"Father?" the tactician recognized the familiar voice before the mop of maroon hair appeared before him, as if out of thin air.
He slapped the book he was reading shut, careful to mark his spot, "Aren't you supposed to be in bed?"
"I can't sleep," she remarked plaintively, "will you tell me a story?"
"You're a little old for bedtime stories of heroes and damsels in distress, aren't you, Morgan?" he patted her head as she stepped next to him.
"I guess, but what about a different kind of story?" she suggested.
"Such as?"
"I'd like to hear more about you and mother. It might help my memory," she smiled.
"You already know how we met, when I proposed, we told you about the wedding…" he listed, "what else do you still want to know?"
"I was hoping you could fill some of the gaps in between. Like, for example, you and mother have both said you had some kind of conversation that made you interested in each other the evening you met. Tell me about that."
"All right," he resigned, sighing, "but, be honest, Morgan: this has nothing to do with you being unable to sleep, right?"
"Not in the least," she nodded, hopping onto his bed. He sighed again.
[*]
The tactician ran a gloved hand through his hair, feeling the cool and textured leather along his scalp. The hand dropped. He sighed with fatigue. Pressing the hand back onto the old oak desk that sat in front of him, he examined the pile of papers that assailed his eyes. He couldn't even begin to focus on the dreaded things. Still, it was his line of work, now, there was nothing to do for it. Praying for a distraction, the tactician took note of how far the candle he had set out had burned down, as it was nearly consumed by a pool of its own wax by this point. The flame was low, and the color flailed limply in the dark that was quickly encompassing the walls of the tent. Taking a pen in his hand exasperatedly, the young tactician began to take a note: "Predicted high-level resistance, likely the force will need to be divided into two to effectively deal with opposition. Ask Stahl and Sully if able to lead north force. Keep an eye on Chrom, his rage may make him foolish."
Suddenly, a sound. The light tap of a boot. The tactician sprang to his feet and removed the small blade he had so carefully hidden in his sleeve.
"Eek!"the red-haired woman before him squealed.
"Oh,"the tactician breathed, stowing away the blade, "It's you. Gods, don't sneak up on me like that."
"I kinda need to," she smirked, though her voice shook, "I wasn't even sure if anyone else was allowed in this tent."
"They're not, ordinarily," the tactician made his tone very distinct.
"Oh, pffft," the merchant girl stuck her tongue out at him, "don't give me that. I was just checking up on you. You do remember saving my life earlier today, right?"
"I just made things easier, you could've handled them," he sighed, sitting back down.
"I was trying to compliment you, sheesh," she shrugged. Receiving no response, she glanced over his shoulder, staring down at the papers: an unintelligible mass of scribbling and crossed-out notes, a large "X" here and there, names, lists; were Anna not so used to her own vast inventory, the cacophony of writing might have been enough to make her nauseous. "I see the stories are true; you work non-stop. You are the tactician I've heard so much about, right? Robin?"
"That's right," he acceded quickly.
"Do you remember my name?" she tapped her index finger to her bottom lip.
He paused, still not looking at her, "I don't know that you actually provided me with it."
"Oh, gods curse me, you're right. I only talked with the captain, a few of the girls, and that weird guy who kept bugging me for candy. I'm Anna, or Anna the Merchant, if you prefer, though most folks who aren't so privileged as to know my name call me 'The Secret Seller.'"
"'The Secret Seller?'" he repeated, "Did your six-year-old niece come up with that, or something?"
"Hey!"she scolded indignantly, "I like that title!" The tactician made a scoffing laugh and returned to his work. She smirked sidelong at the tactician,"So… whatcha doin'?"
"Sorry,"he sighed, not acknowledging her, "can we talk later? This is rather important."
"Later?"she chuckled, "The sun set almost eight hours ago, buddy. We stay awake much longer, and your 'later' is like to become 'early.'"
"Did you come in here just to make fun of me?" he looked back to her bemusedly.
"Maaaaybe…" she wound a lock of her hair around her finger, smirking.
"Great,"he smirked, too, "just what this army needed: a damned comedian."
"By some of the descriptions I've heard, it already had one," she crossed her arms.
"Really?"the tactician set his pen down, "I suppose I need to have a chat with a few of the troops."
She laughed. After a moment, she recovered her composure, "I really do want to thank you for today, though."
"It was the right thing to do. Anyone would have done it," he dismissed again, retrieving his pen.
"There it is again," she giggled at him, "just take the praise! Gods, you'd probably argue with me for saying you looked handsome out on the battlefield!"
The pen stopped again and he turned around, "You thought I looked handsome?"
Realizing her slip, she crossed her arms again, "In a totally platonic, friendly, pedestrian, just-saying-hi kinda way."
"Uh-huh,"he nodded sarcastically, "but 'handsome,' eh?"
She used the same tone, "I guess, if you're into the whole youthful boyish charm mixed in with a touch of workaholic."
"But, 'handsome,'" he insisted, grinning.
"You are the worst," she sighed resignedly, "Don't stay up too late, you bastard."
"Thanks, hate you, too," they both laughed as she proceeded out of the tent. For once, Anna found herself legitimately frustrated. It wasn't something she was accustomed to feeling; she always got the better of customers in the end, how had he managed to get one over on her, to make her feel like this? She shook her head; it was cold out, and she didn't mean to stand around in the frozen air until dawn.
[*]
"I don't get it," Morgan reported, "you were being pretty mean to each other."
"I suppose that's just how your mother and I are, Morgan," he smiled, picking her up off of the bed.
"But, all the romance novels I've read have the man and woman acting all mushy and constantly talking about how one makes the other feel. The ones that have the people talking most of the time, anyway, some of the others—"
Her father cut her off, "I think I might need to keep tighter tabs on what I let you read. And, anyway, Morgan, your mother and I are people, not characters in some book. We have our own personalities. Don't believe everything you read."
"Great,"came another voice, "does this mean I have two night owls in the family now?"
"Evening, honey," the tactician called out.
"Mother!"the little redhead chimed in, greeting her at the doorway with a tight hug.
"You,"she poked her daughter's nose, "are supposed to be in bed and fast asleep. Did your father drop the ball again?"
"Hey, hey, she stayed up all by herself, I didn't drop a thing," Robin defended.
"I'm not even tired, mom," she pleaded.
"Well, your mom is. Why don't you kiss you father goodnight and everyone can settle in for a nice, relaxing evening of sleep," Anna patted her daughter's back, facing her husband to show the weariness in her eyes.
"Do what your mom asks, honey," Robin encouraged.
"Aw,"she pouted, lowering her head dejectedly, "I just wanted to hear more about you two. I was hoping you could tell me a story, too, mom."
"A story? What story did your father tell you?" Anna raised an eyebrow.
"About the first conversation you shared," she said.
"He would tell that one," Anna quipped aside.
"but I didn't understand why it made you want to see father again. You were kind of mean to each other… are you both into that, or something? I've heard some couples enjoy hitting each other's—"
"Morgan!"her mother chided, "Your father and I will both thank you to stop thinking about that. Anyway, honey, what's the matter? Do you think your father and I don't love each other?"
"I…I don't know… sometimes you both seem really… tired," she explained.
"That's only from work, sweetie. We still love each other very much," Anna smiled. Her husband nodded fervently from the bed.
"So…will you tell me a story about you two, then?" her eyes glowed again.
"Kiddo, I love you, but, honestly, what else is there to tell? You've asked me for almost every detail of everything I could remember," Anna sighed.
"What about…" she paused to consider, "After the wedding ceremony? There are those big parties, right, and everyone dances? How was that?"
A smirk quickly developed over Anna's face, "Oh, gods, that's right! Your father…"
[*]
"Dance?"he repeated.
"That's what people do. That's what they'll be expecting," she nodded laboriously.
"May be we should defy expectations?" he laughed weakly.
"What are you getting all hot under the collar about, Robin?" she stared at him.
He scratched his neck, reminded of the collar of the outfit, "I can't dance, Anna. I never learned. Nor did I want to, if I'm honest…"
"Wha-?You're telling me this now?" she glared at him furiously.
"I wasn't aware this was some sort of tradition," he covered.
"Pegasus dung, you were at Chrom's wedding. You know exactly how these things go," she lectured.
"Yeah, but… I never danced," he admitted.
"Why not?" she wondered absentmindedly, "I mean, besides the fact that you didn't know how."
"No partner," he remarked somberly.
She took him in and, after a moment, sighed, "You just have to go and make everything difficult, don't you?"
He grinned knowingly, "Hey, you married me. I guess I'm just your burden from now on."
She held her head in her hands and laughed wryly, "This is going to suck."
"The dance, you mean?" he placed a hand on her shoulder.
"No, gods save me, the dance we can fake, at least. It's marrying you that's going to be the death of me," she smiled at him over her shoulder.
"Hey, now that's just plain mean," he pouted.
"Aw, I'm sorry, big guy," she lowered herself, "can't take a little joke from the wife?"
"You're right," he guffawed, "this is going to suck."
"Robin, Anna?" Lissa called tentatively from the entryway to the chamber. "Oh, thank the gods, you're still decent," she breathed a relieved, if less quiet than intended, sigh.
"Everyone's still waiting for you guys."
"Just…"she stammered, holding his hand and staring into his eyes, "follow my lead, okay?"
The two proceeded out into the hall. Robin swallowed hard as he noted the presence of all his comrades, each staring at him with remarkable interest. All except for Tharja, anyway, who had obscured her face throughout the whole ceremony, clutching disbelief like a security blanket. Other than her, however, Robin felt himself shrink under the admittedly affable, but clearly bored gaze of the Exalt and the interested excitement in the eyes of his new wife. They took their place at the center of the stage, and without missing a beat, the sounds of an orchestra began with a burst that made Robin jump, somehow failing to notice them prior. After composing himself, he offered his hand to the redhead, who took it cautiously. As a few delicate strings were plucked on the harp, Robin took note of the rhythm, carefully cradling his wife's waist and swaying her to each side with each note. After a few seconds, his confidence slightly established, he began to step, once to each side, then back again and to the other. As he allowed himself to hear more of the musicians' sounds to reach him, Robin began to play with the sound in his mind, swaying in his steps. Here, back and forth, there to the left and after to the right, Robin couldn't believe it: he was enjoying himself. Maybe it had something to do with the view, he considered, staring into his wife's face, which appeared thoroughly confused.
"Remember when I told you to follow my lead?" she asked, leaning her head over his shoulder, whispering into the nape of his neck.
"Yes,"he deferred, "but now you're going to follow mine."
"You look like an idiot," she rolled her eyes, a smile painted on her face.
"So what does that make you?" he added.
Abruptly, she pulled away, yanking his hands and arms forward until their conjoined arms lay straight and parallel before them. A few inhalations and murmurs appeared from the crowd. She gripped her fingers through his and quickly wrapped her own arm around his waist, leading him in a circle. A few laughs escaped the collected Shepherds. Playing along, he tossed his head carelessly over her shoulder, doing all that he could to accentuate the gesture, endeavoring to flip his hair mockingly. She continued leading him, "In another life, you'd make quite a wonderful lady."
"So would you," he snickered, mirroring her by whispering down her neck. She placed her foot down, the heel of her shoe grinding into her husband's foot. With a wince, he apologized.
"You follow my lead, are we clear, buddy boy?" she cupped a hand to his cheek, appearing to cradle his head.
"Sorry,"he broke away in much the same manner she had, though this time, he released one of her hands and tugged the other over her head, "but I'm not used to being led around. Not good at following directions, you know?" He twisted his wrist slightly. She knew what it meant was expected of her and began to pirouette as best she was able, letting his surprisingly firm hand guide her momentum for a few rotations, then slowed to a halt facing him again. He bowed and kissed her hand as their audience clapped.
"Oh, yes, I know. Can't live without having the last word," she drew in close and let her palms fold around his collar, their foreheads nearly locked together.
"You know it," he gently held the back of her head and pushed it toward him for a kiss. A wave of admiring "aws" spread quickly through the women in the room, excepting, again, Tharja, who pantomimed vomiting.
The orchestra began to build their song to a crescendo, meaning it was time for the couple to wrap things up. A smirk on her face, Anna broke her husband's embrace, winding around to his back, placing an arm around his neck, first, to imitate choking, which elicited a few chuckles, then grasping at his shoulder and through the back of his hand, she leaned backward. He followed along again, letting himself be tossed back, feigning the face of a disaffected bride. The Shepherds broke out into raucous applause and bouts of laughter as the dance came to a halt. Robin bowed formally and his wife delivered a very cordial curtsey, then the two turned to one another and kissed once more, bringing about another wave of cheers.
"Robin, Anna," Chrom announced from on high, "I say this to you as a friend and as the friend of your husband, respectively: What the hell is wrong with you two?" He joined the rondo of laughter with an incredulous grin. The pair smiled in each other's embrace, ignorant of them all.
[*]
"Aw,"Morgan cooed, "that one was much sweeter." She hesitated a moment, replaying
the story in her mind, "But all you did was insult one another. I don't understand. Why does this kind of thing make you fall in love with each other?"
"I guess your father's just a strange man, Morgan," he admitted, rising from the bed and patting her shoulder.
"And your mother was the only woman crazy enough to like him," Anna straightened out her daughter's hair.
"If being in love with you is crazy, then sanity is overrated," Robin smiled to his wife.
"Oh, gods, that's so trite," she shook her head.
Morgan frowned, saying nothing, but both her parents took note of it quickly. "But if you're trite, you're trite. You're still my husband, and I love you more than anything."
"And I you, Anna," he smiled as they joined in an embrace. He pursed his lips, closing his eyes and leaning his head forward-
"WAIT!" Morgan exclaimed.
Both her parents leapt a foot back from the other. Anna turned her head first, "What, honey? You just about gave your mom a heart attack."
"Sorry, sorry," she dismissed, "but I think I get it now."
"Get what, dear?"
"You and father, why you love each other so much."
"Oh, this I've got to hear," Robin leaned forward with sardonic interest.
"You and mother both want to be more clever than the other! Your constant one-upping of each other makes you feel good, and, in the meantime, it's a 'thrill of the chase' sort of deal," the little redhead reported matter-of-factly.
"Ha!" Anna scoffed, "As if I need to put any effort into getting one over on your dad."
"Funny, I recall you complaining that it took a lot of effort to 'get one over on me,'" he winked at her.
She blushed, "Robin! Gods, your daughter's in the room!" Morgan stared at him, clearly perplexed by the remark.
"Just bear it in mind, sweetheart," he took his wife's face in his hand and kissed her, "your father puts up all the effort, and he gets one over on your mother plenty, and sometimes, she does him, but, at the end of the day, we're both on even ground, loving each other very much." Morgan said nothing, the metaphor obviously completely lost on her. "Time for bed, now," he reaffirmed, kissing his daughter's forehead.
"O... kay..." she shrugged, "Goodnight, mother, father, I love you."
"Goodnight, honey. Love you, too," they responded almost simultaneously.
"Now that was just depraved," she tapped his forehead lightly with a scolding index finger.
"But accurate," he smiled knowingly, "You know you love it."
"Uh-huh," she rolled her eyes, "lie down."
"So you can 'get one over on me?'" he couldn't help but to laugh.
"If I don't suffocate you with a pillow tonight, we'll see," she walked to the other side of the bed and playfully lobbed her pillow at his head.
They slid in close. "Goodnight, Anna," he breathed, shutting his eyes.
"Goodnight, you bastard."