Chapter Text
The great banner that hung at the far end of the great hall, just above the throne itself, had always served as a comfort to Chrom. At least it had in later years. The winged coat of arms under his sister’s rule had become a symbol of peace he wished to champion rather than a blood soaked battle ornament. Fifteen years of crusading certainly left a lot to be recovered, but the embroidered image was more than a just, familiar landmark as he breached the threshold to the great hall with Frederick and Robin in tow. He was proud to protect it and he’d be proud to die for it.
But dying at the hands of assassins was not the dignified end he envisioned for he and his family. Chrom would do everything in his power to see that it wasn’t.
Few bodies filled the hall; mostly guards and attendants flitting about, filling pitchers and setting out candied figs for the preparation of afternoon dinner. The prince might have partaken in some of the pre-meal sweets, were he not carrying such heavy news. The soft clatter of Frederick dutifully bowing once within a respectable distance of the exalt caught his ears, but only just so. He was more interested in the slight scramble that followed as his newest shepherd practically threw himself to the floor to follow suit. The prince bowed his head respectfully, but it was hard to remember manners when his heart was swelling just at the image of his eldest sister unharmed. It was also this that loosened his tongue before their exalt had given her greeting.
“Sister – I am relieved to see you well and intact.”
He could see the light press of her flaxen brows as they furrowed just a hair while taking in the sight of her younger brother.
“I bear the same relief, Chrom. But what pales your face so? Have you learned more since our meeting yestereve?”
A singular nod was all he gave in response before beginning to delve into the meat of his request for her presence. There was precious little time and he wanted to see the forces around her doubled even still.
“I’m afraid so… The prisoner we have recently taken claims he was hired for a distraction. The details of such a plan are still particularly cloudy, but one thing remains clear; they were here for your life.“
Some of the nearby servers tried to look as if they hadn’t been eavesdropping, though a lady in waiting cupped a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp with a lace glove. Emmeryn herself reacted very little to this news. Chrom felt unease growing within him, knowing not what the eldest sibling of their court could be thinking.
“Sister, we should rally agai-“
Before he could finish the words he intended, a single hand raised to silence him, though as with everything she did, her authority still felt gentle.
“Peace, Chrom. I believe this conversation may be best held in privacy before it is presented to the council for further discussion.”
Bewilderment bubbled inside him and he felt the urge to let his tongue slip again. With danger nipping at their heels in the form of regicide, he indulged that urge.
“But, Emm-“
“If you are concerned for my safety, please rest assured the Pegasus Knight Squadron has already been working very hard to ensure it since the incidents you and the Shepherds bravely quelled.” Her poise was unflinching, as always, though he could find it grinding an old nerve, sending his lips to press in a thin line of doubt. She never seemed to care much for her own safety. Perhaps a family trait they shared.
“I appreciate their tireless efforts. No doubt Phila and her ladies-in-arms are doing all they can, but I fear these treacherous brigands may be more slippery still.”
Frederick’s voice chimed in now, the plates of his armor sliding against his body as he came to stand, though Robin was still affixed to the floor.
“If I may speak out of turn, your Grace, I align myself with Milord as well. If this discussion is to be postponed, then we could at least fortify your escort until you have a chance to be fully recounted the details of all we’ve uncovered thus far.”
Her eyes were on him now, smile soft, her love for them evident in her gaze as they both were so strongly advocating for her safety first and foremost.
“…I will see to it that I am well protected. However, I will not spread our forces so thin as to concentrate them here while the rest of our land is under siege by bandits.”
Both Chrom and Frederick fell silent, exchanging uneasy glances with one another as the air thickened with words unspoken.
“May I take pause to ask of your guest, Chrom? He certainly has been kneeling for some time now.”
The conversation swerved as all eyes turned to Robin who had, as the exalt described, been prostrate on the ground from the very start. His nose was pressed deferentially to the carpet, an image Chrom had not seen in quite some time. In fact, upon further recollection, he was unsure he had witnessed it ever at all. His father, despite the man he was, did not mandate people kiss the floor when speaking to him. It was almost charming if it weren’t a bit comical.
“Robin, you needn’t splay yourself like an offering.” He teased, feeling a brief swell of lightheartedness. The fluffy head of white and silver was popping up tentatively, wearing a boyish expression of mild embarrassment before he was pushing back to his heels; taking up a position of kneeling respectably. Frederick cleared his throat, though said nothing; presumably abated that the new recruit was so readily subservient. Emmeryn, ever demure and a vision of grace and dignity, simply smiled and raised clothed knuckles to her lips, quelling a breath of laughter.
Somehow, Robin had diffused the tension entirely unawares and Chrom was rather grateful for the momentary reprieve.
He extended a hand to Robin, as if he were plucking him from the dirt of the training grounds once again.
“Do you need a hand?” He asked, sarcasm well hidden and Robin gave him an incredulous look, as if they were the ones unaware they were in the presence of royalty. After the new recruit pieced it together, he was abashedly taking up Chrom’s offer, pulling himself to his feet before busying himself with tidying up as best he could.
“I would have preferred being informed of what formalities to practice before making myself out like a fool,” he murmured, his ears tinged pink.
“It wasn’t at the forefront of my mind. I apologize.” Chrom offered. Robin stiffened slightly, as though conscious of the insensitivity of his words and bowed his head in request for forgiveness. The mood had lightened ever so, but the residual gravity of Emmeryn’s plight remained. Chrom took a step forward.
“Emm, this is Robin. He is to be our newest recruit for the Shepherds. He was brought to our attention by Ricken and has since caught my eye as well.” He turned blue eyes to the man aforementioned, Robin stepping forward with a straight back and squared shoulders.
“Your grace,” he said, his voice steady and even. He was quick to recover from humiliation, and was already more composed than when they had first met. Granted, Chrom recalled, he had barfed blood all over him.
Emmeryn regarded him with a cool gaze, her disposition one of serenity. Robin did not appear anxious or uneasy, though that was of little surprise. As a boy, Emmeryn had eased Chrom’s own worries and hushed his fears, playing role of mother as a girl in her adolescence. She hadn’t an air of extortion about her, though that did not mean she was without it.
After a moment of observation, she cast her eyes to Chrom and spoke plainly.
“Is he a man you trust?”
The question was both a barb and a badge of honor. Emmeryn was so trusting of his opinion, her regard of her brother’s perception and instinct highly esteemed and Chrom cherished it like something precious and finite. But so diplomatic was her demeanor, Chrom feared it would be her undoing. But he was nothing if not an honest man and true to his word. He felt Robin look at him and wondered what thoughts occupied his head.
“He is.” He looked nowhere but Emmeryn, the shift around him tangible in both Frederick and in Robin. “He has saved us on more than one occasion with no requisite purpose and no expectation for reward. He and I have gone a round in the sawdust and he is an adequate swordsman and an even better magician.”
“I beg your forgiveness, but there is more information I believe is pertinent.” Frederick, again, but Chrom was largely unbothered by the interjection. It had been anticipated. “This man also claims to be without any memory other than the immediate. And despite this, his immense talent has also put him right in the center of the uprising in the capitol.” There was no inclination to any sort of emotion in the color of his speech this time. His second in command delivered his concerns dispassionately for the sake of the court and Chrom calmly listened. It was truly nothing he hadn’t already considered. “There are markings on his back that also indicate what is likely Plegian heritage.”
Emmeryn listened closely, her expression changing only in the most minute of ways, though the prince had doubt anyone not intimately familiar with her would likely catch it. He continued to stand tall and squared, boots together against the rich, yet worn carpet below. When Frederick finished, her calm gaze shifted back to the young man behind. Chrom could feel his tension.
“Is this true, Robin? You’ve been robbed of your memories?” Nothing of being Plegian. He knew Emm likely cared little of the implications of his heritage. She simply took each person as they were.
There was a small stammer, something tenuous in his tone that Chrom had not picked up before. No doubt he had to be on edge about being revealed as Plegian in the center of the Ylissian palace. Chrom would be sure to apologize once all was said and done.
“Y-yes, your Grace. I have been hoping to find a method to somehow restore them…but to no avail thus far. So I’ve decided to give myself purpose in the meantime. If I may also be candid, the Shepherds also give me much needed food and shelter in exchange for my services.”
A very fair response, but Chrom could still sense an undertone that hadn’t been there until Frederick’s remarks. It was enough to turn his head and raise his blue brows, but only for a moment. His attention was soon drawn forward as his sister spoke once more. Her words were clear and tone soothing.
“I am glad then that you could find your purpose here with us. If you’ve won Chrom’s faith, then you have mine as well.” Her head inclined slightly, humbly for someone of such status. “And I thank you for all that you’ve done so far for my people. I hear you were invaluable in calming the chaos of the other day.” She was naturally gifted at mitigating tension. The cold whispers that had begun in each edge of the hall during Frederick’s reveal had calmed.
“I’m humbled by your praise, Exalt Emmeryn. I hope to continue to be an asset for the Shepherds as long as I am able.” Robin bowed again and Chrom felt his own small wash of relief. With this small hurdle dealt with, there was still the matter of the prisoner and so Chrom cleared his throat in a manner of pressing forward.
“Sister, if I may have your audience for a while longer, I would like to discuss the terms of the man we have in custody.”
Emmeryn was offering a serene expression at Chrom then, smiling kindly as she nodded and stepped back to allow the two of them to walk side by side to further discuss. He took up his position beside her and the two of them set off, their pace gentle and familiar.
-
Robin watched them go, his expression a mixture of worry and whimsy. It was not of much surprise that the Exalt had been a woman of saintly countenance. Ricken had reassured him, certainly, but it was Libra who had spoke in detail of Emmeryn’s inspirational pacifism. It had not entirely quashed his fear of being turned away from the country, though he admittedly allowed himself the peace of mind to believe he would be safe regardless.
“Your expression does not speak of a man spared.” Frederick drew him from his reverie and Robin was blinking, turning amber eyes unto him before he forced his body, singing with tension, to slacken ever so slightly. It was curious indeed that he was not more obviously comforted with the departure of the royal siblings.
“My apologies, I imagine not. I can’t quiet my thoughts, and at times they tend to run amok.” Frederick hadn’t been necessarily accusatory, but the man was understandably apprehensive of Robin’s telling body language. Robin wasn’t sure if it would be wise to disclose the nature of his unease to a man already inclined to condemn him.
Frederick regarded him evenly, his gaze cool but not unkind before he sniffed, straightened himself and turned.
“Come. We’ll return to the barracks.”
With one last look to the disappearing backs of Chrom and his sister, Robin shifted and moved as there was little else to do but follow.
-
Their journey through the training grounds and back to the garrison was not as edged as Robin had thought it might be and he wondered if Frederick was a man so dedicated to his liege, he could shed himself of doubt if he was bid it. Ultimately, Robin knew such wasn’t the case, but he wasn’t so sure he had the liberty to entertain the model of a budding comradery between them.
Frederick had said there were markings on his back.
He had not known of such things and thought, surely, they were talking about the insignia on his hand. Though it had an eerily impressive aptitude for disappearing and reappearing, he had seen it the day Chrom had come to retrieve him at the library, and thus was not a stretch to assume it had been present when they washed him of bile and blood.
Chrom, however, had not reacted to Frederick’s claims, though it was possible the prince was not present during Robin’s washing, as he had been recovering from the hex himself. Libra perhaps had seen it, but he was a pious man and likely felt it inappropriate to comment on it; if such markings existed at all.
The great knight was Robin’s best option currently, should he want an answer immediately, but it wasn’t much a mystery why he was hesitant to engage with him. Emmeryn had acquitted him, but that did not mean he had a permanent seal of innocence.
Perhaps embracing some of that skepticism would be best; he owed the royal family a large debt, after all.
“Frederick…may I ask you something?” Robin spoke as evenly as he could, not wanting to pile on too much flowery language. The knight seemed not to care for trivial matters aside from showing a fair amount of respect to his charge. His head did not turn, but he responded coolly.
“If I feel it is appropriate of your station.” Another way of saying ‘I still don’t trust you’. Fair.
Robin cleared his throat, taking just a moment to make sure his words were chosen as carefully as they could be. He knew Frederick would still actively be looking for holes in his ‘story’.
“The markings on my back…did you happen to see them? In person, I mean.”
The heavy, clanking steps of Frederick’s armored boots came to an immediate halt against the cobbled path, traversing the long way around some of the kept flowers sprinkled along the way. Narrowed brown eyes met his, lips pulled downward in a disapproving arch, but Robin raised and exposed an open palm in a manner of disarming.
“I-I promise this isn’t some sort of weak attempt at making a threat or something. I just have a question about what you’ve seen….if you’ve seen it, of course.”
The edge of Frederick’s gaze did soften some, though a small amount of impatience had taken its place. The white-haired amnesiac would take that over open hostility any day. It was better to be seen as a brat with too many questions rather than a double-dealing assassin with eyes set on the Ylissian throne.
“Yes? And what is your question?”
He’d take that as ‘Yes, Robin, I did happen to see it. What would you like to know?’.
“The markings…You said they looked Plegian.” It felt chancy at best to bring up the the country they were having direct conflict with, but if there truly was some sort of chance Robin was a danger to the family who had treated him with such kindness, the earlier he knew, the better. “If I might ask how you knew? I’m afraid I haven’t been able to find out much in terms of their symbolism or politics… There’s little to learn from the library other than they were formed as a nation under their unifying faith to Grima.”
The distaste he had anticipated with the mention of this black deity did not come. Rather only the slightest wrinkle of perplexity formed in the center of his thick brow.
“You mean to imply you have no idea what the marks on your own body mean?”
A cringe took the corner of Robin’s mouth and dragged it down.
“Yes….If….I’m to be completely open with you about this….I actually haven’t …even seen the markings you mentioned.”
Frederick’s shoulders slid slightly from their usual solid stance, drooping just enough to convey his exhaustion with the vexing topic of the young man’s missing memory. Honestly, it was hard to imagine anyone wouldn’t be. Still, any taunting was reserved and the knight found it appropriate for once to simply indulge him. It could he slowly be warming up, even just a fraction.
“Where I did see them for myself, I found them to be fairly…sinister looking. I had to employ the knowledge of someone else to be sure.”
Oh, lovely. More people knew of this than he was even aware. But if the second in command couldn’t decipher such things, the marking had to be fairly unknown. Was it perhaps the same as the one on his hand? No one had so much as brought that up and Frederick’s due diligence didn’t seem beyond such an inquiry.
“She could only tell me that it appeared heavily influenced by Plegian lore, with mixings of symbolism from other faiths, including our own.” He’d begun walking once more, eyes forward and leaving Robin to trail with eyes wide and hungry for the scraps of information he was being provided. So it wasn’t just Plegian, but enough so to convince them that was likely where he hailed.
“She? Is it someone of the court?” Robin pressed, forgetting momentarily that his questions were all likely being dissected as he spoke.
“A shepherd, actually. A resident mage and scientist; Miriel. I believe you’ve met.”
He must have meant the auburn haired woman he’d seen poring over books in the mess hall. He hadn’t the chance to speak to her with much length, no, but he’d be sure to do that now.
“So she is familiar with the marking?”
A small huff expelled from Frederick was all it took for Robin to check himself again. He was now realizing he’d actually pulled up rather close to the great knight’s side, causing a side glance to be thrown in his direction before he took a step back and fell back in stride at a respectable distance.
“No. I simply needed to know if such a mark could be utilized to cast any hexes or the like, but she was unable to discern any sort of use for magic in it.”
Robin cast his gaze downward, pulling into himself as his thoughts began to swarm. He wasn’t sure what to make of such information or what it meant. Markings all over his back, ‘sinister’ as Frederick had defined the look of them. Yet they hadn’t any discernable quality of magic about them, despite the manner of mimicry.
Though memory of it was absent, Robin could not imagine he had chosen to decorate his body simply for an artistically aesthetic choice. Its purpose, however, was apparently unclear to anyone else and he hadn’t any other lead to discern otherwise.
“You truly have no memory.”
The statement was unexpected, Robin lifting his head to regard Frederick who was staring down at him. His steely expression suggested that he was, for the first time, regarding the white haired shepherd as a man who, indeed, was navigating on little else but intuition and a precarious moral compass.
“…None…I barely remembered my own name.”
Frederick studied him a moment longer before a large and steady exhale came. His reservations, vibrantly apparent from the start, were of little consequence if his charge and namely his Exalt had deemed the new recruit innocent. It would only create tension and, at worst, an insurgence within the Shepherds if Frederick continued to nurse his doubt.
“Well. We will not tolerate any manner of deceit. However, if your purpose is to aid the Ylissean crown in our journey to better our country, you are a welcome asset and ally.”
It was possibly the kindest thing Frederick had said to him since they had met one another. Robin was taken aback, waiting for a follow through but when none came, he couldn’t help the smile that pulled at the corners of his lips. He nodded his head once, and responded with full confidence.
“Of course. Thank you, Frederick.”
Being a man of poise, the brunette did well to maintain an air of indifference, but there was just the faintest tell to his body language, something that told Robin he was quite gratified with the exchange and Robin congratulated himself on not exploiting the man’s good mood for some light hearted jibes.
It was not long before they reached the barracks and, with good graces from the Great Knight, or as good as Robin believed they could be all things considered, Robin was allowed free time to pursue what he wished for the time being. It may have been adventurous to say, but he believed Frederick was perhaps taking pity on him, as the man even offered a tip of where Robin could possibly locate the bookish mage mentioned earlier; someone Robin very much intended to engage with after what he had learned. The castle library. Not much of a surprise, being a man of similar interests, and thus departed with as much optimism as he was able.
---
He did not, however, account for the fact that he knew nothing of the castle layout, had not secured a map of any kind, and thus became utterly and hopelessly lost.
He’d already caved and meekly sought the guidance of some of the guards in asking where, exactly, the library in question was, but it had only proven to confuse him further. He’d climbed an innumerable amount of steps, accidently poked his head into a wine cellar, was barked at to remove himself from a private quarters before he finally found himself in an expansive storage room of sorts; likely where they kept the extra table settings and linens for when guests arrived. Not a grand library by any means, but he needed a moment to quell his embarrassment before wandering the halls again.
A thinly veiled window gave just enough lighting for him to not bodily knock into anything, but it still left the area dim at best. With nothing to light any of the sconces along the walls, this would have to do. It would only be a few moments to catch his breath before dashing off to any more damned staircases, but just for the sake of his own image, it’d be best no to linger unsupervised. With that in mind, he allowed his shoulders to fall against the door, rocking back on his heels as he slumped with the force of his exhaustion guiding him.
“The exalt herself likely has legs of steel with all these accursed stairs…” He muttered in a somewhat bitter amusement at his own weakness. Frederick, as spiny and suspicious as he was of Robin, was likely right in him needing more physical training. All these hidden talents aside, endurance was not one of them.
But curiosity naturally drew him away from the wall, further into the cluttered, yet sizeable room; its surroundings were lined with carved wooden tables and assorted candelabras set atop lace doilies. It was all beautifully crafted, as one might expect of the accouterments of a royal castle. The wood was waxed smooth and well kept. Even the candle drippings had been peeled away before it was all stored. It was a shame to see it all collecting a thin layer of dust, though with the politics at hand, there likely wasn’t much use or need to be hosting such fanciful events. He even snorted softly at the idea of Chrom with his collar stuffed with lace, straight backed and patting his lips with an embroidered napkin. It was hard to picture, even if that was the life surely destined for someone of royal blood.
It wasn’t long before his fingers found the edges of nicely polished silver platter, lifting it up for a better look while his expression flashed right back at him through its reflective surface, nearly startling him to a small yelp. Rather skinny and somewhat baby-faced, he truly was hardly more intimidating than Ricken himself, despite there likely being a handful of years between them. He was still wearing borrowed clothing and his pale, snowy hair was beginning to fall just a bit longer before his eyes. Robin’s head tipped and he brought fingers to his forehead, sweeping his hair slightly this way and that. Was this the reason he felt his reflection so unrecognizable?
It was hard to say what one’s innate style was when he truly had no identity to work from. It only struck him as odd that he could seem to easily pinpoint Chrom’s visage and taste in clothing and not his own; someone equally unknown to him. Still, he felt little familiarity in looking at his own features, but that wouldn’t be a first. Cocking this way and that, he observed; fixing his collar, mussing his hair, until the exposure of his collarbone finally tempted him to dip his shirt just a little lower. The markings on his back; he still hadn’t confirmed them with his own eyes.
His gaze darted to the left, then the right, but unless the decorative chests of silverware had eyes, he was alone. It couldn’t hurt to have a quick look for himself.
He didn’t exactly account for the difficulty of contorting his body in order to get a good vantage of his back. The silver platter, though beautifully polished and well reflective, was not a mirror, and Robin was no acrobat. After shedding his top layer of clothing and bearing his torso, Robin had attempted to twist his body this way and that while holding the tray at bizarre and quirky angles to get even just a glimpse.
He could see, in the corners of the salver and all beautifully engraved swirling patterns and flora, the beginnings of something that was not just skin and the shadow of muscle and bone contour. What it was, however, was fogged and incomprehensible; the edges smears of blurred images and just outside of Robin’s peripheral range.
Huffing, he situated the tray upright atop a small stack of wooden chests, likely filled with fine silver and gold dishware and utensils for elaborate entertainments. It took a bit of balancing before it remained upright and Robin could step back to observe his body in full.
It could have been the trick of the lighting, or perhaps just the poor manner of mirror forming obscurities that the mind perceived as silhouettes; or perhaps it was the soft creek of the door laden with iron and cherry wood, and the glare of light from the hall that flushed the room. Regardless, it was no mystery that Robin, quite suddenly, was not alone. It was when he turned around, brows furrowed inquisitively that he was met with the alarmingly rapid approach of a woman he did not recognize, donning a fearsome expression of one prepared for combat.
It took less than a split second for Robin to discern just who it was she intended to engage.
With reflexes of untapped instinct, Robin was dodging a strike made to catch him in the center of his diaphragm and render him incapacitated. She was not armed, but her stance was reminiscent of a lance user and was not at much a disadvantage for lacking a weapon. She made another strike, one Robin was able to miss just barely before he was scrambling out of her range and attempting to make sense of what was happening.
“Thief!!” She barked and squared off once more, prepared to charge the white haired individual. In an attempt to perhaps derail being tackled to the unforgiving floorboards, Robin splayed his palms defensively and shook his head about in a wild fashion; his cheeks flush with adrenaline.
“I’m not a thief! I’m-”
“A lecher, then!” She was clearly not abated, bristling further while the brilliancy of her long red hair only complemented the vision of a warrior scorned.
“Yea-what—no!” Robin floundered, all flustered and tongue tied as his heart thundered. “I’m a member of the Shepherds! The new recruit! Robin!” He pointed to his face as if doing so would undoubtedly secure his identity for the woman he himself did not recognize. Yet to his luck, she did take pause; observing him with a piercing gaze as she visibly tracked her memory. After a bout of brief silence, her stance eased just a fraction and her voice was edgy with hesitation.
“…Why are you bare from the waist up.”
…Right. That was a peculiar thing to stumble upon, wasn’t it?
The answer tumbled from his tongue before he could stop it; face still red hot while his fingers gripped for his tunic in an effort to cover up under her piercing gaze. With her well-kept and fitted armor and all the power and fury she exuded even barehanded, she was as terrifying as she was beautiful. Were all the royal guards this way?
“Spider-” He choked out, though the lie he’d produced was perhaps even more embarrassing than what he’d actually been doing. “I felt something crawling under my shirt…and I was trying to get a good look in whatever reflective thing I could find without…causing a scene.” Well, even if it were somewhat of a fib, the point of hiding away to spy on his back in private had still been for naught; A scene had happened regardless.
The knight standing before him gave a blink, approaching no further, though tipping her head slightly as garnet eyes raked his form, as well as his immediate surroundings.
“Do you need medical attention?”
Robin had been too focused on keeping himself decent in the presence of a stranger to pick up on her meaning when the words came.
“Ah…pardon?” Silver brows knitting, he implored her to clarify with a look. It was returned with one of more confusion, skepticism still blurring the edges of her intent.
“For the spider. Were you bitten?”
Some twisted form of relief came over him at her offer for assistance, even if it didn’t look quite like she believed his tale.
“Oh, no, my good lady, I was just about to get dressed once more and head to the library. Thank you for your concern.” He was pushing his fingers through his sleeves then, eager to get the fabric back over his head and body fully covered. Her feet didn’t budge, nor did she turn, as Frederick had to allow privacy, though at the very least, he was no longer dodging punches. Reasonably, she was not going to leave his side until her suspicions were properly assuaged. The tension left the air thick.
“Actually….I have a favor to ask, if you would not mind, miss.”
“Cordelia.” She corrected, though it was as respectful as it was stoic. He could take a little bit of coldness over being reported for looting a royal storeroom. “And I apologize for the misunderstanding. I was simply trying to perform my due diligence.”
With a bob of his head in understanding, her cool apology was dismissed as genuinely as he could manage.
“Not at all – I’m sorry to have …uh…exposed myself in such a way.” He laughed softly, though she did not return it, watching still with lips somewhat compressed in a serious line.
“What was the favor you’d ask of me?” Right to the chase, then.
“Ah, right –” He breathed in, gathering all the composure he could manage. “Well, considering I’ve already sullied my pride more than enough with this little stunt, I was wondering if I could lower myself just a bit more in asking for directions to the library?”
Her expression was contemplative, even a bit perplexed and for a moment, Robin felt the oddly familiar presence of Frederick and couldn’t quite place why. Possibly it was the similar air of devotion to their duty they seemed to share.
“Your name. What was it again?”
Robin blinked, unable to shake the feeling she wasn’t exactly asking because she had forgotten.
“R…Robin…?”
She processed the information with a relatively impassive expression while Robin, subsequently, could feel himself becoming hot with anticipatory apprehension. After a moment, she was easing back and cocking her head in a gesture that said ‘follow me’; Robin scuttling after her as if it were a time sensitive offer.
“I heard you were a bookworm. I hadn’t expected you not to know the whereabouts of the library of all places.”
He hadn’t been expecting her to speak, and was especially unprepared for an ascertainment of his disposition and his preferences from a woman who ostensibly wanted very little to do with him. He was offering an abashed chuckle at that, carding his fingers through his hair ; the fluff of white shifting back into place afterward.
“I haven’t been here quite long enough to memorize the castle layout yet. It’s a work in progress.” It was casual humor, but he was only met with the cascade of crimson hair that swayed as she walked. His hand dropped, beginning to toy idly with the hem of his pants. After another stretch of silence, Cordelia’s gait a perpetual march forward along the stone corridor laden with tapestries, ornamentals and beautifully crystallized glass apertures, Robin decided to observe his quiet companion instead.
Her armor was beautifully polished and well kept, light and acutely fitted. Her thighs were the only part of her body that suggested total freedom of movement, and upon spotting a pair of twin feathered accessories pinned just above the shell of her ears, Robin was able to conclude rather confidently,
“You’re a pegasus knight. Under lady Phila, yes?”
That garnered her attention, her eyes flicking over her shoulder and her scarlet gaze fringed with long lashes. She turned forward after a beat and appeared, somehow, to hold her head even higher than before.
“I am.”
Robin couldn’t help the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth, finding it equally endearing and inspiring that many he had come across emanated a strict devotion to their position. No country was without its shadows, but having met Exalt Emmeryn, it wasn’t much of a stretch to assume she had influenced her people with benevolence alone.
“I hope it isn’t presumptuous to say from my position, but you do your country an incredible service.”
At that, Cordelia took pause, resulting in Robin stopping abruptly as well, should he collide with her back and get a mouthful of hair. She turned around fully this time, giving him a bizarre and contemplative expression as though she had reason to doubt his word. After a moment, her expression eased, only somewhat, and her shoulders lowered as though she’d been on high defense until that very moment.
“...Thank you.”
He beamed back at her, wondering distantly if praise was so foreign a concept to her, and simply bobbed his head once.
“You’re welcome, of course.”
It was only a few more turns afterward before they arrived outside the library, the atmosphere considerably less stifled and the surrounding architecture old and magnificent. She was opening the large double doors, thick with stained mahogany wood, to an immense expanse of expensive stone and wooden shelving that stretched from the floor laden with rich rugging, all the way to the groin vault ceilings. Palladian and casement windows provided the room with the glow of daylight, extending nearly the entirety of floor to ceiling as well and each provided a thick hanging curtain tied back by expensive gold colored cords so to cause little sun damage as possible when the room was not in use.
Robin had thought that the brilliance of the city library acted as a model for the castle of sorts; a place erected to be the primary environment for all varieties of literature. But it was no question that the palace library was the true blueprint; one that could not have been perfectly replicated as it was far too grandiose and opulent to recreate.
The skeletal force that remained of the militia had perhaps set an expectation that the castle would be lacking in many areas and, upon observation, Robin could see that much of the shelving was scant, but did little in the way of dampening the impression.
He had meandered inside, his eyes full of stars and it was Cordelia, who had remained in the doorway, that drew his attention away as she spoke.
“You certainly are a lover of books.”
He offered an abashed breath of laughter, as denying it as it was pointless, and continued to peer about excitedly.
“Who started that rumor?” He jested, knowing well it would be no secret after witnessing his bright-eyed expression of wonder just then. Cordelia, however, took it quite literally.
“Prince Chrom. He said he’d found you tucked away like a dusty bookmark in the city library.”
He wasn’t expecting that, feeling he was of no complementary addition to conversation, and especially so to the prince whom had been more an aid to him than the other way around. It appeared, however, the prince was more invested than Robin thought appropriate and it would be a disservice to be dismissive, regardless of how undeserving he felt himself to be of such good graces. Then again, Chrom had called him dusty and a bookmark, apparently, which weren’t exactly of high praise. Robin supposed he could weather the ‘compliments’ of sorts.
“I’ll bid you adieu.” Cordelia was offering a gesture of departure and Robin, scrambling to escape his mind a moment, was giving a flustered dip of his head so as not to leave the impression that he was at all ungrateful.
“It was a pleasure to meet you - despite the...beginning circumstances.” He cleared his throat, dusted pink with humility and Cordelia briefed him with her eyes before nodding once.
“Likewise.”
And with that, she turned and was gone.
-
It was Robin’s streak of rather turbulent fortune and misfortune that left him a bit empty handed in terms of finding the shepherd Miriel. He was, however, granted access to a few books that had been reserved in the castle library, generally unreachable for public use. Irving would have had to shoo him out of a place like this one on more than one occasion. The proscribed books involved more in-depth records of the most recent war waged with Plegia, more insight to the banned religion of the Grimleal, and a few other nuggets of historical and tactical information Robin grasped at like a child gifted their favorite sweets. It wasn’t enough to clear up anything finite, but he felt his appetite at least fairly whetted when a voice at the doorway came to fetch him.
Speaking of appetites, had it really become night so quickly? He’d completely forgotten lunch. Gods, and supper. His stomach had been churning out small gurgles of protest, but the sounds wouldn’t reach his ears until the messenger sent to fetch him drew him from his heap of books.
“Am I allowed to check out any of these books?” He asked once he’d slid all but one back into their respective places on the shelf. It had quite an unremarkable cover; a plain bound leather with a single latch to keep the bulging contents contained. Thick and filled with yellowing page upon page of rough, handwritten notes, Robin had noted some of the pages weren’t even trimmed to the same size. Humble sketches and battle formations were inked into margins or spread across many pages, and it took him only minutes to realize the notes had been taken during the last crusade. The ink was not faded enough to be more than two decades old.
The rather gaunt teen, in a uniform one size too big, simply stammered and waffled in the doorway, but Robin promptly shook his head. It was best not to push his luck too far. Or rather, perhaps not push his luck here, but elsewhere.
As the stubble-chinned boy led the way, back down a spiraling staircase to the base floor, the silver-haired guest was slipping the fat work back into it’s crook in the shelf where it had been collecting a rather thick layer of dust. The royal family was likely doing little else with the record other than keeping it filed, so perhaps with a bit of coaxing, monetarily or not, he could convince Chrom to lend it to him for further study. He’d yet to even find the author’s name, afterall.
-
The barracks were already in a post-meal lull when Robin arrived. His head was lowered abashedly as he inquired after leftovers from the cook, to which an eavesdropping Stahl actually came forth with an entirely decorated plate for the small mage to consume. Robin was nearly moved enough to embrace Stahl himself, were he still not so conscious of his newbie status. He was also not convinced the plate was originally intended for him, but rather a snack plate for the paladin to return to later. But the offer, nonetheless, was taken up graciously.
“Where you been? You missed the announcement.” The moss colored soldier inquired as he snuck yet another biscuit ostensibly out of thin air and in between his lips. Did he just keep his pockets stuffed at all times?
“Amoumfment?” Robin raised a hand to cover his bloated mouthful of food, but the words were still eclipsed by bread and honeyed ham. Stahl was largely unperturbed, doing little to cover his own mouth, but it was not in the same manner in which Vaike spat his food across a table’s length when tickled by laughter. Truly, this was preferred.
“Yeah, guess the exalt and the commander got into it a little bit. Chrom’s been in a sour mood since this afternoon, but he stopped by - “ he swallowed his mouthful, “to tell us be ready to deploy in three day’s time.”
Three days? That was incredibly short time to deploy any force larger than a small recon unit. Perhaps they wanted to scout the surrounding cities for more spies?
“To where?” Robin asked, now gulping his own mass of food down as he raised nut-brown eyes to his newest friend of sorts.
“Regna Ferox.”
Regna Ferox.
Robin recalled flipping through yellowed pages of a book that described the massive land to the north that boarded Ylisse and the large continent of Valm simultaneously. It had not revealed much, but had been telling enough to insinuate that its relations with the now pacifist country were quite good. Plus, being a militant nation, they were likely incredible assets to have on hand when a crown was being threatened, should they oblige.
It was, however, worrisome regardless. Three days was not much in the way of preparation, and especially seeing how skeletal the shepherds truly were. Had they the insulation of the Pegasus knights to bolster their forces and tighten their ranks it would not be such a daunting task, but there was little indication that Chrom would split what forces they had. In fact, Robin wouldn’t be much surprised if the prince insisted some of his own men remained behind to ensure the safety of his sister while he set off further handicapped.
In reality, such could be Chrom’s intention. Should there be news of their departure to those with less than honorable intentions, it wasn’t irrational to assume they would target the weaker and hope the death of a prince was enough of a crack in the pillar.
That was quite worrisome, indeed.
A hand flailed in front of his face, waving erratically, Robin’s lashes fluttering as his vision came into focus. He had lost himself in thought yet again and had abandoned Stahl to entertain his theories in pensive silence.
“Gods, I thought you’d gone catatonic.” Stahl exhaled, as though he’d only just pulled Robin back from the brink of unconsciousness. Robin’s expression flattened before he scoffed, catching the trails of a rumor someone likely had started about his tendency to disappear into his head.
“Ha ha.” Robin’s voice held no humor. “It was hardly musing, let alone catatonic. I’ve been here less than a fortnight and I’m already getting picked on?” His expression remained exasperated, though his tone of voice held an iota of jest this time. Stahl grinned at that, innocently swiping a finger under his nose.
“Well look at it this way, you’re easy to talk to, thus easy to tease.” He reached forward then to pluck a cube of potato from Robin’s plate and eat it. Robin watched the ordeal before he quirked a brow. Easy to mooch from as well, apparently.
“I’m not sure that’s a very positive thing. Frederick would see it as a sign of weakness, I’m sure.”
“Oh, he does.” Stahl spoke around the food in his mouth and Robin tried not to take offense in the nonchalance of the insult. He would prefer to deter from the subject of Frederick’s harsh opinion of him, necessary as it may have been. The royal siblings had been kind and welcoming, but it was difficult to believe their vassal’s judgment remained entirely his own.
“You don’t seem too worried about the deployment to the north.”
Stahl paused before he swallowed, licking his fingers as his expression turned contemplative.
“I try not to worry after eating. No one likes an upset stomach.”
Robin watched him a moment longer before a hush fell over the two of them. After the moment had passed, Robin offered the remainder of his meal to the swordsman, but Stahl waved his hand dismissively, said he was full, and left.
----
The parapets enclosing the training grounds, meager in size as they were, had access to a nice evening breeze that came up across the meadows of wildflowers. Robin could smell, too, the distant aroma of the food district from the castle square and all the seasoned meats and breads.
The height was not so terrible to witness the sunset, either. It was difficult, however, to indulge in the splendor of the view when he could not shake the weight of the Shepherd’s imminent departure. It was not so strange a decision, for a prince to rally his forces and seek fortification upon threat, but their arrangements did not seem organized enough for a march.
They were all capable men and women, peoples of the prince’s militia, but they came across too disconnected. It was troublesome. And what was more troublesome still was how much he felt caught up on it. It was not his jurisdiction to dictate what was and was not a wise tactical decision for the prince’s ragtag army, yet he felt it irresponsible to turn a blind eye.
The men were restless. He’d seen it in the barracks. Chrom couldn’t be ignorant to it, could he?
Pushing himself from the edge of the stone wall, Robin turned to make his way back down to the soldier’s quarters only to halt in his steps when none other than Chrom was making his way toward him in full apparatus; his cape catching waves in the wind behind him.
“Robin. Just the man I was hoping to see.”
He couldn’t say why, but Robin could feel the prick of anxiety like a field of miniature thunderstorms rolling along his spine. He met the storm head on.
“I find it doubtful it was hope alone, Captain. In fact, I can’t help but think you knew just where to find me.”
Chrom regarded him with something like intrigue. He turned partially, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade.
“I won’t bore you with small talk, then. Come.”
He did not wait to see if Robin would obey before he turned and made his way back from whence he came. There was the slightest inclination to defy, to test the prince’s benevolence and just see where it would land him, but Robin knew any flout would be met with patient yet determined insistence. There was precious little time to waste before their departure and thus, Robin spanned the view of the horizon as it slowly swallowed the sun before he, too, left.
The silence wasn’t as easy as it had been, but Robin knew better than to question their direction. Chrom’s strides were longer than they had been when he led the way before, indicating a level of urgency, if that hadn’t been conveyed enough by words alone. There was also just something about his body language, some shift in the air, but again, Robin was assured he’d get his answers soon enough, and as such, allowed the echoing of the stone hallway to replace would be conversation.
Attendants were just starting to speckle the surrounding quarters as they began soundlessly lighting torches and carrying water; finishing up their nightly duties before they themselves would disappear back into their own habitats for the evening. They, as well as the few soldiers stationed along the way, all gave due respect to their leader as he made his fleeting passing, though he did not return the gestures. Perhaps he did not even notice them.
A lone soldier stood at attention as the two of them came up quickly on her station, causing her to quickly stifle the yawn she’d been in the middle of when they appeared. The metallic jingle that sounded when she reached into her pocket drew Robin’s gaze and a set of slightly misshapen keys caught just a glint of the setting sun. This was the small iron gate that served as an outlet to the arena, Robin was sure of it. And just beyond the bars, he could see the packed dirt ring lit entirely by crackling torches.
They had been anticipating use of this space, but what use could Chrom need of training grounds this time of night? No others could be seen once they’d breached the gate, though Robin’s sharp eye did not overlook the small pile of arms left just along the outer ring; a short sword, a broadsword, a lance, a few variations of battle axes, a bow, and a haphazard stack of elemental tomes. It was obvious these were left intentionally and likely associated with the prince’s overall goal, but the nature of these weapons had Robin’s eyes blinking and tongue loosening.
“Those aren’t practice weapons.” The glint of steel was easy to see even from where he stood, especially with the licking flames of the nearby torches catching the polished edges.
“I suppose not.” The crunch of Chrom’s boots underfoot became more distant when Robin took pause to assess the situation. The sword swaying at his hip was also not the wrapped wood and cloth they used for sparring. The golden tip of the hilt glinted when the prince finally swung about face, tossing his cape over his shoulder while he gripped at the sword Robin’s eyes had become glued to.
“Chrom – Sire-“ He was raising his voice to reasonably protest, though stopped himself to add in the proper title to his leader. It mattered not; Robin was interrupted before he could form the words.
“No honorifics, Robin. Pick up a weapon.”
He leveled Chrom a nigh incredulous expression, but was met with a blue eyed look suggesting it was within his best interest not to argue. It was no threat, of course, rather a bargaining chip of honor that Robin was too dignified despite himself to refuse.
Turning again, Robin surveyed the selection at hand, feeling himself disadvantageous regardless of what he chose. Chrom was an exceptional fighter, as was demonstrated the first time they crossed blades. Why, exactly, he had pulled Robin to spar a second time without the safeguard of practice weapons, the shepherd could only guess.
Chrom was on edge. It was not so surprising a discovery considering the oddity of their circumstance. His statements were curt, his shoulders were stiff, and more obvious still was the quite common practice of blowing off steam in the arena, as he’d already heard in the chatter of the barracks. Frederick or perhaps Sully seemed more the adept sparring partner than himself. The mystery was the specificity of Chrom’s choice in him. So far, the clearest conclusion Robin could come to was less than comforting.
Chrom didn’t trust him. Not so little to be of Frederick’s disposition, certainly, but not so much as to proceed with their march without cutting to Robin’s integrity with tempered steel, perhaps once and for all.
Proving himself in earnest was not so much his apprehension as was Chrom’s temperament and Robin’s personal proficiencies. He hung within the precious balance of exonerated and condemned, and much of his aptitude came about only when backed into a visceral corner. Perchance that was exactly Chrom’s intention.
He curled his fingers around the hilt of a blade and lifted it, inspecting the cut, the balance, and the grip of the haft before deciding it was apropos enough and faced his prince.
A blue brow lifted, communicating something curious.
“A sword,” he stated, and elaborated no further. He didn’t need to; Robin knew well what was said beneath the surface.
“I’m not going to fool myself into thinking I have dormant talent with a spear alongside that which I already seem to possess with a sword. Disadvantageous as I am against a veteran swordsman with royal training, it’s my best option.” Robin tested the feel of it once or twice before situating the scabbard to his hips. Training weapons did not require one to affix a sheath and baldric to one's person, but these were not training weapons, and there were unpredictable advantages to be made of having them.
“You’re not wrong. But to my knowledge, you are also capable at using magic, are you not?”
Robin regarded Chrom with veiled incredulity.
“Do you intend to arm yourself with a secondary weapon?” Although he asked, Robin had a feeling he already knew the answer. Chrom scoffed and pushed back his cape, tattered and stained along the edges, over the armor encasing his shoulder to better brandish the armament at his side.
“That won’t be necessary. As you said, I’m a veteran swordsman with royal training.”
Russet eyes observed the man before him, pinning the prince with an expression incomprehensible as something shifted in the atmosphere between them. The sound of the torch flames cracked against the hush, flitted from strokes of wind that swept the arena in light swirls.
“If you’re trying to goad me into a fight, it won’t work, Chrom.”
Chrom didn’t seem at all perturbed by the response; quite the opposite, he appeared further anticipatory.
“That’s right. You’re too smart for that.” It was said evenly; a statement of fact. Robin weathered it. “Then I will say that no fight is ever fair. Leveling the playing field rarely happens so we had best be prepared to deal with the consequences of commonplace battle arrangements.”
They were simply speaking, but Robin couldn’t shake the feeling that the battle had already begun.
“It’s rather presumptuous to assume my skills with blade and tome would function as a singular unit. I’ve operated both as mutually exclusive, isolated incidents.” It was less an excuse, more a challenge. They were sizing one another up before the physicality of their skirmish ensued and Robin’s heart was thundering as an eerie calm was overtaking him.
Chrom splayed his palms, as if to say ‘then by all means’, and Robin quirked a silvery brow. After a moment, he tipped his chin and turned back toward the table of items.
“I get the feeling you’re fishing to decorate me with multiple tools regardless.” He enclosed his hands around the spine of a thunder tome and lifted, opening it to siphon through a few pages before he lifted sharp eyes to Chrom.
“I’ll bite.” He snapped the book shut and moved to position himself.
Chrom’s body shifted, and the air shifted with him. “Good. I was never one for euphemism,” and Robin had not a moment to comment on the irony of his statement as Chrom had drawn his blade and was no longer one for words, either.
Chrom must have known the advantage his own sword gave him, being quite the powerful artifact in Ylissian lore. In the hands of someone as proficient as Chrom, it was truly a harrowing feeling to have it’s point trained on him. Robin would do his best to make sure it were only so in training.
But what was the true motive behind the prince’s challenge? He could feel a different energy radiating from the other side of the arena as they silently began to circle one another, like lightning crackling from the belly of the earth with each step. It wasn’t animosity he felt necessarily, but he did not face the same opponent now, differing weapons or otherwise.
Just as he’d done the first time they crossed blades, Chrom made the first move. The gap between them shrunk significantly in a moment’s time and with the downward weight of all of those muscles his arms boasted, of all the accuracy of a lifetime of royal training, Robin was positive he could already not withstand that initial strike. Glancing blows were all he could manage at best without a sprained or broken wrist, or so hindsight was telling him. So he opted instead for speed over strength and dug toes down into the packed earth, propelling his body out to the side so he could open his stance to Chrom’s vulnerable side while that glittering blade would surely stick hard into the ground below.
He didn’t want to think about how his shoulder likely would have been cleaved entirely were he to have received the blow and pointed the butt of his own blade toward the prince’s hands while they were caught in their downward sweep. He’d disarm Chrom and then move back, causing a stalemate with the possession of a tome.
The blade did just as he predicted and wedged hard into the dirt, while Robin aligned himself and took a fraction of a moment to ensure his aim was true. He didn’t want to actually break any of his opponent’s fingers, after all.
A little to the left.
A burst of light overtook his vision and his fingers slid on the hilt of his sword; feeling his brain rattle against his skull as a hard limb made contact with the side of his cheek. Eyes watering, he took a step back, but he wouldn’t have seen the strike at all did Chrom not rise to his feet, arm jerking falchion from the dirt while one hand remained lifted.
“If your aim is to disarm me, you should be fully aware I would guard my sword as I would my life, Robin. Death would likely be easier than prying this blade from my hands.”
His cheek was going to swell; he could feel it. His teeth had cut the tender skin, crushed beneath Chrom’s hand and Robin could only manage a small comment as he swiped at his lips.
“I wasn’t expecting you to use fists.”
Chrom sniffed, though awaited Robin to gather himself once more, if only for a moment.
“I wasn’t expecting you to take this so lightly. Do you normally underestimate opponents coming for your head?” The bite of his words sharpened his focus and Chrom sunk back down, squaring his stance once more. “It appears I may have to strike you a few more times before you’ll understand what I mean when I ask you to fight. Now come.”
Ochre eyes became serrated, the back of Robin’s hands smeared with a stripe of crimson as it lowered from his lips. He did not break eye contact, did not blink as he lifted his other arm, fluid and precise, to procure a cloud of electricity that surged forward and enveloped Chrom in a burst of sparks.
Chrom emerged, a blur of motion from Robin’s peripherals, having barely sidestepped the blow. He was smoldering, his cape singed from the magic, and donned an expression unlike one of before.
“You said secondary weapons for you were unnecessary, Chrom.” Robin’s tongue was darting out to catch a well of blood as it gathered on his lip. The prince watched with newly guarded focus, pricked into attentiveness that appeared so natural, the air was alive with it.
“I guess I lied.”
Robin sniffed and began to orbit the navy haired commander with slow steps charged with the potential for whip-like counterattack.
“That’s not very princelike.”
A look flashed in Chrom’s eyes and his stance changed, the grip of his blade altering as the steel caught a glare of firelight.
“That’s not for you to decide.” It was the only warning before Chrom seized the opportunity and made for Robin with a storm at his heels. It became a volley of steel and lightning, then. They had engaged into a torrent of battle that had little room for error, and what there was of it resulted in knicks and burns, flecks of blood and seared patches of flesh.
It was quite unlike before. Robin had not the luxury to entertain the idea of subservience and awe at his prince’s might in battle. He was to match it, or be dealt a grievous blow to both body and decorum, or so it certainly felt. Robin had not become miraculously more adept at swordsmanship within the time that had passed, nor had Chrom become less so.
It was more, if one could possibly describe, as though Robin was beginning to understand how to do what he could do, and execute it better, cleaner, more concisely. He was not afraid of damaging the foolhardy royal, having experienced firsthand the manner of Chrom’s hard and hammered practice, and thus was able to exercise the cut of his mind without worry.
It was clear that Chrom remained superior in strength, yet Robin was the smarter of the two, and quick to think himself out of traps while arranging his own for his opponent. It was a rapid back and forth, neither having much time at all to dwell on the blows made before the next was upon them. It carried on to the point where the mind commanded the body before thought could form and only the thunder of their hearts and their tempest of breath remained.
Robin’s arm thrust forward, a current of magic flaring from his palm and rushing Chrom as the man charged him. The blow was direct, too quick to dodge and would land. Yet the second it connected, Chrom’s arm whirled backward as if in a diagonal slash, and flinging from his blade up and out of his path was the cluster of lighting. It was the first Robin had seen of the divine blade’s power and he hadn’t a second to fathom anything of it; Chrom was approaching too swiftly.
With visceral faculties intact and flaring, Robin’s body moved; ducking himself below and behind the breadth of Chrom’s strike. His blood was pumping in his ears as he drew his blade up and, with extraordinary force, drove the weapon through the thick fabric of Chrom’s cape and into the ground below; effectively pinning it. He wasted not a second, whipping his arm upright to splay his palm open at the side of Chrom’s head, akin to a knife point at the throat, and held firm. The barrel of his chest was spasming with labored breathing, feeling the static of his hand as magic gathered and swirled along his joints and knuckles, but Chrom did not move. He made no attempt to parry, no intention to counter, simply stood, breathing heavily with his eyes cast outward.
After a beat, Chrom slowly straightened himself to stand and, with calculated dexterity, sheathed Falchion.
“It appears you’ve beaten me.”
Robin remained still, slowing his breath to an even pull as he gazed unbroken at Chrom. It was cautionary hesitance that Robin lifted himself to stand, his hand finally lowering as his body became slack; the tension singing through every muscle deserting him in a rush.
“No,” he said finally, shaking his head to emphasize. “You weren’t fighting with a clear mind.” Explosive as it had been, Robin knew from the beginning that Chrom had been locked with unchanneled frustration. Chrom, however, huffed; a somewhat weary breath of laughter as he curled his fingers around a fistful of cape and tugged the fabric free. It tore through the blade that pinned it easily and Chrom tossed it away as the tattered bits flitted behind him.
“On the contrary. My mind is clearer now than it has been in some time.”
The prince pivoted, facing Robin with an expression of clarity and Robin endeavored to keep himself from faltering.
“I want you to be our tactician.”