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While she didn’t remember any of her life until meeting Chrom, Robin retained many skills under her belts. She, of course, was a fine tactician, a skilled mage, and was even a budding swordsman. Her interests held steadfast, as well—her passion for reading and chess, alongside her disdain for early mornings and excessive physical activity, all manifested in some way throughout her daily affairs. Cooking was an anomaly though, a task she held little passion for but was eager to learn to better serve herself and her fellow Shepherds. Plus, she didn’t want to end up completely helpless, should such a scenario arise where she was dependent only on herself.
Or on the many Shepherds still fed from a silver spoon.
During her game meat-eating training sessions with Frederick, she suggested different ways game could be cooked to make it more palatable, but admitted she had no cooking skills of her own to even attempt such a feat. She spoke of her interest in learning, and Frederick insisted he be the one to teach her, if only partly to make working up to bear meat a little more tolerable. As a bonus, they considered the lessons an opportunity to grow their friendship, too. They were rarely paired out on the battlefield, with Robin usually paired with Chrom or Gaius, and Frederick with Sumia or Lissa. Plus, with Frederick usually running around performing all kinds of duties to keep operations running smoothly, and with Robin working out battle strategies well ahead of time, they rarely had moments of respite to aquatint themselves further.
This evening’s course was a creamy mushroom soup, as Robin had recently learned of Frederick’s interest in foraging. He had done the honors of collecting the ingredients and preparing the vegetable stock prior. (He made sure to recite the recipe for the stock, but noted that it was fairly simple to prepare in advance.) Left for Robin was simply washing, dicing, and combining the ingredients. Simple enough! she thought.
Well, the washing certainly was.
“Ah, Robin, remember to hold your knife like so,” he demonstrated as he spoke, “as choking up on the blade gives you more control over the motion.”
“Like this?” She adjusted her hand position, her forefinger resting on top of the blade. “Er, wait no—“
“If I may,” he asked permission, and she hummed in approval. Frederick adjusted her finger so it was gripping around the knife instead. “This gives you more ample control of the knife’s motion, keeping it from swiveling from beneath you. It is not unlike proper weapon technique; you do not want your foe to disarm you with a flimsy grip.” She nodded. “And now…”
He returned to his own knife and chopped the onion with quick, circular motions. His left hand was splayed out like a spider to stabilize his knife work, his fingertips tucked safely beneath his knuckles.
“You see?”
“Yeah, I think so!” she said tentatively. She chopped slowly, adjusting to the unfamiliar motions, but quickly got into a rhythm. Her cuts were a bit uneven, but her technique showed promise. With a bit of practice, Frederick assured her, she’d be an expert in no time. He had seen how quick she was to improve her swordsmanship on the battlefield; surely a chef’s knife would be no trouble at all.
As Robin diligently continued her chopping, adding garlic and mushrooms to the mix, Frederick rummaged around the wares storage. He located the Valentian oven, his favorite cast iron cooking vessel, giving it an affirming nod and a small smile. He hooked it over the campfire, stoking the flames so they licked up the sides of the oven, heating it thoroughly.
“The Valentian oven does a marvelous job at regulating temperature—more so, I would say, than a ceramic vessel. It tolerates the high heat of the flames far more reliably, as well,” he explained. “Now that you’re finished, we can add a bit of cow’s butter and sauté the onions and garlic together.
Frederick went silent as he observed Robin thoughtfully, his careful breaths unheard over the sizzle of the sautéing aromatics.
“If I may be so bold to reaffirm,” his voice broke the silence, “why did you want to learn cooking skills again? You mentioned briefly that, ‘One of us has to!’ but I cannot imagine in what scenario you and milord would find yourself without myself or any stewards arou—“
“Hold on,” she interrupted, straightening her back and pausing her stirring briefly. “Who said anything about Chrom? I sure didn’t.” Her voice was shaky, but she turned back to watch the pot, though her eyes were unfocused.
He frowned, his eyebrows knitting together with concern. “Forgive me for my bold presumptions, but are you and milord… not courting?”
Now her cheeks mirrored the ferocity of the fire in both heat and color. “Frederick, by the gods, what would ever give you that idea?!”
Frederick dismissed her questioning briefly to add mushrooms to the pot. “Now, roast the mushrooms with the aromatics for approximately ten minutes’ time, stirring occasionally to allow all the mushrooms to have an equal time on direct heat and soften.”
Compartmentalizing her thoughts proved easier in battle than now, but she tried her damndest to focus on the mushrooms than Frederick’s insinuation.
“To answer your question, Robin,” Frederick continued, Robin uttering a small groan, “but you two share many knowing glances with each other, many intimate and overt touches. When I adjusted your hand, your face remained curious and professional—this is not so when milord assists you on the training grounds with your sword technique.”
She glared, and her response oozed venom. “You touched my hand as a test of my purported affections for Chrom?”
“No, merely an observation to provide an example,” he replied cooly.
“Well, we are not, as a matter of fact, courting in the slightest. Chrom is my closest companion, and besides, he’s the general and I am his chief tactician. It just… wouldn’t be right,” she insisted, a sadness replacing the anger in her tone. “I would never forgive myself if my feelings caused me to make poor calls on the battlefield—and Chrom would be beside himself, too. You understand, don’t you? I mean, isn’t that why you haven’t courted Sumia yet?”
His face flushed at her accusation. “I—er—well, I cannot compare the scenarios exactly. Milord is the prince of this realm, after all, and is of age where he is expected to wed within the coming years. On the contrary, I am a knight, and will always be a knight, and my duty is first and foremost to the royal family.”
She laughed incredulously, punctuating with a small snort. “And you think that the prince of Ylisse would be allowed to take an amnesiac foreigner as his wife? It’s bad enough he made her his chief tactician—I mean, even you mistrusted me through countless battles.”
“I only had milord Chrom and milady Lissa’s safety in mind when we first met,” he snapped, his frown drooping further to his chin. “And now I must consider milord’s happiness—“
“Just like you’re considering Sumia’s happiness, hm?” He winced. “She is absolutely over the moon to spend time with you, and yet your duty to the royals and the Shepherds comes first. So does mine. And besides—like I said, I’m some amnesiac you found asleep on the side of the road. Do you really think some foreigner of dubious origins is fit to court the prince of the realm? For his sake, he’d be far better off with a prudent noble like Maribelle, or even continue to improve Feroxi relations with Olivia.” She stirred the mushrooms aggressively.
“The people of Ylisse could never mistrust you as much as I once did,” he growled.
“What a ringing endorsement, Frederick,” she spat.
“That is not how I intended my words,” he grumbled, his attention brought to her near destructive stirring. “We should add the stock now.”
Robin glanced down at the oven, blinking rapidly as if waking up from a dream. “Right. We’re cooking,” she said matter-of-factly. She stood up quickly, brushing by Frederick with little regard to him and reached for the stockpot and ladle. She added the stock slowly and methodically, careful to not spill any into the fire. “How long?”
His tone equally dry, he replied, “About fifteen minutes’ time with this. Stir occasionally, to ensure the ingredients do not stick to the oven.”
“Got it.”
“Now then,” he continued, firmer this time, “what I meant was that even if milord were to take you as his wife, you have already succeeded in gaining my trust. I do not give such trust lightly, especially when it comes to protecting the royal family. There are many members of the Shepherds who have yet to gain my faith in them.”
An, “Oh,” escaped her lips breathlessly. “That is quite the compliment from Frederick the Wary.”
“Indeed. And you deserve to be showered with more, considering your skill and dedication in serving the realm,” he explained. “However, I am not here to pucker my lips against your buttocks.”
Laughter jetted from her nostrils. “Then why bother in the first place?”
“Robin, it is painfully evident that you captivate milord. If you were to spurn his affections, I am unsure if I’d be able to see you in such a favorable light,” he said grimly.
“Frederick, he has yet to even approach his feelings with me! Hell, last week in the bathing tent—er—“
Frederick’s eyebrows shot up. “The bathing tent? Robin, your sense of propriety, please!”
“Wh—it wasn’t like that!” The burning of her cheeks was almost painful. “Er, never mind. The point is, Chrom has not expressed anything to me directly. Hell, he might even think we’re just good friends!”
“Mmm. Despite your closeness, I have known and observed milord for far longer than you. His affections for you rival none, despite his many, many admirers, both romantic and platonic,” he admitted, a feather-light dusting of pink to his cheeks. “As milord’s former closest confidant, and as a,” he sucked in a heavy breath, “friend… to you both, I implore you to—stir again, the mushrooms are sticking to the sides!”
“Huh? …Oh!” She stirred, digging at the sides of the oven to scrape any clinging mushrooms.
“I implore you to allow yourself to court milord, if that is what you both desire,” he finished.
“I don’t know… I—it just. It wouldn’t be—“
He cut her off. “I’ve said my piece. I only want you to consider it for both milord’s happiness,” his expression softened, “and your own.”
“We don’t know how this war is going to end,” she muttered. “What if something awful happens, what if I—what if someone hurts him?” Her free hand gripped the bridge of her nose in frustration.
Frederick reached for the cream to add to the soup, slowly adding it as Robin stirred it in. “What if something good comes amidst the war? You would do well to read more of milady Sumia’s romance novels. They might inspire your next course of action.”
At that, Robin burst into laughter, her face still miserably warm, and pushed him aside playfully. “Oh gods, Frederick, she got you on those too?”
“No, but I cannot deny her the opportunity to recite them in full detail during our lengthy marches. It passes the time in the most delightful manner,” he said with a smile—one not unlike the smile he has when Chrom sings his praises, though with an uncharacteristic softness.
“I never thought I’d ever describe you as adorable but…” she snickered, “it seems I have been proven wrong.”
His blush made its way up to the tip of his ears as Robin’s snarky grin widened.
“Th-That’s not—“ he stammered. “I’m not—er—“
“Frederick, if you’re telling me to pursue Chrom despite our very different social standings and birth origins, and despite the war and our leadership roles in the army, the least you could do is not be a hypocrite. At least you and Sumia are similar in that regard! I mean, you’re the royal family’s most trusted knight, she’s a noble and knight, you’re both Ylissean, you both have all of your memories from before you met…” You’d never hurt her, she wanted to add. She winced as she remembered her nightmare just before meeting Chrom—the only memory she had at all prior to meeting him, and she still wasn’t sure why or how.
“Robin, are you alright?” His voice welled with concern as her eyes glazed with anxiety. “Robin!”
“Ah!” She snapped to attention. “Anyway, if you’re insistent on me and Chrom, then I’m afraid I must be more insistent on you and Sumia. It’s only fair, since we both have the army and Ylisse’s best interests at heart. It would be a shame to spurn the affections of a fellow Shepherd you care so deeply about.”
“Mmm, I suppose… you do have a rather sound rebuttal there…”
“What? You weren’t supposed to agree with me!” she squawked. “What happened to the most dutiful, dedicated knight in the halidom putting his duties first?” She gasped when she realized how aggressive she was with the spoon, smooshing the mushrooms. “O-oh gods, I am so sorry…”
Frederick chuckled. “Ah! Don’t be, you’re already on to the next step: pulverizing the mushrooms so as to blend it into liquid.”
She allowed a relieved sigh to escape her lips, continuing her work on destroying the mushrooms.
“I thought you’d be on my side if I turned this around on you, Frederick…” she continued. “Duty, social standing, the roles we play… don’t they all come before matters of the heart?”
He furrowed his brow. “I did not wholeheartedly agree with your apparently false rebuttal! I merely said it was sound! I take the utmost pride and dedication in serving milord, and he absolutely comes first. However, you are attempting to justify spurning milord’s affections.”
Robin’s eyes darted away from his piercing gaze. He was right. But if he knew how she had killed Chrom in her nightmares each time she slept, he’d cleave her with his own axe.
Her mashing became erratic in her anxiety, but there was so little left to blend, she was merely sloshing around the liquid.
Frederick steadied his hand on her shoulder.
His tone was firm, but lacked his usual commanding edge. “That should be plenty, Robin. Give it some time to meld the flavors together more and it’ll be done.”
She sighed as she lifted the spoon from the pot, watching the soup drip from the sides. “I’m sorry.”
“There is naught for which to apologize. The soup is complete.” He nodded.
“No I mean—“
“You don’t need to apologize. I believe it was you who pointed out how duty-bound we both are. We are sworn to protect the people of Ylisse, the royal family, our…” he hesitated, “most cherished companions.”
“Yeah,” she replied with a tentative smile.
“Now then, I believe we have a meal to serve! Prepare the bowls and I will alert our dinner guests.”