When one became a knight, the oath one took was to a code: to uphold national honor, to devote oneself wholeheartedly to the crown; to serve and protect. Frederick had taken all of these seriously since his knighting— in fact, one might accuse him of taking everything seriously. But none was more important to him than the last, and Frederick had dutifully served the Lord Chrom and Lady Lissa every moment since Lady Emmeryn had made them his charges. Things had changed over the years, but nothing brought him more joy than serving and serving well. And no one made him more happy than Lady Lissa.
She vexed him, too, more than anyone else in the world. How one person could be so silly, so lazy, so childish, and then be so dedicated, so compassionate, so beautiful inside and out— it was beyond his comprehension. Frederick wasn’t religious, in the sense of gods and rituals and prayers; not even having seen them come to life before his own eyes. He believed in duty, and hard work, and that serving was its own reward. But someone or something— gods, the universe, fate— had granted him the greatest gift in all of Ylisse. Every day, he tried to be worthy of her.
He watched her now, chiding their future-son for being reckless while she healed his (accidental, self-inflicted) wounds. Frederick shook his head, but the smallest smile played across his lips. Owain may look like him, but he was his mother’s child. Having his son return from the future had been disorienting at best, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Owain, Lissa… The two of them completed his life, made him whole; filled a space in his heart he hadn’t known was empty until they came along.
His eyes drifted to the barely-visible bump of her stomach. Three, he amended mentally. The three of them were his happiness, his world. Even if he still didn’t know how to relax. Even if he didn’t always know what Owain was talking about (did anyone, really?). Even if the thought of being a father was a little more terrifying than he’d like to admit.
Lissa winced suddenly, and with the break in her concentration the light from her staff went out. Frederick was already on his feet, his hand on her shoulder.
"Mother?" Owain leaned forward, his concerned expression a mirror of his father’s. Lissa moved her hand to her stomach and giggled.
"I’m fine, i’m fine!" she said, hiding her discomfort behind laughing blue eyes and her usual brilliant smile. "It’ll pass." She giggled again and poked Owain in the chest. "You kick hard."
Owain laughed and flushed, scratching the back of his head. “S-sorry.”
Frederick sighed. “You should rest, Lissa.”
"I’m tired of resting,” she whined. The pain must have passed, because defiance glinted in her eyes. Frederick just smiled.
"You complain much for someone who loves lying about."
"And you insist on it a lot for someone who hates standing still," she shot back.
"I only want what’s best for you and the baby," he explained. It seemed reasonable to him, but Lissa clearly disagreed.
"I think I know what my own limitations are, thank you very much Mr. Serious-Pants."
Frederick’s eyebrows lifted just a hair, but Lissa didn’t back down. They stared at each other in challenge, Frederick’s face an unyielding mask of sternness and Lissa with her bottom lip stuck out ever so slightly, for what seemed like eternity. It wasn’t until Owain shifted uncomfortably beside them that Frederick’s eyes flicked in his direction.
But his son wasn’t upset. He was smiling, a goofy knowing smile that made Frederick’s ears burn.
"What are you smiling about?"
"Oh." His smile softened a little. "Nothing really." When Frederick gave him a look, Owain ducked his head a little. "Just— this is how I remember things. Before…"
"Oh, Owain!" Lissa threw her arms around her son, pressing her cheek against hers. When her husband continued to stand there awkwardly, she glared at him and tugged on his sleeve until she’d pulled him into a group hug.
It was an uncomfortable position, but Frederick found he didn’t really care. He took a leaf from Lissa’s book and relaxed, wrapping his arms around his family as best he could and resting his head on hers.
This was it, he decided. These strange, awkward, sweeter-than-honey moments were what he lived for. They were all he needed.
Sorry this is late, horticulturalcephalopod. I struggled to make it the best I could, so I hope you enjoy it. Merry Christmas, and I hope your days are merry and bright! ♥
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