Was this retribution for the crusades? Nearly eleven years had passed and, in his mind, Frederick had already failed to hold true to the vow he made when he was a boy; Emmeryn was dead. When news that the Exalt had been kidnapped following the fall of Ylisstol, Chrom enlisted the support of Basilio and Flavia, the Khans of Regna Ferox, Ylisse's neighbour to the north to take back his sister and end the tyrannical reign of Plegia's King, Gangrel. A seemingly full proof plan to rescue her had backfired when fate turned the tables on the combined armies, leading Emmeryn to fall her death to spare Chrom the painful decision between her life and the Fire Emblem. Insult was heaped upon injury by the cackles of the Mad King and the retreat back into Ferox that followed.
With King Gangrel's forces hot on their heels, the alliance was forced through a rainy labyrinth of mud and marshlands hewn between steep cliffs and tall plateaus. The place reeked of grime as the putrid ground beneath their feet was brought to life by the deluge. With visibility low and morale even lower, an ambush was certain. One by one, Plegian soldiers appeared from the veil of rain and it was apparent that they had been surrounded. Headed by a tall, imposing commander, these forces wore very different faces than their counterparts back at the capitol. Through his own grief, Frederick could see that these men did not want to fight the enemy before them; their eyes full of remorse.
"Hold there. I am General Mustafa of Plegia. We have you surrounded and escape is impossible," called the commander as he raised a hand to halt his men's advance. "Ylisseans! I offer you mercy! Surrender to me now and live."
"Surrender?" scoffed Basilio drawing his axe and preparing for the inevitable fray to come. "Sorry, that's not a word I'm familiar with."
"Emmeryn would not have wished this to come to bloodshed," Mustafa said ruefully.
"Don't speak her name!" shouted a furious Chrom as the grief festering in his gut boiled into bitter resentment.
"Your rage is justified, Prince Chrom. But the meaning of your sister's final sacrifice was not lost on me," the general said earnestly. His face and the faces of the men at his back reflected their intentions. The malice that was present in the eyes of every Plegian soldier they had fought until now was absent. "I suspect many Plegians who heard her final words would say the same. If you lay down your weapons, I vow to protect you as best I can."
A vow of protection? From the enemy, no less. This had to be a sick joke. Remembering his own similar vow, Frederick looked to his lieges: Lissa was shivering with fear and bereavement, while the look in Chrom's eyes indicated that he was out for blood. There was no peaceful resolution to this situation.
"How can we trust you after what your barbarous king has done?" the knight shouted through the rain. Even if the man before them could be trusted, Frederick doubted the Plegian's ability to keep his charges from the executioner's axe. "I think we shall take our chance with weapons in hand!"
"I suspected you would say as much," Mustafa said with a sigh as he raised his axe. "So be it, Prince Chrom. I shall endeavour to grant you a swift and dignified end."
Upon arrival at Ferox's western capitol, the Shepherds found themselves in low spirits; their mission had failed and Ylisse was now left leaderless. The corridors of Khan Basilio's fortress were flooded with injured and the dead, as the Shepherds licked their wounds and the Khans bickered in the great hall.
"Your grand escape plan was a disaster, oaf," snarled Flavia.
"How could I have known things were going to go south?" Basilio replied. "Sure, it was a little half-baked, but everyone made it out-"
"Your stupidity amazes me sometimes," groaned the Khan Regnant gesturing to weeping princess behind them.
"Emm… Oh, Emm…" whimpered Lissa as she buried her tear soaked eyes in her palms. The road back to Regna Ferox was long and bitter. The princess tried to hold a strong front for the duration of the journey, but eventually broke down when they crossed through the Feroxi outpost on the Plegian border. Between her remorse and her subsiding fear, she was exhausted.
"And you sent that bashful butterfly of a woman to see your hare-brained scheme through," said Flavia shortly. "Can she even hold a sword? She could've gotten herself killed."
"Olivia arrived just in time, you ungrateful witch," Basilio growled. "Besides, her face was a sight for sore eyes after staring at your ugly mug all day."
Flavia was at boiling point and about ready to draw her sword when another voice interrupted her.
"I should have died before allowing the Exalt to be captured." Frederick said looking down at his hands that had been washed clean of the blood that they were coated in hours earlier. Whether it was grief or duty that compelled him in the preceding battle, Frederick realised that he had become his father's son and it made him sick to his stomach. "I have failed as a knight…"
"What now, oaf?" Flavia snapped to Basilio.
"Don't look at me—I'm not in charge!"
"Ugh... I picked a fine time to regain the full throne..."
Chrom had been reclusive and almost unheard from since their arrival back from Plegia. He sat alone on the top stair of the hall, trying to not to give in to the shame and despair that consumed him. Robin saw the lord in his own personal exile and felt partially responsible that the plan they had worked on together came so close and fell short.
"Chrom, I'm... I'm so sorry. My plan just wasn't enough," the tactician said taking a seat next to him.
"You did your best, Robin ...you have my thanks," said Chrom weakly. "It's my own failures that haunt me now. Gods, I was just so powerless!"
Frederick looked up to watch the two talking. He had never seen the prince so defeated. Looking back at Lissa, he saw that the radiant exuberance she normally shone with had all but faded. He wanted to comfort them both as their sister had and see them restored to their former glories. But he did not dare; if he could not prevent Emmeryn's death, what chance did they stand in his care? The sight of them so utterly dejected nearly crushed him and there was nothing he could do about it.
"And what if I can't? What if I'm not worthy of her ideals?" asked Chrom. "Robin, what if I drag you down with me?"
"If you aren't worthy, you'll keep at it until you are," Robin replied. "And if we both fall down, well, that's what friends are for, isn't it?"
Robin had only come into their lives a few months ago, and Frederick saw that the tactician had already become the group's core as well as Chrom's trusted advisor. Robin's words of reassurance inspired the rest of the Shepherds to join in. One by one, they each pledged their devotion to the cause in a grand display of loyalty. The knight realised that the tactician meant more to his lieges than he ever could. Though he had devoted his life to them, he was only ever their servant. Chrom insisted time and time again that all Shepherds stood as equals, but this was the simple truth. Robin, however, was their friend. None of that fazed him. How could it? As long as he ensured that Chrom and Lissa remained safe and well attended to, he would be content. That was what he had to convince himself of for the good of the realm. That was what he would have to convince himself of to remain steadfast to his path. Nothing else mattered.
"You have grown strong, milord," Frederick said standing up. "I may have set a poor example as a knight... but I swear to you, I shall die before any more exalted blood is spilled!"
Chrom paused and looked saw his friends and comrades around him, all showing their support and waiting for him to speak. "Thank you all. Truly. You honour me with your fealty. I will not falter again. We shall answer this outrage! The Mad King must be stopped!"
Fealty. Though Frederick had pledged his to Chrom and Lissa years ago, he felt exalted to hear it acknowledged. They were precious to him and he would stand behind them wherever they went. He would protect them with all that he was. If it meant returning to Plegia and fighting another war, so be it. This was his path and nothing short of death could tear him from it.