A/N: This story contains SPOILERS, for chapters one to eleven of FEA and for the Frederick/Robin supports.

Steps

"You know," Robin said with a raised eyebrow, "the point of a festival is to be festive."

Frederick peered around the cobblestone square, his expression wary. "What sort of festival did you say this was?"

"I didn't."

The town square, bedecked with garlands of dyed cloth and dried blooms, was bustling with activity. Stalls with food and wares were arranged in neat rows. As dusk settled over the town, a pair of young lads lit torches and hung them in scones around the square. A group of local musicians began strumming and pipping a lively tune for dancing. People were smiling, laughing. The sight warmed Robin's heart. After all those months of war with Plegia, she was glad people had to reason to smile again and she was proud of the part she'd played in bringing about that peace. Peace didn't mean that the Shepherds weren't needed, though, and patrolling the countryside was still part of their duties.

While Frederick scanned the area as if expecting hoards of Risen to descend at any moment, Robin snuck in a sideways glance at him. Even without his armour he didn't look like one of the townsfolk. He stood too straight, looked too alert with his shoulders squared and his hands clasped behind his back. No, even in civilian dress he still looked like a soldier on patrol.

I guess relaxing's not his strong suit. She supposed it was a good thing that they weren't really there to relax.

"Come on," she said, taking his elbow and leading him towards one of the food stalls. "We've got work to do." His hand reached toward the hilt of the sword he still wore on his belt. "Not that kind of work."

His brow crinkled. "What kind of work then?"

She stopped in front of a stand laden with meat: meat pies, sausages, smoked, cured, jellied, and pickled meats. Frederick paled. "This is a–"

"Meat festival, yes."

"I should have realized," Frederick said. "It is getting late in the season." It was traditional for farm animals to be slaughtered in late autumn, before winter came in earnest. The townsfolk would need the meat over the winter and this was the time of year to prepare it so it would last.

Robin gave an apologetic shrug. "It's mostly pork, but I thought maybe we could work on your venison phobia by having you try some varieties you aren't so familiar with."

He took a deep breath and nodded. "Very well. Let us proceed."

The meat pie went down easily enough and so did the sausage and salami. But when Robin placed in front of him a thick disk, dark reddish-brown in colour, vaguely resembling a burned slice of beet, Frederick grimaced. "What... is it?"

"Blood sausage," Robin replied amiably, and forked a crumbly chunk into her mouth. "Very tasty."

All the colour drained from his face.

"Oh come on, you can do this. It's not gamey at all. It tastes sort of like..." She took another mouthful and rolled it around on her tongue for a few seconds. "A sort of dry pâté."

Frederick glowered at the disc on his plate. "It's boiled blood."

"But at least it's not boiled bear blood," Robin said with a wink. Frederick groaned. "Come on. It's for the good of the Shepherds, remember?"

"Yes. You're right." He eyed the blood sausage, grimacing. Finally, he took the proffered fork and jabbed it into the reddish-brown disc.

Robin raised an eyebrow. "It's already dead, I promise you." He glowered at her for a second but then, steeling himself, lifted a forkful into his mouth. Robin held her breath as she watched him chew a few times and then swallow hard. "Well?"

"It was... not as repugnant as I expected."

"Now there's a ringing endorsement. Do you want seconds?" He shot her a dirty look. She smiled. "Just checking. All right, one more and then we're done.

With a nod, he squared his shoulders. "I am ready."

Robin regarded him for a long moment, head titled to one side. "Close your eyes."

"What?"

"Just trust me on this."

Frederick bristled, standing more stiffly than ever, like a suit of armour for all that he wore none tonight. "What will people think?"

Robin waved an arm to encompass the whole of the square. People bustled around them, moving from stall to stall while others sat around tables with plates of meat and mugs of ale. She spotted Stahl rising from his seat and going to a meat seller to buy seconds. Across the square, she caught sight of Maribelle and Lissa inspecting a stand of hair ribbons. Nearby, Ricken was watching a man perform slight of hand tricks. "No one is watching us, Frederick. Everyone is too busy enjoying the festival themselves."

"Very well. I consent." And with that he folded his hands behind his back, squared his shoulders, and closed his eyes.

A breeze made the torchlight flicker, casting shadows over Frederick's face. He looked more than ever like a suit of armour, tall, rigid, unmoving. Robin had to resist the urge to poke him, but he would never forgive her so she restrained herself. Instead, she retrieved the final meat sample and lifted a forkful. "Open up."

His brow scrunched up but he opened mouth and she fed him the small piece of meat skewered on the fork's tines. Wincing, he chewed. And chewed. And chewed. Just when Robin was beginning to think he wouldn't be able to do it, he swallowed. He grimaced, shuddering, and gave a groan similar to those she'd heard from wounded soldiers. His face was going from white to slightly green.

"Here," she said, offering him the flask at her hip. "This should clear it up."

He took a swig and, eyes widening, coughed once. "That is not water."

"I figured something a little stronger might be in order."

"Thank you," he said with a curt nod. "While I found that most unpleasant I believe that, were circumstances dire–" He paused, frowning. "Very dire–I could manage to consume such provisions again."

Robin smiled. "Good. We're making progress then. We'll have you eating bear yet!"

Sweat beaded his skin and he reached into his belt pouch to extract a handkerchief and mop his brow. "Tell me, what was that?"

"Oh that?" Robin reached to where she'd discretely placed the plate out of view on a stack of crates just behind her. On the plate rested a long, thin slab of pink meat that tapered to a point. "It's pickled pig tongue."

Frederick choked.

Robin handed him the flask again and patted him on the shoulder.

ooo

Robin's foot tapped to the rhythm as the lute and fiddle, pipes and flute tangled together into a wild tune. In the centre of the square, couples twirled, spun, switched partners, dipped, and clapped, according to cues she could not decipher. Next to her, Frederick still looked a little pale, but seemed otherwise recovered from his culinary ordeal.

He caught her glancing at him and gestured toward the dancers. "If you wish to join, by all means go on."

Robin ducked her head. "I'd like to but... Well... given that I can't remember if I've ever been to a festival before, I also can't remember any of the dances."

A pause, filled with the swell of the fiddle rising to a crazed crescendo and then, "I could teach you if you wish." Frederick was watching the dancers, eyes narrowed. "The dances here are nearly identical to those from the village where I grew up."

For a few seconds, Robin only stared, wondering if this was a joke Lissa had put him up to. She shook herself. No, Frederick was not one for jokes–practical or otherwise. "I–Really? But... don't you switch partners in most of these dances?"

He nodded. "That is easily remedied." He rose. "Would you wait here for a few minutes?"

"All right," she said uncertainly, and watched as he disappeared into the bustle of happy townsfolk.

Robin busied herself watching the dances. Couples joined, all smiles, and left breathless and grinning. The flickering torchlight made their faces glow as if the dancing had brought to life a flame inside of them that now shone through, illuminating them from within. Even with the war's end, a pall still hung over her at times when she stopped to think of how little she knew of herself, of who she had been before Chrom had found her. She no longer had tactics to plan to keep her mind busy and battles to wear her out. It would be nice, just for a little while, to step and clap and spin until her mind was full and her body weary.

"Robin."

She started at the sound of her name and turned to find Frederick returned–with company. Lissa was smiling from ear to ear. Ricken was straightening his cloak a little nervously while Stahl grinned, appearing free and easy as always. Maribelle wore a haughty air, softened by the slight curve of her lips, as she stepped forward. "Frederick tells us that you wish to learn a country dance this evening. While I normally would not join such a..." She paused to glance up at the assorted group in the town square. "Mixed... crowd, I will make an exception for you."

Robin peered at the gathered Shepherds. "But... I don't understand. Why are you all here?"

Frederick cleared his throat. "If I may... I took the liberty of asking the musicians to perform a column dance. In such dances you trade partners with those on either side of you."

Robin nodded. "I see. So with two other couples I'll dance with you, Ricken, and Stahl rather than strangers."

"Precisely. We can take turns instructing you. If you wish, of course."

She rose to her feet, a mixture of glee and gratitude welling up inside of her like a rising geyser. "I'd love to. Thank you, all of you."

Beaming, Lissa was almost hopping in place. "We're happy to! And this is so much more fun than court dances." She made a face. "The last time I attended one I had to dance with this one lord who kept stepping on my toes and telling me about how long it took to get his outfit tailored just right." She grimaced.

The music dipped and eased into a finale and the dancers cheered the musicians. After only a heartbeat a new tune began and townsfolk lined up, two by two, in a long column. Frederick gave a nod and together the Shepherds crossed the square to join in.

Even with Frederick across from her and Lissa and Maribelle on either side, Robin still felt a bit jittery. She wiped her damp palms on her trousers before she took Frederick's proffered hands to stand in the dance's starting position. "Robin," he said, a smile curving his lips, "you can devise complex battlefield strategies. Mastering the intricacies of a country dance will be an easy task by comparison."

"You're right." She shrugged, abashed but still uneasy.

"Remember, a column dance is based on threes."

And before he could say more, the music picked up in tempo and everyone began to move. Still clasping her hands, Frederick gave a little tug to the right. Robin's heart leaped into her throat as she quickly shuffled to her right as the entire line moved down. She was suddenly grateful that her friends on either side had left extra space around her to allow her a bit more leeway as she attempted to learn on the go.

And then he tugged to the left and Robin staggered along. Frederick's movements were far more fluid as he sidestepped with a jaunty sort of hop.

A heartbeat and then they moved to the right again.

"Now move closer," he said, stepping forward. She did as well, a beat late. Their hands were still clasped between them and her pulse raced as she struggled to keep up. "And now apart," he said, stepping away. She stumbled back, glanced to her side, saw she was half a pace too close, tried to adjust, and was then surprised by, "And back together."

Without thinking she stepped back in so that once more she stood only a half pace away from Frederick.

And then she finally understood what he'd meant when he'd said a column dance was based on threes; it was made up of sets of movements repeated three times.

Frederick was smiling at her. "You're doing well," he said in much the same tone he used when tutoring a fencing partner. "Now draw back on your right foot and turn to look to your right." He dropped one of her hands to mirror the movement. Confused, Robin held still and watched him.

He returned to face her and took her right hand again and dropped the left. This time she understood and did a half turn to her left, to momentarily face Ricken's back. The entire line of dancers was now facing forward–or was it backward?

Robin returned to her initial position and was ready when, for a third time, they switched hands and turned to the right.

"Stay like this," Frederick said when she moved to turn back again. She glanced at him, eyebrows raised as they stood shoulder to shoulder and he raised her hand high. "Spin," he said.

"What?" Before he could answer, she saw the women in the line ahead of her twirl, their skirts flaring around them. "Oh."

He dropped her hand to clap. She got hers up in time for the third clap. And then he reached once more for her fingers and she did her best to twirl, though she had only her cloak to flare around her trousered figure.

"We switch partners now," Frederick said. "Just step forward and then turn to face him."

She did, a beat later than the others, but at least she didn't cause anyone to trip. The men stood still and the line of women stepped forward to stand by their new partners. She turned to face Stahl who grinned at her and gave a hearty nod. "How was your first run through?" he asked as he took her hands in his.

"Confusing," she said, lagging behind Stahl as he hopped to the right. Ah. So the sequence began again.

"It'll get easier," he said with easy confidence. "You'll have to do it three more times after this. You'll have it down by the end."

"Assuming I don't fall down," she said as her foot caught during her third sideways hop. She winced.

"You'll be fine. It's all the same, except that you'll do a half turn left so that at the end I can hand you back to Frederick."

"Okay," she said a bit uncertainly. She stepped in close to him and away, and close again. "Did you try the meat pie?" Stahl asked. "It was amazing."

Robin nodded. "I did. I was partial to the spiced salami, though."

"Mmm. That was good too."

This simple bit of chatter helped to set her at ease, which, she was certain, was exactly Stahl's intent–it was just like him. Robin smiled, even as she awkwardly performed a half turn to the left, then right, then left again. She did her best attempt at a spin and this time managed to get back in place in time to perform the triple clap. And then a spin.

"Almost done," Stahl said, glancing over to wink at her before he handed her off to Frederick.

Letting go of Stahl's hand, she stepped forward and then turned to face Frederick once more. She held out her hands and he clasped them in his. "Are you enjoying your first foray into dancing?" he asked.

"Very much." The third time around, it was easier to talk and dance. Frederick nodded his approval as she managed to (mostly) keep in time with the fiddle and pipes. "Thank you so much for doing this."

He gave a nod as they stepped together, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body in the cool evening air. "Everyone was eager to help. You've done so much for us; you should have memories of more than battles and marches."

Her heart seemed to do a little dance of its own when she twirled, and she laughed for the sheer delight of it, her cloaked billowing around her.

This time when she stepped forward and turned she was facing Ricken. He beamed beneath his wide-brimmed hat. "I'm really glad you decided to do this," he announced as he took her hands. He positively bounced as he moved through the side to side steps. "I tried to ask some girls to dance earlier but they told me I was too young." It was probably for the best that their hands were clasped, as his beleaguered expression made Robin want to muss his hair.

"I'm sure they're regretting it now," she said as they stepped together.

Ricken grinned. "Yeah. At least I hope so."

"Maybe you just need to go about it differently," she said as she turned so they were shoulder to shoulder. She waited until they were facing each other for the triple clap to continue. "First, you need to regale them with tales of your daring exploits during the war and then ask them to dance."

Ricken almost forgot to clap. He caught himself in time for the third clap and then reached for her hand to spin her around. "Maybe I'll just wear some taller boots next time." He was so adorable when he was embarrassed that she wanted to hug him. She was grinning as he handed her back to Frederick.

"You look to be in high spirits," Frederick greeted her.

She moved fluidly through the steps now without having to give them too much thought. "It's wonderful. We should make a point of stopping in towns that are celebrating festivals."

He raised an eyebrow. "So long as they're not meat festivals."

Robin laughed. "It's a deal. No more meat festivals."

This time, she found, when they moved together, she had stepped closer–and so had he. They stood a hair's breadth apart, hands clasped loosely at their sides and Robin's heart beat a little faster. Her eyes were trained on his face as they took a half pace away from each other... and then back together. Their eyes met. Her breath caught.

"The final steps are slightly different," he said just before she moved to turn.

"How?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Come around to face me again after you turn the second time."

She only nodded, finding that her mouth was dry, that she couldn't speak. When she turned back to him, he nodded reassuringly as he raised up her hand. "Spin, Robin." He spoke her name like it was part of the music, a rising note in the jaunty tune.

As she twirled, her cloak billowed around her and her heart was thrumming in time with the fiddle's melody. Her palms were slick as she raised them to clap three times. And then he took her hand again for a final spin and it was as if she were standing still and all the world were spinning around her.

She felt Frederick's arms encircle her waist, steadying her as the music crescendoed and dipped into a finale. When she glanced up, she found he was looking into her face, intent, eyes wide as if she had startled him.

The line of dancers broke into applause. Robin broke into a grin even as her face felt hot and her heartbeat continued to dance. For a moment she just hovered there, trying to catch her breath. The torchlight on Frederick's face gave his cheeks a ruddy glow as he stood, still close to her, still just a half pace away. Gratitude welled up in her as she looked into his eyes. "Thank you, Frederick."

He bowed. "It was my great pleasure," he said and he brought her fingers to his lips. Her heart leaped, confirming her suspicions that it wasn't just the music that was affecting her. Robin smiled and took his arm when he offered it.

As the chords of the song continued to play through her mind, she thought that coming to care for someone was a little like the steps of a dance: sometimes side to side, sometimes apart, but in the end, stepping closer, stepping together.

The End