Chapter Text
“It’s just not the same, Your Highness,” Councilor Lian protested. “By its nature, your marriage is not a joining between two equals. Your lineage grants you the privilege of rank and title above all else. Your chosen spouse, man or woman, is simply not your equal.”
Chrom kept his face neutral, taking a moment to calm himself before replying. Despite the royal council’s ratification of his engagement to Robin, he’d seen no end of protests from some of the more traditional councilors. Even if they were willing to accept his marriage to a man, there was still the question of Robin’s unknown birth. He’d seen far too many memorials proposing he name Robin as consort rather than prince consort, thus leaving the consort’s throne essentially empty.
“Birth does not make one man better than another,” Chrom finally replied.
“Your Highness!” the councilor protested.
“He will be your prince, and you will treat him as such,” Chrom said, silencing any further discussion. “He is to rule alongside me and be equal in all things.”
Councilor Lian’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “Please reconsider this,” he began. “In the past, it was not uncommon for the ruling exalt to take consorts beyond the prince or princess. You could be formally wed to someone of a worthy station and still have him at your side.”
Chrom stared at Lian’s aged face, indulging in the brief thought of lunging across his desk to grab the councilor by the throat and headbutt some sense into his senile brain. “I will only marry Robin. No other.”
“It would be a marriage in name only,” the councilor protested. “For the stability of the halidom, Your Highness.”
“I’ve made my decision, and it’s final.”
“Your Highness!”
“You’re dismissed.” Chrom stared after the man as he gathered his robes, bowed, and shuffled out of the room. He heaved out a deep sigh as soon as Lian departed, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands.
“Your restraint is remarkable, Milord,” Frederick offered from his position behind Chrom’s shoulder. “Had he witnessed your prowess with the blade, I doubt that he would have the nerve to confront you like this.”
Chrom sighed again, waving Frederick over so he and his friend could speak face-to-face. “Any word from Robin?”
Though the war with Plegia was over, Ylisse was not yet truly at peace. Between bandits to the north and skirmishes to the west, it seemed his beloved was being pulled in too many directions at once. Chrom wanted nothing more than to hunt Robin down and bring him back to the safety of Ylisstol, but it just wasn’t possible right now.
“He’s requested reinforcements,” Frederick replied. He placed a letter, bearing the tactician’s seal, on the desk in front of Chrom. “His last report spoke of isolated bandit activity, but there seems to be something more beneath the surface.”
Chrom nodded quietly, scanning Robin’s familiar writing. It was a formal missive, so there were no affectionate asides to cherish in private, but it was word from Robin and that was enough.
He frowned as his thumb brushed over a dark spot on the corner of the parchment. “Frederick, what’s this?”
“A splatter of ink, Milord?”
“No, Robin’s not careless like that. Besides, the ink is black.” He stared at the paper for a few more seconds, then abruptly stood up and dropped the letter on his desk. “We’re going,” he announced.
“Your Highness?”
“It’s blood, Frederick. I’d swear my life on it,” Chrom explained, taking his falchion down from its resting place behind his desk. “Besides, Robin called for aide. I intend to answer.”
…
The ride to the north had been frantic, and Chrom had only taken what soldiers he could trust to follow his breakneck speed. Much as Lissa might tease him for worrying over his fiance, he would not be at ease until he had verified whose blood had spotted Robin’s letter.
They reached the camp in a manner of days, finding themselves facing bedraggled tents and weary soldiers. Chrom sat in his saddle, staring out over the camp, looking for that familiar, beloved face.
“Chrom!” Sully caught hold of his bridle, and Chrom felt some of the tension in his chest ease at the sight of his old friend, though that tension redoubled at the expression on her face. “Either you’re faster than the devil himself or you passed our messenger on the road.”
He dismounted, heart thundering in his ears. “What happened? Where’s Robin?”
Sully passed his horse off to a nearby groom and beckoned him and Frederick to follow her. “Keep in mind it’s worse than it looks,” she advised over her shoulder. “Always is at first. Libra took Donny to scouting for some more herbs or something, but he said Robin’s outta danger now.”
Chrom bit back his impatience, knowing it would be unfair to take his frustrations and worries out on Sully. The soldiers around them looked exhausted, and several were wounded. They needed to see their leader unshaken. They needed to look to their prince and general with confidence rather than concern.
He, however, needed to see Robin.
They finally reached Robin’s tent, which was as small and unassuming as any other soldier’s. From experience, Chrom knew the inside would be packed with maps and scrolls, as well as pages of notes and strategies, a few spare spell tomes, and a single small cot barely big enough to fit a grown man.
He pushed the flap back to slip inside, and his heart ached when he finally laid eyes on Robin.
The wounds were fresh enough that the smell of blood still hung in the air. Chrom quickly crossed to his side and sank to his knees, reaching out to brush his fingers across one of Robin’s pale cheeks. He was shirtless, though his body was wrapped in so many bandages that he may as well have been fully dressed. Dark blood seeped through the fabric, and Chrom could easily determine the size and shape of his beloved’s wounds.
Three long slashes across his belly and chest bled through in trailing lines. A darker spot on his right side, just below his ribcage, showed where he had been stabbed. His arms were wrapped to cover more injuries, and two of his left fingers bore the familiar swelling and bruising of broken bones healed by magic.
Robin, as though sensing the presence beside him, stirred in his sleep. His brow furrowed, his face suddenly troubled, and Chrom leaned up to press a soft kiss to his forehead. Robin smelled of blood and injury and illness, but Chrom rested his forehead against his beloved’s throat and took a deep, unsteady breath to breathe it all in. Whatever the scent was, it was Robin. Wounded and weakened but alive.
“Hmm?”
Chrom lifted his head, watching Robin shift again, his eyes slowly fluttering open. They met Chrom’s gaze for a moment, and the prince’s heart ached at the exhaustion he saw there.
“I dreamed you’d come,” Robin finally said. His voice was rough, his face tight with pain, but his eyes were bright with emotion. “Am I still dreaming?”
“No, Robin.” Chrom leaned up to kiss him, gently brushing away a tear that welled up in his beloved’s eye. “It’s no dream. I’m here.”