick," she said gently. "Stahl and Sully aren't here at his bedside."
He looked away. She decided to leave the issue be: if he knew that she knew, that was enough. Right when she'd turned her back to leave and search for a more substantial meal, he said,
"I am fully aware of what will occur. He has already proposed, and she has agreed, and they will be wed in the capital. I will train his children as I trained him. I just want"—She turned around to face him, heart starting to throb a little—"I just want to keep making sure he is safe, and happy. I can be so content with that. But is it possible?"
"He will always have a place in his life for you," she said. Frederick had a strange relationship to them both: equal parts drill master, servant, father, brother, nurse, and friend. It wasn't anything conventional, but it also wasn't anything Chrom could just cast aside. Lissa was sure he'd never even want to.
The tightness in Frederick's face eased, just a little. "That is all I could ask for."
"He loves you, too," she offered. "Not in the same way, I mean, but very deeply."
"You've grown so much, Lady Lissa," he said with a small smile. "You always know just what to say."
"Come on, Freddy." She used his nickname to distract him, and it worked, because he was looking at her again. "Let's get something to eat and freshen up and we can come right back, okay?"
"Yes, milady."
She turned to give him the half-second of privacy he needed to kiss her brother's face, if he wanted, since Chrom would not wake and in a few days Frederick would never be able to. But she was sure his lips only touched Chrom's hand, and by the time she left the tent, she heard him following.
Author's Note: Cordelia aside, I maybe also ship Frederick and maybe Chrom maybe.
In addition: while I think Frederick and Lissa are cutest as a brother- and sister-figure to one another (especially after Emmeryn), she does admit to him being her first love (which makes sense, considering he's probably the first guy she gets close to that she's not related to, and he obviously pays her the majority of his attention), which is pretty adorable. So I wanted to get across that she does have a little crush on him—not anything S-support worthy, but at least enough to remind her of why she loved him once. Did that work out? If it was just sisterly that's chill too, but I'm working on details and complexity because I'm pretty bad at both.
Feedback is the most appreciated! (I miss the good ol' FE7 days when almost everyone was an aspiring author and you could always get critique either way. Alas and alackaday.)