Disclaimer: I do not own Fire Emblem in any way, shape, or form, this I vow.

A/N: As always, many thanks for the reviews! I'm so glad the story is pulling heartstrings as we follow Robin on her path out of damselhood and into badassery. For those of you following the theme of the narrative, we have a few more episodes of "homeostatic" issues to cover with our poor amnesiac - the story will have 9 chapters in total!

That being said, I hope you all brought your tickets to the angst train.


Chapter Seven – Sorrow's Embrace

Frederick stared down at the cup of tea in his hands.

He frowned as he rubbed his thumb along the smooth rim, watching the steam rise from its contents. He had yet to move from where he stood rooted just outside the medical tent, the sun's last rays barely reaching his motionless form. It had been one full day since his trial in the desert; and in that time, he had refused to leave Robin's side while she slept and recuperated.

He longed to return to her now, but something kept him from taking the last few steps. Frederick reached up to straighten his necktie, ignoring the dull pain of his bandaged ribs. Did he look too unprofessional in this state? Would Robin notice? What would she say?

What would he say?

He began mentally rehearsing his words, although he had already imagined at least a dozen conversations by this point. He tapped his fingers on the side of the cup. The tea he had prepared was for Robin, of course. But if he waited too long to deliver it, it would cool – which was unacceptable. He would have to pour it out and start again. This was already the fourth cup he had brewed that evening.

This was ridiculous. A fearless Ylissian knight, dawdling around like a nervous fool. And for what? He had no reason to be nervous. Not with Robin. The tactician could be waking up any minute now, and he should be by her side. She would be happy to see him.

At least, he believed she would be. He hoped she would be.

…Would she?

Frederick shook himself. The thoughts circled in his head like vultures, filling him with doubt, and wasting his time. Glaring at the toes of his boots, he took a steely breath and finally strode through the tent door.

Robin was right where he left her, resting against her pillows with her newly-washed cloak draped over her like a blanket. Underneath, Frederick knew she was a mess of splints and bandages, and the thought made his heart squeeze. Although he had been as gentle as possible when he rescued her from that hellscape, Robin hadn't exactly been conscious enough to report her physical condition, and the grandmaster's heroics had earned her at least a few internal injuries before she fell.

Frederick sighed as he made his way over to her bedside, taking a seat as quietly as he could. He set the cup on the makeshift dresser, hoping the lantern there would keep it sufficiently warm until the tactician awoke. Luckily, he didn't have long to wait.

Robin shifted on her cot with a bleary groan as she roused.

"…Frmmmrick…?"

She attempted to rub her eyes, grimacing when her actions were impeded by a sling.

"I'm here," the knight informed her, reaching out to guide her arm back into a comfortable position. He almost smiled at the groggy, petulant look on her face.

"Fred…rick…?" she tried again.

"Yes?"

Robin gave him a drowsy blink.

"You're… here…"

"I am," his mouth tilted into a smile.

The tactician frowned, scrutinizing him with an unfocused gaze.

"...Are you a dragon...?" she blurted out.

Frederick's smile faded. "What?"

"A… drrragon…" Robin insisted.

The knight opened his mouth to voice his confusion, when a small form came bustling back into the tent.

"Frederick! There you are!" Lissa chirped, dumping an armful of supplies on a nearby table. "I was wondering where you went off to…"

"LLLLLiiiissaaAH!" Robin cheered, her head lolling back on her pillow.

"...Oh dear."

Lissa pursed her lips while Frederick turned his worried gaze on her.

"Lady Lissa?" he appealed to the princess in an urgent undertone, "Robin is-"

"LLllissaaaaaahhhhh…" the tactician droned happily, cutting him off.

"I know, hon," the cleric fixed her patient with an indulgent smile as she shuffled over and sat on the edge of her bed. "Drink," she ordered, handing Robin a water flask. "Stahl said this might happen…" she muttered with a slight shake of her head.

Frederick felt his chest tighten in fear.

"What might happen?! What's wrong?!" His head began to swim with terrible possibilities… madness… hallucinations… fever…

"Whoa there, nothing bad," the princess assured him, palms up as if she could hope to catch his spiraling worry in them. "Really, I promise! It's just a rehydration solution. Works like a charm, but our apothecary extraordinaire warned me the side-effects might make her a bit… loopy." She eyed the tactician with something akin to suspicion.

"I'mmmm not loopy," Robin managed to raise her head with an affronted look, "Frederick is a drrragon!"

"Ohhh I'll bet," the princess snorted.

"I ssss... saw it…" the tactician slurred, shutting her eyes again.

Lissa threw him a look of the 'don't bother trying to explain it to her' variety, and went back to her work. Frederick, meanwhile, let out a relieved breath. At least that meant Robin was recovering. His gaze softened as he watched her rub her forehead and tug distractedly at her sling.

"Robin," the knight cleared his throat, "I brought tea for you…"

"Oh my goooods I love tea!" The tactician shuffled back up in her seat with a dopey grin. She reached out a pair of groping hands, and Frederick placed the cup securely in her clutches. He looked on in cautious amusement as she downed the contents in a few deep gulps.

"Frederick…" she gasped, fixing him with the most gravely serious look she could muster, "you're my hero."

The knight coughed into his hand, trying in vain to cover both his laughter and his mild embarrassment at her words.

"Oooh-kay there Robin," Lissa stepped in, coaxing the tactician back down to her pillow. "Now you just rest until that stuff wears off. And you-" she turned around to regard Frederick, "-need your bandages changed."

The knight waved off Lissa's concern. "Milady, you needn't trouble yourself."

"Yes I do need trouble myself," she corrected, hands on hips. "It's my job." She didn't wait to hear his response before flitting over to retrieve her staff and a stack of fresh cloth wraps.

Frederick sighed as he watched her, before realizing that he was under intense observation. Robin's narrowed gaze was fixed on him, although there was a childlike innocence to the look that she normally lacked in sobriety.

"…Are you sure you're not a dragon?" she whispered to him after a few moments.

He couldn't help but chuckle this time. "Completely."

Frederick could almost see the gears turning in her head as Robin gauged the sincerity of his answer. After a moment of consideration, her furrowed brow smoothed and she reached out a clumsy hand to pat his arm.

"It'sss okay. I trust you…" She nodded to herself, settling back into her pillow. "You're too haaandsome to be a dragon," she concluded with a dumb, contented look.

Lissa returned just in time to catch the tail end of the statement, and it took every ounce of her hard-earned self-control not to burst out laughing at Frederick's expression. With his face quickly coloring, the knight fixed his sights on an escape - but the princess cornered him before he could rise.

"Heeere we are..." Lissa set her supplies on the cot and smirked at Frederick adamantly avoiding eye contact. It was really quite funny how little it took to fluster him – Naga knows she'd done her fair share of teasing to the painfully stoic man. But she had to admit, these days Robin was the one that had him by the reins; even while she sat drugged up and dopeily watching him from her medical cot.

And because the opportunity was simply too perfect to pass up, Lissa decided to torment him further.

"Shirt off," she instructed sweetly.

Frederick resisted the urge to bolt for the door.

Instead, he succumbed to a brief coughing fit, and desperately willed his burning face to cool. He was sure he looked ridiculous, if the princess's subtle taunting was anything to go by. And he cursed the fact that such a simple, silly statement from Robin could crush his composure.

Lissa cleared her throat above his head, and Frederick reluctantly reached down to tug at the hem of his shirt, blushing at his feet as he did so. Wanting to be done with the ordeal, he shucked it off without ceremony rather than undo the buttons.

The princess hummed as she set to work unwinding the bandages from the healing burns on his chest, noticing with smug amusement how he tensed at the action. Frederick was normally so professional while having his injuries treated; and she'd seen him without a shirt more times than she could count. But the way he kept his head ducked now, with his shoulders bunched up in knots, was a rare departure that she couldn't help but find entertaining.

Frederick, on the other hand, was not faring much better.

His face hadn't gotten any less red; and as Lissa removed the last of his bindings to administer a dose of soothing magic, he made the mistake of allowing his gaze to slide up from the floor.

Robin, of course, was staring unabashedly. And not just at his face.

The thought alone was enough to root his sight back to his boots and pour another hot ladle of embarrassment into his veins. Out of the corner of his eye, he could tell that Robin was still watching him. It wasn't like the last time she'd seen him in such a state, when he told her the story of his scars. This time, she wasn't looking at him with sympathy and camaraderie.

She was looking at him with interest. As if she really did find him… handsome.

And what's worse: part of him liked it.

Frederick shifted in discomfort as Lissa began re-binding his torso, vowing to the divines that he would cleanse such un-knightly thoughts with a round of extra-rigorous training. He fisted his hands in the fabric of his shirt, running through a mental regimen of drills to put himself through. But despite his best efforts to distract himself, spare, fleeting thoughts of Robin continued to slip through. Namely, his memory about their time in that cave…

Stop. Stop. STOP.

Frederick wanted to shake the thought from his head. But it lingered.

So distracted was the knight, he completely missed the mischievous glint in his attendant's eye as she finished up her patchwork.

"Let me see that arm," Lissa instructed, pushing him into a straighter posture. Holding back an evil grin, she feigned concern over his limb, knowing full well that the torn muscles had already healed. She reached down to pluck another wrap from the bed, and glanced over to make sure Robin was still watching.

"Now, flex," she ordered, holding back more laughter as the knight frowned. He gingerly positioned his arm, and she rolled her eyes. "Like you mean it."

Frederick looked like he either wanted to bury himself or question her methods, but he remained silent as he complied, muscles standing out in sharp relief. Lissa smirked as she wound the bandage around his tensed arm - she had to use both hands. She'd never admit it, but it was a sight to make plenty a girl fan herself silly.

Speaking of...

She turned to raise an eyebrow at her audience as she finished; who, despite the medicine, was sporting a peculiar expression.

"What do you think, Robin?" Lissa asked, for the sole purpose of causing the knight one last little bit of fluster. The tactician did not disappoint.

"Lookin' gooood Freddy-Bear!" Robin sang with a pink tinge to her cheeks and a lazy thumbs-up.

It took only seconds for Frederick to pull on his shirt, force out a stuttering formality, and head for the door.

The princess was still laughing long after he left.


"I must have been a riot."

Robin leaned down to pull on her boots, reveling in the comfort of strapping back into her various belts and buckles. With a clear head and a healed body, she felt ready to take on a whole army; though her ever-vigilant companion would certainly take issue with the idea.

"To Lady Lissa, perhaps," Frederick responded beside her. She didn't miss the way he bit out the sentence with a narrowed gaze, and she wondered what exactly she had missed. Her memory of the past day was fuzzy at best; she recalled only bits and pieces of the desert battle's aftermath, and a few hazy episodes from her time in recovery.

Well, one episode in particular. Robin's face heated as she glanced up at the great knight, a different mental image blatantly pasting itself over the sight of his armored form. Just her luck, that she should remember barely a word of her supposedly ridiculous conversations while that picture stuck in her mind.

Not that she was complaining, per say.

"Oh come on, Frederick the Wary didn't find me the least bit funny?" She smiled as she pulled on her cloak.

"You were mildly entertaining," he allowed.

"What all did I say?"

Frederick skirted around the first thing that popped into his head. "Well, you believed me to be a dragon," he reported smoothly.

"Oh yeah… I kind of remember that…" Robin paused, frowning as she sifted through her memories of the desert. "...Wait. Why do I remember that?"

"I think I know," Frederick admitted as he helped her up from the cot. "Come, I'll show you."

The knight led the way through camp, weaving a path through the sea of activity as the convoy readied to march. After a few minutes, they arrived at the makeshift pasture, where the company's horses and pegasi had been left to graze.

The present equestrian populace, however, were currently huddled together at the edge; warily eyeing the large reptile that shared their quarters.

Robin gasped. The massive wyvern lifted its head at their approach, its red eyes sullen. A length of rope was tied around its muzzle, with a slack lead staked to the ground.

"Holy halberds, where did that come from?!"

"I, ah... commandeered it during the last battle," Frederick admitted, halting their progress at a safe distance. "But now, we can't get the stupid beast to leave." He fixed the dragon with an exasperated look.

The wyvern blinked at him, looking for all the world to be sporting a defiant expression.

"Whoa…" Robin wandered closer, ignoring the hand that he put out to stop her. "So that's what it was…" The dragon turned its disinterested gaze on her as she circled it.

"Careful!" Frederick warned, trying to put himself between them. "The thing is a menace! There's no telling what it'll do."

"He."

"What?"

"The wyvern-" Robin gestured to the rim of spines on its jaw, "-it's a he. See?"

Frederick frowned. "Well, no matter. It's best we leave i- him alone."

Robin ignored him, instead leaning down to look at a pile of discarded armor plates.

"Are these his?" she asked, holding up an engraved helm.

"They're what the Plegians had strapped onto him, yes."

"Huh…" she turned it over in her hands. "Well, good news - this happens to be the armor set of a wyvern lord's mount. Which means your friend here is already well trained."

Frederick snorted. "I'm not likely to believe that."

"No, really," Robin insisted, "I've read a lot about military riders and their dragons. They're very loyal. He may have given you some trouble at first, but if he stuck around this long, that must be a sign that he's picked a new master."

Frederick was quiet. After all, he had saved the dragon's life; even going to the trouble to splint the beast's wing while it was passed out in the camp. Perhaps the tactician was on to something.

Robin edged her way back around the wyvern's other side.

"Here… let's get this rope off…"

Before Frederick could stop her, she reached up to pat the dragon's side. No sooner had the creature turned its eyes on her, it wheeled up, tugging wildly against its lead with a furious hiss.

"Robin!" Frederick was at her side in an instant, ready to skin the lizard with his bare hands. But strangely, the wyvern didn't move to attack. It continued trying to backpedal, letting out an odd, grumbling whine as he fixed it with a glare.

"Wait, wait! I know what's wrong…" Robin reached down to her belt, where the line of her cloak had shifted to reveal the spare thunder tome that she carried. Catching the dragon's fearful eye, she took the tome and flung it across the field.

"See? No magic," she promised, inching forward again as the dragon calmed. "Poor guy… I bet his Plegian trainers used some pretty cruel methods…" she shook her head.

Frederick watched in disbelief as she reached up and gently removed the dragon's harness, working out the knots and letting the rope fall to the ground.

"There… all better?" she asked it.

The wyvern tilted its head.

"He needs a name," Robin decided as Frederick warily joined her.

"No. A name implies that we are keeping it."

"Well, why not? You can fly him can't you?" she reached up to cautiously pat the dragon's neck, encouraged when the proud animal gave in and nosed her hand for more attention. "We could really use a wyvern rider…"

Frederick watched the calmed creature, almost refusing to believe that it was the same spitting demon that had tried to throw him from its back. He would need a mount in the event of another desert battle…

"Fine," he conceded, "but the minute it gives me reason to, I'm chasing it off with a bolt-axe."

Robin grinned, pausing her ministrations. "So… a name?"

The knight gestured for her to take the responsibility. They both stared at the dragon.

"How about… Ares?" the tactician mused, gazing over its cascade of dark blue scales and fiery eyes.

"Ares?"

"Yeah, to go with your horse! Like in the fairytale!"

"Athena is not an accessory. She is a trained war mount."

"Well, so is Ares! Come on, they'll make a great pair."

Frederick sighed. He had to admit, the title had a certain ring to it… plus, he couldn't deny Robin anything when she smiled like that.

"Very well... Ares it is."


Over the next few days, the company marched deeper into enemy territory. Basilio's scouts picked out numerous bandit ambushes along the road, allowing the Feroxi guard a chance to slice a few throats and keep the way clear.

Robin was all the while busy pouring over maps and marking down notes Her late nights were spent in the council of the prince and khans, while during the day she insisted on taking her work on the road. Frederick did his best to make her comfortable, allowing her the elbow room to unfold her papers over the back of his mare's neck, while offering to hold open her book with his spare hand. His saddle bags soon became packed with water skins and food rations, and even an extra cushion for when Robin's drowsiness caught up to her.

The dragon, with its wing still recovering, had taken to trailing behind his new master's horse on the march, seemingly proving his loyalty through patience. And between Frederick's daily occupation, and the parade of steeds, and fact that a certain hyper manakete was of a habit to ride atop the wyvern's back, and the fact that a certain young mage was of a habit to keep her company, AND the fact that a certain blonde princess was never far behind such a promising mix for entertainment… it made for quite the sight.

"How is Freddy's day care doing?" Chrom asked one day as he pulled up alongside the posse.

The knight ceased his scolding of the bickering mage and manakete and turned back around.

"I beg your pardon, milord?"

The prince simply shook his head with a smile. "Is she okay?" he breached another topic, nodding to the tactician snoozing in the saddle, her cloak abandoned in the warmer climate.

"Just resting, milord."

"Good… I still worry about her," Chrom sighed. "Just the other night I found her asleep at her desk, again… she nearly screamed when I woke her."

Frederick frowned, "Why did I not hear of this?"

The prince shrugged, "It wasn't anything bad... we all get nightmares. I'm just worried she's not getting enough sleep."

"I'll… be sure to remedy that, milord." Frederick turned his concerned gaze on his passenger.

Chrom opened his mouth, about to tell his knight not to worry about such things; that he had only been venting his thoughts on the matter... but something in Frederick's face stopped him. He watched him gently prod and rearrange the napping tactician, wondering if what Lissa had said about the pair was true.

He resigned to say nothing of Frederick's strange doting. Sure, Robin was perfectly capable of handling herself, but… who was he to deny her a bit of indulgence?

The tactician continued to doze against her companion's arm.

"At least we'll soon be done with this blasted ordeal," Chrom continued with a sigh, "Naga knows we could all use some rest..."

"Indeed, milord. We must keep our sights on the horizon."

"I'll just be happy to have Emm home safe... This time next week that mad fool will be running for the hills, I swear it."

Frederick nodded, keeping his lingering doubt and worry to himself. With the Feroxi forces at their backs, the coming conflict was sure to go as smoothly as the prince expected. There was no reason to doubt his confidence.

After a few more exchanged words, Chrom urged his horse off along the convoy, leaving Frederick to his thoughts. The knight rode in silence for a time, ignoring the childish banter going on behind him, until Robin finally stirred from her sleep.

"Robin…?"

She jolted awake with a loud gasp, nearly giving him a heart attack.

"Robin! What's wrong?!" he demanded

"Wh-…? Where…?" She clutched at the seat, breathing heavily as she reoriented herself. "I… I'm sorry," she finally managed to say.

"Are you okay?" Frederick asked, his thudding pulse gradually calming again.

"Yeah… Yes, I'm fine…"

Robin stared down at her arms, eyes screwed up as if seeing something else. Flickers of thought surfaced, flashes from the same dreams that she'd been having ever since her face-off with the Grimleal in the desert. She looked harder at her skin of her arms, searching for the smallest hint of a scar - but it was the same as always. Smooth and unmarked.

She shook her head, trying to clear it.

"It was… just a nightmare."


The battlefield was set.

The day of Emmeryn's execution had arrived: a grand public spectacle in the heart of Plegia, atop the towering stone relics of their most beloved cult. A trap of course, but one that Robin was confident they were prepared for. Her plan – the product of her many sleepless nights – was orchestrated down to the last man: the Feroxi forces set to clear the way, Phila's brigade positioned to rescue Emmeryn from her precipice, and the Shepherds poised to sweep the field of Plegia's royal guard to take down the mad king.

Everything was planned.

Robin led the charge herself, with Frederick by her side. Each thunderous clash of her Levin sword was followed by the fell swoop of his mount's dark wings, slaying their enemies in a dance of magic and steel. The Grandmaster felt almost giddy with the high of the fight, perfectly in sync with her partner, dealing blow after killing blow. Seamless.

But the feeling wouldn't last.

Robin should have seen the signs. The axe-wielding priest and the turncoat mage that unexpectedly joined their front lines was the first defiance to her calculations. A battle like this could never go exactly as planned. There would always be something she couldn't see, couldn't prepare for. And it could mean the difference between life and death.

Everyone was counting on her.

That was the panicked thought that wormed its way into Robin's brain as she raced towards the malicious dark flier, who looked so familiar, and smiled as if she had an ace up her sleeve. It was the thought that spurred her on when she caught sight of Chrom's face, so confident that victory was at hand as they closed in. It was the thought that echoed in the storm clouds that began to rumble in the distance.

It was the thought that arrested Robin's feet when the sudden scent of rotting flesh hit her nose. And it was the thought that stayed rooted in her mind as she was forced to watch.

The pegasi fell.

The mad king laughed.

The Exalt said her brave words.

A single body fell through the air, looking like a bird about to open its wings... But the wings never came.

And it was all her fault.


"Don't speak her name!"

There were no more battle-cries that day, as the prince's grief-stricken words echoed in the minds of friend and enemy alike. The clouds wept, and the mud clawed at their feet. Those who were strong enough led the fight with hearts of doused coal.

Frederick wasn't sure if he could really be considered one of the strong ones. He wasn't really sure of anything anymore.

His Exalt, to whom he had sworn his life - she who had been a light of kindness to him, who had inspired him to serve the royal family since his youth - was dead.

Frederick followed the path of his prince, cutting down foes with no more emotion than the cold rain. And when Chrom finally tired of his rampage, sinking to his knees in the mud; the knight pulled him up.

Those who were truly strong did fight. The taguel bathed herself in Plegian blood, the dark mage was silent and cruel as she slew her former countrymen, the farm boy whet his spear, and the loyal Feroxi myrmidon struck savagely in the name of the mourning princess. Those who could see past the grief most clearly fought hardest.

Before long, the Plegians lay dead, and the carriages of their escape whisked them all away through the storm.

Frederick sat with what remained of the royal family. He allowed Lissa to cry into his shirt, and he watched Chrom drive Falchion into the wood of the floor. Robin was in a different carriage.

They journeyed into the night, finally reaching a safe enough place to stop. Camp was set up in hushed tones, with the help of the depleted Feroxi guard.

Once done, a brief service was held. The war-monk raised his mournful prayers to the divines, and the Shepherds all bowed their heads and took their knees. There was a pyre, but nothing to burn, and Frederick knelt in front of it with an aching heart and a shielded countenance. No one dared approach the stone-faced knight as he stared unseeing into the flames. The Shepherds gathered and huddled, supporting each other through the grief. But as Frederick finally raised his head to look across the circle, there was one face he did not see.

When the service ended, many moved to console the royal siblings, offering kind words and quiet company. Frederick excused himself, and went to Robin's tent. He stepped inside without knocking – numb to the formality.

By the light of a single candle, Robin was there, scribbling away at her desk.

Something in him snapped in that moment. Perhaps it was what he'd seen earlier, when she had ceased her fighting during their escape, barely trudging through the mud. Or perhaps it was the way she had stumbled out of her carriage and pitched her tent wordlessly, apart from the others. Perhaps it was her absence thereafter, when he had expected her, of all people, to be willing to comfort the prince and princess – her friends.

Or perhaps it was because he had wanted to hear something – anything – from her to share in his mourning. In everyone's mourning. And yet, here she was: holed up in her tent with her precious books.

"Have you no sorrow?" Frederick spoke coldly.

Robin's pen stilled, hovering over the paper.

"Our Exalt is dead. And yet you say nothing-"

He had to pause, his voice nearly cracking. The dim candlelight flickered against the drooping tent walls, silhouetting the back of Robin's shapeless cloak.

"Chrom and Lissa are grieving while you sit here…" the knight felt almost strange using no titles for the royals - the only ones he had left - but he continued nonetheless. "...And the rest of Ylisse weeps."

He waited for her to respond. When she did not, he pressed on.

"I thought you were one of us. I thought…" he opened his mouth, but couldn't finish the thought.

He thought she cared... but she had left him alone. In silence. And now, to realize that Robin was not the Shepherd, the friend that he had believed her to be, just about broke his heart.

"Nevermind," he concluded darkly, finally mustering the emotion to glare at the back of her hooded head. "Perhaps I was wrong about you."

Robin was motionless, except for her trembling pen. Frederick turned around to leave. He couldn't make sense of his thoughts: there was so much anger… hurt… betrayal… and yet still he was reluctant to leave her. It was a disgrace to his Exalt's memory.

Walking away from her should have been a dignified action, but instead he just felt… sick.

The knight shut the tent door behind him, but he only made it a few steps before sinking down to his knees.

Why was this happening to him?! He was a failure to Ylisse, and of all the things that could possibly bring him lower… He clutched at his head, as if it would alleviate the pain.

The knight had almost composed himself enough to rise, to try and swallow the rest of his despair, when the smallest of sounds caught his attention.

Frederick froze, not sure if he heard it correctly. It was muted, restrained enough to feel hidden in the surrounding darkness. But it was the only sound that could have made him return to the tent he had stormed out of, and peer back through the door.

Robin's pen lay forgotten on the floor, as she sobbed quietly into her arms.

If there was any sight that could pull Frederick back down to Earth, that was it. He stepped carefully back over the threshold, and the tactician stiffened as she was alerted to his presence.

"…Robin."

He wished to say more, but the words caught in his throat. The tactician kept her head down, pretending to be still, but a small, hitched whimper escaped. She stayed like that as he hesitantly approached.

Frederick stared down at her, unsure of how to proceed. All he knew was that, despite all the pain and doubt still circling his head, each tiny sniffle from the crumpled girl was another stake in his chest.

"…Robin, I… I am sorry. I didn't mean what I said."

The words flowed easily, but he felt like scum. Because he had meant what he said. Her silence and seclusion in this time of loss… it hurt. The knight felt a frustrated burning sensation in the corners of his eyes.

As if in echo of his thoughts, Robin suddenly let loose a wretched sob; clutching her arms all the closer. Her shoulders shook as she tried to rein in the renewed torrent of weeping.

"L-leave me," she managed to choke out after a few moments.

That was the last thing Frederick was prepared to do. He swallowed and stayed rooted in place.

"I will not."

This only caused her crying to crecendo.

"Wh-what do you want?!" she demanded on a broken sob. "You were right, okay?! I'm f-filth – I'm the reason Ylisse weeps!"

Frederick winced at her tone. That wasn't what he'd said…

But she continued.

"I-if I'd only done one thing different… we wouldn't be… she w-wouldn't have…" Unable to finish the thought, the tactician collapsed into more muffled tears.

Her words tugged at the raw grief in Frederick's mind. His gaze slipped over the desk beneath her, taking in the mess of maps and papers. There was a sea of scrawling notes over every surface; scratched out lines of repeated script, battle formations drawn and re-drawn in dozens of arrangements… all of it centered around that last, fateful conflict.

"You… mustn't say such things," he responded quietly. "It wasn't your fault."

Robin managed to lift her head at his words, the look on her damp face as distressed as it was guilty.

"How can you s-say that? I'm the reason your Exalt is dead." Her bitter words cut him like a serrated blade, but her eyes were lowered in shame.

"That is not true!"

"Yes, it is! I deserved what y-you said! How could I face everyone after what I've done…?" She buried her face again, "I'm n-not one of you…" she repeated his words in a whimper.

Frederick stared down at her in shock. He had no idea… He hadn't meant to imply…

His cruel words echoed in his head, filling him with shame. How could he say such things to someone he cared so deeply for? Just because she couldn't express her sorrow… he had let his own drive him to malice.

Frederick's heart fractured as he watched Robin continue her silent lament. He knew how it felt to take such a burden upon oneself – had he not claimed his own crest of blame for Ylisse's losses? And yet he had let the tactician wallow in undeserved guilt this long, without a single person to turn to. He was a poor excuse for a knight… for a companion.

Frederick knelt down beside her. The heavy ache of his mourning was still etched in his mind - but this, at least, was something he could try to fix.

"Robin, look at me."

She didn't.

"Robin…" He reached a hand out to her shoulder, only to have her shrink away from his touch.

"Please?" he tried, when she offered no response, "It… pains me… to see you like this."

She was quiet for a few moments, working to control the shaking of her shoulders. When she finally raised her head, she wouldn't meet his eyes. Seeking to change that, he brushed back her hood with a careful hand.

"I am truly sorry. I... cannot atone for those unkind words," the knight told her, "but I had never meant to place such blame on you. I was… upset." He admitted.

"You have every right to be…" Robin's eyes shone as she tried to pull away again.

"No, I don't," he insisted, "I was upset because…"

Frederick hesitated, feeling a pained expression flicker across his face as he tried to find the right words.

"Because... I thought you didn't care... Because I feared you had left me to my grief alone."

He paused for a moment, and Robin quieted her reluctance to finally meet his eyes.

"Our Lady Exalt... I would have laid down my life for her in an instant. I was her sworn knight, yet I have failed her. I have failed my country... and I… I simply… need…"

He tried to finish his statement, but the words wouldn't come. His throat felt thick, and the hot, sick feeling bubbled up in his chest to hitch his breathing. He didn't know when he had retracted his hand, but he felt his fists clench as he dropped his gaze, overwhelmed with the frustrating urge to blink.

He didn't know what he needed anymore.

Robin didn't say a word. But after a few seconds, he felt a cautious pair of arms wind their way around his neck.

Frederick didn't need more of an invitation. Before he could think of his actions, her small form was enveloped in his arms, his hands clutching the folds of her cloak. His breathing became quick and shallow at the action; but the well of emotion he felt was spearheaded by intense, confusing relief. He had to remind himself to be gentle as his hold constricted with aching need.

Robin was shocked into silence. She never would have anticipated such a ready response from this stoic, confusing man. But now, with his anguished face out of view, she could feel the helplessness in his taut limbs. No one but he could possibly blame themselves more for the loss of the Exalt, and the woes of Ylisse.

No one would ever think to comfort Frederick the Wary.

Robin reached up, smoothing a hand through his hair in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. Her efforts were rewarded as he let his head drop to rest against her shoulder, eyes screwed shut. The knight rocked his temple into her neck, concealing his face; and she felt his fingers on her back, curling in her long hair as his embrace tightened. His broad shoulders caved against hers.

It was a minute or so before Frederick could compose himself, and all the while Robin kept a hesitant hand cradled on his head. When he finally did, he pulled back, rubbing a brusque arm across his eyes.

"My apologies…" he cleared his throat.

Robin stopped him before he could move to disentangle himself.

"Please… stay?"

Her gaze was pleading as more tears threatened to form. He, too, looked barely grounded. Firm in her request, Robin secured a hold around his waist and huddled back into his arms.

He conceded.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Frederick was happy – ecstatic, even – to forstall his departure. He didn't want to walk back out into the night, his feet taking him to wherever he would spend his lonely hours. He wanted to be here, with Robin, keeping the company that his misery craved.

Gathering her up, he found them a seat on the end of the cot. The candle at Robin's desk continued to sink lower as they sat folded in each other's arms, keeping out the demons that waited back at reality's doorstep.

They talked in quiet tones. Occasionally, she would sport more tears, and he would rock her. When his voice became thick, she would sift a hand through his hair. As the hours passed, their eyes became dry and drowsy; and the candle burned out.

Frederick didn't recall laying down that night. But he remembered Robin's soft confession amidst the hushed comforts; the way her voice shook with fear as she told him of the nightmares that haunted her sleep. Terrible, spine-chilling things she spoke of: tools and magic and Grimleal masks… And he remembered promising her that he would never allow such things to happen, daring to brush his lips across the hair of her forehead in a touch so subtle, he wasn't sure she knew.

It was the first night in many that she slept peacefully.

She was still asleep, hooked in the cradle of his arm, when he roused himself in the morning.

Frederick was sure that part of him should feel indecent as he straightened his necktie and pulled on his boots, but he couldn't bring himself to care about such things. Robin lay curled under her blanket, her tears long dried; and he was strong once again with the resilience that his station required. That was all that mattered, for now.

The knight was careful not to wake her as he stepped out into the early morning sun. He began the trek back to his own quarters, planning to refresh his appearance before starting on the morning chores. Robin deserved her rest… and she would surely not despair waking up alone - so long as he returned with her breakfast.

As he walked through the silent camp, Frederick hadn't expected to find anyone else. Most of the Shepherds had been just as exhausted and disconsolate as he, if not more so; and the Feroxi guard was stationed far enough away to keep the secluded camp from discovery. Frederick was surprised, then, to see the prince very much awake, staring at the sunrise on the border of camp.

"Milord…?"

Chrom started at the address, subtly wiping the back of a gloved hand against his cheek.

"Frederick, I didn't know you were up…"

The knight felt a throb of pity as he caught sight of the prince's red-rimmed eyes; but he knew better than to voice his sympathies. Chrom was not the type to air his grievances to his lieutenant, unless it involved taking up a sword.

Instead, Frederick simply stood beside him, giving the unspoken support of his company as they watched the sun together.

"Milord, have you slept?" he asked.

Chrom shook his head. "I'll sleep in the wagons."

They stood in silence for another few moments.

"Frederick, I…" Chrom faltered, and rallied, "...You know there's... nothing we could have done."

The knight blinked, surprised that he would breach the subject.

"… I know."

The prince nodded, swallowing before he continued.

"I just… I know how you take these sorts of things... And it's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault. I tried to hand over the emblem… There was just… nothing we could do."

Frederick sighed.

"I know."

"...Good."

Chrom hung his head, rolling Falchion's handle between his palms. The quiet air hung with dewy fog at their ankles, and even the birdsong was absent in the far-off trees.

"Frederick… you care about Robin, don't you?"

The question took him by surprise, but the knight could be nothing but honest in his answer.

"…Yes."

"And you'll… see that she's okay, after this...?"

"Of course."

The prince let out a slow breath.

"…She tried her best. I know that. Can you make sure that she knows… that I know? That Lissa and I… we would never blame her for what happened."

Frederick lowered his gaze, thinking of the small tactician back in her tent. Somehow, despite her noticeable absence, the prince must have known where her thoughts had gone.

The knight bowed his head.

"She already knows it, Milord."