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There comes a day when a messenger reports to their camp, alerting Chrom that “Exalt Emmeryn has requested your presence at court for the annual banquet.”
Robin glances at Chrom from the corner of her eye, gaging his reaction.
He heaves a sigh and rolls the missive up before sticking it in his belt. “She really needs myself and Lady Lissa—”
“The Exalt requested the attendance of both the young lord and young lady, yes,” the messenger answers.
Robin looks from him, to Chrom, to Frederick, who purses his lips and says: “You knew this was coming, milord.”
“Yes,” Chrom says, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t realize how late in the year it had gotten.”
He turns to Robin. “Could you find Maribelle and Lissa for me?”
She nods, knowing she can expect to find them together in Maribelle’s tent.
By the time she gets them back to the main tent, Chrom is pacing. He pauses at their entrance. “Did you know about this?” he asks Maribelle.
“Of course,” she answers. “I assumed you did as well, which is why I didn’t remind you, but clearly—” she cuts herself off, smirking only a little.
Robin has to admire her self-control.
Chrom rolls his eyes. “Be prepared to leave by morning, then, both of you. I have to go speak with Frederick—”
He starts to leave, but Maribelle calls out: “Chrom?”
Chrom’s face bears the expression of a man long beleaguered. “Yes, Maribelle?”
“Has your footwork improved since last year’s banquet?”
Chrom scowls. “Considering I haven’t practiced since, due to being otherwise occupied—”
Maribelle waves a hand. “Stop your moaning, I’m not criticizing you for spending time with the Shepherds. How could I? No, I’m more concerned about what impression you’re planning on giving the nobles.”
Chrom protests: “I hardly doubt my footwork is offending—”
“Perhaps not,” Maribelle says. “But you know as well as I that your sister is in a very delicate position within Ylisse’s political system. If you happen to dance with a noble’s daughter and make her night, some of them may be slightly kinder in their judgments.”
Chrom opens his mouth to rebut, but nothing comes except: “You’re entirely too clever. Remind me to tell Emm you need to be on her council when this is all over.”
Maribelle wrinkles her nose, something Robin never thought could look dignified until that moment. “And put up with those aging barnacles? I should think not.”
They clear a space a good ways from the center of camp, “to protect Chrom’s fragile self-image,” as Maribelle puts it, to which he splutters.
Robin means to slip away and prep for Chrom’s absence, but he grabbed her wrist with an urgent whisper: “Don’t leave me on my own with them.”
‘Them’ being Lissa, Frederick, and of course Maribelle. Robin considers the party and immediately understands Chrom’s concerns. I can't leave him to the wolves.
She nods, and finds herself sucked in.
“It’s actually better that you’re here, Robin,” Maribelle says. “You can act as Chrom’s partner for the time-being.”
“What?” they both squawk.
“I thought it would be you—” Chrom says.
“That was my original intention, yes,” Maribelle says, already drawing closer to them. She nudges Robin at the small of her back, surprising her into taking a step closer—a step closer to Chrom. “But I believe it will be more effective if I’m able to watch as a third-party. At least initially.”
“Surely—”
“I can hardly critique if you’re too busy stepping on my foot.”
Lissa snorts, and even Frederick has to hide a smile.
Robin stifles a groan. “What about Lissa?” she asks. “Can’t she—”
“If I have Lissa practicing with Chrom then she’ll end up leading, and that’s hardly conducive to this exercise.”
Robin and Chrom continue protesting:
“This isn’t proper, Maribelle, we can’t—”
“Can’t you—”
Maribelle holds up a hand. “Would you rather I got another lady from camp? Perhaps Sully?”
“No!” Chrom exclaims. “No, no, fine—we can do this.”
Robin finds her gaze drawn to where Lissa and Frederick are standing at the edges of the space. Chrom follows her line of sight and frowns. “Do you two really need to be here?”
“I’m standing watch for you,” Lissa replies, smiling brightly.
Chrom couldn’t look less convinced if he tried, but he seems to recognize there’s no way he can get Lissa to leave short of physically removing her.
He shifts his gaze to Frederick, who replies simply: “I’m charged with your protection, milord; it’s imprudent to leave you unguarded.”
It’s a hollow excuse and everyone knows it—they’re surrounded by the rest of camp, which has a rotating schedule of guards and scouts that Robin and Frederick set up themselves.
But it’s clear Frederick doesn’t intend on moving.
This betrayal is more of a surprise, if Chrom’s expression is anything to go by. Still, he recognizes a futile battle when he sees one. He turns to Robin and mouths ‘Sorry.’
She sighs and shrugs. Just let me get out of this without any massive embarrassments.
Maribelle looks from Robin to Chrom and, seeing no further signs of struggle, nods. “Good. Now, you’ll need to take her waist.”
Robin tenses, and Chrom hesitates. Maribelle rolls her eyes. “For Naga’s sake,” she says, and takes Chrom’s hands and starts to position them herself.
“I can figure this much out, Maribelle,” Chrom protests, wresting control back.
“Then act like it,” she shoots back, hands on her hips. “Besides, it never hurts to reinforce the fundamentals.” But she steps back all the same, smirking.
She’s scheming, Robin thinks to herself, and it makes her nervous.
She’s gratified, at least, by the color on Chrom’s cheeks.
“Now, Robin,” Maribelle continues, stepping away. “I know you don’t know these steps, but if you follow Chrom’s lead it shouldn’t be too difficult.”
Robin nods, swallows, and tries to will the color from her face.
If she can just approach this strategically, tactically—I can get through this with minimal damage.
“Actually, Robin, it might help if you take your cloak off. I need to be able to see Chrom’s footwork and it will help him position his hands better.”
Not groaning is quickly becoming a indomitable task. Robin takes a breath and steps away. She hesitates only for a second before slipping off what essentially amounts to a security blanket and handing it to Maribelle, who folds it over one arm.
Definitely scheming.
Left in naught but her shirt and breeches, Robin takes a step towards Chrom and allows him to position his hands once more, one resting on her waist and the other holding her hand at shoulder level. Even through their gloves, she can feel the warmth of his hand.
She marvels at how she manages to feel more naked at this moment than she did when he walked in on her during her bath.
“Higher, Chrom—your hand is about to incite a royal scandal.”
It’s set to be a long afternoon.
“Relax! Every muscle in your body is drawn tight as a bowstring!"
Some hours have passed, and by the end Robin has what she’s sure are several bruised toes and a more than passing familiarity with Chrom’s array of swears.
Not that I haven’t cursed as well.
Despite Maribelle’s complaints, Robin thinks they’ve both come leagues from where they started—Chrom moves easier, and guides her with more confidence.
It’s almost nice, to focus on something so simple—something as cut-and-dry as dance steps.
“I must say, Robin, you’re a quick learner,” Maribelle says as they go through another sequence. "I might bring you along to see how many nobles you can fool into thinking you’re highborn.”
Robin nearly trips in answer, and Lissa hides a giggle behind her hand.
“Maribelle,” Chrom says, bringing them to a stop, “it’s nearly sunset and I still have to prepare the rest of the Shepherds for the next few days.”
He doesn’t move to extricate himself from their position, though he begins to lower their joined hands.
Maribelle considers. “I suppose you’re ready. I need to pack anyway.” She stands and brushes the dirt from her breeches. “Come, my dear Lissa."
A thought crosses Chrom’s mind, based on the frown that suddenly comes up. “You’re not going to make Lissa practice?”
Maribelle looks over her shoulder and smiles. “You think I haven’t already been preparing her? We both remembered, even if you didn’t.”
Chrom blinks. Robin can’t withhold a snort.
When Chrom looks to her for an explanation, she shakes her head. “Nothing—come on, we have to talk about what we’ll be doing in your absence.”
It’s only then they recognize their current position. Robin pulls away and clears her throat. Chrom retrieves her cloak and passes it to her, and he doesn’t quite meet her eyes.
For a moment, she nearly puts it on as an automatic gesture. But something stops her, and she drapes it over her arm and follows Chrom and Frederick to the main tent.
“I’ll not want to extend our return trip more than a day—it’s already a day and a half’s hard ride to Ylisstol from here,” Chrom says, bent over the map. “And that’s with good conditions.”
Robin considers, standing on the opposite side of the table. "We’ve heard reports of brigands from the north and west.” She points at a position a ways north of them. “North takes us closer to Ferox, which means we run the risk of running into snow or a storm, or both. That leaves us with west for now.”
Chrom nods. “Go no further than village at the river’s mouth,” he says. “Any further and you’ll hit woods. Take the chance to—”
“Re-supply, rest, repair weapons?” Robin finished. Chrom looks at her, and she smiles. “I already looked into it.”
“Thank you,” Chrom says. “I’m not sure when you found time, but I’m grateful.”
There’s a moment where silence overtakes them, and Robin finds herself subject to a look on Chrom’s face that can only be described as fond.
Frederick clears his throat. “We ought to focus on lances; they’ve been looking rather sorry lately, and I’d hate to ask our riders to restrict themselves to swords.”
Robin nods, glad for the change of subject. “Agreed.”
Chrom pauses, then asks them both: “You’ll be all right without Lissa and Maribelle?”
“We’ll be fine,” Robin says, "Ricken’s been trying to learn how to use staves, didn’t you know?”
“His latest project,” Chrom says, but that fond light is in his eyes again. He rolls up the map to store it. “Don’t do anything risky.”
“You’re telling me this?” she fires back, arching her brows.
“No harebrained schemes,” he says, pointing the map at her. “Frederick, keep an eye on this one while I’m gone.”
“Yes, milord,” Frederick responds, but he spares Robin a quick wink.
She warms, even as Chrom throws up his hands and exclaims: “Is there no one in this camp that isn’t conspiring against me?”
Robin laughs, and the sight of Chrom’s smile somehow makes the day a success, despite its earlier trials.
Frederick wakes her at sunrise the next morning. “They’re making their departure, milady.”
She’s too tired to even fuss at his use of formalities. She rolls from her cot, eschewing her cloak and heading outside. The morning chill is bracing, shaking some of the grogginess from her body.
They’ve assigned Stahl and Sully to accompany them, and the pair prep the horses quietly and efficiently. Robin draws up next to Frederick and considers the scene for a moment.
“Did he ask you to stay behind?” she asks.
Frederick shifts, glancing at her for only a moment before returning his attention to Stahl and Sully. Always wary. “He asked me what I intended on doing, and as always my intention was to travel with them.”
“But?”
“But he said that it might be best to stay behind to ensure the Shepherds didn’t struggle in his absence.”
She stills. Some part of her, somewhere, had imagined that the next few days would see the Shepherds under her charge, her direction. In all but name, she was willing to say that they already were.
That was pure foolishness. She was nothing but Chrom’s tactician. A counselor. Frederick was a stationed captain. Objectively, she knew all of this. Still, she wilts, just a little, that it seems like Chrom wouldn’t trust her to mind them alone.
Frederick surprises her, though, when he continues, as though hearing her thoughts: “He said you would benefit from my being here—that it would lend your decisions credibility if I was here to support you.”
Robin straightens. “So—”
“I’m a captain, milady, not a commander,” he says. “The Shepherds are in your charge for the next few days, and I’ll do all I can to help you in milord’s absence.”
She stares. “A few months ago, I could never have fathomed you saying such a thing.”
“Neither could I, milady,” Frederick says. “but it’s the same thing that lets me stay here while Sully and Stahl accompany the party back to Ylisstol: what kind of captain would I be if I didn’t trust my own training, nor trust my own comrades? You’ve already proved yourself.”
She looks to where Sully and Stahl are finishing up and smiles. “I see your point. You’re very wise, Frederick. Thank you, really.” She pauses. “Would it kill you to call me Robin, though?”
“It would pain me greatly, milady.”
She rubs a hand over her face. “I suppose I can’t ask you to do anything that would bring yourself harm.”
“I’m glad, milady.”
His face is completely blank, but she knows she didn’t imagine that thread of humor in his voice. She rolls her eyes, but something in her eases. Frederick isn’t a bad person to have in her corner.
Chrom, Maribelle, and Lissa emerge then, and Chrom gives Stahl his bag to load before crossing to Robin.
He considers her for a moment, brows arched. “What did I tell you about taking risks?” he asks.
She frowns. “What—?”
“Your cloak,” he says. “It’s freezing out and you come out here without it?”
She shrugs. “Only for a few minutes.”
He shakes his head, but lets it go. A moment passes before he says: “Look after them, will you?”
“You know I will,” she answers.
Her hands itch to take his.
“I do,” he says. “And thank you for—for yesterday.”
She’s still sleepy enough that she doesn’t blush—embarrassment never comes until later in the day. Rather, she shrugs and says, “Anytime.”
It’s meant as a joke, but as soon as it’s out of her mouth she curses the early hour for making her so candid. Chrom falters, but he still finds a response: “I’ll hold you to that.”
Now she blushes. She sincerely hopes she can pass it off as the sunrise coloring her cheeks.
“Chrom,” Maribelle calls, already mounted. “We need to get to the gulch by noon if we’re to make good time.”
Chrom turns and nods. “Yes, I’m coming.”
He clearly means to say something else, but nothing comes, so he nods before mounting his own horse.
“Safe travels,” she calls. “No stupid risks.”
“I’ll be sure to avoid the more tempestuous nobles, then,” he calls back. “Safe travels to you as well.”
It’s only as she watches them ride away that she finally feels the absence of Chrom’s hand on her waist.