A/N: First piece of Awakening fic! I love the game, but the multitude of supports and pairings almost makes it hard to find a pairing to really get behind. There's just too much raw material already! But I immediately took to these two. I ship them with other people as well, but still, they make a great team.

Words: 1557
Characters: Frederick, Lissa
Time: Emmeryn's death chapters
Genre: Angst

At the very first mention of Emmeryn's capture, Frederick's heart stopped cold. He shook himself fiercely, as sure as the rest that they would find some way to save her, some way to succeed against Gangrel's cruelty. They had suffered not a single loss in any of their previous battles – surely the gods smiled on them, as surely as they smiled on the blessed exalt herself. So surely, she would live. Surely.

Still, Frederick shivered when no one was watching. He busied himself with all the many jobs that needed doing around the camp: grooming and feeding the horses, repairing broken weapons, fetching water for baths and cooking, scouting the surrounding grounds. Lissa noticed: she told him he was working twice as hard as usual, which was scary because he already worked twice as hard as everyone else, so really, he was working twice twice as hard as he should, which really wasn't fair to him at all.

"It is no bother to me, lady," he replied with a smile, but he felt it fall quickly from his face. "Work gives me joy when there is little to be found elsewhere."

Her clear blue eyes grew wide. "What d'you mean? Little joy? I know we're fighting a war, but there is still so much to be joyful for! We're going to save Emmeryn, and there's going to be peace between Ylisse and Plegia at last. Be happy about that!"

This time, Frederick's smile was true. "I am sorry if I worried you. You are so earnest, Lissa. I could use some of your faith."

"Well, I'll share some with you!" Her little hand wrapped around his, soft and pale. She gave him a gentle tug and tipped her head.

"I would be honored." Frederick allowed her to pull him out of the shadows of his work tent and into the afternoon sun. They watched clouds form and fall apart, again and again until night fell, and the cold desert air began to roar in their ears. Lissa's voice dropped. The happy pinkness in her cheeks faded right along with the daylight. Their hands were still clasped, but her fingers seemed suddenly cold in his.

"Sorry," she said softly. "I wanted to cheer you up, and now I've gotten all sad, and I don't even know why. I just… when the sun went down, I thought…"

Lissa trembled. Impulsively, Frederick gathered her into his arms and held her tightly, clutching her to his chest until she stopped shaking. She didn't make a sound, but she fell into him willingly. The impropriety of their state, embracing alone at night, mattered not in the face of Lissa's quiet fear.

"There is nothing to be afraid of," Frederick soothed her. He ran his hand over her head, her hair falling from its neat ponytails. "We will save the exalt. We will make peace where there has only ever been violence." He heard the words as if he were standing outside his body at a great distance, faint and wavering.

"Do you truly think so?" Her head lifted from his chest. Her cheeks were dry, but her gaze was bright and sharp.

"You do," Frederick said at once. "You do. And your faith… your faith will give us the strength to succeed."

Lissa looked away. She stepped back slowly, still staring at the ground, until the only place they touched was their fingertips, distant on outstretched arms. But at the last moment she found her smile again, blinking up at him again with careful hope.

"See you in the morning, Frederick."

He nodded. "In the morning."

Once she was gone, the breeze blew cold again. Frederick gathered himself, watching his breath form a pale cloud in the night. In her absence, his mind filled once again with all the tasks he had yet to do. Slowly he plodded back to his tent, lighting a candle and picking up his tools once more.

The wind grew ominously still right at the precise moment when Emmeryn began to speak. Her words carried across the desert plain, so every person could hear her gentle voice, her firm commandment of language, her poignant demand for peace. Despite the hot sun beating onto his armor, a chill rushed over Frederick's body at the vision she described. He could have reveled endlessly in that moment, in the light and the trust and in her.

And then she fell.

She stepped off the rock as if stepping down a stair, utterly calm, utterly ordinary. She dropped through the air with silent poise, her arms spread and her robe whipping out around her like the wings of an angel. Her fall was impossibly beautiful, her body small against the cloudless sky. For a split second, Frederick froze, enraptured by her grace.

"AAAAHHHHH!"

Lissa's scream rent the dead air. She tried to run toward her sister, but instantly Frederick threw himself forward and grabbed her. Small as she was, she fought him fiercely, pounding his arms with small fists. She twisted in his grasp, straining violently toward her sister, and Frederick used all his strength to hold her, sobbing and struggling, in place. His cold metal armor likely dug painfully into her slender frame, but Frederick didn't care; even his hard embrace was far, far safer than letting her go.

"EMMERYN! EMMERYN!"

Her voice tore at his heart, and it seemed as if it tore her very throat too, ripped from a place of such grief and agony that Frederick did not know existed. Emmeryn's form disappeared behind the walls of a desert ruin. Between Lissa's screams, he heard a sickening thud and a crunch that reminded him of when his blade connected with an enemy's skull, and it shattered beneath his might. Bile rose in his throat.

"No! No, aghh, no!"

Lissa's screams devolved into strangled sobs. Slowly, her body grew limp. She ceased her clawing and hitting of his arms and shivered once before becoming a deadweight, slumping powerlessly to her knees. Frederick fell with her, catching her under the arms before she hit the ground. Has she fainted?

But her blue eyes, her innocent blue eyes, were wide open and blank, completely blank. Carefully Frederick removed one arm at a time until he was cradling her, an act made difficult both by her utter stillness and his own trembling.

When Lissa blinked, her eyes began to shine. Frederick opened his mouth, but could do nothing save for close it again in silence. Helplessly, he bent his head, their foreheads touching, and drew her closer to his body. He dared not grip her as tightly as he had before, too aware of his sharp armor, but his arms shook with the instinct to clutch her to him like a rock in a rushing stream.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry, Lissa. I'm sorry. I'm sorry…"

She made no reply except a twitch of her hand. It landed near his fingers, so he picked it up and squeezed it tightly, barely resisting the urge to draw it to his lips, press it to his cheeks, hold it against his racing heart.

Distantly, he heard Chrom yell; Basilio shouted some orders, and for some reason Frederick began to stand, dragging Lissa with him. Only then did he comprehend the command: Run.

"I can't," she mumbled, gazing at nothing. "No…"

"Run," Frederick demanded. "You can, Lissa. You must. Now!"

As their feet flew through the sand, Lissa coughed, but she did not stop. Never once did he let go of her hand, but she never stumbled; she kept pace with him until the very end. Safe and hidden in the scraggly forest at the desert's edge, she halted, and finally she looked at him rather than through him.

"Oh, Frederick," she said, and her voice shook. "She's gone. What do I… What can I do without her?"

"I…" He swallowed.

Her shoulders dropped. Her eyes closed, and she swayed on her feet; Frederick leaped forward to steady her. Carefully he guided her to their supplies; there was no time to set up a tent, so he cleared the shadiest patch of grass he could find of any sticks and stones then spread out a simple bedroll, laying her down on it as gently as he could. His own shoulders slumped too, weighed down by his Ylissean armor, blessed by Emmeryn herself for his services, that had always felt so light before. Frederick removed it and set it aside, abstaining from his usual cleaning and polishing routine for the first time since he had been knighted. Instead, he crouched by Lissa, brushing a few loose strands of hair away from her pale cheek.

He could hold her now without hurting her. But it would not bring her any comfort, not when her sister was dead. So Frederick simply sat, touching her hair, her cheeks, her brow. The whole camp was about as still as they, shocked and silent. No one bothered them, not even when night fell. Frederick, glancing up at the sky, shivered under the frigid, distant stars. The cold that had enveloped him for the past days stilled and settled in his bones now, and even Lissa's warm skin beneath his fingertips could not drive it away.

I have failed. I have failed my exalt… and I have failed you.