The first time Robin saw him, it was across the battlefield.
Chrom, Lissa and Exalt Emmeryn before her, Robin was content to wait and watch how the parley with Plegia would play out. When she saw King Gangrel-at whom she had heard many curses directed-her heart skipped a beat. His face was strangely familiar...
"What's this then?" the Mad King called down from his perch upon the rocks. "The Exalt herself, in all her radiance? I fear I must shield my eyes! Bwa ha ha ha!"
Robin's pulse sped when she heard his laugh, confusing herself all the more. What were these reactions? Why did her body respond in such a way to a man she didn't know? For these questions, Robin had no answer.
The parley-as she had secretly predicted-ended in failure, with a declaration of war from Gangrel. Robin was upset that the attempts to retain peace had failed, though perhaps it was inevitable: a man like Gangrel would not just give up the revenge against Ylisse that he felt he deserved. Robin was certain that Gangrel would only stop his quest for the fire emblem-and through it, the end of each and every Ylissean-upon reaching his death.
If the Mad King had to die to maintain peace in Ylisse, then Robin would not hesitate to deliver the final blow herself. Or, at least, she hoped so.
"Can you make that throw?" Robin whispered to Flavia, keeping her eyes glued to Emmeryn's perch. The taller woman squinted into the bright Plegia sun as she considered it.
"Yes. And if I miss, then that oaf had his bow for the contingency."
Robin nodded, scanning the crowd to check on the positions of the rest of their rescue team; the shepherds were scattered among the Plegians, waiting for the proper signal from their tactician to attack. After mentally logging everyone's position-twice-Robin noticed that Gangrel had mounted to a sort of stone platform beneath the cliff when the executioner waited, looking down upon his people with a proud smirk gracing his features. The very sight of him was distracting and Robin found herself completely derailed when he addressed the assembled spectators:
"Good people! Warriors of Plegia! Welcome! Welcome one and all!"
Though the invitation was not extended to the Ylissean/Feroxi party, hidden among the Plegian soldiers and citizens, Robin had to repress the urge to applaud along with the crowd.
By the gods, what is wrong with me? She wondered, disgusted with herself, and not for the first time. Why can I never think straight when I'm battling Plegians? Is it something from my past? I must focus: Emmeryn is counting on me!
But the young tactician was distracted again as Gangrel began his speech. For just a moment, Robin understood how the Plegians could love their king while the Peoples of other countries feared and hated him. As he spoke, his words seemed tailored to fit her own feelings, as if publicly agreeing with her. Chrom had even admitted to Ylisse's guilt, making each of the Mad King's words sound truer. For perhaps half of a second, Robin forgot her loyalties, just one more person in the throng of Plegians. Then Gangrel turned to the executioner and the charismatic spell was broken.
"Flavia!" Robin cried.
"I've got him!" the East Khan cried, throwing her axe with a mighty heave.
"EVERYONE: NOW!" Robin hollered, feeling immensely guilty for almost not giving the signal. She needed to defend herself more carefully against these strange emotions. They would not rule her. She would control them, and do Ylisse proud.
But why did it still feel like cutting off her own hand?
Robin walked over the blood-soaked ground of the border wastes, searching for salvageable weaponry and other survivors. Today had seen too much violence and hatred. At least Chrom had gotten his revenge.
Robin could still see Gangrel's death in her mind's eye: injured from an encounter with Stahl's lance, he'd stood before Chrom, proud and unwavering to the end. Robin had watched from the safety of a fort as the Ylissean Prince and Plegian King had traded blows, their equal skill making the battle risky for them both. In the end, Chrom's firm partnership with Sumia brought the Mad King to his knees.
"F-fool of...a prince..."Gangrel had gasped as collapsed, clutching at the fatal wound that stretched across his chest. "Your people care not for you. You are...alone...As every man lives and dies:...alone..."
His final words tore Robin's heart out; tore it out and stomped on it. Though stories of his deeds would paint him as a monster in years to come, Robin had witnessed with her own eyes that Mad King Gangrel was in fact just a man. A man who had died friendless and hated.
Never before had Robin ached with sorrow for an enemy, but now she could not help it:no one deserved to die, believing they were worthless and alone. Not even the most depraved of souls should be truly isolated. The aching was almost a physical feeling, yet Robin tried to put the matter out of her mind: Gangrel was dead. Feeling sorry for him would do no one any good.
"Hey, you coming?" Sully asked, riding over on her white mount. "The Khans want to talk to you about their-what did they call it?-war compensation from Plegia. Flavia's gettin' antsy."
"All right," the tactician sighed, remembering Basilio's warning about his counterpart's slight overzealousness when it came to claiming spoils. Sully spurred her mount on, vanishing into the evening light.
Robin turned and walked back to the Shepherd encampment, squaring her shoulders and turning her eyes up to the darkening sky of dusk. The mourning would pass. It must. She had no right to be so emotionally invested with a man whom she didn't even know, and who-in any case-was dead. Robin resolved to forget Gangrel, forget his powerful words, forget his pride when facing death itself. No more would she think of him, her enemy, the only death she grieved.
Two years. Two years since Robin had sworn never to think of Gangrel again. The war with Valm had provided sufficient distraction, but the tactician could not seem to keep herself from comparing each new enemy the Shepherds to the Mad King. Her attempts to conquer her near obsession with the man had failed, and not even the Fell Dragon himself proclaiming the apocalypse could cure her.
Much had changed in the past years: Chrom was securely married to Sumia, Robin was a trained Dark Flier, ready to become a grandmaster, and everyone else in the Shepherds were falling in love the only way you could on the battlefield: with wild abandon. Robin found herself alone more often then not now, because all the others were pairing off. Even Tharja was pursuing a relationship with Libra!
All the tactics in the world could not replace the casual friendly conversations with the others. Only Lucina, Flavia, and Say'ri were focused enough on the upcoming final battle to even speak to their tactician in an equal conversation, and even then it was tentative. Being Fellblood-publically-had driven all but a few away. It was so blasted lonely now.
Three weeks after the Fell Dragon's resurrection, Robin was on a boat sailing to the island called Sea-King's throne, southwest of Ylisse. Chrom had heard of the Dread pirates exploits in Ylisse and Plegia alike and decided to do something about it. Robin was observing the island through a spyglass, her commander waiting for an analysis.
"I can see activity," she said briskly, passing the spyglass to Chrom. "The pirates are home. Our best hope is that we bring mobile units and fight ashore."
Chrom nodded, taking a quick look himself. He turned to Frederick and ordered that the Shepherds prepare to land and fight. As the great knight hurried off, Robin slipped belowdecks into the makeshift stable and began saddling her black pegasus. Sully and Sumia both walked in, laughing loudly as they readied their mounts. Robin pulled up her hood and looked away.
"That's the Mad King...I'm sure of it."
The remark had been meant for Sumia, but it sent chills running down Robin's back. Finishing her thoron spell-and leaving her opponent to burn-she turned her pegasus and strained to see.
There, not even a hundred yards away; Robin would've recognized that red hair from any distance. Other than the Levin sword in his grasp, that was the only familiar feature remaining: his crown was gone, his hair and beard wild and overgrown, and his posture displayed nothing but misery. Gone too were the fine clothes worthy of a king: his garb consisted of a worn white tunic, tan breeches, scuffed leather boots, and a thief's cloak, all frayed and patched.
Robin watched as Chrom stayed his sword hand long enough to call out to their old enemy. She couldn't hear what her commander had to say, but she had flown close enough to hear Gangrel's response.
"Alive? No, Chrom. This is not living... You killed me once, dear prince. Now I would beg you do so again. My life is over, but my body refuses to accept it."
"Gods, listen to you..." Chrom muttered. "Is this truly the same Mad King who stood against us?" he asked no one in particular.
"Tear out everything that makes a man, and all you're left with is a husk," Gangrel replied lifelessly. "No throne. No gold. No men... I scrub chamber pots for brigands. Ah, how the mighty have fallen..."
"Ironic that you, of all people, are finally learning about long falls."
Robin yearned to speak out, to comfort the abused former king, but did not dare. It was not her place to consort with royalty, no matter her birth rank. She was a tactician. Tactics and royalty were two very different spheres, ones that barely ever brushed. As an arrow zipped by her head, Robin returned her focus to the task at hand.
"Kjelle! Take those archers! Lissa! Get over to Stahl and heal him! Henry! Kill everyone that comes your way! Tharja! Stop following me and go support your daughter!"
I will conquer this, Robin told herself. I will conquer this! Today, no matter what, I put this behind me.
But she couldn't resist turning around to see him one last time.
"I didn't ask for your help," Gangrel muttered, wincing as Robin tightened the bandage around his arm. Robin sighed, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes.
"You are a Shepherd. I am the Shepherd's tactician. As such, it is my job to look after you as best I can."
Gangrel grumbled slightly, but did not press the issue, instead glowering at the row of tents. Robin glanced around and noticed that all the shepherds nearby were giving them quite a wide berth. Except Emmeryn.
The former exalt watched from a closer position than the others, concern written over her face. Gangrel did not even glance her way, but Robin could see he was uncomfortable from his body language; he was leaning away slightly, as if attempting to distance himself from not only Emmeryn, but her as well. Finishing her knot, Robin stood and offered her hand to help him up. The Mad King looked at it for a moment, then took it, releasing her as soon as he could.
"Thanks," he mumbled, turning away as if ashamed. He quickly walked between the tents-moving a respectful distance around Emmeryn-and was soon gone. Robin sighed, and went her own way. She heard footsteps and saw Chrom's elder sister approaching.
"Can I do something for you?"
"No, thank...you," the frail woman managed to force out, breaking Robin's heart as she struggled to form even the simplest sentences. Finding the Shepherds' enemies had been one thing; Chrom's damaged sister was another. Robin remembered the encounter very clearly: Chrom and Lissa overjoyed and saddened at the same time, everyone else staying away to give the family a chance to be alone. Gangrel, standing at Robin's side, had been silent and pale, unusually solemn.
"He's so...lonely," Emmeryn whispered, bringing Robin out of her thoughts. "Sad."
"Gangrel?" Robin looked back to where the man had disappeared, her brow furrowing. "Yes, he is quite lonely, I'd imagine. No one in the Shepherds go near him when they don't have to. There's still a lot of animosity."
"Help him?" Emmeryn asked softly. When she was answered by confused silence, she added, "Will you...be his...friend? He likes...you."
"He tolerates me," Robin corrected, "because I'm the tactician, and it's important he be able to interact with me.
The blonde woman smiled as she shook her head.
"No. He...likes you. Does not...just tolerate. Admires...you."
Robin sighed in defeat and Emmeryn laughed softly.
"Why don't you help him, though?" the tactician asked. "If he needs friends, then why don't you become one?"
"W-won't...let...Feels so...guilty..."she tried to say, but Robin understood. She stopped walking and faced the former exalt seriously.
"If he won't accept your help, do you really think he'll take mine?" Emmeryn smiled and nodded eagerly, not needing her broken words to reiterate her point. "Ok. I'll try."
Emmeryn's smile widened and she took Robin's hand and squeezed it in thanks. Robin returned the smile.
The training fields were alive with activity, everyone split into either pairs or groups of four. Gangrel sat alone on the ground, watching the sparring without much interest, idly tapping his fingers against the worn Levin sword on his lap. Across the field, Robin saw him and ran over.
"You should find a partner," she told him, panting slightly. "You'll lose your edge in battle if you keep neglecting your training."
"Like anyone would even want to train with me," the former king growled, annoyed at the intrusion. Robin frowned and glanced back at the field. Sure enough, everyone but Gangrel had a partner or two with whom they traded blows every so often. The tactician sighed and offered her hand to Gangrel.
"I'd train with you. You have but to ask."
"I'd defeat you far too easily. It would hardly be worth my time," he snapped, shoving her hand aside. Robin knelt before him and stared him straight in the eye.
"I'd like to see you try," she challenged. Gangrel got to his feet, dropping the Levin Sword and seizing a discarded iron one. Robin did the same and they walked on the field, standing apart. Taking their ready stances, they watched one another with narrowed, calculating eyes, moving in a large circle. Then, with a blur of color, the Mad King struck. Robin turned the blow aside and slid her blade in close, trying to get a hit in. She was denied and the two broke apart, resuming their careful circling.
It did not take long before the Shepherds gathered in a small crowd to watch the battle. The intensity was stunning, both matching one another for speed, grace and unerring accuracy. Neither sword could make contact, so flawless were their defenses and dodges. After a solid ten minutes of this, even Frederick's steel-muscled arms felt sore on their behalf, yet they did not hesitate. Gangrel jumped aside from another of Robin's swings and whirled to face her. She charged and their swords locked in midair. Silence fell as the entire army watched both warriors stand perfectly still, panting from their exertion.
"We-we will do ourselves injury if we continue," Robin gasped, hardly able to stay upright now that she stopped moving. Gangrel nodded and released his sword, which clattered to the ground.
"Never have I fought to a standstill," the man said clearly. "You have proven me wrong. Let us do this again sometime. I will not neglect my training again, and I will defeat you next time."
"I will also be preparing," Robin warned. "I will not make it easy, and that's a promise."
Gangrel turned on his heel and, as he left, the Shepherds parted like the Red Sea to make way for him. Robin flopped to the ground as soon as he was gone, breathing heavily, all the while, smiling widely.
Gangrel and Robin were inseparable: they trained together, ate together, paired up on the battlefield, and often spoke to one another at the evening campfire. Robin was glad to be near him and to see him act more like a proper human being rather than the shell of one. Sometimes, he would even smile: a small flash of a grin when she said something just right, or asked him about Plegia's culture. It was so different from his wild smirks from before-as the Mad King-that just seeing his smile made her want to smile back.
As only was to be expected, rumors flew. Whispers passed around Robin, and she was never able to properly catch it all. Enlisting Kellam as a helper, she learned about the stories.
According to Maribelle, Gangrel was only playing nice to seduce their tactician into joining the Plegians. Gauis passed his opinion that Robin was merely involved to learn more about her birth country and good old Lissa wouldn't let anyone deface her theory that Robin was simply trying to reform the man, and nothing went beyond that. No matter the tale, or from whom it came, it missed the essential point: Robin just wanted to be Gangrel's friend and be there for him.
Chrom had tried to interfere, by reminding Robin of all Gangrel had done, but his worries fell onto deaf ears: Robin would not leave him for anything. She was his friend, and would not-could not-abandon him. Not now. Not ever.
It was early morning when Robin strode across camp, only one purpose in mind. As she came near Gangrel's tent, she heard the man's familiar voice speaking softly to someone else. After a moment, she heard the smooth voice of a temptress: Aversa. Standing outside Gangrel's tent, she leaned against the fabric to listen, curious as to why the two would be on speaking terms.
"If you are seen near me, it will cause trouble throughout the army," Gangrel was saying. His tone was hushed, as if afraid to be caught.
"Oh, but I like trouble darling," the grimeal woman purred, and Robin imagined her sidling close to him, perhaps reaching her hand out an touching his chest possessively. "I wouldn't have been near you so much if I didn't. You are such a naughty boy, after all."
Robin felt as though she'd been hit with a shovel. Those words sparked a cascade of thoughts whirling into such a chaos, she was unsure how to sort it out. She didn't want to hear any more, but she had to hear his response...No, no she couldn't. She didn't want to risk knowing anything. Desperate, she stumbled away from camp, into a silent secluded grove. She sat down and put her head in her hands.
Gangrel was with Aversa. Aversa, the woman who had stood with him through out his war with Ylisse. Aversa, perhaps the most beautiful woman in the army. Robin would never be able to face him again. Not while he was with her. She would ruin him, drive him away, maybe worse...
"Robin?"
The tactician whirled to see Gangrel himself enter the clearing. She hastily stood, wiping away any expression on her face.
"What are you doing out here?" he asked, stepping close to her. She looked away, up to the swaying leaves instead.
"I needed somewhere to think," she answered quietly. Gangrel nodded and looked up as well, folding his arms.
"Can I ask you a question?" Robin said quietly, stepping away from him so she could look at him properly. She took his grunt for an affirmative and pressed on. "In Plegia, was it common for a royal and a grimeal to be betrothed?"
"What brought this on?" Gangrel inquired back. Robin looked at the ground and held her tongue. Sighing, the red haired man leaned against the rough bark of an ancient tree. "Well, whatever. It's long and complicated. Still want to listen?"
"Of course," Robin answered, without missing a beat. "I want to know everything I can about Plegia."
Gangrel sighed and slid down the tree's trunk, sitting at the base. Robin joined him as he began to speak.
"Betrothal for any Plegian king is very complicated. As a theocracy, if a ruler does not have the proper grimeal bloodline, trouble invariably comes. The grimeal hate to give away any of their children to the Royal family for betrothal, yet to keep grimeal influence on the throne requires nothing less. So, in answer to your question, yes it is quite common, but the arrangements can take years to form. The last betrothal between grimeal and royalty was the crown prince before me."
"So...you were never betrothed," Robin dared to say, wanting complete confirmation. Gangrel watched her carefully, as if debating to say something. The silence was broken by the sound of a horn from camp.
"Time to march," Gangrel muttered, standing hastily and leaving the clearing. Left a few steps behind, Robin slowly followed. He hadn't answered her question. In fact, he'd avoided it. That was worrisome; why would he find cause to hide something from her?
"You killed her!" Chrom screamed, seizing Gangrel by the collar and shaking him. "You killed my sister!"
"No Chrom! I could never hurt her!" Gangrel defended himself, trying to loose the Ylissean's grip and escape.
Normally, Chrom wouldn't have gone anywhere near the plegian man. But that was before Emmeryn had died a second time: in a desperate attempt to protect her younger sister from a deadly sniper's arrow, the former exalt had lived up to her own reputation and taken the blow herself. As a dark flier, Lissa had been unable to use a staff to save her, and the only staff user on the battlefield experienced enough had not acted in time to save her. As chance would have it, the staff user in question was no other than Gangrel himself.
Robin had been waiting between the tents of camp, trying to find a way to break the news to her commander when Lissa had gotten there first. Enraged, Chrom had charged through camp and attacked Gangrel in a rage.
"Chrom! Stop!"
Robin added emphasis to her cry by using a wind spell, which forced the two men apart. Before the distraught prince could lunge again, his tactician stood between them, her arms thrown out defensively.
"Chrom," she growled, "Settle down. You'll hurt yourself-and him-if you keep this up."
"He killed her," the prince repeated feverishly. "He killed Emmeryn again! I'll kill him! I will!"
"No, you won't" his tactician insisted. "I won't let you. You want to hurt Gangrel, you'll have to go through me."
This halted Chrom's anger, derailed by complete bewilderment. He was not alone: each of the onlookers shared their commander's confusion at Robin's sudden defensiveness for their former enemy. His rage returning, Chrom drew Falchion, holding it ready. Robin responded by drawing a Levin Sword, holding it ready.
"Robin, move," Chrom ordered sharply. The young woman did not budge.
"Chrom, listen to yourself," she pleaded. "You hear that Emmeryn is dead, and the first thing you do is blame Gangrel. You don't have all the details, because you weren't there. I was. There was nothing Gangrel could have done to save her; the wound was too severe. She'd have died no matter what and I will not let you desecrate her memory by taking it out on an innocent man. I grieve with you, but I could never forgive you if you touched him."
The flame of hatred Chrom had used to power his attack sputtered out under Robin's firm refusal. His breath hitched in throat as he sheathed his blade and ran back into camp. The other Shepherds slowly dissipated and soon Robin and Gangrel were alone.
"Why would you do that for me?" Gangrel asked, his voice no louder than a whisper. Robin took in a steadying breath and wiped at her damp eyes. She did not answer for a moment, trying to put her feelings into perspective enough to translate into words.
"It's what Emmeryn would want," she finally replied. "And...I couldn't bear it if I just stood by and let you be hurt."
Silence fell between them, slightly strained. Neither one knew what the other was thinking, and it made Robin edgy. Her heart pulsing as it had not for months, she raised a trembling hand and dared touch his shoulder lightly.
"I'm sorry you have to go through this," she murmured. "It's not fair."
"Life's not fair, haven't you heard?" Gangrel laughed bitterly. Robin shook her head, an unwilling smile tugging at her lips. She stepped away, with every intent to leave before she said something she regretted, but Gangrel caught her wrist. She started a bit at the sudden contact, watching the man with wide eyes. He struggled with the words for a moment, but finally managed to say them.
"I just-well, I...Thank you. For not letting Chrom gut me. I would never want Emmeryn's memory to be connected with my death. She doesn't deserve that kind of legacy."
"Anytime," Robin replied, smiling a little. Perhaps all was not lost.
He never came by anymore: every day, Robin waited for the Mad King to come into her tent and talk about Plegia or whatever else they could find, and every day-without fail-he did not come. If they ever ran into each other in camp, he wouldn't stop on his way, only giving her the briefest of greetings as they passed.
Robin had no one to confide to-no one would pay any attention to her if she so much as said Gangrel's name-and so she suffered deeply. She missed being with him; missed his quick answers to her questions, his easily derailing thoughts and words, his lighting quick swordplay that sometimes left her two steps behind when training. It was as if there was a hole in her heart, born the day Emmeryn died.
Chrom saw her suffering, but was helpless to comfort her-his own hatred for the man got in the way more often than not-and so did the days pass. Days that turned into weeks. Weeks that last eternities.
Without Gangrel to talk to, Robin found herself with much more free time on her hands. She used her time to help build up relationships with some of her other friends and study tactics. The large volumes became her true companions as she waited for some sort of confirmation of what she should do. Nothing became more nothing.
How long would she be alone? Why did it hurt so much to be away from him? Why, why, why?!
It was evening and lightly raining. Robin sat in her tent, reading several reports by candlelight, when a gust of wind blew through the door. Twisting around, she dropped the papers when she saw no one other than Gangrel himself standing in her tent, his red hair dripping wet.
"Gangrel," she squeaked, taken completely aback. "Uh, what are you doing here?"
He did not answer, instead shifting uncertainly on the spot, seemingly unable to look at her. He was very agitated, in fact: not able to even sit still, clearly resisting the urge to pace. Robin was simultaneously concerned and curious.
"Will you sit down?" she asked tentatively. Gangrel nodded and sat on the empty stool across from her and she joined him. The red haired man clasped his hands and inhaled deeply, his eyes on the ground.
"Do you remember when you asked about..." he began, then hesitated for a moment before continuing. "about betrothals between grimeal and royalty?" Robin nodded and he took another breath to steady himself. "I...I realize that I never answered your question as to whether or not I myself had a betrothed. Well, the answer is that yes, I inherited a betrothal along with the throne of Plegia."
The world had stopped spinning. Robin's mind stopped working right there. Holy crap.
Gangrel seemed oblivious to her shock, standing and beginning to pace, back and forth, all the while continuing his statement.
"It was just a formality, of course. I never took it seriously. That was before I-for lack of a better term-died on the border wastes. I figured I had left it behind, like the rest of my past, but apparently not."
"Wh-what do you mean?" Robin managed to blurt out. "What-?"
Gangrel suddenly laughed and threw his arms up helplessly. Robin was so taken aback by this development that she fell off her stool and landed hard.
"I'm no good at this," he snickered, seeming a bit giddy all of a sudden. "I can't play this game with you any more, tactician. I was betrothed to Validar's daughter, a girl whom I had never truly known, until I joined the Shepherds."
"Oh gods," Robin whispered, still sprawled on the ground. "You can't mean...me?"
"I told you I'm not good at this," he murmured, kneeling beside her. Gently, he brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes, his fingers trembling slightly.
"I have tried to forget that we were betrothed," he continued. "Believe me, I've done everything. You didn't consent to the arrangement, and neither did I. Yet my feelings will not be constrained; Robin...against my will, I have fallen in love with you, and now that I have I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. I need you by my side. Please. It would honor me beyond words if you would consent to fulfill this betrothal and marry me."
"What about your proposal to be tactician to Plegia?" Robin inquired, still unsure of what he was asking, her head still a bit muddled from so many surprises in a row. Gangrel threw his head back and laughed again.
"Tactician, wife, it's all he same! As either one, you'll be with me, telling me what to do and when to do it! One word from you, and I'll be yours for whatever is left of my life. Whatever you want, anything you need, it'll be yours, I swear it."
Trying to regain some composure, Robin pulled herself into a sitting position, smoothing her rumpled cloak. Her mind her wanted to stay calm and think this through logically, but her heart yearned to accept, to say yes a thousand times over. Slowly, her lips curved upwards into a grin.
"Were I a Mankete," she said clearly, her voice barely escaping a slight tremor, "to have lived a thousand years, I would have loved you all that time and continued to do so for a thousand more. I've been in love with you for forever, and your joy cannot even begin to describe my own now that I know you love me back. I would be honored to share my life with you, as your wife."
Now it was Gangrel's turn to be shocked into silence, but it did not last long: releasing a wild whoop of excitement, he began to call out orders for the greatest wedding feast the world had ever seen, only calming down at Robin's swift insistence. Grinning from ear to ear, he took her hands in his own, slow and gentle, as they rose to a standing position.
"Thank you," he whispered. "You'll make me a better person, milady, and I will never neglect the happiness you deserve. I swear it."
Robin smiled and slipped her hands free only to capture him in an embrace. They remained there for a long moment, enjoying each other's company as they had never been allowed before; the first moment of the rest of their lives.
Rumors that had already been flying for weeks intensified tenfold when a certain redheaded teenager was found not two weeks after Gangrel proposed.
Morgan. Robin's son. Needless to say, Chrom was not happy that his tactician was engaged to a former enemy.
Morgan soon entered life in the army, without much incident, for which his mother was grateful-the scandal of her marriage to Gangrel was hard enough to deal with on it's own. Their son proved to be a cheerful addition to their little family, putting to rest Robin's fears about his getting along with everyone. Weeks later, Gangrel would confess to have been nervous about Morgan's presence as well, if only because he didn't want to bring any more hardship on Robin.
Despite the final battle with Grima looming ever nearer, Robin had never been happier: the days spent with her husband and son were unlike any she had ever experienced before. Morgan was eager to play out tactics with her, and Gangrel always laughed when his son insisted he have a turn.
Before, Robin had been determined to destroy the Fell Dragon out of a sense of duty. Now she had a true reason: her family. The little moments that were inconsequential in the grand scheme of the world were things that Robin treasured most, the things of most value, the most worth protecting.
The things worth dying for.
AN: Thanks for reading(this is the longest single chapter I've ever written in...EVER)
I wrote this for a prompt exchange challenge and my prompt was "A Thousand Years" by Christina Perri. The first word that popped into my mind was "mankete". BUT as I always feel awkward about the trio of Manketes, I figured a side reference would do. (I've never written a songfic in my life, so I did the best I could while listening to the song on loop for over 10 hours)
Gangrel and Robin are not my avatar otp, but I love this couple to death, and I figured I just had to write it. Hope you liked! :)