Chrom was, in almost every right, a terrible actor. It was part of his charm – for all of the aristocracy and regality his tutors had attempted to bash into him, he retained a bluntness that was most improper of a young lord. Lying and insincerity were unbecoming of him.
Despite this, Robin knew well enough to tell when he was faking it. Chrom's self-assured confidence was a cornerstone of his leadership; it's what empowered the masses, encouraged the meek, and convinced the more sensible of his followers to charge into hopeless situations. Like a good leader, he knew to fabricate it and wear confidence like a costume when he was insecure or fearful. It was the only instance where he convincingly acted the part, but Robin could pick out the subtle discrepancies.
Even across the great hall she spotted his nerves eking through. Though he stood tall, proud, decked out in the finest embroidered cloth and ceremonial armor the realm could afford, his posture was stiff. His eyes darted just a hair too quickly. His right hand, which normally lay casually across the cross-guard of Falchion's hilt, tightly curled around the pommel in a white-knuckled grip. Despite wearing the sword for ceremony alone, he clutched it as though readying for combat. Every so often Lissa would nudge him from her station to his left and toss a secret smile or a wink over his shoulder and a muscle would relax. Frederick, not far behind Lissa, would stiffen and don his patented what-would-your-parents-say expression at every exchange, which only served to send the princess into a fit of giggles and force Chrom to pass off a snort as a sad imitation of a cough.
Standing at the back of the hall, Robin stewed in a cocktail of emotions and indecision. She hadn't seen or spoken to Chrom since reading his script the night before, and knew that she'd only added to his mountain of stress. Even still, habit willed her to be with the prince and princess, reassuring them, encouraging them, offering what little tactical advice she had. Not milling about the back of the hall behind the audience of lords and ladies, foreign representatives, elected officials, and toothless old benefactors.
At least she was in good company. Although many of the Shepherds were seating alongside their families with the other lords and ladies, all those who served in the war but lacked titles and estates were invited and had filed alongside Robin in the back. Her heart swelled to see her comrades flanking her right and left: Stahl, in his ceremonial best but unable to tame the cowlicked mess that was his hair, Vaike, most unhappily bullied into wearing a dress shirt, Donnel looking fit to burst while staring, wide-eyed around the room, Nowi, bouncing on the balls of her feet to get a better look. As she looked around, Robin was more than a little surprised to see a certain taguel slink into the room, eyeing the masses wearily and looking more than a little uncomfortable.
Robin called to her, waving. "Over here, Panne!"
Panne bounded to Robin's side, pointedly avoiding eye contact with people and wincing slightly whenever they jostled into her. "Finally. It was a nightmare to find you in this sea of man-spawn," Panne exhaled, relieved. "The way they ogle and mutter amongst themselves when they see me, thinking I can't hear them... to think they're supposed to be aristocrats."
Robin sighed, shaking her head. "If it's any consolation, I doubt that behavior is entirely race-centric – I got similar treatment on my first day here, too. For what it's worth, I'm thrilled to see you," She added, beaming. "You look stunning."
And she did, looking truly radiant in a ceremonial tunic that Robin hadn't seen before. White, like her own gown, but with intricate patterns sewn into the collar and navy trim. "I'm told that we're wearing white to signify the soul's return to Naga, is there similar meaning behind your outfit?" Robin asked, curious.
"As if I'd subscribe to man-spawn dogma," Panne snorted, but softened. "The taguel believe that the souls of the departed return to the moon. The white is to honor her color, the blue, the night sky around her."
"I see!" Robin gushed, hungry for cultural history. "I wonder if one informed the other, then, or if the two traditions share an intersection –"
"Shhh."
Robin halted her tirade, confused. Had she offended Panne by insinuating cross-cultural similarities?
All was made clear when the massive doors to the back of the hall opened. A procession of clergy, led by a truly ancient hierarch, made their way down the center aisle of the hall. Their parade to the throne was almost comically slow, either necessitated by the hierarch's feeble gait or his need to finish warbling a hymn before reaching Chrom, but after an eternity the procession finally ended.
Robin only half-listened as the hierarch gave a lengthy sermon, bestowing the blessings of Naga upon the realm, the royal lineage, the war heroes, all those in attendance, and finally Emmeryn, Lissa, and Chrom. Instead she watched the siblings, awestruck at how much they've grown since they'd met. Instead of the gawky adolescent who'd whined about bear meat, Robin found a young princess who'd truly grown into her title. One who held her head high and faced a war with admirable optimism and saved countless lives, all before her seventeenth birthday. Dressed as she was with an elegant, long gown and her hair down and curled into soft ringlets, she bore a deep and touching resemblance to her older sister.
And Chrom had never looked more regal. For all of his blunt honesty, his predisposition for breaking practice dummies and napping too often and ambling into the wrong bathing tent, his nobility could not be refuted. As the hierarch finished his prayer and stepped aside, Robin found herself holding her breath when Chrom stepped forward to speak. The whole audience joined her, waiting with bated breath to hear their king.
"My family, friends, countrymen – thank you for coming out today. For many, this is likely the second time we've met, not since Emmeryn stood here fifteen years ago on her coronation day.
Back then she stood here, heiress to the throne of a warring country and barely ten years old. Our father left the realm war-torn, impoverished, and highly mistrustful of its leadership. Many feared another reigning monarch whose legacy would be that of aggression and conflict. Those that didn't know her rioted, threw rocks, and feared for their lives; those that knew her, though, understood her passion for Ylisse and her people.
Emmeryn has longed for peace as far back as I can remember. It wasn't a byproduct of her upbringing, or something taught by my mother, father, or the council, but a quality she'd demonstrated from a very early age. One of my earliest memories of her is that of an eight-year-old girl, absolutely covered in ink and surrounded by piles of wasted parchment. She didn't yet have full mastery of the written alphabet, and so she was trying to sound out each word as she wrote. I kept pestering her to stop, to play with me, to let me help, but she said 'no, this is important'. It took the better part of an afternoon, many bottles of ink and the halidom's reserve of parchment, but she eventually finished and brought her first royal proposal to my father.
You see, earlier that year my father redoubled his efforts in the religious conquests of Plegia. Nine thousand more troops had been deployed for the cause, and poor weather had wrought damage on farmlands, homes and the health of the people. Although she was too young to participate in council discussions about public policy, homeland security, the farmers' unions, she was always listening. She heard castle staff talking about their families in Southtown, losing fathers and uncles and brothers to the draft. She overheard schoolmarms lamenting the malnutrition and poverty among their students. And so, this eight-year-old girl stretched her lexicon as far as it would go and drafted her first proposal to end the religious conflicts and presented it to our father, Lord Anatol.
Ultimately, Lord Anatol dismissed the proposal, writing it off as a foolish, childish plight. Lady Elenna, however, prized the document, and the empathy that compelled Emmeryn to write it. My mother nurtured that empathy and implored that I learn from it, stressing that empathy is the most valuable asset to a leader. Not strength, not experience, not breeding or tutelage or brute force, but empathy – an innate thing, one that's difficult to teach, particularly to adults. Emmeryn was empathy incarnate, and transitively a natural born leader, the only leader that I consider truly exalted.
"And so, the title of Exalt shall remain with my sister. I may inevitably fail to fill her shoes and achieve the international amity that she always strove for, but I will never, ever stop trying. Her grace, bravery, and fairness will inform my every step, and her guidance will allow me to better serve the halidom. With the help of my family, advisors, councils, and countrymen, we'll work to build the peaceful world that she envisioned."
When thinking back on that moment, Robin couldn't remember who – or what – broke the deafening silence that followed the speech. Perhaps it was Vaike's barely-contained sniffling, or Donnel's awestruck "shee-yooot", or the combined silk-rustling and arthritic joint-cracking of the aristocracy rising to a standing ovation. Mostly, she heard a country roaring its approval, her own voice choking out something between a laugh and a sob, and the home-shaped void in her heart filling with Chrom's oath.
After the coronation ceremony the audience was corralled into the dining hall for an exceptional feast, and then funneled once again back into another great hall. Now, chairs were lined against the walls and in little groups around hors d'oeuvre tables, and a twenty-piece orchestra was playing ballroom dance music for the aristocrats.
Away from the cloud of perfumed women and ancient courtiers the majority of the Shepherds conspicuously clumped like gazelles in the desert. Though they dressed the part, most of the soldiers were more at home in barracks than salons, and unfamiliarity drove them towards the only things they knew: each other, and the seemingly unending pitchers of wine toted around by nervous young servers.
Before long the atmosphere on the Shepherds' end of the hall began to take on a life of its own. Gaius stole away to the posh border and returned with a handful of borrowed court musicians who gladly set up shop in the corner and began to play a favorite folk tune. A couple wallflowers crept away from the wine table, humming along contentedly, while the truly bold elbowed their neighbors and egged each other into dancing. Excited chatter erupted while a makeshift dance floor was cleared in the center of their pile so that the local recruits could teach foreign soldiers the steps to the local dances.
Robin smiled widely as she watched her comrades bumble their way through the steps, made clumsy by insecurity, nerves and their blood alcohol levels. Her own crystalline glass of wine in hand, she was more than happy to watch from the safety of the fringes.
"Unlike you to lurk, Bubbles."
She jumped a bit, too engrossed by the dancers to notice her new company. "I'm not lurking, this is tactical observation. For safety."
Gaius crossed his arms, tutting. "So what you're telling me is that you happily ran headlong into armies of religious sycophants and the actual undead, but you're afraid of a little dancing?"
"I'm unafraid of a challenge, if that's what you're insinuating," she retorted. Holding her head high, she drained her goblet and set it aside, hands on her hips. "Well?"
"There's our fearless leader!" Gaius commended, offering his hand with a flourish. "Milady."
Robin took his hand, laughing. "Ew, Gaius, you're sticky. And you have raspberry coulis on your collar," she scolded.
"Those berry and custard tarts get me every time. Senseless, making tiny food that isn't supposed to be eaten with your hands," he shrugged, towing her nearer to the band. "This tune they're starting is in two. The first eight counts go hop, hop, step-step-step hop, hop, step-step-step, then cross, cross, cross, cross, cross, cross, cross, cross. Then all of that repeats for another eight counts. Got all that?"
"No. Not even a little."
"Fair enough. Then watch the first eight, we'll join in on the repeat."
Robin eyed the dance floor and picked out the most skilled couple, watching them like a hawk. They expertly worked their way through the steps, matching each other hop for cross for step. Before she knew it the first eight counts were over and she was being dragged into the fray, heart hammering and palms slick. Gaius smiled encouragingly, calling to her over the band.
"You've got this, just mirror me."
Gaius was surprisingly at home on the dance floor, Robin noted with a degree of surprise as she watched his feet intently, following a half beat behind. She followed along passably through the hops, finally falling into time for the step-step-step, and even gaining confidence as she crossed her feet, one over the other, for the end of the sequence.
"That's it, Bubbles! The next part's different - now step in, hand up, turn right for four counts."
She looked up from his feet to find Gaius offering his right hand, a wry smile and a glitter to his eyes. She took his hand she stumbled in a clockwise semicircle, a little late.
"Now spin, clap, spin, and repeat in the other direction."
All around her the women were pirouetting gracefully to face away from their partners, clapping twice, then spinning back to meet them with their left hands extended. Robin dropped it entirely, scrambling to spin around once and nearly falling back to center, scrambling for Gaius's left hand. He chortled, walking them counterclockwise.
"Next is the same, just left."
"Got it!"
This time Robin kept pace with the others, spinning in time and collecting the claps. When she turned back to face Gaius, she finally wore a smile to match.
"Nice one, Bubbles," He praised. "The second half is almost exactly the same as the first half, so you can relax now."
"And what makes you think I'm not the picture of relaxation?" Robin asked in mock anguish.
"Certainly not the grip like a griffon talon," he poked, waggling the fingers that were being crushed in Robin's own. She slackened her hold, chewing on her lip.
"Sorry about that."
They broke apart to start the second half of the dance, and now Robin was proficient enough to keep up with the band. The dance was mercifully repetitive, and by the last step-step-step was through she was easily keeping pace with Gaius. She took his hand for the first clockwise turn, this time minding her grip.
"How'd you learn to dance so well, Gaius?" Robin asked, carefully keeping count.
"These are a tavern staple, and this one in particular is popular where I grew up," he explained.
Robin was about inquire about Gaius's hometown when a cheer erupted behind her shoulder and broke her concentration. She collected herself quickly, unwilling to be distracted when they were mere moments from the end of the dance and damn it, she was going to nail the last step. Robin executed the final turn with far too much gusto, whacking into the couple behind her while turning to face Gaius with breathless excitement. Laughing, Gaius gave the most overstated bow possible.
"Well done, Bubs. By the next dance you'll be leveling the whole floor," he commended sarcastically while Robin apologized profusely to the woman she smacked. She was about to cuff him as well, but stopped short when Gaius's smile hardened. Confused, she watched him smirk at something just beyond her shoulder.
"You seem lost, Blue, the highborn party is that way," he drawled, nodding towards the far end of the ballroom.
Blue?
"We've had our fill of nobility for a lifetime, if you'll allow us back to the real party."
Robin spun on her heels to find Chrom and Lissa, freed from hobnobbing and looking more like their former selves. Lissa flashed the group a radiant smile before bounding away towards the hors d'oeuvre table where Stahl and Sully were engaged in an eating contest. Chrom watched her retreat with a raised eyebrow before leaning in to address Robin.
"Mind if I cut in?"
She answered without thinking. "Of course not! Although…" guiltily she turned to Gaius, who shrugged and folded his arms.
"You know where to find me if you want to tap out." He nodded to the dessert table turned heel, but Robin stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey, thanks for teaching me. And for dragging me away from the wine table."
The corner of his mouth upturned. "Anytime, Bubs."
And with a wink he was gone. Robin heaved a sigh and turned back to Chrom, whose mouth was pursed in something approaching a pout.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to come chase him off like a browbeaten father," he mumbled. "Promise. Just one politically correct dance."
She shook her head, chewing on the smile that threatened to spread across her face. She couldn't pretend not to enjoy the jealous streak. "No worries, I'll see him later. Come on, I need to show you what I've learned."
Before she was entirely cognizant of what she was doing, she'd taken Chrom by the hand and led him to the floor. The musicians trilled an intro, and with profound relief Robin recognized the same form as the dance she'd just finished. Very classy, going easy on the foreigners so we don't get overwhelmed by too many dance routines.
Chrom smirked. "Alright, let's see what you've got."
The two bowed, and Chrom offered his hand. Though he smiled, something in Chrom's expression remained guarded, cautious - probably doesn't want to make things weird. She took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze before the music whisked her away.
A brighter tempo forced Robin to act on reflex instead of carefully planning each step, liberating and electrifying her steps. She was making mistakes, to be sure, but they were over with so quickly that she couldn't dwell on them.
"I shouldn't be surprised that you picked it up quickly," Chrom mused when they met for the four-count semicircle. "It took me three full terms of lessons to get a hang of it."
She couldn't resist the opportunity. "Unsurprising, with your penchant for breaking things – I'm sure after so many broken toes it'd become difficult to find a dance partner."
They broke apart to spin and clap, and when they stepped back together she was relieved to find Chrom finally relaxed, grinning toothily and leaning in to avoid yelling above the music. "After my well-crafted speech about peace, you're really trying to provoke me into ballroom brawl?"
"I could hardly call myself your friend if I didn't make your coronation night memorable," she quipped, but leaned audaciously close while doing so. Perhaps it was the comfort of familiarity, the thrill of dancing, or maybe it was Ylisse's finest vintage – something emboldened Robin. With each hop and spin she leapt farther, twirled faster, throwing her gown's hem in wider arcs before stepping back into Chrom, the space between the two dwindling with each repeat. Before she knew it the final section of the dance was upon her, and she leaned in as close as she dared so that nobody would overhear.
"Before I release you to the adoring masses," Robin puffed, trying to catch her breath. "I wanted to tell you how proud I am. You were exceptional today. And, I wanted to tell you that…" she dawdled, finally realizing how close they'd gotten. His panting breath ghosted her forehead, and his cape nearly shrouded her when they spun.
He leaned even closer, down to her eye level. His voice was breathless, she hardly caught it above the music. "Tell me?"
"Tell you that I…" She broke off for the final spin, coming to rest in a concluding bow as the orchestra rolled their ending chord. "I've decided whether or not I'm leaving. Let's talk later tonight, after everything's wrapped up."
"Can't you tell me now?" He implored, all levity leaving his face.
She might have given an answer if a wave of Shepherds not crashed upon the dance floor and proved her point. In short order goblets were passed around and a toast was offered, saluting Chrom and Lissa and the Shepherds and Naga and the royal reserve of wine. Chrom donned his breastplate of confidence and raised his glass, his baritone booming and strong.
"To Ylisse!"
Robin wasn't fooled – he nearly drowned in the goblet in his haste to finish it. She drank deeply, vowing to end his torment as quickly and painlessly as possible.
A/N: Irrelevant but fun tidbits – the dance from this chapter is something akin to a Rigadoun, a Baroque dance form. And for any of those who're playing Fire Emblem Heroes – Horse!Chrom's regalia is not too unlike what I'd pictured for his coronation outfit. Having dweeby horse-uninclined Chrom get sort of canonized was a real treat.
To everyone still reading, thanks for bearing with the update infrequency! Special thanks to CommanderFiresz, Anna, BucketsofButterflies, and Hi Anon – I love hearing from you, and as always, feedback is more than welcome. The pacing in particular is beginning to worry me, as I'm not sure how this will all wrap up.
Expect one more chapter, I think. See you there!