7.
[I prefer the ones in which you kill me.
But when all's said and done, I'd rather surrender to you in other ways.]
He could tell that she could tell that he was uncomfortable, almost hesitant, though she hadn't said anything yet. She probably thought it was nerves since this was their first time. Of course she was unaware that this wasn't their first time, all lives considered, nor was it their fiftieth time or even probably their one hundredth time. Why then, in the name of all the gods, Chrom thought, grimacing as Robin nibbled down his neck, am I having doubts now?
He'd done everything differently this life. Perhaps, he'd thought, if he did the opposite of what he always did, Robin would also do the opposite of what she always did—and what she always did was die. If one wants extreme results, one must take extreme actions, so he resolved to make this life unlike any other in the hopes of finally breaking whatever chains tied him to this hellish loop. He avoided Robin as much as possible, ducking into tents and around corners when he saw her approaching. He specifically requested that Emmeryn be sent back to Ylisse when he knew all that awaited her was ambush. He avoided the women's bathing tent at all costs. He even locked Robin and Henry alone in a weapons tent overnight (this turned out very poorly for both of them; Henry told Robin a bedtime story involving the spirit of a tortured mercenary looking for his lost hands and Robin was so scared she refused to let either of them sleep until dawn).
The more Chrom ran from her, the more she pursued him. "Do you hate me?" She asked one evening, kneeling on the ground after finding him hiding under a supply cart. "Have I done something to offend you?" Her long sable hair pooled unheeded in the dirt as she peered at him.
He stared back, feeling foolish. "No." he replied truthfully but begrudgingly.
"Then why did you hide from me? You've been avoiding me since I joined the Shepherds and I want to know why." Her tone brooked no room for excuses; she seemed perfectly at ease to wait beside the cart until he gave her the answers she sought.
He could think of nothing to tell her but the truth. "I think being near me puts you in danger and I…I would not have you die because of me."
Her face was blank. "That's asinine."
"I…I beg your pardon?"
"The idea that my life is tied so tightly to your proximity and actions—you're having delusions of grandeur. If I die, Prince of Ylisse, it will be on my own terms—that I promise you."
Chrom was so taken aback, he forgot he where he was and jerked his head upwards, knocking it hard against the wooden underside of the cart. "Ow," he complained, rubbing the bump.
She continued to study him. "I'm glad that you don't find me offensive because I'm…I'm rather fond of you." She reached toward him, smiling now. "How about you come out from under the cart and I'll give you some of the brown sugar candy I took from Gaius' knapsack?"
There was nothing for him to do but grab her hand and try to maintain as much dignity as possible while crawling out from the shadows under the cart like some giant blue lizard. When she pulled him to his feet, he looked in her eyes properly for the first time that life and was once again lost.
Now, as she tangled her mouth with his, panic bubbled in his chest. He couldn't do this. He couldn't lose her again. What was the point of loving her when he knew the end of their story? Under what circumstances would he watch her die this time? What blade or spell would pierce her milky flesh and spill her blood? His hand tightened on her bare back, pressing her more firmly against him. I hate this…I can't…
"Chrom," Robin breathed, pulling her face from his and running a hand down his cheek. "Do you want this?"
He knew what she meant and he didn't hesitate before nodding. "Yes." Of course he wanted this—wanted her. He loved her. He loved everything about her, even if it made no sense. He couldn't help himself; he wanted to mingle their bodies so closely together that they were inextricably one and he would never have to feel her slip from his fingers again.
She dropped gentle, lingering kisses on his lips. "Relax, then, and trust me. I won't hurt you and I know you'd never hurt me." She was on top of him now and her warmth and weight were so comforting that Chrom finally surrendered to her loving ministrations. The aching knot in his chest slowly loosened and disappeared with every touch of her mouth and palms. His hands roamed her body, memorizing her curves and worshipping her skin. Her breath caught when he found a sensitive spot and he felt the familiar surge of desire through his veins.
What would it take to save her? He kissed the soft spot behind her ears, smoothing back her damp hair with his free hand. Where could he take her that she would be safe? She moaned his name and he quickened his pace. What price could he pay to keep her alive? Her nails raked down his back and he grimaced in pleasure and pain. Why wasn't he strong enough to protect the woman he loved?
Why?
oOoOoOo
"I won't let you do this, Robin!" Chrom yelled, tightening his grip on the tactician's bloodied hand. "I won't let you sacrifice yourself, even for this cause!"
Maybe he had been right about drastic measure causing drastic changes, for the Shepherds had finally triumphed over Grima, though the casualties had been many. Bodies littered the battlefield—among them the twisted corpses of Panne, Maribelle, Ricken, Cordelia, and others. Ricken had fallen defending Maribelle, who succumbed soon after to a volley of arrows. Cordelia had called for help, but it was too late when help arrived. Panne would never see her species repopulate. Worst of all was the small, still figure in a sunflower-colored dress being cradled in a stricken Frederick's arms.
Lissa's death was the worst—he'd never lost her before—but if it was necessary to bring this never-ending nightmare to a close, then so be it. He would face his grief later. "Please, Robin." He begged.
She bit her lip, unsure of what to do. "You heard Naga," she whispered. "If I don't land the final blow, Grima will only sleep. If we want to destroy him, I have to kill him. Think of Lucina and Morgan…their children's children will inherit our burden because we didn't fix it correctly the first time. My life is a small price to pay for ending this evil." She pulled her hand, trying to gently disentangle herself from him.
You don't understand, Chrom thought, refusing to let her go. Your life is the ultimate price. "I can't let you. I love you, Robin and I…I don't know how to live without you. The world needs you here and now. I need you here and now." He gritted his teeth, trying to keep himself in control.
Robin's smile was sad, but she was resolved, so he did the only thing he could think of and lurched forward, letting go of her hand and grabbing her by her cloak with both hands. He pressed a kiss to her cheek and then flung her as far away from him in the opposite direction from the downed dragon as possible. He could face her anger later—he would rather she be alive and furious than dead as a martyr.
Ignoring her cries, he sprinted to the dragon's massive form, unsheathed Falchion and drove it deeply into the monster's skull with as much force as he could possibly muster. A feeling akin to electricity shot through him and he fell to the ground and into darkness.
When his mind awakened again, he marveled at his lack of pain and what a remarkable job the healers must have done with him—then ice pooled in the pit of his stomach and he opened his eyes to see sunlight and an expansive green field. A giggle beside him drew his attention and he turned to see his little sister, very much alive and gesticulating wildly toward the sleeping figure wrapped in a dark Plegian cloak.
It was at that moment that Chrom wondered if it wasn't Naga who had heard his prayer after all, but Grima himself.
