a/n: hello there readers! i should probably start off with a disclaimer that, typically authoring fics of different fandoms, my FE:A writing will probably suffer a bit right off the bat. knowing that i have never written for or played a Fire Emblem game, i decided to dip my toes in figuratively with some oneshots - the ones set in the two-year timeskip will be a part of this collection, which will update sporadically as i am hit by more ideas.

these will focus mostly on chrom and m!robin, shippy or not, though others may/will be included. (i don't have any plans at the moment to write f!robin material, but i will definitely specify if that changes.)

disclaimer: everything fire emblem: awakening related belongs to intelligent systems and/or nintendo, i own nothing but the sentence order.

this first oneshot is just sort of bromancey drabble! nothing super heavy.

as always, please enjoy!

in the interim -

The flame of the candle flickered and sputtered, fighting to continue burning as the puddle of hot wax crept further and further up the wick, diminishing every now and then as it followed the path of least resistance and found a way to escape the crater at the center, pouring down the outside of the candle and cooling again into wax droplets. It had been burning for precisely eight hours and thirty-two minutes, though Robin had lost track somewhere around four hours. The jagged shadows called forth by the flame's meager struggle danced over the pages of the tome that lay open on his desk, making it ever more difficult to decipher the runes contained within; the tactician considered retiring for the evening, but brushed the thought away. An analysis on the effects of updrafts on the speed, distance, and energy consumption of a pegasus' flight pattern wasn't something he could readily apply on his own time, but he knew he had relied a little too much on intuition when dictating orders to Sumia, Cordelia, and the others on the battlefield. It was up to him to know exactly what he was dealing with on those counts, no matter if it wasn't a principle that applied directly to him.

As he was considering this, a light tapping of knuckles on his door caused the young man to start just slightly, startled from his thoughts by the sudden sound. He leaned back in his chair, the folds of his tacticians' robe shuffling as he shifted. "Yes?" he called in answer, not turning around or rising to receive his visitor.

His suspicions were confirmed when the door opened, and something rattled and flapped.

"There you are," the exalt-to-be sighed, mock-exasperated. "I've been looking for you all over. When you weren't at dinner, I feared the worst."

At that comment, the white-haired tactician turned in his seat. "Chrom," he greeted. Then a note of wry amusement crept into his voice, sensing the subtle teasing. "And what constitutes "the worst" in this context?"

The navy-haired man chuckled. "Merely I'd feared I would find you buried in dusty tomes and wax!" he joked, before turning serious, blue eyes sharpening as he regarded Robin's environment with thinly-veiled dislike. "If I didn't know better, I would think you thought us to still be at war. For the meantime, all is well and we have naught to fear – peacetime is to be enjoyed with friends and family, you know."

An ivory eyebrow tweaked upward. "A strategist's duty is never fulfilled," Robin quipped, though he did his level best to avoid Chrom's gaze.

The young lord stared at his best friend for a few moments, before he shook his head and let his eyes dance around the dim room. The feeble candle melded with light from torches in the hallway, touching on the stone floor covered in a rich wine-colored rug, the sizable bed made neatly with white sheets that appeared grey in the poor lighting, the window set in the opposite wall, and the bare stone walls surrounding the wooden desk and chair: the only real signs of occupation were found there, in books stacked eight-tall and discarded ink and parchment - and the candle that struggled not to drown in its own wax.

"Come," said Chrom suddenly, gaze settling back on the slightly younger man. "Let's go for a walk."

Rather than protest, Robin only exhaled and rose to his feet with a surrendering nod. His following comment was, however, met with dark blue eyebrows knitting together, as a quiet "as you wish, Sire," was uttered.

Deciding not to respond, he only stepped back, out of the shorter man's way as Robin continued past, starting down the hallway as Chrom blew out the lonely candle, closing the door as he exited. His ever-present cape snapped in the rustle of wind as he hurried to catch up to the tactician, wordlessly taking the lead.

It was evident he had a destination in mind, as he angled towards a flight of stairs that led upwards - and, unsurprisingly, Robin immediately fell to analyzing their path.

He didn't recognize this wing, but figured they were moving northward, possibly towards the exalt's quarters. Not that he could offer an explanation as to why.

That theory was quickly debunked with a sudden turn right, and the tactician frowned lightly as he tailed the young lord by a few feet.

A door and a tiny spiral staircase down later, Robin was fairly close to losing his bearings completely. The narrow hallway in which they now found themselves was only dimly lit, the spaces between the ensconced torches double that of the more common thoroughfares. Gray stone pressed in, but Chrom continued on as if unaware. Of course he knew his way around the royal lodgings like the back of his hand - he had lived here his entire life, the tactician mused. However, it was still disconcerting to realize he would be entirely lost without the exalt-to-be's guidance: three months of living in Ylisstol, and he had had not an inkling of a pathway like this existing.

The last door opened onto a broad balcony, a hidden alcove the size of the banquet hall that held nothing of interest besides a row of pillars supporting the outer edge of the building above and, just beyond those, an ornamental stone railing spanning eighty feet from one end of the open space to the other.

The royal garden lay three stories below, shrubs and trees arranged in whimsical patterns, and if Robin tilted his head just so, that clearing right there looked like the one in which the woman who had masqueraded as Marth had come delivering news of Emmeryn's impending assassination - and wasn't that a cheery thought for a summer evening?

Cicadas buzzing broke the only silence as the exalt-to-be continued on to the edge of the balcony, resting his bare hands on the stone railing as he let his eyes wander over the spires of Ylisstol in the distance.

Chrom spoke at last, a considerable time after Robin had stepped up next to him, unconsciously mirroring his posture. "This was one of her favorite spots to come and think," the older man said wistfully, not shifting even as his companion's gaze flicked to him. "After council meetings, she would disappear for hours at a time. Lissa found Emm here by accident two years ago. We used to take turns bringing her plates of sweets." The thought trailed off abruptly as he frowned, blue eyes shifting slightly upward and to the right, remembering.

Robin followed his lead a few beats later, but let his eyes fall to his hands instead. The large sleeve of his coat almost obscured a jagged scar that ran from the back of his hand to midway down his forearm; only the edge of it could be seen, a darker line marring pale skin. He'd gotten that one from Regna Ferox, at the Longfort: he had misjudged the speed of an armored soldier wielding a lance, when he had still been a tactical novice, and had barely made it to Chrom's side in time to knock the stab away.

Cold iron in his hands, and he isn't used to the grip but the weight is a considerable step up from the bronze blade that had finally surrendered just a short while past - stumble through a snowdrift (the resistance is familiar but he doesn't expect it to feel so cold) because there is a hole in his right flank and Chrom isn't looking, isn't looking -

"I wanted to share this with you," his closest friend said suddenly, jarring Robin from his thoughts. Chrom's smile was gentle - if pained. "Perhaps you might find the peace of mind that Emm sought when she came here."

Knowing and sensing the sentiment behind the gift, intangible as it was, Robin cleared his throat. "Thank you, Chrom," he said sincerely, honored by the gesture.

A warm summer breeze stirred the leaves of the trees below, gusting upward - eddies of air stirred and carded through the hair of the two men on the balcony, evening-blue and cloud-white, and tugged at their clothing, disturbing a pale cape and a dark coat.

Chrom cleared his throat suddenly, as if embarrassed, and Robin turned to him.

"There's one other thing," the lordling said. Hesitantly. In lieu of elaboration, he turned to rummage in the pocket of his trousers, producing a small box with an "ah" of recognition.

"Chrom -?" Robin started to inquire, but swallowed the question as his friend straightened and offered him the package in one calloused hand. Uncertainly, the tactician reached out to take the small wooden box, noting absently that his fingers were much slimmer than Chrom's.

The swirl of the wood grain emphasized the dome shape of the lid. A hinge on one side assured that the box's parts would stay connected; the resistance of the joint was such that it took a little bit of effort to pry the capsule open, enough so that Chrom almost reached over to assist the tactician with the endeavor - but once pale fingers found purchase, it opened gently, revealing a velvet-edged interior.

The trinket contained inside was sharp-edged at points, but that wasn't the only reason Robin handled it carefully. Letting the pendant rest in his palm, he found himself to be without words. The pad of a thumb ran along the dip of the outstretched wing, the thrice-curled tail sitting securely against the side of his palm; the intricate detail of the silver dragon made the pendant seem as if it would come to life at any moment and breathe fire - an inferno escaping past the large chunk of turquoise clasped securely in its reptilian jaws.

"Emmeryn was fond of precious stones and crystals," Chrom said, not meeting Robin's eyes as the tactician's gaze was torn away from the gift. "She had a weakness for crystal readings - there was a rumor she had them done morning, noon, and night to consult the fates, but I'd only ever seen them when she had doubted her own decisions."

The navy-haired man swallowed sharply. "I came across that necklace in a shop in Ylisstol, and it reminded me so heavily of you that I could hardly let it fall into another's grasp."

At that point, he turned to face the strategist fully, an earnest turn to his lips. "Robin, from the day you joined the Shepherds - no, even before that - from the day Lissa and Frederick and I came across you in that field, you have led us fair and true. Because of you, many more Ylisseans are still alive. Because of you, I'm still alive." He paused to breathe. "You have lived with us for three months now. In all of that time, I have struggled with how to say what I've wanted to say - but I believe that pendant speaks for me.

"Robin, you will always have a home here with us. Because you have become just as much a part of this family as any relative." Suddenly the lordling clapped the tactician on the shoulder. "Brothers tied not by blood, but forged of steel - a bond that's just as strong, Brand or not."

It took Robin a moment to swallow past the lump in his throat, in which time the exalt-to-be withdrew his had with a sheepish look. "Chrom, I -" he started to say, but shook his head. "You had no obligation to show me such kindness. I was only a stranger to you that day, even if you weren't such to me." He still had no explanation for why Chrom's name had remained in his memory, when nothing else had. "Truthfully, you and the Shepherds are all I have now," he said quietly. "Despite - and even because of - that, to be welcomed into your family is... an unbelievable honor."

He frowned. "In fact, I don't know if I have the words to express my full gratitude. You owed me nothing and yet you gave me so much: a home, a family, a purpose." Russet eyes flicked down, then upward again, focusing on sharp blue. "I hope that someday I might be able to repay that kindness. Probably not in full, but at least in part."

The exalt-to-be grinned at his best friend comfortingly. "In some ways, you already have," he said. "Remember that you've earned your place here. With us."

The wafting summer breeze picked up again for only a shadow of an instant, brushing the ends of Robin's hair from his face as he nodded, bringing with it the sound of rustling leaves and the scent of a Ylisstol summer night.

"So!" Chrom said loftily. "Brothers?"

Robin clasped the outstretched hand in his own, the pendant safe curled in the other. The smile he gave the Ylissean heir was genuine.

"Brothers," he answered.