You probably won't believe this, but Stahl and Frederick are brothers. That's right. There are no steps, halves, or in-laws involved; they were born of the same two parents. Blood brothers.

Stahl certainly has a hard enough time believing it.

Which is odd, because Stahl has a pretty easy time accepting just about everything in the world. Kellam's strange invisibility? Yeah, he's a big guy, he's just got a small presence. Robin's sudden appearance and innate tactical abilities? It might be too much of a coincidence for some, but hey, if someone's willing to help, you're supposed to put them to work. Plegia is summoning hordes of the undead in order to conquer Ylisse? Sure, that makes sense, even if he thought necromancy was a myth and Plegia was still recovering from what the previous Exalt had done to their country.

His younger brother is doing far better in just about every metric imaginable than Stahl was at that age? That makes total sense, and actually, Stahl's pretty proud of him, even if he can't quite reach Frederick's standard.

Actually — it's kind of embarrassing, which is why he never talks about it — Stahl is the black sheep of the family.

No one acknowledges it, of course, which just makes it all the more obvious. Their mother was a war general during the war with Plegia — well, the first one, not the one they've been baited into now. She had tactical brilliance on par with Robin, and the kind of muscles that would put Gregor to shame, undefeatable in one-on-one combat.

Their father, of course, is an apothecary, and he's quite good at it.

Frederick took right after their mother. He's not quite as talented at strategy as Robin — there's a reason Robin slid right into the role of tactician, and it wasn't by usurping Frederick — but he's good enough to demand respect. He's constantly training, keeping himself far more fit than a war requires. He knows his way around lances, swords, and axes. He's more knowledgeable on weapon and armor maintenance than anyone in the whole world, probably.

Now compare that to Stahl.

"In every measure of performance, you come out at the exact median," Miriel says to him one evening, and she sounds so amazed that Stahl might have been offended if he wasn't already aware of what she was getting at. "It's something of a scientific miracle that you can be so completely unoutstanding."

"Yes, well," Stahl replies with a shrug. "That's just the kind of man I am."

Unoutstanding.

He's long past dreaming that one day he'll catch up to Frederick. He knows he's the personification of average; he knew it long before Miriel put that into scientific terms. He's seen it in his parents' eyes for a long time.

So, if Frederick never mentions to anyone their blood relation, and if Frederick never deigns to interact with him in a fraternal way in front of others, that's fine. Stahl knows he's probably just a blot on his older brother's record, but not even a very big one.

Just an average-sized one.

Stahl's younger brother, on the other hand, has taken right after their father, following him doe-eyed around the workshop and storefront. It's a funny image, because he's usually so stalwart and serious, and yet when he's working, he looks like a cross between Gaius in a sweetshop and a lovestruck teenager. Sometimes he takes such extensive notes that he has nowhere to put them, and somehow he got it into his head that Stahl wants to see them and has plenty of room for storage in the middle of a war.

So Stahl, as a result, knows plenty about how to make potions, salves, and tinctures. His skill level is far below his brother's, of course, but Stahl is very much accustomed to not being the best at anything. Still, his brother finds some amusement (or use, maybe, as laughable a concept as that is) in Stahl's secondhand knowledge, so he often sends Stahl out on ingredient hunts.

In the middle of a war.

"You're far too nice to people, Stahl," Lissa says to him when she discovers he's so stressed out about this scavenger hunt, he's giving himself indigestion. "You let them push you around."

Hah. Stahl laughs now, at the memory of that comment, because it's so far from the truth that he doesn't quite know what to make of it. Stahl can't be "too nice," because that implies someone else out there is a more average, 'median' level of niceness. It's silly. He's just an average guy, doing what an everyman would do for his kin.

The butterfly scales are not the first nor the last ingredient his brother sends for. To be honest, Stahl doesn't quite expect this to be the reason Frederick finally acknowledges him.

It's meant to be a normal day in the market. They've stopped for a day or so, a brief respite before they push onward into Plegia, and Stahl finally has a chance to look for his newest chore: a rare, blue herb that supposedly only grows in Plegia's desert. They're close enough that Stahl hopes it'll be available in a local shop.

As they're in Plegia, they are ordered not to wear Ylisse's colors when they're off-duty. Makes complete sense to Stahl. He doesn't want to be mugged in some back alley when all he's doing is looking for an apothecary.

They're also ordered to stay in groups of two or more. This one, Stahl respectfully disobeys. It only makes sense that if there are large swathes of groups of foreigners just stumbling through Plegian villages, some of them are going to put two and two together and realize the Ylissean forces are stationed nearby. Besides, he's just running a quick errand that will probably turn out fruitless, anyway. So he puts on his best tourist face and meanders about the town.

He's not exactly a great strategist, so he doesn't think as hard about that as he should. A lone, bright-eyed tourist, without any armor? Of course some would think that's easy pickings.

But to be fair, the town isn't exactly a sprawling metropolis. There doesn't seem to be a huge wealth gap within its inhabitants. It doesn't seem the place for crime to run rampant, nor does it seem the place for the Grimleal to congregate.

Then of course, it happens like so:

Stahl asks an elderly woman if she knows the location of the apothecary. Elderly folk always seem to know, likely because they're always in need of one. She points him to a building near a farm on the outskirts, and then she insists he take some of her freshly-baked bread with him, because he's "got cheeks she can't resist pinching" and he "needs to put some fat on those bones."

He can't tell if she's harassing him, or if she can't see all that well, because he has muscles. Either way, she's oddly charming, and so he follows her directions to the letter with a breadbasket under one arm and red, aching cheeks.

Sure enough, just before the farm is a small house with a crooked sign over the door. A few of the letters have been worn illegible by the elements, leaving a sign that he can only barely understand.

Stahl doesn't even make it to the door, of course. The road is empty when he steps onto it, but before he quite knows what's happening, he feels a body against his back and a knife against his throat. "Give me all you've got," growls a Plegian accent. The voice sounds… young? Younger than Stahl, anyway, but that person's definitely as tall as he is to be able to reach his neck like this. "Or you're dead."

"Hey, now," Stahl says with a small laugh. It's more nervous than he means it to be. "I don't have much. You hungry? We could share this loaf of bread I have. It's fresh, and still warm."

The hesitation tells Stahl more than he thinks this would-be thief wants it to. "I'll take that, and whatever you've got in your pockets," the thief says. Their voice is scratchy, as if their throat is raw. "If you reach for your sword, I'll slit your throat."

"Easy," Stahl chuckles. "I'm in no hurry to die today. No more than you're in a hurry to kill."

He slowly sets the basket down on the ground. The knife stays dangerously close to his neck as he does; he feels the pressure of it against his Adam's apple.

And Stahl was trained for situations like these. He knows it would be too easy to snap their wrist and elbow them, get them on the back foot. But… he's never been in a situation where the thief was so obviously in a run of bad luck.

And he acknowledges the possibility that this thief is playing up some sort of "in need" persona for sympathy points. But the quality in their voice tells him this is real, that they're struggling too much to even consider faking it. And sure, Stahl needs some money, but payday's coming up soon, and he probably doesn't need what he's got near as much as this person does. Sure, his brother wants that herb pretty badly, but he'll live without it.

He reaches to his belt for his pouch.

Then he hears an impact, a grunt, and the knife falls from the thief's grasp just as they collapse to the ground. Stahl withholds a yelp of surprise as he spins around, only to find one very tall, very broad-shouldered man with very brown hair glaring at him.

What?

"F-Frederick," Stahl says, and relief thrums through him in the same wave as guilt. How can he feel relieved when he's far better off than the person who was trying to rob him? "Hey, I wasn't expecting to see you."

Frederick isn't the only one there, though; of course not, he wouldn't disobey an order given by royalty. Just next to him stands a man a few inches shorter than Frederick, wearing a colorless hood, and Stahl blanches as he realizes he's in the presence of said royalty.

Ah, great, he winces. Chrom probably thinks I'm a baby.

"I was waiting for you to take care of the problem by yourself," Frederick says, eyebrow raised. "But then you were clearly intending to surrender your personal funds to this hooligan."

"I-I think that's harsh," Stahl objects.

"Regardless of circumstance, thievery is hooliganism."

Typical of Frederick to try to be straightlaced about such a gray area.

"Shall we report her to the town guard?" Chrom suggests, eyes on the unconscious body. Stahl follows his gaze and realizes she's got to be younger than even Lissa.

"No, it's fine," Stahl insists, shaking his head. "I… think she's in a bad way. Let's straighten her out, and leave the bread with her. And maybe some gold. Do either of you have anything soft to use as a pillow, I think you probably hurt her head—"

"You are too kind," Frederick interrupts, sharp, curt.

Stahl blinks, surprised, but not quite sure what to do with that kind of criticism from his older brother. "Uh, not… really," he shrugs. "I'm just doing what anyone would do."

"She had a knife to your neck," Frederick continues. "No one would extend such courtesy to someone who had threatened them. No one but you."

Chrom glances between the two of them, and Stahl gulps. He can see the wheels working in the furrow of his brow, and he doesn't know what to make of that. "I don't think that's true," he says. "She's struggling. I'm just trying to help out."

Frederick sighs then, deeply, with all of his shoulders. It's almost graceful, really, how much the sigh involves his entire body. "You are impossible," he mutters. "You've always been this way. The only reason you're even out here is because you're so set on spoiling the youngest. Isn't it?"

"Wh—" Stahl's jaw drops and he knows he shouldn't, but he hadn't thought Frederick was a mind reader. "How did you…"

"He's been harassing me via carrier pigeon." Frederick scowls and folds his arms over his chest. Without his usual armor, he almost seems more imposing, now that his bulging triceps are on display. "When I sent him a letter to remind him that we are in the middle of a war, he replied that you didn't seem to have any trouble finding time to indulge him."

"I'm—" Stahl doesn't know how to process this information. "Wait, I… never mind, that's not important! Where do you get off saying I'm too nice? You're the one always going out of your way for others!"

"That is different," Frederick says stiffly. "That is for the good of the army, and for trusted allies." And Chrom especially, but Stahl doesn't get the chance to interject. "You, on the other hand, overextend yourself to anyone who seems like they might need it."

"You're brothers?" Chrom bursts, surprise shining on his half-obscured face. He spins to Frederick. "Wait, why exactly have you never told me you had a brother — no, brothers?"

Frederick blinks at Chrom, looking nearly as surprised as his prince. Funny, Stahl thinks, because it almost seems like Frederick forgot Chrom was here. "It… never seemed relevant," he says slowly, measuring his words.

"'Never seemed' — Frederick, you're around Lissa and I every single day," Chrom says with a snap. Though his tone is irritated, Stahl definitely can see a smile on his face. "We've known you for years, and never heard of this. And, hey! You didn't think we'd value the opinion of an eldest sibling in our spats?"

"You ask for my opinion regardless."

"It carries more weight now!" Chrom insists. Stahl feels laughter spring up in his belly and clamps down on it, determined not to insult either of them. "And I've always wanted to commiserate with someone who was an older sibling. You know what it's like, then."

"I know what it is like to be the eldest," Frederick corrects. "You might be better off 'commiserating' with Stahl."

"Hey, keep me out of this."

"Besides, there's nothing wrong with having siblings," Chrom continues, as if neither of them said anything. "Seriously. 'It never seemed relevant' is hardly a passable excuse, given how long we've known each other. I'll ask you again. Why did you never mention it?"

Another pause manifests in the space between them. Stahl grimaces, because he half-expects what Frederick's going to say. It's going to be something about how he's embarrassed of Stahl, who can never perform even half as good as he can. That's why Frederick has barely spared him a glance in public since Stahl joined the army.

"I… felt it would be best," Frederick says at last.

Stahl blinks.

"My position as you and Lissa's personal bodyguard and attendant was not wholly earned. I felt that I was carried on the wings of my mother's legacy. As a result, when my younger brother expressed his wishes in joining the military and following in my footsteps, I decided that it would be best if our relationship was kept under wraps, so that he might achieve his own merit with his own skill."

"Is… that why you've been so distant?" Stahl asks. He doesn't quite mean to interrupt, but when Frederick turns to him, he seems surprised once more. "You didn't want people to know we were brothers, so you've just been treating me as a common soldier, so that way I wouldn't have to live in your shadow. Is that it?"

"Was it not obvious?" Frederick asks with such earnestness, it makes Stahl laugh.

"Geez," Stahl says with a shake of his head. "You know, I thought you were embarrassed of me, because I wasn't achieving as well as you had."

He immediately regrets saying this, because Frederick's expression becomes one of horror. "No!" he cries, aghast. "Of course not! You would think so lowly of me? But you've done quite well on your merit. The fact you have not risen through the ranks as quickly as I have simply means that my influence, and our mother's, has not affected your success. That is a good thing, Stahl. I am proud of the work you have done."

Huh. Stahl chuckles and shakes his head. "I didn't realize you thought of it like that," he says honestly. It's odd, the relief that swims through him.

He's really proud of me?

"And you say I'm too kind," Stahl mutters. "Depriving yourself of a relationship with me for my sake."

"Don't start down that road," Frederick says with a gleam of amusement in his eye. "I assure you, you will lose that argument handily."

"Uh, this is a great moment," Chrom says, calling their attention back to him. "But I just thought I should mention, the thief is gone."

"What," Frederick snaps as they both turn to look where she'd fallen. She has vanished along with the basket of bread, and Stahl can't quite believe they were so engrossed in conversation that they both failed to notice her sneaking off.

"Funny," Stahl chuckles. "But I guess it's for the best. Since I still have some coin, I'm going to head in to the apothecary and look for that herb."

"You're hopeless," Frederick mutters, his trademark scowl back on his face. "Very well. We'll simply have to accompany you, since you failed to come with a group."

"Yeah, yeah," Stahl says with a wave of his hand. Chrom laughs, but a glare from Frederick quickly turns it into a cough.

On the way back, herb in hand, Stahl is surprised when the Prince of Ylisse sidles up next to him, brushing his shoulder as they lag just a few steps behind Frederick. "So," Chrom says, trying for all the world to sound as casual as the prince ever learned to be. "Middle child."

Stahl chuckles. "Yup. Middle child."

"Having Frederick as an older brother can't have been easy." Chrom's fingers thread behind his head. He looks as if he's trying to seem casual, but his eyes keep snaking to the back of Frederick's head. In a conspiratorial tone, he continues. "But… surely it must have been fun, sometimes."

Ooh.

"You're asking me for embarrassing stories," Stahl says with a snap of clarity. Chrom nods, a grin splitting his face. "I will only offer them in exchange for your own embarrassing stories of him. He has been serving you for many years, after all, and he hasn't told me anything of it; I just have to assume you have a plethora of them as well."

"This seems a worthy deal," Chrom replies, and he giggles like a schoolboy. It is so innocent and childlike that it is contagious, and Stahl finds himself giggling with him.

"Children," Frederick chastises from before them, and they straighten like the teacher just caught them being naughty.

They both laugh.

Huh, Stahl thinks with wonder as he watches Frederick lead the way back to camp. Weird. I'm much warmer now than I was thirty minutes ago. He's still reeling with the words Frederick uttered to him, so meaningful and sincere:

"I am proud of the work you have done."

He isn't feeling quite so average now.