Disclaimer: I do not own Fire Emblem in any way, shape, or form, this I vow.
A/N: Thank you to all my kind reviewers! Please don't hesitate to bring up any constructive criticism or errors found in the narrative - I'm a sucker for feedback and a perfectionist at heart~
Chapter Four – Ill Fortune
Frederick did not speak to Robin for three days.
During that time, the tactician recovered. Once the immediate matters with the Feroxi guard were settled, the Shepherds were given quarter by the east-khan herself; and the frostbitten Robin was tended to with hot baths and healing staves. Frederick watched from afar as her fingers and toes regained their function and healthy tones returned to her skin. As was seeming to become the trend - she quickly bounced back to her old self. But still, Frederick did not dare approach.
What had he to say?
Somehow, this frustrating recruit was becoming more and more his responsibility. Yet even though she technically now owed him her life, he couldn't shake the guilty feeling that he was the one indebted. He, who was never neglectful, never imprudent; he had allowed – nay, caused – some part of her suffering. A fault, however inadvertent, of his own prejudices.
Even Frederick the Wary had to admit, his distaste for an outsider was not worth these costs. Not when she continued to keep the Shepherds alive, and not now that she had sincerely befriended his beloved prince and princess. He saw Lissa by her bedside, where he dared not venture, laughing over some story or another. And Lord Chrom may wave off his apologies with misplaced forgiveness, but Frederick was determined to do better.
He would pay back his debt with Robin's protection, and he would not fail his role as a guardian again.
It was for this reason that he managed the will to boldly announce his own strategy for the Shepherd's next endeavor. They were preparing to fight as the champion team for the khans' showdown at the Ferox arena, hoping to win their allied east-khan the throne and resources to offer Ylisse aid. As the Shepherds readied their armor and weapons in the barracks beneath the arena, Frederick approached the tactician with his plan.
His strategy consisted of: Robin stays glued to him while he kills everything in sight.
The tactician, understandably, was not pleased by his suggestion.
"Absolutely not."
"I insist."
"You've been avoiding me for days, and now you want me back on your horse? Are you daft?"
He glowered at her. "It is for your own good, not mine."
"Well, I refuse." Robin crossed her arms, her expression daring him to argue.
"And I refuse your refusal," the knight responded in kind.
"Hey, no – you can't do that!"
"Indeed I can. You forget who is the senior knight of Ylisse's cavalry, and milord's second-in-command."
"Yeah? Well I'm telling Chrom!"
"As will I."
They stood glaring at each other. Above their heads, distant roaring crowds cheered for whatever entertainment had taken the arena stage. There wasn't much time until the champion's challenge began.
"...I don't have time for this, Sir Frederick," she finally ground out. "Listen, I'm thankful you didn't let me die. And now it's not your problem! I'm going to fight on my own - I need the experience. As the tactician, I can't afford to be the weakest link."
Frederick sighed in frustration. As much as he hated to admit it, she did have a point.
"I suggest a bargain, then," he said after a moment of deliberation, "If you remain by my side in battle," - and sit STILL, he wanted to add - "I will train you without qualm in our off-time. You will receive all the instruction and practice you need to excel, this I vow." Robin opened her mouth to spew an indignant response, and he held up a hand, "And, once you are strong enough to hold your own – I will leave you be."
"I am strong enough to hold my own!"
"You are not."
Robin stepped back, her face a mix of outrage and distress. Her eyes blinked rapidly as she tried to regain her voice.
"You... you don't know what I'm capable of! Do I look like a child to you?! Just because I'm missing a few memories doesn't mean I'm some useless invalid!"
Frederick balked as she clenched her fists, and huffed a labored breath. Her face was flushed and her glare hazy.
...That wasn't what he had meant to imply at all.
He knew Robin was smart, and cunning, and full of potential. And yes, even possibly… loyal.
All the more reason to protect her – for his Lord and Lady. For the Shepherds.
Robin swallowed past her outburst. "I'm doing this on my own," she said scathingly, "You stay away from me."
And with that she stormed off.
Frederick stood there while the crowd cheered overhead and the Shepherds filed out of the barracks - most of them unaware of what had just transpired between the knight and tactician. He mulled over their interaction. He couldn't put his finger on it, but despite the stubbornness he had come to expect, something about Robin had seemed… off.
Chrom came to find him, still contemplating, and pulled his thoughts back down to earth with a reminder that he was needed on the battlefield. Murmuring a quiet apology, Frederick quickly saddled his mare and brought up the back of the party, riding into the thundering arena.
He knew what he had to do.
The clash of swords echoed through stadium caverns as Chrom lunged at his adversary. The roar of the crowd spurred them on, and the rest of the Shepherds waited for Robin's signal to storm the field and engage the enemy team.
Frederick watched the duel with a wary eye, but in his peripherals he kept tabs on a familiar dark cloak with pale hair.
When the time came, the Shepherds charged forth; following the drilled instructions of their strategist, and sweeping the right side of the arena in a merciless wave. Frederick followed at the back, his grip tight on the reigns while he watched Robin intently. Waiting to see. The battle was going well, but then he caught the sign he was anticipating.
First, she stumbled.
Then she fell.
He was at her side in an instant.
Robin braced her arms against the ground, lungs heaving as black spots danced across her vision. She had yet to be touched by enemy blades, and yet her body was betraying her all the same. Her head spun and her arms shook. She rallied her remaining strength, but still she could not stand.
Cursing herself, she felt hot tears well up – Frederick was right, she was weak.
Then the sound of hooves clattered against the floor beside her, and a large arm reached down to wrap around her middle, lifting her off the ground. Her stomach lurched at the movement, and she clung to the person that had pulled her up.
"Hold on," Frederick grunted as he wheeled around, pinning her to his chest. The front plates of his armor were gone yet again- it had seemed to work well enough last time. Instead, he wore a large shield was strapped onto his forearm - a guard for his passenger. In is other arm he clutched a lightweight lance, which he drove into the nearest enemy with an effortless sweep.
Robin moaned amidst the pounding in her head. It just had to be Frederick that came to fish her pathetic self out of the churning dust. The knight systematically cut down foes, making his way to the safe side of the arena. The jolting of the horse beneath them was making her reel.
"Put me down..." she protested into the front of his shirt, her tone weak. Frederick didn't respond as he spurred his horse towards the dueling prince and his defensive line of supporters. Chrom had Sully at his side, facing off against the strange, masked champion; and it was clear that they had the advantage. The Shepherds that weren't finishing up dispatching enemies cheered him on along with the riotous crowd.
"Stahl!" Frederick barked as he caught up with the group.
"Yes, Sir Frederick?"
"Please inform Lord Chrom that I am removing Robin from the arena."
A small sound of protest emitted from the head tucked under his chin.
"O-of course Sir! Did something happen?" The cavalier peered at the wide shield with a worried frown.
"Her health requires it."
"… Right, Sir." Stahl gave into a determined nod.
Frederick turned and spurred his horse off the field without another word.
Weaving back down the hall to the gladiator barracks, he calmed their pace a steady trot, but the effort was not enough offer his passenger a smooth ride. Robin moaned again in distress as the saddle bumped and swayed.
"Take me back, Frederick…" she all but wailed.
"No."
"Please? A-at least take me back to Lissa! I'm… I think I'm dying!" she nearly sobbed.
The knight sighed as he pulled his horse to a halt. Sliding off, he gathered Robin up and deposited her on the ground. She gave a guttural groan.
"You're not dying…" Frederick insisted in a tired drone, reaching out to grab a nearby bucket and thrust it under her nose.
The tactician clutched at her pained stomach, before giving up, and losing her breakfast.
"… You're sick."
Robin groaned again, ducking her head down over the offered container as her stomach heaved.
Grimacing, Frederick reached down and deftly gathered her pale hair in his free hand, holding it away from her face. He waited patiently while she finished.
"Better?" He asked.
"No," she whimpered, "Gods… this f-feels awful…" She groped around blindly for her water-skin, and Frederick set the bucket down to offer it to her. "Thanks…" she mumbled, turning away to rinse out her mouth.
They sat in silence while she composed herself, screwing her eyes shut against the pounding in her skull.
"You should lie down." The knight insisted.
This time, Robin didn't have the energy to complain. She shrugged, and he took it upon himself to loop his arms under her shoulders and knees, and carry her to a medical cot tucked away in a corner. Once horizontal, she at least found it easier to breathe.
"How…" she cleared her scratchy throat, "How did you know?" she asked him, too ashamed to open her eyes. Because he had to have known - else what the hell was that rider's shield for?
"...I did promise to watch you. You were flushed and fatigued this morning – I suspected a fever." Frederick thought back on it, tugging off a glove and testing her forehead with the back of his hand. She flinched at the contact, but her flesh was burning. "...It would seem my suspicions were correct."
The tactician gave a heavy sigh, reaching a weak hand up to rub at her temples. "...Is that why you were so obstinate? About your deal?" At least her tone was calm. Reasonable.
"…Not exactly," Frederick answered truthfully.
"Then why? I… I thought you hated me." Her voice shook ever so slightly.
"I don't hate you," he admitted with a frown. "...You are important to Lord Chrom and Lady Lissa – so your safety is important to me." He clasped his arms behind his back in a professional stance.
Robin gave him a tired look. "Haven't you done enough? They told me about what happened at the longfort… after I passed out…" Her eyes flicked unwillingly to his unarmored chest. "The last thing I want to be is a burden." Her words had a hard edge to them.
"You dishonor me - the debt is mine to pay," Frederick growled, determined to get through to her. "I realize I have been… unfair to you. It has caused you to suffer, and therefore caused my prince to worry. I will not rest until those wrongs have been righted – it is my duty as a knight."
Robin stared at him with an unreadable expression. After a moment, she dropped her gaze.
"...Fine. Yeah. A knight." She shut her eyes, and rocked her head back against the brewing migrane. "Well, if your offer still stands… I suppose I could... accept..."
He raised his eyebrows. Easier than expected.
"But I want to be training every possible moment-" she demanded with renewed vigor. "If you're going to be hauling me around like a sandbag. Because I won't rest until I can take down an army myself."
...He couldn't tell if it was hyperbole, or just the fever.
"Very well," Frederick acquiesced regardless. "We will train. Within reason." His mind flashed to Chrom's warning... he'd have his work cut out for him, supervising this novice so closely.
The tactician blew out a weak sigh. "Deal." She grumbled finally.
Satisfied, Frederick straightened up. "Now, If you'll excuse me, I must report to Lord Chrom. The battle should be won, by now. I will send a healer to tend to you…" He looked down at her small form on the cot, before glancing around the immediate area. Spotting a simple cloth blanket on a nearby shelf, he reached out and draped it over her. "Do you prefer Ginger or Chamomile tea?" He asked.
"I… I don't remember," Robin admitted, huddling under the blanket.
"Then I will brew some of each."
He turned towards the doorway, giving his patient mare a pat as he passed.
"Um… Frederick?" Robin said softly.
"Yes?" He paused to glance over his shoulder.
"Thank you." She said simply.
Frederick peered at her, but she had already laid back and shut her eyes again. She didn't expect a response.
And so he left her.
He found the rest of the Shepherds' celebrating their victory. The two khans proved to be in amiable spirits, satisfied with such an entertaining contest. The mysterious masked swordsman had disappeared, and Chrom and Lissa had been ferried off the field by a triumphant Flavia and her boisterous rival.
"Ah, Frederick!" Chrom exclaimed as the knight caught up to them. "Good news – we have our alliance!"
"And a new Shepherd!" Lissa piped up, pointing out a sullen-looking myrmidon.
Frederick nodded, "Milord, you fought well today."
"Thank you." The prince replied offhandedly. "Now what is this that happened with Robin? Is she injured again?" His shoulders were already slumped in sympathy.
Frederick shook his head. "Only a fever, milord. A simple healer's draught should help."
"...Oh. Well, it's good to hear, I suppose."
"Poor girl just can't catch a break, can she?" Lissa grimaced in pity. "At least she didn't get herself hurt trying to fight."
"Not to worry, milady. I had it under control." Frederick reported.
"Of course you did, Freddy." The princess rolled her eyes with a smile.
"In any case, I suppose we should find a healer," Chrom mused, "Is she back in the barracks?"
"Yes milord. I ensured her safety and comfort before seeking you out."
"Ohhh- I better go keep her company..." Lissa fretted. She grabbed her staff and hurried off in the direction Frederick had come.
Frederick stared after the princess, for once not anxiously inclined to follow on her heels. Meanwhile, the prince stared at him, silently wondering if Robin was again the reason for his change of equipment.
"You know," Chrom remarked to him after a moment, "I was beginning to worry that you and Robin would never get along."
Frederick raised his chin noncommittally. "I have no prejudice either way, milord. She is a Shepherd, and I will protect her as promised."
"Mm-hmm." The prince fixed him with a vaguely amused look. "So would you say that you at least trust her by now?"
Frederick flicked his gaze to is younger charge, considering the question.
"… To an extent, milord."