Archive of Our Own

“Remember, everything we do here reflects on the whole of Ylisse.” Emmeryn’s calm words juxtaposed against the near-barren Plegian landscape brought a proud smile to Chrom’s lips. Settled on a steed of pure white, Emmeryn looked over the gathering of Ylissian nobles who had come for this summit with the new king of Plegia. Another dreadful war, another jagged scar on their countries’ relationship, had finally come to an end with the death of King Gangrel. “We have a chance to prevent further bloodshed. It is our duty to secure peace between the nations. Our people do not deserve another war.”

“Yes, milady.” 

A chorus of voices, adulating tones, came from the assembled. Lords and Ladies of Ylisse rode with a small band of soldiers. Nothing more than a precaution. Chrom sat at the front of the procession, gripping his horse’s reins lightly. Beside him, Lissa sat atop her own horse. Behind them, Frederick watched over them both with careful eyes. At Emmeryn’s signal, their procession moved forward with her at the head. As Exalt, she was the shining symbol, a living olive branch, and she would be the first thing the Plegian’s would see. 

Dusty sand was kicked up by horse hooves as they moved along the road toward the castle. Chrom kept one hand on Falchion’s hilt and the other on the reins. Ahead, he could make out the walls of dark stone that rose from Plegia’s desolate landscape. “It’s odd to be back,” he said, eyes trailing along the building. They had laid siege to the castle for days during the war, until the Shepherds had managed to break through. The mad king had fallen on Chrom’s blade, and with his demise, the war had also ended. “I didn’t expect to see this place again, so soon.”

“And I didn’t want you to have to return here.” Emmeryn always carried her head high, proud shoulders and bright eyes. The golden headpiece that framed the back of her head like a halo gleamed in the evening sunlight. “I truly believe peace is possible, if we try. You need to believe that, too, Chrom. You are the commander of our military. The Plegians will no doubt remember you from the battlefield. If you show your willingness to lay down arms, I believe the show of good-faith will inspire others to act the same.”

“I hope you’re right, Emm.” Chrom had his doubts. 

The request for this summit had arrived at their doors less than a year after the war. Plegia, barely rebuilt, asking for the Exalt to visit and broker a peace agreement. Frederick had been the first to raise concerns, as usual, but his points had managed to sink into Chrom’s brain and bug him. The conflict with Plegia had taken a dark turn, and Ylisse had nearly lost their Exalt. He still remembered waking to battle plans, tied with twine and resting next to him. Someone, quiet as a mouse, had snuck into camp and left them for him to find. If they had not taken them for fact, Emmeryn would be dead, and there was a chance that the war would have been lost entirely. There was a traitor inside Plegia’s walls. Assuming they were still alive. He wondered if they would seek him out here and now, or if their savior’s identity would forever be shrouded in mystery. 

“It’s so very hot!” Lissa suddenly exclaimed. Emmeryn turned her head, smiling fondly at the youngest in their family. “We’ve been riding through Plegia all day, and I’m nearly melting off my horse.” 

Chuckling, Chrom shook his head. “We’re almost there. This is hardly worse than last summer.” 

“It’s not about things being better or worse, Chrom! I’m hot now. It doesn’t matter if I was hot before.” She rubbed a delicate hand over her forehead. “How much further are we?” 

“We are here already, Lady Lissa.” Frederick spoke from behind them, and he was entirely correct. 

The sandy road expanded in front of them, and the skull of the Fell Dragon greeted the party. This had been the location of Gangrel’s last stand. Riding in the shadow of the great beast, Chrom looked up into the empty sockets of its eyes. His hand gripped tighter to Falchion. As they neared the castle proper, the doors were pushed open from the inside. Few Plegian soldiers remained, even a year after the final battle, but they emerged. 

“What a greeting party,” Chrom said, pulling Falchion an inch from its sheath. He stilled when Emmeryn held out her hand. 

“That is exactly what this is, Chrom. Put away your weapons, everyone! We are being welcomed. This hospitality will not go by without us showing how grateful we are.” Emmeryn was correct. None of the soldiers attacked them, instead forming two rows in front of the castle. They stood at the ready, and the procession dismounted their horses to walk forward on foot. Taking his place as his sister’s right shoulder, Chrom was very careful to take in every tiny movement. He had told the Shepherds the night before to be ready for anything. 

“Wow, would ya look at this?” Sully exclaimed, shifting over to shove her elbow into Cordelia’s shoulder. “They acting like we all royals.” 

“Maybe they’ll welcome us with a feast,” Donnel said. 

“How can you think about a feast? We’re walking into the heart of a Grimleal controlled halidom. Imagine what knowledge they have locked in their library. Peace would be a marvelous opportunity to browse their collection.” Miriel adjusted the strap of her bookbag. “Either way, we must act with the proper countenance.”

Pushing through the rest of the Shepherds, Maribelle arrived next to Lissa and linked their arms. “Proper countenance? Good luck! Some of you are near barbarians.” Lissa laughed, and Emmeryn turned her head, smiling as she listened to this conversation. 

When her eyes met Chrom’s, she nodded to him. He knew she could read his worry in the lines on his forehead, so he worked to relax his expression. The chatter faded as they walked into the dark castle. Dark carpeting underfoot, they were welcomed into a large entry hall. Chrom looked around, checking the shadows. He saw no danger, but his caution didn’t abate. No real threats presented themselves, but soldiers lined the walls. Their weapons were sheathed, hands behind their backs. Clearly, they worked to have a non-threatening energy. From the shadows, three figures appeared, and Chrom urged Emmeryn to stop walking. The Shepherds behind them, they faced the slim figure of the new king of Plegia. 

“Exalt Emmeryn, Prince Chrom, Princess Lissa...welcome to Plegia.” With each name, King Validar bowed his head in respectful calm. There was something in his demeanor that caused unpleasant tingles to crawl along Chrom’s spine. At his left side, Aversa stood. Black dress brushing the ground, she turned out with a sensuous smile. The black-spiked crown she wore jutted from her head like dangerous daggers. Chrom remembered her cruelty from the battlefield. The other person, however, was not one that he knew. Garbed in the fine purple of Plegia’s mages, he also wore a dark crown that rose from white hair. His coat swallowed his figure, masking his true size and strength. Under one arm, he carried a simple tome with strange markings along the spine. 

“We appreciate your welcome, King Validar.” Emmeryn acted without reproach, curtseying lowly to the foreign royalty. Chrom followed her lead, as did the rest of the Shepherds. Validar did not respond to their bowing, nor did Aversa, but as Chrom stood straight again, he noticed the mysterious third person rising from his bow as well. Their eyes met, briefly. 

“Your journey has been long, I assume?” Validar motioned to the side, and the young man to his right stepped closer to him. “My son, Prince Robin, can bring you to quarters to rest for the night. Tomorrow, we negotiate for peace.” He smiled. Turning his head, Chrom looked at Frederick, and he saw a similar suspicion reflected in his eyes. 

“Is there space for our people to rest as well?” Emmeryn asked. 

“There are quarters in the back,” Aversa replied, sweeping forward. The plumes of feathers that framed her shoulders and head swayed when she walked, and she placed a hand on her hip. “I will escort them myself. We want all our Ylissean guests to be comfortable.” 

“We should not separate,” Chrom whispered, and his sister motioned for him to relax. 

“While we are here,” Emmeryn whispered back, “we will respect their wishes. Remember, we were the aggressors during our last meeting. Empathy, Chrom. They may want peace as much as we do.” She turned her head, the gentle smile on her face more kindly than the likes of King Validar deserved. “May we keep our retainer, Frederick, with us? He is never away from the royal family.”

“That is agreeable,” Validar replied. “See to this, children. I will prepare for our talks.” He walked in long, snaking strides from the room. 

Chrom stepped closer to Emmeryn, and Frederick did the same with Lissa. Maribelle bid her goodbye as the rest of the Shepherds were taken away by Aversa. Chrom saw the light dancing in her eyes from the mounted torches about the entry hall, and suspicion churned in his gut. “Keep alert, Frederick,” he whispered. 

“Yes, milord.” 

The prince, a quiet and unassuming figure when compared to both Validar and Aversa, approached them quietly. “If you’ll follow me, Exalt.” The voice was steadier than expected, almost warm. He led them from the room, down hallways of stone and lined with orange burning torches. Prince Robin walked evenly, none of the posturing of the others. “We have two rooms prepared for you and your family. I can see about arranging another for your retainer.” 

“That’ll be alright,” Chrom cut in. “We’re used to close quarters. He can stay with me.” 

“As you wish, Prince Chrom.” He stopped in front of a door, moving to the side with a nod. “For the Exalt and Princess Lissa. Please have a good night.” Across the hall, he motioned to another door. “And for you, prince.” With a single, delicate hand extended, he touched the dark wood of the door before turning to walk away. 

With Frederick opening the doors to search inside both rooms for threats, Chrom continued down the hallway after this Robin. “Hey! Wait!” His steps stilled, and after a moment, he turned to face Chrom. “I don’t remember you from the war. We never fought.” 

“Gangrel kept his tactician off the field. It was not by my choice.” 

Surprised, Chrom looked over the fairly young prince. “It was your idea to hide reinforcements in the Fell Dragon’s skull. That was a brilliant maneuver.” He could still remember the barbarian forces pouring from the old bones in nearly overwhelming numbers. 

“Not brilliant enough,” Robin replied. “If you’ll remember, your highness, it was Ylisse that won the day.” 

“It was luck on our side. Without it, we would have surely failed.” 

“I don’t believe in luck.” Robin smiled, tilting his head. The tall crown cut the air, jagged spikes like clawing fingers that cast shadows over the ground. The fire behind him, torches on the wall, created a halo of light around his body. “Apologies, Prince Chrom, but I have other things to see to. If you’ll excuse me…” He bowed, low, but he kept his eyes on Chrom. Then, turning, he walked down the hallway. Past where the torches were lit, he was swallowed by darkness. 

“Milord, the rooms are clear.” 

Turning, Chrom nodded at Frederick. “Good. Emm…” He walked to his sister’s side, reaching out his hands. She slotted her fingers against his palms, gently holding onto him. “Keep watch, and yell for Frederick if anything even seems amiss. Promise me?” 

She smiled. “You’ve grown up so much.” Lifting her hand, she gently touched his cheek. “Are you really worried about secret assassins in the night?” 

“I almost lost you once. I won’t do it again.” He stood firm, and she nodded her head. “Take the room on this side. It’s safer not to be on the outer wall. Lissa-” 

“I know, Chrom. Be careful. You didn’t always worry so much.” She lightly punched him in the arm as she passed, and he shook his head fondly. With his sisters in their room, Frederick led the way into theirs. 

Plegia was a hot, dry climate, and this seemed to sink into the stone walls of the castle. Standing at the window and looking over the dark courtyard, he could feel no breeze to bring the slightest relief. Below him, he saw shadows move as patrolling sentries walked in their rhythmic rounds across the courtyard. Apart from the castle, several yards away, a squat, wooden building for housing a garrison sat amongst the sands. This is where the other Shepherds would have been taken. 

“Milord, we should sleep in shifts. The Shepherds know to be on alert.” Frederick unclipped his armor, lowering it from his body. Chrom’s eyes moved toward him. “It’s been a long journey. I’ll take first watch.” 

He nodded. “Thank you, Frederick. Before I turn in...I have to ask you, what did you think of that Plegian prince.” 

“I wasn’t aware he even existed. Getting spies into Plegia has been difficult since the war, and the Grimleal heavily control the populace. We never managed to identify Gangrel’s tactician during the war.” They walked closer together, voices lowering in case of curious ears that may be listening. “This Prince Robin is a formidable opponent. If we hadn’t received the battle plans on the eve on your sister’s execution, we wouldn’t have been able to rescue her.” 

“It would have certainly been a failure. I wonder if the person who brought them to us is still here in Plegia somewhere. Or if they were found and executed as a traitor.” Thoughtful, Chrom sat on the edge of the bed. “If they are here, I want to root them out and bring them back with us. We owe them...everything.” 

Frederick nodded. “We can think of this in the morning. You should sleep now, milord.” 

Standing up, he clasped Frederick by the shoulder. “Of course. Wake me in two hours, and I’ll take a shift. That’s an order, understand?” 

“Of course.” Frederick said. “Rest well, milord.” The candles were blown out, and Frederick sat to watch by the light of the silver moon, while Chrom tried to sleep.

This arrangement was very well-known to them. When the army made camp, they always had those on guard for Risen attacks or Plegian assaults. The war had been over for a while, but Chrom still found himself easily roused in the night for his turn to guard them. Frederick was a quiet sleeper - he was a quiet man in general. Not shy with his opinions, but always calm and respectful. Their retainer was more than a trusted friend, after all. Chrom considered him family. 

Sitting near the door, Chrom didn’t expect to hear anything, but he grew glad for their caution when the sound of footsteps shuffled down the hallway. Getting up, he bent beside the door and cracked it open. Torches still burned in the hallway, and a long shadow stretched over the blue carpet. Pressing his eye to the slim crack, Chrom watched a single figure move into his eye line. Slim and tall, he walked along with a lightness to his steps. A smile was etched over his features, and the way shadows fell on his face made the expression seem more ghastly than it probably was. He wore the purple robes of a Grimleal Dark Mage. White hair appeared ashen grey in the shadowy hallway. 

He came to a stop next to his sister’s door, and Chrom’s shoulders tensed. Removing a piece of paper from an inner pocket, and he bent down to slide this under the doorway. Chrom shifted forward, and the door creaked. The lurker shot straight upwards, and Chrom quickly pulled the door near-closed. Tilting his head, the mage seemed to listen for a moment, then he continued down the hallway. He was quickly past where Chrom could see him. Sliding the door open, he crept to his sister’s door, but the paper was out of his reach. But...he could follow that mage. Why was he wandering the castle so late at night? 

Chrom was smart about this. He made sure the mage was always far enough ahead that he wouldn’t hear his quiet footsteps. But he stalked him through the castle, until he opened a door and walked out into the moon-soaked night. Chrom quickly rushed ahead, catching the door before it swung shut, and he peered through. The mage continued to walk, across the sands and toward one of the outlying buildings that ringed the castle grounds. 

Hurrying through the door, Chrom worked to keep in shadow, but the barren landscape made that more difficult than he’d expected. A short wall bordered one of the buildings, and he ducked behind it. Peering over, he watched the mage approach a hooded figure. When he spoke, his gestures were animated. Chrom wasn’t close enough to hear any of their conversation, so he rushed along the wall, keeping low to the ground. He stopped again, closer, leaning his shoulder against the rough bricks. His weight dislodged a piece of stone from the top of the short wall, and it toppled over the side and to the ground before he could stop it. Rising, he knew he was found out, but he didn’t quite expect the reaction. 

Bolts of lightning struck the ground where he’d been standing, giving him only a split second to react. He threw himself over the wall, listening to the stones be blown apart behind him. Drawing Falchion’s blade, he rushed across the stretch of sand toward the attacker, spinning outward. He didn’t expect for steel to meet steel. The hooded figure blocked him, their swords scraping. Chrom quickly retreated, sword up in a defensive posture. 

“Oh, it’s Prince Chrom!” The smiling mage exclaimed this, clapping his hands together with a laugh. “Quite shocking to see you here.” He laughed, and Chrom grimaced.

A small hand lifted, pushing the hood from off their snow-white hair. Chrom lowered Falchion with a wince, staring at the gentle, handsome face of the Plegian prince. “Forgive me, your highness. I believed you might have been an intruder with ill-will,” he said. “Accept my sincerest apologies.” He sheathed his blade, which was hidden quite well by the heavy coat, and bowed lowly. 

“No. The dishonor is mine.” Chrom mirrored his actions, putting away his weapon and bowing. “I was eavesdropping, and you have every right to defend yourself on your own territory.” He stood up straight, reminding himself to think less like a soldier at war and more like a prince at peace. It is what Emmeryn had urged from him during the past year, as he readjusted to their changing world. “But...if I may be bold enough to ask, what did you slip under my sister’s door?” His attention turned to the smiling mage. He tried to keep the suspicion off his face. 

“Again, forgive me,” Robin said. “I sent Henry to deliver a message to the Exalt, detailing when and where she will meet my father in order to begin the negotiations. He works late and wanted the message delivered with haste, but I didn’t see fit to wake anyone as it was not pressing information.” The jagged crown was gone from his head, and Robin appeared infinitely softer without the symbol of royalty over his head. 

Chrom’s chest burned with something close to embarrassment. But he would always rather be quick to act than slow. “Hopefully my actions tonight haven’t jeopardized that peace.” 

“My father will never know.” 

He breathed, relieved. Turning his head, he regarded the scorched earth and toppled stone wall. “Your abilities with a tome are not to be underestimated,” he said, complimenting the prince. Turning back again, he managed to catch the smallest hint of a smile on Robin’s face. “Gangrel was foolish by not allowing you on the battlefield.” 

Henry laughed. “We know! Prince Robin delivers death like no one else I know. It’s absolutely delightful to watch.” 

“Henry…” 

“Ah, hahaha, apologies, your highness. But your talents are unmatched. I would have liked to see who ended this duel the victor.” He turned his head toward Chrom, then laughed again. “I’ll leave you, I’ll leave you. If I am dismissed?” 

“Go.” 

“Goodnight, my prince. Goodnight, your highness.” Henry gave curt bows to both of them before walking toward the small outer building. He stepped in the door and pulled it shut behind him, leaving Chrom alone with the Plegian prince, under the gaze of the moon. 

Robin nodded to him. “It is late, your highness. The peace negotiations begin early. I don’t mean to overstep my bounds, but you should be resting.” 

“I take that under consideration, but couldn’t I say the same of you?” 

“I won’t be joining you for the negotiations. My father does not find my input necessary for matters that are not war.” Robin began walking, and Chrom fell into an easy step at his side. “It seems the Exalt values your opinions in all things, however, and you should be well-rested before beginning the deliberations. My father can be a hard man to please.” 

“We came seeking peace. Ylisse wants nothing from Plegia except a promise that no more war tear this continent apart.” The silver moonlight made Robin’s white hair shine ethereally. His head turned upward, eyes meeting with Chrom’s. “Ylisse knows how high the cost of war can grow. My sister will do almost anything to achieve peace.” He hesitated, unsure if this was a subject he was allowed to broach. “What is your father like?” 

Robin’s gaze strayed, and as they reached the entrance back into the castle he paused before entering. “My father...only truly wants one thing, and his goals almost certainly do not align with yours. He is our high priest, the leader of the Grimleal. If you want advice on how to please him, I’m afraid I can hardly give it. I’ve tried to do so my entire life, and somehow, always fallen a hair short.” 

Chrom blinked, surprised by the sincerity of the answer. “You-” 

“I don’t know why I just said that.” The affectation Robin had spoken with faded to something more casual. “Stupid of me, sorry. Forget that I said anything at all. Is there anything else you need, your highness?” 

“Uh.” His mind wrapped around itself, struggling to keep up with the sudden change in tone. “My Shepherds! We will be here for days, perhaps even weeks, if the talks go on for very long. And we brought them mostly as protection, but they will grow restless with nothing to do. Is there a place I could take them during the day to train?” 

Robin smiled. “There are training grounds on the western side of the castle.” A hand lifted, and he pointed in this direction. “My mages use it, but you and your Shepherds are welcome, if you don’t mind sharing the grounds.” 

Part of Chrom would not want to run drills around a potential enemy, but the offer was made with such a genuine smile that he could not say no. “I have no qualms with that.” 

“I assumed you might want to train. You’ve been traveling with your Shepherds nearly nonstop for years, right?” He nodded, and Robin smiled. “Perhaps we could spar together on more friendly terms. Henry may have a...perchance for the macabre, but testing our skills against one another could be insightful to us both.” 

Chrom was nearly taken aback by the offer. “Are you sure you’re willing to lose in front of your mages?” 

“Are you willing to lose in front of your Shepherds?” 

He laughed, both baffled and amused, and he rested his hand on Falchion’s hilt. “I will take that offer, Prince Robin. A good, healthy spar between friends.” 

“Are we friends, your highness?” The smile playing on Robin’s face was hardly passive, and could almost be counted as coy. “Bitter enemies may be an overstatement, but friends? Do you generally go to war against your friends?”

“The war is over.” Chrom found the smile slip from his face. “Neither Ylisse or Plegia gained from the war. Both sides lost money, resources, and lives. Villagers in our border towns were always fearing the worst, and I know when we marched in Plegia, your borders were our first targets as well.”

“Such is the nature of war.”

“That does not erase the damage.” He watched Prince Robin lower his head, as if in thought. “You don’t have to consider any of us friends. Plegia has held grudges against Ylisse for longer than either of us have been alive. But wounds cannot remain opened forever. Eventually, they have to heal. And we are the only ones who can make that process begin.” 

Robin nodded. “My father trained me for my entire life in the ways of war. One of his greatest lessons to me was a simple tenet: knowing one’s enemy is the most secure route to victory.” His eyes lifted, a dry breeze picking up strands of his hair. “And so I studied you, and your Shepherds, whatever information I could find. Yet, I always felt there was a piece that I was missing. Some core element that I lacked sight of. I don’t feel that way, anymore.” 

“...by this, you mean?” Chrom prompted. 

Robin merely shook his head. “It is late, your highness. I must rest.” He bowed, low at the waist, then he stepped back into the castle. Chrom followed, looking down the dark hallway - the opposite of where their guest quarters were located. However, with no torches along the walls, and no windows to let in the moonlight, Robin was quickly devoured by darkness again. Chrom could only turn, go back to his room, and rouse Frederick for his shift as sentry. 

Peace negotiations were a long process. Emmeryn was infinitely graceful and patient as King Validar presented maps of redrawn borders and asked for coinage paid in reparations from the war. Chrom had to bite his tongue. Plegia might have lost countless soldiers in the war, but according to rumors, they were not lacking in economy. Some point, past noon on the first day, they agreed to part and pick up the conversation the next day. Chrom went to find the Shepherds, needing to blow off steam. 

“It’s hotter than the Fell Dragon’s breath out here,” Donnel exclaimed. He was lounging on top of the wall, a few feet from where Robin’s magic had destroyed it. 

Vaike laughed, leaning over and knocking him in between the shoulders. “Listen to Teach, eh? Them Grimleal people are crawling all over this castle, so you should hush up about the Fell Dragon before they drag you off and do some weird magic on you.”

“Whatcha think they’re gonna do, Vaike?”

“Who knows? The Vaike doesn’t want to find out, either.” 

Chrom entered the throng of people who were resting in the sand, sharpening swords, or watching the guards that lined the castle walls and continuously march. “The Grimleal, despite what we may think of them, are our hosts for this summit.” Everyone’s eyes fell on him as he spoke. “We shouldn’t speak ill of them while peace negotiations are happening.”

Miriel closed the book in her lap and slid it back into her book bag. “How are the negotiations going, your highness?”

He sighed. “Slow.” There was really nothing to say to stifle the curiosity burning in their eyes. Nothing had been accomplished yet, and he had no insights to King Validar or any of the others. “I have good news, though. Prince Robin has offered the training grounds for us to use. No use sitting around and letting our skills get rusty.” 

“Hell yeah! I’m already sick of twiddling my fingers. Let’s go!” Sully was the first up, as always, and she slung her arm around Cordelia’s shoulders. 

“A-are we sure this isn’t a way to view our training and make note of our strengths and weaknesses?” Cordelia asked, already looking as if she regretted putting forward the theory. When his eyes fell on her, the reddening in her cheeks from the hot, Plegian sun grew deeper. 

“Potentially,” Chrom said. “Consider this more a workout and less an exercise in testing the most extreme of our talents. I do think the offer is genuine, though.” 

“Why do you say that?” Miriel asked, standing up from her place near the wall. The book in her hand was snapped shut, and she tucked it into her bag. 

Chrom found his mind pulled toward visions of Robin’s white hair, silvery in the moonlight, and the smile on an otherwise delicate face. His brain couldn’t wrap around why he thought so highly of the Plegian prince’s word so fast after meeting him, but there was something trustworthy in Robin’s words. “A gut instinct,” he said. “Cordelia, retrieve your Pegasus, the rest of us will melee with basic weapons. To the training grounds.” 

There was a genuine joy milling in the party as they moved as a singular unit around to the west end of the castle. A wide field of packed sand greeted them. As well as several mages already working through the dark magic tomes. A shaded gazebo at the very corner of the grounds housed a few figures that were shrouded enough to be unidentifiable. They were clearly observing the training. Chrom put his hand on his hip while the Shepherds packed themselves in close around him and watched. It was all surrounded by a stone wall about as high as Chrom’s hip.

Dressed for the Plegian heat, he watched a mage whip her cloak of purplish black into a frenzy as she struck out with the hand not clasping her tome. Far away, a wooden target carved to resemble a combatant was suddenly encased in a film of deep, glowing green. Spitting and pulsing, it drifted around like a slime of toxin until rupturing and collapsing into the target. 

The wood rattled and split. A shard was thrown far, and it lodged in the sand a foot or so in front of Chrom. The other mages watched it, but their expressions dampened at the sight of the Shepherds gathering on the edge of their training grounds. Sweeping around, the mage who had cast Mire looked them over with a bladed sharpness in her eyes. 

“Your prince invited us,” Chrom said, speaking to a question no one had asked. None of the mages moved. The grit of sand beneath his feet shifted with grainy drags when Chrom stepped forward. He plucked the wood shard, still warm from magic, from the sands and twirled it in his hand. “The training ground is plenty large.” 

These dark mages were of the Grimleal, and the Fell Dragon eyes stitched to their clothing stared like dead harbingers. There was no wind to relieve the crushing desert heat. Or to crack through the boil of tension growing between the staggered trio of mages and the tightly grouped Shepherds. 

From behind him, Sully nudged against his shoulder. “Ya sure about this?” she asked. 

Chrom nodded. “Robin personally invited us.” Flicking the wood from his hand, he let it skitter across the sands as he broke free of the Shepherds throng. Pacing forward, he watched as the mages began cinching in tighter. “We can share the space! I promise we won’t stand in your way.” 

The mage who had the Mire tome in hand backed away with a suspicious gaze raking over him. She joined the others, their heads bent together. Standing together, with the sleek purple of their capes like an oil drape over their arms, they were a murder of crows passing thoughts back and forth. One peeled away, running to the bottom steps of the shady gazebo. Their gaze flicked back, a beam of light cast over slate-grey eyes. 

“Maybe we should just let ‘em have the grounds,” Donnel said as he moved up behind Chrom. 

Vaike snorted. “This prince said we could. Tucking tail now makes us look like cowards.” 

Holding up a hand, Chrom got them to quiet. This was a mission of peace, and if they weren’t wanted, he’d back them away. Before he could signal the Shepherds to leave, however, someone moved from under the gazebo’s shade. In the stark light of the high sun, Prince Robin’s hair glowed like flawless snow. With their capes fluttering behind them, the murder of mages ran to surround their prince. 

“Prince Chrom and his Shepherds are welcome,” Robin said. “There is plenty of space.” 

The Grimleal mages seemed to wind about Robin like snakes. Fitted with spitting fangs and flicking tongues, too. They moved closer. A solid unit molded to Robin’s sides with eyes glaring across the still sands. 

Hopping down the gazebo steps, someone else joined them. He had a bouncy smile, and the flaring collar of his cloak spread the dull purple fabric around his head like the hood of a cobra. “Oh, did our friends from Ylisse take your offer?” 

Chrom couldn’t help but think that Henry hadn’t been present when that offer was made, but it only meant that he was a trusted confidant of the Plegian prince. “Of course. Unless it was not made in sincerity.” 

“It was,” Robin told him. His eyes ran along his own mages, as they folded around him like a living shield of cloth and bared teeth. “You will understand...the last time we saw you and your Shepherds was on the battlefield? Our wariness is not born of nothing.” 

“Of course not.” Chrom acknowledged. “If it is too much trouble, I’m sure we can find an empty span of desert.” 

Robin tipped his head to the side. “No, I insist you stay.” 

Nodding, Chrom began walking to the far side of the field. The Shepherds followed him closely. Their footsteps crunched across the sand, and Chrom tried ignoring the gaze stuck on him. The flap of wings overhead made him look up, and he watched Cordelia and her pegasus flying near. Great wings pumping the air, the stead brought her hooves to the ground. Sand brushed through Chrom’s hair with the whipped up air, and he grinned at Cordelia. 

“Great timing,” he said. 

Holding her reins, Cordelia fumbled her words, “Wh-Oh. Was I? Did I? Have...that?” She adjusted the lance in her hand and glanced across the training grounds. “...are we not welcome?” 

“The Prince settled all that,” Sully said, hurrying over. She gave the pegasus a pat on the neck before offering a hand to help Cordelia down. “Not that those Grimleal seem very happy about it.” 

“Can you reproach them for it?” Miriel asked. She adjusted her book bag, then began searching through her collected tomes. “We are in their territory after decimating over half their army in the war. I cannot imagine-” She produced a Thoron tome before her words were interrupted. She held on tighter to the tome, nodding her head to make Chrom follow her eye line. 

Quickly approaching, Robin stepped across the sands with sure steps. He had dressed down to a simple jacket of a deep purple. Golden thread stitched the Fell Dragon’s eyes along the sleeves, and leather wrist cuffs stretched pointed triangles over the back of his hands. “Thoron,” he said, looking at Miriel's chosen tome. “I have always preferred Arcthunder.” 

Miriel fixed her glasses as she threw a questioning look toward Chrom. He shrugged, and she took this as clearance to answer honestly. “I usually use Fire tomes, but I like to branch out in training to strengthen my skills.” 

“As you should,” he said. 

“...are you not a Dark Mage?” Miriel pressed. “I was not aware that you would use Anima magic at all.” 

Robin smiled. “I like to be experienced in all forms.” He turned his head, taking in Donnel and Vaike who had started a light-hearted spar in one corner of the grounds. The sharpness of his eyes was almost unnerving. It was studious. Chrom thought back to their conversation the night before, about knowing one's enemy, and he questioned if coming here was the best course of action. In honesty, he hadn’t expected to find the prince here at all. 

Miriel went to set up her own target, and Sully joined Cordelia on the back of the pegasus stead for a lap around the castle. With the Shepherds he’d brought settling into their respective training, Chrom approached Robin with a hand on Falchion’s hilt. A gaze of fire-flecked brown found his, and Chrom paused to swallow the first thought he had, an unexplainable one, about how much more comfortable Robin looked without the princely adornments. 

Before he could say anything, Robin took the first word. “You had others with you last night.” 

He nodded. “Maribelle chose to stay with Lissa for the day. They are very close. Spend most of their time together. Frederick is our retainer, and it is his job to protect the Exalt during the summit. Other Shepherds, and there are more, are responsible for protecting Ylisse during our absence.” 

“I only ask out of curiosity.” Robin’s eye dipped to Chrom’s hand on the hilt of his blade, so he haltingly took it away. The way it came to rest there was habitual, but Robin would have no way to know that. And neither would the glaring Dark Mages gathered in a plume of darkness on the far edge of the training grounds. “Will you not train with your Shepherds?” 

Chrom shrugged. “It has been a long morning. I might just oversee.” 

“That is too bad. I was hoping to see…” Robin shook his head. 

The glint of sunlight in Robin’s eye urged Chrom a step closer, and he watched as a chin tipped up to keep Robin looking directly into his eyes. The gaze was of the relentless sort, but not heavy. Not unpleasant. “See what?” Chrom asked, because he couldn’t help himself. 

“See the famous Prince Chrom in action, of course. I was kept off the battlefield during the war. Haven’t had the chance to observe your skills.” 

“Have you never seen combat at all?” Chrom asked. 

Robin’s smile slanted downward. “My father...values me too much to allow me into the throng of fighting. Warfare, he says, is for the Dark Mages and drafted soldiers. Not for… In any case, I only wished to see what you could do.” 

He couldn’t help but to feel something was being held back. Not that it was his concern to press into what that could be. While they did seek peace, the inner lives of Plegian royalty were no more Chrom’s business than it would be Robin’s to pry into his relationship with his sisters. Still...curiosity was a hard flame to snuff out. “Last night, you held your own against me. I find it impossible to think you’ve never fought before.” 

“Oh, I have fought.” Robin adjusted the draping coat and showed off the gleaming hilt of his own sword which sat prim on its hip. Like the tongues of Arcthunder, the blade was jagged as a lightning bolt. Probably just as deadly, if one found themselves scraped along its edges. “Father has ensured that I am trained in swordsmanship and magic of all kinds. For my own safety. We live in a dangerous world, your highness. Though, I am sure that I don’t have to be the one to tell you that.” 

Chrom ignored the hot burn of his interest. “Training is not the same as true combat,” Chrom said. “I am afraid you probably would not fare well in a true fight.” 

Robin lifted a brow. “Oh?” 

“If you’ve only trained with your Plegian mages and the soldiers of the Grimleal...you being the son of a high priest must make them go easy on you.” 

“You would be surprised.” Robin curled a finger along the hilt of his sword. “And that, my Prince, is a bold claim to make when you have not seen my skills for yourself.” 

“Last night,” Chrom said in disagreement, “I noticed your quick reflexes. But I was on the defensive. If that fight had continued, I would have surely triumphed.” 

Robin laughed. And Chrom found he really liked the sound. “That is a bold claim.” 

His hand curled on Falchion’s hilt as Chrom walked back a step. “And I would make good on it,” he said, “if I didn’t fear embarrassing you in front of your mages.” 

“Hm. I would fear more that you would be brought to shame in front of your Shepherds.” 

Robin’s eyes were the same cutting color as storm-swept deserts on the eve of battle. There was steel beneath Chrom’s hand, and he lifted Falchion an inch from the sheath to feel the comforting scrape of metal. Familiarity resided within his weapon, a blade forged for the Exalt’s bloodline. “Is that a challenge, your highness?” 

“Are you able to rise to it, if it is?” Robin noticed the sword being pulled. He carefully grasped his own blade and took it from his belt. 

Chrom did the same. The heft pulled his muscles into old patterns. He had rushed across battlefields with Falchion attached to his palm like an extension of his arm. “We make this a fair fight. No using your magic, Anima or not.” 

Robin crossed an arm over his chest and lowered his torso into a half-bow. Eyes never left Chrom. “Of course not, your highness. This is a test of raw skill.” 

They both took the ready. Sunlight glanced around metal and refracted in sharp, glittering shards. Widening his stance, Chrom studied Robin’s position with the quickness battle had taught him to. However, just as his eye met the knee, Robin shot forward. Chrom had not expected a prince, unsullied by battle, to make the first move. 

Stepping back, he thrust Falchion into the air to block the strike that grazed over the blade. The clang of metal rang, and cloth fluttered as Robin leapt into another attack. It was unusual for Chrom to find himself on the defensive. Parrying swords careened through the air, cutting it with sharp whips. 

Falchion hit against the thunderbolt sword, and Chrom dug his heel in to stop his retreat. Robin leaned close. Both of them breathed under the sweltering sun as their blades caught and locked together. 

“Surprised?” Robin asked. 

Chrom flicked his bangs from his eyes and smiled. “Not at all. You’re a capable fighter.” 

Unlocking their swords, they spun away from each other. Robin’s coat brushed through the sands when he steadied himself into a crouch. A few steps back let Chrom settle both hands on Falchion’s hilt. Instead of letting himself be forced into the defensive again, Chrom abandoned hesitation to join their two man fray. 

The others in the training grounds took note of the duel. Clanking swords and spinning parries were hard to ignore. Matching his pace and every swing, Robin deflected Chrom’s attacks one-handed. The exaggerated serration of the sword flashed through the air with the speed of its emulated shape. 

Swinging the sword down, Chrom dragged in a surprised inhale when the lightning bolt shape caught against Falchion’s blade again. His sword was forced to the ground, and the tip dug into the sand. Robin panted, exhilaration pumping through the bloodstream. The hot desert sun pasted his hair to his forehead as sweat beaded on the skin. 

“Had enough, you highness?” Robin asked. 

Shoving the sword up, he dislodged Robin’s arm and made him back away. “It takes more than that, believe me. We’re just getting started.” 

Robin twirled the sword and brought it back so Chrom had to stare down the dizzying crooks. “Good. I was starting to get bored.”

When their swords hit again, it was a sparklight. Chrom watched the glancing metal as a fresh adrenaline boiled inside his body. It was a hot twist that flowed like magma steel in the workman’s forges. Dripped through his entire form, until he was as incandescent as the afternoon sun. Its rays melted over them like golden syrup. 

The thread in Robin’s coat caught the light and blurred with his quick motion. The eyes of the Fell Dragon were now just a whip of gold as he spun and swept his sword toward Chrom’s legs. Dodging, he scurried along the sand and aimed a lunging blow. Robin twisted his wrist and knocked the blow clear with a flourish. Their duel continued. 

Everyone else had stopped their training to watch. The Shepherds gathered in a clump, and when Chrom nearly got a tap to Robin’s shoulder, he heard them explode into cheers. On the other side, the mages had formed their dark blot. Henry, beaming a grin that seemed out of place on a Dark Mage, stood nearby with his arms crossed one over the other. 

They had their spectators. It was a true duel. Pegasus wings flapped and brought Cordelia and Sully to hover above the training ground. They fought until they were ringing the edge of the grounds. 

Robin threw a brief look behind him. Thinking on his feet, he jumped backward onto the edge of the low stone wall. Teetering, he barely brought his sword up in time to block Chrom’s strike. 

“Careful, your highness!” Chrom called. He was taken by the swell of their mock battle. He jerked when Robin brought his sword down. Thrusting Falchion up, he blocked the descending sword. Felt the reverberations of the powerful strike rattle in his arms. 

Laughing, Robin gloated, “maybe it’s you who needs to be careful, my prince!” 

Chrom’s face burned when his Shepherds dared to laugh at that. He tossed the gathering a brief glance and watched them all straighten up as if they hadn’t been enjoying his misfortune. Miriel adjusted her glasses, and Donnel swung his eyes to Vaike who had become very interested in his ax. 

Casting off Robin’s sword, Chrom jumped onto the top of the wall to even their stances. “Not letting you keep the high ground for long,” he said, balanced and ready to strike. Robin lowered, knees spread to stabilize himself. He held out his free hand and used his fingers to curl in a mocking invitation. 

“Get him, your highness! You can!” 

“He seems to favor the right. Aim your parries opposite his strengths!” 

“Go Chrom!” 

While his side cheered for him, the Dark Mages simply rocked in a swaying motion with thin fingers wrapped around their tomes. Robin’s eyes narrowed in concentration. Chrom began the pattern of their bout again. 

The slim top of the brick wall provided a much more uneven surface for them to battle on. Their feet scraped along as swords grazed with hot clashes. The air between them sizzled with renewed heat, until it seemed they were putting off heat waves like a baker’s oven. Chrom hit Robbin’s sword and watched his foot skitter off the edge. 

Instead of letting this be the end, Robin found ballast on one leg and he carried the other around. A foot linked around the ankle of Chrom’s front foot. Dragged forward, knee bending without his permission, he threw up Falchion and caught Robin’s jagged blade. Their swords locked, faces inches apart over the crossed blades. Both of them bared down, trying to weaken the other’s grasp and rip the weapon free. Their legs ended up crossed as well. 

Chrom inhaled the heated air and stared at Robin’s wild smile. He might have thought it strange if his lips weren’t also compelled into a similar expression. The air was a ripple of their mingling excitement. Chrom had...forgotten how fun this could be, without the fear of the war. Without the blood staining his sword. Drenching the sands. 

“Believe me a worthy opponent yet?” Robin gritted out. He grabbed his sword with both hands and pushed against Chrom’s iron-wrought stance. 

Twin trembles flowed through both of them as their strengths evenly brushed against each other. “Maybe.” Giving an inch of his effort to a breezy laugh, Chrom felt his sword slide an inch along the deep notch. This brought his hand a bit closer to that jagged blade. “But you haven’t won yet.” 

Chrom meant to break them away with a strong shove. But Robin’s eyes suddenly caught on something past Chrom’s shoulder. When he pushed forward, it was incidentally at a moment of distraction, and Robin’s grip loosened. Propelled backward - the top of the wall gave no leeway for stumbling - Robin lost his footing and fell. 

Behind him, the day exploded into celebratory cheers. But Chrom only found his muscles going stationary as he watched Robin’s slumped form against the sand. Sitting up, sword abandoned at his side, he rubbed his wrist and began to rise. His eyes were taken by a sight at the castle, and Chrom turned to find the slim, towering figure of King Validar standing against a window on the second story. He turned and walked away, disappearing from view, but his brief presence chilled the last rush of heat that had adrenalized in Chrom’s bloodstream. 

Jumping off the wall, he sheathed Falchion and grabbed for Robin’s sword. Returning it, he said, “that was-” 

“A well fought match,” Robin told him. “And the better swordsman triumphed.” The smile on his face was polite and watery thin. Robin attached his sword to the belt and gave Chrom a last bow. “If you’ll excuse me your highness…” He started off, and from across the training ground, Henry ran to greet him. 

“Wait-” Chrom reached out, trying to stop him, but another face slid into his view. Vaike slapped him on the back just as Miriel slotted up against his right side. 

“You sure showed that prince not to be so cocky. Facing off against Ylissean nobility!” Vaike laughed. “Teach here was watching the whole time.” He popped Chrom on the back again. 

From the grounded Pegasus, Sully came jogging over with her arms wide. “You shoulda seen yourself, your highness! It was like-” She continued making bang and clash sounds with her mouth while recreating the duel as if it had been a boxing match. Cordelia approached at a more languid pace, only to be roped in by an arm around her shoulders. 

Smiling, Chrom nodded his head to the congratulation. His eyes were pulled past his Shepherds, however, toward the castle. He got a last glance at Robin’s purple coat as he went through a door set in the stone wall. Henry pulled the door shut behind them. Something felt odd. And it certainly wasn’t a real victory. Chrom’s mind wouldn’t let it go. 

“At least the provided rooms are more comfortable than a tent.” 

Chrom hummed. Nodded. 

“It’s always hot, though. I miss Ylisse. It was shaping up to be a mild summer.” Lissa leaned on the wall to his left, fanning herself with one hand. Her hair bounced as she tilted her head around to get the circulation onto her neck. “Plegia is…” 

“Yeah,” Chrom agreed, hardly listening to his sister’s actual words. He watched two sentrymen walk past. They nodded to their visitors before walking in the opposite direction down the hallway. Chrom started walking, turning to go into the room they’d just come from. Lissa peeled away from the wall to follow him. 

He felt vulnerable without Falchion at his side. But there was no reason to come armed to diplomatic meals, according to Emmeryn. So he was devoid of armor, without his weapon, wearing a simple white cloak over a blue shirt and pants. Lissa had taken the opportunity to dress primly, and Maribelle had clearly put some sort of rouge on her cheeks.

She snagged his arm as they walked. “Where are we going?” she asked. “Aren’t we supposed to be bedding down? Emm said-” 

“I know,” Chrom said. “I thought we would see Prince Robin at dinner.” 

Lissa lifted her eyes, and Chrom felt them pick over the side of his face. They passed between brief blooms of firelight from the mounted torches. The brightness came with heat that brought a redness to their cheeks. “...so you’re going to find him?” Lissa asked. 

“What? No. Yes. I-” 

“Is this about your duel yesterday?” 

Chrom came to a stop and looked down at his sister. “How did you know about that?” 

“Sully talks.” She smiled, proud to have collected more gossip. “She said you won, but the prince ran off right after so you didn’t have time to gloat.” 

Shaking his head, Chrom freed his arm from his sister. “No, it’s-” The returning bite of his uncertainty returned like an impervious flea. “Why did you come with me? Didn’t I tell you to stay with Frederick and Emm?” 

“Chrom! I am hardly helpless.” Lissa waved a dainty hand up in his direction, like she was shooing his concerns. Sometimes Chrom thought she was picking up too many bad habits from Maribelle. “Emm is just going to spend the evening reading before going to bed early. These negotiations tire her out.” 

He felt the same way. Sitting in a high-backed, stiff chair all day while map lines were redrawn, reparation offers were thrown back and forth, and the dirty mess of the war was picked up wasn’t Chrom’s idea of a good time. But it was important work, and Emmeryn knew that. She took it dreadfully seriously. Even if, at times, it felt like Validar was not as keen to work with them as they were with him. 

His offers always shaded to the left of acceptable. He had asked for a piece of Ylissean farmlands, as if there weren't citizens on that land who did not wish to newly pledge allegiance to Plegia. The empty lands where no one lived or farmed hadn’t been accepted as a suitable replacement for it. On and on it went, every hour was another petty dismissal like this. 

And all day, throughout the meeting between nobles and royalty, Chrom had found himself distracted by one empty chair at Validar's right side. Aversa was there, but the so-called prince of Plegia was notably absent from the negotiations. It wasn’t Chrom’s place to ask about that kind of thing, but he could not stop himself from being curious. 

Robin had not been at dinner, either. Catching a servant by the sleeve after the generous feast provided by King Validar, Chrom had learned that the prince was in the castle’s library. This is where he ventured now, with Lissa loyally at his side. However, before he rounded the doorway into the library, Chrom stopped and lowered his eyes. 

“I need to have a private conversation with the prince,” he said. “I need to ask him something.” 

Surprised, Lissa crossed her thin arms and asked, “what sort of question? And why can’t I be there?” 

“Just...trust me? Let me do this on my own. Tomorrow...I’ll ask Cordelia if she’ll take you up on her pegasus.” 

Lissa narrowed her eyes. “Promise.” 

“On my honor.” Chrom placed a hand on his heart. 

With Lissa satisfied, Chrom was able to enter the library alone. Immediately, he was swallowed by wall-high bookshelves filled with rows upon rows of books both ancient and new. There were few candles lit in strategic places to give a sickly glow to the whole, wide room. A laugh from the back of the library urged him to follow this sound, and he came from between two towering shelves to find a scene almost quaint in its normalcy. 

The laugh came from none other than the paradoxically joyful Dark Mage. He was sitting atop a work table with a bare candle on a stick in front of him. The shadows sank into the lines around his upturned mouth to make him look suspiciously ghoulish. 

“What is there to look forward to anymore?” He held up his hands and shrugged. “We have been locked away in this castle for months-” 

“Years,” someone else replied, “if you’re his highness.” She slinked around another shelf and leaned her body against it. Her cloak was gone, leaving her only in the taut black that hugged scandalously to her frame, but Chrom recognized her as one of the mages who had witnessed the duel. “If you are so bored, why don’t you leave?” 

“What? Go somewhere else?” Henry laughed as if the notable derision in the other Dark Mage’s voice didn’t impact his mood at all. “What other country would take me?” 

Coming from behind the mage, Robin brushed past while scooping a hand through his unkempt hair. “I’ll have something for you to do soon, Henry. I-” He stopped, eyes instantly shifting to alight on Chrom. “...your highness. Can I help you with something?” The mage at his back stepped closer to lean on Robin’s shoulder. Her dark eyes pinched in a distrustful glare.

“I don’t mean to interrupt.” Chrom settled a hand on his hip and scanned the odd trio. Robin looked tired. Weighty grey half-circles darkened the skin beneath his eyes. Henry dug his elbows onto his crossed legs and crossed his hands beneath his chin. “I wanted to ask you something. Privately.” 

Robin seemed infinitely smaller without a cloak or a coat. Anything. He wore a plain, wool shirt and a style of wide, white pants with buttons up the side. The leather vambraces on his arms were gone, too, leaving them bare below the elbow. “Tharja, Henry, let me have a moment with the Ylissean prince.” 

“Oh, but I really want to see how this plays out,” Henry said with a grin. 

Robin’s eyes never left Chrom. “Go.” 

Throwing hands up, faux exasperation on his happy face, Henry relented and hopped from the table. He approached and linked an arm around the other mage’s to pull her away from Robin. She peeled off like spilled molasses on a wooden table. “Come on, Tharja,” he said with a peppy tone. “Let’s go feed the crows.” 

Chrom stepped to the side to let them go, and he watched Robin step closer to the table. He put down the book in his hand and picked up the candle from its center. Bringing it to a different table, he settled it next to a wide map that detailed the Ylissean and Plegian border. Chrom looked it over as he neared the table, and Robin lifted his eyes. Curiously. 

“You have me alone,” Robin said. “Is there something I can help you with? Are things in the castle not to your liking?” 

“It isn’t anything like that,” Chrom said. “Yesterday-” 

“Yes, you proved more capable than me.” Robin sat down with the candlelight spreading like a miniature sun across the map. His hand laid across it, framing one of Plegia’s border towns. A quill and ink sat near the workstation, and he lifted the plume from the well. As Chrom neared, he noticed a strange mark on the back of his dominant hand. 

Six eyes bent in a curved pattern, a deep purple that stained the skin like a tattoo. Chrom stared. Robin noticed. 

Looking at his hand, a small frown on his face, Robin placed the quill back into the ink. “It’s a birthmark.” His hand was tucked beneath the table. “Like yours.” 

The mark of the Exalt suddenly burned his upper arm like it had been branded onto him. Chrom winced and drew his eyes away. “That is a Grimleal mark.” 

“I am Grimleal.” 

“You seem so…” Chrom stopped himself when Robin waned his gaze. The flickering candle made the yellow light drip across the map. And the back of Robin’s plain hand. Chipped nails. Callouses from holding writing utensils, tomes, and swords. But his arm was thin, and his fingers sprawled like itchy spider legs. There was a pool of shadow beneath his hand. “The other Grimleal I’ve met-” 

“Have not treated you kindly?” Robin asked. “Why should they? You worship a Goddess who killed our God. We built our halidom among his ruins.” Robin stood and moved back toward the opposite table. “And yet...here we are. Trying to broker an impossible treaty. We are all fools.” 

“Why did you throw the duel?” 

Robin opened a book and stared at its pages. The glaze over his sandy eyes proved he was not reading it, however. “I did no such thing.” 

“When I shoved you...you had regained your balance on the wall before, but-” 

“I was taken off-guard by your strength,” Robin interrupted. “That’s all.” 

“Was it seeing your father? In the window?” 

“That is all, your highness!” 

The snap echoed. And it surprised them both. Robin dropped the book with a flutter of pages, and he clasped a hand over his shuddering mouth. Walking away, he left the book, pages down, on the floor and retreated deeper into the maze of bookcases. There didn’t seem to be a logic to how they were placed, not until Chrom followed him and noticed the pattern. 

They were set up in a spiral pattern that led them both deeper into the library. Study tables occupied a space every few paces and candles were set up to bring light to the large, spacious room. Robin hurried ahead of Chrom, twisting between the shelves so that Chrom had to mostly follow the sound of his footsteps. It was not an easy task in a room designed to echo sound. 

“Wait,” Chrom called, rounding another bookshelf. Robin flitted around its other side, so Chrom reversed step and sailed around the other end. He caught Robin by the arms before he could disappear back into the maze of ancient tomes. “...is there something wrong?” he asked, realizing how wide-eyed Robin had become. 

“I-” Robin seemed to consider giving him an answer, but they were both surprised by a booming voice seeking out the shaken prince. 

“Robin! Why are you not working on this map!?” 

Appearing even more shaken by what was obviously Validar’s voice, Robin wrenched himself free of Chrom’s grip. “Keep quiet. Stay here.” Snagging a random book from the shelf, Robin hurried back the direction he’d come. “I’m here Father! Retrieving some reference material before I begin making changes.” 

“How is this map not complete yet?” 

Robin’s voice remained stable. A respectful tone was taken, however, that reminded Chrom of their stilted conversation in the hallway. The first night he had arrived in Plegia for the summit. It was not the same voice Robin used at other times. “This is the third I’ve worked on today. The other two have been taken to your st-” 

“Fine, fine.” Validar responded to the respect with impatience. Chrom hated that. He began sneaking through the shelves again, boots quiet on the floor. He took care to make sure every step was as silent as a mouse. “You have not seen the Ylissean prince this evening, have you?” 

Chrom paused. His breath froze itself in his lungs. Robin had clearly not wanted him to be seen by Validar for some reason. Pressing himself near one of the shelves, Chrom leaned around it until he could see the candle glow above the map. And Validar’s dark, lean shape behind it. Robin had taken a seat at the workstation. 

Turning his chin upward, Robin looked the king in the eye when he lied. “No. Why?” 

“I heard him asking after your location at dinner.” Validar folded his hands together and began pacing around the workstation. Robin’s eyes followed him. To avoid being seen, Chrom slid back around the bookshelf and managed his breathing into calm, collected, and quiet. “I sense he could spell trouble for our plans.” 

“Why is that?” Robin asked. “To me he seems...clueless. I would not rank him as the smartest, even among his Shepherds.” 

Chrom bit the inside of his cheek. Very uncertain of what he was hearing. It could be plotting. But it also could be common frustrations shared between father and son. How could he tell? 

Validar’s robes breezed along the ground with the sound of snake skin through dry grass. “He has shown an interest in you, and I do not understand why. What have you done to provoke him, Robin? You know better than to-” 

“Father, I have done noth-” 

Chrom tensed when he heard, unmistakably, the sound of a palm meeting skin. Items clattered to the ground, as well as something heavy dropping. Chrom threw himself around the bookshelf to see the aftermath. The inkwell had spilled, staining its black drudgery over the map, and many of the cartography tools had fallen to the ground. Robin, knocked from his chair, slowly rose again with his head bowed submissively. 

“Do not think of speaking to me with that derision.” Validar swept around the table. He curled his fingers around the tall candle. Brushed long nails through the dripping wax. “You may not be as replaceable as others: Gangrel, Aversa, all of the Grimleal...that does not mean you will have no consequences for disrespect.” 

Robin’s bangs shadowed and hid his eyes. “Yes, sir.” 

“Does he know?” 

Robin shook his head. “No, sir.” 

Validar sneered. “Are you sure? It seems to me...his interest in you can be explained by your treachery, little prince.” 

Slowly, Robin lifted his head and stared toward Validar. The candlelight gleamed in his eyes like pieces of flint knocked together over a tinder of dead leaves. “Prince Chrom does not know that I am the one who sent him the battle plans. No.” 

“Hm.” Validar considered this, but whatever he saw in Robin’s eyes comforted him into believing this. Chrom’s mouth was entirely dry. “You do understand, if anyone else had done this, they would have been put to death?” 

“It made you king, didn’t it?” 

Validar loomed across the table, catching Robin’s dulled eyes. “Pretend if you wish that your motivations were loyalty to me. If you were not the vessel, I would kill you here and now.” He looked down to the map now drenched in ink. With a distasteful curl to his lip, Validar fluttered his cloak and turned to storm away. “Fix this map and have it delivered to my study by morning.” 

Robin immediately began to clean. He took a rag and began sopping up the ink. As it stained his fingers, Chrom emerged from the shadows cast by the bookshelves and approached him. Validar was long gone, but neither of them spoke. As if the bubble he left was too dangerous to be burst. Turning, Robin brushed past him and started gathering up the tools which had been scattered on the floor in the ruckus. 

“Forgive me, your highness, but I have much to get done tonight. If you’ll see yourself back to your own quarters.” 

Chrom did not move. His feet bolted themselves down, like fastening a canon to the deck of a ship. “King Gangrel almost killed my sister.” 

Rising with arms full of topography equipment: measuring sticks, protractors, circumference drawers, Robin paused and stared at the floor. “Yes. I planned the battle. Warriors hidden inside the Fell Dragon’s skull, if you’ll remember.” 

When Robin tried walking past again, Chrom held onto his arm and ducked his head. “We would not have taken the day,” he said, voice hoarse, “without a binder of tactical plans slipped into my tent in the dead of night. Emmeryn would have died. Tell me, is this what your father was talking about? Did you give me those plans?” 

“...yes.” 

Chrom felt his throat tightening as Robin looked up. Their eyes meeting brought to mind the heat of a desert afternoon. With newfound care, Chrom cupped his hand about Robin’s cheek and touched the sensitive bud of swelling under his eye. “What drives someone to betray their country? For...for strangers?” 

Robin responded with an evenness that still took Chrom by surprise. “It was the right thing to do.” 

“Did you really want me to overhear that?” 

A shrug freed Robin from Chrom’s hands. He walked to the table and dumped his tools with an empty clatter that echoed through the room. Like it was just a hollow shell. “You should take some comfort in knowing the person who sent you the plans is not dead.” Robin wrapped himself up and curled his fingers around his upper arms. “Henry is the one who ferried them to you. If you’re interested in that.” 

Knowing that unsettling mage had been creeping around their encampment didn’t exactly comfort him, but Chrom appreciated the transparency. “Thank you.” 

“None of that, your highness.” 

“You can call me Chrom. It is what my friends should call me.” 

Robin’s shoulders inched up, and he turned around. “Friends? Your Highness-” His mouth hung open as Chrom approached. “We are still enemies…” 

“Our halidoms are working on a treaty.” 

Mentioning this only dulled Robin’s eyes further. “It is a hope. Your highness-” Robin stopped when Chrom opened his mouth to speak, but he interrupted before Chrom could actually correct him. “Chrom...take my advice on this? Don’t give my father what he wants. That is not where our king’s negotiations are meant to end. Remember that Validar wanted Emmeryn dead just as much as Gangrel did.” 

“Are you saying-” 

“You are all safe here, for the moment. This summit is not a trap.” Robin shrugged, then he leaned into the table behind him. “You have no reason to believe me, but that is the truth.” 

Chrom took Robin’s hand. “I do have reason to believe you. And I do.” 

Robin’s eyes glazed with crystalized surprise. “Why.” It was hardly a question, just a word breathed into the mouth of madness. Chrom knew it was that, a version of insanity to give that trust to someone who months ago had devised tactical plans to best them in a bloody, destructive war. Robin seemed to understand the irrationality that they were wading into as well. 

And Chrom could answer that with the obvious. That he would trust anyone who had risked their life to save Emmeryn. It wouldn’t even be a lie. But there was something else, too. “...that night, my first night here,” Chrom said, and Robin watched him with an uncertain pluck in his eyes. “When we talked, I felt something was strange about you. In a good way. Now I know my heart was telling me to trust you, and my brain wouldn’t listen.” 

A wry smile tipped onto Robin’s lips. “Oh? Does your heart tell you things like that a lot?” 

“Yes! Frederick tells me to think things through more, but I-” Chrom felt heat build in his face as he realized belatedly that Robin was partaking in a similar form of mockery. But the smile on his face eased whatever sting that the insult may have wrought. “I trust my heart. I think everyone should. What does your heart say about me?” 

The smile blinked off his face. Robin gave that question more legitimate thought than it probably deserved. “My heart...told me to send you the battle plans. I listened to it then.” 

“But what is it telling you now?” Chrom pressed. 

The room stilled. Chrom’s heart fluttered like a caged bird. His ribs were the bars denying it freedom. Robin shifted away from the table, fingers stretching outward. They attached to Chrom’s shirt, and he stilled. Robin got closer, standing on his toes, and a kiss pressed onto Chrom’s lips. His heart no longer begged for release. It had stilled entirely. 

The parting sent Robin skittering away. “I-I don’t know what came over me, your highness.” 

“Chrom,” Chrom corrected, and he rubbed his fingers across his tingling lips. 

He turned and reached for Robin. His flight was stopped as Chrom’s fingers managed to cinch around his wrist. Brought to a stop, Robin turned around with wide eyes. “Chrom,” he said. 

Drawing him close like reeling in a fishing line, Chrom nodded his head. “Yeah?” 

“I didn’t mean-” 

“Yes you did.” Chrom nodded again. He slipped his arms around Robin’s trim waist as he leaned in. “I told you to listen to your heart, and you did. And you kissed me-” 

“Inappropriately,” Robin muttered. 

“I don’t care.” Chrom kissed Robin’s forehead just to see his sand-gold eyes widen. If he stared long enough, Chrom would start to realize there was something...pretty in that studious face. Especially to the curve of dry lips when Robin smiled. “Kiss me again?” 

Robin threw a look over his shoulder. “...no one should come in here after dark. I am usually the only one.” He reached up and put a hand around Chrom’s neck to beckon him down. Doing as he’s guided to, Chrom bent and brushed his lips against Robin. 

It didn’t take long for the kiss to deepen. 

The table clattered on its poorly balanced legs when Robin was backed up against it. He reached back to brace himself, a hand flat to the tabletop. Chrom held him around the middle as they exchanged heated kisses between breaths that scorched the air like the exhaust of a raging bonfire. Robin’s fingers snuck up into Chrom’s hairline. 

The white cloak around Chrom’s shoulders was divested off. He hardly even though of it as the fabric fluttered to the ground. Reaching around Robin, he swept the items from the table and lifted the shorter man onto it to bend into him. Pulling away from their kisses, Chrom shifted a hand under Robin’s shirt. His fingers climbed ascending ribs as Robin’s eyes fogged. 

“Your h-highness,” he choked out. 

Chrom shook his head. He kissed Robin again as he padded his thumb around Robin’s nipple. “My name. Use my name. I’ll use yours. We...that’s what we are to each other.” 

Arousal blocked his throat, and Robin curled his fingers taut into Chrom’s hair. “Chrom...Chrom, touch me, Chrom. Please-” He gasped when two fingers pinched his nipple. Robin’s legs folded open and Chrom slotted between them. His lips danced against Robin’s until he was able to float his tongue inside. 

Legs wrapped around his waist. Robin began bumping the growing bulge in his pants against Chrom’s. Knowingly. Desperately. Chrom was unsure how someone could be totally in control and totally at his mercy at the same time, but Robin occupied both places. As they broke from the kiss, Chrom petted his free hand down Robin’s hip. 

“Have you done this before?” 

Robin let out a disquieted noise as fingers rolled around his nipple. “Wh-” He breathed, gaspy breath trying to fill his lungs as Chrom continued to stroke his body. He moved a hand around and cupped the growth between his legs. “Wh- Had sex?” he questioned. 

“No, no,” Chrom answered, and he pushed his nose against Robin’s cheek as he massaged his erection. Robin writhed against him. “Had sex in your library?” 

Moans rang like the celebratory bells of early morning. Chrom was reminded of doves taking flight from the towers to leave a streak of shadowy black across the blue sky. They flew so fast overhead as to be a blur to the eye. Robin shoved his hips forward hard enough to make the table squeak.

“Well?” Chrom prompted. He squeezed his hand around Robin’s swelling bulge. 

White hair swung over Robin’s eyes when he shook his head. “N-no,” he admitted. “To-to either.” 

Chrom brought himself to an anxious stop. “You… Oh, you’ve never-” His hand inched away as a swallow interrupted his words. His quick, hard need suddenly struck him as a bad idea on how to continue this affair. 

“Are you stopping?” Robin sounded so strained that Chrom had no choice but to crowd close and kiss him again. That displeasure should never taint his voice again. Still, Chrom took his hand out of Robin’s shirt so that he could use both hands to cup his face. Robin’s eyes focused on him, confused. “Are you…” 

“No.” Chrom took his hesitancy and pushed it down into his gut to be burned away by his own needy fire. “But we need-” He looked across the messy work station a few feet away. Pulling free from Robin’s hands, he started tugging open drawers until he found what he was seeking. Holding the vial of dark glass, Chrom came back and watched Robin’s hazy gaze fall to the newly acquired item. 

Robin tipped his brow up. “Linseed oil?” 

“I figured you might have it to clean the tables in here.” Chrom swooped in to press a kiss to Robin’s lips. He kissed away the haze until Robin was responding just as buoyantly to his kisses as before. 

Getting rid of Robin’s pants took a moment. Buttons were undone until they were able to slide them off his hips. Robin stood and turned to lean over the table. Chrom pressed against his back, rutting his clothed erection against Robin’s ass as he nibbled on his ear. 

“I’ll be careful with you,” he promised in a scant whisper. “Tell me if anything hurts.” 

Robin nodded. “O-okay,” he said. “But I’m not fragile.” 

“Doesn’t matter.” Chrom ran his hands down Robin’s sides and to his bare hips. Briefly, he massages his fingers around his ass as open-mouthed kisses landed on the back of his neck. Pushing up Robin’s shirt revealed the curve at the small of his back, and Chrom took a second to admire the shape of his body. 

He used the oil to coat the fingers on one hand. It dripped along the digits as he dunked them one at a time into the opening of the vial. Sliding his hand through Robin’s crack, Chrom breathed a quiet sigh into his ear. 

“My first time,” he said, using his voice to distract Robin as he painted oil around his rim, “all we had was the oil we use to shine swords.” He rubbed along the fluttering sphincter as Robin groaned and tipped his hips backward to deepen the touch. “It was the eve of battle. There weren't...real feelings involved, I don’t think. Just...you get desperate for connection when you know you could easily die the next day.” 

Groaning, Robin dragged his nails along the wooden table. “Hng- You-” A fingertip breached, and Robin dropped his head onto the back of his hands. “Chrom!” 

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” 

Kneading muscles until they relaxed, Chrom also laid more kisses onto Robin’s neck and shoulders. His bare, pretty shoulders. There were freckles. Chrom nosed at them and drew lines to connect the dots as he pushed his finger deeper. The oil made the slide slick and easy, but every new added inch made Robin tense again. 

“Does it hurt?” Chrom asked. 

Robin shook his head. But his body was trembling like he was poised atop a highwire. “Feels...different than anything-” His breath caught as Chrom slid in past his knuckle. The tensing around the digit made him slow down again. He bit gently at Robin’s shoulder. “Nng. ‘m fine. Fine. Keep going.” 

Careful, Chrom curled his finger as he moved his kissing down. Leaning over Robin, he fingered into him with easy, languid strokes while starting to kiss new patterns onto his lower back. Robin rocked against the table with plaintive whines. Eventually, he must have covered his mouth because the noises grew muffled. 

Chrom wanted to tell him not to hide those sounds, but it was probably for the best. They were hardly in a private bedchamber. 

With his finger pushing in, Chrom let his tongue lap against Robin’s skin. He started to speed up. The finger pushed deep enough, far enough, and soon Robin was bending his back into an arch. Dragging his hands forward, clawing, Robin eventually curled them around the far edge of the table. 

“Gods above,” Chrom whispered. “You’re...so. I should have seen it the first time I laid eyes on you.” 

“Chrom-” 

“I mean it.” Chrom used a second finger to stroke the rim stretched around the first. A small mole rested an inch to the left of Robin’s spine, and Chrom kissed it gently. And he pushed into Robin. 

Keening, he tightened around the fingers. “Please...please Gods it’s-it’s so much!” 

Chrom began widening his fingers as they slid inside and out. He stretched Robin open as his lips traced the perfect knobs of his spine. He climbed them, descended again. His lips couldn’t help but to worship. “Good?” Chrom asked, even if he knew the answer by the moans drenched in arousal. 

Libraries were places of learning and knowledge. The walls and shelves were lined with the wisdom of a thousand generations. It was a far cry from the temples of Ylisse where the clerics prayed. Chrom had never been the worshipful type, save for whispered invocations to the red rising sun before battle. Tonight, between these hallowed tomes, however, Chrom found the religion he had lacked. 

After three fingers, Robin was ready. His body opened to Chrom easily when he guided his cock to rest on Robin’s rim. The nestle of warmth beckoned him deeper, and Chrom slicked the shaft before grabbing the edge of the table to steady himself. Robin tipped his head back, turning so that one eye could stare expectantly at Chrom. 

Mouth open, heavily breathing, Robin watched and panted out his desire. “Hurry. I. I can’t wait anymore.” 

“I wouldn’t want to make you wait.” Chrom looked down and started pushing in. One hand rested on Robin’s hip. Held tight. “Are you ready?” 

Robin nodded desperately. 

The first push met a last, weak resistance. The muscles soon caved and Chrom moaned as his cock funneled in. Robin gasped his name out like a prayer, and Chrom felt fanatical heat torch inside his ribcage. His fingers curved around Robin’s jutting hip bone as he bottomed out. Bent over, Chrom nestled his forehead between Robin’s shoulder blades. 

They both adjusted. Chrom could hardly think around the clenched muscles that swallowed his aching cock. His pants were around his thighs, boots still on, his shirt stuck tightly to his chest, but any discomfort the clinging clothing brought was a barely registered sensation. Robin was overwhelming. The smell of him, the taste of his skin all salted by sweat, and his delicious moans that slipped past lips covered by slender fingers. 

“I’m gonna move. Is that okay?” 

Robin tacitly nodded. “Pl-please-” 

Drawing out...it felt like an archer with an arrow notched. Chrom readied himself as his cock slid back into the relative coolness of the library, toes curling inside his boots. Poised on the edge, he moved to lay his head against the back of Robin’s. Sweat-soaked strands of hair pressed to his cheek. Chrom smiled. 

The second inward push was infinitely easier. Infinitely better. Chrom bit the inside of his cheek from shouting that joy to the vaulted ceiling. Robin tangled his arm backward and grabbed Chrom’s hair to hold onto him. 

Each thrust sent the table into squeaky groans. They were almost louder than the moans Robin was failing to keep inside his chest. “Chrom, Chrom, Chrom!” Every exclamation of his name came on the apex of a thrust. Beautifully, Robin dropped his head back on Chrom’s shoulder as Chrom moved to lean over him entirely. “H-harder!” 

“Are you sure?” he asked, even as his hips worked to respond to the request. It was instinctual to give that lovely voice everything he wanted. 

Vociferous clamoring took over the library. A place of quiet transformed into their personal cathedral, where they could worship and bray and praise each other as loudly and as much as they wanted. It would be easy to believe this place was special, only for them, even as it existed squarely within the walls of Plegia’s castle. 

Mewling, Robin shook underneath Chrom. He was a seal about to burst. “S-sure,” Robin answered. “Always sure. H-harder.” 

Wild thrusting took him over. Chrom could not claim to be in full control of this as he pounded his cock into Robin’s body. There was something primal in this need, like their blood sang to each other on a different, baser level. Where there were no halidoms, no false lines that could be drawn between them. The way their marrows matched movement for movement had to be a sign of something better than all this needless war. 

What was the difference between him and a Grimleal? Between his Brand of the Exalt and Robin’s birthmark? 

His lips struggled to find Robin’s ear as Chrom flung his body toward the rising peak of orgasm. It’s on his horizon, just made out through the aroused haze that shrouded over them both like a protective fog. “C-come away with me,” he whispered. Robin gasped. A response to either his request or the cock slamming near his prostate. 

“What?” Robin asked. 

The hot pulse of approaching orgasm made Chrom’s words stutter again. Even if, in the moment, he was sure these were the most important words he’d ever speak. “I want you to-to return- ahg!” Chrom shook his head, trying to loosen his tongue and say this correctly. “Return to Ylisse with me. To Ylisstol. Leave this behind. You’ll be safer there.” 

Robin said nothing. His moans were taking over, and Chrom leaned away to take both hips into his hands. They were large around Robin’s waist, but somehow still fit just right. In this position, he could watch the blur of his cock disappear into Robin’s body with every harsh, relentless thrust. And that bubbled hot inside his veins. 

“Hnng! Chrom! I’m c-” Muscles tightened around Chrom’s cock before Robin could fully warn him. A jolt traveled down Robin’s spine before he convulsed and shoved himself backward. 

Chrom held on tight to Robin as he orgasmed. Kept his pace as tightly regimented as he could to make sure the pleasure was wrung from his body. Like every single drop of moisture from a rag. And as soon as Robin finished, and his body slumped, Chrom felt the implosion in his gut like the flashing heat of a comet sailing overhead in the clear night sky. 

He emptied himself into Robin with quick, jerky movements. What he had held himself back from, no more, and he tasted the sweetness like juice squeezed from freshly picked fruit. One more inward thrust ended him, and Chrom draped himself onto Robin’s back. Both of them laid over the table with legs tangled and breathing matching the same frantic, gaspy pace. Chrom reached his hand out and found Robin’s ink stained fingers. He linked his own, slick with oil, around Robin’s hand. 

Time was both sluggish and quick footed in the aftermath. Chrom watched the flickering cast of light from the candle, until he was sure that it had grown dimmer. Beneath him, eyes shut and gasps shallowing out, Robin seemed nearly unconscious. His legs were starting to bend. 

Standing, Chrom checked to find the candle had burned lower during their lovemaking. Dragging himself away from Robin was hard, but not so hard as pulling out. His cock was sensitive, and it was like cold electricity when he pulled free of Robin’s warm hole. Both of them hissed at the same time. Gently, Chrom rubbed at Robin’s hip as he dragged his pants up with one hand. 

“Hold on, I’ll clean up. I’ll-” He stopped talking when Robin slid off the table and went to the ground. He pulled his own pants up as he did, clearly not worried about mess. At least, not to his own clothes. But he did look over the edge of the table, to the glob of white he’d left behind. Eyes then flashed around the floor space around them, which was freshly littered with the things Chrom had swept off the table. 

Robin looked up at him. His blinks seemed slow and tired. 

“Like I said, I’ll clean it up,” Chrom said, because he could feel an unspoken accusation in that gaze. One that Robin didn’t even need to speak aloud to make clear. 

Leaning against the leg of the table, Robin sighed and shut his eyes. “Mhm. That was…” 

Chrom ignored the sticky feeling in his pants, and how his body ached in response to the sex. Instead, he started picking up everything and putting it away. He used the ink-soaked rag to clean the release from the table as well, hoping that it wouldn't stain the wood (either of them, frankly). “Good, I hope,” he said, almost too jovial for how exhausted he felt. Even with that cloying tiredness, he did feel good about something. About… Looking down, smiling, Chrom found Robin looking at him again. 

He did not see his own joy reflected back. 

Abandoning the measuring stick on the work table, Chrom came over and bent to a knee in front of Robin. “What is the matter?” he asked, a severe tone leaking in. He hated the saddened expression on Robin’s face more than he’d ever hated anything. “Does something hurt?” 

“No.” Robin shook his head. Reaching up, he pushed bangs from in front of his eyes with a somber smile. “...everything was perfect. Better than I had...well, I never did imagine someone would share that with me, actually.” 

Chrom furrowed his brows. “Robin?” 

“Yes?” 

“What do you mean by that?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” Robin reached up and grabbed the edge of the table to fight to his feet. Standing, legs shaking, he blinked quickly as if trying to wake from the after-haze of sex. “I have to finish the new map or Father will be furious.” 

Chrom quickly rose and put a hand on Robin’s waist to hold him up. In case he fell. In case he wanted Chrom to hold him. “...that can be done any time. You cannot stay up all night.” Robin smiled at him, some of that wryness back, even as it was dampened by fatigue. “Have you been staying up all night recently?” 

“Hm. Who do you think makes up the charts, graphs, and maps you studiously pour over in negotiations everyday? Aversa? Can you imagine her doing any of this?” 

Chrom shook his head. “You’re a tactician. This...isn’t your job.” 

“My job is whatever Father wants it to be.” Robin shook his head. “And more. You should go. So I can get back to work.” 

“My offer.” 

Robin looked pointedly at the ground. His lips wrapped around a word. Chrom did not want to hear it. 

“You are clearly not happy here. And after you helped us in the war-” 

“Chrom.” 

“-it may not be safe for you!” He stopped when Robin’s lips pursed. “Let me take you back to Ylisse. It’s a better place than here.” 

Robin wrapped an arm around his chest. Like a vase beginning to chip, he teetered away from Chrom and toward the chair. His walk was haggard and labored. “Do you think I have no loyalty to my people whatsoever?” he asked. “I am what I am, your highness. And it is a prince of Plegia. Whether you like it or not. That comes with responsibilities. Yes, the-the war was unjust, and I saw no need for Exalt Emmeryn to die, but…” Robin sat, heavily, wincing as he did so. Chrom watched, frozen by the rejection he probably should have expected. 

Frederick always told him he made too many decisions with his heart. For the first time in his life, Chrom wondered if, maybe, his retainer and friend was right about that. 

“Say it,” Chrom said. “Say it so we can be through.” 

Looking pained, Robin stared at the map ruined by the ink. He traced the birthmark. Ran his forefinger along every eye without even looking. He had clearly memorized it. That would happen, when one had been living with something their whole lives. Even the terrible could become a comfort. 

“Return to your rooms, your highness. Negotiations will begin early in the morning again.” Robin did not look at him. That somehow burned worse than the actual words he said. “Our fates are already set in motion, and they do not cross here. Goodbye.” 

A farewell like that was too venomous to even spit, so Chrom left the library without saying anything. It no longer felt like a house of worship. 

The horse’s footsteps were muffled in the sand. But when a large group of them moved together, it could still sound almost deafening. The sun was cruelly hot where it hung above their heads. The flap of wings denoted a pegasus landing near him, and Chrom lifted his eyes from the reins to find Cordelia and Sully settling beside him. Sully’s arms were tight around Cordelia’s waist. 

“You a’right there?” Sully asked him. 

Chrom lifted a brow. “Of course. Why would you ask?” 

She grimaced, like that wasn’t a question she wanted to answer. Cordelia kept her yes forward as if she couldn’t even hear their conversation. Probably better than engaging with it. “You’ve been quiet last couple of...oh, days? Days.” Sully prodded at Cordelia to get her to add her input, too. Only got a blush and a giggle when she hit her in the ticklish ribs. 

“Stop, Sully,” Cordelia said, her smile brightening. But when she looked at Chrom, it fell away and she latched her eyes forward again. Cleared her throat. “People do wonder if something is the matter with you,” she admitted. When Sully still wouldn’t leave her alone. “Just...concerned about you.” 

“What’s this?” Emmeryn asked. She was riding beside Chrom at the heart of their procession. Her golden headpiece gleamed in the light, making her look as ethereal as Naga herself. “Is something the matter, Chrom?” 

“No, Emm. I’m fine.” He shot a glance toward Sully and Cordelia to make sure they kept their mouths shut. Both of them were now entangled in each other, though, and soon Cordelia clicked her tongue to make her pegasus take off. They were meant to scout the area for threats, anyway, not bother him. Chrom focused on his sister’s concerned face. “I am disappointed the negotiations ended so...underwhelmingly.” 

Emmeryn nodded. “I think that’s a feeling shared by all of us. However, after spending much time with King Validar, I have to say...I am not surprised.” 

After his conversation with Robin, Chrom is not either. But he doesn’t wish to think about...that. At all. His reluctance to expand on any thoughts must have struck Emmeryn as strange (and why wouldn’t it? He’d never been shy before). 

“Are you sure everything is alright?” 

No was the simple answer. Chrom wasn’t sure he could really say that. After the library, Robin had avoided him like a plague rat, and Chrom had done the same, he would shamefully admit. “I am...also disappointed about something of a personal nature.” 

Emmeryn calmly waited for him to continue. 

“I’ve never been wrong before. When I truly trusted what my heart was telling me, it’s always guided me in the right direction.” Chrom held onto his horse’s reins and stared at his hands gripped tight to the leather. “Now I have been. I reached out to someone, and they…” 

“It didn’t go as you thought it would?” Emmeryn asked, and Chrom shook his head. “I see. Your heart is so pure, Chrom. It always has been. Just because things did not necessarily go the way you wanted, that doesn’t mean your feelings were wrong. Is this about Prince Robin?” 

Chrom shifted in the saddle, surprised. “Wh-” He had worked to keep everything about his personal dealings under wraps while in Plegia, not wanting to distract from his sister’s important diplomacy. She was the one leading negotiations on behalf of Ylisse and hadn’t needed any of this mucking up her concentration. “How do you know…?” 

A laugh came from her, like gentle bells. “Lissa talks,” she answered, and Chrom had to fight from rolling his eyes. Leaning around his sister, they both looked to find the youngest of their family riding alongside Maribelle. They were talking, animating their conversation with hand gestures and bright peals of laughter. Emmeryn looked at Chrom again with a knowing smile. “Do you think I could spend multiple weeks in the same room with her without hearing about all of this?” 

“Well...perhaps my hopes were a little high,” he admitted. “I am sorry that you were troubled by any of this.” 

“Chrom, you are my little brother. Things that affect your heart matter greatly to me.” Emmeryn looked up as the pegasus flew across the sky above them. There was a sad smile crowning her face, and Chrom imagined she was remembering the fallen pegasus knights they had not managed to save. The war had taken so much. And they had come here, hoping that they could repair some of the damage. Chrom felt like they had only irritated the wounds. “Besides,” Emmeryn said, catching his attention. “Are you sure that things did not go your way?” 

Chrom followed her hand flourish upward to see Cordelia sending down the signal that someone was following them. Grabbing onto Falchion’s hilt, Chrom nodded goodbye to his sister and called to Frederick to keep the party moving. He would ride back and see what was happening while Cordelia and Sully kept watch from above. He hurried the horse along through the desert sands, back toward the castle which was only a grey shimmer in the heatwaves. 

Eventually, he made out a trio of figures walking along the pathway and he rode toward them. The first he recognized was Henry, still smiling even with the flush in his cheeks from the blazing sun starting to look more like a painful sunburn. The other two had hoods up to cover their faces, and Chrom rode close before drawing his horse to a stop. 

Reaching up and flinging the hood from his snow white hair, Robin stared up at Chrom with those sandy eyes. “Your highness…” he muttered, so soft through a parched throat. 

Chrom had no idea what to say. “...here.” He unclipped the leather canteen from his saddle and offered it. “Have a drink. All of you.” 

Robin took the canteen with shaking fingers. One had had drank, he passed it along to Tharja who glared at Chrom from under her purple hood. “I apologize,” Robin said, “but I-” 

Waiting, Chrom stared at some of the sand still floating around his horse’s hooves. “What do you need? Do you have something else to warn me of?” 

“I was...wrong.” Robin used the sleeve of his coat to wick away from sweat from his brow. “You-you asked me to leave, and I told you no. I said that, because I fear...I fear what will happen if I do go with you. My father will not let me go so easily. There are reasons-” 

“Whatever they may be,” Chrom said, “I would protect you.” 

“I know that. I know that.” Robin tried to smile through the prism of pain that latticed across his face. “That is half the problem, Chrom. I cannot explain it all here on this dusty road… I am sure that when my father finds I have gone missing, the first place he will want to check is Ylisse. The Grimleal consider me very important, and none of them will be pleased to see me disappear.” 

Henry chuckled. A dark sound that made Chrom grimace out of some innate instinct. He wasn’t sure what it was about the Dark Mage, but Henry managed to unease parts of Chrom’s brain that only the likes of dark caverns and drops from great heights could. “You could say, they might gut us both if they found we had helped Prince Robin sneak from the castle.” 

“They can try,” Tharja replied in her own dark tone. 

“It is dangerous to take me in,” Robin said. “How could I put you in danger even if I...want more than anything in the world to be with you.” 

Chrom felt his heart thud like a hammer inside his chest. Was pretty sure it broke one of his ribs. But the pain was rich and sweet like freshly churned cream. He offered a hand, which Robin took, and Chrom helped him up onto the back of the horse. “If I am fine with this,” he said, turning slightly to see Robin behind him, “you will come with me?” 

“As long as you know that...this is not going to be a simple matter.” Robin wrapped his arms around Chrom and nuzzled into his bare shoulder. “Please know that I would never wish anything bad to happen to you or your family. Even your country. I have no anger toward Ylisse.” 

Swiveling his head toward the horizon, Chrom felt a familiar certainty lodge itself inside his chest. Challenges were not something he shied away from. “For you?” he asked, even if it was to himself. “I would do anything.” 

Robin kissed the Brand of the Exalt with familiar reverence. “Take me away from here.” 

The horse trotted forward with two mages behind it. They would join other riders once they caught up with the party. Despite the heat, Chrom hoped Robin would never let him go. From where his chest was pressed against Chrom’s back, he could feel Robin’s heart beating in time with his own.