He couldn't sleep. No matter how much he tossed and turned, the tantalizing peace of slumber evaded him. He shouldn't have been surprised; he hadn't been able to sleep the previous night, and he reckoned that he wouldn't be able to sleep the next night either. Sighing, he pulled himself up into a sitting position. Was it not enough for the Risen to terrorize him during the day, that they had to plague his mind during the nights as well?

Crawling to the opening of his tent, he peered into the darkness. Of course there were the two guards posted outside his tent—he nodded to each of them—but otherwise, the camp was serene and still. Through the boughs of a tree, he caught tendrils of moonlight reaching out towards him. He retreated back into his tent.

The Risen had almost taken his sister from him, he was sure it was them. To think of it again made his blood curdle. He hadn't been able to come to her aid, and it was pure luck that had ensured Marth's timely arrival. The Risen were nightmarish creatures driven only by the will to kill and aggravate the masses. Their existence foretold corruption across the land. His thoughts flipped to his other sister and he contemplated how much of the attacks he should tell her about. He frowned as his mind returned to the present. How long had he been lying there fretting over those twisted, ferocious faces of lost souls? Far too long, he mused, and pulled on his tunic and epaulets. In the faint lantern glow, his fingers worked deftly, buttoning himself into his uniform with an inexplicable urgency. It would be his patrol soon, anyway, he reasoned, but a strange dread pressed in on him.

With his sword in one hand, and his lantern in the other, he slipped outside.

"Milord," the guards mumbled, clicking their heels together as he swept past them. They made to follow him, but he shook his head.

"Don't tell Frederick, but you both should take the rest of the night off."

Even in the faint light, he could see them gape at him. "But milord—"

He held a gloved finger to his lips. "Not a word. I won't be going far, and it'll be my turn soon to keep watch." Soon was an exaggeration, but he needed to be up and about. He paused for effect. "And that's an order."

"Yes, milord," the guards said as one, bowing their heads, and scampering off.

The air was still now, broken only by the whispers of a light breeze. Briefly, he felt remorse for not having fastened his cape to himself—there was a slight chill limning the silence, and his sleeveless sword arm was rippling with gooseflesh.

He picked his way past the tents of his comrades, his fellow Shepherds, dark and silent. So many tents, so many vulnerable people who were under his care and would die for him. Air hissed out from between his teeth into the calmness of the night. He kept walking until the moonlight was stoppered by another copse of trees. Now the lantern in his hand was the only light, except for—

A smile tugged on his lips as he caught sight of the only tent illuminated from within. He could just barely make out the silhouette of a figure seated cross-legged, surrounded by towering piles of books.

Hesitation held him back, but as he watched the silhouette raise an arm and absently rub at its face, curiosity got the better of him.

It didn't occur to him until it was too late that perhaps his presence would disturb this figure, that perhaps this figure was capitalizing on these hours of darkness and slumber to enjoy the freedom of privacy that night brought. And so he sauntered in with a grin, saying, "Aha! Robin, what was it that you told me about requiring beauty sleep? Am I not justified in—"

The grin froze on his face as realization struck.

"C-Chrom," Robin yelped with a start, and nearly dropped the tome she had been studying. A look crossed her face for an instant wherein she seemed to consider launching said tome at him.

Thank the gods she was dressed, though her mantle was off, discarded in a corner of the tent so as to make room for more books. What he hadn't been able to discern from outside was the sheer number of books she had arrayed around herself—there were likely dozens upon dozens of them. With a painful gulp, he realized that she was dressed in a thin shift patterned with dark vertical lines that hugged the curves of her body. Gone were her usual pantaloons, gloves, belt, and boots, though she had opted to retain her stockings, a detail that brought him an uncertain amount of relief. Her pale hair had been freed of its usual ponytails, and it fell in a thick, wavy stream over her shoulders and down her back. Tinged a rosy pink, she seemed to glow in the lantern light, like a goddess in the throes of incantation.

No, he thought weakly, he was certainly not justified in his earlier statements now.

"Robin," he said, offering her an apologetic grin. He made certain to close the tent flaps behind himself as he stepped further inside. "My apologies for intruding like this. I didn't realize…" he trailed off, feeling a traitorous flush creep up his neck.

She cast him a withering glance and pushed herself up onto her knees. He tried desperately not to watch her, but it was something like encountering a new creature. This Robin was… feminine and soft in unexpected places. He wasn't sure if he regretted barreling in here like this.

No, of course, you regret this, he scolded himself. His blush surged higher.

With a sigh, she reached over a column of books and snatched up her mantle. As it dragged through the air, it knocked some books off the top of the pile. She winced as they fell. Spreading the cloak over her shoulders, she stood to face him and gave a slight bow. "What did you not realize?" Her warm hazel eyes flashed in the light.

He cleared his throat. "I was walking past and saw your silhouette. I didn't realize that you were in some stage of… undress."

Robin seemed to mull over his words before shrugging. "Fair enough, I suppose, though I'm convinced you should be attending some remedial etiquette classes." She smoothed out a crease in her shift. "Was your only purpose in gracing me with your presence to prove a point regarding your earlier statements?"

He fingered the hilt of his sword. "No, but to that point, I'm not entirely sure I'm justified anymore," he admitted. "You are a proper lady, and I apologize for barging in here like I did."

"You seemed so sure when you first came in." She raised a quizzical eyebrow. "It's because I'm down to my skivvies, isn't it?"

He clenched his jaw. "No, Robin, that's not it." He wondered how well she could detect fallacies. Granted, it was only a partial lie.

Giving him a suspicious glance, she said nothing and drew her mantle tighter about herself.

"So," he began, eager to change the subject, "if you're readying yourself for sleep, I can leave. My initial thought was to check in on you. I was unable to sleep and my watch isn't for a while yet."

She relaxed at his statement, loosening her grip on her mantle. Gods, he had to stop staring at her like this. "That is kind of you. I too am unable to sleep. Usually I spend the dying hours of the night poring over books and practicing strategies. It's become a habit of sorts." She bit her bottom lip and his heart relinquished one very loud beat. "I must confess, Chrom."

"Confess to what?"

"I had a premonition about you and I." A heaviness set into her shoulders. "That is why I cannot sleep. There is something insidious about it, and I fear that I may have another."

"What transpired in this premonition you had?" His hand still holding the lantern twitched as he had almost made to reach out to her.

Her expression was grave and her gaze dropped to the ground. His own gaze followed hers, and he took in her dainty, stockinged feet. Perhaps he was asleep, after all. There was an otherworldliness to being in Robin's tent speaking to this foreign version of her. He returned his gaze back to her troubled face. "I must warn you that I do not know what it means. I do not recognize the place, the surroundings. Initially I thought it might be a memory, but," she glanced up at him and her gaze was so piercing that his breath caught, "you swear that we have not met before, do you not?"

"I do," he murmured, and then said more firmly, "I swear that we have not met before."

She bowed her head once more. "Then it must be a premonition. It occurred just before you found me, and since then I've only had a handful of slumberous nights." She bit her lip again.

"Robin," he stated, "please tell me."

She took a moment to compose and draw herself to her full height—still a good head and shoulders shorter than himself. "We are in some dark hall, and the two of us have just conquered some powerful opponent who has fallen. My hood is up and I stumble as I shield you from a final attack. You approach me, concern etched on your face, and as you comfort me," she paused and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before she continued, "I drive a bolt of lightning through you, defeating you."

The light from her lantern flickered and the momentary shadows curved around her cheekbones and the edges of her clavicles just barely peeping out from where mantle could not meet shift.

"Promise me that you will not keep such secrets like this from me in the future."

Her eyes opened, wide with shock. "In the future…? You are not banishing me from camp?"

He frowned. "Why in all of Ylisse would I do that?"

Robin quirked an eyebrow like it should have been obvious. "I am a liability. There are too many unknowns locked within me. How can you trust me after I've told you all this? Neither of us know my history, neither of us know my past."

"That doesn't matter. You are not your past, whatever it may be. What I've experienced with you has told me all I need to know. You have put yourself on the front lines for me, you have backed me up when I've faltered, and you've used yourself to shield me from attack. I sense that our bonds will only strengthen over time."

"It's only right that I did those things. Who knows what would have become of me if you had not gambled on me that day?"

He shook his head. "Not anyone or everyone would have done those things for me. I have fought on the field for too many years of my life to know that much. You have talent and skill and it matters not to me how you came to acquire them." More than anything he wished to clasp her in an embrace, but somehow that seemed just a step or two outside the confines of their friendship.

"But Chrom," she began, her brows knitting together over the question in her eyes, "what about my premonition?"

"It is merely something that will happen in the future. You saw it from your own point of view, correct?"

"Yes."

"Then let us revisit this again when this dark hall becomes a reality. For now, we shall consider this a blessing or hint as to what the future may hold."

"May hold? Do you not believe in destiny or fate?"

"Gods, Robin, I expected better from you," he grinned. "A future may be written, but need it stay written as it is? No. You're clever and I trust you. That alone might alter the fate that you saw for me."

"You surprise me, Chrom. I would have imagined someone of royal lineage to put more weight in such ideas as fate with that whole 'destined to be Exalt' mantra hammered into you since your early days." Her eyes twinkled as a smile lit her face.

Ignoring the precipitous drop of his stomach, he chuckled. "Do you really think me so enamoured with my station in life?"

"No, no, certainly not. I see how you thrive in the presence of your people. I just recall stories of great hero-princes and hero-kings who take it upon themselves to follow some path of destiny laid out before them, emulating great and terrible leaders of days gone by—so blind, so mindless."

He let out an unexpected laugh. "And here I thought that your reading was purely on spells and strategy. Perhaps you should pen a new story, about a prince who refuses to bow to destiny and its antiquated bindings."

"Perhaps I shall one day, when this war is over."

They shared a smile that warmed his insides like a sun-drenched, lazy afternoon.

With a sudden rustling, the tent flap behind him opened, and he pivoted, sword raised. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Robin clutch her mantle closed with one hand while the other had seized her sword and brought it to throat-level.

"I thought I heard milord laugh—ah! Yes, there you are."

"Frederick?" Robin exclaimed.

"Was your watch right before mine, really?" Chrom groaned. He relaxed his stance, but assuming a stoic demeanour did nothing to lessen the raging flush that had flooded his face.

"Yes, milord. Despite whatever strange circumstances brought you here in the middle of the night, I'm thankful to find you." He sniffed loudly and peered down his nose at them both. "I went into quite a panic when you were not in your tent."

Gods.

He caught Robin casting him a questioning glance before speaking, "Rest assured, Sir Frederick. We are merely two souls who could not find respite in the arms of slumber. Commiserating provided some amount of comfort."

Frederick nodded stiffly. "Well, milord, it's time for your patrol."

"If you wish to sleep, I could take your watch," Robin offered, concern furrowing her brow. "I won't be able to sleep for the rest of the night, I reckon."

"No," Chrom shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut as Robin's mantle slipped, exposing one bare shoulder. "It's my duty. Thank you for informing me, Frederick. I will make my way presently." He gestured for Frederick to exit the tent ahead of him. Once the knight had left, he turned. "You're welcome to join me if you'd like. I can't let you take my place, but I won't deny myself good company."

Her face lit up for a moment before she clamped down on it. "Oh, Chrom, are you certain? I don't want to be a distraction."

"I'm sure. I relish the chance to pick your brain on potential routes to take tomorrow."

She bowed her head, a sheen of light glancing off her hair. "Allow me to get dressed, then. I will join you once I'm ready. You shouldn't keep Frederick waiting."

They exchanged smiles briefly before he stepped outside.