Author's Note: For my dearest Roe.
Chapter Three: Sledding
The sun was setting and Lon'qu was beside himself.
How many bones of his Chrom and Frederick would snap was the least of his concerns at the moment. He would welcome the pain. He'd ask Lissa's brother to let his hands close around his throat and finish the job that should have ended in Chon'sin all those years ago.
Just a girl, he'd thought, when he'd been appointed her guard. Just a thin girl with yellow hair that he could turn upside down and use as a feather-duster. If he'd ever shared the idea with her, she would have laughed. At first even her laugh had startled him, so loud and full and unabashed, but soon enough he had calmed to hear it. Even the black, oily dragon of guilt that had been coiled around his heart for so long paused in its squeezing when that laugh sounded. Lon'qu already missed it, and she'd only been gone for a handful of hours. Just a girl, indeed! The moment he thought he had a handle on her, she ran off without him and got herself—
He couldn't force himself to finish that sentence and instead slid in another few feet of snow, pushing himself further down the mountain. He had only covered a little ground, and only had a half-hour of daylight left. Was it possible to fling the blame to Frederick? It was the knight who had forbidden Lissa to go sledding and caused that deep pout of hers, insisting she would sled right into one of the many thick pine trees and knock herself out. And Chrom agreed with Frederick about his sister, as always. And Lon'qu agreed with Chrom about the princess, as always.
"Even you won't let me have any fun, Lon'qu?" she'd said when the other two men were gone. Could he not have avoided this? Suggested he go with her, if she was so determined? But fear froze his lips more firmly than the cold, and in the end he could bring himself to say nothing.
So it was his fault. No matter how he tried to twist it, it was his fault. Lissa had gotten it into her ridiculous golden duster-head that she was going sledding regardless, and had somehow slipped out from under his watch. Supper had already finished. She should have been back hours ago, and he had only just noticed.
As a swordsman, Lon'qu had long ago learned to trust instinct. It was not magic or superstition, as some insisted, but the body noticing small details that the eye was not aware of. Intuition was to be listened to very keenly—like when the opponent in the royal blue mask before you made your lips curl and the hair on your neck raise, or when your Khan's rage toward another Khan could be relaxed over, for their agitation was a wish to bed them instead of to war with them (both easily mistaken desires, in Regna Ferox). This time, as he sprinted between trees and over snow-strewn rocks so fast he almost pitched forward, he felt it right in his gut, deep and pulsing. Something was wrong.
A long slash in the snow caught his eye, and he changed course so fast that he slipped and fell onto an elbow. The drifts cushioned him, and without losing any momentum he pushed himself up and kept running. What could make such a long, smooth track but a sled? Or at least, the shield Lissa was surely using as one?
He knew because he spotted it, gleaming bright red in the last rays of the sun. It was leaning haphazardly against a tree, rocking against the wind. Lon'qu came to a stop, spraying snow, whipping his head around to spot its rider. She couldn't have flown too far.
She was surprisingly far, though, slumped just as he'd suspected, her tiny body crushing a patch of brush. Her cloak had slipped off and there was snow on her shoulders and in her hair. She wasn't moving.
Lissa—the word caught in his throat, but by the time he was on his knees beside her he was screaming it. "Lissa! Lissa!"
She didn't stir. It was only after he had checked her pulse and found it even and breathed out his terror in a long, slow stream that he realized he had touched her for the first time. Next he was shaking her shoulder and willing her to wake, since she was alive. She didn't.
"Stupid girl!" he growled as he threw off his cloak and then his coat and then his shirt, draping them all over her and then curling up around her. The snow stung his bare skin, and whatever brush she'd fallen into was full of gods-damned thorns, but he refused to budge. He couldn't move her unless he knew whether she'd hurt her neck or spine, in case he made anything worse. And who knew how long she'd been lying there? So all he could do was keep her as warm as possible, especially as night was falling, until she woke up and could tell him how hurt she was.
If she woke up.
Snow wouldn't kill him, he told himself as he pushed his body against hers, already seeking the heat. Not after all those Feroxi winters. Of course, he'd never tried it shirtless, but Basilio never complained. Although Basilio was always fighting, never just lying there.
His adrenaline slowly wore off, and as it did, the shuddering came. It wasn't from the snow, not yet. She was just so soft and fragile in his arms, and he could feel his failure pulsing through him with every heartbeat. Lissa was hurt because he let her slip by. This would be another casualty to add to his list. But she needed his warmth, so despite his terror, he refused to let go of her. Not even when he broke out into a nervous sweat. And when the true horror hit him—of their proximity, of her impending death, of the guilt he would have to endure for the rest of his life—he unlinked his fingers only for one quick second to roll over and lose his last meal in the snow before rolling back and holding her again.
It had been dark for some time before she finally stirred, and by then the snow had him shivering almost too hard to speak.
"Your neck," he managed through gritted teeth, sucking in the first clean breath he'd had that afternoon. "Move it."
"Hm?" she mumbled.
"Move your neck."
She craned it to see him, but probably more out of confusion than comprehension of the order. "Lon'qu?"
"Now your spine."
"What's happening?"
"Move."
She wriggled a little, tried to sit up, and fell back with a weak cry. "Dizzy."
But unharmed where it countered. Lon'qu got to his knees, scooped her right up in the cocoon of his clothes, and began carrying her up the mountain and back to the cabin. He tightened his fingers like vices around her shoulders and under her knees so that he wouldn't drop her through his shaking.
"Lon'qu?" she asked again, and he fought back a scream as she traced his bare chest with one of her hands. "What are you doing? It's freezing."
"Stupid girl!" he snapped to keep that scream down. "Save your strength!"
"What happened?"
"Your own damn foolishness!"
She was very quiet after that—too quiet, and his footsteps jolting them up the craggy slope wasn't helping him feel her breathing.
"Lissa, talk," he demanded. "Please talk. Don't stop."
With her concussion, she doubtlessly found that easy, and contentedly babbled about snow and Frederick's shining shield and the smell of Lon'qu's coat—"like grass and you, and I love it." By the time he finally made it into the soft warm glow of the front door, he'd warmed some from the walk and was less afraid of panicking and dropping her. He could even feel her hair brushing against his shoulder and the side of his neck, from where she was resting her head.
"You're all right now," he promised in a whisper to quiet her as he nudged the door open. "You're just fine."
Most of the Shepherds were gathered around the fire, playing some ridiculous card game that Robin had made up some time ago.
"Marth, I chose you! Use Falchion!" Chrom threw a card onto the carpet.
"The Vaike isn't losing to your granddaddy any more than he loses to you! Go, Eirika!"
Everyone paused and stared as Lon'qu came in. He was sure he looked positively mad, scratched and shirtless and carrying the dizzy-eyed princess like a half-emerged moth in his cloak.
"Clear a space," he snapped in the direction of the couch, and the giggling he heard ceased, and Cherche's hands dropped from Stahl's lips as they both shot up to give him room.
"What have you done?"
He didn't even have to look to know it was Frederick who spoke, and for a moment he ignored him to lay Lissa down gently. Her eyes were huge in her face.
"I was not vigilant enough," he finally answered.
"It's my fault," Lissa insisted before Frederick could retort. "Please, don't be mad at Lon'qu. I went out sledding like you told me not to. He saved my life."
"Lissa," said Chrom as he stood from his spot on the rug. Vaike peeked at his hand of cards but the gesture was ignored. Even Lissa was immediately cowed by the fierce reprimand in that one, quiet word.
Most of the Shepherds immediately found excuses to be elsewhere. Stahl and Cherche went to go make more cookies and Gaius stole after them, Sully went to check on the horses, Sumia "forgot" a book back in her room, Vaike went to "consult Robin elsewhere" about his next move. Frederick looked at Chrom for a long while, big hands awkward at his sides, until Cordelia slipped her own hand into one and pulled him away. They both looked back over their shoulders, but eventually rounded the corner into the kitchen.
"I'm sorry," Lissa said quietly. "I just got so tired of being told I wasn't capable of doing anything. Not even sledding, like a little kid. I guess I'm really not."
"You really think I need something else to worry about?" Chrom asked as he dropped to the couch beside her and pushed back her hair. What he found made him wince. "Gods, what a bump. Does your head hurt?"
"A lot."
"Good. You deserve it. We'll have Maribelle take a look in a minute." He kissed the top of her head and she frowned. When he was standing again, he offered a hand to Lon'qu.
"I thank you for finding her. I don't know what we would have done, if you hadn't."
"I could never fail her." His words came out too soft. "She will never leave my sight again."
He was too far gone. He would die for her, his foolish charge with her feather-duster hair, the foreign princess, so small and soft. He was utterly hers. He kept his eyes on the ground to avoid Chrom's, sure the Exalt would have caught on by now, but instead of any disapproval or even recognition, he just felt a hand clasp his shoulder.
"We're lucky to have such loyal men!" Chrom said jovially. "Now, where did Frederick run off to? That was quite the strange look on his face. You've worried him sick, Lissa."
He disappeared into the kitchen, and Lissa mercifully stared after him with a raised eyebrow instead of at Lon'qu.
"My brother," she said finally, "is an idiot."
He shifted uncomfortably. Frederick's feelings were a safe topic. His were not. He had the sinking feeling she was referring to them both.
"I'm sure Chrom will tend to you from here," he said. "I would like to go warm up."
"Oh! Gods, I didn't even think—you were out in the snow that whole time—here!"
She spotted the blanket over the edge of the couch and grabbed it to hand it to him; he took it to spread over her. She might be alive, but she could still easily catch cold from the day's adventure. Scowling, she dug his shirt out from her nest and held it out.
"At least take this."
He did, wordlessly, and pulled it on. "Do you still require my coat?"
"Can I hold on to it?" she asked, oddly meek. "Just until my head stops hurting? I know I've caused you a lot of trouble, and I'll do my best to stay away from now on. I'll ask Chrom first thing tomorrow to make somebody else my guard. But I'll really miss you. I'll miss you so much. I just want to memorize what this coat feels like."
"You are as foolish as your brother," he whispered. She flushed furiously and flung the coat at him, but he spread it back over her with the blanket, glancing up to make sure they were truly alone.
"Lissa," he said while he was bent over her, "do you really think I want to leave your side?"
"I would, if I were you. I'm useless."
"No. We don't protect you because you're useless. We protect you because your use is too great. You're very precious."
"So you're not mad?"
"Furious."
She buried her head under the blanket and he tugged it down. Sweet thing. Sweet, ridiculous thing. Only she could make him shake with cold, throw up in a panic, and then smile afterward. She smiled back. Slowly, he reached out and traced the shape of her cheek with one trembling finger. Her smile widened and she shut her eyes, but didn't lean any closer. He hoped she felt his silent gratitude.
"Oh," Chrom's voice said suddenly, and Lon'qu jerked back to find him standing in the kitchen doorway. "That's what you meant."
He didn't look pleased. Lon'qu wasn't sure what to say. Lissa clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle.
"Milord," came Frederick's voice crossly, "kindly be less oblivious in here, where you can keep Stahl from eating all the cookie dough."
Chrom glowered a little longer and then ducked away again. Lon'qu figured it was a good time to leave for his room and bar the door. And he did, but Lissa was still smiling when he left, and his own lingered.
