Robin & Chrom

One Year

The courtyards of Ylisstol always held the most remarkable hues of gold and blue around this time of year, with the flower beds bursting with vibrant, native blossoms.

At one corner of the grandest garden in the palace, there was a bed of dark roses. The darkness of their petals stood out grandly amongst the others, giving them a distinctly foreign appeal. Every day a gardener specialising in unfamiliar plant species would tend to them fastidiously.

The Plegian Bloom, it was called—named for its homeland, and planted in this very garden for remembrance of the Plegian War.

Soldiers took position at the far end of the yard, sparring with lance and sword and firing arrows in quick succession at far-off targets as squires and pages ran to and fro.

Beside the more elite knights was a young man, his back straight and tall, hands settled firmly on the hilt of the stunningly golden blade at his side. His hair was a traditional sort of blue, the colour of Ylisse and of Altea before it.

"Remember, your eyes should always be set ahead. One look back, and your opponent will gain the upper hand," he instructed the two knights facing each other, brandishing silver swords. "It also puts your opponent off, if you look fierce enough," he added with a laugh.

"Don't put ideas in their head, milord," his first knight, a tall brunette with soft blue armour, huffed.

"Frederick, you're much too hard on them. Come now, boys, to battle!"

"Yessir!" the two soldiers lunged at each other eagerly, clashing blades and pulling off manoeuvres the likes of which Chrom had never seen on the battlefield.

Leaving the two to their session, Chrom wandered over to the gardens, turning back to observe his men. They were all spectacularly in form, each putting the same amount of effort into every strike and every parry as the next. He found himself brimming with pride, and raised a hand to touch the brand on his upper right arm.

"Perhaps I'm not doing such a horrible job," he mused, giving himself a wan smile.

Frederick agreed with a strong nod.

"Your Highness, if I may say, I am proud to be serving under such a great, powerful exalt. Your father's image pales in comparison. I know I'm not the only one who thinks as much," he said.

Chrom patted his lieutenant on the back.

Frederick's eyes wandered to the outdoor hallway running alongside the courtyard that led into the castle, and his expression softened.

"Milord, I do believe you've a visitor," he smiled, clasping his hands behind his back.

Chrom followed his gaze and, seeing the young woman walking listlessly through the shadows of the hallway, the light from the yard playing softly on her face, he allowed himself a brief moment of weakness. She was holding the hand of a toddler, keeping watch of her so that every time the little girl stumbled across the path she wouldn't fall and hurt herself, and her other hand was settled on her stomach. They were picture-perfect; paint them in oils and frame them on the wall of the throne room.

"Excuse me for a moment, won't you?" he asked; it wasn't so much a question as an order, but all the same Frederick obeyed with a pleasant smile.

Chrom cut across the cobblestones to his wife, letting his hand slide off the Falchion and instead stretching out in front of him as he knelt down. When his daughter saw him, she grinned, eyes wide with zest, and looked up to her mother for permission. She nodded, smiling broadly, and the little princess shot off into Chrom's arms. He hoisted her up, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, and carried her over to Robin.

"What did I say about you walking around like this?" he sighed.

She shrugged and averted her gaze, feigning innocence. He shook his head, though not without cracking the hint of a smirk.

"You should be getting your rest, you know. Your mind needs it—plus…"

"Don't you tell me what my mind needs," she rolled her eyes, "I'm just getting a little fresh air with my daughter and visiting my husband. Can't I do that?"

"Of course you can…but…"

"My mind is fine, Chrom," she smiled, shaking her head. "Clear, in fact. For the first time in a long time. I'm…I'm finally home. I'm here with you, and I couldn't be better. The memories aren't quite there yet, no, but…"

He raised a hand to her cheek.

Perhaps it was better that the memories of the war hadn't quite sunk in with her. Perhaps knowing the pain, the violence, the grief that they had endured was too much. He didn't wish it on her, yet he always held on to the hope that one day those memories would return, and she would remember the times they spent together. He was lucky enough that she had remembered him at all, let alone their daughter or their comrades. The memories of her time linked with Grima were all a blur, yet if she concentrated hard enough they came to her.

She was right, though. All that mattered was that she was here. He counted his blessings every day and thanked the gods thousands of times that she had returned to him.

She may have not, but he remembered the pain that had struck him atop Grima's back one year ago.

"Tell the others my last thoughts were of them," she'd said, cast him aside with a painless spell, and delivered the final blow to the dragon. When he had finally wrestled himself out of his thundery bindings, she was already fading.

He had run to her as fast as he could—he'd tried, clambered, prayed, yet when he finally reached her, when he finally thought he would hold her in his arms, she was gone. He wished that pain on not even the vilest of fiend.

"You're right," he conceded. Lucina had climbed her way up to sit on his shoulders, swinging her legs languidly, her face buried in her father's hair. "Still, I don't know if I'm so comfortable with you out in the open like this, given that…" He rested a hand on her stomach.

"Yes, well, I know for a fact that this child's a strong one. He won't be beaten by a few hours of fresh air."

"Right again."

"And we already know what to name him, right? Takes away a good portion of the trouble with babies, doesn't it?" she jested. "I do remember a certain young prince studying his family tree trying to pick out a name for Lucina."

Hearing her say I remember almost brought a tear to his eye. Maybe she remembered more than he was willing to give her credit for.

At hearing her name, Lucina gave a sheepish grin and hugged Chrom's neck tighter. Just like her future self, she was very much a fan of her exalted father. Not to say that she didn't spend just as much time following Robin around, skimming through the countless books on the tactics of battle strewn around their quarters and pretending to know what they were about.

Chrom couldn't help but see the differences in his two daughters, though. Where the older Lucina had grown up in a world of strife and tragedy, this little girl was always surrounded by the happy, familiar chirps of her people. Where the older Lucina was serious and determined, this Lucina was cheerful and easygoing. That might change in due time, given that she'd just formed a personality of her own, but Chrom was willing to guess that having her parents around would do Lucina a world of good.

"I know he's strong, and I know you're strong, but you know that I worry about you," Chrom muttered, grazing her cheek with his thumb. "I just want you to be safe, until everything's back to…the way it was."

At that, Robin nodded, taking the hand on her cheek and enclosing it in hers. Their eyes met, blue to brown, and they both smiled.

It had been almost four years since they met, and almost three since they had gotten married, yet Chrom couldn't picture a life without her—couldn't imagine it. Flashes of memories from his childhood would often appear, nestled deep within his mind, yet reminiscing only proved to sadden him more.

He'd moved on from then, had become the Exalt, had married a beautiful woman and simultaneously failed and succeeded in saving her.

"Lord Chrom!" called a voice from the yard.

Chrom turned abruptly, earning a small laugh from Lucina, who was shaken around on his shoulders.

The two knights from before were waving at him enthusiastically, one carrying a look of arrogant pride, the other a little less smug.

"I've won, Milord!" cried the victor. He bowed low. "All thanks to your advice, no less."

"Don't get cocky," Frederick warned him, but even he allowed himself a brief bout of laughter.

Chrom looked out over the courtyard again, at the young recruits and knights training before the myriad of blues and pinks and, nestled in the corner, the dark crimson of Plegia, his wife's homeland.

First in a series of short chapters I'll be doing about the lives of the pairings after the war.

Unfortunately, I won't be taking requests or recommendations on which pairings I will be including, so I'm really sorry if a pairing you happen to hate shows up somewhere along the way. All are based on my first playthrough of the European version (which means for anyone who has read my first Fire Emblem story, Come on, Get it Together, which features the pairings of my first Japanese playthrough, the marriages will be different) but I'm hoping you'll love them as much as I do.

Thank you for reading, and if you could, please drop a quick review.